Written by LuvEwan
(Okay, this is my second crack at the 'Beyond the Saga' challenge. I actually scrapped my first attempt, something I usually never do because I'm lazy. So I hope you're happy, oe. This made me work!)
PG
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Obi-Wan awakens to a vastly different Universe. A complete AU.
Now I'm not familiar with the Universe post-ROTJ so bear with me.
O
He was awake. He could feel his mind shifting through the lazy, vacuous fog, attempting to emerge from the unstable drift of dream-thought. Slowly, he was awake, and with that cognizance came the grind of a headache. The pain seeped down his neck to his shoulders, deep to his bones. He knew what had caused the discomfort, although it was not a situation he was very familiar with. Jedi rarely had the opportunity to oversleep.
In any case, he knew the cure, too. Circulation, movement. The very notion tempted his brain to slip into the nothingness again. But he had better reason to rouse himself—he needed to know where he was.
His eyes felt swelled. He would wait to open them and allow his memory to supply his current location. With an unusually constricted intake of breath, he waded through the murk, searching for the events leading up to his languorous slumber. His head was packed with layers of insulation. Everything came fuzzy. But eventually, his last coherent recollection did come.
The wall had been white. He was sure it had been white when he entered the room. He didn't understand how in the small space between his arrival and the unfolding moment the stark color had dirtied to a dingy gray. More peculiar, the darker shade only appeared in scattered spots. Vibrating spots.
Obi-Wan blinked, looking with a sharpened focus. It was getting grayer. There were shadows creeping up every edge.
He didn't know why it should alarm him so. Far worse things were happening on Meyhla. Horrendous things were happening at the very hospital in which he sat. But that was different. Plagues cropped up from the ground. They were as old and incurable as Time itself.
But walls didn't change color. And they sure as hells didn't move.
"Padawan," A voice called, from off to his side, "Lay back down. Please."
Obi-Wan's eyes ambled over to his Master's face. It was gray. "I'm alright." He grimaced. He had forgotten how much it hurt to speak now.
The man's stoic expression eased…even softened. "I know. But I would feel better if you'd lie down. Please, Padawan."
"Yes, Master." He acquiesced, partly out of duty, partly because his body was trembling. He rested his head against the single, flat pillow. The sudden movement left him reeling and struggling to recover.
"Obi-Wan?"
"I'm…I'm okay." The younger Jedi assured, hand clamped to his head. His lungs were working furiously and he couldn't stop the lightening torrent of cold breath. A warm touch descended, to travel his temple. It was so comforting he could ignore the slight tremble of those roughhewn fingers. "Master?"
"Yes, my Padawan?" Qui-Gon replied quietly.
His world teetered on a pedestal. Obi-Wan covered his eyes. "When…when will it start?"
It would have seemed the wrong question to ask, but under the circumstances, it was the only option. There was no alternative. For Obi-Wan and thousands across the anguish-riddled world of Meyhla, it would never stop.
But an unmatched agony would begin, once the dizziness had run its course. The Jedi had been briefed on the terrible cycle of the disease, prior to their departure from Coruscant. First came the nausea, then the lightheaded sensations and severe imbalance. The final stage was composed of fevered pain. There were horror stories floating through the halls of death cries so awful, the core of the planet would shudder under their weight.
Then there was release. Ultimate release. Of all the things Master and apprentice spoke of in the tiny cube, they had never mentioned that.
Obi-Wan wanted to address it. He couldn't stand that it cloyed around them like a secret when they were both completely aware of it. "I'll miss you, Master. You know…you gave me everything. Even the clothes on my back. I'd be in soiled farmer's garb right now if it weren't for you."
Qui-Gon's mouth was chiseled in hard solemnity. "Obi-Wan, stop it."
The harsh emotion in that voice scraped the raw flesh of the Padawan's soul. Obi-Wan was a grown man, on the brink of his twenty-fifth year, but the malady had battered him. His reserve was a crumbling skeleton, leaving him exposed…weak. "I'm sorry, Master." A coolness stung the corners of his eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you. I…I just wanted to…"
Qui-Gon leaned forward, until their foreheads met. His hair fell around them in a curtain; all Obi-Wan could see was his Master. For the moment, it was only the two of them.
"I don't want you to think of that. No one has won. You're here."
"But-"
Qui-Gon laid a finger over his lips. "I promised I would protect you. Always." His eyes were bright and throbbing. "Obi-Wan, I won't let the pain come near you."
