Finding the Path

by Flamethrower

Title: Finding the Path

Author: Flamethrower

Archive: Just MA for now, since my site hath been broken. *sigh*

Category: Q/O, AU, H/C

Warning: Slippery when wet.

Spoilers: ...You know, if it weren't for the books still coming out, this would be a dead category.

Summary: 13th story in the Lonely Place `verse.

Series order: All ten parts to date can be found here, as well as on the Archive.

Feedback: Yep. I do so enjoy it!

Thanks: to Merry Amelie, writestufflee, and mrs_stanley - you guys are my awesome beta crew, and I would be publishing horrible, horrible glitches if it weren't for you.

Classic Disclaimer: "Rob? That's a naughty word, we never rob! We just... sort of borrow."
"Borrow? Boy, are we in debt!"

The day of Beru and Owen's wedding dawned with dark, ominous clouds gathering towards the western horizon. Beru had taken one look at them and bounced up and down with glee. "A good omen!" she cried, when Obi-Wan gave her a mystified look. "Rain for a wedding on Tatooine is a blessing, not a curse."

He stared at the distant clouds while Owen went to go wake the rest of the household. "You mean it actually rains on this rock?"

"Of course it does," Beru grinned. "If it never rained, what would we harvest?"

"Sand," he replied. "You could ship it offworld to resorts that want pretty beaches."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Beru said, and went back down the stairs to dress for the day. He listened to the sounds floating up from the complex, paying particular attention to Owen pounding on Anakin and Padmé's door to rouse them.

"Please, have mercy!" Anakin yelled back, accompanied by what had to be the sound of an ex-Senator swearing. "We have children!"

"Yes, we know," Owen responded, sounding far more cheerful than usual. "We had to listen to you feed them all night long!"

"I miss being an only child!"

"I love you, too, stepbrother!" Owen said, ducking back into the house proper.

He grinned. He was starting to like home.

He meditated, kneeling on the sand above the homestead while a near-constant breeze kept the heat from stifling him. The first time he'd managed this, three days ago, Anakin had joined him. They had sat together in a shared meditation, and tears had run down his face the entire time. He'd missed this, had forgotten this, for the Light always made him feel welcome, cherished, where Darkness had left him cold and isolated.

He was still getting used to having the rest of his senses back, and knew that he had a long road to walk. Yet he could see where that walk might lead him, now, whereas before he couldn't even find a path.

He opened his eyes as the second sun rose up over the horizon, frowning. There was something... something trying to catch his attention. He tried to follow that elusive thread and was confounded, for it dwindled off into nothing.

Anakin came up the stairs, one of his children slung over his shoulder. He wore a shirt that looked like it was ready for a recycler, which made it perfect for hauling around babies with a penchant for burping up everything they ate. When he saw the clouds, his face lit up with a broad grin. "Morning, Obi-Wan."

"Good morning. Sleep well?" he asked, managing a properly solicitous smile.

Anakin glared at him for a moment. Then he lifted his head, glancing around as he shifted Luke from one shoulder to the other. The baby didn't so much as twitch in response. Of course. Now they were sleeping. He was tempted to lay credits on the fact that Luke and Leia would wake up and scream during the important parts of the wedding. "Did you... hear anything?" Anakin asked him.

He shook his head. "I sense something," he said. "I just don't know what it is."

"Hmm." Anakin spent a moment with his head tilted in contemplation before shrugging. "I guess we'll just have to keep an eye out for trouble, same as always. Here, hold this," Anakin said, and bent down to thrust Luke into his arms.

He looked down, up, and then over, since Anakin had already retreated to jog back down the steps. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!"

Anakin grinned at him. "It's a baby. You hold him long enough for me to take a shower and find clothing that hasn't been barfed on repeatedly."

Obi-Wan glanced down at the infant in his arms. Luke opened his eyes, saw him, and began to cry. "I'll bet your father still takes long showers, too," he muttered, rocking the baby in his arms. "Why can't you be more like your sister? She just dumps visions on my head. You, my little friend, are loud."

