Sorry for the delay! Here's the next chapter!
Chapter 20
Stewjon was magnificent. Ahsoka let her gaze wander over the sea of trees, watching flocks of birds disappear again and again under the seemingly endless canopy. A small river broke through the greenery, rippling softly.
It was hard to imagine that there were places that rivaled Alderaan or even Naboo in beauty.
"Ahsoka, are you coming?"
The Padawan snapped back to the present and turned to Shmi, who was waiting patiently for her.
"Of course," she replied quickly, a little embarrassed that she had allowed herself to be so distracted, "...I'm sorry."
Shmi laughed softly. "Don't worry," she placated, turning her gaze skyward, "It's breathtaking, isn't it?"
She nodded, swallowing hard. "... It's so quiet."
Anakin's mother put a hand on her shoulder. "Come, let me show you the farm."
Together, they made the short walk from their ship and it wasn't long before Ahsoka caught sight of the large barn. "Wow," she breathed as she spied the many animals grazing peacefully in the surrounding pastures.
A little behind the barn was the house, looking much older than the barn.
The fire, right.
As they walked, Ahsoka wondered if her Grandmaster had planned to return here. Maybe when the war was over - or things had just been different.
"Anakin and Obi-Wan helped us restore the barn," Shmi said as they walked past the building, "But I think it pained him - being here."
"He never told us about his parents," Ahsoka murmured thoughtfully, "...do you think it hurt him - seeing Anakin with you, I mean?"
Shmi stopped. "I think he was happy for him... but he carries a deep-seated pain inside, easy to miss if you don't look closely. He is clinging to the little pieces of joy in an attempt to conceal his sadness."
"He doesn't deserve to have to be sad." No one did.
Dusk had already set in when they entered the house. In the kitchen they met Cliegg, who was preparing dinner.
"You're back," he smiled, setting aside the spoon he had been stirring the stew with and hugging his wife.
Shmi returned the hug and finally stepped back, resting a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. "We have a visitor," she said, "This is Ahsoka - Anakin's student."
"Nice to meet you," Cliegg greeted with a smile.
Ahsoka bowed shortly. "Thank you for letting me stay."
"Of course, my dear," Shmi replied and stepped further into the kitchen, "Now let's eat something first, the flight was long."
Together they set the table and Cliegg finally served the prepared stew. It smelled wonderful and the longer Ahsoka stared at the full plate, she realized how hungry she actually was.
"The farm is bigger than I expected," she finally said between bites, letting her gaze wander between Cliegg and Shmi.
Cliegg chuckled and took another spoonful from his plate before replying. "Indeed it is. But a lot of the people here on Stewjon are poor; farming is the only lucrative business out here that helps you make ends meet."
"I see," Ahsoka glanced out the window toward the pastures, "But isn't that way too much work for two people?"
"Well, you certainly have to dedicate yourself to this work," Shmi replied, "But it's nothing unmanageable. Besides, Master Kenobi's parents did it too."
A frown drew on her face as a question presented itself. "Isn't it strange that they decided to give their only child away? ...Just because of the promise to become something greater?"
Anakin's mother tilted her head, a questioning look on her face. "As you know, I too entrusted my son to the Jedi."
"I know... but your situation was different, wasn't it?", Ahsoka turned her gaze back to the pair before her, "It seems to me that Master Kenobi would have been safe here... that he could have grown up here with his parents."
"That may be, but it would also have meant that his path as a farmer would likely have been predetermined. The Jedi could offer him more options."
"Yes, but is being a farmer something bad?" she bit her lip and looked out the window again, "...it seems peaceful."
"It bothers you that you don't know why your parents turned you in, doesn't it?", Cliegg finally interjected, wearing a look full of sympathy.
Ahsoka put down the sppon. "Yes," she admitted quietly.
"I don't think they had bad intentions, dear," Shmi said.
"And why didn't they leave a name then?", Ahsoka bit out, harsher then intended. After she realised what she had done she quickly added, "Sorry."
Before either could answer, she sparach again. "Is it okay if I go rest? ... I'm tired."
Her eyes softening, Shmi stood up. "Of course. Come, follow me, I'll show you your room."
Silently they walked down the hall until they stopped in front of one of the doors. "Here," motioned Anakin's mother, "As far as I know, this was his room at the time...he said we were free to make changes, but we left it mostly as is."
Anakin nodded curtly. "Okay."
"Are you going to be okay?" asked Shmi again, "Or do you need something?"
"No, I'm fine," Ahsoka returned, "Thank you."
"Sleep well then," Shmi said goodbye, leaving her in the hallway.
Sighing, Ahsoka finally entered her room.
