Day Two
Someone called his name, and he came instantly awake, opening his eyes to see Bail leaning over him, an affectionate smile on his lips. "You look so peaceful asleep," Bail said. "I hated to wake you, but I thought you might like to have breakfast with Leia and me."
Obi-Wan nodded and sat up, aware of the fact that Bail was already dressed, aware of the sun slanting in through the bedroom window. He never slept so late.
Bail pressed a kiss to his forehead, then stood to leave. `I'll go see about breakfast. In the meantime, feel free to go through my wardrobe and find...something else to wear." His lips quirked in a wry smile. "That is, unless you really prefer those old robes."
Obi-Wan scowled back as Bail laughed and left the room. He contemplated taking a shower, but rejected the idea as he would probably end up spending another half hour beneath the water. As it was, Bail's bathroom was so large, Obi-Wan almost got lost in it. Likewise the array of clothing in the wardrobe overwhelmed him. At least Bail's taste had somewhat mellowed over the years. It took Obi-Wan only three tries to find something he could stand to wear. Even so, he was glad not to have to wear it in public. The robe he'd selected might be simple by Bail's standards, utterly without decoration, but the fabric was so fine Obi-Wan felt horribly overdressed. Nevertheless, the idea of wearing Bail's clothes pleased him. As he slid the robe over his shoulders, he could almost feel Bail's silken hands caressing his skin. He didn't bother with his boots. The carpet felt wonderful beneath his bare feet.
He entered the hallway to find a servant waiting to escort him to breakfast. Good thing Bail had thought of that. Obi-Wan had not seen the whole house yet, and he would have had no idea where to find the breakfast room. But then Bail had always been a most considerate host.
It was therefore a sign of how late Obi-Wan had slept in that Bail and Leia had had to start breakfast without him. Bail started to apologize, but Obi-Wan waved him off, clutching the robe self-consciously around him as he settled into a chair. "You two have a schedule to keep. I don't want to inconvenience you."
"Never an inconvenience, Ben," Bail assured him. "What will you do all day while we're away?"
As if he hadn't spent the last decade living alone in a wasteland. "I'll think of something."
"You have the run of the house, of course. Or take a speeder into town." Bail smirked. "Do some shopping."
"I think it would be wiser if I remain unseen as much as possible."
"As you wish."
"When I get home from school, we can work on my report," Leia offered, eager to prove herself a better host than her father.
"I shall look forward to it," Obi-Wan assured her with a smile.
They only had a few more minutes before Bail and Leia had to leave. Obi-Wan finished his breakfast alone, then found his way back to the study where the three of them had met the previous night. He used Bail's computer to log onto the holonet and check out the latest news. Back in his day as a Jedi, Obi-Wan had never made a great effort to keep up with current events, but then he hardly had to. Between living at the Republic's capital and being sent on missions to the galaxy's troublespots, not to mention dating a prominent Senator, he had always lived in the thick of things. Tatooine, however, was far removed from the galaxy in more ways than one. Not only was it completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things (other than Obi-Wan's own pending project), but out on his homestead on the Dune Sea, he never had the opportunity to encounter any news. It had taken a while for him to adjust his sphere of interest down to his new level as an exile, but now, glancing through
the holonet reports, Obi-Wan found that he had so completely adapted to a myopic world-view that the news didn't seem to have anything to do with him. And why should it? The galaxy had turned its back on the Jedi, so why should he care what it did with itself? He had his own agenda now, so let the galaxy get by on its own.
He switched off the computer and went to explore the house, but he was soon distracted by the view through the windows. There was nothing much to see outside his home on Tatooine, and the sheer abundance of life here attracted him. Through the windows he could see the river access and a garden, flowers blooming along a small, winding gravel path. So many colors, in an infinity of shades. The movement mesmerized him. In the desert things moved very slowly, but here the slightest breeze sent the blossoms dancing and nodding. Leaves on the trees rustled and fluttered, and the river glided by in endless motion, bobbing ripples, sparkles of reflected sunlight. It almost gave Obi-Wan a headache, yet he was enthralled. The river was an inanimate object, yet it was vivacious like a living creature, breathing, skipping, laughing.
Obi-Wan sank into contemplation of the river, not caring how long he spent watching it, forgetting to explore the rest of the house. Another result of his life on Tatooine was that small increments of time had long ceased to have any meaning for him. What was a minute or an hour, when anonymous days stretched endlessly before him, on a world that lacked even the rhythm of changing seasons? Obi-Wan couldn't look back and say, "That was the year I twisted my ankle climbing the canyon walls," or "In that year a sandstorm swallowed my well and I had to dig a new one." He could remember the sequence of events, but not when they had happened or how much time passed between them. The desert had finally succeeded in teaching him what Qui-Gon never could: to live in the present moment. Obi-Wan had always been more attuned to the unifying Force, to the grander scheme, the ever-shifting plane of future possibilities. But none of these existed on Tatooine, where Obi-Wan could spend all
day watching dual shadows creep across the canyon floor as he waiting patiently for a rock hare to appear for his dinner, when his calendar was defined by how long it took the tubers to grow back in each grotto from which he collected them.
It was therefore a simple thing for him to lose track of time in the Viceroy's mansion, to pass the entire day in the familiar contemplation of his own guilt, standing at the window, watching the endless course of the river, like the constant ebb and flow of sand in the Dune Sea.
That was how Leia found him when she returned home from school that afternoon - standing barefoot in her father's robe, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the river. She did not disturb him, merely stood at his side looking up into his troubled face. He knew she was there, but he had lost the art of conversation as well as the concept of time, so he said nothing, and she, impressed by a grown-up who knew how to be silent, said nothing either. She slipped her small hand into his and turned her gaze out toward the river, waiting patiently to see what it would bring her.
Thoughts flowed by in the river of her mind. She watched them approach and then pass on by, big thoughts and little ones, some bobbing on the waves, others moving slowly. At last one thought snagged on the riverbank. It was not any more important than the others. Fate simply caused the current to push it to the edge where it stuck, and she hauled it into speech. "Papa says he wants to live on a boat. He would sail and sail forever and never come to ground."
