Never cease loving a person, and never give up hope for him, for even the prodigal son who had fallen most low, could still be saved; the bitterest enemy and also he who was your friend could again be your friend; love that has grown cold can kindle again. -Sören Kierkegaard
Another day.
Time passed inexplicably in the barren sands of Tatooine.
Day stretched on endlessly under the scorching fire of the twin suns high overhead, and the chill that fell with the dark canvas across the night sky lingered long after the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the rocky mesas in the morning.
A world of extremes, and of extreme danger.
The danger went beyond the krayt dragons and the Sand People, it was part of the planet itself, deeply ingrained in every bit of sand and rock.
By day, the endless sea of coarse sand was broiling and scalding, but once the twin suns fell, the desert world took on a frigid atmosphere, harsh winds howling outside every door. With air as dry and bitter as the sand underfoot, acrid and completely parched, it seemed an inhospitable place at first glance, yet there was life among the scorched sands.
Those who called Tatooine home were of a solid mold, rough and battered, but strong in both body and spirit. It was a necessity, that strength, when you lived in a world that was constantly trying to kill you.
Yoda had voiced some reservations about sending the boy off to grow up in such a harsh place, but it was the right place for young Luke.
Owen and Beru were good people, the closest thing he had to family, and they would raise him well.
And if Anakin had survived this place, as a slave no less, so could his son.
There were days, however, when Obi-Wan Kenobi wondered if he himself could survive a lifetime in this desolate wasteland, and just who would guide Luke to his fated path if he were to simply collapse in the sand.
He was beginning to hate sand as much as his former Padawan had.
Once, a lifetime ago after a particularly stressful incident with said Padawan, then a twelve year-old bundle of terror, he had vowed that as soon as the boy ascended to Knighthood, he was going to take a long vacation on some remote desert world.
The Force, it seemed, had a taste for irony.
After three long years in the barren, desolate wastelands of Tatooine, the twin suns scorching everything their rays could touch, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have given anything to see water again. He wasn't picky, it wouldn't have had to be the fathomless oceans of Mon Calamari, where water went as far as the eye could see, or even the majestic waterfalls of Naboo.
Water, of any kind, would have been a sight for sore eyes.
But of course, that was only a dream, wishful thinking that was the product of an old man's longing. Water, like so many other precious things that he had taken for granted, was out of his reach now.
In the distance, a krayt dragon was calling for its mate.
Obi-Wan picked up his pace a little, drawing his dusty robe closer around his frame as he continued his weary trek back from his nightly vigil on the edge of the Lars homestead.
It bothered Owen for him to be on Tatooine at all, but Anakin's stepbrother couldn't deny that having a Jedi Master- albeit an exiled failure of one- nearby was invaluable when raising a Force-sensitive child, especially one as strong in the Force as Luke.
Sometimes Obi-Wan wondered how Shmi had managed all those years with Anakin.
He'd never met the woman, of course, he'd only ever been to Tatooine with Qui-Gon that once and had remained with the ship while his Master ventured into Mos Espa, but he felt a kinship with her just the same. They had both tried a hand at raising her son, after all, though it was inarguable that she had faired better.
That day when he'd first arrived at the Lars homestead to give Luke into the care of his uncle and aunt, Obi-Wan had stopped at Shmi's grave for a moment, strangely compelled to offer up some form of apology.
She had trusted the Jedi to protect her son, to guide him down the right path, and he hadn't been able to do so.
The guilt would most likely haunt him until the day he died.
And so he kept watch over Anakin's son in his former Padawan's stead, keeping his distance as per Owen's demands, but always alert for any possible threat to young Luke.
He would live out the rest of his days doing so.
The fate of the galaxy depended on Luke and his sister growing up to fulfill their destinies, they were the last hope of the light and as such needed to be safeguarded above all else. It was for this reason that Obi-Wan resigned himself to slowly wasting away in the desert hovel he called a home.