In the afternoon, the storm clouds on the horizon had been joined by an entire legion of thunderheads. The sky was dark and heavy with rain waiting to pound down. They were all standing out in the sandy courtyard in what finery they had, waiting to be soaked by it.

Beru and Owen were exchanging vows under the watchful, kind eyes of the local priest, a man who followed the Force and a few gods Obi-Wan had never heard of indiscriminately. As Beru had suspected, Padmé had gifted her with a simple yet elegant gown of white lace whose value could have bought half the property in Mos Espa. It was a beautiful dress, though, and Owen had been stunned into silence when she'd emerged from the homestead proper with Padmé at her side.

The wind blew constantly, ruffling his hair, making Anakin's cloak billow out behind him in the breeze. It was the most chaotic, informal wedding he'd ever attended, and it was already his favorite. Even the droids were present, standing as witnesses. For once they were quiet, not bickering back and forth about... well... whatever it was that droids argued about. C-3PO and R2-D2 seemed to dither more than most.

"Beru Whitesun, do you vow to honor and to cherish, to protect and to love this man, the mate of your heart, for as long as you both draw breath?" the priest intoned, giving Beru a kind smile.

"Yes," she replied, smiling radiantly at Owen. "For as long as I draw breath, and ever after."

"And you, Owen Lars. Do you-"

"Yes, I do, ever and after and always," Owen interrupted. "Yes! Can we please skip to the good part?"

The priest chuckled at Owen's impatience, Shmi covered her mouth with her free hand to hold in her laughter, and Padmé exchanged an amused, loving look with her husband. Beru pinned her husband-to-be with a glare that melted into a forgiving smile when Luke began chirruping happily from his place in his grandfather's arms.

He started to smile, but the expression died before it could form. He was unused to the entreaties of the Force, still, but something... something was... off. He lifted his head and smelled the air, uneasy. What the hell?

A few feet away he noticed Anakin begin to glance around, a half-frown on his face. Padmé gave him a questioning look. The priest, oblivious to the exchange, carried on with the ceremony. "I have been assured that no one here will ever step forth to stand between the love you share, so I will come to the end. I now pronounce you husband and wife, Owen and Beru Lars."

"Kiss her, you idiot!" Cliegg roared, when Beru and Owen did nothing more than stare at each other in unabashed delight.

They kissed, the droids and gathered humans applauded, and the first peal of thunder sounded. But none of it was enough to mask the lowing of a Bantha, followed by the peal of the perimeter alarms.

"Get inside!" Anakin shouted, his lightsaber already in his hand. His family, long-used to the dangers of Tatooine, needed no further instruction. Owen grabbed the arm of the priest when the old man hesitated in confusion.

"Time to go, gramps!" Owen yelled, and Obi-Wan heard the almost deafening sound of thunder. No, not thunder - this was the sound of a massive amount of Banthas running, and they were all headed in the direction of the homestead.

He made sure he was the last one in as they all ducked inside the shelter of the homestead. A quick run through one of the short corridors led them into the back end of the garage. Weapons were stored there, and, if the worst happened, the speeders were close. Escape was possible, but as far as the family was concerned, it was the last option. On Tatooine, you defended what was yours, or you lost it.

"Well, at least the defenses for the dome are up," Cliegg said, pulling a blaster rifle down from the wall and tossing it to Owen. The next one wound up in Beru's hands. Both of them handled the weapons well; he had no concerns there. "They're not going to get in here easily."

"Yes, but we're also surrounded," Anakin said, taking Leia from C-3PO's arms and handing her to his mother, who had already taken Luke from Cliegg. Shmi cradled the twins and offered them soothing words, but the twins were silent, looking around with bright interest at the commotion. "They're not going to stop until they burn the place to the ground." Padmé took a moment to unpin the veil from Beru's hair, and her new sister-in-law nodded in thanks.