Without looking away from the river, Obi-Wan smiled. "I remember that dream."
"Me, I'd rather fly," Leia continued. "I like to be up in the air, looking down at everything so small on the ground, like they're toys."
"It would be hard to live in the air," Obi-Wan observed. "Even birds have to come down sometimes."
Leia reluctantly nodded. "Maybe...a tree house? In a very tall tree!"
Obi-Wan laughed and squeezed her hand. "You should live on Kashyyyk, with the Wookiees. The trees are hundreds of meters high. That's probably as close as you could come to living in the air."
Encouraged, Leia asked, "Have you ever ridden a thranta before?"
"Yes, I have. A long time ago, with your father."
"I love thrantas. I want one of my own, but Papa says it's too big of a responsibility for such a little girl."
"He has a point."
"I would take good care of it! Maybe when I'm older. I want a white one, and I would name it Cloudswimmer or Skyrunner. That sounds better than Skywalker, because thrantas don't really walk."
At the name of his former apprentice, Obi-Wan stiffened. Leia looked up at him. "You miss him, don't you?" Before he could answer, even if he had been capable of answering, she continued, "Papa told me about your Padawan. I always thought he had such a pretty name. I'm sorry he died."
Obi-Wan struggled against his grief, and eventually won. "I do miss him," he answered truthfully.
"I guess you miss all the Jedi. They were your family. It must be hard, with all of them gone." She chewed on her lower lip, then squeezed his hand and leaned closer to him, looking earnestly up into his face. "But we're your family, too. Papa says you're my other father."
Obi-Wan couldn't bear to look at her, almost couldn't stand to touch her. How could a single statement be so true and so wrong at the same time? He was indeed bound to this child by the promises he had made on her behalf, promises he had made to Padme and to Yoda, even to Bail. His only reason to live anymore was the commitment he had made to the two children, but how could he be trusted to honor that commitment after all his betrayals?
The familiar vertigo of helpless fear washed over him. His life, everything, was completely out of his hands, and yet at the same time he was the key, the one unifying knot that bound all these threads of fate together. He had not chosen this role, and he certainly did not want it, but his destiny had been sealed when his dying Master had made him promise to train a young slave from Tatooine. His life had never been his to own, the choice never his to make, but the responsibility and the guilt both belonged to him alone.
As a politician's daughter, Leia was fairly astute at understanding people, and her latent Force-sensitivity gave her a powerful empathy. She could feel the waves of distress rolling off the man standing next to her, and it worried her. "Uncle Ben?"
Her soft voice roused him out of himself, and he berated himself for frightening her. Uncle, she had called him, not Father. He could manage to be an uncle: interesting, fun, but not a part of everyday life, detached from any real responsibility for her. Uncle would do nicely. Shaking the last of the depression off him, he suggested brightly, "Why don't we go work on your report?"
Leia was agreeable enough, relieved that he had cheered up. As astute as she was, she wasn't quite mature enough to handle a grown-up in despair.
They spent the next hour or so discussing the Clone Wars. The subject held many unpleasant memories for Obi-Wan, but the Wars were one of the few recent events of history that he did not feel personally responsible for, so he could remember them without too much recrimination. Besides, Leia was young enough not to ask the deeper moral question raised by the Wars and the role they played in the eventual establishment of the Empire. She asked questions she could understand: how and where and who, factual questions that were easy enough for Obi-Wan to answer.
Then Bail came home, bringing enough cheerfulness to banish the last remnants of Obi-Wan's malaise. The three of them were indeed like family then, Bail quizzing Leia about her report, Leia asking Bail about his speech, the two of them giving Obi-Wan the grand tour of their garden, Leia pointing out the spot that would make an excellent pen for a thranta, as much for her father's benefit as for Obi-Wan's. They enjoyed a lively dinner, then settled down for several hands of cards, punctuated by the latest seditious jokes from Bail, bad puns from Leia, and Obi-Wan's repertoire of animal calls he had learned to imitate on Tatooine. (Leia was particularly impressed by his ronto.)
At last it was time for Leia to go to bed. She tried everything she could think of to delay the fateful sentence, but her charms were no match for Obi-Wan's in her father's eyes, and in the end she had to concede defeat, an admission tempered by the fact that she got Obi-Wan to help her father tuck her into bed.
They left Leia's bedroom and returned to Bail's in silence, the Prince's arm linked through Obi-Wan's. Now that they were alone together Obi-Wan felt awkward, overwhelmed by the deep need once more pressing upon him. He did not want to talk, wanted only to feel Bail's hands on him, wanted to escape into the realm of sensations that would drown out thought. He was afraid of what Bail might say, of what he might ask, questions that Obi-Wan did not want to answer. Sex was safer.
When they reached Bail's room, Obi-Wan turned without a word and reached for the Prince, burying himself in his arms, smothering him with his kiss. With a sigh, Bail allowed Obi-Wan to drag him to the bed, hands ripping at clothing, bodies seeking each other in desperation. Again that flood of passion, that need to lose themselves in near violent love-making.
Their union was as brief as it was intense. Afterward, Obi-Wan lay curled against Bail's side, his hand resting on his chest, not moving or saying anything, his breathing deep and even. Bail rested his cheek on the crown of Obi-Wan's head, fingers running idly through the thinning hair. His body was satisfied, but his heart was not. Somehow he felt more alone, lying here holding this familiar stranger in his arms, than he had all those years when he never knew where Obi-Wan was. "Are you asleep?" he asked softly.
For a long time there was no response, although Bail knew Obi-Wan was awake. The silence hurt, but he resolved not to challenge it. Finally Obi-Wan stirred. "No."
Again silence, this time heavy, weighed down with all the unspoken words and questions that hung between them. It became too much for Bail, and he shifted out from under Obi-Wan, sliding out of the bed. He snagged his robe from a nearby chair, the robe Obi-Wan had worn all day, and shrugged into it, moving to stand by the window as he ran his hands through his tousled hair. Outside it was dark, and he could see only his own ghostly reflection, silhouetted against the soft light in the room.
