fear is not the end
by llamajoy@aol.com
archive?: sure to m_a
category: drama, angst, romance, sort of a songfic, semi-epic,
a little bit of everything
rating: NC-17, i guess
warnings: some bits of this are dark and kind of intense... be
on the lookout for some sith smut. ^_^
summary: obi-wan dealing with his fear, from pre-tpm to
post-jedi.
feedback: yes please! :) directly to llamajoy@aol.com
(disclaimers: the words to "i alone" are live's, the jedi are
lucas'. i just put them together is all.)
It's easier not to be wise
and measure these things by your brains
I sank into Eden with you
alone in the church by and by
Obi-wan peered into the rainy shadows of the Temple garden, not
wanting to risk much more than his toes into the drenching
rain. The rosy marble pillars that lined the broad colonnade
were poor shelter though, and a gust of rain-laden wind whipped
a little against his cloak. The holotorches lining the
gardenwalks beyond were still lit, casting odd patterns of
puddling brightness into the grey-streaked afternoon. It seemed
deserted out there, no sound but the wet hush of the rain
through the lurra trees.
And Master Windu had insisted that Qui-Gon was out there,
meditating. Obi-wan huddled further into his cloak, leaning
against a column. He had his instructions, clear enough: find
his Master and bring him before the Council; there was a bit of
an impromptu summons regarding their next mission. But Obi-wan
was getting old enough to recognize the tone of exasperation
behind Mace Windu's cool words.
He really didn't want to traipse out there in a summer
tempest just to tell his Master that the High Council was
miffed at him again.
"Master?" he called, his voice swallowed into the downpour.
Meditation was one thing, but if Qui-Gon truly was out there,
voluntarily, Obi-wan was going to see to it that he had his
head examined. A cascade of droplets blew in from a treebranch,
pattering against the floor, wetting his face. He shivered
bodily, his mind suddenly volunteering the image of the heavy
mass of Qui-Gon's hair dripping down his bare shoulders...
He sighed, steeling himself to go out under the sky.
"Padawan?" Obi-wan almost jumped. Qui-Gon's voice, curious and
bemused, coming from somewhere behind him. He spun, a
little guiltily, to see his master crosslegged with his back
against the wall of the Temple, serenely smoking his
long-handled pipe. "You are going out there, Obi-wan?" The
tiniest of smiles. "Maybe you need your head examined."
Obi-wan flushed a little, realizing that not only had his
master been watching him, but hearing snippets of his thoughts,
too. He tried not to look too sheepish. "I thought you were out
there," he said, as if that explained everything.
"Why did you think that?" Qui-Gon spoke measuringly. Though
Obi-wan could feel a current of curiosity beneath, he didn't
risk responding to it. Much. He didn't let the smirk in his
eyes touch his mouth. "Maybe I was simply recognizing that your
thoughts were-- full of rain, Master. And I drew an incorrect
conclusion."
"Oh? Were my thoughts so 'full of rain,' as you put it?" There
was an answering sparkle of amusement in Qui-Gon's blue eyes.
His tobacco smelled spicily of vanillanuts, a warm scent
against the cold clean scent of the rain. Truthfully, Obi-wan
hadn't known at all what his Master was thinking. But his own
thoughts strayed out there with the storm, dancing tempting
circles round his conscious self, and he realized that they
were alone, just the two of them under the broad Temple
ceiling.
"Rain--" he began, but his mind prompted him with such
unexpected delicious images: watching his master's face and
imagining his profile caught in the sweet downward rush of
rain, that broad muscled chest draped with a clinging soft
cloak, magnificent firm line of that throat exposed as he
tilted his face upward to kiss at the falling water--
He swallowed, tried to hide his blush behind his hand, lost for
words. He fidgeted unconsciously with his apprentice braid.
The smile curving around that darkwood pipe was almost
mischevious, but Qui-Gon said kindly, "You were looking for
me?"
He couldn't have mistaken the tone of his voice, could he? Was
Qui-Gon... teasing him? Suddenly aware of the wind playing
through his hair, he thought he caught windborne snatches of
his master's own thoughts-- and kenned an image of himself, too
handsome by far, all long lines and smooth muscle dancing in
the rain.
