A/N: Hello everybody, I am back and I know it has been ages, sorry for that! I just could not find time and peace of mind to write, I have not even watched the Kenobi series yet because I know that I won't stop once I start and right now there's so much... but long ago I promised myself to write a post Deception fic, and well... here it comes :). The title comes from the song 'Berth' from Gregory Alan Isakov - it fits where Obi-Wan is in the story right now.

I hope I have not lost his voice. But most of all, I hope you are all well. Take care and see you below, Meysun.

Sacred Lantern, Guiding Dawn

(Aftermaths of Deception)

Chapter 1

Shards.

.

The sun was throwing crimson rays across the marble stone, making his eyes water, causing him to blink. It hurt. Touching his face hurt. Bruises were blossoming around his eyes, on his cheekbones and forehead; Obi-Wan felt the fierce, bone-deep ache in his very skull and teeth – but it was his face, beardless and shorn as it was.

He let out a small, somewhat shaky breath and pressed the icepack against one cheek, then the other, waiting for the prelude of numbness, withdrawing into his hooded robe, like more than a decade ago.

Naboo had taken his Master from him, then, and Obi-Wan had been reeling, both from loss and from his fight against Maul. He had stood vigil for Qui-Gon, half-gone in the Force himself, and most of his memories from that time were hazy, but he still remembered the scent of stone and greenery, the gentle heat of the sun. Naboo seemed to have a touch of bliss, something almost unworldly – but to him the grace was lost. To him, Naboo was a place that took, relentlessly.

Obi-Wan shivered, despite the sun, despite the fiery pain branding his face and throat – he had not wanted to wait to return to the Temple for his transformation, had wanted Hardeen off himself, so as to talk to Anakin face to face.

It had not gone well.

Not that he expected it, it was just – Obi-Wan swallowed, painfully, and it felt like shards, wedging themselves into his throat, preventing him from speaking, which was probably for the best.

Getting his face back – it had unhinged Anakin, who had managed to stay focused and to push back his pain as long as he was still Hardeen. As soon as his eyes had found Obi-Wan's face, though, his former Padawan's restraint had vanished.

"You…", Anakin had growled, in such a low voice it had almost felt like he projected. "You lied to me. You lied to us. You made Ahsoka hold your dead body. You made me…"

"Anakin…"

His voice had been shredded, that name alone tasting like blood, and Anakin's face had fallen for a second, before turning to stone, hard and unforgiving.

"No. You don't get to call my name. You don't get to talk to me. Not after what you did. You are dead to me, Obi-Wan, do you hear me? Don't you dare talk to me. Don't you dare come near my Padawan ever again."

Obi-Wan had just breathed, still dazed with the lingering effects of the anaesthetics and the strain of… everything. It had felt unreal, Anakin growling at him, feral like Qui-Gon had been, whenever someone had implied he should welcome Dooku back into his life – that was when Obi-Wan had shaken his head, trying to clear the fog in his brain, to come back to his Master's sacred here and now…

But Anakin had taken this as a no, and had pushed him, hard, into the chest, shoving him into the wall behind him.

"Don't you dare", he had repeated, and then he had stormed off, leaving Obi-Wan struggling with the shards of their bond, and with the burn of shame that had yet to subside.

His feet had led him out of Theed, once the medical droid had given him clearance, and a shot of antibiotics to prevent infection in his face and throat. Obi-Wan had still been feeling hazy, but the icepack had helped with his wits, and he would have remembered the way anyhow.

He had knelt in front of the marble stele the people from Naboo had erected for Qui-Gon, a beautiful, clear-veined stone resting flat on the ground, in the remotest and wildest part of the Palace gardens.

Nothing was written there, but cornflowers grew wildly around its edges, and a thin tree with luxurious green leaves was stretching towards the sky. It had been but a twig the first time he had been there, and Obi-Wan sent a tentative Force-tendril towards it, watching the leaves rustle under his touch.

"Hello there", he whispered, lowering the icepack, placing his palm against the marble stone. "You've grown."

