This final loss was devastatingNow Anakin had no one who really cared for him. He hadn't made any real friends at the Temple yet. Obi-Wan had told him it would take time, to stop trying so hard, that his age mates didn't quite know how to react to him. He felt like an intruder dropped into a close-knit family and expected to fit right in.
It was awkward, and not just for him. Anakin heard the wary congratulations, brief words of condolences, and uneasy respect that met his master in all too many situations. A padawan who lost his master; a Jedi who killed a Sith, the young master to a boy of prophecy – and always, the one that Qui-Gon Jinn had tried to cast off for another. All Anakin had to do to decipher the gestures was to look at Obi-Wan's eyes to see what color they were.
His master never spoke of it, his own uneasiness in this new role. Yet speak of his padawan's unease he would do and try to reassure him that he would find his place shortly. Because the same could be said of his master, Anakin would agree: shortly, it wouldn't be long now.
And he would hurt inside, just a bit, when he understood what was not said about Obi-Wan, for it could so easily be not said about him. Words, spoken or not, he was sensitive about, quick to react to, even if his master told him to just let it be and give it – them - time.
And now words carried on the wind, more words to flay his already bleeding heart. Aneil had lit a glow rod and in its light, he and Mace were conferring as Garen carried him to warmth and food, to the ship not far away. Anakin vaguely heard Mace say to Master Aneil, back at the crevasse edge, "We'll try to recover Obi-Wan's body tomorrow for a proper funeral. If we can't, we will have to leave it behind."
It was a calm voice bare of inflection, not sorry and not sad. Spoken as if Obi-Wan was a thing, an object to be recovered. The spirit may have flown the shell, but the shell was the spirit made visible, and thus had meaning.
So Anakin stiffened at the words, "body," and especially, "it," in reference to his master. No, it wasn't reality, it wasn't, it wasn't. Garen tucked him closer to his own warmth and used his comlink to call Bant to expect a patient.
"Bant's here?" A tiny voice asked, and Garen looked down and nodded.
Bant Eerin was another of Obi-Wan's childhood friends, a healer, and Anakin sniffed. First Garen, then Bant. He didn't want to face either one, not without Obi-Wan, for he was sure that neither of them wanted to face him, without Obi-Wan.
He clung to Garen's neck, wishing it were his master's neck he was hanging onto; the arms around him, his master's arms. Obi-Wan had never held him, seemed uncomfortable with so many physical gestures that Anakin craved. His mom had kissed him, Qui-Gon had lifted him onto his shoulders – and Obi-Wan had – he had – wrapped an arm around him that night on Hoth. Would his master have ever held him, had he lived? Tucked Anakin's head between his head and his shoulder, and patted him on the back, as Master Garen was doing? Would he have had the chance to feel safe and protected within his arms, feeling the strong, steady beat of a heart against his?
He pressed his nose into Garen's shoulder and sniffled. He wanted his master's arms, no matter how comforting Master Garen's were.
Warm light spilled from the ship's open entryway. Home, safety, it beckoned, but to a small boy it seemed only to emphasize the dark emptiness surrounding his master. Anakin twisted his head to look back over Garen's shoulder. He was being taken away from his master, taken to the light while Obi-Wan was left to the dark.
He kept his eyes focused on the darkness even as Garen hurried him up the ramp and inside the ship. It seemed warm inside, even to his chilled body, and the ship, while large, was so much smaller than the expanse outside. A ship, fast and nimble, with two small cabins, one set up like a mini-medical ward; a ship built for quick extractions from dangerous situations. In normal circumstances, Anakin would have jumped to explore it; he only buried his head against Garen.
What fun was exploration, when he couldn't try his master's infinite patience with a hurried tale of his discoveries?
"I'm cold and I'm hungry," he mumbled into Garen's shoulder as the Jedi set him down on a ready bunk.
