The premise of this story is simple: What if Obi Wan had been intercepted during his stay on Tattooine and forced out of his routine in the desert planet?

It is a non-canon story with five years in the making. It is far from perfect, but it's been crafted with love. It is meant to fit in the 19 years between ROTS and ANH.

Co author for this story (and all of the Star Wars stories that will be published by me) is Simple. White. Lie ( u/1489707/Simple-White-Lie ).

Enjoy :)

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PREFACE

As he looked back it all seemed like a painful haze. At times it felt as if it all had happened to some other man, sometimes it seemed as if it had all happened in but the blink of an eye; but most of the time it was as clear and vivid as if he was still standing in the ashen terrain of Mustafar, looking down at his brother and pleading for him to give up on the madness that had taken hold of him… But Anakin was too far gone.

In a span of hours he lost everything, from the Jedi who gave his life meaning, to the republic that gave meaning to the Jedi, down to his best friend and his wife. It was while Padme gave birth to the children of Skywalker that he knew there was no getting back his life. Bail took the little girl, Yoda went into hiding, and he… He was sent to Tatooine to watch over the boy, to make sure he was safe and ready for when the time came for him to be the galaxy's new hope.

He visited the Lars homestead, explained as vaguely as he could that the boy was family, and was relieved to see Owen and Beru take to the child without further interrogation of the weary Jedi who then directed his mount to the small hut he had acquired across the dune sea. Close enough to help, far enough to give the small family the privacy they needed. Obi Wan had not spoken a word of the Jedi, of training the boy, of destiny and prophecies; the Lars had more than enough to worry about.

How short lived this arrangement would be.

A few cycles later he showed up at the moisture farm once more. The man who was now known as Ben needed to keep a closer eye on the boy, but Owen Lars would have none of it. "You entrusted him to us. What have the Jedi ever done for this family?" The farmer had spouted after a third visit. It took a few months and six more visits for Lars to firmly set his foot down, threatening Kenobi with exposing his identity if he didn't stand down. The old Jedi wasn't welcome in the boy's life.

Ben retreated to what was now his home, the sandy hut felt too big for him, too empty after his failed attempts to communicate with his former master. What was the purpose of his life now?

The downward spiral had begun with a visit to the Mos Eisley cantina, the bitter spirits were cheap and they fogged both his thoughts and his senses; the stupor allowed him to sleep through some of the nightmares that had become a fixture in his nights, fogging memory and purpose, making him forget about losing his way.

It wasn't long until drinking and keeping hidden from imperial troopers led him to darker corners of the spaceport, where the company of warm skin was as intoxicating as alcohol, allowing pain and frustration an outlet. One that caused shame enough to keep the wheel turning.

"We will contact you Master Kenobi." That had been Bail's promise, to allow him to help in the effort against the empire, but so far the Alliance was silent. So he kept a distant eye on the son of Skywalker and tried to keep the worst of his nightmares at bay.