His voice broke, then. And so did something in him, because when he blinked, something hot gushed down his cheek, and there was an odd sound too, escaping his chest, sounding fragile and foreign and young.

Obi-Wan's hand found the marble stone and he pressed his thumb against the edge, following its sharp and straight line as he breathed in, and breathed out, riding out whatever had chosen to grip him, on that planet holding his Master's ashes.

He could feel the ground beneath his knees. He had discarded Hardeen's clothes, and though he was not really dressed as a Jedi, not yet, the light shirt and pants felt more familiar than the thick leather and fire-proof hessian he had worn for days, like a second skin.

He had his lightsaber back, Mace had brought it to him along with a spare robe, and Obi-Wan could feel the sharp presence of his crystal on his hip, a cold beacon in the Force, reminding him of Ilum's icy slopes, soothing some of the feverish sorrow in him and grounding him.

Well done, Master Kenobi. You are a worthy adversary.

The dark eyes of his Grandmaster had pierced through him, through his disguise, his helmet, his altered and tattooed face, and Obi-Wan had watched him go, answering the Chancellor's praise almost on autopilot, arms limp and heart empty.

"Does it have to be him?", he rasped, casting that broken question into the Force, towards the tree they had planted for Qui-Gon, towards his Master, wherever he was, even though there could be no answer.

He is ruthless. He is cruel. He has killed so many. He wants to destroy us. And he is smart. He is brilliant. He is shrewd. He is…

Obi-Wan shivered, because he could not think like that, could not project that. Dooku was a Sith lord, and manipulation was as natural as breathing for him. He had only praised and cajoled him to antagonise Anakin even more. He did not mean any of those words – or if he did, then he was praising him for his stealth and deceit, and this was… This was dark, and wrong, and dangerous.

Obi-Wan breathed in, and then he forced his hands to leave the marble stone, resting on his knees instead, palms towards the sky. He could feel the ground under him, the soft smell of cornflowers and of dry, summer-rich earth, could hear the rustle of leaves, and the buzzing of bees around him, and in the Force.

Bring me back, he pleaded silently, lowering his shields, and his tormented, feverish thoughts burst out of him along with every heartbeat, bleeding into the Force. Be my lantern, bring me back. Be my guide. Bring me back.

The Force was riding out his storm, quivering around him, and within him, he could feel it, deep within his chest first, spreading to his neck and spine, his stomach and thighs, his shoulders, his arms, head and feet. He had suppressed it for so long, had withdrawn from its comfort for days, and now Obi-Wan let the Force fill him to the brim, travelling along every Force-node in his body.

Until he was shuddering with nothing but abandonment, fingers curled up and breaths deepening, slowing down until his chest felt free to expand once more. Something was loosening in his back, in his thighs, something reminding him faintly of love, of care, of life – and Obi-Wan was too far gone to do anything else than gathering the Force around him like a cloak, shielding him from the world.

When he came back, still kneeling, hands still turned towards the skies, sweat had dried on his brow and cheeks and the sun was setting. His face was pounding along with his heartbeats, but the icepack was no longer cold, and Obi-Wan had managed worse. He blinked, slowly, feeling exhausted and blessedly numb – but this was just a reprieve, he had to get up, had to go back to the Palace, and from there to Coruscant, to the Jedi Temple, back to being Master and High-General Kenobi.

He had no energy, though. The Force was within him, again, but it was gently reminding him that he had pushed himself almost to the limits. So Obi-Wan wiped his brow and rolled his shoulders, tentatively, taking a last look at the tree and marble stele, trying to muster the will to get up.

"I hope you are at peace, Master", he whispered, and the shards in his throat had morphed to molten fire. "I do not think you would have approved of anything I did, lately. I think you would have fought me, just like Anakin did. I think I was wrong. I think the Chancellor does not realise just how much he asked for. I think I… I think…"

"Master Kenobi?"

The soft voice rising next to him stemmed his words, and Obi-Wan gazed up at Padmé, wondering how he had not heard her approaching, and why her hand felt so foreign on his forearm.