"I know," Garen soothed as Bant stepped forward and quickly took charge. She threw a quick questioning look at Garen, and the slow shake of his head drained the color from her skin. In that wordless exchange, she knew that if she were to see her friend again, it would be only the body he had once inhabited. Obi-Wan was now a part of the Force, a part of them, always there, but never visible and never heard - near, but always far away.
"I want Master." A simple statement, full of longing and empty of hope.
"I know," Garen hushed him, as he fumbled to loosen Anakin's grip on him.
"We need to get him out of those wet clothes," Bant instructed her fellow Jedi, and Anakin flushed.
"Like master, like padawan," Garen teased, before a frown from Bant shut him up. She wrapped a warm blanket around Anakin as the Jedi pulled off the boy's boots and wet clothing. After taking Anakin's vital signs and checking for signs of frostbite, Bant let Garen slip Anakin into dry clothing before rewrapping him in blankets and allowing him to lie back against the pillow, several glasses of warm liquid near at hand. Through it all, Anakin was strangely silent, with only a slight quiver of his lips betraying his emotions.
Bant asked no questions, for which Anakin was grateful. He couldn't talk about Obi-Wan, not now, how he had waited and waited, and how a part of him still rebelled against the idea that his master was dead.
He closed his eyes and shut himself away from Bant and Garen, still fighting reality. He huddled miserably in his bunk, grateful when the other Jedi went away and left him alone.
Tears were elusive, for which Anakin was grateful. Tears would only emphasize how alone he was, for tears always brought his master to his side. That night on Naboo, he had woken from sleep sobbing as he had never before sobbed, knowing his mother wasn't there to hug the tears away. He had opened his eyes and Obi-Wan was padding barefoot to his side, his eyes red and disheveled, looking as he had never before or since seen his master. With a backhanded swipe across his eyes and a catch in his throat, Obi-Wan had dropped to his knees beside the bed and hesitantly extended his arms – and Anakin had turned away from him that time, too.
Now he regretted those times he had not allowed Obi-Wan to comfort him – and suddenly wondered - had Obi-Wan also needed Anakin's comfort, only to be rejected? Maybe that was why his master kept his distance; would only come and lay a hand on his arm when Anakin's tears woke him and brought him padding in barefoot. Obi-Wan never said anything, just sat at his side and maybe, if Anakin allowed, brushed a tear from his cheek, waiting until after Anakin fell asleep before leaving.
No, tears would only emphasize how alone he was, for tears always brought his master to his side. Tears tonight would not, tonight tears would only show how empty that spot beside him was. There was too much emptiness already, all within him.
Once he had had nothing but hope, then he had been given hope in abundance. Now…even that had been taken from him…unless he believed…and wished…and continued to hope….
Once away from Anakin and in the small corridor, Bant stopped and looked at her friend. It would hurt, but she needed to know how Obi-Wan's life had ended.
"Tell me," she requested, her voice soft, and Garen nodded. Folding his arms, he leaned against a bulkhead, looking infinitely weary.
"From what I gather, they fell into a crevasse and Obi-Wan was able to stop their fall. He was hurt from their crash landing already, and I guess didn't have the strength to use the Force to reinforce the anchor which was slipping. He had grabbed Anakin and both of them were hanging on one line. He sent Anakin up first, but I gather he thought there wasn't time and he – well, he cut the cable. He fell – it was a long way down, Bant. Obi – he – it's been two nights now."
"Oh, Obi," Bant breathed. "He's truly dead, then – there's no chance…."
"Practically none," Garen said, shaking his head, his brown eyes full of pain. "No, he's dead, Bant, even if he somehow survived the fall – two nights without shelter, already hurt? Obi-Wan has rejoined the Force. Just look into Anakin's eyes if you have any doubt. He knows."
