A/n : I had the genesis of this story floating around in my head for a long while – since I read Matthew Stover's novelization of Revenge of the Sith and was impressed with his writing style and the idea of the Jedi. I'd never been the biggest Star Wars fan, but the character of Obi-Wan in the prequels was really appealing to me. In addition, friends had written Star Wars pieces and so I was inspired.
The chronology of Star Wars is very complex, and relies on expanded universe information. I am not a big Star Wars geek, and so the placing of this story is vague. It takes place after the death of Siri Tachi, after the promotion of Obi-Wan to Master and Council member, after the conception of Luke and Leia and before Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to the Outer Rim Sieges. This places it roughly half-way through the last year of the Clone Wars. As far as I can tell, there is opportunity for this story to take place – if there are any chronological errors reviews pointing them out and offering solutions would be gratefully accepted!
In terms of style, as mentioned above, this story owes a great deal to Matthew Stover's Revenge of the Sith novelization.
The Rule of Two
Part I : Discovery
"I have a bad feeling about this," the Jedi bodyguard remarked tautly to the Senator of Naboo that was his charge. His 'saber was out and lit, his whole body thrumming to the tune of his blue-hot blade, the hilt of his weapon creaking under the servo-whine caress of his mechanical right arm. Storm clouds rolled across his shoulders and suppressed lightning rippled in the muscles of his jaw. Harsh actinic light cast from his sword underlit his handsome face and seemed to blow his dark hair in an immaterial gale, spread glutinous shadow across black leather as deep as velvet and soft as night. His 'saber moved like the tongue of a Garollian ghost viper, as though he were batting away Correllian hornets. Beside him, the Senator smiled softly.
"You always do, Ani." She was older than he, yet looked younger, her face almost ethereally beautiful and her voice and touch light and gentle. Dressed as she was now in a designer outfit of black-gray Corellian nanosilk from the boutiques of Five Hundred Republica she was a vulpine shadow against the matte darkness of the undertunnels of the gigantic tubular cooling sink, a mysterious and shadowed prospect. There was a shuttered quality to her eyes, as if she were a rare jewel that only showed a single facet of its complex perfection at a time; faces that were large and complete enough to be almost regarded as individual gems.
Yet each side was well-cut and perfectly polished, even if not entirely complete. What flaws might have lain inside the heart of that gemstone were very probably not truly inside her at all, but rather rested on the floor of the Senate or in the coiled ice-dragon in the heart of the man beside her.
The Jedi remained unconvinced. "We should not be here – it will betray your suspicions to the ruling council of Kyunden if we are discovered." He paused, his eyes scanning the darkness for threats and possibly making them appear there. "If we are discovered . . ." he said again for emphasis.
Harsh, stabbing, white light cut through the dusty darkness. Anakin's experienced eyes recognized it immediately as the shoulder lamps of battle droids, which told him Padme's suspicions had been entirely correct – Kyunden was a staging ground for the Separatist movement, and that they had, quite clearly, been discovered.
o
o
This is Anakin Skywalker.
The greatest Jedi of his generation, of any generation, the Hero With No Fear. An unstoppable fighter, an unbelievable pilot. His raw power transcends even the legends of the Jedi Order. He is the reason the war will be won.
Or so the Holonet says. The truth is, as all truths are, more complex.
As the battle droids' sergeant's vocalizer buzzed out a pre-programmed security command - "Hand over your weapons!" - he was already in motion. His blade angled almost of its own volition into a perfect Djem So cadence and then was almost immediately forced down into an almost amateurish Soresu stance as blaster bolts hammered towards the two of them. He was forced to give ground for a pace or two, desperately flicking the galvened particle beams back towards the droids. They impacted on the duranium paneling of the walls in short showers of sparks. And then, after a few telling moments, Anakin Skywalker heard the voice of his former Master in his head;
Feel your way through, Anakin – be mindful of the Living Force. Like water, seek the most efficient path.
