Every day, towards the end the day, in the short period between dusk and night, when the air is pleasant enough to be worth risking the dangers that darkness brings, Obi-Wan walks the path to the viewpoint above his refuge. There, on a smooth, warm rock, he sits, watching the stars of the Empire appear in Tatooine's sky, and considers the events that led him to this place. Jedi philosophy holds that some possible futures have such powerful, intrinsic gravity as to be almost inevitable, and, while Yoda would have had him believe their fate was such a situation, Obi-Wan knows that even this belief is not inconsistent with the notion that, in a possibly small set of cases, the final outcome could have been very different. Long after the bitterness of grief and the urge for self-flagellation has been burnt out of him by the relentless heat of the planet's twin suns, Obi-Wan is still left with unanswered questions. Who other than himself would have been better placed to deflect the tide that swept Anakin Skywalker to the Sith? How many times had his own actions, like the spark of a glitter fly influencing the outcome of a battle, tipped Anakin on to the path that led to the victory of dark over light?
In reality our choices are made only once. There is only one outcome; one past; one present. Only the Force knows the mysterious, delicate balance of possible histories and possible futures. But in the absence of anything to fight for, the life of a Jedi is reduced to acquiring a better understanding of these mysteries. And even when the Jedi temple on Coruscant stands, crumbling, decaying, a physical testament to the impotence of the Order; even when Imperial reports of the capture and trial of Jedi "traitors" are no longer broadcast simply because no-one cares any more; even when the apathy of the populace and the Emperor's insidious combination of charisma and terror turn the "when" of rebellion into "if"; even when inhabitants of Mos Eisley refer to him as old Ben Kenobi, a harmless eccentric, a madman, a fool; even when the desert sun turns his hair as white as the Bantha bones that scatter the sand of the valley floor; and even when he quietly contemplates the day his bones will lie there too; even then Obi-Wan Kenobi will be this one thing above all others. Even then he will be Jedi.
Obi-Wan shoved Anakin out of the bar, banging the door shut behind them. Together they stumbled down the steps that led to the muddy street. In fact, Obi-Wan thought with a grimace, the term "street" was a rather generous description of the swampy stretch of mud that separated the squat, ugly buildings of Orca's main settlement.
Sour-smelling, dirty water puddled around his boots. Blinking against the rain, pulling up his hood, Obi-Wan half-saw water pooling around something else instead: around something horrific, something white and blue, and there was blood in the water; a small orange-skinned body, twisted and broken, face pressed down into the mud. Retching now as he did then, he frowned and shook off the image.
Ahead, Anakin was walking backwards, shouting over the wind. He flung out an arm "…with me Master, here, now!"
"What?"
"Spar with me!"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"I'm serious."
You're drunk."
"So are you."
Quite true. Drunk on his clone squadron's stash of contraband Corellian whiskey though, not the local fermented beet liquor whose regular consumption had sent a third of the planet's population insane. Even if Obi-Wan had not seen the six empty glasses next to Anakin at the bar, his friends lips were stained a telltale purple.
"The Council will expect a report within the hour," Obi-Wan said. "I came to find you, not to play games." He turned to plod down the street.
"I'm waiting for it, Master," Anakin called after him. "The lecture I know you're itching to give me."
"Not my job, Padawan. Not any more."
"That's never stopped you in the past."
"I don't want to lecture you. I don't even want to talk to you."
Anakin splashed in pursuit. "Then fight me."
A flash of danger in the Force and Obi-Wan twisted into the blue flare of Anakin's lightsaber slashing towards his neck. He ducked, one boot skidding sideways in the slurry, his own saber igniting before his conscious thoughts could express surprise that even Anakin would be so reckless. Flexing his knees, Obi-Wan's alcohol-numbed limbs struggled to find stability, but he surged upwards just in time to parry Anakin's second, clumsy assault. Off-balance, Anakin tried again, but the attempt was only half-hearted, and Obi-Wan simply took three steps backwards to move out of the way.
Anakin's hair was plastered to his face and he grinned, saber blade fizzling as, loose-wristed, he let the tip trail in the mud.
The rain was too heavy for Obi-Wan to see Anakin's eyes, and the Force felt as murky as the water beneath his feet, but the smile alone made him shudder. Is this how easily he will let his control slip? Is this how close he is to giving up? Anakin's behaviour had skewed far, far from normal for several months. Yet what was an objective measure of "normal" in a war such as this? There were times when Obi-Wan did not even recognise himself.
(And his future self will laugh, at this point, to think that even then he only ever considered the possibility that Anakin might leave the Order, so confident was he that his friend's idealism was founded in a simple desire to do good).
Anakin waved an arm. "Come on. Don't make me do all the work. Your turn."