While Obi-Wan had been far more capable of concealing and dealing with his emotions, his expressive eyes had reflected the same grief and disbelieving comprehension after his master's death on Naboo. The mirthful and wry friend they knew had been submerged in solemnity, but they had understood why, as details of those last few days had slowly surfaced. Few knew all the details, Obi-Wan had kept much to himself, as he usually did, but his two closest friends had coaxed some of the story from him, knowing that to speak of it would help release the internalized emotions that their friend had not yet been able to release.
Shamed of his reaction, Obi-Wan reluctantly admitted to having been hurt by and angry at his master for what he took as his casual dismissal in front of the Council, and though the two Jedi had repaired the breach in their relationship before Qui-Gon's death, the scars had only begun to heal.
Neither friend could comprehend Qui-Gon's actions in front of the Council and were surprised that Obi-Wan wasn't entirely devastated by it: to be dismissed before one's knighting was tantamount to declaring the padawan unworthy, though their friend was considered one of the best padawans in the Order. They knew Qui-Gon was more than satisfied with Obi-Wan's abilities; his pride restrained but obvious. Qui-Gon would never deliberately hurt his padawan, yet, he had.
It was entirely possible that the master had been preparing to put his padawan up for the trials, but reluctant to let go until forced to take a stand. If that were so, Obi-Wan had had no idea and only thought his master had dismissed him in favor of another.
Then so shortly after, witnessing his master's death while unable to intervene, fighting for his very life while trying to stay in the light, taking a life…his sudden promotion to knight…even Obi-Wan's steady temperament had been all but overwhelmed. Only long years of Jedi training had helped the new knight deal with everything.
Anakin had no such training to fall back on: he was a boy who clung to what he knew. Though Bant was sure he had not had the same deep emotional connection to his master that Obi-Wan had - at least yet - she knew he had developed a deep affection for his master, as Obi-Wan had for him.
"It's going to be hard on Anakin…I know Obi's been trying to teach him detachment and how to release his emotions, but with Obi struggling so hard after Qui-Gon's death… poor Obi, I knew he felt he wasn't much of a role model to his apprentice."
"I thought he was handling it well," Garen protested. "I mean, I know he misses Qui-Gon, but he slips so easily now into acceptance. That whole business on Naboo just put him into such alignment with the Force -."
"You saw how quiet he was when Anakin wasn't around and how his eyes would get so unfocused," Bant corrected Garen, shaking her head. "He was so tired, because every time he closed his eyes he saw Qui-Gon dying in front of him and knew he was helpless. He told me for a week he'd wake up every night crying or to the sound of Anakin crying, sometimes both. Why did you think his eyes were so red?"
"Because Anakin would wake him up in the middle of night and he – oh! I knew he wasn't sleeping well that first week." Garen sucked in his breath and shook his head. "That's what he meant – is that why you and Yoda were talking to him that first morning after his return just outside the Room of a Thousand Fountains?"
"He'd gone there to meditate and Yoda found him sound asleep on a bench. He's pretty fond of Obi; I think he was keeping an eye on him. He gave Obi an ultimatum: one week and if he wasn't sleeping, he'd be given a sleep suggestion or sent to the healers, and how would that look to his padawan. You should have seen Obi's face; then Yoda actually patted him on the arm and hobbled away."
The words, or the threat, had seemed to help, perhaps the countless hours Obi-Wan spent in meditation as Anakin was in class. The growing bond between the master and apprentice had also helped, and as Obi-Wan gradually started some one-on-one training with Anakin, some of the scars had begun to heal as he settled into his new life.
"He finally left it behind him and was happy," Bant said. "After he and Anakin went to Hoth he laughed again, his eyes twinkled when he smiled…Garen, I'll miss him, but if Obi could finally let go of his master, we can let go of Obi, right?"
Garen pulled Bant into his arms and the two friends hugged, consoling each other before facing the other two Jedi. They would allow themselves this moment of weakness before releasing their grief into the Force, as Obi-Wan would want. They would need to be strong and help Obi-Wan's padawan deal with his loss.
