Don't look down.
Down is death. Up is life. Up isn't that far above us, but down is infinitely further. I grab Anakin before he falls to the depths; he dangles not far below me; my heart is much further down – down below where it meant to cushion his fall had my arm failed me.
Now is not the time to remember I dislike heights almost as much as flying, and for the same reasons. Unplanned landings have a tendency to hurt.
Why am I hanging here? I don't have time to wonder why I, or my padawan, are in this position. I am, and Anakin is. Now is the time for action – for I feel our anchor will not hold long. Each breath may be our last.
How to get out of this situation matters. How I – we – got into it, does not. I do not remember how or why we arrived in this position; I know only that we did fall into it.
Even I roll my eyes at that one. Stop joking, Kenobi: focus. I've been in this position before. I know how to get out of it, but this time I do not feel the Force respond as usual, and this time I have another life – literally – in my hands.
My padawan. I swore to protect him, when I told him that my master – his hoped for master – was dead. That oath was in my heart, as it was later spoken by my lips as we formally bonded before the Council. I will do anything I must, to protect him.
I hope that I will not have to take the action I wish not to. I fear I must; I will, if I must.
At least it will be quick – I will die the second my flesh slams into the ice below. Perhaps a stalagmite may piece my heart as the Sith's blade had pierced my master's – like master, like padawan. The grisly humor in the thought almost cheers me. I won't mind dying with a smile on my face. It is better than dying with a scream on my lips. Easier on Anakin, too, if they are able to recover my body.
Anakin! His life demands mine. It is a price I am willing to pay. Now is not the time to think of him. Now is the time to think of saving him. I can think of him as I fall to the unseen depths. I will have a few seconds – more than enough and yet not enough.
Just seconds to live; just one second to die. I hope it is quick, I don't fear death, but I do not look forward to the dying.
"You'll be fine, Padawan, just fine, just remember you must move on. Don't look back, just keep moving forward." It is, perhaps, the last lesson I will teach him.
"Don't fall, Master – don't die."
A Jedi does not fear death. Fear, no; anticipate, that neither. I have no wish to hurry to it, but my arm cannot hold much longer and I fear once my grip on the cable slips, the shift of my body weight entirely onto the cable's attachment at my belt will dislodge the anchor – violently – and send us both tumbling into the depths.
Not even seconds remain. I sense time is running out, for us both, if I don't act and soon.
"I…do only what I must," I whisper, too low for Anakin to hear as he slithers up the cable. He must focus on getting up, for up is life. "Consider this – your lesson in letting go – and moving forward."
It isn't easy; I know this all too well. Even for a Jedi. I have known mourning, and I have learnt how to recover from it: how to take the emptiness and sorrow – yes, even anger – and let the emotions flow into the Force. It was not until I let those emotions go that I could replace them with comforting memories. Qui-Gon Jinn died, never again at my side. Qui-Gon Jinn now lives, always in my heart. I have learned this. I hope Anakin learns it quicker than I – I hope he quickly lets me go. Let me go, Anakin, let me go – I shall not care, but I do care for you and for you, I wish this.
Salt stings my eyes; I blink the tears away. Tears of pain, I tell myself, letting myself believe it, for my shoulder aches abominably. It throbs and pulses and screams defiance into the Force and I – I am unable to release the pain, not with the dull throb in my skull and the dizziness that accompanies it. Tears of pain, not grief, for I do not grieve for myself. I grieve for Anakin. I grieve for my soon-to-be master-less padawan; our bond is not as deep yet as that between my master and I, but a bond nonetheless and it will hurt.
Less than a second. Life or death, his and mine, his or mine; my choice, my hands.
I only return home – so I give myself back to the Force as I return custody of Anakin to its hands, for he was never mine, he was only given to my temporary guardianship.
I smile as I raise the knife. I have strength enough for this; I have enough strength to save Anakin and so – with one swing ….
…I fall.
And I will die…
Obi-Wan twisted in mid-air as he fell, eyes searching the blur of white for something, anything he could use to save himself, even if salvation proved only temporary, far too focused on saving himself if he could to even scream as he plummeted into the depths…
…the Force chose that moment to course through Obi-Wan, sluggish and weak, but strong enough to help guide the Jedi's actions. Tuck, bring your knees to your chest, now extend your legs. Kick off that projection, use your momentum to roll into a somersault, now reach…and Obi-Wan slammed into the opposite wall of the chasm. Reach – and a hand reached out and grabbed, and arrested his fall. Once more he hung from one arm. His good arm was now almost in as bad a shape as the shattered one.