He wanted to fidget in place as he thought of and dismissed one plan of action after another. The war that Jonash Solo had warned them about had arrived on their doorstep, and he had no blasted idea what to do. There was another rumble, this one coming from above their heads, as the storm decided to remind them of its presence. "They would choose today, of all days," Owen grumbled, slinging the blaster rifle into place over his shoulder.

"It could be worse," Padmé said, checking the charge on the blaster that Owen presented her with. "You could have been on your honeymoon."

"Kalarba was nice, wasn't it?" he said, drawing Padmé and Anakin's attention.

Anakin scowled at him. "That was you?"

"Of course it was," he said, the barest hint of a smile on his face. "Why do you think no one died that day?"

Padmé released a quick laugh. "That explains so much."

"I'm so glad there's amusement to be had," he murmured, but in truth he was thinking of what came after. Sidious had not been pleased to discover that Venge had been unable to assassinate Senator Amidala in the midst of her not-quite-sanctioned honeymoon with Anakin Skywalker. It was the only time the Sith had ever lost his temper with him, icy control melting into insane fury. He remembered almost nothing of that following few days, and memory problems had plagued him for weeks afterward.

Another rumble of thunder broke the momentary silence, and what followed it chilled him to the core.

"VENGE!" a harsh, angry voice cried, the word echoing along the passageway. "I know you're there!"

Not here, he thought. He broke out into a cold sweat, his hands trembling. Please, not here.

"I think I know who that is," Anakin said, tilting his head as he did when he wanted to listen to the fine whispers of the Force. "I'm almost certain that's-""

"Come out, traitor! I will have blood for what you've done to my people!"

"A'Sharad," he whispered, finishing Anakin's sentence. A'Sharad Hett, Jedi Knight, Tusken Raider by birth and by choice.

"Well, that explains how he managed to unite the tribes." Anakin said, but he barely heard the words. He reached up, his fingers resting for a moment on the black line of sigils that crossed his left cheek. When he drew his fingers back, he was surprised not to find blood there, so often had it been his companion.

"Obi-Wan?"

He looked up to find everyone staring at him, but not with the scorn he'd almost expected to see. There was only love and concern for him in their eyes, along with a healthy dose of apprehension for the dire nature of the situation at hand.

Beru was standing with Owen, their hands clasped together, determination in their eyes and in the way they carried themselves. Padmé was next to them, looking fit and ready to mow down a few dozen Tuskens with her bare hands, if need be. Shmi stood with the twins in her arms, her gaze filled with a serenity that he didn't share. His father had his hand on Shmi's shoulder, his mouth a stern line as he prepared once more to take up arms to defend his family and home. The priest knelt on the floor a few feet away, his eyes closed, mumbling under his breath. Praying, he supposed.

Anakin was giving Obi-Wan an intent, measuring look. "You don't have to go out there," he said. There was no fear to be found in the man his brother had become.

He had no reason to fear.

"Yes, I do," he said. In the next moment, as jeers and catcalls began to echo from the Tuskens that surrounded the homestead, an old piece of knowledge presented itself, made him smile. "Give me your lightsaber," he said to Anakin. "I have an idea."

There was a pause, and then Anakin grinned and shook his head. "I can do something better than that," he said, and with his free hand fished around on the inside of his robe for a moment. He withdrew a second lightsaber hilt and placed it into Obi-Wan's palm.

He stared at what he held in surprise. "This is my lightsaber."

"It had better be, or else I've been carrying around the wrong one," Anakin said, grinning even more broadly at his bafflement.

"What the hell are you doing with my lightsaber?" he demanded, igniting the blade with a snap-hiss that was as familiar to him as the sound of his own breathing. He'd quit the Jedi Order. Quit. Didn't anyone know the meaning of the word quit anymore?!

"I thought you might need it," Anakin replied, sounding far too pleased with himself. "Looks like I was right. I took the liberty of replacing the power cell. Hope you don't mind."

