Chapter Four: Battles Within
"Get up, we're going to spar."
Obi-Wan blinked, trying to focus his bleary eyes as though it might somehow help him process Anakin's words as his former Padawan barged right in. It was too early for this. He hadn't been expecting company, and he certainly wasn't dressed for it. Still in his rumpled sleeping clothes, hair tousled and beard uncharacteristically scruffy, he felt decidedly un-Jedi-like.
"No, Anakin, please do come in… Because apparently, the concept of privacy is just a myth around here…" Obi-Wan muttered dryly, watching as Anakin plucked a shuura fruit from the small table.
With an exaggerated flourish, Anakin took a huge, messy bite, juice dribbling down his chin. Obi-Wan suppressed a wince.
"Help yourself," he added, taking a seat, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, feigning disinterest.
"Thanks, I knew you wouldn't mind," Anakin replied, flashing a grin as he chewed obnoxiously.
A rational person might have knocked before entering, asked to sit, or at least started the conversation with a polite, "Good morning, Master Kenobi. Care for some breakfast and tea?" Or perhaps, "How are you faring today? I've come to check on your well-being." But Anakin Skywalker was not 'most people.'
Obi-Wan settled into his chair waiting for his former Padawan to explain himself. As Anakin finished his ridiculously large bite, Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder how Padmé found this charming. Perhaps Anakin behaved better around her. He could only hope for her sake.
For a moment, the only sound was Anakin chewing, quite loudly.
"Did you come to raid my breakfast, or was there something on your mind?" Obi-Wan asked, resting his head on his hand and raising an eyebrow.
"Both, actually," Anakin replied, taking another sloppy bite of the fruit's golden skin, slurping up more juice in a way that made Obi-Wan's eye twitch. "But mostly sparring."
Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Anakin or that he was bothered by his presence—far from it. After the last two and a half weeks, he craved some semblance of normalcy, and in his own way, Anakin provided that. Yet, despite knowing that Anakin's antics were meant to rouse him from solitude—by any irritating means necessary—they were still driving him mad. He truly detested the sound of loud chewing and he knew Anakin was weaponizing it against him.
"Of course," Obi-Wan muttered. "Because what could be better than waking up to unsolicited company and a lightsaber duel?"
Anakin paused mid-chew, a grin spreading across his face. "You've always said I have impeccable timing."
"Yes, well," Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his temples. "That was sarcasm, Anakin."
"You've been hiding in here for days, Obi-Wan. It's time to get up and do something. We'll start with some lightsaber training," Anakin said, his tone almost teasing.
"Sparring, Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice was a low murmur, fatigue threading through it. His lips twitched. "Do you really believe that dueling is the solution to all of life's problems?"
"Well," Anakin replied, stretching his arms with a casual shrug, "it works for me."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever considered that might not be... normal?"
Anakin grinned. "It's a start. Come on, give your mind a break. You've been in this room overthinking into oblivion."
Obi-Wan couldn't muster a witty retort because Anakin was right. His silence was all the ammunition Anakin needed to press on.
"So let's get some exercise," Anakin continued, leaning against the doorframe. "Maybe a bit of meditation afterward, then some more sparring—then we'll see if you're still in the mood for moping."
"I am not moping," Obi-Wan shot back, though his disheveled appearance and the state of his quarters suggested otherwise.
Anakin glanced around, making his point without words. "Well, whatever you call this, is it helping?"
There was no stopping his headstrong former Padawan when he set his mind to something. Master or not, some things would never change. He felt a mix of pride and exasperation. Why did Anakin always choose the most inconvenient moments to care? Yet when Obi-Wan offered such advice, it was merely "taken under consideration" and promptly forgotten.
"Padmé is worried about you," Anakin said, crossing his arms.
"You told her, didn't you?" Obi-Wan replied, a hint of accusation in his tone.
Anakin nodded, unapologetic.
Obi-Wan sighed, processing Anakin's lack of specifics. "I seem to recall Master Yoda reminding you, rather recently, to not break any more rules…" He knew Anakin was right; he needed the push to confront the world outside his door, but finding the motivation was easier said than done. Defeated, he gave a reluctant nod. "Sparring?"
