To My Master: A Post-Clone-Wars Journal Entry by Ben Kenobi

by Lilith Sedai (lilith_sedai@hotmail.com)

Archive: master_apprentice only

Rating: PG

Warnings: m/m desire, a lot of angst

Spoilers: this takes place post "TPM" and pre "ANH." Plot spoilers exist within.

Summary: Obi-Wan's thoughts to Qui Gon after Anakin turns to the Dark Side.

Feedback: Any and all comments welcome.

There are days when I can hardly believe I once had a Master. Qui Gon Jinn, I was favored with your guidance for too short a time. You were taken from me before our relationship was perfected, before either of us were ready. It was hard for me to accept it when you were gone. It seemed almost as though the Force left me; I was dry, a hollow shell. And I hated the ones who had come between us, including myself. Myself above all, I think. Even more than Darth Maul. Even more than the boy. Sometimes I still do.

My Master, you were the only one who saw me as I truly was. You found me handsome and worthy in a way that none had ever done before. The Living Force bonded us together irrevocably, from the moment our eyes met, though it took time before we understood, before we admitted to it. Interminable time before the spark and the knowledge passed between us each time our eyes met, before merely being in the same crowded room charged us with a silent invisible fire that only we could feel.

I think that I knew I was yours long before you knew you were mine. I understood that your position, your commitments and responsibilities, made open expressions of physical love impossible between us. But we were together, and our position as teacher and student, master and servant, made denial of the bond impossible. There is something about the nature of this bond that defines explanation, even now. I have only begun to understand how Master and padawan are both learners from the other, each aware of the other in ways no one else can be, neither wife nor lover. The way the Force stirs between them enhances communication. The sense of the other's presence stirs unspoken volumes of knowledge and faith. The sheer magnitude of trust alone is both blessing and burden. It can be hard not to fear such trust, but there is no choice. It simply is--the knowledge that either would fight to the death for the other, gladly.

Sometimes, my Master, you would take me in your arms, move my body to the positions you desired, urging the Force to flow through me, the beat of your heart echoing through me, in unison with mine. At such times I could do all things for you. Strength, calm, power... your presence gave me these things. And your eyes, so deeply joyous, your step so light as you approached me! I looked forward to your touch above all things--the touch of your mind, your presence, your laugh, your eyes... the touch of your hands.

Power eternal through your hands, closed quietly over mine. Those hands so firm and decisive, capable of dealing death, their power matched only by their gentleness and their warmth. My heart filled to overflowing with the knowledge that your deadly hands were completely safe for me, and perhaps only for me. At times I thought that I could not bear even the momentary absence of your hands, I thought I might die from the craving to make the circuit complete through contact between us. I wanted you desperately in mind, body, and soul--and I know you felt the same for me, but to admit it was forbidden to either of us, and so the silence remained. Teacher and pupil, never equals, we waited for the moment when honesty would at last be appropriate.

Now and only now am I free to say that I wanted your arms around me in love, not in the semblance of battle. Curse the Jedi codes! Formality could never fully relax between us, and the only times you ever touched me were in training, warning, or in battle, our bodies always shaped by the forms of violence. I never knew your simple, unhurried embrace-- and then it was too late; you were gone and I had to move on, to exist, to carry on the burden of destiny without you. Please understand me and forgive me when I admit that it was impossible.

I failed you, as I failed the other, the one who came between us. My jealousy against the valid claim the boy had on your attention was my downfall as a Jedi, and as a man. I failed everyone; you, Anakin, myself, the Jedi Council, the Force itself. It is a wonder to me the midi-chlorians did not simply leave my body, abandon me to the tyranny of my base emotions. I often thought it would have been better if they had, for the Dark Side took root in me, in that jealousy, grief, and rage that I could not deny or banish.

Now I know that the Dark Side lies in its promises of power. All it wants, all it needs, is a seed. Revenge, sorrow, jealousy, doubt, fear--the tiniest grain of these can take root in a heart and spread to the hearts of others. The debt I hold to Anakin, my padawan, is even greater than my debt to you, my Master, and all we stood for. The seed in my heart could not overcome me entirely, but the boy was far more vulnerable than I. He trusted me, but my bitterness took root in him and destroyed him. For that, I can never fully atone.

I know now as you always knew that none should ever listen to the Dark Side, no matter how tempting its guise may be. All it gives is sterility. It breeds hatred, misery. It corrupts the bonds of love and destroys all that is tranquil. There are no rewards to be had from succumbing to the Dark Side. It takes all emotion, all energy that is given it, and turns it into pain. It destroys all that is worthwhile, twists even memories of joy into painful images of sorrow. Given leeway it will take all, leaving behind a landscape barren of joy. Thus it has left me.

With your loving presence replaced only by the knowledge that I broke my final promise to you, that I caused the destruction of my own padawan, the landscape of my soul is now as barren as the one that surrounds my home. For you see, my Master, I have returned to Tatooine, determined to undo the evil I have caused insofar as I can. I have been granted an opportunity I do not deserve: a second chance, the thing so many crave and so few are granted.

My Master, I will not fail you again. In the desert there now grows a new seed... a new hope, which I shall preserve at any cost.