He had only used it once in twelve years. He remembered being amazed that it had survived Byss, that it was much the same as it always had been. He, on the other hand, had changed so much it seemed odd that the lightsaber had been built by his hands. "I don't mind."

"Well?" Owen said, catching his attention. His brother looked cross. "Let's get on with this idea of yours, Obi-Wan. Some of us have a transport to catch later."

That made him smile. "Let's go, then," he said, and led the way back down the passageway to the courtyard. He looked up; there were Sand People standing all around the rim of the dome, held at bay by the shield that protected the homestead. One among them stood apart. He held a yellow lightsaber in one hand, and there was a sharp, acrid feeling in the Force that he knew intimately.

A'Sharad Hett was fighting a losing battle with the Dark side of the Force. It made what he had to do easier, and harder. Too many had died by his hands as it was. He thought of Leia as he'd Seen her, a strong and forthright Padawan, and his resolve hardened. He would never be her Master, but Leia Skywalker was going to have the chance to become a Jedi.

He stared up at A'Sharad, and the ghost of a mocking smile curled his lips. "A'Sharad Hett!" he shouted. "I challenge you!"

The Tuskens bellowed back and forth at each other, the grating howls echoing in the courtyard. "What are they saying?" he yelled over the din.

"A'Sharad is trying to deny the challenge, but enough of them understand Basic to know what you said," Anakin said. Hett was swinging his lightsaber in a wide arc around him, howling back at the Tusken warriors he stood with.

"Now what?" he asked, and felt Anakin hesitate. "Well?" The Tuskens had finished their argument, and he had the distinct sense that A'Sharad was not pleased with the outcome.

"They're saying," Anakin said, his voice soft, "that they will go no further while the Vengeance of the Night is standing before them."

Oh.

"They are calling for their leader to fight the Vengeance of the Night, so that the souls he stole will be returned to them." Another crash of thunder sounded, accompanied by lightning, and for a moment the day became lit twilight.

"And if your idea is letting Hett kill you, try to keep in mind that they'll slaughter us the moment you're dead," Anakin added. "I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"Sorry, I'm all out of suicidal right now," he replied faintly. He'd wanted to get away from Venge, had fled halfway across the galaxy to escape all the reminders of his existence. Instead he found that he had become a dark legend, even here. When this was over, the Tusken Raiders would never forget Darth Venge. The thought filled him with frustrated anger.

No. Not that path. Not that way. He drew in a breath and released it, letting his anger fade with it as he had learned to, long ago. No matter what, Venge would be no more. The line of Bane had ended.

"Challenge accepted," Hett shouted back at last. "Come up here and face me!" The first drops of rain fell from the sky as he spoke, hissing in the hot desert sand.

He glanced over at Anakin and nodded. Anakin nodded in response, understanding passing between them.

By the time he climbed the stairs, stepping through the defense shield that would let things out but not in, the rain was pouring down and he was drenched. It wasn't the first lightsaber battle he'd had in a downpour, and he doubted it would be the last, but the setting was damned surreal.

Hett stepped forward to greet him, a snarl flowing out of his breath-mask. The other Tuskens left the dome to gather in a great circle around them. I do not think this was the blessing that Beru had in mind, he thought.

He raised his lightsaber and saluted A'Sharad with it before returning to the ready position. It felt odd to take the defensive, but right, as if he were taking yet one more step on his long path.

"Do not mock me," Hett hissed, swinging his lightsaber in a sudden, swift motion. He dodged and caught the next swing, the blades squealing as they both fought for dominance. A'Sharad was not Darth Sidious. The Knight's skill was great, but he already knew who the victor of this duel was going to be.

He leapt back to escape the locked position and jumped forward, flying at A'Sharad with his blade extended. The Tusken let loose another frustrated growl as he was forced to step back to counter, losing ground he could not afford to give up and still maintain his reputation with the tribes.

He made sure that A'Sharad kept retreating, their blades singing back and forth over the desert sands. The rain and the clouds meant that their lightsabers cast stark yellow and blue light in dizzying patterns as they fought. His teeth were clenched, watching for an opening that he knew would come...