There was no use arguing that the sickness wasn't a corporal foe; that a determined stride and ready saber would amount to dust at its metaphorical feet. And besides, Obi-Wan thought it was a beautiful delusion his teacher had created. It was a pocket of unreality, the perfect place to curl up and await the inevitable, just as lovely as the tiny, private domain of Qui-Gon's closeness. There were shadows, but it was a sweet darkness.
Obi-Wan smiled, though the expression was cut into him. "Thank you, Master."
Qui-Gon kissed his brow. "I swear there will be no pain for you." He whispered, slipping in beside his apprentice and gathering him against a stalwart chest.
Obi-Wan sagged in the embrace. At last, he would relinquish responsibility. Qui-Gon would take care of it all. His own duties were simple: he lay there and felt a guarding hand stroke his back, listening to the calm cadence of the greatest heart he knew. His limbs grew heavy, along with his eyelids. And then…
No more. The line ended, with a mere dead sleep to connect that day with this smeared stumble into consciousness.
I must be in the hospital. Maybe Master Qui-Gon initiated a healing trance. His skin prickled. Is it wearing off now? Dread took a long drop down to the churning waters of his stomach. Is it time?
Carefully, he opened his eyes.
"Oh," He winced against the radiating white lights. His eyes squeezed shut, but echoes of it swam through his mental vision.
Alright. I'll wait a while more. His back was braced by an unyielding surface, which meant he was no longer on his beaten little cot. Was he in an examining room? Or did he have to give up his bed to a patient with hope for survival? Terminal. The word ached. They said it was terminal. I am terminal.
He never said it aloud in front of his mentor, but Obi-Wan had thought, from the moment his symptoms began to tell of a morbid diagnosis, that he was destined to die on Meyhla. After all, both he and Qui-Gon had their immunizations before they arrived. For Obi-Wan's body to rebel in such a way was nearly inexplicable. Fate was closing in.
Perhaps it already had. He'd heard of the confused dead, traipsing between one world and another, unable to go to the Force. Was that what he was now? Felled by the plague, but oblivious to his passing?
Obi-Wan's fingers curled in. The flesh felt chapped. But I can feel the Force. Indeed, he could feel it, in satin tendrils encircling his fatigued body and brushing across his mind. But there was a difference. A very noticeable difference.
"Master?"
He heard the waver in his own voice, a voice badly damaged and hoarse.
"M-Master, are you there?"
A buzzing silence.
Okay. Alright. He left the room. He went to get a drink. That's fine. I'll center myself while he's gone.
But attempts at composure proved fruitless, as the quiet remained unbroken, and his limbs grew more chilled. Obi-Wan flexed his fingers and toes. I should go find him. I…I need to go find him.
He tried to lift a leg, but felt a gentle pressure on his knee, which easily dropped back down.
"Movement is ill-advised, young one. Your transition is incomplete."
Obi-Wan coaxed an eyelid half-open. A figure hovered above him, but the details were diluted. All he could tell was it was not Qui-Gon. "Transition?"
"Yes." The elderly male tone responded. "You shouldn't even be at this phase yet. Your body is not nearly as fast as your mind."
Transition. Body. "Did I have surgery?" He wondered.
"Not exactly. It's classified differently, what you've undergone. And I'm very pleased to say that everything has been carried through brilliantly. You're good as new, young Kenobi."
Warmth flooded Obi-Wan's eyes. His chest heaved with the news, as though he'd been physically struck. "I…there's been a cure found? Are the others…where is my Master? Does he know?" He grinned, fighting harder than ever to see his surroundings, the Universe so miraculously returned to him. "Can you get my Master? I don't know where he is."
He sensed it in the Force before he heard it in the man's reply. His joy disintegrated. His body seemed to shrink against its hard pallet, terrified.
"I'm sorry, young one. I can't bring you your Master."
Obi-Wan frowned. "But he's here. He wouldn't…he wouldn't just leave."
"Kenobi, sir—"
"No," Obi-Wan shook his head, uncaring of the massive waves of pain the action incurred, "No, that doesn't make any sense. He was here. He was with me. He was right beside me. He—He told me he would take care of everything."
The hand felt slender as it rested along his forehead. "And he did. He took care of you. He made certain the Plague of the Meyhla Era of Dusk didn't claim you."