Since there was no one to hear; he allowed himself to whimper.
Panting with relief and adrenaline, dizzy, Obi-Wan slowly swiveled his head and looked around and down – to see that his toes stood mere inches from a sloping, snowy ledge, only a foot or two wide. He looked up – but the top of the crevasse was out of sight, far above. Only a small sliver of sky was visible, only a small slit of light.
Up – he hadn't the strength. Up was death, should he slip. Down was, perhaps, life.
Life – he was alive! He had been prepared to die, yet here he was: still breathing, pretty much in one – albeit battered - piece, and very much alive. He forced a weak grin onto his face: he really did need to stop falling into these types of situations. To be still alive was quite a surprise, but a welcome one. He really was in no hurry to rejoin the Force. That would happen someday; he just hoped that day was many years in the future when he was too old to hold his lightsaber in age-gnarled hands, respected for his advanced age if not his wisdom.
Thinking of wisdom, his arm was telling him it couldn't hold his weight much longer, so he had two choices. One was to hold on until his grip failed, and he resumed his plunge into the depths. He chose the other.
He loosened his grip and slid down the icy wall with shards of ice scraping his face, his hands, to collapse in a heap half pressed against the ice face and partly on his back, contemplating the vagaries of fate or just too shaken to move if he wished to admit it. Had not the Force chosen that moment to return, even if just for a moment, would he have been able to do what he had? The action itself was nearly involuntary, reaction to threat well-ingrained, but could he have accomplished it, in the condition he was in?
He gulped in deep breaths of cold air, shaking and shuddering, and not at all anxious to see just what lay a few feet to the side and perhaps far below. Inaction was not an option, not if he was to survive, but hasty action was worse.
"Anakin!" he shouted, but the cry merely reverberated and echoed. He painfully pushed himself upright, back pressed against the ice and groped for his comlink, leaving a smear of blood on his belt. He thumbed transmit: he needed to reassure Anakin that he was okay, but the device went unanswered.
He could wait for rescue – though it was unlikely rescuers would be in time - or he could try to rescue himself. No, not try, never try. Do, or do not. He looked down at himself and knew one arm was nearly useless, for it hung limply at his side, only slowly and painfully responding to his attempts to move it. The other arm complained bitterly when he tried to move it, but it was in one piece and somewhat functioning – as long as he didn't hang from it, it would suffice.
His wheezing must be a result of his ribs slamming into the ice wall, he would be lucky – no, the corner of his mouth quirked up, guided well by the Force – should his chest be only bruised, rather than ribs broken. It certainly was not a result of being frightened half to death by his near-demise – though he would never recommend the experience to even the most avid of thrill seekers.
He cautioned a quick look over the edge and slowly drew back with a gulp. There was still plenty of empty air below. Perhaps frightened was the appropriate emotion for what he had just gone through, and after all it was quite all right to feel fear as long as he released it. Emotions weren't wrong – acting on them was. Let them guide you, his master had always said. Right now fear was screaming: get back from the edge! It was a prudent action, even his mind agreed with the emotion. Obi-Wan pressed back as far as he could and averted his eyes until his heart rate slowed to something like normal.
Shadows were deepening already, this far down from the surface. He didn't dare risk losing his lightsaber by trying to use it as a torch to light his path; he would hate to fumble his grip or have it slip from numbing fingers. He didn't have much time to find a relatively safe spot to pass the night, and a quick survey of his immediate vicinity made it apparent where he was already was just as suitable a spot as any other.
Obi-Wan mentally reviewed what equipment he had with him. A Jedi made do with what he had. He would make it enough. The emergency bivy would insulate him from the cold, minimizing heat loss through conduction. He had enough cable to tie himself to an outcrop, should he be foolish enough to roll over in his sleep – if he was lucky enough to get any sleep that night. He carefully eyed the edge, which was far too near for his liking, and decided he definitely would not be sleeping that night.