"Sparring."
A silent staredown stretched on between them until Obi-Wan relented and stood, realizing that arguing with Anakin was futile.
"Of course. Why confront my inner turmoil when I can just face your overconfidence in a duel?" Obi-Wan mumbled to himself.
Many were often taken aback by Obi-Wan's dry remarks, but it was a good sign. If he were truly in a bad place, he wouldn't be able to manage a response at all.
Anakin chuckled, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder. "See? You're already getting into the spirit of things." Anakin paused and scrunched his nose, "You might want to shower first. You smell like a rancor pit."
Obi-Wan shot him a deadpan look. "Yes, well, forgive me if I wasn't in the mood to indulge in aromatic luxuries while grappling with the existential mysteries of fatherhood and the Force."
Anakin laughed, pushing him toward the refresher. "Alright, fair enough. But seriously, take a shower before we spar. I don't need the distraction of your stench clouding my focus."
"Fine, I'll indulge you, Master of Fresh Air. Wouldn't want your delicate senses to suffer during our epic duel."
"You know, they say cleanliness is next to godliness," Anakin quipped.
As Obi-Wan called back over his shoulder, a small smile crept onto his face. "And they also say pride comes before a fall. So, watch yourself in that duel, Anakin."
Despite feeling irritated by his former Padawan's tactics, he couldn't help but appreciate that Anakin wasn't actually kicking him in the backside. If the roles were reversed, he would likely have done the same—though he was sure Anakin wouldn't shy away from being a father. In that regard, Anakin was a better Jedi than Obi-Wan was.
As the hot water streamed over him, waking his dulled senses, Obi-Wan began to feel a bit better. He lingered under the spray, contemplating that perhaps some good-natured sparring was exactly what he needed to take his mind off things, at least for a while.
Lightsabers clashed in the training room, the sound echoing off the walls like an electrical storm, but the energy felt lopsided. Obi-Wan's calculated precision, usually so sharp, had vanished; instead of a fluid and graceful dance, he fumbled like a novice. His mind was miles away and his combat prowess suffered for it.
Every time Anakin launched an attack, Obi-Wan found himself making constant mistakes. His defense, typically a fortress built on the principles of Soresu, now resembled a flimsy shield. A quick swipe to the left turned into an awkward stumble, and a failed parry left him open to Anakin's relentless strikes. He hesitated at critical moments, even when Anakin offered him clear openings. Instead of standing his ground, he stepped back, allowing Anakin to advance. Then, in an attempt to make up for his losses, Obi-Wan overextended his attacks, only to leave himself vulnerable to Anakin's counters. Each misstep chipped away at his confidence, further clouding his focus and leaving him at the mercy of his former padawan.
Meanwhile, Anakin flowed with the grace of a seasoned warrior, his movements fluid and precise as he anticipated Obi-Wan's every strike as if they were written in the stars. He read the subtle shifts in his master's posture and adjusted his own stance accordingly, exploiting every opening with a calculated ease that showcased his growth as a Jedi. Each of his victories felt like a carefully crafted masterpiece, each strike and parry executed with an artist's touch. Anakin's confidence radiated through the room, a stark contrast to Obi-Wan's uncharacteristic faltering. In past duels, Anakin often found himself on the defensive, but today, he was the one orchestrating the flow of battle, forcing Obi-Wan to adapt to his rhythm. It was a performance that would normally make Obi-Wan swell with pride—if only he weren't the one on the losing end.
"You're off your game, Master," Anakin said, a smirk playing at his lips as he effortlessly dodged a clumsy lunge that nearly sent Obi-Wan sprawling.
"Clearly," Obi-Wan grumbled, narrowly avoiding another swing that would have knocked him to the ground.
Their lightsabers clashed in brilliant flashes of blue, thrusting and slicing until the blades locked in a familiar cross. Anakin's strength bore down with an almost playful force, but Obi-Wan could feel the strain in his arms as he struggled to hold his ground. The pressure was mounting, and for a moment, it was clear who had the upper hand. Obi-Wan's muscles burned as his blade was forced lower, the weight of the lock tipping the balance in Anakin's favor.
