Eclipse of Faith

In the midst of a bitter dispute, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his headstrong apprentice are found trapped in a dismal situation. Anakin Skywalker will be tested as he has never been before when both their lives hang in precarious balance.

pg-13

Pre-AOTC

disclaimer: George Lucas owns it all.

Try to see it my way

Do we have to keep on talking til I can't go on

While you see it your way

There's a chance that we might fall apart before too long

We can work it out…

We can work it out. -John Lennon & Paul McCartney

"Who does he think he is?"

The sullen voice permeated the buzzing silence, tone edging on acrid. The small, cramped room nearly echoed the words, dingy white walls seeming to close in on the Jedi apprentice who sat in the core of it.

He shifted on the thin mattress, trying to find a spot without lumps, the base of his neck burning.

Anakin folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

Focus on something else…Focus on something else…Focus…

"Sith!" He spat, jaw tightening and hands fisting. The young man sat up with a low growl. He ran fingers through his sandy hair, grumbling as he always did when they caught in the annoying tail.

"What do I need this for anyway?!" Anakin demanded of the empty space, high forehead crinkled and dark sapphire eyes hooded.

He inhaled sharply and surged to his feet. "He just doesn't want me to get too far ahead." The Padawan murmured under his breath. "If I advance anymore, I'll leave him in the dust and he wouldn't want that, would he?" He paced the short strip of floor. "Spend all that time in the damned Temple and when we're finally offered an actual mission, he turns it down for this…this crap!"

Fiery anger seizing his body so that he felt the temperature flush in his cheeks, Anakin stormed out of his diminutive private quarters.

The swell of raging Force alerted Obi-Wan of his arrival before the resounding thud of his steps. His cerulean eyes flicked up to see the boy enter, black cloak sweeping behind him. Calmly, he returned his attention to the holopad, reclined on a threadbare tan sofa, legs crossed and stretched onto the table.

Anakin stopped a few feet away, legs parted and arms entwined against his chest.

Obi-Wan read the final sentence at leisure, then set the literature aside. His student was openly glaring at him, but he had come accustomed to the intense, irritated expression. He sighed. "Is there something you need, Padawan?"

The unfailingly even pitch of his inquiry sent waves of hot wrath through him. In their worst arguments, it was almost as if his vision was blurred by the inner conflagration. Does he always have to be so critical and…perfect?!

The most aggravating part of the conflict was Anakin was right.


Obi-Wan was, and would never admit to being, wrong.

"Yes." He began, surprised at the relative indifference in his reply." I want to know exactly why we're going on this pointless trip."

Obi-Wan Kenobi rose smoothly from his seat. His ginger mane was combed back, brushing against his neck, hair of identical, light color spread over onto his face in a short, neat beard. "I have explained this to you, Anakin. Several times. What more can I do?"

Anakin rolled his eyes. "You haven't explained anything except you don't think I can handle a simple assignment!"

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "When did I mention that in my reasoning?"

The boy gazed at him for a fleeting moment, then walked over to the rounded, rectangular window, resting his hands on the pane. The dazzling landscape was lifeless, the striking violets and whites dull to his troubled perspective. Words from long ago drifted into his thoughts. Space is cold. Tonight, it was freezing. He tucked the billowing sleeves of his robe around his hands, a habit unknowingly learned from his young mentor. "You didn't have to say it."

Eyes caressed by the hues of a sea fell to the ground. "If it sounded that way to you, I assure you, Ani… I didn't mean it."

Anakin glanced at the man. The amber lighting hovered above him, creating a warm aura that trickled around Obi-Wan and left his cap of auburn gleaming. He knew his Master never deliberately sought to hurt him… "Then what did you mean?" He wondered, focus piercing on the Knight. "When you said that it would be…ill-advised for you to accept the mission to Mon Calamari."

Obi-Wan closed the gap between them, squeezed his shoulder gently. "That's all I meant. It was a routine excursion, and I already had plans for this training."

Anakin shrugged out of his touch. "You told Master Windu that we wouldn't be an appropriate choice, that I needed to regain my center." He stared without intimidation at the elder Jedi. "Why'd you say that?"