Crawling into the bivy sack seemed unwise and would take more energy than he wished to expend, but there was more than one way to use it. Once he had wrapped himself in the bivy and he was safely tethered - awkward to do with one non-functioning and one nearly non-functioning arm - he fumbled to get some emergency rations from his belt and choked some down. A body burned food; food was fuel, fuel would help warm his battered body. Lessons of long ago, now almost instinctual, that would allow him to live. Lessons that Anakin was just beginning to learn – Anakin, was he safe? Up above, Anakin had a few more hours of daylight to descend to safety, to the woods, to a fire.
His heart nearly skipped a beat when he thought how close he had come to losing his padawan. Nothing could have pried Anakin's hand loose from his master's grip – had they both fallen, they would have fallen with hands still clasped.
Was it less than a year ago he had been hoping for word that he was ready to start preparing for the trials? A year ago he was a padawan himself. A year ago he would not have dreamt that another could be nearly as meaningful in his life as Qui-Gon, or that his master would be gone to the Force.
His thoughts here and now while sitting impossibly deep in an icy crevasse were of Anakin, alone and so young, not his own predicament. He had instructed the boy in basic survival techniques, but as with so many lessons, he often wondered if his padawan really learned anything. Anakin could save himself, but would he – Obi-Wan's lessons unheeded?
Dared he admit it, he had been fighting doubt for several months now - first, Anakin's suitability for Jedi training, then his own place at his master's side, and more recently, his ability to train Anakin. There were times it seemed Anakin had agreed to become Obi-Wan's padawan, but equally as determined not to learn anything from his master.
It certainly didn't help, the doubt he glimpsed in the eyes of some of the older Jedi. Prematurely promoted, too young to have a padawan, too inexperienced to handle such an unusual case…each time he would force the doubts away, cast them into the Force, but the doubt always came back to haunt him – was he teaching Anakin anything, or was the boy just resistant to learning?
Anakin! I told you I would hang on – I'm on my way. Be there, alive and safe, when I get to you.
He tried to access the bond, the Force, but all the attempt did was to cause him to wince. Force, his head hurt. He raised a hand to his head and attempted to rub it, but his hand shot away from his scalp as soon as he touched the bandage encircling it. As gently as possible, he explored his head and came to the same conclusion he would have otherwise: his head hurt. His hand came away with bits and pieces of grit: dried blood which he had felt along half his scalp. That didn't particularly worry him; scalp wounds were notorious for bleeding even with minimal damage.
What did worry him was this disruption to the Force. A concussion, be it mild or severe, was nothing but a hindrance in his current circumstances, dangerous even. His inability to reach his padawan also worried him. Anakin surely thought he was dead, he himself had expected no less.
He knew how deeply Anakin grieved for things lost to him; he had been inconsolable after Qui-Gon's death. That first night, Anakin's sobs had pulled Obi-Wan from his own mourning, eyes red and face tear-streaked, to the side of the boy that had been his rival, perhaps his replacement. None of that had mattered anymore. Qui-Gon was dead and a young boy was clearly in pain. Both of them were grieving and perhaps they could find solace together mourning the man they had both loved.
Anakin had made it all too clear that he wouldn't accept any offered comfort from the padawan who he thought had failed to protect his master. He had turned his back on Obi-Wan, and the young padawan realized his own emotions had put this barrier between them, when he had been so rattled by his master's words in front of the Council. He had failed to release his emotions as he had been taught and this was one of the consequences of his behavior. He had spent the rest of that night with his head on his drawn up knees, at Anakin's side, and deciding how to make amends for his behavior.
Anakin's emotions and reaction to loss would be a weakness in a Jedi, and so he had tried, once trust had been established between them, to teach Anakin how to face, accept and release emotion. As always, Anakin had his own ideas on what lessons he wished to learn, much to Obi-Wan's chagrin.
At this point, all he could hope was that the Force carried his thoughts to his padawan and he was merely unable to penetrate the clouds blocking him from access to it. He had no way to reassure his padawan that he was alive, except one: return to him.
So that was what he would do – he would find his way to his padawan. Anakin would take his words as a promise, and he would do his very best to treat them as such, even if that was not the promise he had made. A Jedi always kept his promise, which was why a promise was such a rare gift.