There. He darted forward, under and within A'Sharad's defense, and scored two cuts before ducking and rolling away. He sensed A'Sharad's blade passing just a millimeter from his backside as he leapt back up into place, ready and waiting for the results of his action.

The cloth that covered A'Sharad's left arm came apart, a line parting through multiple layers of cloth from wrist to shoulder. The Tusken Knight's bare skin was starkly visible.

A'Sharad halted mid-stride, and the surrounding warriors silenced their howling. "No," A'Sharad whispered, horrified. "What have you done?!"

"Ended a war," he replied. "It's sort of getting to be a habit of mine." He'd learned years ago that bare skin was the utmost taboo to the Tusken tribes. Once a Tusken Raider had shown his skin to the rest of the world, he was no longer of that tribe - no longer a Tusken.

The warriors that had surrounded them retreated in silence, heading back to their mounts. With their warleader exposed, the alliance was broken. They would go back to their villages, and the old blood feuds would start again. It was, he reflected, not the greatest solution in the world, but the farmers and settlers of Tatooine would breathe a bit easier.

He didn't think A'Sharad would let that be the end of things, and he wasn't disappointed. "YOU!" the one-time Jedi screamed. "You destroy everything!" With that Hett attacked him, putting the full strength of his anger and fury into the blows. Before, A'Sharad still had some semblance of Jedi control remaining. In this, there was none.

He'd weaned his Sith teeth on such displays. He immersed himself in the Force, let time slow, and danced. The rain poured down on his skin, the sands became mud beneath his boots, and the lightning tore apart the sky as A'Sharad Hett did his best to take him apart.

It didn't matter that he hadn't picked up a lightsaber in almost six months. He had trained almost his entire life for moments like these. His body refused to forget, and the Light was with him, filling his mind and heart with the strength to defend against the Darkness that A'Sharad tried to clumsily use against him.

When the first signs of exhaustion touched A'Sharad's limbs, he shook his head. "Enough," he murmured, and made a simple gesture with his free hand.

A'Sharad flew back, parted from his lightsaber by the powerful Force shove. He landed on his back in the mud, howling his rage up at the sky.

He collected Hett's lightsaber as he approached, attaching it to his belt before he pointed his own lightsaber at A'Sharad's throat. "Would you mind being quiet for a moment?" he asked, using the same tone he'd once employed during diplomatic negotiations.

"Kill me, you bastard!" A'Sharad screamed back, his voice agonized. "Kill me like you did my Padawan!"

He frowned, and for a moment was honestly puzzled. "Bhat Jul? I... I did no such thing!" he retorted, flummoxed. "When was the last time you caught the news, A'Sharad?"

"I don't need the HoloNet to tell me what I know!" he growled. "You killed children, Venge! I will never forget! You killed Bhat! You will remember him, damn you!"

He sighed, lowering his blade. "I did kill children. That's true. But Bhat Jul is alive, A'Sharad. He's on Coruscant, with the rest of the two hundred Jedi that I didn't kill."

"I don't believe you," A'Sharad whispered, but there was a flash of hope in his eyes that he couldn't suppress.

"Believe me, then," Anakin said, his voice strong and clear. They both turned; Anakin was standing a few meters away, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair was hanging in dripping wet strands down to his shoulders, which told him that the other Knight had been watching for some time.

"Anakin?" A'Sharad blurted in surprise, ripping off his mask to reveal mismatched eyes, a short crop of black hair, and stark black tattoos on his face that reminded Obi-Wan eerily of the glyphs that marred his own skin.

"I saw Bhat on Coruscant not two weeks ago, A'Sharad." Anakin stepped closer, giving the fallen Tusken an earnest smile. "He's been looking for you for months, hoping that he doesn't have to accept a new Master to finish his training."