Of course, Obi-Wan was not there – he was far away, on Coruscant probably. Certainly not with Padme and Anakin, who were busy with their own missions. A diplomatic visit under the cover of Naboo-Kyunden trade negotiations, a diplomatic visit that was at least half information gathering. It had been Padme's idea to come here, and the Jedi Council's insistence a bodyguard be provided for her – one who could, himself, do his fair share of aggressive negotiation. Anakin had, while not being the obvious choice, been the choice that was made – at the request of Senator Amidala and the suggestion of Chancellor Palpatine.
The Living Force. Anakin opened himself to the Living Force and let it flow through him, feeling the intention to fire in the droids' computerized brains, sensing their targeting algorithms and plotting all possible trajectories. His conscious mind sloughed from him and – as smoothly as a Shalkian turtle slips into a pool – his stance slid from his barely-proficient Soresu into Shien.
Soresu was Kenobi, Shien was Skywalker. Kenobi had trained him, but the Force wanted to teach him. Sometimes, he even managed to let it.
Overhand chops smashed blaster fire down the corridor, the tip of the 'saber gouging chunks from the walls. Droids scattered and tumbled as Shien-deflected bolts of galvened energy burst through them in showers of bloodless sparks. His face was a rictus mask of grim rage now, lips drawn back from fine white teeth which sparkled pearlescent in the light of his sword.
A liquid surge in the torrid whirlpool that was the Force, and he span, his blade swinging behind him and deflecting another two bolts even as it shifted to his left hand. His eyes were on Padme's terrified face, and so he did not even look as his spread the fingers of his mechanical hand in a simple gesture. Three of the droids approaching from the other end of the corridor jerked backwards, their chestplates dented and sparks crackling around them. Blaster fire flew wide as they crashed into their comrades.
He glanced back over his shoulder, the corridor was stiff with battle droids clambering staggeringly over the wreckage of their cohorts. Even as he batted more blaster bolts away – the sheer number of them was getting too great to direct back at them with anything approaching accuracy – his eyes searched the section of corridor they were standing in . . . and then swept further afield as he realized that even if he cut through the gamma-welded metal, there was unlikely to be anything but solid rock or perhaps a series of power conduits on the other side.
What he needed, was a door.
In fact, he reflected in a shocking display of self-indulgence that cost him much of his Force-focus, what he needed was be here alone. Having to protect Padme here made his task all-but-impossible. He could not move from his position to defend her. If she were not here, he could simply slip into Ataru and hop-skip-and-jump down the corridor and dismantle the droids with a few swift strokes of the 'saber. Perhaps retaining Ataru there, for Djem So would swing the blade too wide and risk cutting into the walls and floor. Not that Anakin Skywalker really cared about property damage – especially here. Let the power-generation facilities of this disgusting rebel world collapse – a fitting punishment for them.
If Padme weren't here, he could get her out of here with ease.
Ah.
The realization he had tripped on his own smooth logic, of forgetting why he was actually here and what he was supposed to be doing, cost him a moment of distraction. A blaster shot brushed his 'saber blade, deflecting shallowly into Padme's shoulder. She screamed in pain, nanosilk and flesh burning with a soft sizzle, and crashed against the wall of the corridor, her hand grabbing at her wound.
Anakin's face transfigured with rage, and he swept the lightsaber up and away, smashing two bolts into the roof, and then turning and spinning backwards, moving to protect his wife with his body. "I'll kill you all!" he howled. "Separatist scum!"
He extended his hand and made a fist, snarling as a droid simply crumpled to scrap. His Force perception was narrowed to a knife-thin sonar beam that ran along the corridor only as far as the droids. With a growl of inarticulate rage, he wrenched his hand back and a fragment of the droid's braincase flew past his head and impacted on the door-mechanism the Force told him was behind them. A push of his mind and Padme stumbled backwards through the opening door, a surprised half-gasp, half-scream on her lips . . .
. . . right into the arms of a super battle droid. Padme struggled, her beautiful face contorted in fear and rage reflected in the polished laser-deflecting chrome of the bulky machine. The seemingly-puny left arm of the war-engine grabbed her roughly by the neck while the right leveled its wrist blaster at her temple. "Hand over your weapon!" the droid growled, its voice over-modulated and sounding gloopy to Anakin's ears. Behind it, another two super battle droids leveled their weapons at his head.
