A/N: TW for mention of grooming. (It'll make sense once you get there)
Things are starting to heat up, everyone! Time skips in this chapter, but it is to advance a very important plot point. The diary entries help bridge the gap.
Enjoy
OOO
Chapter 4
Dear Ben,
I've decided to begin this journal to you, as though you were a real person. Frankly I don't know what else to do. After a checkup, Healer Che said I'm not only in perfect health, I am a model Jedi.
When she asked me what was wrong such that I was coming to her, I clammed up and lost my nerve. But after that, I had another dream. In it, I spoke to a man—youngish, with honey blond hair—and he was saying, "We don't need your help or your interference, Ben." It felt like me he spoke to, but not me.
Like you .
So I'm going to write everything out to you. As said, I know not what else to do. Maybe this will help me sort out everything in my mind. Compartmentalize, at least.
It's funny, Ben, because most wouldn't understand at all why I'm complaining. Sometimes I don't. For all the bitter rust of the landscape of my bewildered mind in-off hours, in the on I've never been more effective. Few Jedi have.
I don't say this to brag. Yoda himself commented on it the other day. Can you believe it? Yoda! How many times as a youngling did I wish for his unfiltered praise?
Now, as a twenty-seven-year-old Knight, I only wanted to burst into tears. Tell him that really, he oughtn't praise me; it wasn't me he praised, but the skills and abilities that took me over in the situations. But he would have said that was the Force working through me and left it at that.
In a way, he would have been right. I do feel the Force as I never have before. Can connect to it in ways undiscovered prior to this. I find myself able to let go so completely when it comes to actual action, becoming a vessel for the Force as the ideals actually spoke of; finally I understand it.
But then the limpid clarity of the light fades out, and I am squeezed back into my bodily form and all the resulting quandaries, wonderings, and bewilderments therein. I'd think I was crazy, and maybe I am, but Healer Che checked my mind and insisted that nothing was the matter. Though she did ask if I had nightmares.
I said, "Yes."
And she said those would pass in time. Perfectly understandable for the Sith Killer to have nightmares, as I understand.
But she didn't understand. I think you may be the only one who does, Ben. That my nightmares aren't in sleep but in waking. Because I just don't understand anything at all.
Are you a past life of mine? An echo of the Force? A figment of my imagination? I have no answers; none are supported by Jedi lore. But as much as I become tempted to call myself mad, I taste the salt of reality and know its full palate with such clarity, even wisdom, I dare say, that then I don't feel mad at all. Just calm, and clear.
Today is Anakin's eleventh birthday. Qui-Gon thought it would be fun to host a little celebration for him, despite the fact that Jedi do not celebrate birthdays. Not that that would stop him, or Anakin. Both seem to take the most immense pleasure in thwarting every rule and regulation put forth to them. Anakin is like a grandson to him, and it seems Qui-Gon is unable to stop indulging the boy.
It seems that I am not, either, if the present in my bag ready to go is any indication.
I should leave.
Write more later,
Obi-Wan
Dear Ben,
Well, the party was small and went well, as Jedi parties go. I ought to have written sooner, but afterward I was sent on a mission with Master Windu and his former Padawan. Fine people, both of them; we got on rather well, and the mission was soon completed.
But then I realized the cleaning droid had come in and moved all my things around. I panicked, wondering if I'd lost this journal. Thankfully, as you know, I found it.
The dreams continue, like tiny shards I am able to slowly piece into a mosaic. I hope this reflects the actual original, rather than my own creation. Perhaps you can guide me?
I see a man named Ben. One who lived in the desert and subsisted on the bare essentials. Your home—a squat, pidling little dwelling—makes my heart ache with more then compassion: remembrance. It's as though I can just see it, even in waking—a look through muddy waters into something I once knew.
Your days, full of quiet contemplation and too much meditation, even for one who loves it. You watch over a boy. One who is grown… and then young… then a babe. Is all of this going in reverse? I wonder.
But then, I see him grown again and dismiss the thought. Only jumbled. Another shard to fit into the mosaic.
And you were sad. Afflicted. This sense goes in and out like an antenna seeking signal. Some days you seem calm, serene, set. Others I sense the overwhelming punch of guilt and grief, all but crippling if you didn't persist in your purpose.
Your purpose is your all. That I already know. His name: Luke.
Another shard added.