A'Sharad looked back and forth between them, puzzled. His anger was starting to fade, replaced by another emotion that he knew - desperation. "It has been so... long," A'Sharad whispered. "I watched so many die. To think that Bhat is... alive..." Desperation started to fade as well, replaced by dawning horror. "I cannot return to him. I have betrayed the teachings of my Masters. He deserves more than I can give to him."

He shut down his lightsaber and knelt down in the sand next to A'Sharad Hett, looking into the eyes of someone he had watched earn his place among the Jedi. "You have a choice, A'Sharad."

A'Sharad frowned at him. "What is this choice you speak of?"

"You can choose to stay here. I'm sure that there are other tribes who'd be willing to wage war against the locals. You could start again, unite them, have your war, destroy lives. You can stay here and become everything it is that you hate about who I used to be," he said, selecting his words with care. The Force was whispering to him, and he saw possibilities in A'Sharad Hett's future that made his skin crawl. Darth Krayt. Remaking that which was made broken. Leader of all, bringer of Darkness. He shoved the imagery aside.

A'Sharad looked horrified. "Or?"

"Or you can go home," he said. "Be who your father trained you to be, keep following the path that Ki-Adi Mundi and Master Kuro helped you to find. It isn't too late to go back and find yourself again, A'Sharad. You are still a Jedi Knight, and there is a Padawan waiting for you, ready to continue on the journey that you once walked together."

In the end, A'Sharad Hett chose to return to Coruscant with Anakin, Padmé, and the twins. They all stood together the next evening at dusk, clustered around the boarding ramp of the sleek Nubian cruiser that Padmé had retained once her tenure as Senator was over. Shmi and Cliegg were saying goodbye to both of their children and their wives, for Beru and Owen were catching a ride on the ship to meet their transport in Mos Eisley. They were due for their own honeymoon on Kalarba, one that would be uninterrupted by assassins and war.

He stood back, watching them interact, and a hint of longing passed through him. He was their son and he was welcome, but he knew that he didn't belong on Tatooine. This place had brought him more healing than he could have ever expected, but he couldn't stay here.

"What will you do?" A'Sharad asked him. The Knight had been quiet since Anakin had explained all that had gone on in the galaxy since A'Sharad had absented himself from it. Now A'Sharad regarded him with watchful eyes, waiting patiently for an answer.

"I don't know. Anakin asked me to come along, and perhaps, one day, I will go back," he said. "But not yet."

A'Sharad gave him a thoughtful look. "No, not yet," he agreed. "But I ask you this: Can you go back to being the man you were?"

He opened his mouth to say yes, and was surprised to find himself saying no. "No, I can't." He swallowed, trying to put his jumbled thoughts back in order. A'Sharad had just touched on one of the things that had been bothering him for months, though the problem had not been clear until that moment. "I think," he said at last, "that there is too much time and distance between the man I was and the man I am now. I don't know how to be Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore."

"Hmm. Then it sounds to me as if you have a choice to make," A'Sharad said, crossing his arms against his chest.

He raised an eyebrow, amused to hear his own words used against him so quickly. "Oh? And what's that?"

A'Sharad smiled. The expression brought warmth to his eyes, and made the harsh lines on his face seem less grim. "You need to choose who, and what, you're going to be."

Anakin strode forward, then, meeting them with a smile. "Are you ready to go, A'Sharad?" he asked.

The Tusken Knight nodded. "It would seem, my friend, that my only baggage is up here," he said, touching his finger to his temple.

He couldn't help but laugh. "I know exactly what you mean."

Anakin nodded his agreement before turning to him. "I have something for you," he said, digging around in his robe again.

He was starting to wonder just how much Anakin was carrying around in his pockets when the young Knight flashed a triumphant smile. "I knew it was in here somewhere!" he said, and presented Obi-Wan with a flat box about the size of his hand with a flourish. A piece of real paper rested on the top, folded and tied into place with several loops of brown leather. "I've been holding onto it for awhile. Almost forgot I had it."

For some reason, he was hesitant to accept what Anakin was offering. "What is it?"