He let himself smirk, Council all but forgotten. "I think you
were looking for me," he said.
Qui-Gon tried to school his face into an expression of masterly
fondness, but it wobbled a bit around his eyes. He unwound his
long legs, moving to stand by his apprentice at the edge of the
colonnade. "Something about the Council, I think." But he was
quickly losing whatever hold over the conversation he may have
had, and couldn't swallow the surprise as Obi-wan deftly
plucked the pipe out of his fingers, the younger man's
seacolored eyes all but gleeful. The rainy wind gusted at them;
neither really noticed.
"What Council?" Obi-wan whispered, tracing the angle of
Qui-Gon's cheek with a tentative wet finger.
Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile. "The one you keep reminding me
I have to impress? Never heard of it."
Obi-wan laughed in the back of his throat. The next thing
either of them knew they were running like silly younglings,
dodging raindrops like mad, soaked to the skin and
half-consciously keeping arms round each other for warmth. And
Obi-wan thought the skies would sing when he felt rain-gentle
hands on the small of his back, cool on his skin beneath his
tunic, and mentor lips warm and spicy like vanillanuts, not
speaking but kissing him like a lover, teaching him everything
he could ever want to learn.
Surely time had never existed before he was kissed this way,
every dream falling like the raindrops through Qui-Gon's
perfect hair. Soft purple illye blossoms in the garden chimed a
little, their stiff petals like musical instruments under the
touch of the rain, and Obi-wan with wonder felt his master's
skin responding in kind to his touch.
Guided by the falling rain, he explored Qui-Gon's chest,
tracing the rivulets along his muscles, following the smooth
cold water with his own calloused fingertips-- from
shoulderblades, to nipples, to navel... His master's breath
caught in his throat, and he didn't quite manage to say
Obi-wan's name.
He grinned into his Master's neck, kissing the familiar skin
hungrily. At that moment, he knew anything in the world was
possible.
~o~
I'll read to you here, save your eyes
you'll need them, your boat is at sea
your anchor is up, you've been swept away
As he lay in his bunk, Obi-wan's skin thrummed in time to the
soft noise of the repaired Nubian hyperdrive, his adrenaline
long ago slowed to a dull thickness in his blood. There were
more than ten standard hours to Coruscant, and every reason in
the galaxy for him to seek sleep.
But he could not.
Qui-Gon was not sleeping, either; he lay on his back with his
eyes closed, his mind workin gdeftly to reweave the unraveling
shreds of his control. Obi-wan did not disturb him, did not
want to offer comfort that would be refused. But he couldn't
pretend to sleep, not after how deeply they had both been
shaken.
He rolled over, gasped slightly, involuntarily, as the pillow
touched his sunburned cheek. Tatooine. He sighed, thinking as
he did so of all the tiny drops of moisture that had been lost
to the baking winds as he exhaled. Double-edged shadows, cast
long against the twilit sands, and the faraway hum of
vaporators, sucking liquid from the air.
Silly loveplay in the rain seemed an unimaginable luxury. For a
moment he held up the memory, cherishing it: remembering the
spongy feel of moss beneath his boots, the way his master's
face had shone under the returning sun, the rich wet smell of
the lurra trees as the angled sunlight laced through the
tapestried leaves. The dripping walk back to the Council,
winking at each other, too incredulously happy to care much
about a passing scowl or stare.
But it evaporated, as all his thoughts had done of late, into
the obscuring dry heat of the planet they'd found themselves
on. And the terrifying vision of Qui-Gon lightsaber dueling.
His master had not seen such-- devoted-- competition since
Obi-wan himself had mastered the art. The thought of such a
fierce blade wielded to kill, instead of to dance...
There was a sheen of age around his teacher, there was
no other way to describe it, time speeding up in the rhythm of
his pulse and the shallow breath from his lips. And though he'd
changed and cleaned, he still smelled of sand and sweat and
Shmi Skywalker's cooking. Foreign. More than he was afraid of
anything, he was afraid of that. Unfathomable distance.