Anakin simply didn't know what to do – and he wasn't not-thinking enough like a Jedi to realize he didn't need to know what to do as the Force very-well would. He paused for a telling moment, his sword and arms still Shien-deflecting blaster fire.
And then the outlines of the three droids and Padme hardened and sharpened, the backdrop of the corridor they stood in glowing a muted, blushing blue. Under the whine of servos and the howl of blasterfire and the trip-hammer of Anakin's heart, he heard – or rather felt – the ignition note of a lightsaber. The tone of the 'saber changed – although the experienced Jedi Anakin was recognized the note itself did not change, but rather the 'saber moved through the air and a dopler effect changed the appearance of the note to his ears – and the two droids with their weapons trained on Anakin collapsed into a litter of pieces on the floor.
Experienced Jedi? Who was he trying to kid – the man behind that blade had been training as a Jedi for longer than Anakin had been alive. And the fact he still called it training without a hint of irony or pride made Anakin realize – just sometimes – how far he still had to go.
The droid holding the Senator turned with a whine of servos – with its head sunken into its chest it could not spin its neck to see what was behind it. Another short musical movement of the 'saber and the droid tumbled, sliced neatly into component parts. Anakin had to admire the way the other Jedi had dissected the droid at precisely the right moment and in the right places to ensure it fell away from Padme, as elegantly as if it were a cloak lifted from her shoulders by Threepio. Not one strand of her braided hair was ruffled, not a single thread of her garments snagged. No ripple in the Force had shoved those parts away from her – this had been achieved with something far more impressive.
And then a calloused hand beckoned Anakin towards a blandly impassive face framed by a neatly-trimmed blond beard in which gray-blue eyes gleamed like an idling lightsaber.
And Anakin felt the Force pluck him backwards out of the Viridian kalbornut-shy the corridor was rapidly becoming and set him on his feet next to his wife, and watched as the door pulsed shut in front of him.
o
o
This is Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Jedi Knight, Jedi Master, High General in the Grand Army of the Republic. A negotiator without peer, a fighter without equal, a man who outstripped his Masters while a Padawan and would dearly love for nothing more than that to happen to him.
He is trusted, respected and admired by all who meet him – he is the example other Masters hold up to their Padawans, it is he whom the Senators name (privately, of course) as the classic example of Jedihood. He is the tireless servant of the Republic.
Or so they might like to think – the truth is, as ever, more complex.
Obi-Wan's 'saber had faded away mere moments after the third droid was dispatched, and was now hanging on his belt as if it had never moved. He inclined his head respectfully at Padme. "Senator Amidala," he said evenly and politely, as if he had met her on the Grand Concourse of the Galactic Senate, the two of them going in quite different directions.
Anakin's blood was still singing to the tune of Shien, and so his voice snapped at Obi-Wan when it might have been better to be calmer. "What are you doing here?" he snarled. Obi-Wan waved his hand and the glowglobe swelled into life above their heads. He cast a significant look at Anakin's thrumming lightsaber – the younger Jedi did not even have the excuse of using it as illumination any longer.
"Beyond the obvious?" Kenobi smiled – the smile Anakin could almost bring himself to hate because it suggested a smug-superiority in the Jedi Master. But, of course, Anakin knew that was impossible. "The Council has discovered intelligence which suggests that Usaki is here – I have been dispatched to find her."
Anakin's eyes glowed with luminous flame in the light of his 'saber. "And kill her?" he asked eagerly. Obi-Wan sighed deeply.
"Not necessarily, Anakin," he said, "The Council is primarily interested in information gathering and the capture of Usaki." His well-manicured face demurred. "Of course, I may be forced to kill her – but that is not the outcome I am seeking." His eyes hardened and locked with the younger man's, looking down – again – at his lit 'saber. "What are you seeking?" It sounded like a Jedi koan, and Anakin treated it as such as he was well-aware Obi-Wan knew why he and Padme were here – Obi-Wan had been one of the strongest voices in the Council arguing for Anakin's accompaniment of the Senator to Kyunden.