He waited, but Obi-Wan did not come to join him, did not slide his arms around Bail's waist or rest his chin on his shoulder. Bail shivered as he realized how great a gulf now existed between them. It was clear that Obi-Wan would make no attempt to bridge this gulf, and for all Bail's skills at diplomacy, he did not know how he could manage the détente. Obi-Wan's wounds were too deep, his scars too tough to be healed. But then, he had never really understood Obi-Wan or their relationship. So why did he need to understand it now?
He returned to the bed, perching next to Obi-Wan. The Jedi reluctantly sat up, the sheets sliding off his chest, his eyes downcast as if steeling himself against whatever Bail might say. But Bail merely studied Obi-Wan, examining the face he hadn't seen in so long, and Force only knew when he would see again. He cupped Obi-Wan's cheek in his palm, lightly running his thumb over the beard, feeling the twitch of muscle as the jaw clenched.
Obi-Wan submitted to the caress, waiting for Bail to speak, but when he realized Bail was going to say nothing, demand nothing of him, was content merely to have him here, Obi-Wan's resistance crumbled. He could have withstood an assault, accusations, demands, but this gentle acceptance wore him down. He realized he made a rotten lover. "I'm sorry," he whispered, still avoiding Bail's eyes.
His apology sparked genuine surprise. "For what?"
"This can't be the reunion you imagined."
More silence as Bail contemplated. "No," he confessed. "But at least it's real." Obi-Wan angrily shook his head, jerking away from Bail's touch, and Bail felt a surge of irritation at Obi-Wan's never-ending guilt, but he calmed himself, releasing his anger as easily as it had arisen.
"Do you remember that game we used to play?" he asked. "Where we would imagine our lives if you were not a Jedi and I were not a senator? We were going to run away to...Caamas, was it?"
Obi-Wan looked across the room, still avoiding Bail, but remembering. "Ithor."
"Yes, Ithor, for the sacred forest," Bail agreed. "And I was going to be a lawyer, and you would teach martial arts, I believe. And we would live happily ever after, worrying about no one but ourselves."
Obi-Wan twisted the sheet in his hands. "I remember."
"We loved that game, but it was never more than a fantasy, Ben. All we've ever had were these stolen moments. Really, even if there were still a Republic and a Jedi Order, nothing would be much different from now for us. I might see you a little more often, but we still wouldn't be able to live together." He raised his hand once more to Obi-Wan's cheek, turning his face toward him. "This is all we've ever had."
Obi-Wan leaned his cheek into Bail's palm, the tender touch melting through his defenses. Tears pressed up in his throat. He wanted to give in to them, but he could not, not yet, because he knew when he did it would be horrible. He wanted Bail to love him for a little while longer.
Sensing Obi-Wan's despair, Bail gently prompted, "Tell me, Ben. Let me give you what comfort I can. It's why you came here, isn't it?"
"You don't know what you're asking," Obi-Wan protested hoarsely.
"You've borne so much. Let me bear it, too."
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, treacherous tears sliding out from beneath his eyelashes. /Not now,/ he silently begged. /Please, not yet./ But there was no one left to grant him a reprieve. There was only Bail, who had always been willing to listen. Bail heard the confessions that he, as a Jedi, could make to no one else.
"It's just that I can't endure it," Obi-Wan began, the words dragging themselves out of his throat. "That I alone of all the Jedi should live is such a travesty of justice it makes me doubt the goodness of the Force. I wish I had died, too. Force knows -- indeed, the Force knows I should have died. How I wish now I had the courage to take my life, but I don't dare. No, it's probably the Force's idea of punishment that I should live, to see all the evil that has come about because of my folly."
"How dare you speak that way?" Bail chided, his voice soft but stern. "The hero of the Clone Wars? You were the greatest Jedi of our time."
But his words only evoked anger in Obi-Wan. "The greatest Jedi?" he spat scornfully, his eyes burning venom. "The greatest traitor! You have no idea what I've done, Bail. Everything that has happened -- Palpatine's rise, the fall of the Republic, the destruction of the Jedi -- it's all because of me."
"How can you say that?"
"Believe me, Bail, there are truths you are better off not knowing, but I assure you, I do not over-estimate my guilt. The blood of millions is on my hands!"
"Obi-Wan, stop it," Bail snapped. He grabbed the Jedi's face firmly between his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You are not responsible. Are you going to say you should have been able to predict it all, that you could have stopped it? No individual has that power." Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but Bail would not let him speak. "Listen to me. We are all culpable for the Republic's demise. Ordinary citizens like me, we'd come to rely too much on the Jedi, expecting them to do the work of peace and justice for us. We even scorned them for it, for taking care of our dirty work while we allowed ourselves to be lulled into complacency by Palpatine's lies. Yes, even me! It was the Jedi who paid the price for our folly. Now the responsibility once more lies with us, with ordinary citizens, to bring the Republic back. It is our responsibility now to protect the Jedi."
Again Obi-Wan struggled. "You don't know what you're talking about...."
"Oh yes, I do. Believe me, I do." His voice was thick with love. "I have already suffered to protect you, Ben."
Dread sliced into Obi-Wan's stomach like the blade of a cool knife. "What do you mean, 'suffered?'"
Bail faltered. "I don't want to add to your mistaken feelings of guilt."
Obi-Wan's fingers dug painfully into Bail's arms. "Tell me!"
Again Bail hesitated, not wanting to go into it. But if he was demanding a confession from Obi-Wan, then he owed the Jedi nothing less than the truth in return. "Not long after I last saw you, I was... detained by the Empire. They knew of my connection to you, and they thought I could tell them where you were. Of course, I couldn't." Hesitantly, he added, "Although in truth I'm glad I didn't know. I like to think I could have held out, but they were... rather persuasive."
Feeling sick, Obi-Wan whispered, "You were tortured?"
Bail lightly corrected, "The Empire does not torture, they interrogate. Actually, in a way I was honored. No less important a personage than Lord Vader himself supervised my interrogation, although his presence was probably due more to you than to me."
Vader! Horrified, Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, struggling against the sickening revulsion that swelled up inside him. His Padawan had tortured his lover. Somehow of all Vader's many, many crimes, this seemed the most vile. And Obi-Wan was to blame. "Not Vader," he moaned.
