Unlike Any Other
An Obi-Wan Vignette
By LuvEwan
(pg-13)
All recognizable characters belong to George Lucas.
Dedicated to obi_ew and red_rose_knight, who were brilliant enough to begin a group dedicated to the discussion of Obi-Wan Kenobi, then to bring about the literary challenge this vignette is a response to.
It was…
Remarkable.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened, fastening on it, caressing the smooth hilt with an awed gaze before he could move his fingers to do the same.
This was the moment. The sacred event when all the mounting suspense and sweet, intense, hopeful dreams culminated into a few seconds. The brief, precious pulse in time that could never be repeated.
He was holding his lightsaber.
And it wasn't the faux weapon wielded (sometimes clumsily) by a gangly initiate, settings limited to avoid more than superficial burns, always with that vague feeling of mimicry, of indistinctness, among the other Jedi students.
No; this was his, built by his own hands.
The black ridges of the radiator casing that enclosed the delicate, but utterly powerful sapphire-hued crystals. The textured segments in the middle, fit to the width of his hand, with sufficient room for the adolescent's inevitable growth. The complex and engrossing circuitry, protected by a gleaming projection plate.
And a smooth, untouched button.
Vibrant red.
Taking a sharp inhale, Obi-Wan pressed down on the activator.
He was a young boy, with all the childish eccentricities that came with the title. But he was also a Jedi, and the two were constantly at war in his mind.
His training most often won, as it did now. Obi-Wan expected to jump when the fresh blade protruded, for the first time, from its painstakingly crafted sheath.
A Jedi held no illusions.
So he was more than a little surprised when the glowing azure sword emerged, and he remained perfectly still, staring down at the wonder…and realizing that it felt right.
This lightsaber wasn't a bland copy of a thousand others. It was an extension of his hand--of his soul, the energy thrumming under his touch as surely as his heart beat within his chest.
The weapon had existed for little more than an hour, and yet, Obi-Wan found he could barely remember life without it.
He exhaled shakily. The slick, obsidian walls reflected the cerulean brilliance of the crackling blade, softening it, creating an almost warm incandescence.
Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to watch the radiant display, his lips parted.
The Ilum cave was a place of thick, cold darkness, leaching the palest of light, with craggy ground that greatly contrasted with the nearly seamless walls. An icy wind buffeted his robe, whipping it around his legs.
Initially, making the long and precarious trek with his Master, Obi-Wan couldn't suppress his bone-deep shivers, braving the unforgiving planet's terrain with a determined face. Qui-Gon had paused at the yawning entrance of the ancient cavern to study the quivering mouth (that concealed helplessly chattering teeth), and offered calm words:
"This is not the first journey you have undertook, Padawan." He said solemnly. "And it will not be your last. But it will define and reshape the remainder of your existence--if being a Knight is truly, to the core, the goal of your life."
Obi-Wan looked up at the towering Master with steady conviction. "It's all I've ever wanted."
No one else could have discerned the shift in that iron expression; only the boy could detect the tendered leonine features. "Then you must go forward. Alone. I cannot be with you in this. A Master and Padawan are a single unit, linked in the Force.
"But this construction is a labor of the spirit. Your spirit. No two Jedi experience the same emotions during the assembly." His hand fell to his apprentice's shoulder. "Take all the time you need, Padawan." The smile that didn't touch his mouth danced in his striking, midnight eyes. "Cherish it. And I'll be waiting for you."
Obi-Wan discovered he couldn't bring himself to smile, either. Instead, he slowly embraced his Master, feeling the warmth of the rangy body admit the swirling frost. "I know." He murmured.
Then, he backed away, turned, and stepped into the shadow-laden cave…
Obi-Wan's visage was bathed in the saber light as he recalled the recent memory, and fragile tears glimmered as they trickled down his cheeks.
There were so many reasons to doubt, insecurities rampant within his mind, taunting him with the knowledge of his past failings, of the potential for future errs.
But, somehow, they couldn't touch him at this purely beautiful instance.
He twirled the weapon quickly in his fingers, listening to the accompanying buzz cut through the silence in a strange, electric melody.
And he knew that Fate had filled a private, previously unnamed void inside him.
The Force stroked him as he strode toward the distant, gray clearing. Ribbons of ethereal warmth hugged his body, so that when he again met his Master's serene form, he was drenched in the illustrious light, soaked in…
Sweat. Dripping from his dimpled chin, shining wetly on his chest. The cool breeze in the corridor was a bitter relief, alleviating the raging fever, but stinging the open welts on his back.
He was struggling to overcome the shock of liberation. If he had ever, for the slightest moment, lost belief in the Force, it was restored to him tenfold, as he saw the malfunction reach the electronic cell lock, causing the solid doors to slide cleanly open.