"The Kynden ruling council is in league with the Separatists, General Kenobi," Padme said evenly, "I was certain of this before, and now . . ." she winced and touched her burned shoulder, "I am even more certain."
"As young Skywalker would doubtless remind you I would tell him," the Jedi Master smiled softly, reaching into his medikit for a bacta patch and pressing it gently to her wound, "one can never be more certain than certain, but one should always act as if one is." She bowed her head in acknowledgment of his wisdom and blushed at what she perceived as her own naiveté. Her fingers pressed against his for a moment as she lay her hand on the medicinal patch – to Obi-Wan's Force-perception, it was like brushing against a ray shield; he could see but could not touch. She was not open to him.
Or anyone, he suspected – she was a politician, and a very good one indeed. It would not do for her to allow just anyone or everyone to see inside her and into her secret heart. She and he were not so dissimilar, he reasoned – except that Obi-Wan allowed the Force to flow into and out of himself freely. The ripple in the never-ending ocean of the Force that was Obi-Wan was not displayed for all to see, although it was certainly in plain sight. "The fact this planet is certainly a Separatist stronghold adds weight to the possibility Usaki is here," he remarked softly.
"So, what do we do?" asked Anakin eagerly. His 'saber was – finally – extinguished, but his mechanical hand was twitching with interpretive spasms; the bionic replacement trying to express his eager anticipation. Obi-Wan – looking calm in a way Anakin could barely comprehend – gazed evenly at him.
"We do nothing, Anakin – I hunt Usaki as per my orders from the Jedi Council. Yourself and Senator Amidala will return to Coruscant as swiftly as safety allows; your 'saber-play here will doubtless have been relayed to whatever droid command is on this planet." He rasped the side of his beard with his thumb judiciously, "In fact, you have probably lingered here too long." When Anakin's face hardened into petulant defiance, Obi-Wan glanced at him significantly. "Did you hear me, Anakin?"
"I am not under your orders, Master," Anakin said sullenly. The juxtaposition of that form of address and that sentiment made a light smile play on Obi-Wan's and Padme's lips. "I am here as the bodyguard of the Senator, and I go where she does." The Jedi Master sighed and shrugged.
"And I am certain the Senator's mission does not include hunting Dark Jedi who may be able to give us intelligence that can win this war." He locked eyes significantly with the younger man. "I know the path of yojimbo is not easy, Anakin – have you forgotten I myself defended Senator Amidala when she was Queen?"
Forget? How could he forget? How could he forget the day that he had destroyed the Trade Federation's droid control ship and Qui-Gon had been taken from them all? How could he forget the first great adventure he had been part of and when he had met Padme?
Obi-Wan was speaking, Anakin forced himself to listen. "You have a duty to your charge, Jedi – the Council and the Order would have it no other way. It is better you uphold your word than go gallivanting around with old Obi-Wan on some damn-fool idealistic crusade." Anakin – his soul still singing with the as-yet-unheard accolades for the capture of Usaki – thought his response was informed by concern for his former Master.
"Better that you die against Usaki after fighting her alone than I help you?" he asked aghast. Obi-Wan smiled softly.
"As the Force is my judge, yes," he said. He paused, and his eyes twinkled. "And I think you'll find I am not about to die here, my young apprentice."
o
o
"Well," said Padme, "I suppose that was to be expected."
It was the first time she had spoken since she had told Obi-Wan about the Kyunden ruling council. Anakin nodded grimly and turned to the older Jedi.
"Well?" Anakin snapped, "so much for that idea." Obi-Wan stood easily against the wall, his hand miles from the hilt of his 'saber, looking at the destroyed wreckage of the Senator's ship strewn across the hangar. The Force was ringing with death and destruction like a Glavian lyre, the landscape of spirit painted with smoke-red and blood-blacks, the very air's soul ringing with hatred and violence. The Jedi Master breathed it deep into himself, letting it swirl around in the endless limpid green waterfall that was the light side of the Force, and breathed calm out into the morass of chaos. His eyes – which had closed of their own accord – opened in just the same manner.