"Master Kenobi, are you quite alright?"

Her hand was raising towards his face, but this was out of the question – and she caught his fingers between hers instead.

"You were gone the whole afternoon… The ship for Coruscant is leaving in an hour."

"All right. Thank you, Senator", he whispered, and Padmé brushed the back of his hand with her thumb, like so many years ago, when her presence and her voice had also acted like the beacon she was.

"I needed a moment", he managed to rasp. "I am sorry. I… I hope Anakin and Ahsoka…"

He stopped. It all sounded so false. He felt so false. And he had an hour to gather his wits and bounce back to whatever he was, before.

"They are confused. And hurt, and angry", Padmé said, but she was still holding his hand gently and her eyes did not condemn him. "They do not understand. They think you should have told them. But sometimes, it is impossible. Sometimes the only solution for preventing evil is deceit – hiding in plain sight. I did it, countless times, as a Queen and a Senator. I know how it feels, Master Kenobi - Obi-Wan. And I am sorry."

He had to blink, then, because her face was blurring.

"You did not fake your death, Senator", he whispered. "You blended with your handmaidens. And it was… brilliant."

"But Cordé died", Padmé let out, very softly. "Someone died so I could live. And I still see her face. You, on the other hand… you did not exchange a life for yours. You risked yours, for the Chancellor, for the Republic, and for Naboo. And I want you to know how grateful we are."

"I am sorry about Cordé", Obi-Wan whispered. "She was very brave. And… clever with tools. She was the one helping me repairing the Generator. She… we spent so much time on that work that… there was a holo-drama she loved. She told me all about it. She was… a very good storyteller."

"Yes", Padmé let out, smiling both sadly and fondly. "That would be her. You guessed it both from the very beginning, did you not? That I was not a handmaiden, that it was all a ruse?"

"Yes", Obi-Wan rasped. "But… It was smart. It was good strategics."

His face hurt. His throat was on fire, and even swallowing was painful.

"Master Kenobi, we should take you back to the med-droid. You are running a fever, and you do not look so good."

"It is normal. They said it would hurt for a while. They gave me something."

They stayed silent for a while, the breeze cooling Obi-Wan's brow. He had closed his eyes, and when Padmé finally moved, wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders, he realised he must have zoned out for a while, because it was twilight now.

"I can walk, Senator."

"I know. But I think… we should try to be quick and get you into the ship before Anakin and Ahsoka. You need rest, Obi-Wan. And once in the Temple, to let someone check on you. Promise me you will."

"All part of the drill, Senator."

He gathered his feeble reserves of strength and stood up, leaning on her as little as possible. The tree was rustling softly above the marble stele, and Obi-Wan took a last look at the leaves, at the flowers, at the stone that was no tomb but still felt like it. And then he turned, towards the ship. Towards Coruscant, hoping he had left Hardeen behind for good.

.

I love you, Padmé thought, facing Anakin who was prowling the ship like a caged wildcat. I love you, because you are fierce and absolute. But sometimes I wish you were not. Sometimes I wish you could stop seeing the world in shades of black and white – around you, not filtered by you.

Impatience was slowly rising within her, because he had been fuming for a full hour now, oblivious to her placating words – oblivious to everyone in the ship, starting with his Padawan and herself.

"I think we got your point", she snapped, somewhat against her will, and that – that made Anakin stop, eyes widening with disbelief.

"Do you realise what he did?!", he growled – and when Padmé saw Ahsoka, usually so lively, huddle into her corner even more, trying to make herself as small as possible, irritation got the better of her.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I was there, Anakin Skywalker. The question is, do you? Do you realise what he risked? How tricky it was to spend weeks beside psychopaths such as Moralo Eval or Cad Bane?"

"Cad Bane is not a psychopath! He's just a stupid bounty hunter with a weird kink for hats, and he's Obi-Wan's new bestie, or did you not notice?!"

"This is ridiculous, Anakin."

She was frowning now, and Anakin opened his mouth to reply – but then he tensed, and Ahsoka's eyes widened. Padmé turned around – and Obi-Wan was standing there, looking just as bruised and tired as before, but upright, hooded eyes bright in his gaunt, beardless face.

