In War

Pt 6

"Teaching is a privilege. It's a part of a Jedi's responsibility to help train the next generation."

- Obi-Wan Kenobi

From infancy, Jedi were taught to never fear the darkness. They were taught to battle the evil outside of themselves and the potential for wickedness that at times could war for their very souls. Even younglings in the creche, who at times faced nightmares like all children, were taught to stare into even the blackest night without fear.

Pain. That was all he knew. White-hot searing pain. Old scars, cut with jagged, rusty blades had been covered up, masked by new jabs and long gashes. She reveled in his anguish, laughing at his tears, leering joyfully at his suffering.

That did not mean that nightmares and terrors of the shadows did not plague Jedi from time to time. Even seasoned Knights and Masters had to face the remnants of the waking world's malevolence when they slept. However, the fact that it was not uncommon did not make it any easier to deal with.

She had somehow, with her Force-forsaken Sith mask, had gotten inside his head, under his skin, into his soul. The darkness was inescapable. It seemed that he could not remember a time when had not felt the gnawing, aching agony that ripped through his abused body with every breath. The muscle maggots chewed at his tissues, threatening to swallow him from the inside out—

Obi-Wan Kenobi jerked upright in bed, gasping. He raced to the refresher unit, nausea setting his senses on fire. The General clung to the porcelain bowl, emptying the contents of his stomach. Trembling hands came up to rub his aching chest, the scars that decorated his body flaring with phantom pain.

It was over. It had been well over a year. He was at the Jedi Temple—he was home. He was safe. The Temple was safe. Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. He took a few deep, steadying breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. His heartbeat still hammered in his ears, instinctive, animal fear pulsing through his veins.

He clenched his teeth against a wave of nausea that threatened to rise up within him again. Nausea and nightmares had become a nightly ritual after Zigoola. The spirits of the Sith had tormented him in waking and sleeping on that desolate planet. Apparently, fragments of Zigoola still clung to him, shards of darkness embedded in his heart and soul.

It seemed that no matter how much he meditated, no matter how many times he released his memories into the Force, the ghosts that Zigoola resurrected continuously came back to haunt him. But he'd be damned if he didn't try to combat them with every ounce of light left in him.

Kenobi pressed steadying hands against the wall and levered himself to his feet. He stood and half-staggered over to the sink, rubbing the warm water over his face as if he could scrub the memories out of his brain. He drug tired eyes up to the mirror.

Who was that worn, haggard man staring back at him in the glass? The Jedi Master winced as he saw the beginnings of shadowy sleepless nights gathering under his eyes. Perhaps Anakin was right. It was quite possible that he did, indeed, need some time to rest and recuperate. It was true. Zigoola had irrevocably changed him in ways that he did not like to admit.

On Zigoola, the Dark Side had stripped away every defense he ever had and left him bare, raw, wide open to the most traumatic hurts from throughout his entire life. At some points, he was certain he was going mad—

The General closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, trying in vain to rid himself of the chill and recollections that seemed to cleave to him, unseen thorns in his flesh. He gargled and spat in the sink for good measure, trying to wash the leftover nausea from his mouth.

He set his jaw, determined. He would sleep. He was a Jedi Master, not a frightened child. The Force was his ally. And no nightmare was going to keep him from resting. Kenobi laid back down on his sleep mat and closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts to a screeching halt and into the blackness of sleep.

Red. There was so much. Red. Why did every time he closed his eyes did he see red? Red blood pulsing through red veins. Red mist. The red and black tattooed skull of the murderer who bore the twin red blades that took his Master's life in one red swoop.

The red energy fields hummed, a scarlet barrier pulsing, mocking him with his inability to join the battle. Red and green screeched with vicious contact, the Dark and the Light clashing in colossal power. And then—

The Red won. Darkness triumphed.

Shock. Devastating, heart-stopping shock. Pain flared through their bond to be shut down by a mortal wound as life's crimson blood began to trickle to a stop. His own blood boiled with near-blinding fury. Anger hazed his vision and for one terrifying moment, all he saw was red that blinded his blue eyes with the dark. "NO!"

The cry died on the Jedi Master's lips as he shot to wakefulness for the second time that night. He pressed weary hands to eyes that burned with their lack of sleep. For a brief, hopeless moment, Kenobi stared through the inky blackness of night up at the ceiling. Frustration welled up within his chest, but he struck quickly, crushing the slippery emotion under the heel of years of training and discipline. No. He was a Jedi. Even in seemingly endless seasons of insomnia, he was still a Jedi.