"Because," Obi-Wan retorted softly, "I believe you do need to regain your center, Padawan."

Anakin huffed. "We've been at the Temple forever! All I've done is sit around and center! I just wanted to go on a mission! Get away from all the boring exercises and lectures---"

Obi-Wan's brow arched.

The boy registered the silent objection, but ignored it, bent on releasing his aged frustration. "And actually BE a Jedi! Do what they're supposed to do!"

Obi-Wan snorted, shaking his head. "And after all these 'boring 'exercises and lectures, you still think the sole function of a Jedi is carrying out mission after mission?"

Anakin blinked. "No--"

"No? But that's what you've expressed here, Padawan. " Obi-Wan compressed his lips, deepening the cleft of his chin. "You've shown me that you have, in fact, lost your center completely. You're so intent on rushing off on assignments that you've forgotten what we exist for." A sadness glinted in him, familiar and oft-resurrected. "Impatience is a grievous flaw in a Jedi.

"Or in a man."

He started to walk away.

Anakin thrust daggers at his departing form. So is jealousy.

Obi-Wan stopped at the double doors to the cockpit, arms lax at his side. In the hall, lighting rods barely flickered, and the inner friction bleeding onto his countenance was shaded, spilling onto his cheekbones and glistening strangely in his eyes.

A hidden place in his heart, sealed off so many years ago, out of necessity, a place that knew of the slim age difference between he and his Padawan, wanted to react with the same instinct and flippancy Anakin displayed.

For once, he wanted to shed the serene demeanor and address his apprentice's attitude using only the power of his concern and paternal devotion, force Anakin to see the honesty behind his recent actions.

The boy wasn't prepared for an official, Council-approved, Master-blessed mission again. Even if said Master was in charge of said mission.

If he'd just lower his shields and stifle his pride long enough to understand my motivations! A faint ache thrumming in his temples, Obi-Wan leaned his head against the cool wall. His eyes drifted closed, and he rubbed his fingers over the lids.

Does he believe I would spend additional cycles at the Temple simply to torture him? Obi-Wan wiped the thin sheen of perspiration from his forehead. Force, it's hot in here.

He heard the dramatic, overly noisy departure of the Padawan, but couldn't bring himself to correct the rudeness. Anakin was nearly an adult. He needed to start controlling his outbursts, release the stress that fed the stubborn child grasping to his maturing mind. Or he would never overcome these frailties.

As much as Anakin Skywalker was convinced he was above normal human failings, Obi-Wan was determined to help him face the harsher truths.

But gods he was tired today.

Wishing not to loiter in the dusk of the corridor while there was still work to be done, Obi-Wan slipped his heavy robe easily off and entered the cockpit.

Keeping with the size of the other compartments of the humble transport, the control room was a modest, slightly dirty area, sickly saffron light beating down from artificial fixtures mounted to the ceiling. Unlike the usual niceties of Jedi vessels, this system didn't provide manipulation that could brighten or dim rooms.

The cockpit was as brilliantly lit as if the midday sun were streaming from open windows. Obi-Wan pinched the neckline of his tunic away from his chest. The creamy layers of Jedi regulation garb were tucked trimly into the dark leather belt, ending in a short gather just below his waist. Beige trousers hung loosely on his legs, but knee-high boots hugged the curve of his muscled calves. It was practical attire for assignments set in varying climates. Substantial enough to provide warmth, but with sufficient comfort to tolerate sweltering weather.

He had never given pause to complain, even to himself, about the clothing.

Obi-Wan sunk into the battered pilot's chair. Then why do I suddenly want to rip it off? He slicked his dampening hair back. I don't remember it being this hot…

Obi-Wan studied the stretch of buttons and dials. Taking in the mass of blinking lights almost made him dizzy.

Swallowing thickly, he lowered himself back down to the seat. "Anakin!" He called, the name spoken without the earlier frustrations.

It took a few more tries before the boy sulked into the cockpit, restless, irked lines drawing his rigid body. "What?" After a moment, he begrudgingly added, "Master?"