"He does have a kink", the Jedi Master mumbled, bracing himself on the doorframe, and Padmé breathed out, admiring his nerve and utter lack of self-preservation.

Anakin took a deep breath, but Padmé was not in the mood for this, besides Ahsoka was on the verge of tears. She took the young Togruta's hand, and gently led her past Obi-Wan, towards another wing of the ship, not missing the forlorn, upset way Ahsoka was gazing at him.

"Come, Ahsoka. There is something I have to show you."

The shouting started seconds after – Anakin's voice, only Anakin's voice, but Padmé was walking swiftly and briskly and so only words reached them, painful and prickling like shards.

You sick – how could – think you can – OUT – dead – AWAY – never – hateful – Padawan – no more…

A soft sob echoed at her side, and Padmé promptly drew Ahsoka against her, closing the door of the wing, placing her hands on her montrals.

"Shh, shh, shh… Don't listen to that, don't. Let them sort it out."

"He… he's upset."

Ahsoka was burying her face in her neck, crying helplessly, and Padmé rocked her, gently, leaning her cheek against her head.

"He is. He needs to get it out of his system. And I think Obi-Wan knows it."

"I missed him. I did not even get to see him. The last time I did, he was dead. And now I… Now I…"

"Shh… Let them sort it out. They are both grown-ups, and your place is anywhere but in that argument, methinks."

Ahsoka's snort cut through her sobs, and Padmé smiled, still holding her gently.

"Jar-Jar would just bang their heads together", Ahsoka mumbled, somewhat brokenly, and Padmé snorted.

"Definitely. He has his very own way of negotiating."

They stood silent, for a while. The screaming had not abided, but the door was shut and muffled most of it. And judging from Ahsoka's slight frown and set jaw, the Padawan was determined to block it out as well.

"Was there… something you needed to show me?", Ahsoka asked, somewhat shily, stepping away from Padmé and wiping her eyes.

"Oh Ahsoka, I confess I just needed a pretext to get away from that storm cloud – I hope you can forgive me. I just think there is no use in trying to reason with your Master, not now…"

"He's really upset. When we thought… when Master Kenobi… He was not himself. It was… as if something in him was missing."

"And how do you feel, Ahsoka?"

The girl blinked, clearly taken by surprise. They had sat down, and Padmé was making caf, thankful for the ship's accommodation.

"I… I don't know. It's… difficult. I tried to talk about it with Master Plo, before we came here, though. Because I was upset. About Master Obi-Wan but also about… well, Master Plo and Master Fisto and Master Yoda, because they have known from the beginning that it was all just a plan. And he – he explained to me that the goal was making Master Dooku believe Master Obi-Wan's death. That Master Obi-Wan would probably get very close to him and that, though Master Obi-Wan's shields are strong as durasteel, the only way to sell the lie to him was to show him our genuine reaction. Especially Skyguy's… I mean Anakin's."

"But you are still upset…?"

Padmé placed a cup in front of Ahsoka and the girl promptly placed her hands around it, in a small gesture of comfort.

"No… I mean… I don't know. I… I'm worried about my Master. And I'm worried about Master Kenobi as well. He's all quiet in the Force, and he only ever gets that way when something is wrong. I think he is hurt by what happened, as well. I think he misses us. And I don't want… I don't want to be angry at him. Even though I can understand Skyg – Anakin, a little bit."

"You can call him Skyguy in front of me, Ahsoka. And you are allowed to be upset and confused. You can always talk to me, you know that?"

"Yes… I know. Thank you, Senator."

"Now you sound like your Grandmaster. Do call me Padmé, please, will you?"

She smiled at that, and both realised the ship had gone silent.

"Do you think they are done arguing?", Padmé asked, and Ahsoka closed her eyes, reaching out through the Force.

Her face fell, after a few seconds.

"They are not in the same room anymore. But they don't… I don't think they sorted it out. Anakin still feels the same. And Master Obi-Wan is quiet. I think Skyguy just yelled at him and stormed away."