His saber hung in a rusted, corroding rack, and Obi-Wan grabbed it almost hungrily, scrambling to position his roughened fingers in the grooves.
The fourteen year old sealed his eyes, sending a silent thank you to the surrounding, omnipresent entity. Then he surged forward, winding down the halls…
And skidded to a halt, just as the Force simultaneously screamed a warning.
The creature before him was a man. But a twisted variation, hulking and muscled and scarred, coarse black hair braided and longer than Obi-Wan had ever believed a mane could be.
The guard snarled, taking deliberately sluggish paces, reviling in the open fear on the Jedi's face. "Where you going, little baby?"
Obi-Wan swallowed hard and sent a testing tendril of mind suggestion.
But, like the man's body, his brain was tainted, impaired.
The Force could not manipulate the thought process in such forms.
Obi-Wan took a step backward, wincing when the monstrous sentry followed. His stomach cramped and fluttered.
"Right." The man snarled, in reaction to the subtle movements, "You not going nowhere, are ya?" His eyes, nearly colorless, with tiny, black pupils, bore into the boy.
"ARE YA?" He persisted.
Obi-Wan glanced beyond a massive, rippled shoulder, looking longingly at the exit. "No." He conceded, shaking his head to punctuate his answer, projecting an aura of innocence.
The nightmare beast wiped at a plump lip, littered with grime-coated stitches. "You go back to box." He rumbled.
Confusion marred Obi-Wan's countenance, then he understood, visualizing the small, square cell, nodding. "I'm going back to the box."
He turned around, and had scarcely made it an inch before a piercing noise alerted him. The Padawan wheeled to face the man--and the dirty, jagged vibroshiv he brandished.
Obi-Wan yelped, ducking as the deadly weapon swiped through the air. The tip caught his cheek, and he hissed, blood dripped onto the saber hilt, his fingers grasping tight to the weapon.
A guttural yell ripped from his attacker when the blades clashed, and Obi-Wan took the slim opportunity to leap over the man's head.
A huge bulk of an arm sent him smashing into the wall. The corridor wasn't large enough to provide leverage for a somersault, and he collided, hearing the telltale shatter of broken bone.
Hot, liquid burgundy spread on his skin. Obi-Wan saw a dark haze invade his periphery and he fumbled, meaty fingers clamping down on his arms.
He was lifted several feet above the floor, blinding, saffron light beating on him. Then he was thrown down, crying out in agony when his abused back hit the unyielding ground.
The man grinned furiously, dropping to his knees and pinning Obi-Wan's legs.
Obi-Wan moaned, squirming weakly, desperately, against the heavy weight.
"You," The guard began, trailing his coarse touch down Obi-Wan's perspiring, bloody face, "Look like doll. Pretty. Doll to play with."
Obi-Wan grit his teeth, combating the numbness infecting his body. A wilt of spiky hair lay damp against his forehead, falling into his eyes.
Oblivion called for him, seductive with the promise of respite from the pain. His lids were leaden, and he knew he was slipping into shock.
The man wasn't pleased with the boy's sudden lack of interest. He snaked the vibroshiv down a pale, bare arm, blood seeping from the wound, waiting with a lop-sided smile for a response.
And Obi-Wan grappled for the saber, so close to his fingers, lifting his head a fraction.
"NO."
He groaned when his skull was slammed back down. Out of sheer instinct, he ignited his saber and shoved the glowing length into the man's barrel chest.
An expression of complete, ugly, lethal pain was frozen on the blunt face. The man careened back, slapping onto the ground with a sickening thud.
The stench of burned flesh rose in putrid fumes. Obi-Wan choked, tears streaming from his eyes, a paralysis stealing the haste from his limbs.
He lay there, the dingy canopy of the ceiling seeming to close in on him…
And he forced himself to sit erect.
Obi-Wan blinked, panting, the swell of tremendous agony in his head, and a smothering anguish overwhelming his senses.
Oh…Oh Force…no…
The gargantuan body was splayed out before him, a gaping hole smoking in the center of the man's chest.
Obi-Wan crawled toward him, his lips quivering badly. He stopped, and slumped back onto his ankles, his face stricken.
The haunting, bleached eyes remained open, mirroring the glare of the artificial lighting.
A hand drifted to Obi-Wan's mouth.
Dead.
A dense lump formed in his throat, and he gaped at the corpse..
Corpse…Dead…Killed…I
"Killed him?"
His eyes, bleary and stained with red veins, went to his saber.
He had taken a life.
Oh..I've never..never ever…
The thumping of footsteps approached, and he emerged from his horrified stupor in a near-crazed panic, rushing to his feet, reaching for his weapon.