His plea confused Bail, who sought to reassure him. "In a way, it worked out for the best. Alderaan was furious about my detention. They threatened to pull out of the Empire. I'm not sure whether we could have really pulled it off, but it gave Palpatine enough of a scare that he released me and had to keep his distance after that. Of course I was still monitored, but they stayed away from me whenever I was on Alderaan. That's why I finally resigned the Senate and moved back home. What with the clout I'd gained from my unjust imprisonment, and the relative freedom I've enjoyed on Alderaan, I've been able to do more for the Alliance than I ever could have if I remained on Coruscant."
But Obi-Wan would not be appeased. Indeed, he scarcely heard anything Bail said. He felt ill, he *would* be ill. Bail, tortured by Anakin! And the Prince proud of it, as if it were a badge of his love, all the while unaware of who was really responsible. Obi-Wan's betrayal was complete. He deserved no sympathy, no pity from anyone. Least of all did he deserve this devotion from Bail.
He had sworn to Yoda that he would never reveal to anyone the secret of Vader's identity, but he knew he owed Bail. He could not continue to accept his love as if he were somehow worthy of it. It would kill him to break with Bail, but it was no less than he deserved.
"I'm sorry, Bail," he apologized, his throat choked with grief. "You have a right to know the truth. But you must promise me you will tell no one, not ever."
Eyeing him warily, Bail agreed, "I promise."
"Swear it, by that which you hold most dear. You must tell no one."
Bail's expression softened. "I swear by my love for you."
Enraged, Obi-Wan screamed, "No! Such a promise is worse than useless! If you swear by me, I will know you cannot be trusted!"
Bail shrank back in shock, tears in his eyes. What had happened to Obi-Wan? Maybe he didn't want to hear this truth. But he loved the man; he had to hear it. "Then I swear by my daughter, Leia."
Leia, the spawn of that black soul! This was little better. But she was also Padme's child. She was still good, as yet untouched by her father's darkness. He would have preferred another vow, but he could accept this one.
Reluctantly, he drew a steadying breath. He pulled himself away from Bail, gathering his courage, then raised his eyes to Bail's. He owed it to the Prince not to flinch when he told him what he had done. "Did you ever wonder who Vader really is?"
Bail paused. "Of course. Everyone wonders, but no one has ever been able to find out anything about him. He just... appeared out of nowhere."
"He did not just appear." Force, the truth hurt. The words ripped out of his chest with razor sharp claws. "He was made." Another ragged, bloody breath. "By me."
Utter incomprehension. "I don't --"
/Don't make me say it./ "It is Anakin beneath that mask."
More confusion, and the briefest hint of denial. "Anakin? Anakin is dead."
"He did not die. He turned to the dark side. Worse, he was seduced by Palpatine. He forsook the Jedi to become a Sith."
"It...it can't be."
"But it is. *My* Padawan, *my* apprentice. He murdered the Jedi one by one, and I alone live to know that it was my pupil who killed my fellows."
Still Bail refused to believe. "It can't be Anakin. You must be mistaken. Someone else --"
"I am not mistaken!" Obi-Wan screamed. "I'm the one who put him in that armor!" The blackest despair washed over him, then, thick like oil, polluting his soul, clotting his lungs until he couldn't breathe, dark, viscous tears rising from his bowels to choke him, to sting his cheeks like acid, like drops of lava from that horrible pit where his beloved Anakin had fallen, fire catching in his hair, flames licking at his features as he sank into the burning lake, until nothing remained but his eyes hurling their accusation, /You did this, Master!/
Bail could feel the hot self-loathing consume Obi-Wan, and as much as he wanted to deny it, Obi-Wan's guilt convinced him of the truth. No wonder Vader had supervised his interrogation; Anakin knew perfectly well who Obi-Wan would have turned to. With a body-shaking sigh, Bail closed his eyes, remembering the tow-headed nine-year-old he had invited into his home, so eager to please, so lonely without his mother. The child's amazing piloting skills as he flew across the field on one of Bail's speeder bikes. The teenager who listened, rapt, as Bail taught him about art, sculpture, music. Those blue eyes darkening with disapproval whenever Bail kissed Obi-Wan in front of him. The hard edge in Anakin's voice when he accused the Senate of complacency. Occasional bursts of anger, of recrimination, of the desire to drive Bail out of Obi-Wan's life, to smash him into pieces like one of his antique vases. The cold accusation that surfaced more and more as the boy grew older: /You
don't know what it's like to be a slave. You have had every privilege. You can never understand./ No, he had never understood, could scarcely understand now. Yet he believed. A fearful shiver shook him as he accepted the truth. "He always hated me," he whispered.
The quiet words sank through Obi-Wan's grief, rousing him. "I'm sorry, Bail," he begged. "I'm so sorry." He began to move, restless, climbing out of bed, searching blindly for his clothes. "I have to leave. I'm endangering you both. He'll know I'm here." Bail watched, still too numb to comprehend, as Obi-Wan groped around the room, looking terribly old and feeble. "I should never have come," Obi-Wan continued. "He'll know I've come. I have to leave. I have to go."
Obi-Wan found his desert robes and began to pull them on, still muttering desperately, and it at last penetrated Bail's brain that the Jedi really intended to leave. "No," he protested, rousing from his shock.
"I can't stay."
Bail rose from the bed. "I don't want you to leave."
"But he tortured you. He'll kill you! All because of me."
And Bail finally understood, realized all the grief Obi-Wan bore, why he blamed himself for the galaxy's state. It was his Padawan who had done it, his failure, his fault. What good was Bail's forgiveness if Obi-Wan could not forgive himself?
"Don't go, Ben, please." He caught Obi-Wan's arms, stopped him from dressing. Weeping, he begged, "Please stay. I need you. Don't leave me."
Obi-Wan's grief-filled eyes met his, wanting to pull away, but unable to resist this call to responsibility, this plea for help. Bail held his arms out, imploring, and Obi-Wan slowly drew him into his embrace, tentatively holding his trembling body.
"Don't leave me, Ben," Bail whispered against his neck. "I could not bear it if you did. You must stay."
And Obi-Wan, accustomed to a lifetime of service, obeyed.