"This changes nothing," said Obi-Wan. "You and the Senator simply need to find alternate transport off the planet." Anakin looked like he was about to say they could come with Kenobi, but the Jedi Master interrupted him. "Even assuming my starfighter has remained intact, both of you will not fit on my lap." Padme snickered and managed to turn it into a cough to avoid hurting Anakin's feelings.
"Padme can go with you, there is enough room for two in a Jedi starfighter. I can remain here and . . ." Obi-Wan shook his head, faint exasperation expected from a lesser man but not visible on his face.
"You have neatly swapped our Council-given missions, Anakin – not something that I would like to have to explain to Master Windu or Master Yoda." Obi-Wan peered out from behind the latticed bulkhead the three of them were hiding behind – the hangar was all too quiet for his liking. At the very least, there should have been a crew of droids or Kyundens sifting through the smoking, smoldering wreckage. It could flare into a fire in moments. Anakin would not give up.
"Then we dispatch Usaki together and you and Padme return to Coruscant," he said, "I will find my own way home." The shake of Obi-Wan's head was slightly more definite that before.
"No," he said flatly. "Your mission is bodyguard, Anakin – not merely to defend her, but to guard her. Granted, she would be more than safe with me as she has been before, but your place is by her side." When the younger man's face showed sullen annoyance, Obi-Wan's voice shifted. "You are a Jedi, Anakin," he said sternly, "you are not free to pursue your own ends – no matter how noble – as if you were a private person. You should let desire pass from your life, even desire for the most laudable of motives. Desire is attachment and attachment is a distraction." He paused. "Are we clear on this, Anakin?"
The younger Jedi – just for a moment shorter than the reset cycle on a forcefield – looked as if he might argue, and then the realization of his own youth and naiveté washed over his face. He bowed to Obi-Wan. "You are right, Master – I have not been mindful of the Living Force and I apologize." The older man smiled.
"Besides," he remarked dryly, "that second seat is reserved for Usaki, I intend to bring her in alive." He shifted his weight from the wall and gestured beyond the wreckage of the ship. "There are other hangers through that door – you should be able to borrow a ship and set course for Coruscant. I will descend into the spire-city and begin my hunt for Usaki." He turned to Padme. "Senator Amidala?" he asked, waving her forward as if he held the door open for her at the opera.
She did not move. "General Kenobi," she said seriously, "I am certain Anakin does not wish to neglect my protection." She knew he would do no such thing, but his desire to be the hero, to fix the whole, broken universe would lead to him wanting to have a less-singular focus than the older Jedi demanded. "Neither does he wish to defy the Council or you." Her voice made it clear she was not arguing with Obi-Wan, nor trying to shame her husband. She thought she understood his motivations and the two sides of his argument perfectly.
Obi-Wan knew that – and was also wise enough in the subtle interplays of life to know she may very well be right. He knew how close Senator Amidala and Anakin had been since he was first assigned to protect her on Naboo, and how close they still were. He had always suspected he was, in fact, in love with her – but the Force did not tell him of any need to think beyond that. He himself, the great Obi-Wan Kenobi, had loved another Padawan when he was a few years younger than Anakin – he suspected it was just a natural process of becoming Jedi.
Obi-Wan had, of course, let emotions wash over him like light over water for so long he had no idea of the cauterizing and shattering power of the laser that was Anakin's love. He had simply no frame of reference that would adequately describe the relationship between Padme and Anakin – even if he had been intellectually aware of its nature.
That was not to say that Obi-Wan had not loved – or did not still love – Siri Tachi. But her death was not an open wound any longer; if indeed it ever had been. There had been an instant of rage, a moment of anger that had clouded the crystal-clear clarity of his ordered universe. But then he had mastered those emotions and found he could love with an open heart and let everything that clouded his judgment pass from his life.
He did not know that Anakin thought he could never have loved Siri, simply because Obi-Wan had not slaughtered her killer in cold blood. And Obi-Wan thought Anakin could not truly love Padme, simply because he knew – sadly – such purity was beyond the younger man.