It was small, but had everything one needed. The light of the rising moon fell in through the window, enveloping the desk in grayish light. Ahsoka stepped closer as something caught her attention. On the table was a leather case of some sort, held together by a string, and a block of wood that someone had obviously tried to carve something out of.
It felt like the object was whispering, like it was trying to tell her its story. Intrigued, Ahsoka took the wood in her hand. It looked very much like the fox she had found in her grandmaster's room, except that only the rough outline of an animal was visible. A wolf, perhaps?
Ahsoka sat down on the bed with the unfinished figure, running her fingers over it. It still called to her, somehow. She didn't have the ability of psychometry, but she knew it was possible to receive memories that way, if the impression on the object was strong enough.
And this one was singing.
Ahsoka closed her eyes and reached out with the Force. There was a white flash and she became part of a memory.
Obi-Wan sat at the desk, holding the block of wood in one hand and the carving knife in the other. He roughly chopped away the pieces, a grim expression on his face.
He didn't seem really happy.
A knock sounded at the door, causing their grandmaster to pause. "Yes?" he called, half turning around.
A man with gray hair and a beard - unmistakably Obi-Wan's father - poked his head in. "Can I come in?" he asked gently.
"Sure," Obi-Wan replied, nodding toward the bed.
His father entered the room and quietly closed the door before settling on the bed. "You're trying your hand at carving again?" he noted with a smile.
Obi-Wan hummed and frowned. "Yes, I guess...," he set the utensils aside and slumped his shoulders, "...it seems I haven't inherited your talent, though."
The other man huffed and grabbed the piece of wood. "Don't always be so harsh on yourself," he turned it between his fingers, "With a little practice, you'll soon be carving figures at least as good."
Grumbling, Obi-Wan took back the project he had started, looked at it briefly, then discarded it on the table.
His father tilted his head and looked at him worriedly. "Are you alright? ... You seemed distracted during dinner."
Obi-Wan averted his eyes, biting his cheeks. "I'm fine."
"You don't have to lie to me, Obi-Wan...," his father sounded sad, "There's no shame in admitting you're struggling with something."
There was a beat of silence before her grandmaster spoke.
"I'm worried about Anakin."
"Your apprentice?"
Obi-Wan nodded curtly, frowning. "I feel like I'm doing everything wrong... every time - every time I take a step forward, it seems like he takes at least two steps back."
He looked at his father, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "... Am I such a bad person?"
Ahsoka choked on her breath .
The older man motioned for him to sit next to him on the bed. Hesitating briefly, Obi-Wan finally got up from his seat and shuffled over, taking the spot next to his father.
"You're not a bad person, son," his father finally said, "...and I don't think Anakin realizes what he's doing."
Obi-Wan huffed and rubbed a hand across his face.
"Force, I love that kid, ...but I think he still tries to find Qui-Gon in me and...," he chokes, "...and then he gets disappointed everytime he realizes that I am not that man."
"You don't need to be that man," responded the other sincerely.
"Well, he certainly doesn't want me," Obi-Wan grinds out, getting a distant look again. "...I can't go on any longer," he added after a moment of hesitation.
It felt wrong seeing her grandmaster like that. He was always a steadying presence - strong and unstoppable.
"Have you talked to anyone at the temple about this?" his father asked, "...someone you trust?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "I can't... if they get wind that I'm having trouble with the boy, they'll take him away from me... and Force knows where they'll send him then. After all, I only got permission to train him because I agreed to take complete responsibility for him."
"You're running yourself ragged, Obi-Wan," came the counter, "You need help. For both of your sakes."
Running a hand through his hair, Obi-Wan finally propped his head on his hands. "I know," he breathed.
"Maybe give Anakin some distance, show him that's you when he needs you, but without pushing," the older Kenobi suggested, "And you should find someone you like to talk to, maybe not a Jedi. Keeping worries to yourself never did anyone any good."
Obi-Wan pressed his lips into a thin line and smiled sadly. "Yes...thank you, dad."
The memory faded with this and Ahsoka found herself back in the present, sitting on the bed with the unfinished figurine in her hands. It now felt heavy in her fingers, having seen the memory it held.
Gingerly she put it back on the table. Had her grandmaster really spoken to someone?
The longer she thought about it, she could think of only two people outside the Order in whom he might have confided.
Satine... and maybe Dex.
Ahsoka sighed and lay down on the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. It was strange to be so far from home - at least without Anakin or Obi-Wan by her side.
All of this felt wrong. She should be able to help - but instead she had fled, closing herself off from her problems.
Her stomach tightened and she curled up on her side, clutching her arms around her upper body.
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