Title: Stars
Author: Syntyche
Email:
Rating: G, though Obi-angsty, of course.
Feedback: will be as adored and cherished as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and probably better treated, too.
Timeframe: Post Episode III.
Stars
By: Syntyche
In the end, all that existed was pain. His heart was a gaping, wounded snarl of ache and agony. It was far more than he'd ever thought he could endure, more than he'd ever dreamed he'd touch in his mortal existence. More than he thought he could bear.
The stars were out tonight. He raised tired eyes to face the darkness of the night, illuminated only by those stars and the crescent-shaped moon that hung listlessly, wanly, in the sky, mirroring his own worn, fetal curl. His eyes, normally so blue, so incredibly brilliant and bright and vivid and full of charm and fire and humor were now dull and blank and exhausted, and the only sheen in them now were the death rays of the hope that had once filled the man's heart and driven him on, pursuing a course of justice, rightness, and duty, and destiny.
He wondered where he'd gone wrong. There were, he realized regretfully, many, many places in his life that he could point to as possible precursors to setting him on the path he now walked. Many places where he'd failed, and someone else had paid the price.
Again his eyes lifted to the heavens. I could choose a star, he reasoned, for each failure. And if the thought was ludicrous at first, which, considering the number of stars embedded in that night's tapestry, it was, it became more and more believable with each star he chose and branded with a personal failure.
That one. His empty eyes settled on a bright, cold pinprick of light. His own master, Qui-Gon.
I was too slow on Naboo. I'm so sorry.
And that one, the one beside Qui-Gon's star. Padmé. He'd done his best to hide the children, but in the end he'd failed to protect her from the monster he'd created – which meant the star next to Padmé was Anakin's.
Obi-Wan choked back a sob. Of all his failings, that was the crowning achievement and glory of his legacy of failure: his Padawan. How could he have been so stubborn, so willfully blind? How could he have let such a promising young student slip through his grasping, proud fingers? How, indeed? Why hadn't anyone stepped forward to help him, to tell him all those years ago that he simply wasn't ready to assume such an awesome responsibility? Why hadn't anyone helped him?
But in the end, that didn't matter. In the end, Anakin had been his student.
The biting frost in the night breeze caressed his cheek and ruffled through his tousled hair, its icy spear winding around his broken heart. The cold of the ancient stone of the balcony seeped upwards through his cloak and chilled the skin beneath his bloody Jedi tunics. For just a moment, Obi-Wan was aware of how high up he was. One knowing step over the rim of the balcony would end all his troubles and halt the endless parade of failure that was his life, and rid the galaxy of a pest, a vermin who brought only despair to those unfortunate enough to cross his path. One step . . .
One step . . .
There were many other stars, and for each star he was ready with a name, a place, something to signify another fiasco accredited to him or somewhere he'd failed to make the crucial difference. Master Windu. Count Dooku. Drymar III. Geonosis. Dantooine. Luminara.
The names and faces weighed heavily upon his tortured mind. All he had to do was drag himself just a little closer to the edge. One last step to end a wretched life. Too many people, too many lives, lost because of him. Too very many.
Obi-Wan turned away from his contemplation of the ledge. He could not dishonor the lives of those he had loved by throwing away his own.
The hours of the night slid away as he stared upward, watching hollowly until the stars winked out one by one with the coming of the dawn. None of the pain he felt vanished along with the stars' light, but when the suns lifted over the horizon, they gently dried the tear tracks that streaked his cheeks and disappeared into his unkempt beard. His body welcomed the warmth, even if his desolate soul did not. Far below him, the waterfalls of Naboo crashed into the raging current that swept outward toward the sea. Obi-Wan dragged himself upright, ignoring the pain of his body and bitter, bloody wounds in his soul. It was time to go.
He could tell himself that he was waiting until the time was right and the little Skywalker twins had come of age, but it felt like a lie, a hollow attempt to cover his own aching. In truth, he no longer dared to touch the lives of others. What had once been his greatest joy, his cherished duty, was now feared and abhorred, and he could no longer risk what little amount of good there was left in the galaxy under Anakin's crushing grasp by subjecting his own presence and douse the embers. It was time for him to leave.
Tonight he would watch and count the stars again, as he did every night. Tonight they would again be branded with the scars of his hubris. Tonight, though, he would watch them under another sky, alone and far from the life he had once known. He would label Anakin's star first tonight, in honor of his home planet.
Obi-Wan limped inside, turning away from the final, fading stars.
He would see them again soon enough.