The hut is right where everyone said it would be: in the middle of nowhere, conspicuous against the golden, rolling dunes. Even now, when all light seems to have been extinguished by thick, dark clouds, she can still make out its shape.
How the mighty fall, she thinks. Although, really, this is far shorter a fall than most have had. Not a fatal one, at least.
For a moment she lingers outside, trying to imagine what it must have been like for these past six years. All alone, cut off from the world, no past left to cling to, no real future to imagine. No purpose except to watch.
She imagines it must be hard, probably harder than the journey that she has been undertaking since the rise of the Empire. She's had the fortune of a transitory life, hopping from planet to planet as she chases after rumors of survivors. As long as she is running, she isn't falling down into despair over the reality of the Jedi's situation.
She blinks, and by the time she opens her eyes, the rain has begun. It's a relief after these past two days asking after the hermit in the desert, but also recognizes it as a sign that she has lingered long enough. Jedi don't waste time.
Before she can knock on the door of the hut, it swings open. There he is, smiling gently. A soft light emanates from within his home, just enough so that she can see that his eyes have retained that characteristic sparkle that always showed in the rare moments that he smiled during the War. "I was wondering when you'd come in. You've been waiting outside for quite a bit."
She laughs. "It's been over half a decade, Master Kenobi. I shouldn't think that a few minutes spent outside would make any difference."
"It's been too long," he replies, a grave expression falling over his features.
On a whim, she reaches in and hugs him. He starts, and then returns the embrace.
When they are done, he steps back. "It's raining. Come in, Ahsoka."
"Thank you, Master."
"Don't call me that. I lost the right to that title years ago."
It's sparse but comfortable inside, functional without indulgence. Exactly the sort of quarters she would expect from a former Jedi as devout as Master Kenobi had been.
"Tea?" he asks, already moving to make it. "Iced, of course. I haven't had it in quite some time, but I keep it on hand always for when guests come by."
"That would be lovely. Thank you, Mas — Obi-Wan."
As he bustles around, Ahsoka takes a good look in at him. He's much skinnier than she remembers, and his face has become lined, as though the infamous windstorms of the desert have worn their mark into his features. His ginger hair has become streaked with white; whether it's real or dyed for disguise, she can't say. She hopes it's artificial.
"I figured you were coming," Obi-Wan informs her as he carefully stirs a small glass pitcher. "Or that someone was coming, in any case. Company is as rare as a rain storm on Tatooine, so that the two should coincide… it was sensible."
"I would have come sooner. You're a hard man to find."
"I prefer it that way. Actually, I'm a bit worried that you could track me down… not that I'm not overjoyed to see you," he adds quickly. "How?"
"Bail Organa. I was on Alderaan for reasons unrelated to you when I ran into him and his daughter. I recognized her immediately." Leia had her mother's eyes, and her father's bright, beautiful presence in the Force.
"And he told you where I was?"
"No. He danced around the topic. Truthfully, I'm not sure if he really trusted me or not. I was never a full Jedi, after all."
"Your expulsion was a crime," Obi-Wan says immediately. "And also your salvation, I expect."
"'Expect?' I know that it was." She'd been far from Coruscant, from anywhere with stormtroopers by the time that Order 66 went out. Actually, she'd been so far underground that she hadn't even heard what has happened until a week afterwards. It's one of her biggest regrets. If she had known, she could have gone to the Temple, maybe saved some of the younglings. Anything would have been better than seeing the burning Temple broadcast on the Holo-Net days after it had happened.
"I'm overjoyed to see that you survived." He sets the pitcher and two plain clay cups between them. "Though I must say, I'm surprised that Anak — that Vader never made any attempt to find you."
"For all I know, he did. Not personally, though; I expect that he's got bigger things to worry about than whether his half-trained former padawan survived. I've been living on the edges as best I can. Keeping my ears pressed to the ground to figure out how many of us survived."
"And what answer have you found?"
The rain is picking up outside, nearing deluge status. Ahsoka sips the cool tea that Obi-Wan provided and contemplates the answer. "What you would expect, probably."
"Anyone?" As he asks the question his expression wavers, caught between hopeful and realistic.
"A few. Ones who were underground when the fighting happened, on some covert mission without troopers." She rattles off their names. Obi-Wan nods. He looks unsurprised. His command of the Force far exceeds hers, and he's better trained besides. She expects that he already knew this, traced out those few faint signatures of the former Jedi.
"They're rogue, most of them," she concludes. "Fighting the Empire where they can. I don't think any of them have any real hope of ever restoring the Order."
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "And you? Is that your hope?"
She frowns. "Isn't it yours?"
He sips his tea, not answering. Then he asks, "Did Bail tell you why I was out here, Ahsoka?"
For a moment she feels a hint of that old frustration that so frequently rose in her when she was Anakin's apprentice. Obi-Wan, like so many Jedi of his age, lacked the simple skill of being direct.
"No. When I asked of you, he refused to speak directly. All he said was that all things come around again, that sometimes you had to go back to the beginning." It was a cryptic thing to say; she had meditated on it for hours before the image of a two-sunned desert planet had come to mind.
"Very well. Padmé had two children. Leia, yes, but also a son, Luke. They were twins. The Organas are raising Leia, but Luke is being raised by his aunt and uncle."