"Obi-wan."
He hadn't realized how dry his mouth was until he tried to
swallow. "Yes, Master?" His feet had him at the foot of
Qui-Gon's bed before the rest of him had quite caught up.
Qui-Gon didn't open his eyes. "I'm afraid you're going to have
to show me again, padawan. It would have been very useful this
time."
Obi-wan blinked, confused. "Master?"
This time Qui-Gon did open his eyes. "Your backflip, my
athletic padawan. I know that airborne combat is a specialty of
yours." He sat up, stretching lithely, the line of his muscles
spelling weariness, but no longer exhaustion. "Leaping for the
ramp of the ship back there... if I could have flipped out of
the way of his saber, I would have had a much cleaner landing.
As it was, I got a bit singed." He touched a hand ruefully to a
strand of blackened hair.
Obi-wan bit back a laugh, caught at his master's hand and
squeezed it, wondering what to say.
Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, raised a hand and touched his
apprentice's cheek. Obi-wan knew it was coming but he flinched
nonetheless, hissing between his teeth. Nothing showed in his
master's face, but his voice was half a shade quieter. "You got
a bit singed, yourself."
Rueful smile, ashamed that he could not better hide his
weakness. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon did not move his hand away, as he thought he would, but
lifted his other till Obi-wan's face was cradled in his palms.
His expression did not change, but he let his eyelids slide
closed, savoring the burn of Obi-wan's image behind his eyes.
Barely formed thoughts leaked along the edges of his mind--
~Young and strong and full of promise. Fine trained lines of
sinew and strength. Taking flight.~ "Show me, Padawan," was
what he said.
"The backflip? I would show you, Master, to save the rest of
your hair, but I doubt this cabin is large enough for proper
demonstration--" Obi-wan couldn't quite think past the gentle
stinging pain of his Master's callouses against his sunburn.
"Show me."
"Here? I cannot--"
Qui-Gon's voice was low and insistent, repeating familiar
words. "Do what you think you cannot do."
Obi-wan obeyed, touching his master's mind with his own and
reaching out into the Force, feeling the rush of air and the
pull of muscle as if he truly were coiling and leaping. He
opened himself to it, letting it dance through himself and into
the older man through the contact of his spread hands. And he
moved again, this time with the touch of his master's body
against his own, following, learning. He could feel Qui-Gon
drinking the lesson thirstily, hanging there in a song of
suspended motion.
Only when they had landed and Qui-Gon's hands wrapped around
him to gather him back down to the bunk, warm as the wash of
his approval, did Obi-wan realize that his face was cool,
tingling with the Force energy they had shared, pulled through
his master's healing fingers.
~o~
and the greatest of teachers won't hesitate
to leave you there by yourself
chained to fate
His eyes were closed; he knew that much. His body was still and
breathing meditation-slowly, focusing on the world beyond his
eyes. There was a sticky feeling behind his face, a hotness
like he were sick, or sunburnt again. He remembered that he was
alone. That Qui-Gon was gone. A shiver crawled down his spine,
lingering all the way from his scalp to his toes.
He would not let himself be afraid. Not of his own mind.
Around him there was blackness like coldest space. And then a
red like fire, hard to look at, sharp tongues of color burning
across the molten dark, coalescing into the shape of a face.
Almost-- achingly almost-- human, violent even in stillness. A
twitch of the cheek muscle, and the tattooed eyelids drew open,
unsheathing eyes like hot cruel suns, yellow as thirst or
disease. Those lips moved in a terrifying smile, pulled back to
reveal feral teeth in the black and red mask of a face.
He tried to swallow the recognition that rose in his throat
like bile. Sith. The Sith who had killed-- his thoughts stopped
there. The Sith who he had already killed, his mind repeated
almost desperately. A Sith already dead.
He barely had time to blink before that terrible face descended
on him, lean red-black patterned body coagulating out of the
nothing. When his lightsaber leapt to life, Obi-wan's own
responded in his hand, and he moved without thought into
battle. He had to, his will seemed not his own, caught in time
and fighting endlessly on.
