—Beth Quist
PART 2 - A Twisted Fate
Obi-Wan watched helplessly through the red haze of the energy barrier as the black-clad Zabrak fought against Qui-Gon Jinn. The creature before him was very well-trained in the Jedi arts, and his obvious youth gave him energy and power. The master, by no means unskilled in sophisticated sabre play, was finding the Zabrak's blunt attacks and thrusts to be hard to parry. The master was no longer the youth he once was, and he was tiring.
Come on, come on, come on, Obi-Wan impatiently urged the barrier to re-open. He gasped as Qui-Gon barely blocked the Zabrak's blade.
This battle had continued far too long, Qui-Gon mused. The creature before him deliberately attacked Obi-Wan at the beginning of the confrontation, separating the padawan from his master. Now, without Obi-Wan's assistance, Qui-Gon realised he wasn't going to make it.
Coming to a decision, Qui-Gon brought his sabre forward—an aggressive move his adversary was not expecting. He pushed back the Zabrak's blade, causing the creature to take an unbalanced step back. Qui-Gon saw his opening. He swung his blade back—
The step back was a ruse. The beast thrust the dual hilt forward, hitting Qui-Gon squarely on his forehead, causing him to stumble back, dazed. In the moment of this precarious position, the Zabrak swung his sword, bringing the blade up from below, and thrust it viciously into Qui-Gon's belly.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Obi-Wan's lungs exploded with his howl. Venomous anger welled in him as his crystalline eyes locked on to the dark-clad monstrosity that turned to gloat upon him.
Instead of the Zabrak he expected to see, Obi-Wan was greeted by the vision of his own face, tattooed in blood red and the black of empty space.
Gasping for air as I awoken, the cry I had first thought as my own was, in fact, the piercing cries of the squalling children. My body flushed with a relief I couldn't quite fathom as images from my sleep drained away from my memory. Swinging my legs off the cot, I found the nanny droid carrying Luke and attempting to feed him. Silver-grey metallic eyes focused on me.
"This one will not take his sustenance," the nanny droid spoke with its strange soothing lilt, incongruent to the boy's wails that pierced the hull of the cabin.
Sola, Padmé's sister, had helped to smuggle the droid on board before our departure from Naboo. Padmé gave it to us when Ryoo was born. It helped raise both my daughters, she explained her parting gift. She always wanted her own family... The grieving woman had rushed away in tears before either Yoda or myself could offer our condolences.
"Here," I offered as I stood, desperate to chase away the pounding in my head. Of the children, Luke had, by far, the stronger pair of lungs, and the newborn certainly wasn't afraid to use them. "I'll take him."
Placing the babe in my arms, the droid handed me the milking bottle, then turned its attention to baby Leia.
I rocked the boy gently to counter the ship's sway and cooed, "There, there, young Luke." Immediately, the boy's cries diminished and a far more peaceful look overcame his face.
"A natural, you are," Yoda silently chuckled at me as he sat the edge of his cot, apparently still trying to convince me I would have made a promising crèche maid.
I shot him a look of exasperation. "Perhaps he does not like flying."
"Perhaps." Yoda's ears twitched as he traced scratches on the durasteel floor with his gimmer stick. "Or perhaps, like someone else, a more personal touch, he needs."
Embarrassed by my master's acknowledgement of the way I trained Anakin, I looked away, finding solace in Luke's visage. Luke's sister had also quieted by the nanny droid's ministrations, and Luke finally accepted the bottle I offered him. Impassibly, I watched Luke as he drank greedily.
I had pledged myself to watching over this boy, and yet I felt as if the Force were already showing me the warning signs. Perhaps what we were doing was all wrong; we had been wrong for so long—for centuries, according to a repentant Master Yoda. Were we going down the wrong path yet again?
Yoda felt my inner struggle and poked my leg gently with the gimmer stick. "Tell me, young one. Hold in your heart, love for this boy?"