The General closed his eyes yet again and forced himself back into the currents of the Force in an attempt to sleep.

The air was alive. Tiny, rapidly beating wings set the air ablaze with movement. The Force itself hummed a warning. Flee, Jedi. Danger. Carnal danger, animal instinct, pressed against the young Padawan from all sides. The swarm engulfed him so quickly that he barely had a chance to breathe, much less flee.

Piranha beetles.

Terror threatened to freeze the apprentice, but years of training forced him into action. Do or do not—there is no try. Mere trying meant death. One bite. Two bites. Where was Qui-Gon? Where was his Master? Three—four—five—he lost count. The beetles were seeking to eat him alive. His legs pumped furiously as he struggled to run away from what sounded—and felt—like the worst death imaginable.

Burning, biting, gnashing, scarring his flesh with poisonous rage. There were too many. They were everywhere. Inside his clothes, ripping at the cloth of his tunics and into his flesh. Teeming, flocking, buzzing. He was going to die, mere fodder for the tiny hellbeasts—

Blue eyes jerked open. Blast. Awake again—very awake. He closed his eyes tightly shut and tried to even out his breathing to relax his knotted muscles. The Jedi Master attempted to knock himself into sleep again with the Force, but his waking mind stubbornly refused to yield to rest.

Kenobi blanked his mind, envisioning the warmth and peace of the Force…still, sleep eluded him. He slipped into a light meditation, but found that distinctly unsatisfying. He attempted to sink into a deep meditation, but found that his thoughts were too unsettled and turbulent to allow him the joy of the Force.

He counted to one hundred in Twi'lek. He counted to fifty in Huttese (he was certain he skipped a few numbers here and there, but who was counting other than himself?). He even tried counting Banthas leaping over a gorge, which only directed his thoughts to Tatooine, which in turn shifted his thoughts to that fateful day when his Master first battled the Sith apprentice years before. Red blades whirled and danced in his mind's eye—

Obi-Wan sat up on his sleep mat with a heavy sigh, throwing his light blankets aside. There would be no rest for the weary. He stood and stretched, groaning quietly as the rigid muscles refused to acquiesce with his request for elasticity. He let out a distinctly un-Jedi grunt of frustration, then settled on simple movement instead of his normal limber strides. Tense was one word to describe him. Irrefutably and tragically stiff was a much more accurate description.

Kenobi tottered over to his small closet and slipped on his tunic and leggings. If he could not sleep, the least he could do was attempt productivity. With a resigned, deliberate exhalation of breath, the Jedi General strode from his quarters and began to walk the Jedi Temple.

Where to go? He certainly could go to Archives, but knowing his luck, he would actually fall asleep there. Madame Nu would not be happy if she found him drooling over centuries of history and data. The last thing he needed was to be scolded by the keeper of the Temple Archives.

Obi-Wan wandered the Temple halls aimlessly until he reached the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He turned his weary gaze up at the towering waterfalls and lavish vegetation of the chamber. It pulsed with the energy of the Living Force, a well of peace and gentility in the midst of a world of concrete. He slowly sank onto the lush grass, not bothering with a graceful dissent. He landed with a comfortable plop, breathing in the sweet scent of the assari trees, sinking into the warm, comforting embrace of the Force as if it were a long lost lover.

The warrior closed his eyes in a slow blink and breathed deeply—

Only to open his eyes to see two large, curious sapphire orbs staring back at him.

The Jedi Master started, allowing an undignified "Oh—" to escape his lips as he rolled instinctively rolled away from the unknown intruder. A frightened squeak answered his motion as the tiny trespasser bolted into the shrubbery nearby. He abruptly stopped his movements as his gaze focused on the youngling who had somehow managed to sneak up on him.

Two large blue eyes stared back at him from inside a bhansgrek bush. The eyes almost seemed to glow in the gentle darkness.

"Come out, young one. I won't hurt you," Kenobi chuckled.

A small Mirialan boy emerged shakily from the bush, head bowed.

"What are you doing out of bed, little one? Aren't the crèche masters going to be looking for you?" Obi-Wan extended an inviting hand.