Feline-quick and awesome in his strength, the Sith fought naked
like a dancer or an animal, and the Force rang around him in
horrible empty echoes. Blade to blade sang out, the sick smell
of burning filling his consciousness. That voracious smile
hovered only inches from his own, hot breath like desert
sandstorms on his face. Their lightsabers thrummed and crackled
with energy as they held against each other, temporary
stalemate.
Then a wet tongue snaked out to lick red and black lips, the
smile deepening to a leer. The eyes devoured him slowly, and he
felt his fingers begin to tremble.
"You have always been fighting me," a voice murmured against
his ear. Obi-wan gasped; the hate was reflexive, like water
hissing into steam on a hot metal surface. "We are each
other's..." Obi-wan's skin crawled at those hot-breathed words.
"...destiny."
~Faster, easier, more seductive.~ The voiceless thought
resounded in his head. ~End this fight. End this agony. Easier.
More seductive.~
Anger and self-loathing joined the hatred, swelling at the
thought, and he pushed himself violently away, his saber
spinning in his sweat slicked palms.
The Sith spoke on, eyes never leaving his face. "I have
destroyed everything you ever loved." Slight deliberate pause,
soaking in his enemy's grief and budding fear. "I will destroy
everything you will ever love."
Obi-wan's veins screaming with deja vu, he lunged lightning
fast at the Sith, aiming to kill, not caring that he was being
bated, not caring whatever darkness he was drinking to call
upon such strength. ~Must end this fight.~
But this time the blow whizzed past, the Sith more agile,
jumping quicker than thought. As if he'd anticipated that very
blow. With a thrust and a spin he managed to hook one of
Obi-wan's arms behind his back, pinning it to his shoulder and
capturing him. His blade arm hung useless, nothing in range to
strike.
That's when he could sense the others. A council of minds
arranged around them, Force-bright minds boring into him.
Refusing to offer any help. He had no secrets, the caress of a
dozen unflinching souls burning relentlessly into every nerve
ending. And an angry Sith at his back, grinning into his neck.
He shivered, and the Sith scented his fear along the sheen of
his sweat.
~o~
I alone love you, I alone tempt you, I alone love you
fear is not the end of this
His muscles tensed, trying to gauge how hard he would have to
thrust to drive his lightsaber through his own chest to hit the
Sith before his lifeless fingers lost control of the blade.
The Sith laughed softly, gleefully, trailing hungry bites along
the pulse of his throat. The circle of watching minds seemed to
recoil, and Obi-wan had to fight the wave of nausea as he
realized what he'd been contemplating. That would not be
victory.
The Sith suckled at his earlobe, just to feel him writhe.
"You're a passionate one," he hissed, in a voice full of
shadows. "Feel that twinge of despair?" His hands played across
Obi-wan's chest, making his heart knock against his ribcage.
The Sith drank his heady fear like wine, savoring terror from
such a Jedi soul. "That," he said, moistly against the hollow
of Obi-wan's ear, "is me."
Terribly teasing fingertips danced horribly along his sides,
till his blood was screaming for release and his bound hand was
numb and forgotten.
"I know you want this." And the shameful thing was that he
did want it; he ached to die under the Sith's touch, to
fail brilliantly and agonizingly and irrevocably.
"Kill me," he said, or he tried to say, because his traitor
lips whispered instead, "Touch me."
And he did, red and black knowing fingers found him underneath
his clothing and mercilessly plucked the string of his desire.
Sharp teeth found the sensitive flesh near his collarbone and
left thin trails of blood, each animal kiss punctuating the
rhythm of his quickening hand. Tightening, tightening, till
Obi-wan thought his knees would give and his mind would snap,
so frighteningly submissive to a Sith he could not even see--
But could feel, as abruptly he moved closer and felt an
answering ache in the body behind his own, strong dark hardness
driven painfully into his hips.
He wanted to scream but couldn't remember how, and so leaned
back into the sharp agonized embrace of evil. The Sith held
him, but not strongly, not even that much of comfort.
