Farewell, happy fields, where joy forever dwells. Hail, horrors! Hail, infernal world! And thou, profoundest Hell, receive thy new possessor-one who brings a mind not to be changed by place or time. —John Milton

Chapter One

Wind gently blew through the tall grass, setting the stalks to swaying and lifting the dried leaves in a whirlwind dance. The gentle rustling of the blades made the only sound in the stillness. Often, people count the beginning of a battle as the calm before the storm, the few silent moments of reflection before all hells breaks loose. Obviously, these people have never truly been through a battle, or at least they had not lived to see the end. For in truth, the silence comes in the form of the bodies littering the ground, in the form of faces stilled—once full of life, with thoughts, feelings, and hopes of their own—echoing the deep hole in the universe where their presence had once been.

Obi-Wan surveyed the ruin and carnage, his blue-grey eyes drifting around to his silent men as they picked their way through the battlefield, gathering the bodies of their fallen brothers. Obi-Wan knew that this was their duty, what they had been raised and trained to do—to fight for a Republic that neither cared nor respected them, that looked on them as expendable. Being raised by the Jedi Order guided to him know that there was no death, only the Force, yet when faced with the dead bodies of men he had commanded, there was a difference between knowing and believing. These men had been under his command, and it was his orders that sent them to their deaths. A Jedi should not feel attachment, but they could mourn the loss of life.

Sorrow and pain simmered their way into his heart, spreading their icy shards, looking for a place to lodge. With one last glance as his fallen troops, Obi-Wan sighed and released his feelings into the Force. The living needed his help more than the dead needed his grieving. With a heart still burdened, he made his way towards his remaining men.

"What's the toll this time, Commander?" Obi-Wan asked Cody, his gaze on the ships lifting the casualties to The Negotiator.

Cody stood stiffly, his armor scorched and dented. It had been a costly battle. They may have won, but neither man felt like rejoicing. "We had heavy casualties, sir," the Commander informed his General. "All of Flame Company and half of Ghost Company are gone."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, running his hand over his beard. Such a loss of life. When would this blasted war end? The Jedi were not generals, they were peacekeepers. They were supposed to protect the galaxy, not fight its battles.

A sudden surge in the Force, a bright bonfire of light, alerted Obi-Wan to his former apprentice's approach. As the familiar yellow Eta-II Interceptor set down several hundred feet away, Obi-Wan finally allowed himself a small sight of relief.

While he would be the last to admit it, he often felt . . . concern for his former padawan. Yet concern didn't quite describe the alarmed flutter he would feel when seeing the yellow fighter slip and dodge its way through enemy fire as ships all around it exploded into fiery bursts of light, or didn't describe the warm glow he felt when the two of them shared a small joke that just the two of them understood. Deep down, he knew it was dangerously close to attachment, this feeling he felt, and his thoughts constantly warred with one another on the subject. It's against the Code, the litany of thousands of years of Jedi masters would whisper to him. Yet he also knew there were times he had gladly broken the Code for the young man in question. He had even defied the council, told Master Yoda to his face he would train the boy with or without their approval. Never once did he regret his decision.

Well, maybe once or twice. A small smile crossed his face as he thought of a few difficult times the two of them had experienced together. His padawan—

Not padawan anymore, he corrected himself. Another small smile flickered across his features, yet the small pang of sadness at memories of what would no longer be surprised him. Anakin had proved his worth to the Jedi time and time again.

In the past, whispers echoed through the Temple, whispers of Jedi doubting his legacy, doubting if he truly was the Chosen One. Yet, now . . . even the nonbelievers began to see the skill, the mastery, the overall raw power the boy contained. No one voiced doubt any longer. However in late night walks and darkened corners Obi-Wan still heard whispers, not whispers of doubt—but of fear.

Yet Obi-Wan trusted Anakin with his life. He knew Anakin felt the same towards him, in the way they would share a tight smile in the heat of battle, or when Anakin would run off on one of his schemes, knowing Obi-Wan would cover for him until he came back or run after to help him. It was a bond that went deep, a golden thread that sang and danced when the two were in perfect unison. Obi-Wan knew what they had was special, and he treasured it. But the internal war he waged with himself kept him from voicing his affection out loud. No, Anakin could never be told. He loved to deeply, he was too willing to sacrifice for the ones he loved, and Obi-Wan did not want to be the one that broke his tenuous allegiance to the Jedi Order.