Luke was done with his bottle, his eyelids drowsily falling closed. I raised the boy over my shoulder and patted his back until a satisfying burp emitted. Resting him in the crook of my arm again, I traced a finger along Luke's chubby face. He coughed slightly and waved a fist in the air, but remained asleep.
I felt as if my whole being were weighted with the sins of his father, the sins of my mistakes. Yet in the darkest recesses of my heart, I knew it was more than duty that moved me to commit myself to the future of this boy. It was more than hope to put things aright.
It was the love I still held for Anakin.
"Yes," I whispered, silently vowing the steps of my path to walk along side his, wherever they may go.
"Then right your decision is," Yoda assured me. "In time, learn to trust your feelings again, you will."
The ship shuddered as it dropped out of hyperspace. Dread dropped in the pit of my belly like hardened durasteel as I realised our destination.
The cabin door chimed, then opened, revealing Bail on the other side. With a pinched expression, he announced, "We're approaching Dagobah."
Master Yoda grunted his acknowledgement and nodded, accepting his fate willfully as he stood from the cot. His wizened face thoughtful, he turned to me.
"Train him, you will not," Master Yoda reminded me. "When the time is right, the Living Force will guide them to us."
"Yes, Master," I acquiesced to my master's wishes.
As Yoda began to hobble his way out into the corridor, Bail dropped to one knee before him and made a pledge. "I assure you, Master Yoda, we will do everything we can to restore the Republic. On that day, I promise to return and release you from exile."
Master Yoda regarded Bail thoughtfully before responding. "Restoring the Republic, perhaps you should not. Learn, I have, from my own mistakes. Time, it is, to create something new from the ashes. But first, undo the web which Palpatine has woven. Dangerous, he is. Time it will take. Patience we must have." Yoda patted Bail's shoulder reassuringly. "The Force will be with you, Senator Organa."
Bail stood, and Yoda ambled past him. "May the Force be with us all," Bail murmured with sad hope.
Still carrying young Luke, I followed Yoda down the corridor to the lifepods. As he eased into the opening that seemed just the right size for him, Yoda turned and looked up at me with his golden-green eyes. Such depths of compassion and love as I had never seen him look upon me before, I was dumbstruck by the wave of comfort he offered to me through the Force.
"The Force will be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he spoke tenderly, as if singing a lullaby to a youngling.
With deep reverence, I bowed and replied, "Thank you, Master. And with you."
Yoda grunted and groaned as he positioned himself before the pod's controls. In that moment, I felt as if I should fling myself to him, make an impassioned plea, beg him to stay with me.
The pod's airlock hissed shut.
I heard the moorings release, and with a blast that shook the plating beneath my feet, the pod shot off into Dagobah's orbit. With great remorse, I watched it spin into the murky atmosphere where it was engulfed in the heavy cloud cover that blanketed the planet. The Tantive changed course almost immediately, and soon we were back in hyperspace, speeding toward our next destination—Tatooine.
Making my way back to the cabin, I found Bail standing beside Leia's bassinet, gazing down tenderly at his newly-adopted daughter, already the deepest of love burning in his dark eyes. I knew then that whatever fate held in store for her, Leia would know the unconditional love that only a parent could give her—a kind of love I feared I was unable to give to her true father, the man I had raised as a son. The man who was a man no more.
Suddenly a wailing cry pierced my ears. Looking down at Luke, he had awoken at feeling my personal distress within the Force. I chided myself for being so reckless and lifted him against my chest, gently patting his back as I tried to soothe him with platitudes, "Shhh, shhh, there, little one. You don't want to wake your little sister, now, do you?"
I moved away, back down the corridor, hoping that the boy's troubled cries would not awaken little Leia, but she, too, had felt her brother's distress and began to cry.
I turned to see Bail lifting the girl up in his arms. He looked at me with a pained expression, and we exchanged a knowingness that young fathers all had to face—the sleepless nights of parenthood.
It was going to be a very long night, indeed.