"Surrender," said a voice in his head and into his lips. "The
darkness is waiting for you." The tightening heat began to
unravel, the shreds of his control evaporating as his body
sought an end-- to passion, to suffering. "Come for me. The
darkness wants you." Agonizingly ungentle fingers worked his
length, and it was building from the soles of his feet, a
screaming hot fire to burn away the remainders of his soul, to
claim him forever. He rode the cresting scalding wave--
"No." He said it softly, but found that he meant it. ~Not like
this.~
The Sith laughed cruelly against his mouth. "You have little
choice." The hand slowed, tantalizing and dreadful and
delicious and Obi-wan nearly did scream. "Tell me you want
this."
He wouldn't beg for humiliation. He would not. His body sang to
betray him, but his mind floundered towards sanity. His
lightsaber was still ignited; he clung to that information. He
couldn't kill the Sith, he realized with startling clarity. He
had killed him once, dancing with the darkness, and the fear
had not ended. He could not lose this fight without losing
everything.
So close-- so close-- he throbbed with it. He had only to lay
his head over and the great fierce wind of it would blow over
him. Taking him with it.
Somehow he ignored the pulsing need and swung his saber around
to cut off the Sith's hand.
An inconceivably agonized shriek, howling through him, and he
realized that the Sith had no more power over him. He had no
time to wonder if he'd done himself any damage in the process,
for suddenly the Sith was-- Anakin? Childish still but
older somehow, cradling the bleeding, smoking-- smoking?--
remains of his arm and weeping bitterly. Layers of hatred
blazed out at him from eerie young eyes and Obi-wan felt the
skittering thin dregs of what had once been a raging dark tide
within him, coursing sickly through his veins.
For now, the fear had withdrawn.
And he came out of the meditation, shuddering and sobbing
weakly into his tunic. The Council around him regarded him
quietly, almost sympathetically. "Difficult, your way is," Yoda
said softly, moving to stand next to the shaken Jedi who knelt
among them. "Hard choices you will make."
Obi-wan wanted to melt into Yoda's reassuring life-presence
simply through the small hand on his shoulder. He swallowed
back words he didn't know how to speak, tried to steady his
breathing.
"The dark side is... seductive," Mace Windu said dryly, and his
eyes were wry and bright. "I do not envy you your intensity of
feeling."
Obi-wan suppressed a shudder, feeling as if they were simply
toying with him. He felt no less vulnerable than he had in the
vision, now, watching the slant of golden sunlight through the
wide windows of the Theed palace.
In all his years of anticipation, never once had he imagined
his Jedi trials would be like this.
He almost allowed himself to think of the stainedglass lurra
leaves, catching the light and refracting brilliance over an
upturned face. Like a different lifetime.
Only dimly did he realize that he and Yoda were alone.
"Pleased, Qui-Gon would be. A credit to his teaching, you have
been."
He bit back a shuddering sigh, a brightness suffusing the world
behind his eyelids.
"Confer on you the level of Jedi knight, the Council does."
A first victory, hard-earned, and though he could sense his
battlefields stretching broad and long and bloody before him,
he could almost smile. ~Thank you, Master.~
~o~
it's easier not to be great
and measure these things by your eyes
we long to be here by his resolve
alone in the church by and by
Bits of the ceiling had fallen, like forgotten star patterns,
leaving a jagged but recognizable colonnade. No longer so high
or so bright, the quiet meditation hall was full of an eerie
quiet. There were no illye flowers to tinkle and sing in the
wind.
There was no wind.
More unsettled than he wanted to admit, Obi-wan eyed the
not-quite familiar surroundings. Sunlight filtered disturbingly
through the holes in the roof, illuminating the dust of an
abandoned holy place, and the shining fair head of the man who
had driven out all the believers. Not for the first time, he
wondered just what he was trying to do, coming back here. No
weapons, they had agreed. Just to meet face to face as men...
and speak one to another. To what end, he could not tell.
"Qui-Gon left you," the black-clad figure said, breaking the
silence, his voice alarmingly normal. "Why shouldn't you have
left me? Alone to our fates." He laughed, a wrong kind of sound
in that place. "I think I've fended quite well without you--"
Obi-wan tried not to choke. "I did not leave you, Anakin.