Padmé sighed, and then she gently nudged Ahsoka's arm.

"Drink your caf, Ahsoka. There is nothing more we can do."

They spent an hour talking quietly, and then Ahsoka left, trying to seek out her Master or, should she fail, to catch up on things on her data-pad, as she phrased it. And Padmé – Padmé brew some water, took a teabag and prepared a mug for a bruised and ruffled Jedi Master who also happened to be a friend.

She knocked lightly on the door behind which Obi-Wan had retired, a small cabin where there was little more than a bed and a chair. She could hear sounds – synthetic sounds sounding like words, but they were cut abruptly. She heard the lock turn, and the door opened.

Obi-Wan was seated on the bed, Jedi robe wrapped around him, shorn head leaning against the wall. A data-pad was resting against his thigh, its bright screen showing a page full of text – but Padmé had a hard time believing he had been reading, because Obi-Wan, if possible, looked even more worn out and feverish that on Naboo.

His grey eyes had a dull, exhausted expression, and his lips were chapped, but he still smiled gently at her, and this - this was so very Obi-Wan that Padmé sat down on the chair, facing him.

He was radiating heat like a furnace, and Padmé handed him his cup.

"There. It is hot. And I do not think whatever you took is working, Obi-Wan. Is there anything I can give you?"

Just tea.

The voice was quiet in her head, and his lips had not moved, but Padmé immediately knew it was him – she was used to Anakin projecting all kinds of loving words in her head whenever they did not meet alone, and had learned quickly enough to school her face, because Ani clearly did not care for words matching appropriate situations.

"Can you even swallow, Obi-Wan?"

I think so.

Her friend had set the cup on his thigh, watching the steam rise. It was hard to believe Obi-Wan was the same person who had defeated Dooku's plot and saved the Chancellor hours ago, not with his face looking like he was fifteen, even younger that on the holo Satine had shown her, on a very drunken night on Coruscant when both of them had felt lonely.

"What were you reading?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, somewhat gracefully, keeping his legs absolutely still in the process. The tea had not even moved inside the cup, and Padmé's hand crept towards his data-pad, testing him.

"Oh. I'm sorry. It's private..."

He just shook his head, blinked, and something in the data-pad sprang to life, the nasal, robotic voice of the read-aloud function rising between them.

"You. Little. Fucker", the data-pad let out, voice as impassionate and pristine as if it was giving coordinates "You'd. Better. Get. Your. A-star-star. Straight. To. The. Temple. Where. I. Can. Kick. It. And. Then. I. Will. Be. Done. With. The. Little. Shit. You. Are. Obi-Wan. Kenobi."

Obi-Wan blinked again, and the voice died. Padmé raised an eyebrow, and turned to him, somewhat aghast.

"Your a-star-star?"

Meet Quinlan Vos.

"Is he serious?"

Well, I could use a second opinion.

She took a look at his face and realised he had closed his eyes. She gently took the cup from his knee, set it on the chair, and carefully placed a hand on Obi-Wan's brow. As anticipated, it was scalding, but there was no sweat beading there and she realised just how dehydrated he must be.

It's funnier when the data-pad reads them aloud. The insults. Quin's are the most colourful, but…

"Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, listen to me. Open your eyes for me."

She rubbed her thumb on his forehead and after a few seconds, her friend opened his eyes – mere slits, but after a while, he shivered and raised a hand, sluggishly rubbing his face and pushing her hand away.

"There you are. Now listen. Can you remember what the droid gave you?"

I don't like droids.

"Yes. I know. And you don't like flying, either. I'm coming back, Obi-Wan. Don't move."

He chuckled at that – not aloud, his voice was too shredded for that. Alarmingly, Padmé heard the soft laugh in her very head, and it was replaced by a gentle, wordless humming that did not stop, not in the five minutes she left, returning with water and several icepacks.

