Author's Note: I hope you all had a great few days. Please enjoy this update.
Vader had sounded almost sincere in his admonishment that the old Jedi should rest. But Anakin is not, and will never again be worthy of his trust. His most recent tantrum is proof enough of that. The bruises on Obi-Wan's neck smart, but there had been no power behind Vader's attempt at aggression. Some of that was certainly attributable to his condition, but it was more than that...it was as though he was merely lashing out. A child caught in their lies.
The revelation about Padmé is not surprising, it explains a great deal. But it disgusts and disappoints him. To think that all of this could have been avoided, if only Anakin had not been so blessedly stupid as to believe the lies of the Chancellor. But, then again, hadn't they all been fooled? It doesn't absolve Anakin of his part in the genocide. But…at least now…it makes some kind of horrifying sense.
The trip to Alderaan is only a day and a half of travel, but, as Vader's fragile organs—real and artificial—begin to fail, it begins to feel more and more like an eternity.
Despite Vader's protests, when his fever spikes again, Obi-Wan wastes no time in stripping him of the armor. He would never have allowed him to go back into it had it not been necessary for their departure. But now, it has become nothing more than a hindrance.
Obi-Wan does not miss the grimness in Vader's eyes when Obi-Wan rips the bandages away, and he sees for himself that the edges of the wound in his lower belly have gone dead and purple. In an act of mercy, the Jedi decides not to tell him that the companion exit wound in his back looks even worse. He had expected Vader to relapse, but he had not expected it to happen so quickly or for him to deteriorate so dramatically.
In desperation, Obi-Wan tries once more to heal him but finds that, this time, there is not enough latent energy left in Vader's frame to sustain regeneration.
They are less than three hours from Alderaan when the Sith's fever begins to climb precipitously.
His supplies are meager, but as Vader burns with delirium, Obi-Wan tears off parts of the shredded sleeve of his robe and dips them in the ship's endothermic coolant, holding them the major arteries in a vain attempt to lower his body temperature.
"Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, or whatever you call yourself, you need to stay with me." He orders with all the sternness once employed by then-General Kenobi. "Listen to my voice. You made a promise to Luke. You cannot break that promise, or it will destroy that little boy."
"M-master…please...I'm…I'm…sorry…" He wheezes. Obi-Wan does not know to whom he speaks, whether it is to him or to Sidious, but he latches onto the title anyway.
"I know, my Padawan. I know. Just hold on."
And then he seizes. And to Obi-Wan's horror, he doesn't stop until they have all but entered Alderaan's atmosphere.
He is burning on the banks of Mustafar, and a shape kneels beside him. They are touching him, touching his raw skin, hurting him as he gasps for breath.
Has the Emperor come for him, at last?
But as the figure speaks, he is confused as he hears Obi-Wan's voice. The words are kind, and gentle, but the figure makes no effort to ease his pain or pull him from the flames licking at his flesh.
It hurts! It hurts! Why does Obi-Wan speak so kindly, yet leave him to burn?!
His metal fingers claw weakly for the impassive robe, his tongue struggling to form the word "mercy." He is begging now. Pleading. For death. For life. He isn't sure which. For anything but this taunting indifference.
"Dad!" He hears his son's voice, and when he looks up, to his horror, there is his boy, standing there on the top of the lava bank, watching his father burn to death.
He wants to scream for him to run, to get away before…before…
And then there is pain, burning, grinding as if the earth itself is shaking. Tearing through his mind as he reflexively tries to protect himself. A voice roars across the burning plains of Mustafar.
Lord Vader, you will cease this insolence!
The tendril-bond tears across his mindscape like a lash. Anakin can do nothing but dive deeper into his own mind, hiding from that voice, cloaking himself with all he can command.
He is shaking, sweating, jerking…and then all goes black.
As they descend onto Alderaan, the Jedi wastes no time in comming Organa to ask for immediate medical support.
Though the message is perfunctorily acknowledged, much to his dismay, instead of physicians, he finds his landing party populated by an armed Organa and his Royal Guard. For once in his life, Obi-Wan dispenses with pleasantries as he storms from the cockpit to meet the oncoming Viceroy.
"What is the meaning of this, Bail? You must summon your physicians, or you risk losing your informant!"
The Viceroy's face is set in a grim line. "I am sorry, General Kenobi. But as I said before, there will be no resources wasted on him until we get our intel."
Something roars within the Jedi, even as he balks at the old title.
"Come see him for yourself, then. I am sure he will be very talkative as he dies in the interrogation chamber."