Obi-Wan was unable to comprehend. The man's words were spoke in alien tongue, a language of nonsense and horror. "But where is he?"
"I don't believe you're ready for that. You're in a fragile state."
"Please." Obi-Wan rasped. "Please tell me where my Master is. It would be worse for me not to know. I'm sick enough just trying to figure it out."
A heavy sigh, laced through with regret. "Your Master can't be here, young one."
"But why?" If there was flagrant desperation in his pursuit, Obi-Wan didn't allow it a second thought, for his mind's eye was filled with the image of his Master's drawn face, the proud features tight with weary concern. Qui-Gon had been so upset, he needed to hear of this wonderful turn. Despite Obi-Wan's earlier premonitions, everything was going to be alright, just as his teacher had pledged.
"Perhaps once you're rested—"
"Do you think I could glean one moment's rest with this circling in my brain? I need to know where he is. Please. I-I need to know why I can't feel him." His bones began to jitter, but not exclusively from the frigidity of the room. "Did he…did he get it too?"
"No, young one," The man negated, "He didn't."
"Did he have to return to Coruscant?" But Obi-Wan shook his head, nearly laughing, "No. If that were true, you wouldn't be having such difficulty telling me."
"You don't want to press this. Not until your body has recuperated. I will not be swayed on this matter." A thick covering was draped over him, "Your health has only recently been restored."
"No!" Obi-Wan called after the retreating footfalls, "Please, I just need to know where he is! Where's my Master! Please!"
There was the sound of a door sealing.
Immediately, Obi-Wan was forcing movement from his legs and straining his arms, lifting himself to a sitting position. His head was twirling, it seemed, but a few deep breaths settled him, and he was able to chance sight.
When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to find himself in a steely, sterile-looking room. He gripped onto the blanket as he brought down one foot to the floor.
"Sith it's cold," He uttered harshly, flattening his other foot against the tile. "Okay…" And then he was standing, with an arm gripping the edge of the bed. The exertion burned in his muscles, but was tolerable. "Okay, I'll just take it a step at a time. If they don't bring him here, I'll find him myself. I'll…"
His plans were thwarted when his knees abruptly decided against labor, and he collapsed on that icy grid of tile, heaved toward sleep, despite his heartfelt objections.
O
For two days he was trapped in the name of his own recovery, consciousness interrupted by bouts of troubled respite. The walls remained a solid color, and he knew that in at least one way, he was not being deceived. The plague had been uprooted from his veins.
But his gratitude was marred by his suspicion, his outright resentment. It was plainly evident that the physician knew the whereabouts of Qui-Gon Jinn, but chose to conceal them. For the revived life of him, Obi-Wan couldn't understand the motive.
Finally, on a rain-gray afternoon, as Obi-Wan sat wrapped in the heavy blanket, the maddening doctor came to him. Instead of tinkering with monitors or measuring his patient's vitals, the aged man sat on the empty cot opposite Obi-Wan.
"I'm sure you think very badly of me, young Kenobi. But you must understand, in your state you would have been incapable of digesting the information."
"But I'm better now," Obi-Wan pointed out quickly, "I can hear it now. You can tell me."
The yellowed skin appeared to ruddy before him. The doctor looked down at his freckled hands, then at Obi-Wan. "During the Plague of the Meyhla Era of Dusk, we knew of the cure. While thousands faded away around us, we knew there was a solution."
Obi-Wan crossed his arms, trying his best not to pass judgment, even as the fragments of widespread desolation speared his thoughts. "And why didn't you employ it?"
"We would have, but it was impossible. The only serum against the Plague was extracted from the Geyuou plant, which grows on the outer fringes of Meyhla. The plant is extremely rare, in that it follows a strict timetable. The Plague just came at the wrong time. The plant takes thirty-five years to mature to fullness, and lives for mere days. We didn't have enough time."
Obi-Wan watched as the sagging skin fell further around pale eyes. "Then how did you know the Geyuou was the cure?"
"Test after test was run to determine the specifics of the Plague. Once we knew what it was, we tracked elements that could naturally counteract it. The composition of the Geyuou was in our database. That's the only way we knew…that it was the only cure."
"There was no sample of the plant, so that more could be synthesized?"
"The Plague was smart, young Kenobi. It spotted artificiality at once. It was smart…and ruthless. The torture the afflicted underwent—I will never forget that massive suffering."
Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around the blanket. "Then how am I possibly here? You said the Geyuou was the only cure."
The doctor compressed his lips. "It still is."
Obi-Wan knew the impatience was needling his voice. "I don't understand."
The man sighed, glancing from Obi-Wan's face to the small window overlooking the rest of the medical complex. "Your Master was not coping well with the news. As your condition worsened, and you began to approach the stage of immense pain, he was frantic. He offered me the whole of his possessions, including his Jedi weapon, if I would offer some alternative."
Obi-Wan quelled a shudder. "And what was the alternative?"
The physician focused rheumy eyes on the other man. "He was at the point of begging. You were asleep, but the first pain throes were hinting. He pleaded for my help. Your case wasn't as advanced as others. So I was able to help."
"What did you do?"
"I had you transferred to a different wing of the hospital. It was here, on this floor, that I explained the possibility of your survival to your Master. I knew it was hard for him to decide, but in the end, your survival meant more than anything else. He signed all the documents. And he stayed for as long as the Jedi permitted him to." The next words had to be purged from the thin lips as though they were a rotting poison, "He had you placed in a stasis chamber, where your body entered a state of hibernation. To await the progression of the Geyuou."
Obi-Wan tried to swallow, but the lump lodged in his throat only thickened. "No…no…that isn't right. I'm better now. And that would mean…" He looked helplessly at the doctor, "What does that mean?"
"If your body had aged with the rest of the Universe, you would not be twenty-five. You would be sixty."
A furious frown wrinkled his brow. "I…that can't be. Yesterday I was talking to my Master. Today can't…"
"It's much to accept, I know." A willowy hand rested on his leg, "But it's the truth. Your life was paused while the Geyuou bloomed. And when it did, we fed the serum to you intravenously and removed you from the cold."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "But where is my Master? Didn't you tell him I was awake?" His hand went to the shorn hair behind his ear, "And my braid. What happened to it? What happened to the braid?"
"So much happens over three decades, young one. The Universe has changed-drastically. There have been great losses."
"Losses?" His mouth was numb, even as it quivered, "What losses?"
The old doctor stood and went to Obi-Wan, tenderly pressing him down until he was lying on the bed. "He knew he wouldn't be here for this, but he had to ensure your continued existence."
Obi-Wan looked up with dawning dismay. "What are you saying he's not here?" He grappled for a softer explanation, one that fit in with sanity and the mercy of the Force, "Is he on Coruscant?"
But that wasn't it. He saw the morose shadow in the physician's eyes. The pity. "He passed on, young one. It's been a few years now."
His guts revolted against the statement. Obi-Wan shook his head, bile filming his mouth. "No. That can't be." He rejected the cruel notion, but he saw the pull of years in the once-youthful man's face above him. The pull of thirty-fives years, if this nightmare was more than an awful ruse. "My Master is…" He gripped his Padawan tail with possessive fingers, "No, he's not…"
"He wanted to stay on-planet, but the need for Knights increased. Even after he began to accept assignments, he found the time to return here." The doctor put a hand to his chin, increasingly discomfited by the open misery Obi-Wan projected. "There's…" He coughed, "There's a visitor's log that documents every occasion he returned. If you'd like to see it…?"
Obi-Wan didn't answer, staring through dry, pained eyes, eyes that no longer felt like his own. He's dead. Qui-Gon is dead. It was akin to drinking air, breathing water, the moon high at noon. How could he possibly believe it? It went against the basic harmony of his Universe, all he knew.
A hand fell to his shoulder, and he thought of the hand that would migrate there, in moments of doubt and difficulty, a hand shaped by both struggle and victory. His eyes slipped closed. Force help me.
"He didn't leave you stranded. There has always been a package for you in the hospital safe, to provide for you."
"Provide for me?" Obi-Wan gasped his overwhelming incredulity, "I don't need to be provided for. I can go home. I'm going home."
The doctor smiled, lines streaking from his eyes. It was perhaps the saddest smile the young Jedi had ever seen. "You need to open the package. Before you do anything, see what your Master has left for you."
O
He was left alone to sift through the things Qui-Gon Jinn had saved for his apprentice. There was the bundle of credits, of course, a modest sum from a man of modest means. When he delved further into the worn rucksack, Obi-Wan found various trinkets from their partnership, albeit a small collection: a medal, a stuffed creature taken as a memento from the planet-spanning Carnival, a few journals.