You left me."
"The vaunted Jedi mentor! How terribly noble. Never leaving
anything unfinished, anything at all." He grinned, his blue
eyes sharp, his face fiercely bright. "Is this where you
wanted to be?" He stared at Obi-wan unblinking. "When you were
twelve and just dying to be apprenticed, I mean. Is this
what you envisioned?"
Obi-wan's eyes stung, blinking at the quick unexpected turn of
thought. Such bitterness from one so young. He shook his head.
Not so young anymore. The honest truth leaked out of him before
he could stop it. "No. It is not."
With a disconcerting glee Anakin moved around him, nearly
dancing, weaponless but with enough hostility in his eyes that
Obi-wan wanted to run. "This was not my dream, either," the
younger man said pleasantly, words punctuated by the dark swish
of his cape, the staccatto rhythm of his boots against the
marble floor. "The mighty Jedi, wise and compassionate,
striding into my small backwater life." His conversational tone
made Obi-wan's skin crawl, as his thoughts meandered on. "You
never walk, do you? Always stride." A sound a little like a
giggle. "Or stalk." As he spoke, he did so, long purposeful
mocking steps around the man he had once called Master.
Obi-wan tensed, waiting for Anakin's unstable line of thought
to shatter. Still he flinched a little when Anakin spun on him
all suddenly, his eyes narrow and dangerous. "You did not come
to free slaves."
Hearing the accusation that he did not speak, Obi-wan's skin
prickled. "Qui-Gon did what he could--"
"The first casualty of a long and bitter war," Anakin almost
smiled. "Fires lit to scald away impurities and melt our souls
to finest liquid." A pause. "We all grieved his passing,
Obi-wan. But his story is done and told."
~No. Not over yet.~ Obi-wan stood his ground, the anger gnawing
hotly at the edges of his mind. He would not be provoked.
"Qui-Gon gave you the galaxy," he said simply. "It would be
hard to change the world from a moisture farm on Tatooine."
Anakin grinned wryly, remembering a little boy's wonder at the
myriads of strewn stars in a desert night. "Harder than you
know." He spread his hands expansively, as if to gather all the
wreckage of the meditation hall close to himself, cherishing
the rubble and the broken heart of the place. "You found me,
not the other way around. You did not come bringing peace,
Jedi. You came to bring a sword; and I have learned how to
wield it."
"No," Obi-wan tried to say, but could not, for there was
undeniable truth lancing along those words, splintering beneath
his skin. His voice faltered. "Not for darkness, not for sheer
power."
"Of course not. I never fight for the darkness; the darkness
fights for me." He smiled, a real smile. "And power? I wouldn't
set my sights so low. I fight, as you say, for the galaxy I was
given. I..." and he met Obi-wan's eyes relentlessly. "... was
well-taught."
Viscous cold despair dripped into the openmouthed wounds of
Obi-wan's soul, as he realized perhaps for the first time just
what he had created in his master's image.
"Ah, despair," Anakin said, reading him too well. He smirked,
resting his right hand on Obi-wan's chest, just above the
triphammer of his heart. "That is me."
Something hot and tight exploded inside Obi-wan, huger than
panic, to feel the echoes of an almost forgotten nightmare. He
wrested himself away, panting as if he'd been bound in heavy
chains. ~Gone, gone, the boy I had such hopes for. Or were they
not even my hopes? Gone. Swallowed into darkness. I'm
sorry, Master. I have failed you again--~
Afterward, he was never quite sure what happened, if he had run
and Anakin pursued him, or the other way around. All was
spinning crazily around him, pressure in his skull enough to
drive him mad. He only knew that he must find the one bright
spark left of his padawan ~save him!~ or else destroy what he
had become.
There was a tremendous fight, hand to hand without the
civilized distance of their hand-created Jedi blades, all
ragged breathing and the fire of blood in their chests, and the
searing agony of familiar souls, pitted against each other--
dancing with the blackness threatening to subsume both their
interwoven heartbeats.
Their battle pushed them through the corridors of what had been
the Jedi Temple, taking them further and further into the
shadowy heart of the building, where the reactor core waited,
molten and patient.