She stares at Obi-Wan, feeling a rare hope tentatively growing inside her chest. "That's… that's wonderful. Is he like Leia; does he possess as much power as she?"
"I haven't seen Leia for a very long time. But I expect so."
"You'll train him, then? When he's older?"
"I don't know. I haven't yet discerned if that's the right path or not."
She stares at Obi-Wan. "How could it not be? Master, if he has as much potential as his sister, then they could rebuild together. Imagine! The Empire won't last forever; already, dissent is spreading across the galaxy. The Jedi will return, and who better to bring it back than Anakin's children? That's poetic justice at its finest."
"You misunderstand me. Luke has a destiny ahead of him, and a glorious one at that. That's not up for debate. But…" he sighed, and the white in his hair looks prominent in the dim light. "The Order was rotting, Ahsoka, just as the Senate was. We were overcome by an inflated sense of self-importance; too driven by archaic ideals to even consider the benefits in change. We had forgotten how to love and to live, blinded by feelings of superiority. We were doomed to failure. Those principles should be buried away along with the thousands who died by them."
"There has never been, and there never will be, a call nobler than being a Jedi. The Galaxy needs us; it will die without us there." It is what she has for as long as she can remember. She remembers travelling to far off planets with Anakin, and how always, always younglings would clench at her skirts and tell her that she was beautiful, powerful, they hoped they would grow up to be like her. Even when she was younger and quick to sass Anakin or to criticize her orders, slow to obey like a good padawan should, she never doubted the righteousness of her path. Never.
"After I was expelled from the Order, I was devastated. And even though I ran from Coruscant, I never, ever stopped hoping that I would be able to find proof on some distant planet that I was innocent. Being a Jedi… Master Kenobi, I have to believe that it's still possible. That we will rise again."
"I'm not asking you to abandon that dream," he replies quietly. "Not at all. But a resurrection is not what we need. What good would that be, to merely restore an Order that died from its countless mistakes? No, we need a rebirth. A new Order, not a replica of the one that proved itself unworkable. And I think that Luke will need to build it himself."
He makes a face and sips his tea before adding, "The blueprints of an archaic Master wouldn't serve him well, I think. His path is his alone."
Ahsoka slumps back in her seat. The rain above provides a soothing drumbeat. "It just… it seems unthinkable that it's all gone. Permanently.
"You always did have trouble with that," replies Obi-Wan. The words should hurt, she thinks, but the way he says them – they're not as chiding as they should be. They're just a fact.
"You never really grasped that life and death are one and the same. The Force keeps moving. Although I suppose it isn't really your fault that you struggled with that concept. Anakin did too. If I could've only taught him that…"
For a moment he just stares into the distance, and she contemplates her tea. The air is heavy between them, and she expects that it is more the weight of their regrets than the actual stormy atmosphere.
Then Obi-Wan shakes his head. "But there's no use dwelling on that. I've learned that. It would be very easy indeed to just spend my every waking moment looking back and contemplating what I did wrong. There's little else to do out here but think. But that wouldn't make me a better person. It wouldn't bring me peace."
"And what will?" Because as far as she can tell, there is nothing that will ever quell her nightmares; nothing that will ever slow her as she hops from planet to planet in search of her lost brothers and sisters; nothing that will ever drive her grim objective of destroying the Empire from her mind. There is no peace. She thinks she remembers reading once that something to that effect was part of the Sith motto. Maybe that means she's no better than the people she's fighting. She doesn't care.
"The Force."
She waits. Obi-Wan does not elaborate.
"That's too simple," she says finally.
"The truth often is."
For a moment she feels like a padawan again – impulsive, quick to anger, irritated by meaningless maxims. But she's lived through more than any padawan should ever had to face. She breathes deeply and calmly, and finishes her tea.
"I know I haven't told you what you want to here," Obi-Wan says as she puts her mug down. "I'm sorry, Ahsoka."
"Don't be. It would be worse if we gave each other false hope, wouldn't it?"
"I imagine so." She quietly stands and shoulders her bag. "Thank you for the tea, Master Kenobi."
He gets up too, not correcting her reflexive use of the title. "I would ask you to stay…"
"I would reject it. One Jedi on his own out here, it's a good hiding place. No one will look. But keep the two of us together for too long, especially so close to Anakin's son… we can't risk detection. Neither you, myself, or Luke."
"Wise words."
They walk to the door together (not that it's a particularly long journey) and then Obi-Wan lays his hand gently on her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Ahsoka. Of the woman you've become. In another world, you would be a fine Jedi."
"Maybe I still will be," she says quietly. "In twenty years or so, once Luke has done what needs to be done. I won't forget about him so easily. And I won't give up on the Order just yet."
Obi-Wan nods as he opens the door for her. "I'm glad. We need more like you. Now, I won't ask where you're going next. If they find out where I am, then the less I know the better."
"I understand. May the Force be with you."
"May the Force be with you." This time, he hugs her first. "Goodbye, Ahsoka."
"May the Force be with you as well, Master. Goodbye."
Ahsoka steps out, and he closes the door, no dwelling on her or their shared history. For a moment, she looks at the clouded sky, breathes in the air still heavy with moisture. And then, she starts walking, not looking back.
She's come a long way here. She still has far to go.
a/n: title taken from the Mumford & Son's song After the Storm.