"Oh," Obi-Wan gasped, cradling the grace-illuminated river stone in his palm. It was then that the first tear drew a shining mark down his face, quickly joined by countless others.
He pressed his lips against the polished warmth. "Please let me come out of this." He shook his head fervently. "This can't be real."
Minutes marched with Obi-Wan's head bowed in the cold sanctuary of his hands. He wanted to smother himself in that darkness, to return to the void, and wake to the true version of his life. He wanted to wake and see his Master, strong and vital and whole.
He didn't want to see the hand-written pages, instantly recognizable as Qui-Gon's slanted script, which lay at the bottom of the sack.
And he certainly didn't want to take those pages in his shaking hands, and read damning line after damning line.
But he did.
My dear Obi-Wan,
As you read this, know that my sole wish in life has been granted. You've been rid of the monster that tried to take you, and you can breathe free again. I didn't want it to be this way. I wanted to be there everyday.
But the Universe would not halt for me. Seasons change, my Padawan, and so I saw the galaxy shift from one to the next. The Jedi were tugged in every direction. Each member of the Order was needed, as plights spread and multiplied across the worlds. I saw things that will haunt me long after I join with the Force. My only consolation was that you were sheltered, beyond the reach of the burgeoning Dark. I came to you in every spare moment, and gazed upon a face of purity, Light. You were an anchor, Obi-Wan, because I knew you were there, and I knew you were untainted.
Several months after your time in stasis had begun, I was assigned to protect the young queen of a peaceful nation called Naboo. During this mission, I encountered a child with staggering presence in the Force. His name was Anakin Skywalker, and he was a slave on the Hutt-controlled Tatooine. I managed to free him, and after exhaustive lobbying with the Council, Anakin was permitted to enter Jedi training, with myself appointed guardian and Master.
Obi-Wan's heart contracted. The sweat of his fingers saturated the thin paper.
I felt like a traitor, my Obi-Wan. And I must confess, that though it would dwindle in the years to come, it would never disappear completely. You weren't knighted, so you were still my Padawan. It struck me as incredibly wrong to acknowledge another in that role. But the boy's potential was something I couldn't ignore. The Force dictated my actions then. It whispered of the future, of balance.
Anakin matured into an apprentice unparalleled by his peers. He advanced quickly and was bestowed knighthood before I thought him ready. The Council argued that his talents were needed, for the threat of worlds disbanding from the Republic was tripling by the day. So I bowed to their command. I was weak at a crucial point, my Padawan. The galaxy has paid the price for that weakness.
The baggage of Anakin's former existence was more than I understood it to be. His mother died, he married the former Naboo Queen in clandestine. He couldn't live by the Code, and often sought guidance from Palpatine, one-time Senator of Naboo, who elevated in a flash to Supreme Chancellor and finally, Emperor.
But Palpatine harbored a terrible secret. On that mission to Naboo, I encountered a Sith. He was a demon figure with a double-bladed saber. His skills were beyond that of any enemy I had ever faced. We met twice, and in the second duel, he was defeated. I barely escaped with my life. The Jedi were baffled by the resurgence of the Dark. As you know, the Sith were ruled by the dictation of Two, a Master and apprentice. If one Sith had been revealed, than another was lurking.
That Sith was Palpatine. He lured Anakin to the Dark with subtle ego-stroking and promises of power. With the Republic in ruins, Palpatine gained control as Emperor, with Anakin as his trusted second in command.
"Master," Obi-Wan breathed.
Their prime target was the Jedi. Killing machines were dispatched to murder the entire Order. And they were successful. Gods, their wicked hands touched everywhere in the Universe. But a single scrap of my heart was saved. Anakin never knew about you, Obi-Wan. He knew Obi-Wan Kenobi was once my apprentice, but had died in the plague that swept Meyhla. Only Yoda and the High Council knew the truth about your condition.
And now, Yoda is alone in his knowledge.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. He began the paragraph again, praying that he had misunderstood. No, the words remained, sentencing him to worse pain than could ever have been inflicted by the extinguished virus.
Palpatine and Anakin hunted the Jedi down, Obi-Wan. With the aid of an enormous fleet of soldier clones, they performed mass executions within the very halls of the Jedi Temple. A handful was spared the initial onslaught, but were weeded out and taken care of soon after. The Temple is ash and ruin. The devastation is beyond description. I don't have it in me to attempt detail. I had to leave orders with the hospital to sever your braid. It would have been a telltale sign of your status as a Learner. I have it with me.