"I-I couldn't sleep, Master," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to be out, but it was so dark and they were going to eat me and there was so much red and I—"

"It's quite alright. I'm not angry with you," he took a small, pale yellow-green hand in his. "You were having nightmares?"

"Yes, Master." Shy eyes finally looked up to meet his.

"Do you want to talk about them?" Obi-Wan gently prompted.

He shook his head fiercely.

"Very well then," the Master offered a comforting smile, hesitating. The most logical course of action would be to send the small one back to his bed. But something in his frightened gaze tugged at Obi-Wan's heart. Paternal instincts that couldn't quite be snuffed out even with years of discipline and Jedi detachment rose within him. Old softy…. He smiled ruefully to himself. Perhaps he was more like his own Master than he thought. It seemed as though he could never quite say no to a frightened child.

"Well, I have half a mind to send you back to bed, little one," the little boy trembled slightly. "But what if we just let this be our little secret." He smiled conspiratorially. "My old Master used to take me on adventures around the Temple when I was a boy and could not sleep."

The responsible thing would have been to send the child back to bed. The Jedi-Masterly thing would have been to gently reprimand him for being out at such a late hour and to go meditate. The General-of-the-Republic thing to do would have been to rise, dignified, and wrestle his consciousness back to sleep.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was tired of doing things responsibly. He needed a change. It seemed as though that change was staring him in the face with wide, innocent eyes.

The small initiate launched himself into Obi-Wan's arms, hugging his neck tightly. "Thank you, Master. Thank you!"

"Of course, youngling. Of course," he laughed quietly. "So, what is your name?"

"Tylen Shiren, Master. And you're Master Kenobi, right?"

"Yes, but you can call me Master Obi-Wan," he paused and thought for a moment, gently stroking his chin. "What shenanigans should we embark on first?"

Uncertain, excited silence was his only answer.

A wicked gleam flashed through the General's eyes. "Have you ever explored the hidden tunnels of the Temple?"

Wide, frightened eyes fixed on his. The fear faded as Tylen saw his wide grin. "No, sir."

"Will you promise to keep this mission a secret?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, then, little one. Come with me. We are going to have some fun…"

"You see, I found these to be very useful when I was younger. But now that I've gotten older—" He grunted, sliding along on his belly. "It seems as though these may have gotten smaller."

A giggle echoed behind him in the tin tunnel. "Or maybe you got bigger!"

"It's quite possible that you are right, little one. But here is our destination," he shifted, allowing the initiate to move along next to him to peer through the grate. He pressed a finger to his lips and dropped his voice to barely a whisper. "

"Below us is the infamous Anakin Skywalker's quarters," he mouthed. "To some, he is called the Hero Without Fear…but tonight, we'll leave him a little present to startle him a bit."

"Won't he be mad?"

"Perhaps," Kenobi hesitated, as if considering his statement. After a brief moment, he shrugged. "But it will be funny. Do you know what this is?" He hefted a small, sticky, violet orb in his hand.

He shook his head.

"This is a soap bomb. It is actually the color of Master Windu's lightsaber—"

"Purple—" he breathed, eyes widening.

"It's somewhat of a calling card for him these days, actually. Well, I'm going to put this in Anakin's shower—"

"And he'll think Master Windu did it?" Recognition dawned on the child's face.

"Yes. I tell you this because I'm trusting you can keep a secret."

He shook his head fiercely. "Yes, sir."

"Very well then," a boyish grin overtook the General's face. He quietly removed the grating and slid into the refresher unit below.

They slid out of the maze of ventilation shafts nearly an hour later. Obi-Wan caught the seven year old as he dropped from the opening overhead. "Now then, young one, the prank that we just pulled is not something you should make a habit of doing."

"Why, Master?"

"Well, for one thing, you should be sleeping at this hour." The initiate bowed his head in shame, but Obi-Wan quickly reached over to tilt his head up to meet his gaze. "This is not a rebuke," he soothed. He quickly cleared his throat and continued. "Another thing is that mischief, while tolerated, is not becoming of a Jedi. So…do as I say, not as I do. Do you understand?"

The yellow-green brow furrowed. "No, Master."

Kenobi chuckled. "Fair enough. Shall I take you back to the crèche?"

This question was met with a quickly repressed shudder and a squirm.

Curiosity raised one of the Jedi Master's eyebrows. So distraught…but over what? "Not yet then? Well, what should we do now?"