Aneil and Mace sat silently in the other cabin, hot drinks in hand. Mace rubbed a hand over his eyes, and asked calmly as the two friends entered, "How is young Anakin?"
"Medically, he's fine," Bant said, sitting down. "I don't know how he's handling Obi's death; he's not talking. I'm not sure he accepts it; I don't know if you should – let him see Obi-Wan or not, once you recover his body."
"If," Mace said. He nodded stiffly at Bant's soft exclamation. "We won't risk losing anyone to recover his body. We don't even know if we can get to it."
The Council member was correct, of course. No one should be placed in danger to recover a body. It wasn't Obi-Wan lying out there, somewhere. That life was back in the Force. Still, Bant closed her eyes; she couldn't imagine leaving Obi-Wan's body behind, alone on a strange planet. It seemed like a cruel abandonment. Just then Garen caught her eyes; he laid a hand over his heart and looked steadily at her: Obi-Wan continued to live, in their hearts, and that was what was important. She nodded and touched her head: They would keep their friend alive in both their hearts and minds.
The four Jedi sat with little conversation amongst them. What was there to say? The words would be said at the service – the funeral pyre most likely empty, the spirit already traveled to the Force. The weather, as well as night fall, had precluded them getting a good look down the crevasse. Unspoken was the thought: was it possible, no matter how unlikely, for Obi-Wan to be still alive? And if so, could he possibly survive another night? Could they recover his body?
After this time, they knew there was little chance of his being alive. The odds were against it, and only that fact gave them a bit of hope, for only Obi-Wan Kenobi beat impossible odds. Their heat sensors had found only one sign of life: Anakin, a weak signal indeed. That and the emergency code on the comlink had zeroed them in to his location; no such signal came from elsewhere. Obi-Wan's comlink was as silent as he was, as silent as the Force regarding his fate.
Garen shivered and wrapped his arms around his body. "I'm sorry," he muttered, when Mace looked at him. "We grew up together. It's hard." Bant leaned her head against him and nodded.
Surprising the others, Mace nodded also. If anything, he looked sterner than usual. "I know. I watched him grow up – pushed him hard – I had expected someday he would sit on the Council." He frowned at their looks. "Obi-Wan always showed he had the potential to become a great Jedi, even with his somewhat rocky early years. Yoda and I – we both had high expectations for him. I know it's hard, but as Jedi we all know what we need to do."
Garen's eyes were drawn to Mace's hand, fingers slowly tapping against his knee. The Council member seemed perfectly calm and accepting, but his hands had betrayed him.
Mace stilled his fingers when he noticed Garen's look and stared at his hands, now clasped in his lap. "I will miss young Kenobi, as I missed Qui-Gon Jinn when he died. It does take some time to accept the loss of a – friend. Don't think I do not understand."
He would have stepped in as surrogate master to Obi-Wan, had the padawan not proven himself ready to be knighted on Naboo, following Qui-Gon Jinn's death. Instead, he had offered the young knight his counsel if he ever wished it. Obi-Wan had, not unexpectedly, been surprised by the offer and humbled by it, for he had felt the sting of Mace's censure several times during his younger years.
"You will someday rejoice at his return home to the Force," Master Aneil said softly. "I did not know Obi-Wan Kenobi well, but I know he accepted death when it came. Cutting the cable to save his padawan proves that. I lost my first padawan, quite young; I too grieved for a time. You will of course mourn the young man, but then you will release it, and one day you will rejoice for having known him and for his return home."
"One day…," Bant echoed, and fought back tears. One day her memories would comfort her, now, they only hurt. "Someday. I should go check on – on Obi's padawan. Then I think I will be going straight to my bunk. Good night."
None of them moved as she left. Master Aneil sat with eyes closed in meditation, Mace Windu sat silently with quiet face and frown, and Garen sat with his head in his hands – all still, all quiet, all alone with their thoughts. Seeking release, each in his own way.