And, if he was honest with himself, it was for Anakin and Padmé, as well.
He owed them that much, at least.
How had things gone so wrong, so fast?
Part of him understood Anakin's betrayal, though he could not admit that anyone, himself least of all.
Anakin had always been a gifted seer, the Force flowed through his veins so strongly that the future often literally unfolded itself before his eyes, in the form of dreams.
How many nights during their years together had Obi-Wan been awoken by a whimper from the other room, how many times had he soothed a little boy's fears and assured him that dreams were just that, that they held no real power?
Oh, Anakin, he thought for what seemed the millionth time. I'm sorry.
Some dreams, it turned out, were living nightmares.
Before their parting, Yoda had absolved him of any responsibility for Anakin's fall from grace, but Obi-Wan could not accept the words, even as the logical part of him knew them to be true. He had made too many mistakes with Anakin over the years, failed to be all that his Padawan needed, and he could not help lying awake at night while the angry desert winds howled outside his hovel door, wondering how one little change here or there over the years might have made a difference.
Above all, he blamed himself for not teaching Anakin to accept loss.
When Siri Tachi had been killed at Azure, it had been a devastating blow for Obi-Wan. He'd loved her since boyhood, albeit in silence, but he had been able to accept her passing and move on, due largely in part to the lessons that Qui-Gon Jinn had taught him during his apprenticeship.
If only he had shared those same lessons with Anakin, then his friend might have been able to come to terms with his wife's imminent death.
And the twins would not have needed to lose both parents.
How did it come to this? Obi-Wan wondered, finding it difficult to breathe for more reasons than just the exhausting hike across the desert. Why did the Force allow this to happen, Master?
If Qui-Gon was listening, he didn't answer.
It seemed his Master was as finicky in death as he had been in life.
Sighing, Obi-Wan bowed his head, hoping to keep some of the sand from getting in his eyes. Even after three years, sometimes he still wondered if he was really hearing Qui-Gon's voice speaking to him, or if he'd just finally lost the fragile grip on his sanity and gone mad.
After Mufustar, he nearly had.
Memories of that day three years ago, of the betrayal and pain, were as fearsome now as they had been the morning after, when he awoke from dreams only to keel over on the floor retching and sobbing all at once.
For the most part, Obi-Wan did not allow himself to think on it. He had closed off the incident in his mind, imprisoning it behind a solid fortress of durasteel, so that he would not have to relive the hell he had been forced to endure that day, so he would not have to remember the burning hatred in his beloved Padawan's eyes.
But, as they had been for Anakin, dreams were often his enemy.
In slumber, he was vulnerable to the past, it reared its ugly head like some ferocious beast, ravenous in its hunger, relentless in its fury.
Most mornings, Obi-Wan awoke in a cold sweat.
He didn't know what hurt worse to remember, knowing that Anakin had been willing to kill him, or the knowledge that he himself had been prepared to kill Anakin.
In that instant, the bond had been severed beyond repair.
"It's a bad idea to split up the team."
Anakin had been right that day on the landing pad, as he saw Obi-Wan off on his mission to Utapau to hunt down General Grievous. By separating him from his former Padawan, the Council had broken up the unbreakable team, had moved him out of the way and right where the Sith wanted him.
Perhaps if he had only been there on Coruscant when Palpatine made his move...
No, Obi-Wan told himself, cutting that train of thought short. That way leads to madness.
What was done was done, the past could not be changed. There was no point wondering what might have been, what could have been done differently.
Choices had been made, and they would all have to live with them.
"Poor Luke," Obi-Wan murmured softly, his chest constricting at the thought of the boy who was both motherless and fatherless.
Poor Leia, as well, for though she would know love in the House of Organa, something would always be missing in her life, in her heart, and, having inherited her father's Force-sensitivity just as her brother had, she would always be aware that something was lacking, even if she didn't know what.
Just as Obi-Wan himself would always be lacking now.