Yoda has eluded the Sith and so have I. Together, we saved the twin children of Anakin and his deceased wife. The girl child, Leia, is safe with Bail Organa. The boy is on Tatooine, under the care of Owen and Beru Lars. Owen was Anakin's stepbrother. They are good people. I stayed on the desert world for years, in seclusion, guarding the boy, Luke. But I felt a change coming.
I'm here to see you, one final time. I knew you'd be in stasis, but there is a part of me that wants the thaw, to be able to hold onto you. My selfishness has lost none of its strength over the years, it seems. I kept you here to spare myself from seeing you in the violent torment of death, because I couldn't live without you living. And now, I'm fighting the urge to free you from your fixed place, simply because I want to put you in my arms.
But I know it can't be. Your time of reawakening is fast approaching, my Obi-Wan. But it won't be fast enough. Anakin will find me, and that will be my end. I'm an old man. I never imagined I would live quite this long. My soul is tired. I would have held on, to see you in the flush of life and health.
I haven't the foresight of the Force. Perhaps there is still a chance, I can't be sure. Maybe Fate will find us reunited on this plane.
But, my dear Obi-Wan, if it doesn't, there are things you need to know.
Please don't think me cruel for what I've done. It was never my intention to maroon you in a Universe you no longer recognize, with your home and family gone. I did this with my own heart in mind, yes, but that heart consisted only of love for you. You were my reason, Obi-Wan, for everything. I thought Anakin would bring a beautiful symmetry to the Force. I thought he was the saving grace of the next era, that he would ensure a bright future for the new generation…and for you.
But the galaxy is painted so bleakly. I can't see the Light, except when my mind travels to memories of you. YOU are Light, Obi-Wan. You and the twins are beacons in the Force. The hope for the Jedi is there, in your radiance.
If this letter finds us beyond one another's reach, then let it speak for me, and my eternal belief. You are a gift of the Force, Obi-Wan. If I had any purpose in this life, it was to preserve that gift, until it was needed the most.
You're needed, Obi-Wan. The Force is clouded. Locating the twins will be like searching out the single two stars in the night sky. You'll find them. And you can teach them. You're the last of the Jedi, my Padawan. You carry much weight on your shoulders-as you always have. But you're the only one that can bear it. You were always the best of them all.
I should have told you that more often, when the only shadows were those under our feet.
Know that I am saying it now, down to my soul, again and again. You are my legacy. The legacy of the Jedi.
If I were given the chance to do differently that awful day on Meyhla, I wouldn't have. The Force knows what we don't, Obi-Wan. Trust in it.
With Eternal Love,
Qui-Gon.
The next moments were a blur, melting in the deluge of tears.
He was on the floor hours later, when a docent discovered his bowed body and used a large, brown robe that had been folded in the very bottom of the rucksack to warm his frozen limbs.
O
A week after his initial awakening in the Meyhla hospital, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood on the street, his Master's cowl pooled around his face. The morning was overcast, but the decades spent in the darkness behind his eyelids left him blinking rapidly against the paining glare of the distant sun.
Life continued on around him, in every form. A couple walked, arm in arm, speaking in conspiratorial whisper. Business types moved quicker, with straightened postures and thoughtful faces.
Obi-Wan watched them, fingers curling and uncurling beneath the voluminous shelter of the robe sleeves.
An elderly man's bowed back was pushed a little further, so that he could take the smaller hand of a child, who in turn looked up at him with shining, guileless black eyes and an earnest smile.
Something in Obi-Wan flexed. According to the doctors, he was no younger than that man. The web of lines and valley of knots and deep caverns should have marked his own countenance. His shoulders should have been hunched.
But instead, he felt akin to the boy, amazed and dumbstruck by everything he saw, content to be guided by an older hand.
Since birth, Obi-Wan had taken scarcely a step without one voice or another leading (or ordering) him down a certain path. He had made the decision to become a Jedi, but that course in life had been chosen before he understood the meaning. And since beginning his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon, he had been a step behind, in the flooding shadow of his mentor. There were moments when he was infuriated by it. So often he was overlooked because of his age and the apparent lack of experience associated with it. Yet, it was safe in that shadow. He was safe, knowing that in times of tremendous struggle, his Master's word and influence would lead him to his answer.