Gulping for breath, they found themselves in the deepest
chambers, raw suffocating heat rising from the abused abandoned
core. The jagged dark plexisteel floor rumbled under their feet
in the ancient language of earthquake, and the uncertain
tremulous whispers of impending explosions.
"Anakin," Obi-wan coughed, feeling salt blood trickling from
his lip. ~Don't do this, not now, come back with me, come back
to me...~ But he could find no words, feeling helpless before
the naked angry blue of Anakin's eyes. He gestured with an
outstretched hand, watching the pale reflection of his palm
swallowed down and down into the burnished blackness of the
floor.
But Anakin saw only the aggression, and soundlessly leapt the
distance between them, and Obi-wan too late realized he was
fighting in self-defense. The world beneath them and juddered
and shook, falling away and inviting them to join it, a
tremendous head-on collision with destiny. Both men stumbled.
And Anakin fell.
There was no scream, but Obi-wan felt a crushing mental wave
skirling his name. ~Obi-wan...~
And then he could feel through the Force something awakening,
that hot life presence, tortured and twisted and furious -- and
still very much alive. Damaged flesh crying for a miracle of
healing... or of mechanics. Obi-wan shuddered, a vision of
metal prosthetics and singed skin and hair coming unasked to
his mind.
Blindly, he ran from that place, and when he broke the surface
there was no rain to soften the earth beneath his feet, or
block the scalding sun from his eyes.
~o~
to cradle the baby in space
and leave you there by yourself
chained to fate
I alone love you, I alone tempt you, I alone love you
fear is not the end of this
The artificial body loomed, black and massive. Obi-wan
swallowed, trying not to remember the lithe youth that had once
spun and jumped with a newly-built lightsaber, intoxicatingly
proud of his new weapon. His adolescent elbows and knees had
smoothed in the fierce sweet dance of dueling. How much faster,
heavier, would that weapon be now, wielded in these new
mechanical fingers?
There was so much more of evil shrouding that dark figure now,
than the cloudy young mind he'd last tried to save. Such a
descent. "Only a master of evil, Darth," he heard a calm voice
say, dimly recognizing it as his own. All that remained of
Anakin gone, now wicked and warped and only Sith, carrying
death in those black-gloved hands.
Just as he had buried his feelings as deep within him as he
dared, his young companions skittered around a corridor and
caught sight of his battle. Twin life-presences glowed there,
beyond him, and he caught his breath.
Remembered the a deep sad hopeful look of a woman years ago,
and the feathered heat of twin pulses, cradled beneath her
heartbeat. Among the stars. He couldn't remember the words he
might have spoken to comfort her as she left for Alderaan, or
the promises he might have whispered over the baby foreheads as
he orchestrated what he hoped would be their safety. But he
remembered the brave smile she had given him.
Because he was seeing it again, in the princess not fifteen
meters from the end of her father's lightsaber blade.
Ferociously he quelled his thoughts, afraid he'd already
revealed too much, but the Sith had a mind only for gloating,
and did not sense the fond tremulous wave that leaked from
Obi-wan's heart. Light, but she had grown, into a lovely woman
like her mother... and just as deeply at the heart of the
trouble.
Rushing to a head, all things were, and he felt he'd forgotten
the steps to the dance. Maybe if there were more time, and his
new apprentice--
Unfair to call the boy his padawan. After a first disastrous
apprenticeship, Obi-wan was obscurely glad that Luke's training
was out of his hands. It was, wasn't it? Luke had already
learned far more than Obi-wan could have taught him, thank the
Force. Yoda would perhaps be able to help him hone that
Skywalker talent... But to abandon him now, thus alone?
Something shimmered in his consciousness. He would leave his
second padawan. As Qui-Gon had left him. The syncopation of
history shuddered in his chest and he felt almost like
laughing. ~If it must be so.~
He had killed a demon Sith once before and it had not ended any
pain. He lowered his weapon.