"No."
"Sorry Master. Wrong answer." Anakin lunged forward, attacking with fierce, but badly coordinated blows. Half-horrified, half-mesmerised, Obi-Wan allowed himself to be forced backwards, blocking each wild slash, struggling against the sudden brutality of Anakin's assault.
For a second the Force coalesced into certainty around them and Obi-Wan's skin prickled with a dangerous current. A dark current. "Anakin," he said, and it was an order now, not a request. "Stop this, right now."
Anakin grinned and swung his saber up then down towards Obi-Wan's. Sparks showered the two men as their blades met. Anakin leant forward, off balance, but Obi-Wan's wrists were trembling under the pressure. Losing his patience, Obi-Wan let out an irritated grunt and send the other man flying backwards with the full force of a rough, uncivilised boot to the chest.
Backing against a wall, partially sheltered from the rain, Obi-Wan powered off his saber, breathing heavily, tilted his head back to rest against the clammy stone. He watched Anakin get to his feet slowly, wipe mud from the side of his face and then stoop to fish for his own saber hilt.
Anakin stumbled towards Obi-Wan. At first all Obi-Wan could hear was the howl of the wind and the roughness of his own breathing, but as Anakin got closer Obi-Wan realised he was laughing.
The young man ducked into the rain-shadow, to the left of Obi-Wan, and leant his own head back against the wall. "Will they send me another, do you think? Or have they learnt their lesson?"
Obi-Wan didn't answer. Ahsoka had been strong, talented, forthright, so much like Anakin in so many ways, and yet far too young to be placed in such danger. He remembered her expression, the smile she had directed toward him when they found they were trapped, her fake optimism, her blue eyes shining with fear. And when he saw her lifeless body again, mown down before he could reach her, he had to fight a wave of anger. Such a waste. A terrible waste…
"I can't feel anything," Anakin said quietly. "That's why I wanted to fight. I wanted you to make me feel something. When I saw her body this morning, I just felt empty. I still do."
Obi-Wan thought for a moment. Thought of how he should be dealing with this. Let go of everything you fear to lose. He took a breath before speaking. "That is how it should be."
Anakin laughed again, a hollow, bitter laugh. "Of course. And if you'd died too, I should have accepted it as the will of the Force, should I?"
"You shouldn't have come back for us."
"Ah, I understand. Forgive me for thinking you might have been annoyed with me for carelessly losing my Padawan, not for attempting to rescue you both."
Obi-Wan sighed. "It would be shameful in any circumstances for a Jedi to risk the lives of a whole battalion to rescue his own kind. Not to mention being against protocol, and the strict orders of the Council."
Suddenly, Anakin twisted and moved to face him, placing his hand on the wall by the side of Obi-Wan's head. Obi-Wan met his the young man's dark, possessive gaze, and wished Anakin would just leave him alone, right now, would stop this relentless, demanding need to take more than Obi-Wan was willing to give.
Because Obi-Wan knew exactly what Anakin was going to say next, and Obi-Wan was far too tired to deal with it.
"Then tell me," Anakin said. "Tell me you would not have done the same thing, if it had been me. Tell me you would have left me here, with no hope of survival."
Obi-Wan had always considered his duty to Anakin, his role as a Master, to be to set an example, to demonstrate the appropriate behaviour, to strive for the perfection he knew he could never achieve himself. So, on the rain-soaked, blood-stained, mud-slicked planet of Orca, seven hours after the death of Ahsoka Tano, less than four months before the end of the Republic, a battle-wearied Obi-Wan looked up at his friend, and decided to lie. He decided to lie because everything in his training told him it was the right thing to do. He decided to lie because Anakin was losing control, and Anakin was forgetting who he was, and if Obi-Wan didn't teach him how to behave, who would?
Obi-Wan tilted his chin and met Anakin's gaze calmly. "I would have left you here, with no hope of survival."
Anakin looked back at him for a second. Obi-Wan waited for the response: for the disbelief, wanting to take back his words straight away even though Anakin's face showed no trace of hurt or surprise. Never had anything felt more wrong.
Silently, Anakin nodded, stepped way, and disappeared into the night.
(And it will only be when watching Beru play with a sandy-haired, seven-year old Luke, love radiating from her face as the little boy whooped and giggles, that Obi-Wan will understand that, even at twenty-one, a part of Anakin was still the little boy from Tatooine, lonely and desperate for the security his mother had provided. Only then will Obi-Wan realise that by showing his own weaknesses, his own vulnerabilities, by giving in to some of those feelings that were never actually weaknesses as all, could he have possibly stopped Anakin Skywalker from tearing both himself and the galaxy apart.)