Obi-Wan stood with the aid of the arm cushions. "I need to retire for a few hours. You'll be in charge here."

Anakin turned away from him before he finished the sentence, striding over to the controls with an air of eager confidence.

The Master observed the disinterest his protégé held for his condition, registered it quietly with a small nod, and made his way to his individual quarters.

Anakin stared down at the console, dark eyes reflecting the flashing neon, the red gleam of data screens bathing his face. His heart was slowing from the quick, thundering beats to normal rhythm, and with it, his mind also halted the dismal thoughts, spinning with the extent of their anger.

He ran his finger absently along the surface of the scuffed panel. He was actually grateful that Obi-Wan beckoned him to monitor the flight's progress. When his relationship with his Master, or anyone else, hit a rough spot, he fiddled with a broken droid or crept into the Temple docking bay to sit in one of the stellar, peaceful cockpits.

The Padawan would imagine gripping the controls with his trembling hands, bringing the ship to full, glorious life, the hum of the engine warm and reassuring beneath him. It would launch from the pad, barreling forward, with total sweet abandon…tearing through Temple barriers and cutting through the Coruscant atmosphere.

The constraints of Jedi life were left behind, and ghosts of Tatooine vanished from his hardened soul. He could go anywhere, become anything. Love anyone.

And, as a wonderful woman once told him: He would never look back.

But the fantasy was always chased away, by the weight of his responsibilities, by the feathery touch of the plaited stands of hair against his collarbone.

Anakin blew out a long, low breath. As a child, stories were always exchanged on the makeshift playground of blistering dunes, tales of swashbuckling heroes traveling the galaxy, ensuring justice and making good use of their unique, legendary weapons. Anakin listened raptly to the adventures, each emblazoning its own mark on his memory.

Seeing Qui-Gon Jinn standing in Watto's musty shop, a rugged illustration of the Jedi warrior, towering, with wide, broad shoulders and a wizened face, Anakin believed himself to be in a dream. And when he was liberated by the powerful man, who promised him a bright future in the Order, Anakin was certain he would become a timeless champion of the childhood fables throughout the galaxy.

But his plans were subject to endless detour. Qui-Gon slain by the Sith demon, his mourning apprentice promising to raise Anakin in his stead, the regulations that came with entering that elite league.

Then, six years later, they spent over eight months marooned at the Temple, hindered by the walls of their apartment, where he drafted useless reports or meditated.

Some days he was so fevered by restlessness he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs.

Obi-Wan, ever-opposite to his apprentice, seemed content with the blank weeks. He led Anakin through extended spars in the training arena, attended seminars and encouraged his protégé to do the same, improved his kata performance, and still had the time to aid other Masters in teaching classes.

Anakin never especially liked socializing with his peers. He found they regarded him with a sour mixture of envy and apprehension.

Anakin preferred to be alone.

Or on an assignment. The boy mused tiredly. When they were summoned by the Council, he was ecstatic. Obi-Wan was a revered member of the Jedi Order, perhaps the most skilled and capable in the Knighthood, and the missions they were dispatched on were often high-risk.

Learning the Mon Calamari trip was, more or less, routine was disappointing, but at that desperate point, Anakin didn't care. It meant leaving Coruscant, and it was enough for him.

He was already mulling over what craft they would be taking, and if Obi-Wan would allow him to pilot, when he heard his Master reject the offer.

Anakin had swallowed hard and looked at the man with unmasked displeasure.

Obi-Wan's face was smoothly bland as he informed the twelve High Council members that he had previously planned for an off-planet pilgrimage.

Anakin was shocked, hoping there would be objections. But even Master Yoda agreed that it was better for them to decline.

Now, they were headed for some remote location to trek mountains and…meditate. The apprentice sighed. He wondered if it was possible to fall into a boredom-induced coma.

He felt his Master's muffled presence behind the closed door and shook his head. Maybe I shouldn't have acted like that.

He quirked his lips.

Maybe HE shouldn't have acted like I don't have a choice in our missions. Did he even care that I didn't want to go on this dumb training trip?