Bail's eyebrows lift in surprise at Kenobi's impassioned outburst. With a wave of the Viceroy's hand, the soldiers descend upon the ship, as the two men continue to face off with one another. A moment later, the soldiers return carrying Vader's limp body on a makeshift stretcher.
"Do you see, Bail?" Obi-Wan snaps. "Go on, ask him questions, if you must! But for Force-sake, help him, or all of this will be for naught!"
A shadow of shock and guilt passes like a cloud over the Viceroy's face as he observes the mangled visage.
"This…is him?" Bail asks, barely concealing the disbelief behind his voice. "You are sure?!"
Sensing that the Viceroy has begun to understand the grimness of Vader's condition, Obi-Wan demures as he allows the other man to approach the stretcher.
"I am." Obi-Wan says darkly.
"Forgive me." Bail says, turning to him with sudden sympathy. "I…I couldn't have imagined." "Guards!" The Alderaanian yells over his shoulder. "Take him to the infirmary, at once!"
There are hands touching him; they seem to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. They are pushing, pulling, pinching, digging inside of him.
The pain is totalizing and nonspecific, but even so, he finds his limbs flailing about reaching for something, someone, he doesn't know who.
Please! He howls into the Force. No more! No more!
Obi-Wan feels Anakin screaming inside his mind as he watches from above the glass ceiling of the operating theater.
Bail's med-droids are doing their best to root out the infection that has taken hold of him, but both he and the Viceroy know Vader's life hangs by a thread.
"There may not be anything left of his mind," Bail comments from where he stands beside the older man. "My medics tell me that between his fever and the seizures you described, he'll be lucky if he can still form sentences."
Obi-Wan shoots him a look that is angrier than he intends. As Bail flinches, he forcibly softens his expression.
"Oh, he's there, Bail. I can hear him. Even now."
Bail swallows. "I know he was your protégé. It must pain you…seeing him like this. But sometimes, we have to let things die, Obi-Wan. And, as much as I know it must be hard for you, old friend, the Rebellion has limited resources and cannot go spending—"
"Do not patronize me, Viceroy." Obi-Wan interrupts with some force. "I am not being figurative. He is speaking—screaming—to me through the Force, and I am telling you, Bail, he is still in there. He wants to be comforted. He wants to be saved. But all I can do is stand here and watch them tear him apart."
The Viceroy bows his head in a show of goodwill, his face carefully compassionate.
"I—I am sure you know better than I, Obi-Wan. But there is something else….To facilitate recovery, he needs a blood transfusion, and, unfortunately, his blood type is highly unusual on Alderaan. We simply do not have any available, and his cells are too badly infected to synthesize a replacement."
Obi-Wan freezes. His gaze turning pensively toward the operating table below. He would gladly give him every drop of blood in his body, but, unfortunately, he remembers all too well from the Clone Wars battle of Jabiim that he and Vader are not a match.
And then a thought occurs to him. Bail won't like it. But he has come this far. He is not about to turn back now.
"Could we synthesize replacement from Leia?"
The bellowing argument that ensues is so loud that the two men are asked to leave the observation chamber.
He wakes slowly. Coming to his senses in the middle of a cold echoing room. He reaches for his memories, but everything is fuzzy and unclear. At first, he thinks he is alone, until he hears the scrape of a chair beside him, and an unfamiliar voice asking him to confirm that his name is Anakin Skywalker.
He hesitates. That sounds right, and yet it doesn't. But he isn't sure why.
The voice asks him other questions. All 'yes/no' questions that make no sense and to which he cannot possibly respond. After awhile, he fades back into unconsciousness to the sound of the voice's droning.
"I hope you're happy, Obi-Wan. Not only did I waste our limited funds on his care, you also made me drag Leia into this, only for him to have no memory of who he is!"
Obi-Wan lets the Viceroy exhaust himself with his rant, before responding. "He has only just woken, Bail; let me try tomorrow."
There is a huff of anger as the normally unflappable aristocrat stares down the Old Republic General.
"I do not know what I was even thinking in agreeing to this. You've done no better than to bring me Palpatine himself! He shouldn't be getting medical care. He deserves to die screaming for all he has done!"
Without know it, Obi-Wan draws himself to full height, his fists tightening as he meets Organa's angered gaze.
"Need I remind you, Bail, that I was there when he did? Or, at least, when I thought he did."
The man swallows, suddenly mindful of Obi-Wan's thunderous expression.
"I did that to him." Obi-Wan says, stepping closer and rounding on the Rebel leader. "And even with all that he has done since, it does not make bearing the memories of him howling as he was burnt alive any easier."