The chill in his chest quickly spread to his heart, as it came to him again that now, when the uncertainty was piled like a range of rugged mountains around him, his Master could not help him.
He was still an apprentice, but there was no teacher. He was to be the teacher, of children he had never seen, from a father who had unleashed holocaust on the people Obi-Wan loved.
And despite his Master's declarations, Obi-Wan thought that perhaps he wasn't meant to uphold the name of the Jedi. His friends, his instructors, his father…they were gone. What was he, standing alone?
You've answered your own question, He said to himself, as he made his way down the sidewalk, You are alone.
O
When he came to the window of the crowded station, the attendant wanted to know where he was headed.
Obi-Wan glanced at the slated schedule of destinations, but already knew where he needed to go. "To Coruscant."
The thick-lipped creature behind the smeared glass looked startled. "Coruscant, sir?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, brow furrowing, "Is that alright?"
"Oh—of course. There is a transport departing for Coruscant very soon. Only four, maybe five hours from now."
"That's fine." He held out a fraction of the money Qui-Gon had left for him. "Will this be enough?"
"To get to Coruscant? Surely, yes." The attendant took the credits, keyed in the reservation, then handed him a slim chip. "Have that with you, or you will not be allowed to board."
"Thank you." Obi-Wan turned from the counter and pocketed the ticket. Did he look so dazed that such a simple procedure had to be explained to him?
He found a seat in the waiting area, between a sleeping Wookiee and seedy-looking man in sweat-saturated tunics.
The molded plastic hit him in the wrong places, but he ignored the discomfort, staring down at the rucksack cradled in his arms. He tried not to think of anything. Memory, of any kind, depleted him completely.
"Where ya off to?" The perspiring man asked, after a few quiet minutes.
Obi-Wan glanced at him. "Coruscant."
A bark of laughter punched up in the excessively large chest. "Coruscant?" The man's features twisted, "What in hells is wrong with you, kid?"
In the back of his mind, Obi-Wan recognized that he was in fact several years the man's senior. "I live on Coruscant. I'm…I'm going home."
"Must be a damn wonderful home you're goin' to, then. I know I wouldn't step foot in that stink hole for anything."
"Why?" Yes, the Temple had been destroyed, but that was only a small patch, considering the size of the planet.
"Stars, where you been?" The man laughed again, "That place ain't worth the dirt on your boots. On anyone's boots."
"There's nowhere else I can go." Obi-Wan shrugged slightly, feeling the anguish on his face while hoping it did not appear as strong. "Coruscant is my home."
"Then I feel real sorry for you," The man shook his head.
Obi-Wan looked away.
O
The engine thrummed beneath him. He pressed his feet firmly against the floor, oddly comforted by the sensation. If he closed his eyes and banished the last week from his recollections, he could almost imagine himself on a mission. He thought of the vessel rumbling as it jetted through space, taking him to one destination or another, to confront or detain or mediate. Qui-Gon wasn't here, but he'd been on enough solo assignments to know that it would be fine. When he came back to the Temple, his Master would be there.
It was such a sweet fabrication that he didn't notice when he began to squeeze his eyes, so that they shut tighter, and the top row of his teeth stabbed into his lip.
But reality would dominate the day. Slowly, scraps of passages from the letter, bleary images of coming to in the hospital overtook the fantasy.
And then he was on the rickety transport again, arms folded close to his chest, Qui-Gon's cloak brought in even closer to his body.
He wanted to curl up in a corner. He wanted to drown in a shadow. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was, trapped between the shoulders of the other passengers.
But he was hostage to the plans made for him, so he could only sink against the seat, and try to sleep in the last vestige of his Master's spirit left in the utterly changed Universe.
O
The Force was an empty tomb inside him.
Dreams were sinister portraits of his former life. In dreams, Bant, Garen and Reeft were alive. Qui-Gon was alive.
So he could not bear to sleep, for he could not bear the waking and the slow dawning of the hell in which he now functioned.
He watched the black pulse of the galaxy from the window. The window was far from him.
O
The transport landed and the passengers filed out, down the ramp.
Obi-Wan walked with the rucksack pressed against him protectively. He moved at a brisk gait. In thirty years ago, little had changed. His fellow Coruscanti would not slow for others to pass. The world was a scrambling nexus of hustle and bustle.