Anakin slouched into the worn, leather chair. He understood Obi-Wan was the Master, and as his apprentice he was to follow his lead.

But was Anakin a subordinate?

He steepled his fingers, gazing out into deep, obsidian space. I'm not an ordinary Padawan. I'm THE Chosen One. Shouldn't he allow me more liberties?

Couldn't I have handled the mission?

He leaned his head on the backing, playing with the thin frays of his dark cloak. It's not like he wouldn't have been there.

Obi-Wan was a compassionate, strong person, with a dry wit and generous tendencies. Anakin considered himself truly fortunate to have him as his guide, while other students tolerated cold, unfeeling teachers. But there were moments when the vitality seemed to drain from him, and a distance stretched out between them.

Anakin tried not to believe that it was then that his Master was lamenting the pledge he made to Qui-Gon, on that slick, icy floor of the Theed Palace.

Yet, he never discovered tangible reasons to ravage those worries.

Tightening his own shields, he turned his center to the console.

Obi-Wan's head fell to the pillow; he didn't bother to grimace at the musty odor distantly detectable in the worn fabric, too grateful for the basic comfort it provided.

A leaden heaviness had filled his body on the short walk from the cockpit, a warm, aching exhaustion. The dark, lonely room was more a relief than he could imagine. He had unraveled his tunic and deposited his cumbersome boots beside the bed, in a kind of feverish stupor, eyes half-lidded and staring blindly at a discolored section of the carpet.

A fan whirled slowly above him, and he was supremely grateful thankful for the slight breeze that cooled in cycled spurts.

He rolled onto his side, his hair draping over a bearded cheek. Through the ginger veil, he studied the featureless white wall, his vision gradually fading to memories.

In this life, Obi-Wan had learned to dream with his eyes open. Allowing his guard to lax could be disastrous. As a Jedi, he had the warnings drilled into his head from a tender age.

As Anakin's guardian, he adapted to the additional stress and perils, and any release he had was partial, for his mind was always attuned to the child connected to him. The boy adored adventure….sometimes at the expense of his own safety.

Obi-Wan didn't quite know where the unquenchable thirst originated, but he DID know that if it continued to flourish inside his apprentice, it could jeopardize his success as a mediator.

Already, Anakin displayed the traits of one who would rather call to arms than work with all his negotiating wiles to reach peaceful compromise.

Obi-Wan understood the rather youthful impulse. As a Padawan, at his roguish Master's side, he felt the tingling in his fingers as they reached for his reliable saber, only to have that strong, labor-hardened hand restrain him, disapproval beating in eyes the shade of blue twilight.

"Even when facing the most despicable adversary, with a black heart and possessing not a scrap of humanity, words must be your weapon before anything else can ever be."

They were Qui-Gon's views, and over his apprenticeship, they become ingrained in Obi-Wan's mind, until the mantra was instantaneous reaction to difficult conferences.

And now, they were a soothing friend.

Like hearing that beloved, eloquent voice again.

Anakin knew the lesson as well. When he seemed too eager to charge into battle, when that angry spark invaded his eyes, Obi-Wan pulled him aside, to speak the sage advice he was given long before, on the brink of rash foolishness.

It was a thought dear to his departed Master's heart, and though but a shred of his intricate character, the message could be kindled in Anakin, and he could carry on a piece of the Master he was intended, and deserved, to have.

Obi-Wan relaxed onto his back, sweat snaking down his forehead.

They're so alike. He mused ruefully. He would've been the…perfect teacher for Anakin.

This wasn't a new discovery. On the contrary, Obi-Wan had believed it for some time now. Watching his Padawan fly through an advanced kata, the Knight would swallow as a wave of uncertainty passed through him, and he felt the push of whispered awe in his head.

Anakin Skywalker was resplendent with potential. His instructors often confided in Obi-Wan their astonishment at the speed he mastered various physical and intellectual tasks.

"He's quite remarkable, Obi-Wan. I don't know how you keep up with the lad."

"He's excelled so briskly, Knight Kenobi!"