Obi-Wan lifted his watered gaze. Through the misery of tears, he saw a form jogging toward him.
He switched on the saber, the flashing color becoming a smear in his distorted vision. "G-Get away--" He croaked, the terror and disgust broiling inside translating to nothing but a feeble tremor in his voice.
Before he could move, the stranger bound down the corridor, and enveloped him in strong, warm arms.
And Obi-Wan dissolved into harsh, wracking sobs, realizing who held him, that he had been saved…but knowing what he had sacrificed.
Qui-Gon took in the still body with his natural tranquility, clasping his apprentice's head against him, sending waves of healing energy.
"It was necessary, my child." He murmured gently in an ear. "He would have killed you."
Obi-Wan nodded, the extent of his injuries taking a sudden toll. "I--killed him…" As he collapsed, his hands were cold around his saber, for one, single moment hating the weapon more than anything. It was a tool of protection, survival…death. And today he had---he had…
He had won.
At first, it had been like walking in a dream. He watched his Master's saber roll down the glossy practice floor, convinced he would wake at any time, rejoin the world where he was always on the brink of victory, but never quite there.
When Qui-Gon Jinn rose gracefully, striding to his apprentice and giving a deep bow, Obi-Wan was prepared to pinch himself, for surely it couldn't be truly happening….
Qui-Gon's bearded visage lifted, and keen blue eyes stared back at the senior apprentice, shimmering with--respect?.
Obi-Wan gulped with a thick, audible click. Moisture streamed down his face, some born of the fierce physical excursion, the rest…
His Master stood, long, silver-streaked hair wet with sweat, a half smile playing on his mouth.
Obi-Wan gripped onto his saber, though the battle was completed, afraid that if he let go, if he moved a centimeter, this lovely mirage would dissipate--and at the same time, wishing it would.
He had trained, fought, cried, lived beside this man for seven years.
And he had bested him, for the first time.
There was no huge applauding crowd. Not even an engrossed docent, pausing in their duties to take in a Jedi spar.
The midnight cityscape of Coruscant flickered and flashed beyond the windows. A restlessness had led both Master and apprentice here, bringing them from a shallow layer of sleep, as if it were…
Destined.
Obi-Wan looked at his mentor, returning a tremulous smile.
"Congratulations, Padawan." Qui-Gon commended, in that rich baritone that reverberated in the spanning arena. He traced the rounded, honeyed jaw with a finger, catching stray tears.
Obi-Wan inhaled, his eyes flooded. "Thank you, Master." He said softly.
The older Jedi felt the silkiness of the ginger braid. "I believe we should return to our quarters. The bead is waiting there."
Obi-Wan beamed, and the tears glistened in the moon's illumination, shadow pooling in the muscles of his back. "Okay."
Qui-Gon rested a hand on his shoulder, leading him from the quiet room.
And Obi-Wan clutched his saber still, the instrument that had secured a fateful cross into adulthood. He brimmed with an indescribable joy, reverence…
Torture.
He had never known such total, absolute, crushing agony.
Obi-Wan swept the motionless form into his arms, gasping the beloved name.
"Master."
The eyes opened, and a wealth of affection and poignant regret poured from the weary gaze. "Obi-Wan…"
But he had hope, didn't he? Because he was response, he was answering he was…
"Too late." Qui-Gon rasped. "It's too late."
Obi-Wan raged inside, a frightened child that hid beneath his exterior leaping to his mind, and he could only do what was instinctive…He could only deny what he could never endure… "NO."
The handsome, noble face grimaced as a wave of pain went through his failing body. "Promise me…"
Obi-Wan sniffled, already making the nameless pledge, already devoting his life to whatever he would be asked.
"Promise me you'll--train the boy."
And the scraping words fell from his heart, the mantra of his life, the most comforting response in the Universe. "Yes, Master."
A fleeting touch, to taste with his finger a final tear…Qui-Gon spoke more, but Obi-Wan was beyond hearing, nodding his acquiescence without a thought, pressing his forehead to his father's…
Then, when all the lively heat had drained from the man, Obi-Wan pulled away.
He combed the damp mop of graying hair back, and laid a kiss on a cool cheek.
Obi-Wan stared down at the saber before him, bereft of the might, loving spirit that so filled his life…
He picked up his slain Master's weapon, his own victim to the generator core.
And suffered a grim, unwanted rebirth.
Obi-Wan stood at the maw at the cave's opening, waiting for Anakin's return. He felt Ilum's chill around him…
He touched the saber reassuringly, hanging from his belt.
It was not created with his young hands, at the cusp of a new adventure, safe in the security of his Master's devotion.
But it wasn't a copy.
It was unlike any other.
And it was…
Remarkable.