I promise…
I promise to protect and guide you on your path, to teach you and allow you to find your own path – this I swear with the Force as my witness…he had been kneeling on a tile floor in a room set aside for the Jedi in Theed palace. He was surrounded by the members of the Jedi Council, but he had eyes only for Anakin. His padawan, when the bonding ceremony was complete. His eyes had searched Anakin's for hesitation or doubts. He no longer had any for himself, but was Anakin truly willing to pledge to him? It was not too late, but he truly didn't know what he would do if Anakin changed his mind, for he had committed to Anakin at Qui-Gon's side, and now he was committing to Anakin before the Force.
Twice Anakin had turned away from Obi-Wan. He had shunned Obi-Wan when he had come, teary-eyed and grief-stricken at the death of his master, to kneel before him and let the boy who was his rival for Qui-Gon's teachings learn the sad truth from him, and no one else. He had turned away from Obi-Wan that very same night, when the boy's sobs had pulled Obi-Wan from his own tears to try to comfort him. It was only in the few short days between the battle and the Council's arrival on Naboo that Anakin had begun to look to him for counsel and accepted his friendship.
The sapphire blue eyes – Force, he could have been looking into his master's eyes – were affixed on his without hesitation. There was no joy in them, but no doubts either, and the only regrets were of what could not be, not of what was to be.
So he had smiled, and Anakin had smiled back at him, and he finished his pledge with that smile still in his eyes even as he resumed a solemn face, knowing that Anakin would be pledging his own oath next.
I promise…
…I give myself to the Force as its servant, to stay in the light and follow its will not mine own, to guard, guide and protect the weak and innocent…unto the end of my life and even beyond….
Just moments before, Obi-Wan had finished swearing an oath to the Force sealing his fate forever with the Jedi, as a Knight of the Order. He had foregone the traditional ceremony for he had no wish to celebrate, not when his master was not there to witness it, not with his master's funeral pyre lit just the evening before, and not with his tears barely dried upon his cheeks. He had spent his last night as a padawan in seclusion, as was the usual practice, but his meditation had been interrupted as the reality of the last few days crashed in upon him and he had spent half the night with his head buried in his hands and tears running unabated down his face.
That last night, as Qui-Gon's padawan, he had allowed his grief its last full expression before taking up the mantle and responsibility of his new life as a full Jedi, releasing most of his pain and tears and burying what remnants remained deep within. I promise…his promise to the Force, as both knight and master, was also a promise to Qui-Gon, to be worthy of his teaching and to be worthy of the boy that his master had left to his care. It was a promise to Yoda, who had doubts about the padawan, if not the new master and to Mace Windu, who had severed his braid in the place of his master.
I promise to obey, learn from and be guided by Qui-Gon Jinn on my path…years before he had been moved nearly to tears when he and Qui-Gon had formalized their bond before the Council and the braid had been weaved into his hair, a braid that he still occasionally expected to feel trailing down his shoulder, its removal such a short while ago.
I promise… he had bound himself with promises, and he meant each one. He would keep each one, for each was a sacred vow and never given lightly, no word chosen lightly and each word precise and literal.
I promise not to let go…and he had not, for he had cut the cable, fulfilling his promise to protect his padawan; cut the cable with full knowledge that he would be dead within moments. But he had not died, and as long as he drew breath, he still had a chance to continue serving the Force in whatever manner it chose until the day it finally called him home.
He would now make another promise: I promise I will do everything I can to return to you, Padawan, in whatever form it takes – in flesh or in spirit.
That had to include caretaking of his body, especially as the Force still seemed elusive. He could be submerged within it, for all he knew, yet he couldn't feel it. Its soft caress was just out of reach; nearby, around him, but, he thought, not within him.
He needed to rest, to regain what strength he could before facing the day that would come, and his shoulder would not allow him to rest or even get comfortable. He had little choice so he jammed another hypo into his arm and curled up waiting for daylight, resting his head on his arms as he waited for the injection to lessen the sharp ache and jolts of pain in his shoulder. Hopefully it wouldn't muddle his mind at the same time. Injured, in such a precarious position, he didn't dare meditate or slip into a healing trance, especially not when he didn't know the severity of his head wound. He needed to keep a certain level of awareness about him. He wouldn't sleep, not with his body hurting as it did. He would endure the night; he would rest but he would not sleep and in the morning, he would attempt to find his padawan.
"I'm coming, Anakin," he sent a thought out, hoping the Force would catch it and relay it for him. "I will return; I will be there to wipe your tears away – if you will only let me."