In the pseudo-darkness of Coruscant's night, newly-knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi slumped exhaustedly in a chair across from his sleep couch where the nine-year-old boy Anakin Skywalker slept.
Obi-Wan brushed a hand through the short tuft of his hair. The pads of his fingers stopped momentarily behind his right ear. The comfortable weight of his padawan braid was gone. Only singed edges welcomed his touch now where he severed the braid with his lightsabre, a privilege that should have been reserved for his former master, Qui-Gon Jinn. Instead, Qui-Gon was dead, impaled at the end of a Sith Lord's double-bladed sabre, leaving the charge of Anakin Skywalker to him.
So much for happy endings.
Qui-Gon's death left Obi-Wan with unsettled feelings about the future. He shortly discovered he hadn't been the only one. As the last remaining visitor in silent meditation at Qui-Gon's funeral pyre, Obi-Wan had not noticed the others fall away, nor the approach of Qui-Gon's own former master. Feeling the dark presence of the Force wrapped in upon itself, Obi-Wan turned to see Master Dooku standing in the pavilion's entryway, his eyes intensely focused on the dying embers. Countless hours had passed since the ceremony took place; only charred bones remained. Obi-Wan noted the haunted look of regret in the man's dark eyes which stood out against his ghostly white face.
Without acknowledging his fellow Jedi, Dooku turned on his heel and departed as silently as he came. Apparently, Dooku had interrupted an important mission of his own to attend the funeral, too late. Obi-Wan knew the feeling well. Too well.
The next day, the Jedi took part of the Nubian celebrations. Despite the festive mood of the occasion, Anakin had been quiet and reserved, mimicking the sombre comportment of his new master. In truth, Obi-Wan realised that the boy was masking his own sorrow over Qui-Gon's death. Certainly, the boy's act didn't fool any of the rest of the Master Jedi in attendance. Penetrating eyes raked over Obi-Wan as Council members silently warned him of the tribulations ahead.
The day was long with many dignitaries from the Senate paying tribute to Naboo's Queen and the newly-appointed Supreme Chancellor. Various conversations wafted in and out of Obi-Wan's hearing. More than once, he had heard the phrase "Sith killer" whispered as eyes drifted in his direction. He would simply pretend he hadn't heard and avert his gaze, discomfit in his new role. He was glad when the Council announced their return to Coruscant.
By the time the new Supreme Chancellor's starcruiser returned the Jedi, it was the middle of Temple's night. Anakin thankfully had not asked to see the cockpit and politely stayed at his master's side. Although the boy fought back sleep, eventually even his endless curiosity could not stay the needs of his body. Upon landing, Obi-Wan found himself carrying the boy in his arms, Anakin's head nestled against the man's now-bare neck. There was no time to make arrangements for new quarters, so Obi-Wan placed Anakin in his own sleep couch, and the Padawan-turned-Knight kept vigil in the chair across, watching the boy speak in a mixture of Huttish, Basic and gibberish as dreams plagued him throughout the night.
Obi-Wan himself slept intermittently, unable to lift himself from the chair. The only other available sleep couch was on the other side of the apartment which he had shared with Qui-Gon. In that private space was Qui-Gon's things, his master's scent, the lingering presence of the man. No, Obi-Wan realised, he could not encroach on Qui-Gon's memory. In the morning, he would apply for new apartments, one suitable for a first-year padawan and...his master.
Sleepily, Obi-Wan's eyes traced the finally-still form of his young apprentice. /The boy is dangerous/ Obi-Wan had warned Qui-Gon. In regards to this issue, Qui-Gon treated Obi-Wan like a pesky gnat who had gotten too close to his vision. But Obi-Wan could not hold on to the indignation. His master had been right. Only this boy and his uncanny natural connection to the Force could have inadvertently started up the engines of the Nubian starfighter. Only he could have miraculously dived into the heart of the space battle and escaped unscathed. Only he could serendipitously deliver the blow that destroyed the droid command carrier and return victorious. Only Anakin.