Bant entered the medical cabin quietly in case Anakin was sleeping. Stars twinkled faintly through the cabin's transparisteel panel and cast no light, but there was faint illumination from outside. In the dim light, Bant could see that Anakin was awake and staring at, apparently, nothing, as she approached his side.
"Hi, kiddo, how are you feeling?" Bant sat by his side, ignoring the slow tears trickling from the boy's eyes.
"I'm sorry, Bant," and the heart break in the young voice mirrored that in Bant's heart. She drew the blanket up to his chin and patted him on the shoulder.
"For what? You did nothing wrong."
Anakin shifted uneasily and his eyes finally met Bant's; he shrugged.
Wasn't just being alive, when his master was dead, wrong? When the two of them had committed to each as master and padawan, they had sworn to protect each other. Their oath was not idle words, as Obi-Wan had already proved. Obi-Wan had promised to protect his padawan with his life, and he had.
Anakin had promised to protect and save his master – and he had not. He knew he was born to save people. After Qui-Gon's death he had vowed he would never lose anyone he cared about again. Never. He had let himself down, as well as Obi-Wan.
"I'm supposed to save him."
To his surprise, Bant nodded and touched a finger to his cheek, wiped a tear away and for a moment he was reminded of his mother and her gentleness. He wanted his mother to gather him into her arms and kiss his tears away, to share his grief, and he realized he missed his mother not just for herself, but her help in dealing with Obi-Wan's death. As much as he missed his mother, at the moment he missed his master more, for this loss was irrevocable and his death was his fault.
"You did save him, though, Ani. In a way. Obi died knowing you were safe, because you obeyed him, and he knew if you listened to him, you would be alive when rescue came. He would have died happy knowing his death had purpose. He died so that you would live."
Anakin's fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket. As if that was supposed to make him feel better. Obi-Wan was still dead. Obi-Wan couldn't forgive him, but maybe Bant would. He had an urge to confess, now, while he could speak of it. Let Bant get upset with him, so then he wouldn't feel so dead inside. Was this how guilt felt, or was the numbness he hated actually keeping the pain away? He didn't want to feel worse, he didn't deserve to feel better, and he most certainly didn't merit Bant's understanding.
"I killed him," he suddenly blurted out.
"No, Ani. You didn't."
Bant didn't understand. If she did, even mild-mannered Bant would be upset with him, even perhaps raise her voice as she scolded him. He didn't want to see the scorn and anger in her eyes, but something within him demanded he speak the truth, now, or forever hide it inside. Anakin drew a deep breath; then spoke in a rush before he changed his mind.
"Master pointed out a safe route; then he trusted me to lead the way. I was worried, 'cuz he didn't look well and I thought this other way would be quicker down, and that way too, I could get a look in that crack that he wanted us to stay well away from. Master didn't seem to notice when I got near the edge, maybe because he had his hand to his head like it hurt. I don't really remember what happened next – I think I slipped and – and I think Master came running. I remember – I just remember Master stumbling and then he was flying over the edge and since we were tied together I fell after him and then he stopped and then I stopped when he grabbed me."
He fell silent, waiting for the condemnation he was sure he was going to hear. He disobeyed a lot – not really on purpose – and Obi-Wan always said something in that tone that made him feel bad and decide to be better – but he had never disobeyed to the extent of actually harming anyone. And now his master was dead, and Bant was going to punish him.
He finally dared to look at her; the look on her face both humbled and stung him. Stunned comprehension predominated; shock and horror were quickly replaced by compassion. Only the hitch in her voice betrayed her as she swallowed hard before speaking.
"You were wrong to disobey Obi, but you didn't kill your master, Ani. It was an accident. You know that, don't you? And you obeyed him after he fell -."
Anakin's eyes fell away from the soft silver eyes facing him as he interrupted. "I didn't obey him, though, Bant – I was supposed to keep going, down to the forest, build a fire. He told me to keep going, but I didn't. I only sat – I didn't even look for him. I just waited for him to come to me, because I knew – he would. But he won't, will he?"
