Title: Consecrated

Author: EsotericCrimson

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Mine? Ha; I wish.

Summary: When Obi-Wan is wounded on a diplomatic assignment gone awry, Anakin is left to reflect upon his relationship with his former Master, and realizes that, when death could come for them at any moment, there are some things that cannot be left unsaid. Slash.

A/N: Here's the first official chapter. Thank you ever so much to the reviewers for the prologue; you all truly made my day:

Mo Angel, ManniElf18,and Alley Parker – Thank you so very much, and I hope you enjoy.

i luv ewansmile – Thank you very, very much! I'll see what I can do about those lengthy paragraphs (I triedto cut down here…) and as for the first part being a bit impersonal for your tastes, I think that you can expect a steadily increasing amount of personal, emotional input from both Anakin and Obi-Wan's perspectives in the future – I simply adore writing it.

lil-kenobi-greenleaf – Thanks. Indeed, Possessive!Anakin and Hurt!Obi-Wan are two of my favorite things. Along with Obi Plushies… ;)

As this is the first real chapter, we now get into the flashback/present juxtaposition style. I hope it's not too confusing… I meant for it to relate one story to another, and offer explanation and history. Please let me know what you think.

As always, reviews are appreciated immensely. Enjoy :D

- EsotericCrimson


Chapter One: Association

"The Council have granted me permission to train you. You will be a Jedi; I promise."

Anakin regrets that he does not remember any of the words that the young man had spoken to him prior to that silently devastating evening before the funeral pyre. More so, however, he regrets not saying anything in reply. No thank you, no expression of gratitude, not even a murmur to indicate his attention or his comprehension. In looking back, not falling prostrate before the very man who had, in that singular moment, preserved and fulfilled every one of the desires harbored within his young heart, worshiping the ground he walked upon and praising his graciousness; not devoting himself to the will and teachings of this Jedi on the spot remained one of the most prominent mistakes of his childhood.

Instead, he had remained silent, mulling over the loss of his mother and now his mentor, however newly acquired such guidance may have been, and thoroughly ignoring whatever positivity may have been derived from his gaining of a skilled young master, a position to train in the Jedi arts, a life free from slavery and oppression… all of which he had always dreamed of, but never expected to occur. He did not see, at all at the time, what a gift he had been given in his apprenticeship to Obi-Wan Kenobi, and it would be years before he would recognize the true value of his treasure of a master. Regardless, as a child, he brooded, and his new guardian seemed not to notice, nor care.

The ceremony passed in a whirlwind of unvoiced sadness, for the most part. Regret seemed as a tangible fog, settling upon the proceedings, and threatening to suffocate them all. Anakin wanted to be attentive, but his mind could not focus on anything but the trail of smoke rising higher and higher into the heavens. When all was said and done, he followed a royal guard, one he did not recognize by name or face, to a lavishly decorated bedchamber within the palace, leaving him to his own devices while his new Master conferred with the Jedi Council members, presumably concerning Qui-Gon's passing and Anakin himself.

Still feeling slightly out-of-sorts, the recently-appointed Padawan learned sighed deeply, flinging himself carelessly upon the bed at the center of the room, falling heavily on the deep sapphire silk of the bedding. He was overwhelmed by a deep sense of neglect; he could not properly recall the last time he had been all alone, and left to his own thoughts. It was not nearly as liberating as he had hoped.

Sitting up and crossing his legs on the soft mattress, he closed his eyes and concentrated upon calling forth the image of the late Master Jinn, sitting laxly in a state of complete serenity, hands resting lightly upon his elevated knees as he seemed to enter an enlightening trace. It appeared to Anakin that the meditative state that he had witnessed Qui-Gon in so often while on Tatooine was a practice of all proper Jedi. And if Jedi were meant to meditate, then he would learn the art and master it to perfection.

He had reference as to the physical positions, and mimicked it as best he could. As for the psychological mindset, however, he could only suppose. He figured that clearing his mind and following his instincts was probably best, as Qui-Gon had instructed him to do in his first victorious podrace. He breathed deeply, drawing his concentration and focusing it on obtaining that immense calm he had witnessed from the late Jedi Master. He was very near obtaining, or so he believed – his mind seemed tranquil and lucid – when he began to see proof that his consciousness was not nearly as clear and empty as he had convinced himself it was.

First he saw his home planet, Tatooine. It was as sandy as ever, of course, but something had changed. There was a man, sturdily built and medium height, walking towards the familiar silhouette of a woman. Her dark hair blew in the evening breeze as twilight descended upon the pair slowly, the dual sunset creeping further and further into oblivion, descending to melt into the horizon with every passing moment. Anakin knew her instantaneously – but why was she there? To all appearances, it looked to be a moisture farm. Why was she not at home?