And so all he did was bow before Senator Amidala and say softly. "My lady, there is no Jedi – no man – that I would rather have at my side when I face anything other than Anakin Skywalker." Anakin blushed and began to mutter something. "That does not mean, however, I would suggest he gives up his duty for the sake of either of us. It is his duty and his generosity which make him the man he is." He faced Anakin, "The balance between them is the line of the Force." He gestured again. "Shall we?"
The Senator stepped forward, utterly unprepared for the howl of 'saber ignition and the wash of ozone that poured over her face as her husband's blade batted away the first of countless blaster bolts. And then Anakin and Obi-Wan were at her sides and two lightsabers were whirling in eye-boiling blue-white arcs and she was inside a sphere of falling stars that never reached her.
The Force had sung out a warning to the two Jedi as the hydraulic pistons slammed the blast doors open, revealing serried ranks of battle droids with blasters leveled. A hornet swarm of blaster fire electrified the air around the three of them as the Jedi began to advance inexorably towards the one door that was not filled with battle droids.
And then the menacing bronzium wheels of three destroyer droids rolled through that doorway and uncoiled themselves like Tatooine venom-scorpions stretching in the morning sun, the smoke from vaporized metal and ionized air that coiled around them looking uncommonly like the moisture dew they would soon lick from their mandibles before they started the day's hunt. Shimmering spheres of force englobed the droids and their under-slung heavy cannons began to pulse rhythmically, thick bolts of coruscating power stabbing towards the Jedi.
"Master, droidekas!" Anakin ramped up the speed of his Shien-parries, Obi-Wan's seemingly effortless Soresu didn't seem to change. The bolts reflected from the blades of the 'sabers bounced harmlessly from the shields of the advancing droids. The sheer weight of fire from the destroyers and more mundane battle robots might very well result in the defeat of the Jedi, and certainly would lead to . . .
"Stalemate, Master!" Anakin's arms were a blur, while Obi-Wan was a calm pillar of transparisteel, a window onto a sunlight meadow of the Force, doing his share and more of deflection.
"It's never a stalemate," remarked Obi-Wan dryly, batting a single bolt of blasterfire upward towards the roof of the echoing hangar, "if no-one has won the war isn't over."
For a second, Anakin might have argued – but then one of the supports above their heads battered by the blast Obi-Wan had deflected gave way with a sharp ping of stressing metal and a cascade of drums – fuel drums or lubricant or something of the sort – tumbled to the ground in a torrent of gleaming steel cylinders. They bounced lazily, denting themselves as the flipped over and over and roll across the hanger deck, crashing to the wreckage of the spaceship and blocking the droids' lines of fire.
Before the first of the drums had smashed into the shield of the first droideka, Obi-Wan was in motion – a devastating blend of Soresu and Ataru turning him into a whirling globe of blue-white plasma that rolled over the floor with the fluid grace of a Kalapian ball serpent. As the destroyer droids were knocked backwards, their shields shorting out as they ramped up power to push away the tumbling drums, a hail of blaster fire struck the shimmering sphere of spinning lightsaber blade that surrounded the Jedi Master, every single bolt reflecting karmicly back to strike down a battle droid.
Anakin could only watch in awe and wonder as his former Master reached the droidekas and – before they could reset their shield generators – sliced them to white-hot swarf, his 'saber spinning like a rotor blade. The younger knight saw Kenobi's blade resolve itself into a single bright line that shrank away into nothing, and then the Jedi Master was standing calm as a stone in the doorway surrounded by tumbling pieces of destroyed droidekas that had not even stopped moving.
Anakin grabbed Padme by her upper arm and hurried her through the hangar – practically no droids were left standing, but there was still too much blaster fire for his liking. He waved rolling drums out of their path, his Force-sense and gaze on all the doorways other than the one Obi-Wan had run to – and which he was leading Padme towards – and so he barely registered the ignition of his Master's 'saber and the surge in the living waterfall of the Force that was Kenobi.
He was entirely unprepared for what he saw when he reached his Master – the lean Jedi exchanging a bewildering array of blows with a tall, elegant, shockingly beautiful woman in whose perfectly-manicured hands rested a blood-red blade.