The silence drew his eyes back up. This time he saw tears glistening in Bant's silver eyes, and he knew he wasn't the only one who missed his master.
"No. He's not coming back. He's gone, Anakin."
Anakin nodded, and scrubbed his eyes. "I think I know that. I think I always knew that, but he promised. He promised he would hang on; he promised to be there for me and I – I miss him."
He would not cry. He would not. Jedi didn't cry. Obi-Wan would not cry; neither would he. Even if his heart was broken.
"It's okay to cry, Anakin."
In the darkness, Anakin couldn't see Bant's face. He knew only that her fingers softly stroked his hair and her voice was gentle and understanding. He shook his head.
She felt the movement under her fingertips, his denial. "Why not?"
"Master doesn't – didn't cry. Not ever. Even when he wanted to. 'Cuz Jedi don't cry."
He was gathered in arms smelling faintly of salt, the smell he always associated with Bant and therefore all Mon Calamarians.
"Obi-Wan cried," she assured him. "Usually inside, where the tears would not be seen; he thought no one knew. He never cried in front of you because he thought he needed to be strong in front of you. He knew your opinion of him, that you were – ah – didn't want to be his padawan."
"He didn't want me, either." It was a truth that had turned around, but a truth all the same.
The healer searched for words. It was all too evident that Anakin thought and felt differently than Jedi raised in the Temple from birth. Explaining the trying circumstances that brought Obi-Wan and Anakin together, something neither one had initially wanted, was difficult.
"He thought he was losing his master to you. He had a very human reaction; even Obi was never a perfect Jedi. No Jedi is. He and Qui-Gon reconciled before – before everything that happened later, and suddenly your master's life had turned totally around."
She could still hear the underlying note of bewilderment in Obi-Wan's voice when she and Garen had met him on his return from Naboo. He was back in familiar surroundings, and nothing was familiar. He was a knight, with a padawan, back in a place where he had never been anything but the padawan himself.
"Obi-Wan was just a padawan himself, a padawan without his master, and suddenly he was responsible for you and in a life he hadn't expected yet. He had killed for the first time, and he didn't take that lightly. And yet, he said one of the hardest things he ever had to do was to tell you that Qui-Gon was dead."
"I thought I hated him then," Anakin admitted, something he had never before said out loud. He wouldn't tell Bant, as he had never told his master, but that day he had wished that Obi-Wan had been the one to die and Qui-Gon had been the one to live. He would have accepted that with few regrets and no real sorrow. Instead, Obi-Wan had come into the room where he celebrated success with Padme, her guards, the other pilots. Anakin had jumped up, looking for Qui-Gon behind that young man that Qui-Gon would have given up for Anakin, but Obi-Wan was alone. He was solemn and calm, every inch of him a Jedi – until one looked into his eyes and saw how vulnerable he was underneath.
Obi-Wan had come straight to him and kneeled before him, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I'm sorry, I – I couldn't save him. Qui-Gon Jinn is dead." He swallowed hard, and slowly stood up as Anakin turned away from him and turned to Padme for comfort.
"He knew, Anakin, he knew exactly what you thought of him, but it didn't matter. What Qui-Gon asked of him didn't matter. You were what mattered to him at that moment. He told me that was when he released his doubts – about his ability to be a master to a boy who didn't want him as a master – when he told you about Qui-Gon's death. He said when he looked in your eyes, he saw into your heart – and into his. Not even being knighted meant as much to him as when you accepted him as your master."
"Really, Bant?" He was hearing things about his master that he had never dreamed of. Obi-Wan rarely showed what he felt. He hadn't been terribly certain about his place in the new knight's life – that night under the stars on Hoth had been the most intimate moment they had shared.
"Really, Anakin."
"I love him." The admission came easy, with Bant's hand still stroking him.
"He loved you."
"He died because of me," a weary sigh, an admission of loss.
"He died for you."