"It's a letter and a box. You read the letter, then you open the box," Anakin deadpanned.

He glowered at him for a moment. He knew well enough where Anakin would have picked up that little habit. He accepted the gift from Anakin, and knew the moment it passed into his hands who it was from. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a single, crazed moment, he was tempted to fling it back at Anakin in stark refusal.

Then his fingers closed around the box, feeling soft paper and real wood, and nothing shy of death was going to remove it from his grasp. "Thank you," he whispered.

Anakin nodded. "Now get over here and give us all a proper farewell," he said, grinning. "And when you leave home, don't forget to keep in touch."

Amused at the man's foresight, knowing Anakin was correct about his eventual departure, he walked across the cooling desert sands to say goodbye.

Full night had fallen. Anakin and Padmé, Beru and Owen, Luke and Leia, A'Sharad and both droids had gone. He had attempted to meditate, but after reading the letter attached to his gift, his mind had become a very chaotic place. He was still on his knees, but he was looking up at the stars, letting the tiny points of light soothe him. The letter was in his right hand, the paper occasionally fluttering in the breeze. The still-unopened box sat on the ground before him.

His father walked out, his long pipe tucked between his fingers. Cliegg settled onto a chair, putting the pipe into his mouth and taking a long pull. Smoke jetted from his nose, and they sat together in comfortable silence.

He broke it at last, voicing a question that had been bouncing around in his mind all evening. "When you... when you and my mother gave me up to the Jedi, why did you change my name?"

Cliegg frowned for a moment, then tapped out the ash from the pipe and sat it on the arm of the chair. "What brought this on?"

"I was curious," he answered. "I have to admit it's been on my mind more than once, of late."

He was quiet for so long that Obi-Wan didn't think his father would answer, and was surprised when he did. "It was not your mother's choice, though she did choose your name. I... when we made the decision to give you to the Jedi, I was ashamed of the name I had given you at your birth." Cliegg scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Ben Lars seemed so plain for the name of a man who would one day be a Jedi Knight - and no, I never questioned that a Jedi was what you would be," he added, giving Obi-Wan a self-conscious smile. "I wanted you to have something special, something that would set you apart from such a poor beginning. Aika thought I was being idiotic, but I am a stubborn man."

He stared at his father, nonplussed. Of all the reasons he had suspected, this was one that had never occurred to him. "Who am I named for, then?"

"Obi-Wan was the name of her father's brother. She thought the world of him, but he died when she was still a child, killed in some damned skirmish over a border dispute."

Loss and memory. Now that was a theme he was familiar with. "It is interesting to discover the real reason I shared a naming style popular among people of my Master's generation instead of my own," he murmured.

"Kenobi..." Cliegg hesitated. "Kenobi isn't a family name. It's an old Ator word for puzzle-solver."

That explained a lot. Searches on his own genealogy as a child had been doomed to failure because there was no such family for him to have been named for. "Why puzzle-solver?"

"I wanted you to have a name you could take pride in, something unique. Obi-Wan Kenobi turned out to be a fine Jedi," Cliegg said, stuffing a fresh lump of tabbac into his pipe before lighting it. Red embers flashed in the dark before strands of smoke began climbing towards the sky once more. While his father smoked, he mulled over what he had just learned.

At last Cliegg stood and stretched. "I'm heading in. Good night, Obi-Wan."

"Good night." He considered the matter for a moment more and spoke again, catching Cliegg before he could make it through the doorway. "Wait... Dad?" he tasted the word, found it not nearly so awkward as he'd feared.

Cliegg half-turned in the doorway, looking back at him. "What is it, son?"

He swallowed, feeling a smile struggling to form on his lips. "I think Ben Lars is a great name for a Jedi."

Cliegg gave him a wide, pleased smile before ducking inside. His eyes lingered on the doorway for a long time before he turned his attention to the letter in his hand once more.

He was not Venge. He was no longer capable of being Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was, however, coming to terms with the fact that he could still be a Jedi.