Shmi Skywalker turned abruptly as she seemed to notice the man's approached, bowing her head slightly, her lips moving in what appeared, from her expression, to be some sort of explanation as to her being outdoors. The man nodded slowly, his large, callused hand coming to her chin and tilting it upwards, his face approaching hers, their lips locking, at first tentatively in askance, and then with an awkward fervor and something akin to relief. Two sets of arms curled around two now-very-close bodies, and Anakin's last view of the pair was overwhelmed by his mother's smile.

He then saw the Queen. Padmé. Amidala. Whoever she was, really – he was still somewhat put off by the deception, however essential it may have been. She was beautiful, of course. Most females were beautiful in some sense, he imagined – it was in the way they bore themselves, with dignity and grace. Yet, the more he pondered upon it, he did not believe that she was an angel any longer. No, she was a human – undoubtedly so. And as he witnessed her upon a strange bed, stomach swollen with the life dwelling within, dressed in fine silks and jewels, yet bare of the elaborate headdresses and maquillage of her monarchial standing, he knew for certain she was but a mortal woman. It appeared that the years would treat her most kindly, and however many had passed, things had not changed drastically from the present, if what was being presented to Anakin's mind was any indication.

She appeared to be on Coruscant, or a similar planet, if there were any in the galaxy. She was watching the sunlight fade into the horizon, golden rays gilded in violets and scarlets dancing across her features, and accentuating the tears that stained her porcelain countenance as her hand rested protectively over her abdomen. Her eyes lifted to a figure in the shadows, and her lips moved, though Anakin could not discern her bitter words. The figure, a man who could only have been a handful of years her senior, of dark features and complexion and a stately, regal bearing, stepped forward slowly, seating himself on the bedset beside the fragile-looking woman, placing one arm about her shoulders, drawing her to him, and the other to rest atop the hand that held her stomach. He kissed her forehead lovingly, reassuringly, and she nuzzled warmly into his embrace.

For but a moment, the scene changed, where the dark man was replaced by a tall, bear-chested young male, with soft blonde curls, a robotic arm which was draped about Padmé's shoulders, and a familiarity that Anakin could not deny. But as quickly as the vision had been transformed it returned to its original state, and the professional-looking man with the short, dark hair, the kindly eyes, and two flesh hands was seated beside the Queen, and Anakin had to wonder whether he had actually seen the change at all.

And then the images were altered again.

The atmosphere was dark and smoke-clouded this time. Lava flowed freely about the scenery from the pits and volcanoes that littered the landscape. The very air felt ominous.

Anakin was frightened by it. It was too portentous for his liking, and he wanted to leave.

There were two figures – a dark one and a light one. Men, from the way they appeared. The dark one was angry, tense – he appeared tormented and hateful – vengeful. He scared Anakin, even from afar. The power he radiated was corrupt and dangerous. The man himself was dangerous.

The light figure, too, was powerful, but in a different sense. His power shined brightly as a beacon of good. He sought to provide protection and safety, and he gleamed with compassion and serenity. The two were like opposite ends of the spectrum brought to stand beside each other – the other's antithesis.

He viewed the confrontation of the two figures from a distance, and when he saw their blue lightsabers activate in tandem, he felt that something awful was about to happen.

He was right.

The engagement of the pair in fierce combat was not lengthy, but it was mesmerizing nonetheless. Their speed, and their immensely accurate anticipation of one another's actions – it was as if they weren't actually fighting at all, but dancing – an intimate, fiery, passionately graceful production that belied emotions that had lain dormant for years.

The culmination was thrilling for a second – the light figure had obtained the high ground and the dark figure was resentful. He leaped, and then fell, legless, from the air, as a bird in flight that suddenly found itself lacking wings or feathers. The regret that filled the air was palpable as the light figure withdrew his sapphire blade.

The dark man slipped, further and further down the slope of ash and obsidian, finally reaching the scorching pit of lava that awaited below him. Panic alighted upon his features, riding the coattails of a hatred that burned perhaps even more violently than the molten rock flowing beyond. At first glance, it appeared to be a loathing of the light man – of course the dark man would be angry that he had cut off his limbs. Yet, when he studied him further, Anakin realized that the dark man directed the hatred back towards himself.

And Anakin felt it – the self-loathing. It was painful, wracking, and all consuming. He didn't understand – he didn't even know these people; how could the dark man hate him so much if they had never met?

The pain Anakin felt continued to intensify as the dark man fell further into that fervid river. Agonizing, blinding, white-hot torment cut through him, and as hard as he tried, the suffering became too much, and he could not keep a desperate cry from escaping his lips. The scream scorched his throat as his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to his knees, plummeting further and further, down…

"Anakin?"

A distant voice. But one he knew.

"Anakin…"

Closer this time…

"Anakin!"

He felt hands grab him and shake him, and his eyes flew open to meet the greenish blue ones of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was back in the bedchamber. The visions were over. He sighed in relief.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan appeared emotionally charged; Anakin couldn't tell whether it was concern or anger that spurred him as he gripped the boy's shoulders and shook him lightly once more for a response.

"Uh-huh," Anakin replied dazedly. He was alright – now.

