I am going to die here.
He has thought this many, many times in the past, but never with so much certainty as he does now. Too many times has he thwarted death that the words seem like mere precedent at this point, and at first he smiles at his own morbid sense of humor (someone has to, because Anakin is no longer here to do it).
But the always present stab of fear that typically follows is absent. When he feels an otherworldly sense of calm flood through him instead, his smile grows a little softer and his heartbeat slows a fraction. The lightsaber hidden beneath his sand-worn robes hums with excitement, its frosty crystal itching to generate the energy he will need to face this latest threat.
I am going to die here.
It is an odd sensation, to be sure. Knowing that after almost six decades of struggling, fighting, sweating, losing, hoping, and pleading he now only has perhaps a few hours left of that precious thing called life. What to do with only moments to spare?
Disable a tractor beam of course. Who wouldn't in such circumstances? It is an odd sort of blessing to be alone in his last minutes, tinkering with a weapon of war in the middle of an enemy's camp. There is a sense of rightness about the whole situation that sets him at ease (he has always felt at ease in these sorts of places, dealing out destruction to those who dare to question the Light and thwarting those whose aim is the annihilation of the innocent and the good). For half a second, he wonders if a part of him has always been tinged with madness… or is it sanity that allows him to thrive in these sorts of situations?
I am going to die here. Finally.
Finally, the Force is allowing him this.
Even at his ripened age, it is child's play to go unnoticed by the Imperials monitoring the corridors. The Force is a faithful ally, as always, and he relishes in the way that it's wrapping itself around him today. It is unusually warm in the hard, artificial hallways, and he knows that whatever is in store for him, however this is about to play out, the Light will win.
Then every last one of the nine Corellian hells breaks loose and a wave of sheer malice washes over him, threatening to suffocate the warmth right out of his weary, exhausted bones. I am going to die here, at HIS hand? No, no, no, no, NO! He can't. He won't. Vader steps into the path before him and he freezes.
Anakin.
Everything goes blank. There are no words for this. Nothing.
Then there is everything. Literally. The entirety of his past bears down on his shoulders and he physically sags under its weight. They are both speaking words, but it sounds like formality to his ears, choreographed discussion for the sake of pretense and nothing more. Things are so much more complicated than that.
Give him to me.
Despite himself, despite years of training, years of surrendering his life and body to a Code that he knows is right, he bristles. No. I did before and look at what he is now.
Their weapons follow on the heels of their words and his lightsaber is spitting snow-blue fire at the monster who used to be his brother. Is his brother. Everything is so very wrong now. I don't want to die here.
His bones creak and grate against each other as he struggles to keep up. This is a mockery of their former duels, a true laugher, and he bristles again at the realization that everything he has dedicated his life to is culminating in this pathetic moment.
He is not yours to fix, young one.
Bitterness sears a burning line through his soul. But I'm the one that broke him! Visions of liquid fire dance into his head even as their blades continue to clash. He can feel wave upon wave of hatred roll over him and he trembles under their added weight, feels his arms begin to weaken. He smells sulfur and subconsciously twitches away from molten sparks that aren't even there.
Beneath that blackened skull of a mask, he can feel Vader's laughter. Anakin's laughter.
"You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!"
I still do.
Their blades lock in a temporary bind and he blinks. Warmth steals into his aching joints, soothing the open wounds that memories have left on his mind. Everything suddenly makes sense.
Give him to me, Obi-wan.
"Ben?"
His name drifts towards them on a current of the Force (he has no other explanation for how he can hear the softly spoken inquiry). Glancing to his left, he sees Luke with a horrified expression on his young face.
All he can do is smile.
Turning his attention to his brother once more, his smile grows a little wider (and a touch more wry). I love this man. I really do. But his had been a leeching love, the sort that that tore a piece of himself apart with every mistake that Anakin ever made. A beast that knotted up his insides and twisted his memories so that Anakin's mistakes became his own and his life was turned into a desperate effort to reconcile himself somehow.
Love born from paying penance. Love out of a desire to fix.
He was never mine. He blinks again, still smiling. Two blades sizzle and crackle against each other in front of him. One is blood red, and his is almost white. Almost. As he stares, the bit of blue that is left seems to finally lighten even more.
The crystal between his palms is singing, but the song is off-kilter (it has been singing this off-beat song ever since Naboo), and he finally understands why.
He's yours.
For the first time, Obi-wan Kenobi feels truly free. There is a fraction of a second, right before he makes the last move he will ever make with the weapon in his hands, where he appreciates the irony of freedom found in total surrender.
He flicks his eyes from their crossed blades to where Anakin's eyes are hiding behind two fathomless black holes. Something in the Force shifts and falls into place. Old Ben allows himself a silent laugh of joy and slowly pulls his blade away. Closing his eyes, he relishes in the single, piercing note that his saber's crystal releases. It sounds and feels right.
Do with him as you wish.
His lightsaber is ramrod straight, poised in front of him, echoing the tragic song of Mustafar in a much more pleasing note of pure light. Back then he had been bracing for the destruction of everything he'd worked towards, everything he loved, and everything that made up reality as he had known it.
Now he gives it up.
He is yours, and so am I. Finally.
Anakin swings and doesn't miss. It is a swift and brutal sai cha, or at least it is supposed to be. Ben feels only the slightest of stings, and then he is no more. An anguished scream sounds as his robes and weapon hit the floor and blaster fire rips through the air. Chaos resumes, but for a moment, everything had been right.