So instead, Obi-Wan loved him with his gestures, his smile, his teasing, and yes, even his gentle rebukes. His love was shown in the way he stood as the listening ear for Anakin's angry rants, or in how he himself stood up time and again to the Council, impressing upon them the goodness within Anakin that he could see every day. After all, those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not words.

The object of his musings completed his landing and leapt out of his ship, his blue eyes scanning the battlefield, his face hardening as he took in the destruction. Those blue eyes then searched for azure, the face softening upon finding what he was looking for. He made his way over.

"I leave you alone for a few hours and this happens?" Anakin teased lightly, gesturing to the destroyed and damaged droids littering the field. Yet underneath the teasing, a tight thread of pain and anger slipped through. "This is why we can't have nice things."

Obi-Wan spared his friend a tight smile. "Well, you know how it is. I just like having all the fun."

Anakin smirked back, but then his smile slipped and his face became grave. "Seriously," he asked, his voice low. "How many did we lose?"

Once again, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He did not want to see the look of shock and pain on his former padawan's face when he told him. "All of Flame Company and half of Ghost Company," he said quietly, turning away from Anakin. Still, he could not avoid the feelings of shock and anger vibrating through the Force at those words.

"What? Obi-Wan, that's over 200 men!" Anakin clenched his fists so hard that Obi-Wan imagined he could hear metal and servos creaking in his mechanical hand. "We lost another squadron over Polis Massa two days ago! And what about . . ."

Rounding on his friend, Obi-Wan bit back, "You don't think I know that?" He felt his lips pressing together and crossed his arms over his chest. "These were my men too, Anakin."

Anakin shook his head angrily and turned away from his former master. "Yeah, well, sometimes I wonder if you even think of them as men."

Obi-Wan winced slightly. He knew Anakin felt things deeply, much deeper than any Jedi should. Obi-Wan might mourn the loss of the lives of his men, yet as was the Jedi way—as he had been trained—he released his feelings and carry on, perhaps a little more tired, a little more scarred, but whole.

Anakin, on the other hand, believed he could save the entire galaxy, starting with his own men. Each of their deaths hit him hard. He took it as a personal affront against himself—Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. How could he be the Chosen One and not be able to save everyone he cared about? What was the point of all his power if he simply had to watch while people died? So while Obi-Wan released his feelings, Anakin pulled them inside, fueling the already burning sun within. No matter how many discussions or arguments they had, Anakin never changed. This both scared his former master and warmed his heart. Anakin would not be Anakin without the passion that made him who he was. Perhaps that was why his men followed him without question—they were more willing to die for a man who would do the same for them and would mourn them if they did not come back.

Yet the burning sun within Anakin scared Obi-Wan as well. There was only so long he could go before the sun could no longer be contained. And Obi-Wan knew whenever—if ever—that happened, he would not want to be the person toward which the supernova known as Anakin Skywalker was directed. Each day, each man lost, each close call chipped and whittled away at Anakin, causing the ever growing rifts to tremble and quake. So Obi-Wan did his best to share his friend's pain, to be there when he needed him, and to glue together the broken cracks slithering across Anakin's soul. Anakin carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, and Obi-Wan did his best to carry Anakin.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a weary hand over his face. He could already feel a headache beginning to pound its way into existence behind his eyes. "Anakin, we are not going to get anywhere by arguing," he sighed, searching for peace, not wanting another argument in the face of so much loss. "We are all tired and on edge. I think the wisest thing to do now would be to go back to the ship and rest, while there is a lull in the fighting."

For a brief moment, it looked like Anakin was going to continue to argue, his lips still pressed together in a tight line. However, the tension slowly eased its way out of his face and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right, Master," he said, gesturing around them. "It's this kriffing war."

Obi-Wan took a step back, feigning shock. "Did I just hear you correctly, my young friend? Did you just say your old master was right?"

Anakin rolled his eyes, but felt a smile stealing its way onto his face. "Yeah, well don't get used to it. After all, you did just say we are all tired; the exhaustion must be getting to me." Obi-Wan's answering smile grew a little bigger, and he patted his friend on the on the shoulder. "Well, then I think I prefer an exhausted Anakin then."

Together, they both shared a small chuckle.

Suddenly both comlinks crackled into life. "General Kenobi, General Skywalker, we've got something incoming over the west ridge, something big."

The smiles disappeared, and Obi-Wan sighed. "I guess our work is never done."

With one final shared glance, they both turned and sped toward the incoming storm.

TBC