Someone called his name, and he came instantly awake, opening his eyes to see Bail leaning over him, an affectionate smile on his lips. "You look so peaceful asleep," Bail said. "I hated to wake you, but I thought you might like to have breakfast with Leia and me."
Obi-Wan nodded and sat up, aware of the fact that Bail was already dressed, aware of the sun slanting in through the bedroom window. He never slept so late.
Bail pressed a kiss to his forehead, then stood to leave. `I'll go see about breakfast. In the meantime, feel free to go through my wardrobe and find...something else to wear." His lips quirked in a wry smile. "That is, unless you really prefer those old robes."
Obi-Wan scowled back as Bail laughed and left the room. He contemplated taking a shower, but rejected the idea as he would probably end up spending another half hour beneath the water. As it was, Bail's bathroom was so large, Obi-Wan almost got lost in it. Likewise the array of clothing in the wardrobe overwhelmed him. At least Bail's taste had somewhat mellowed over the years. It took Obi-Wan only three tries to find something he could stand to wear. Even so, he was glad not to have to wear it in public. The robe he'd selected might be simple by Bail's standards, utterly without decoration, but the fabric was so fine Obi-Wan felt horribly overdressed. Nevertheless, the idea of wearing Bail's clothes pleased him. As he slid the robe over his shoulders, he could almost feel Bail's silken hands caressing his skin. He didn't bother with his boots. The carpet felt wonderful beneath his bare feet.
He entered the hallway to find a servant waiting to escort him to breakfast. Good thing Bail had thought of that. Obi-Wan had not seen the whole house yet, and he would have had no idea where to find the breakfast room. But then Bail had always been a most considerate host.
It was therefore a sign of how late Obi-Wan had slept in that Bail and Leia had had to start breakfast without him. Bail started to apologize, but Obi-Wan waved him off, clutching the robe self-consciously around him as he settled into a chair. "You two have a schedule to keep. I don't want to inconvenience you."
"Never an inconvenience, Ben," Bail assured him. "What will you do all day while we're away?"
As if he hadn't spent the last decade living alone in a wasteland. "I'll think of something."
"You have the run of the house, of course. Or take a speeder into town." Bail smirked. "Do some shopping."
"I think it would be wiser if I remain unseen as much as possible."
"As you wish."
"When I get home from school, we can work on my report," Leia offered, eager to prove herself a better host than her father.
"I shall look forward to it," Obi-Wan assured her with a smile.
They only had a few more minutes before Bail and Leia had to leave. Obi-Wan finished his breakfast alone, then found his way back to the study where the three of them had met the previous night. He used Bail's computer to log onto the holonet and check out the latest news. Back in his day as a Jedi, Obi-Wan had never made a great effort to keep up with current events, but then he hardly had to. Between living at the Republic's capital and being sent on missions to the galaxy's troublespots, not to mention dating a prominent Senator, he had always lived in the thick of things. Tatooine, however, was far removed from the galaxy in more ways than one. Not only was it completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things (other than Obi-Wan's own pending project), but out on his homestead on the Dune Sea, he never had the opportunity to encounter any news. It had taken a while for him to adjust his sphere of interest down to his new level as an exile, but now, glancing through
the holonet reports, Obi-Wan found that he had so completely adapted to a myopic world-view that the news didn't seem to have anything to do with him. And why should it? The galaxy had turned its back on the Jedi, so why should he care what it did with itself? He had his own agenda now, so let the galaxy get by on its own.
He switched off the computer and went to explore the house, but he was soon distracted by the view through the windows. There was nothing much to see outside his home on Tatooine, and the sheer abundance of life here attracted him. Through the windows he could see the river access and a garden, flowers blooming along a small, winding gravel path. So many colors, in an infinity of shades. The movement mesmerized him. In the desert things moved very slowly, but here the slightest breeze sent the blossoms dancing and nodding. Leaves on the trees rustled and fluttered, and the river glided by in endless motion, bobbing ripples, sparkles of reflected sunlight. It almost gave Obi-Wan a headache, yet he was enthralled. The river was an inanimate object, yet it was vivacious like a living creature, breathing, skipping, laughing.
Obi-Wan sank into contemplation of the river, not caring how long he spent watching it, forgetting to explore the rest of the house. Another result of his life on Tatooine was that small increments of time had long ceased to have any meaning for him. What was a minute or an hour, when anonymous days stretched endlessly before him, on a world that lacked even the rhythm of changing seasons? Obi-Wan couldn't look back and say, "That was the year I twisted my ankle climbing the canyon walls," or "In that year a sandstorm swallowed my well and I had to dig a new one." He could remember the sequence of events, but not when they had happened or how much time passed between them. The desert had finally succeeded in teaching him what Qui-Gon never could: to live in the present moment. Obi-Wan had always been more attuned to the unifying Force, to the grander scheme, the ever-shifting plane of future possibilities. But none of these existed on Tatooine, where Obi-Wan could spend all
day watching dual shadows creep across the canyon floor as he waiting patiently for a rock hare to appear for his dinner, when his calendar was defined by how long it took the tubers to grow back in each grotto from which he collected them.
It was therefore a simple thing for him to lose track of time in the Viceroy's mansion, to pass the entire day in the familiar contemplation of his own guilt, standing at the window, watching the endless course of the river, like the constant ebb and flow of sand in the Dune Sea.
That was how Leia found him when she returned home from school that afternoon - standing barefoot in her father's robe, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the river. She did not disturb him, merely stood at his side looking up into his troubled face. He knew she was there, but he had lost the art of conversation as well as the concept of time, so he said nothing, and she, impressed by a grown-up who knew how to be silent, said nothing either. She slipped her small hand into his and turned her gaze out toward the river, waiting patiently to see what it would bring her.
Thoughts flowed by in the river of her mind. She watched them approach and then pass on by, big thoughts and little ones, some bobbing on the waves, others moving slowly. At last one thought snagged on the riverbank. It was not any more important than the others. Fate simply caused the current to push it to the edge where it stuck, and she hauled it into speech. "Papa says he wants to live on a boat. He would sail and sail forever and never come to ground."