The man raises his hands in a placating gesture, twisting his face into a look of contrition.
"Obi-Wan, listen, I know that you feel responsible—"
"No, you listen to me. You are right, he deserves eternal torment, and, in some ways, he has already received it, but that torment has not brought back the lives he took, or undone his path of destruction. I am sorry for your losses, Bail. Just as I grieve for my own. I am sure it pains you that he continues to live. But never again will I hear you compare him to the Emperor. Do I make myself clear?"
Bail's dark eyes narrow in irritation. "And what is the difference?" The aristocrat snarks. "From my vantage point, it is he, not Palpatine, who has led the charge of tyranny."
Obi-Wan considers him a moment, his fierce eyes studying the Viceroy as he pauses before at last answering.
"Do not demean him by comparing him to that sadist. Demented though he is, Anakin does not enjoy what he is or what he has done. And in that way, in that small way, he is better."
The aristocrat raises a skeptical eyebrow, but inclines his head in acknowledgement.
"Very well, Obi-Wan. I will honor your request. We will try again tomorrow. But, speaking candidly as your friend, understand this, if his mind is gone, I will not be able justify sustaining his body to the other Rebel leaders."
There is a voice in his ear. It is soft and warm and feels like sunshine. It is at war with a different voice. One that is deep and dark, vicious and cruel.
Anakin Skywalker...The warm voice whispers. Anakin, I know you're in there. Come back, Anakin. Come back to me.
(He smells antiseptic. He smells aluminum alloy.)
He smells hot tea. He smells desert cactus.
(Lord Vader, I tire of your games...!)
My dear Padawan...
(You are mine, Apprentice!)
The voices are so loud. Too loud. Exhausting.
Who are you!? He screams at them.
And then there is silence.
"It's been days, Obi-Wan. I've let this go on out of regard for you and your service to my family but, I'm afraid, my friend, that it is time to—"
The Jedi's heart screams at the idea. Anakin had heard him, he was in there. Confused and lost, but still there. He couldn't be gone! He just couldn't be!
"No." Obi-Wan interrupts. "One more day. One more day, Bail. I swear to you. Just one more day."
There is a song lilting next to him. An old Jedi lullaby. He thinks perhaps he is hallucinating. But no, there it is, the familiar Aurebesh ringing in his ears. It had never been sung to him, but he had heard it among the children's games in the creche of the old Jedi Temple.
Are you there, my friend? A voice whispers hopefully across the Force, even as the singing continues. Can you hear me? I know you are there...you must speak. Please. Please, speak. Do you know me? Are you listening...?
Yes, Master. The words flow on reflex from a place he cannot quite remember.
There is a pause. And then—
I am no longer your Master... The voice has stopped singing now, and why are those words laced with so much hope and hurt?
Obi-Wan?! He says the name in confused panic.
So you remember me…?
I remember… And then he is hit with images of molten lava, of burning, screaming….!
You betrayed me! He roars, his eyes flying open, only for him to squeeze them shut against the harsh light.
Calm yourself. Obi-Wan commands. What else do you remember?
He does not want to obey, but unbidden images dance inside his mind, darkness, burning, pain, blood, the Emperor…And then of a little boy, bathed in sunlight.
Luke…my son! I have a son! He exclaims, his anger at Obi-Wan forgotten in the wake of the wonderful revelation as the previous days rush back to him.
"Yes…good, good!" Obi-Wan praises aloud, as Anakin feels a calloused hand rest itself on his shoulder, the thumb running over his clavicle. The hand is electrified as the Force rings with an intermingling of Joy! and Love! and Relief!
So it had not been a mere fever dream! Luke was alive! His child was alive!
The Rebels… ! He remembers at last. Are we with them now?
"Yes."
Then I must speak to them!
He feels Obi-Wan's skepticism and a comforting, blazing, protectiveness he hadn't known he had missed. "You almost died." Obi-Wan says hoarsely, squeezing his shoulder. "You are in no shape to be speaking to anyone. I doubt you could make a sound if you tried."
Though the old man's concern is touching, the Rebels will not take nothing for the efforts they have put into saving him, and every minute that passes makes his knowledge less and less useful.
They were here, earlier? Were they not? The first time I woke? Go get them, Obi-Wan. The Emperor is looking for me. Hunting me. Even in my delirium, I could feel him. I will speak through you if I must, but we are running out of time!
Author's Note: Am I making Bail into too much of a jerk? I hope not. I think he's just worried. But still... I also hope I haven't nerfed Obi-Wan.