Events on Mufustar had irrevocably shattered his heart, in ways that not even the massacre of the Temple and the destruction of the Order had. He would never again be complete without Anakin.
And he would never forget his last glimpse of his Padawan.
Anakin's lightsaber was heavy in his hand.
"Obi-Wan...?"
He looked down.
Below him, Anakin scrabbled at the hot, black sand leading of the lava bank with his artificial hand, his only remaining limb, and the broiling sand burned away the glove covering his durasteel fingers. The more he struggled, the more his powerful grip caused the soft earth beneath him to crumble.
So many things rose to mind, so many accusations at the tip of his tongue.
This was the Chosen One, meant to destroy the Sith, not join them. To bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness. This was the Hero Without Fear, the Jedi Order's greatest warrior.
This was Anakin Skywalker; his student, friend, son and brother.
His betrayer.
Flames licked the fringes of Anakin's robes, and his long hair was beginning to blacken and char at the ends.
Still, Obi-Wan did not move.
In his left hand he held the hilt of Anakin's lightsaber, and in his right his own.
Strange that he'd never noticed how similar they were in design. Anakin had based his first lightsaber, lost years ago, after Obi-Wan's own design, and he'd stuck to the general pattern over the years when it came time to reconstruct new weapons.
"Obi-Wan!"
The desperation in Anakin's voice stirred something within him, and at last Obi-Wan shook aside his frozen stillness, focusing intently on the young man clinging to his handhold in the burning black sands.
Again he saw the bodies in the Temple, the walls stained with blood.
The archives footage of the younglings slaughter.
Clenching his fingers around both lightsaber hilts, so tightly that his knuckles went white, Obi-Wan began the careful, deliberate descent down to the black beach with one purpose in mind.
In the end, though, it had been impossible.
Standing over the broken, crippled young man whose flesh was burned and smoking, Obi-Wan had not seen the Betrayer, the monster who had so ruthlessly murdered the younglings who thought he was their hero come to rescue them, who had destroyed everything and everyone that Obi-Wan had ever held dear.
Instead, he'd seen little Ani.
The boy that Qui-Gon had bequeathed to his care, young and innocent, vulnerable and desperate for the love and acceptance of his teacher.
And he'd realized, in that instant, that he could never kill his Padawan.
Maim and injure, yes, he could do that if necessary, if Anakin drove him to it and left him no other choice. But kill the boy he'd raised, the man who was equal parts son and brother?
Even then, with all the blood on Anakin's hands, Obi-Wan still loved him too fiercely.
And by loving him, he had doomed the galaxy.
He'd stumbled more than once, his knees burned through the fabric of his leggings when Anakin's added weight caused him to fall into the broiling sand but he'd managed to pull Anakin away from the river of lava.
There hadn't been time to think about what would come next, what consequences his actions would have for the rest of the galaxy.
All he'd had time to do was clip the lightsabers at his belt and struggle to get a grip on his former Padawan, whose pained grunts and hisses through gritted teeth were as hard to bear as the searing heat rising up from the sand beneath his feet.
They had just reached the top of the cliff when Obi-Wan sensed it.
A dark presence swooping over Mufustar, like a black veil dropping above, and he'd known at once what it was.
Palpatine had arrived on Mufustar.
And Obi-Wan had been forced to make the most difficult decision of his life.
Stay, refusing to give up on Anakin, refusing to let the Sith have him. Or run, getting the injured Padmé away while there was still time, so that he could find medical help for her and the unborn child she carried.
Anakin's child.
In the end, there was only one choice he could make.
Anakin had been gravely injured during their fight, and badly burned on the lava bank, and then there was still his newfound allegiance to consider.
What guarantee was there that Anakin wouldn't have turned on him once more?
With Palpatine fast approaching, Obi-Wan had known that he could not get back to the ship in time if he was struggling with Anakin's weight.
"May the Force be with you," he rasped as Anakin lay panting at his feet.
Then he'd turned and begun to walk away.