He breathed in, but the air was stagnant. Not at all as he remembered.
There was a gnawing hunger in him, but it had nothing to do with sustenance. The void left by the slaughtered Jedi was greater than he had anticipated. His soul had been devoured, leaving little but pathetic crumbs for him to survive on.
The streets were riddled with gray. He looked at them with helplessly horrified eyes, and wondered if maybe he was ill again. Had the dingy spots returned, to warn him of worse pain to come?
As he went further into the thick of the city, Obi-Wan grew disoriented. The entire planet had been reconstructed, it seemed, leaving nothing as it had once been. It was wrong. It was so wrong.
Moisture spiked in his eyes, but he wasn't in the mindset to be ashamed. He wound through the maze of streets and skyscrapers, seeing shops with crimson crossed over the windows. The places of his childhood had been ruined, along with the people.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan stopped, staring at the now-ancient club in front of him. He snuck here once, with a couple friends, and endured a month-long punishment for it. His Master had walked him back to the Temple in a terrible, stony silence.
They had gone out the door and cut a straight line to the Temple.
The Temple. It must be… Obi-Wan stepped around, to face the long, dusty corridor. That night, he had seen the gleaming top of the Jedi dwelling from the street.
He couldn't see it anymore.
Force you must help me, He murmured to himself, and started walking.
O
As he approached the wasteland that had been the glorious Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan felt a leaden heaviness in his knees and a pounding in his lungs.
He had walked this ground more times than he could count. Leaving for a field trip, returning from an errand, on the way to Dex's with his Master, racing Garen to the stairs.
And lastly, at Qui-Gon's side, heading for the transport to Meyhla.
There had been amazing beauty here, rising in silver pillars to the clouds. There had been life and laughter.
It had been home for the Jedi.
But there were no Jedi. And Obi-Wan had no home.
What was left was slit and clumps of ash. The sky was roiling darkness, misted with ghosts. Parts of the structure had clung, but it was like looking at an abandoned, forgotten shell.
Abandoned. Forgotten. Obi-Wan swallowed hard. Have they been forgotten? Has their memory been lost, now that everything is gone?
What was their agony? Do they still feel it?
He managed a few steps before crashing down, laying his face against the massive grave of the Order. Every face he had ever glimpsed in the halls assaulted him, each smile was a curse.
The memories were never-ending. Yoda instructing a throng of eager initiates, Bant emerging from the pool, Master Windu striking the winning blow in a breathless spar, Knights paused for a brief glimmer of shared laughter.
His Master sitting at the table, fiddling with a broken gadget. His Master reading in the late hour, the moon hinting around his face. His Master, sitting beside him in meditation, leading him through the fear and doubt. His Master there, always there.
It was going to be too much. How could he take it? How could he endure this a moment longer?
He couldn't. He would die in his grief. He was dying on the decimated floor of old cinder and older remembrance.
My brave Obi-Wan. It is your moment.
Obi-Wan sat up in a rush. "M-Master?"
"Hey, are you…are you alright?"
He was startled by the young voice, so much that he didn't attempt to compose himself before turning to look at the intruder. Indeed, the man was young, decked in dark color, but with a hardness to his rather innocent face. "Are you alright?" He asked again, with genuine concern.
Obi-Wan gulped down the tenacious rise of bile. "I…" He shook his head and wiped at his eyes. His Master's presence in his mind had been bitterly fleeting, "I only need a moment. I'm…I'm sorry if I frightened you."
The sandy-haired man shook his head. "You didn't frighten me. From the looks of it, I frightened you."
Obi-Wan tried to smile, but the effort fell away as a weary, heart-wrenched sigh. "I just," He took a breath, "I just didn't know anyone was here."
"No one is here." The man said, more gravely, pale blue eyes traveling the ruins. Then he focused on Obi-Wan again. "Not anymore." A thoughtful intermission, then, "Did you know a Jedi?"
There was a hand reaching down to him. Obi-Wan took it, coming to stand on unstable legs. He studied the face. It took him only a few seconds to comprehend.
"I knew many Jedi, once," He told him. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi."
And a hand was outstretched, but this time, it belonged to Obi-Wan.
The other man shook it without hesitation. "I'm Luke Skywalker."
When Obi-Wan attempted a smile, he found that he had made a small success. He gripped the hand with something like desperation. "I thought that you might be."
End