Without looking away from the river, Obi-Wan smiled. "I remember that dream."
"Me, I'd rather fly," Leia continued. "I like to be up in the air, looking down at everything so small on the ground, like they're toys."
"It would be hard to live in the air," Obi-Wan observed. "Even birds have to come down sometimes."
Leia reluctantly nodded. "Maybe...a tree house? In a very tall tree!"
Obi-Wan laughed and squeezed her hand. "You should live on Kashyyyk, with the Wookiees. The trees are hundreds of meters high. That's probably as close as you could come to living in the air."
Encouraged, Leia asked, "Have you ever ridden a thranta before?"
"Yes, I have. A long time ago, with your father."
"I love thrantas. I want one of my own, but Papa says it's too big of a responsibility for such a little girl."
"He has a point."
"I would take good care of it! Maybe when I'm older. I want a white one, and I would name it Cloudswimmer or Skyrunner. That sounds better than Skywalker, because thrantas don't really walk."
At the name of his former apprentice, Obi-Wan stiffened. Leia looked up at him. "You miss him, don't you?" Before he could answer, even if he had been capable of answering, she continued, "Papa told me about your Padawan. I always thought he had such a pretty name. I'm sorry he died."
Obi-Wan struggled against his grief, and eventually won. "I do miss him," he answered truthfully.
"I guess you miss all the Jedi. They were your family. It must be hard, with all of them gone." She chewed on her lower lip, then squeezed his hand and leaned closer to him, looking earnestly up into his face. "But we're your family, too. Papa says you're my other father."
Obi-Wan couldn't bear to look at her, almost couldn't stand to touch her. How could a single statement be so true and so wrong at the same time? He was indeed bound to this child by the promises he had made on her behalf, promises he had made to Padme and to Yoda, even to Bail. His only reason to live anymore was the commitment he had made to the two children, but how could he be trusted to honor that commitment after all his betrayals?
The familiar vertigo of helpless fear washed over him. His life, everything, was completely out of his hands, and yet at the same time he was the key, the one unifying knot that bound all these threads of fate together. He had not chosen this role, and he certainly did not want it, but his destiny had been sealed when his dying Master had made him promise to train a young slave from Tatooine. His life had never been his to own, the choice never his to make, but the responsibility and the guilt both belonged to him alone.
As a politician's daughter, Leia was fairly astute at understanding people, and her latent Force-sensitivity gave her a powerful empathy. She could feel the waves of distress rolling off the man standing next to her, and it worried her. "Uncle Ben?"
Her soft voice roused him out of himself, and he berated himself for frightening her. Uncle, she had called him, not Father. He could manage to be an uncle: interesting, fun, but not a part of everyday life, detached from any real responsibility for her. Uncle would do nicely. Shaking the last of the depression off him, he suggested brightly, "Why don't we go work on your report?"
Leia was agreeable enough, relieved that he had cheered up. As astute as she was, she wasn't quite mature enough to handle a grown-up in despair.
They spent the next hour or so discussing the Clone Wars. The subject held many unpleasant memories for Obi-Wan, but the Wars were one of the few recent events of history that he did not feel personally responsible for, so he could remember them without too much recrimination. Besides, Leia was young enough not to ask the deeper moral question raised by the Wars and the role they played in the eventual establishment of the Empire. She asked questions she could understand: how and where and who, factual questions that were easy enough for Obi-Wan to answer.
Then Bail came home, bringing enough cheerfulness to banish the last remnants of Obi-Wan's malaise. The three of them were indeed like family then, Bail quizzing Leia about her report, Leia asking Bail about his speech, the two of them giving Obi-Wan the grand tour of their garden, Leia pointing out the spot that would make an excellent pen for a thranta, as much for her father's benefit as for Obi-Wan's. They enjoyed a lively dinner, then settled down for several hands of cards, punctuated by the latest seditious jokes from Bail, bad puns from Leia, and Obi-Wan's repertoire of animal calls he had learned to imitate on Tatooine. (Leia was particularly impressed by his ronto.)
At last it was time for Leia to go to bed. She tried everything she could think of to delay the fateful sentence, but her charms were no match for Obi-Wan's in her father's eyes, and in the end she had to concede defeat, an admission tempered by the fact that she got Obi-Wan to help her father tuck her into bed.
They left Leia's bedroom and returned to Bail's in silence, the Prince's arm linked through Obi-Wan's. Now that they were alone together Obi-Wan felt awkward, overwhelmed by the deep need once more pressing upon him. He did not want to talk, wanted only to feel Bail's hands on him, wanted to escape into the realm of sensations that would drown out thought. He was afraid of what Bail might say, of what he might ask, questions that Obi-Wan did not want to answer. Sex was safer.
When they reached Bail's room, Obi-Wan turned without a word and reached for the Prince, burying himself in his arms, smothering him with his kiss. With a sigh, Bail allowed Obi-Wan to drag him to the bed, hands ripping at clothing, bodies seeking each other in desperation. Again that flood of passion, that need to lose themselves in near violent love-making.
Their union was as brief as it was intense. Afterward, Obi-Wan lay curled against Bail's side, his hand resting on his chest, not moving or saying anything, his breathing deep and even. Bail rested his cheek on the crown of Obi-Wan's head, fingers running idly through the thinning hair. His body was satisfied, but his heart was not. Somehow he felt more alone, lying here holding this familiar stranger in his arms, than he had all those years when he never knew where Obi-Wan was. "Are you asleep?" he asked softly.
For a long time there was no response, although Bail knew Obi-Wan was awake. The silence hurt, but he resolved not to challenge it. Finally Obi-Wan stirred. "No."
Again silence, this time heavy, weighed down with all the unspoken words and questions that hung between them. It became too much for Bail, and he shifted out from under Obi-Wan, sliding out of the bed. He snagged his robe from a nearby chair, the robe Obi-Wan had worn all day, and shrugged into it, moving to stand by the window as he ran his hands through his tousled hair. Outside it was dark, and he could see only his own ghostly reflection, silhouetted against the soft light in the room.