"You should not have done that." The rebuke was half-hearted and distracted – Obi-Wan did not even meet his eyes as he said it, focusing instead upon his now folded hands.

"You do."

Obi-Wan looked up, but still would not seek out Anakin's gaze. He zeroed in on the wall opposite him. "Because I have learned the proper manner in which to do so. You haven't."

"That's not my fault!" Anakin argued in agitated indignation, partially due to his shaken mental state, but mostly because he couldn't stand the feeling of inadequacy that rose within him at Obi-Wan's words. It was too much like what he had felt from the dark man – too much like hate, for himself.

"I didn't say that it was," The Jedi Knight whispered, an undertone of comfort resonating in the words. Anakin's anger was instantly abated.

"Can… can you show me? The right way?" He asked, almost timidly.

The new Jedi Knight was silent for a moment, before he turned to Anakin, locking eyes with the boy as he spoke. Mutual waves of uncertainty, doubt, frustration, and fear passed between them, but above all things, a sense of blinding, foolish hope was shared between the two.

It was that hope that answered when Obi-Wan smiled deferentially and nodded gently as he softly replied:

"Of course."


Anakin opened his eyes, blinking away the remnants of a sleep that lasted longer than it should have. Hours, days, weeks even? He couldn't be certain. Where was he, anyway? It looked familiar; the cream-colored walls accentuated with chestnut tones and lined with a deep, almost shimmering cinnamon shade. He knew this room well – why could he not place it?

"It is wonderful to see you among the living once more, Knight Skywalker," a low, friendly voice wafted over to him from the door of the chamber.

The décor of the room. The scent of antiseptics and herbs. The soft, calming sounds coming from beyond the walls that confined him. The uncharacteristically comfortable standard-sized bed. The Jedi Master standing in his doorway.

Suddenly everything clicked.

He was on Coruscant. At The Jedi Temple. In The Healers' Ward.

"Master Unduli," he spoke from cracked lips, his voice rough from lack of use. He attempted to sit himself upright, but was met with frustration as the Mirialan Jedi Luminara Unduli gently pushed him back.

"How are you feeling?" Luminara asked softly, taking a seat near the end of his bed.

"Fair enough, I suppose. How long have I been here?"

She shrugged. "Four days. Not quite up to your usual week-long standards, but I suppose one can't always be at the top of one's game."

Anakin grinned ruefully, and chuckled gently at the light humor that danced across the Healer's lips. He was surprised when his laughter caused him pain in his chest area. He quickly reined his mirth, his eyes darkening as he incredulously rubbed the sore area, trying to recall exactly why he was here. He could see the battle in his mind, he could relive the negotiations proceeding it, and could recollect injury, and pain… He closed his eyes and tried to regain his focus.

"You were wounded, Anakin," Luminara's soothing voice floated to his ears once more. "We've kept you on a number of very powerful medications in order to expedite the Healing process – you lost a great deal of blood before you were rescued, you know." She pause briefly, sighing deeply as she plunged forth, "Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded, of course he remembered…

"Obi-Wan?" The words were nothing more than an urgent whisper, his cerulean eyes, filled with a dread he'd never felt before and she'd never witnessed before, searched for something, anything, in her bright sapphire orbs; just a hint that his Master was alright…

When the normally bold and straightforward Master Healer diverted her gaze to the floor, he knew. His heart stopped for only a moment, before breaking entirely. He trembled; his breath catching violently, lungs burning as he abandoned the effort of breathing. It wasn't important – not now.

"I would have known… he can't be…I must see him," Anakin fumbled desperately with his words, searching the Force for Obi-Wan's presence as he spoke, praying that he would find him, somewhere…

"He's still alive, Anakin. His injuries are severe, but he lives yet. His spirit is stronger than most, it has sustained him thus far."

Anakin let out the breath he had been holding, gasping for air as he tried to stand. He had to find Obi-Wan, to see him, to be certain that he was alive, to care for him.

"I can't let you go to him yet, Anakin. You are still recovering, and he is in no condition for visitors of any kind."

"I must be with him," Anakin growled with less force that was normal for the emotional young man; his grief and worry dampening his rage.

Luminara evaluated the Knight before her, looking past the hard, determined, and rage-infused exterior and seeing for perhaps the first time who Anakin Skywalker truly was.

She was taken aback at the revelation.

He was only a child. And he was scared. No – he was petrified: petrified of losing the one man he cared about with all that he was.

The one man he cared about all too much.

The one man he simply could not live without.

No words were spoken, but Luminara understood perfectly, and as she saw the despair began to accumulate in Anakin's glistening eyes in the form of hot tears, she acted solely on impulse and leaned forward, her long arms wrapping gracefully about the crumpled form of the young man.

For one so strong and dauntless, it seemed that the Hero With No Fear was the most fearful of them all.

"He lives yet," he heard her repeat into his hair as her arms tightened about him, and he relaxed, however slightly into her embrace.

"He lives yet, Anakin. Beyond all reason or explanation, he lives yet."

And his broken heart, for only a moment, considered beating once again.