Tomorrow I turn twenty-eight. Give me a good dream, maybe? Something that helps?
I'd surely appreciate it, old friend.
~ O.K.
I opened my eyes. A good dream . A good dream.
I sat up, just resisting the inane urge to laugh. That had been a good dream. A sad one. But a good one all the same. It helped me understand a little more.
All of them always proved bewildering anyways.
But this one was different, in a very good way.
I stood up on aching feet, picking my way over to the broad window at the edge of my appartment. Coruscant at night sparkled like a galactic core. I shut my eyes, remembering.
"Oh. Good afternoon, young Luke." I'm in Toshe Station and happen to run into the lad.
"Oh, hey, Ben." He flops down on the bench close to me. "What's up?"
"Nothing much. You?"
A shrug. "Nothing much."
"Indeed? Want to tell me about it?"
Luke puffs out a breath of air, looking sullen. If only he realized how much he resembles his father in this moment. "It just isn't fair!" he bursts out. "Nobody ever lets me do anything!"
"Nothing? That must be very difficult."
Luke blushes a little. "Well—maybe not nothing. I mean the important things. I never get to do anything important."
"I think you're doing something quite important by staying here to help your aunt and uncle."
Silence. "Yeah. Thanks."
Then he goes on ranting and I just listen, nodding and "mmhm"ing here and there. Eventually he offers to drive me back home. "Oh, I couldn't impose." But he insists.
On the way, Luke seems to calm. Become more resolute. Gentler. "Thanks for listening today, Ben. Sorry to unload all that on you."
"It's alright, young Luke. I would have feigned deafness if I hadn't wanted to listen."
The boy's returning smile stays with me all the rest of the day. Owen and Beru are doing well. Far better than I ever could have. Luke is good.
Yoda was right. A loving home is proving far better for Luke than any Jedi rigor ever could. I think… I think I will go and tell Qui-Gon as much. He'd be happy to hear it.
Smug too, probably. But oh well. An exiled old man can't be picky .
I paused outside of Qui-Gon's quarters, taking a moment to gather my courage. Master, I rehearsed in my mind, so you know a Jedi named 'Ben'? I'm looking for him. Simple. Easy.
Non intrusive.
Never let him know the reason.
I knocked.
A few moments later, a rather harried-looking Qui-Gon answered. "Oh. Obi-Wan."
"Don't strain yourself with all that excitement, Master Jinn," I said lightly.
Before he could reply, a new voice called, "Obi-Wan? Is that Obi-Wan?"
And I do mean new voice. At fourteen, Anakin was growing and maturing fast, and his vocal chords volleyed between a new depth and a crackling squeak. (We all pretended not to notice the latter.)
Anakin pushed out of the door. "Oh, hi," he said on seeing me.
" Wow. I'm not everyone's favorite person today, am I?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Huh? Oh. No. It's not you—"
"Anakin," began Qui-Gon quietly, a warning in his voice. "Not out here. Come in, Obi-Wan."
I said, "…alright." My spine prickled.
We headed inside. Though my senses weren't at their most attuned, I could sense ribbons of conflict woven through a fabric of concern with faint crimson threads of… fear .
Instantly I was on alert. "What's going on?"
Qui-Gon and Anakin glanced at each other. Then my old master said, "The Chancellor has been requesting personal, private meetings with Anakin."
My jaw dropped. My gut curdled. My fists clenched. Palpatine , I thought. Oh, how I loathe the man—
But of course that was un Jedi of me. I didn't like politicians, and especially didn't like him. Didn't trust him. Focus on that.
Focus on the utter wrongness of the request. " What?"
Anakin bit his lower lip hard, attempting a serene look, failing. "We thought it was kind of weird too."
"Weird?" I pitied their naïveté. "No, I don't think that." But I stopped myself. Anakin was only fourteen. No need to scare him needlessly with my suspicions.
I only knew that one word kept blaring in my mind like an alarm-bell: grooming . And I couldn't press it back.
Didn't want to.
I knew its truth without a shadow of a doubt.
OOO
A/N: Well? What will happen with Palpatine? What does Obi-Wan think is happening, since he only has half the information in a way? Is he beginning to piece together that he was Ben, or does he remain oblivious for a while longer?
Did someone read his diary?
Epic stuff will be going down soon xD (though not so epic that the story ends early )
Please review, because it makes me so happy to hear your thoughts! Thanks
- Rivkah