"Jedi…", she sighed, pleased to see that Obi-Wan had lied down on his own, but somewhat disturbed by the rhythmic, self-soothing humming he was still projecting. "You are still in my head, Master Kenobi…"

She placed an icepack on his brow, felt his slight flinch, but maintained it there with a shushing sound. And then she lifted his shirt and placed several others on his chest, under his armpits and against his neck.

The humming had stopped, he was not projecting anymore – instead Obi-Wan had a small shudder, before he began shivering in earnest. Tremors were wracking him and for a while, Padmé wondered if she should not call Anakin – but the look she had witnessed on her husband's face had not been encouraging, and so she just sat, quietly, one hand on Obi-Wan's brow, the other holding his hand.

Padmé?

The voice was small and tentative in her head. An hour had passed, and Obi-Wan was no longer shivering that hard. The icepacks had partially melted, and he had slept, or so it had seemed, head lolling towards her and breaths deepening.

She gently lifted the icepack on his brow and found confused grey eyes peering up at her – he was back with her, and she smiled at him.

"Yes. It is me. You are in a ship going from Naboo to Coruscant. There are still fifteen hours left. And you are sick. You are running a fever. I think something is wrong with your throat, Obi-Wan. Do you remember what the droid gave you?"

Anakin… Ahsoka…

"They are fine. I mean, as fine as they can be. They are on the ship as well."

He breathed quietly for a few moments, eyes lost somewhere she could not be, and then his hands curled, and his brow smoothed as he closed his eyes once more, features focusing into the quiet resolve she was so used to see.

"Nysillin."

Obi-Wan's voice was just a whisper.

"Okay. Don't move. Let me…"

"There is another."

He took a few centric breaths, and then he pushed himself up, or tried to, his arms betraying him midway.

In my belt.

"Don't move", she repeated, softly – and he didn't. Not even when she injected him with another dose in the shoulder, leaving her hand there for a while.

"You need to drink something. Your tea is completely cold now, but I think it might still be a good idea."

She helped him sit up. He was still a furnace, but this time he was truly with her, and soon enough, he was drinking small sips of cold tea, eyes squeezed shut with both pain and determination. A tear had found his way down his cheek while the cup was emptied, and somehow this broke Padmé's heart, but Obi-Wan shook his head defiantly when she talked of fetching someone.

I'm fine. I'm better. Thank you.

"For the record, Obi-Wan… I don't think your friend is serious."

He blinked up at her, confused, and she realised he had no memory of their previous conversation. It seemed cruel to remind him of it, and Obi-Wan was too tired to investigate the matter. She sat with him for a few minutes more – he had lied down again, and though he still looked worn out and ill, his fever was less high now.

He was no longer projecting, instead his face was resting against one of his folded arms and he was gazing into nothingness, blinking slowly.

"You can go to him, now", Obi-Wan whispered, words spaced out and quiet. "He needs you. I will be alright. Thank you."

She frowned, and opened her mouth, ready for denial, only to realise he had closed his eyes at last. She watched him for a while, his pinched features, the way his usually lean and strong body seemed to melt into the thin mattress.

The road he was about to thread seemed hard, and unfair. But she knew Obi-Wan was strong, and fiercely independent – he would be well enough to soldier on until they reached the Temple, and the rest was out of her hands.

So Padmé filled the cup with fresh water, placed it close to him, lowered his robe to his waist so he would not be too hot, and switched off his data-pad.

"May the Force be with you", she told him, quietly, knowing these were words of solace and comfort. "The Republic owes you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

She was not sure he realised it. Not sure anyone beyond the Jedi Council truly realised what the odds were. But she was glad he had been there to tip them, and that he was still with them.

The ship hummed around her as Padmé closed the door, and she left, quietly. Towards Anakin and his storm clouds, because she loved him, despite his heated words and his passion.

She left Obi-Wan friend to his rest, hoping with all her heart that he would be alright – and that she and Anakin were still just friends for him.

Most of all, however, she hoped they all would mend.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, even though of course the situation they are all in is rather angsty. There's more to come :). I'm mahizli on Tumblr if you want to say hello. Take care and see you soon I hope, Meysun.