The hot sizzle, the blade through his chest, the feeling of
dissolving--
~o~
oh now we took it back too far
only love can save us now
all these riddles that you burn
all come running back to you
It was dark and chill, and Force-shadowy too, echoing odd
bright reflections around his seeking mind. He sighed and
readied himself. If it were Luke needing him again, he would
have to spin the same story. Again. How many times, over and
over to himself? ~My decision. My Master's legacy. My failure.
My padawan lost. My friend lost. My failure. My friend's son--~
Shaking himself, he banished the refrain that was his only
company. Something was still left undone. Chill swampthick air
began to slide through him; he could see a familiar face
shining at him through the marshy phosphorescence, at the
instant that young Skywalker recognized him too.
And Luke called him Obi-wan for the first time. He swallowed
the reflexive smile, hearing echoes of other voices long dead
to him, and Yoda's residual essence. As simple as that, Old Ben
was laid to rest, years of waiting solitude in the desert were
gently laid over. He was Obi-wan, and some tiniest hope
glimmered inside him.
"Yoda will always be with you."
He knew by Luke's sigh that he was tired of the halftruths, of
the Jedi wisdom that kept the heart's pain just a hair's
breadth out of reach. Or maybe they were both tired.
~You must do what you think you cannot do,~ he did not allow
himself to repeat the words that his master had spoken so
easily to him, what felt like worlds and lifetimes ago. ~Do
what no one thinks you can do.~
~o~
all these riddles that you hide
only love can save us now
all these riddles that you burn
I alone love you, I alone tempt you, I alone love you
fear is not the end of this
A hoarse shout and a severed hand, and underneath Obi-wan was
hearing a child weeping. Anakin, as he was seen in Obi-wan's
trial-meditation so long ago. He sought the face, to see who
brought the truth to the vision he'd seen... or brought vision
to the truth he'd seen? He couldn't rememember, time was all in
knots in his mind, and careening through space to a final
conclusion. He felt the flash and burn of battle in space,
fought to concentrate, pushing himself to match the terrifying
pace of events, on, on on. It mattered-- Who had dared to slice
the death-touched hand of Darth Vader?
Luke.
Obi-wan felt himself fraying, so much spiralling out of
control. So much lost, if Luke was so deeply in darkness that
he could best his demons-- Sith nemesis-- father. Who? Too much
of pain for too long; Obi-wan had lived too long in fear of
failure, why did he blanch at it now? He felt numb. If there
were life without fear-- no, he was already dead. If there were
anything without fear, what would there be, true
beneath?
Luke was riding that wave of darkness just as he had long ago,
and Obi-wan no longer tried to hold the pieces of himself,
pulled a million different directions, scattered like stars,
worse than dying. The end--
Wait.
Like falling unexpected out of hyperdrive, he found himself
somewhere, disconcerting, unfamiliar. Sweet smell of trees and
rich earth and rainfall and growing things. He hesitated to
reach out with the Force, and in that instant the Force reached
out to him.
He was not alone.
Millions of souls hung there with him, drinking it thirstily--
the moment when the fate of the universe depended utterly on a
young man's fierce and unexpected love for his father. Watching
with incredulous wonder as Luke did what none of them thought
he could do: fighting past the darkness, pouring himself into
it and finding that luminous spark that was Anakin.
Balance swiftly restored, like a thousand galaxies singing
harmony.
Beyond feeling justified or exhilarated or redeemed, Obi-wan
knew that he was no longer afraid. And all the spirits around
him laughed, Jedi one with the Force, and welcoming him. And
with a shock he realized that it had always been so. The path
was his to take-- legacy, to be swallowed alive by destiny, to
live bright and hot at the center of the planet's core, to sing
like fire or wine through the heartsblood of the universe. Such
a bright-edged path to walk, when each word meant a universe.
Any misstep and he could go out of control, go mad, go farther
and faster away. But any step fulfilled, and he would come to
his senses, come back--
The release that had been building was vast and utter
brightness dissolving through him, and he did not have to fight
it this time. Himself young and buoyed up on the sweep of it,
he had only to tilt his chin and seek a smile, and there were
large warm fingers in his hair, and vanillanut kisses in the
rain, coming endlessly home.
~fin~
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