He waited, but Obi-Wan did not come to join him, did not slide his arms around Bail's waist or rest his chin on his shoulder. Bail shivered as he realized how great a gulf now existed between them. It was clear that Obi-Wan would make no attempt to bridge this gulf, and for all Bail's skills at diplomacy, he did not know how he could manage the détente. Obi-Wan's wounds were too deep, his scars too tough to be healed. But then, he had never really understood Obi-Wan or their relationship. So why did he need to understand it now?
He returned to the bed, perching next to Obi-Wan. The Jedi reluctantly sat up, the sheets sliding off his chest, his eyes downcast as if steeling himself against whatever Bail might say. But Bail merely studied Obi-Wan, examining the face he hadn't seen in so long, and Force only knew when he would see again. He cupped Obi-Wan's cheek in his palm, lightly running his thumb over the beard, feeling the twitch of muscle as the jaw clenched.
Obi-Wan submitted to the caress, waiting for Bail to speak, but when he realized Bail was going to say nothing, demand nothing of him, was content merely to have him here, Obi-Wan's resistance crumbled. He could have withstood an assault, accusations, demands, but this gentle acceptance wore him down. He realized he made a rotten lover. "I'm sorry," he whispered, still avoiding Bail's eyes.
His apology sparked genuine surprise. "For what?"
"This can't be the reunion you imagined."
More silence as Bail contemplated. "No," he confessed. "But at least it's real." Obi-Wan angrily shook his head, jerking away from Bail's touch, and Bail felt a surge of irritation at Obi-Wan's never-ending guilt, but he calmed himself, releasing his anger as easily as it had arisen.
"Do you remember that game we used to play?" he asked. "Where we would imagine our lives if you were not a Jedi and I were not a senator? We were going to run away to...Caamas, was it?"
Obi-Wan looked across the room, still avoiding Bail, but remembering. "Ithor."
"Yes, Ithor, for the sacred forest," Bail agreed. "And I was going to be a lawyer, and you would teach martial arts, I believe. And we would live happily ever after, worrying about no one but ourselves."
Obi-Wan twisted the sheet in his hands. "I remember."
"We loved that game, but it was never more than a fantasy, Ben. All we've ever had were these stolen moments. Really, even if there were still a Republic and a Jedi Order, nothing would be much different from now for us. I might see you a little more often, but we still wouldn't be able to live together." He raised his hand once more to Obi-Wan's cheek, turning his face toward him. "This is all we've ever had."
Obi-Wan leaned his cheek into Bail's palm, the tender touch melting through his defenses. Tears pressed up in his throat. He wanted to give in to them, but he could not, not yet, because he knew when he did it would be horrible. He wanted Bail to love him for a little while longer.
Sensing Obi-Wan's despair, Bail gently prompted, "Tell me, Ben. Let me give you what comfort I can. It's why you came here, isn't it?"
"You don't know what you're asking," Obi-Wan protested hoarsely.
"You've borne so much. Let me bear it, too."
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, treacherous tears sliding out from beneath his eyelashes. /Not now,/ he silently begged. /Please, not yet./ But there was no one left to grant him a reprieve. There was only Bail, who had always been willing to listen. Bail heard the confessions that he, as a Jedi, could make to no one else.
"It's just that I can't endure it," Obi-Wan began, the words dragging themselves out of his throat. "That I alone of all the Jedi should live is such a travesty of justice it makes me doubt the goodness of the Force. I wish I had died, too. Force knows -- indeed, the Force knows I should have died. How I wish now I had the courage to take my life, but I don't dare. No, it's probably the Force's idea of punishment that I should live, to see all the evil that has come about because of my folly."
"How dare you speak that way?" Bail chided, his voice soft but stern. "The hero of the Clone Wars? You were the greatest Jedi of our time."
But his words only evoked anger in Obi-Wan. "The greatest Jedi?" he spat scornfully, his eyes burning venom. "The greatest traitor! You have no idea what I've done, Bail. Everything that has happened -- Palpatine's rise, the fall of the Republic, the destruction of the Jedi -- it's all because of me."
"How can you say that?"
"Believe me, Bail, there are truths you are better off not knowing, but I assure you, I do not over-estimate my guilt. The blood of millions is on my hands!"
"Obi-Wan, stop it," Bail snapped. He grabbed the Jedi's face firmly between his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You are not responsible. Are you going to say you should have been able to predict it all, that you could have stopped it? No individual has that power." Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but Bail would not let him speak. "Listen to me. We are all culpable for the Republic's demise. Ordinary citizens like me, we'd come to rely too much on the Jedi, expecting them to do the work of peace and justice for us. We even scorned them for it, for taking care of our dirty work while we allowed ourselves to be lulled into complacency by Palpatine's lies. Yes, even me! It was the Jedi who paid the price for our folly. Now the responsibility once more lies with us, with ordinary citizens, to bring the Republic back. It is our responsibility now to protect the Jedi."
Again Obi-Wan struggled. "You don't know what you're talking about...."
"Oh yes, I do. Believe me, I do." His voice was thick with love. "I have already suffered to protect you, Ben."
Dread sliced into Obi-Wan's stomach like the blade of a cool knife. "What do you mean, 'suffered?'"
Bail faltered. "I don't want to add to your mistaken feelings of guilt."
Obi-Wan's fingers dug painfully into Bail's arms. "Tell me!"
Again Bail hesitated, not wanting to go into it. But if he was demanding a confession from Obi-Wan, then he owed the Jedi nothing less than the truth in return. "Not long after I last saw you, I was... detained by the Empire. They knew of my connection to you, and they thought I could tell them where you were. Of course, I couldn't." Hesitantly, he added, "Although in truth I'm glad I didn't know. I like to think I could have held out, but they were... rather persuasive."
Feeling sick, Obi-Wan whispered, "You were tortured?"
Bail lightly corrected, "The Empire does not torture, they interrogate. Actually, in a way I was honored. No less important a personage than Lord Vader himself supervised my interrogation, although his presence was probably due more to you than to me."
Vader! Horrified, Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, struggling against the sickening revulsion that swelled up inside him. His Padawan had tortured his lover. Somehow of all Vader's many, many crimes, this seemed the most vile. And Obi-Wan was to blame. "Not Vader," he moaned.
