Many thanks to every single person who took time to review. Here is some more.
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The day next to that fateful for Obi-Wan day had passed in a blur. The visibly young man, though sometimes hunched like an oldster, he roamed the spacious halls of the Royal Palace of Theed like a ghost or silent shadow, barely speaking to anyone even when addressed. Truth be told, almost no one dared to speak to him as if sensing the wrongness of his situation, as if the aura of misery and loss clinging to him was palpable, scaring everyone off.
The long folds of his brown cloak swept the halls with faint rustle which only added to the gloomy silence that seemed to follow Obi-Wan around. His shaded gaze never lifted to look at the stunning beauty of the palace – the beauty was dead to him as were his senses.
His mind was immersed in dull gray mist, hanging over him like a thick nastily warm, suffocating blanket. Obi-Wan missed the keenness and clarity of the Force, it's brilliancy – all that which he had taken for granted all his life. And now without it he felt lost and empty, inept, worthless. He had lost what he had with him from his birth; everything he had been taught from infancy was now useless. And with the Force the meaning of his life was gone too. He was helpless, defenseless – and this feeling of inadequacy, of vulnerability had settled a bone-deep fear inside him, the fear he had never known before.
Throughout what seemed hours of his aimless wanderings he had not met Qui-Gon or Anakin, and for that he was grateful. He did not want to speak to either now, nor did he want to see them. He only wanted to crawl into the smallest slit, curl himself up into a ball and never come out again.
Sometimes he wished he could return to his lonesome hovel in Tatooine desert – the shelter as he thought of it now. He wanted to return to his dull existence there – not life, only existence. But he still wanted to return to it.
"Because it is easier," he said aloud to the empty hall, and the echo of this thought, the implications of it scared him.
Easier. When? When had he become the one to seek the easy way?
Never!
"Never," he said firmly.
But what if the way he had chosen was too hard for him?
He wrapped the cloak tighter around himself as though chilled by some phantom wind. What if…
"There are no 'what ifs'. There is only here and now. Only here and now…"
His fingers brushed the polished stone surface of a malachite column as if he had been expecting it's solidity to anchor him to the present, to this moment of time and space. The fingertips traced multifarious deep-green and black designs of the semiprecious stone absently.
"So complicated, so diverse – like life itself," he murmured in a split second of fascination.
Then his hand dropped listlessly, and he walked away to continue his endless wanderings – and his even more endless musings.
He still wished to return to his existence on Tatooine, the existence that had become a habit, engraved into his very soul during those long years. But he knew those days were in the past now.
Or in the future, he thought wryly.
In a moment of incredible apathy, of sudden weakness he hugged himself and leaned against a windowsill, resting his hot – feverish even – forehead against the cool limpidity of the glass.
Out there, in the garden, there was life still going on – the same as ever. And only he was locked here, inside this building… and inside himself. His palm landed flat onto the glass in an unconscious attempt to sweep aside this almost invisible barrier. If anyone saw his eyes at this moment they would have recognized a look of a prisoner watching a scene of freedom, freedom agonizingly close yet unreachable.
But no one saw his eyes. And he closed them, wishing that tears would come. Tears could bring some release. But his eyes remained stingingly dry.
He stayed there with his forehead pressed against the glass watching the life outside from distance, until a young handmaiden came looking for him. The girl, trembling with uncertainty and some measure of awe as she apparently had picked up on his gloomy mood with her female instincts, told him he was required to attend the celebration of unity of Naboo people with Gungans.
Reluctantly he parted himself from the window, feeling weariness beyond belief pull him into its tiresome embrace. He followed the girl without a word, muffling himself up in his trusted cloak as it seemed to be the only defense he was left, trusting the handmaiden to lead him wherever he was meant to be. He didn't really care where his place would be – he suddenly didn't care for anything.
The girl's rigid back plainly showed how uncomfortable she was around him, even her flowing clothes could not hide the tension. And he could not miss the relief on her face when she showed him the entrance to the wide avenue where the festivities were going to take place and turned to depart. She was clearly more than glad to leave the sullen Jedi.
He looked out at the street, and a picture from the past rose before his eyes, shadowing the present. He remembered this place all too well. Same as before the street was bristling with masses of people and Gungans. The traces of war still clouded their faces, yet those were cheerful faces. He turned to look at the dais at the end of the street where Amidala had been the last time…
The queen stepped out onto the dais, and he once again was amazed by the regal air she wore easily like a cloak around her. The elaborate strikingly white gown shone in the bright midday sun, spawning millions of brilliant sparks reflecting from numerous gems. He suddenly thought that only angels might look like this. It was not her dress though that made her queen. Like it was not her dress that made her who she was.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly at the surge of a painful memory. When he opened them again she still stood there – straight and proud. Not a fourteen-year-old girl but a true queen.
He knew his place was at her side and he started to walk towards her when his steps faltered. He froze for a second, quelling a tidal wave of emotions that raised in him, threatening to drown what was left of his inner balance.
Qui-Gon… and Anakin. Together. Like Master and Padawan. Like he and Anakin had once stood – no, not like that at all. Then, long ago, they stood together, yet apart. He could clearly recall how far from each other they stood then. And now Anakin resided right in front of Qui-Gon, and the large hand of the tall Master rested easily on his shoulder. The boy had not the Padawan haircut yet, but looking at them together Obi-Wan realized that when it comes to take its place it would only be an unnecessary symbol.
While his was now the symbol of emptiness and death – death of relationship.
Shaking his head slightly Obi-Wan started to walk again, determined to not fall so far as to show his weaknesses to everyone around who cared to watch. He avoided looking at Qui-Gon as he went. He was afraid to find pity and questions in those eyes. But above other things he was afraid to find love there. Pity he could deal with; questions he could deal with. But love.
He had forgotten how to deal with love.
Still avoiding eye contact, he took his place at the other side of Amidala. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Anakin glance quizzically at Qui-Gon, but ignored it. Instead he surveyed the setting… and his blood turned cold when his eyes locked with icy pale blue orbs of the most terrible creature he knew.
Palpatine, dressed in his dark green gown, looking like a giant snake, stared back at him, unblinking. Obi-Wan's stomach coiled into tight knots, and he felt long-forgotten anger colour his cheeks. The newly elected Chancellor watched the Jedi with an expression that sent shivers down Obi-Wan's spine.
He knows! A sudden thought struck him, bathing Obi-Wan in cold sweat despite the hot day. Dear Force, he knows!
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