"Young Skywalker doesn't belong in a class so…beneath his current abilities. I've already promoted him to the next level. I hope that's alright with you."

Yes, it was fine. Wonderful, in fact. Anakin was conquering obstacles felt and right, a studious pupil and fit, unmatched warrior.

According to one elderly, weathered professor:

"He scared the hell out of me. What that--child's capable of."

Obi-Wan was inclined to agree, though not to that extreme. Anakin surprised him daily, with a fresh approach to ancient technique, or a flawless score on an exam. He was a prodigy, but he wasn't frightening. Just--jarring.

Obi-Wan had to wonder if any of those accomplishments were remotely related to the efforts of Anakin's teacher. He worried that his apprentice didn't…need him.

And, at the same time, that he required even more guidance than he was given.

Obi-Wan laughed humorlessly, his arm lying across his bare stomach.

He needs someone without such conflict.

The irony smile died.

He had the chance. It was in his little hands…until…it was all taken. Who knows how advanced he'd be…if only….

Obi-Wan sealed his blurring eyes.

How much heartache would he have been saved? The fights, the immature clashes, the times I just wasn't sure how to handle him..

When I needed advice.

When I faltered…under…the strain.

Lukewarm tears coursed down his hot skin. He wiped at his pained, sweat-slicked face.

In the dire moments, after an especially awful blowup or empty discussion, Obi-Wan would leave the cruel realty, drifting to reminisces of Qui-Gon, mourning the losses his Padawan suffered every day with insufficient training.

Inner defenses sprang to his consciousness, swearing that he was doing the best he could muster, that nothing more could be done, that he had earned Anakin's respect and things would work out, as they always did eventually.

But a quiver at the core of his heart maintained the dread. What if it wasn't enough?

Once he and his Padawan formed a fairly good relationship, they were released on missions, and so began a whirlwind of assignments, duels, treaties, bloody injury. Without the time to reflect or rest, a chasm widened between Master and apprentice.

One weary, dim morning, on a planet Obi-Wan could barely recognize, since they'd been there less than a day, he stood on the balcony and gazed out at the gray, unfamiliar landscape, terrible unhappiness gripping his soul.

Cold wind buffeted his robe as he turned from the dismal scene.

The government-furnished quarters were a single room, with tiny lavatory attached. Two cots had been set up, and dressed half-heartedly in spotted sheets, pushed in opposite corners.

An ugly cast of mauve covered the walls, matching curtains hanging crooked on a small window. Obi-Wan wasn't interested in the condition of the room's style, but the withered look of the place deepened the gloom inside him.

He trudged to the washroom and doused water on his face with cupped hands. A long, thin vertical mirror hung above the sink, but he deliberately avoided the twin visage that would meet his eyes.

Despite the teachings at the Temple, that appearance was a useless hindrance, he didn't want to see the old man waiting in the glass.

The old man of thirty-one years.

He sighed, scratching at his tawny, whiskered chin as he moved from the claustrophobic room. The remains of his humble meal sat forgotten on a bedside table. Anakin's cleaned plate was stacked atop it.

The stale aroma of it was tenuous in the air. He registered vaguely that he should really remove the food before the smell was unbearable.

But instead, his pale eyes descended to his Padawan's sleeping form. The rangy body was curled on the thin mattress, a blanket kicked to the foot of it, a hard expression on the youthful face.

Obi-Wan frowned. He was well aware of the disturbed slumber his apprentice tolerated, the nights he spent awake while Anakin tossed in fitful repose.

He sent a tranquilizing pulse of Force to the boy, felt it absorbed.

Hardly satisfied, the Master sat on his own bed, the last few years clustering in his chest, congesting in his panting lungs…

Obi-Wan slid into oblivion before he could finish the thoughts, dark, rosy flush coloring his pallor.

^^^^This story will be updated quite often if I receive enough reviews. This site, I think everyone knows, is pretty notorious for lurkers. I appreciate deeply each review I am given. I love writing these fics, and the interaction with readers makes it all the more worth while. ^LuvEwan