His plea confused Bail, who sought to reassure him. "In a way, it worked out for the best. Alderaan was furious about my detention. They threatened to pull out of the Empire. I'm not sure whether we could have really pulled it off, but it gave Palpatine enough of a scare that he released me and had to keep his distance after that. Of course I was still monitored, but they stayed away from me whenever I was on Alderaan. That's why I finally resigned the Senate and moved back home. What with the clout I'd gained from my unjust imprisonment, and the relative freedom I've enjoyed on Alderaan, I've been able to do more for the Alliance than I ever could have if I remained on Coruscant."
But Obi-Wan would not be appeased. Indeed, he scarcely heard anything Bail said. He felt ill, he *would* be ill. Bail, tortured by Anakin! And the Prince proud of it, as if it were a badge of his love, all the while unaware of who was really responsible. Obi-Wan's betrayal was complete. He deserved no sympathy, no pity from anyone. Least of all did he deserve this devotion from Bail.
He had sworn to Yoda that he would never reveal to anyone the secret of Vader's identity, but he knew he owed Bail. He could not continue to accept his love as if he were somehow worthy of it. It would kill him to break with Bail, but it was no less than he deserved.
"I'm sorry, Bail," he apologized, his throat choked with grief. "You have a right to know the truth. But you must promise me you will tell no one, not ever."
Eyeing him warily, Bail agreed, "I promise."
"Swear it, by that which you hold most dear. You must tell no one."
Bail's expression softened. "I swear by my love for you."
Enraged, Obi-Wan screamed, "No! Such a promise is worse than useless! If you swear by me, I will know you cannot be trusted!"
Bail shrank back in shock, tears in his eyes. What had happened to Obi-Wan? Maybe he didn't want to hear this truth. But he loved the man; he had to hear it. "Then I swear by my daughter, Leia."
Leia, the spawn of that black soul! This was little better. But she was also Padme's child. She was still good, as yet untouched by her father's darkness. He would have preferred another vow, but he could accept this one.
Reluctantly, he drew a steadying breath. He pulled himself away from Bail, gathering his courage, then raised his eyes to Bail's. He owed it to the Prince not to flinch when he told him what he had done. "Did you ever wonder who Vader really is?"
Bail paused. "Of course. Everyone wonders, but no one has ever been able to find out anything about him. He just... appeared out of nowhere."
"He did not just appear." Force, the truth hurt. The words ripped out of his chest with razor sharp claws. "He was made." Another ragged, bloody breath. "By me."
Utter incomprehension. "I don't --"
/Don't make me say it./ "It is Anakin beneath that mask."
More confusion, and the briefest hint of denial. "Anakin? Anakin is dead."
"He did not die. He turned to the dark side. Worse, he was seduced by Palpatine. He forsook the Jedi to become a Sith."
"It...it can't be."
"But it is. *My* Padawan, *my* apprentice. He murdered the Jedi one by one, and I alone live to know that it was my pupil who killed my fellows."
Still Bail refused to believe. "It can't be Anakin. You must be mistaken. Someone else --"
"I am not mistaken!" Obi-Wan screamed. "I'm the one who put him in that armor!" The blackest despair washed over him, then, thick like oil, polluting his soul, clotting his lungs until he couldn't breathe, dark, viscous tears rising from his bowels to choke him, to sting his cheeks like acid, like drops of lava from that horrible pit where his beloved Anakin had fallen, fire catching in his hair, flames licking at his features as he sank into the burning lake, until nothing remained but his eyes hurling their accusation, /You did this, Master!/
Bail could feel the hot self-loathing consume Obi-Wan, and as much as he wanted to deny it, Obi-Wan's guilt convinced him of the truth. No wonder Vader had supervised his interrogation; Anakin knew perfectly well who Obi-Wan would have turned to. With a body-shaking sigh, Bail closed his eyes, remembering the tow-headed nine-year-old he had invited into his home, so eager to please, so lonely without his mother. The child's amazing piloting skills as he flew across the field on one of Bail's speeder bikes. The teenager who listened, rapt, as Bail taught him about art, sculpture, music. Those blue eyes darkening with disapproval whenever Bail kissed Obi-Wan in front of him. The hard edge in Anakin's voice when he accused the Senate of complacency. Occasional bursts of anger, of recrimination, of the desire to drive Bail out of Obi-Wan's life, to smash him into pieces like one of his antique vases. The cold accusation that surfaced more and more as the boy grew older: /You
don't know what it's like to be a slave. You have had every privilege. You can never understand./ No, he had never understood, could scarcely understand now. Yet he believed. A fearful shiver shook him as he accepted the truth. "He always hated me," he whispered.
The quiet words sank through Obi-Wan's grief, rousing him. "I'm sorry, Bail," he begged. "I'm so sorry." He began to move, restless, climbing out of bed, searching blindly for his clothes. "I have to leave. I'm endangering you both. He'll know I'm here." Bail watched, still too numb to comprehend, as Obi-Wan groped around the room, looking terribly old and feeble. "I should never have come," Obi-Wan continued. "He'll know I've come. I have to leave. I have to go."
Obi-Wan found his desert robes and began to pull them on, still muttering desperately, and it at last penetrated Bail's brain that the Jedi really intended to leave. "No," he protested, rousing from his shock.
"I can't stay."
Bail rose from the bed. "I don't want you to leave."
"But he tortured you. He'll kill you! All because of me."
And Bail finally understood, realized all the grief Obi-Wan bore, why he blamed himself for the galaxy's state. It was his Padawan who had done it, his failure, his fault. What good was Bail's forgiveness if Obi-Wan could not forgive himself?
"Don't go, Ben, please." He caught Obi-Wan's arms, stopped him from dressing. Weeping, he begged, "Please stay. I need you. Don't leave me."
Obi-Wan's grief-filled eyes met his, wanting to pull away, but unable to resist this call to responsibility, this plea for help. Bail held his arms out, imploring, and Obi-Wan slowly drew him into his embrace, tentatively holding his trembling body.
"Don't leave me, Ben," Bail whispered against his neck. "I could not bear it if you did. You must stay."
And Obi-Wan, accustomed to a lifetime of service, obeyed.