Their stomachs growled simultaneously and their eyes met in surprise.

"I guess that explains it. Let's go get something to eat."

Bare feet swung rhythmically in midair, their owner watching Obi-Wan intently as he busied himself with various pots and pans in his small kitchen unit. He rummaged through the small refrigeration unit until he found the components he was looking for.

"So, little one, would you like to tell me why you are afraid to go back to sleep in the crèche?"

The words came out in a hesitant mumble. "No, Master."

Kenobi turned inquisitive eyes on the child. "Well, it's possible that you need to talk to someone about it. There is no reason why someone as young as you should be losing sleep."

A heavy silence hung between the two Jedi.

"I can't tell you, Master," Shiren finally said, face etched with misery as he finally broke the silence. "You'll be sad." Large, luminescent eyes were filled with a compassionate sadness far beyond their years.

Confused and definitely curious, Obi-Wan levered himself onto the counter next to the little boy. "You can tell me. Dreams don't have power to hurt us."

Silence again. When the silence was finally broken, it was completely shattered.

"I was in the dark and she was hurting me. She just kept laughing and laughing and she didn't care when I cried." He took a gasping breath as the words tumbled from his small lips without restraint. The initiate pressed onward in his frightened tirade. "And then he came and killed him and I knew that I had to stop him or else everyone I loved would die and there was so much red and it was humming and then the air was alive and then there were the bugs—"

At that point, the typically unflappable Jedi Master nearly stopped listening. The initiate was retelling every nightmare that had plagued his mind through the dark watches of the night. How was it possible?

Had he been broadcasting? Kenobi shook his head almost imperceptibly. If that had been the case, Anakin would have been at his door with questions and concerns.

How in the galaxy was this child intercepting his thoughts and dreams?

"And it just hurt, Master. It hurt so bad. And when I saw you in the Gardens, I knew that you hurt, too." Shiren bowed his head in shame, tears streaking his small, pale-green face.

Obi-Wan inwardly cringed but managed to keep the calm façade smoothed over his features. He reached out into the Force, seeking its boundless wisdom and comfort, grasping for answers. And as he reached, he felt it….the fragile beginnings of a fledgling training bond. He had heard it said in different circles of experienced Jedi Masters that they oftentimes knew a young initiate would become their Padawan years before they were of age to ascend to that rank, but he had never encountered such a phenomenon. He had been thrust into Master-hood, inheriting his own Master's child prodigy by the dutiful decision of a hasty promise. However, as he stared into the large blue eyes of the Mirialan boy, Obi-Wan could believe that sense of knowing—the sense of destiny that a child was to become something more to a Master.

Kenobi swallowed hard as the weight of potentially providential knowledge pressed in on him. He struggled to regain his voice.

"Shh, it's okay. It can't hurt you anymore," the General soothed, clearing his throat. "What you saw had to have been frightening, but remember, the Force is with you. Always. You can fight the darkness with the light."

"Yes, Master," the child sniffled. His eyelids began to droop.

Obi-Wan smiled as he lifted the youngling off the counter. "Let's get you back to bed. It's almost dawn and I'm sure the crèche masters will be looking for you soon."

The small boy reached up and took the General of the Republic's hand and sleepily followed him back to the crèche. Obi-Wan knelt in front of the large double doors that led into the youngling's quarters. "Now then, go rest. You need sleep so that you can grow up to be a Jedi Knight."

Tylen gazed into the Jedi Master's eyes quizzically, battling the weight of sleep that tugged at his eyes. "Will I see you again, Master Obi-Wan?" He lisped tiredly.

Kenobi's heart melted for a brief, vulnerable moment. "It's possible, little one. What does your heart tell you?" The unknowingly familiar words echoed through space and time within the Force.

The child's eyes shadowed for a moment and his lip threatened to quiver. "I don't think so. I-I don't know. Maybe. Yes?"

"The future is always in motion. We will see. Go sleep now," Obi-Wan patted the small shoulder and steered him back to his bed. "Rest well, little on," he murmured, resting a hand on the child's forehead, nudging him into a deep slumber.

As Obi-Wan wandered back out into the long corridors of the hallway, a small smile graced his normally stern features. Maybe once the war was over, he would return to the Temple and accept another apprentice.

Maybe. Just maybe…

The sun rose over Coruscant, granting the promise of another day—granting the promise of a potential future unshadowed by doubt and war.