Dawn broke over the surface of the Temple in purplish golden hues. Obi-Wan's gaze drifted to the vista, his exhausted mind connecting past and present, memories and imagined things. Many was the dawn he sleepily dragged himself out of bed to find his master already in morning meditation. Obi-Wan had been certain that the man never slept, simply meditating through the night, awaiting for his padawan's waking.
Once, he had been the learner. Today he was the master.
I was listless, unable to quiet my mind after quieting the children. I returned Luke to his bassinet where the nanny droid stood guard over them and headed down the ship's corridors in the small hours of the night, ship's time.
Finding myself in the ship's hold, I pulled out my sabre and began to drill. Once, I could find comfort in the routine, but not tonight. Instead, flashes of blue against the ominous red of spewing lava wavered before my eyes.
I failed you, Anakin. I have failed you.
I stopped, staring off into the dark corners of the hold while my mind replayed the scene like an endless loop. The jump to the ashen shore. The attempt to dissuade him. The vicious taunt from a creature I no longer recognised. My defense against the attack.
The creature's eyes.
I closed my eyes against the memory, but still the pervasive image remained, burned into my soul. The creature kept its eyes on me as if pleading for me to save him, but when I attempted to touch it with my mind—
The thing that responded was not my friend. It was a hollow shell, a thing to be despised. It answered to my call in the Force with hatred and loathing. This thing before me was Anakin Skywalker no longer.
My hand unconsciously reached inside my tunic where I fished out the long silver rod that had once been Anakin's lightsabre.
My fingers caressed its surface, admiring Anakin's technical skills. The shaft was seamless, its plastirubber grip at the far end as if meant for a much larger hand than my own. A few nicks and cuts marred its casing. With my fingertip, I traced a rectangular one that had held my attention earlier.
Padmé's lips trembled, her last breath escaping from her lips, her lips still trying to speak of him, the man who was her lover, the man who was once my friend.
I felt the senator slip away, the hope and love she held evaporating like the mists of early morning in the presence of the mid-day sun. The sound of a heart being torn asunder wailed through the tiny operating theatre as the boy in my arms felt the passing of his mother into the oneness of the Force.
Numbly, I looked down into the palm of my outstretched hand. A piece of Japor—no more than a snippet, really—rested there, slipped from hers into mine as I held her hand to support her final journey into the Force. A long silver chain slipped through my fingers, gravity threatening to take the snippet from me. Scooping up the chain single-handedly, I brought the Japor pendant up to peer closer at it.
A strange inscription was carved into one side of the sun-bleached wood. It appeared like a little sun, its rays flaring out in four directions.
I realised that I had seen it before.
Handing over the squalling Luke to the birthing medic, I slipped Anakin's lightsabre out from inside my tunic. Turning it round in my hands, I put the Japor snippet against the etching on the back side of the sabre.
There—the same rectangular sun symbol my padawan carved into the sabre's hilt during the quiet moments on the battlefield.
I gasped at the realisation.
I held the sabre in my hands, wondering why I had bothered to retrieve it. I remembered turning away from him as if casually returning to a previous task at hand. The glint of silver along the dark surface caught my eye, and without a thought, I stopped to pick it up. Now it seemed so frivolous.
Frowning, I thought of Yoda's last directive. "Train him, you will not." I was to pass young Luke to his uncle and aunt—Anakin's step-brother and wife. This was the last of his family. This was his only legacy.
Yet it pained me that the boy would grow up never knowing the man I knew—the man who gave his fierce loyalty to those he loved; the man who laughed freely at all my dry, humourless jokes; the man who found strength in his broken past, who rose above life's torturous paths and excelled at every task laid before him.
No, when the time was right, I would give Luke his father's lightsabre. If the man who was once Anakin Skywalker could speak to my heart, he would tell me how much he wanted his son to know his heritage.
With a soft sigh, I replaced the sabre within my tunics and returned to the cabin where the children slept. I lay on my cot and crossed my arms across my chest. Try as I might, however, sleep remained elusive.