He lifted up the letter and read it again by the brilliant light of Tatooine's three moons.

My dearest Obi-Wan,

My hope is that you will read the words of one old man, and allow me to voice the regret that I carry in my heart. In many ways, I owe you more apologies than I can ever give to you in one lifetime. I let anger guide my actions, and as a Jedi Master I feel such shame for the words I spoke on the day you left the Temple... and for the words I spoke on so many of the days before that.

As a man, I feel unimaginable loss.

I remember the dream you left me with on Byss. With your parting words, you showed me how well you knew me, how much you understood me. It took me long months and a great amount of time spent on my knees to see my life as the gift you meant it to be, and not the curse I wanted to call it. Without realizing it, I had become as crotchety and hidebound as I used to accuse certain members of the Council of being. I wish to say that I am old and set in my ways, but every time that I do so, Yoda hits me.

I have an incredible number of bruises of late.

The night that you left, I tried my best to find you, but you have long since perfected the art of disappearing into the ether. I had thought of you for years as my copper-haired ghost, so I'm not sure why I suddenly expected to be capable of tracking you.

In those first weeks, when none of us knew where you had gone, I discovered it was possible for my heart to feel as if it were broken anew. I had lost you once, before my heart had whispered the true nature of my feelings for you, and even then I felt as if I had lost part of my soul.

When I lost you again, through no fault save my own blasted foolishness, I felt much like the ghost I had once named you. Everything that I was, everything that I am, is tied up with you, and I ache with such intensity when I think that I might never see you again in this life.

I am a Jedi, and I still breathe. I will go on, and be the man that you gave me the chance to become. The loss of you will always be my greatest mistake, but you would never forgive me if it also became my undoing, for I would be dishonoring your gift, and all of the sacrifices that you made.

You gave me life and hope in the midst of blackest despair. You gave me your heart, even knowing that there might never be a chance to receive mine in return.

Know this: you have held my heart since Roxuli. It will always be yours to keep. I love the man you have become, and the Jedi you have always been. Know that you have my forgiveness for every step that you took to end the line of Bane. While the path was Dark, your intent and commitment to the Light are undeniable.

I hope that, one day, you might forgive the wrongs that I visited upon you. I ask your forgiveness, Obi-Wan.

I had wished to speak these words to you in person, once Anakin finally relented and gave us the knowledge of your location. Considering the interesting words you had for Tatooine during the Naboo fiasco, I find myself bewildered but amused by the choice. It is not to be, however; my attendance at the wedding of Beru and Owen has been superseded by war breaking out on Malatris'sx. Because of our presence there, years ago, it seems I am now uniquely qualified to soothe frayed tempers.

How I wish you were going to be there with me once more. I fear, if left to my own devices, that I might settle for knocking their skulls together and having done with it.

If Anakin does not lose it in the voluminous pockets of his robe, this letter should be accompanied by a gift. There is a message contained within; the words are meant as one Jedi to another, though once there was a lesson in the item for one brave, stubborn, shining Padawan.

How I miss you, my love. No matter what, I hope that the Force will bring you peace, for none deserve it more than you.

Qui-Gon Jinn

A drop of water fell onto the page, and he wiped at his face impatiently. "You always did know how to use words to their greatest effect, Qui-Gon," he whispered, but he was smiling.

At last he took up the wooden box, lifting the tiny, delicate latch with his fingernail. Inside was a soft layer of white foam, cushioning a black rock. His hand was trembling as he reached inside and picked it up. The last time he'd seen the riverstone, it had been in three pieces.

He turned it over and over in his hands, confirming and re-confirming that it was the same stone, that Qui-Gon had not simply returned to his home planet and retrieved another one. His heart in his throat, he held it up to the moonlight and found the sparks of reddish light dancing within. The life-force within the stone felt as it always had, warm and whispering familiar bits of a wordless song.

The message Qui-Gon had mentioned was on a tiny slip of paper, resting on the foam where the stone had lain.

What was once broken can always be made new.