"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan!"
Anakin's hoarse shouts had echoed in his ears, full of betrayal and outrage, cracking with pain.
"Don't you leave me! Obi-Wan! I hate you!"
Unable to bear it, Obi-Wan had broken into a run, and soon Anakin's cries had faded, but the terrible weight in his heart did not, and it only grew worse in the hours that followed.
Padmé had succumbed to death just moments after birthing Anakin's children, and her last words had been of love and faith in Anakin. Luke and Leia, she'd named the twins, revealing that Anakin had chosen the name for their daughter. It was risky to allow the girl to keep it, but Obi-Wan could not bring himself to undo Padmé's last gift to her child.
Then the body had been prepared to be sent back to Naboo for burial, and the children spirited away in secrecy.
As far an anyone in the Empire knew, the Skywalker line was dead.
Precautions had been taken to ensure that Padmé's body would still appear pregnant, that all records of the birth of the twins were concealed, and then they had waited.
For Obi-Wan's worst fear had come true, and Anakin Skywalker survived.
But in a sense, he hadn't.
Palpatine had put the broken man into a bacta tank at once for the burns, skin grafts had been employed, artificial limbs affixed in place of the ones Obi-Wan had taken from him. There had been lung damage, but not severe, and a weeklong healing trance would have done the trick.
Upon awakening, Anakin had learned of his wife's demise.
In that moment, Darth Vader was truly born and though the body of Anakin Skywalker lived on, there was no longer anything of him left inside.
Obi-Wan had gotten a glimpse or two of him on the HoloNet while in Mos Espa, and despite the black mask that Anakin now wore- to conceal his identity or simply make him seem less human, he didn't know- he had known his former Padawan anywhere.
And he'd known in that moment that it would have been far better for the galaxy if he'd left the boy to die.
"Mercy, you gave him," Yoda had pronounced after hearing Obi-Wan's tale. "A noble act, compassion is. Feel shame for it, you should not."
And that was the end of the matter, at least as far as the diminutive Jedi Master was concerned.
For Obi-Wan, the guilt was a little more sticking.
Wincing, he shielded his eyes as the harsh wind blew sand across his cheek, stinging the skin. His hovel was just over the next sand dune, for which he was infinitely grateful- he wasn't cut out for this weather, or this world.
All of Anakin's complaints about how terrible a planet his homeworld was were now justified in Obi-Wan's eyes.
He made his way down the sloping bank of the sand dune and across the flat stretch of sand that led to the sandy little hilltop he'd chosen to construct his dwelling upon. It was, essentially, just a single large room with whitewash walls, divided into separate sections by square, stone pillars, a far cry from his rooms at the Temple, but it would serve his purposes.
Just as he was about to enter his home, he paused, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
A muted, but turbulent presence seeped into his perceptions like a slow flood of water spilling over rocks, and before he could think, Obi-Wan was whirling around, his hand going to the lightsaber hilt hidden under his dusty robe.
The black-cloaked figure stumbled towards him, like an injured bantha cub.
Obi-Wan's thumb hovered over the ignition button.
Seemingly too weak to continue, the mysterious stranger staggered forward, falling into the sand, and lay still.
After a long moment, Obi-Wan cautiously started forward, bringing his lightsaber out into the open as he approached the fallen man.
As he drew close, the cloaked figure shuddered, struggling to push himself up again, and then his head lifted and the strong winds which had been blowing coarse sand across Obi-Wan's face all afternoon tugged away the dark hood from the man's head.
Obi-Wan nearly dropped his lightsaber.
"Master," the fallen man rasped, eyes dull and bleak. "Help me."
His chest so tight it was about to burst, heart frozen with disbelief, Obi-Wan could not bring himself to speak, he couldn't even manage to breathe, and when the young man before him crumpled to the ground in a heap, eyes rolling up in their sockets, he could seem to move.
All he could do was stare down at the unconscious form of Anakin Skywalker in shock.