"Who are you thinking of, Master? Solan or Cressida?" Anakin asked as he pushed hard, sending Obi-Wan back several steps.
Obi-Wan grumbled in response. "Neither," he replied, his focus wavering as he felt the weight of his thoughts dragging him down.
"Ah, the classic non-answer," Anakin quipped, effortlessly parrying a half-hearted thrust that left Obi-Wan exposed. "You know, that only tells me I'm right."
Finally, the inevitable occurred. Obi-Wan found himself on his back with a painful grunt, again, lightsaber deactivated beside him, staring up at the ceiling. He contemplated its mysteries for a moment before shifting his gaze to Anakin, who loomed above him, his expression somewhere between teasing and concern.
"Are you planning on getting up, or is the floor really that comfortable?" Anakin asked, unable to suppress a triumphant grin.
"No, I don't think so." Obi-Wan's voice was heavy with fatigue, a hint of resignation coloring his words. "Perhaps the floor has more to offer me today."
Anakin chuckled, extending a hand to help his Master to his feet. "Well, it seems lightsaber combat isn't favoring you. Perhaps you'll be better suited for meditation."
Obi-Wan accepted the hand and rose to his feet, a growing ache in his back.
"Ah, yes. The quieter battles. I suppose I should be grateful for the chance to change the battlefield. Meditation was never really your strong suit. Perhaps I'll gain back some of my lost pride."
Anakin's grin widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "What was it you said about pride coming before the fall?" He clapped a hand on his Master's shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of recent events lightened, if only slightly.
"Solan Cael is the son of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."
The sound of her voice echoed in Obi-Wan's mind, the words ringing like a bell, loud and insistent. Each repetition reverberated in his thoughts, a stark reminder of the moment that had shifted everything. Time seemed to slow as her gaze locked with his, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air, drowning out all else.
"Hello, Obi-Wan."
Her grey eyes had pierced through the haze of time, locking him in place within the Council chamber, just as they had ten years ago. He could still remember the way she'd looked at him from the warmth of his bed in the dark hours of the night—her gaze holding him captive, their limbs tangled in breathless stillness.
The meditation chamber exclusive to the High Council members should have been a cocoon of harmony, yet even there, he fared no better. He fidgeted endlessly, the serene atmosphere doing little to quell the storm within him. His mind felt like a chaotic battlefield, each breath echoing with unresolved tension.
Just as quickly, his eyes snapped open, pulling him back to the present. He found Anakin sitting beside him, a portrait of serenity, his expression peaceful.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, trying to regain control, but his thoughts spiraled out of reach. Another memory surfaced—Solan sitting on that bench, legs swinging with carefree innocence, their easy conversation now a distant echo. The transformation on Solan's face upon learning the truth—the mixture of disbelief and hope dancing in his eyes—haunted him.
Anakin opened his eyes and turned to look at his troubled Master.
"You know, Anakin," he finally said, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "sometimes I wonder if the Force is playing some elaborate prank on us. It's hard to find balance when everything feels so… uncertain."
"I don't think the Force is as cruel or vindictive as you make it out to be." Anakin replied.
"Perhaps not." Obi-Wan conceded, looking at the ground. Meditation was a lost cause to him. "I'm struggling, Anakin, truly. It's like navigating a maze in the dark, underwater, upside down... Drunk."
"That can't be easy." Anakin's voice carried an unusual blend of compassion. "Just imagine how Solan must feel."
Obi-Wan's face fell.
Solan. He had, of course, thought about Solan's perspective. For days, it had gnawed at him, but he pushed it away each time, yet it remained a persistent ache he couldn't quite shake. But now, with Anakin mentioning it out loud, it was like a fresh jab to the ribs. Guilt surged through him, sharp and immediate. He barely had a moment to let it sink in before Anakin twisted the metaphorical knife.
"I mean, to find out that the legendary war hero you've admired your whole life is actually your father, and that everything you believed was just a protective lie," Anakin continued, his voice laced with exaggerated seriousness. "Even speaking to him—sharing smiles and friendly conversation... only for it to end—" He snapped his fingers, his expression a mix of faux pity and disbelief. "Just like that. And then no one sees him for days, while the High Council drags its feet deciding your fate... It must be disheartening. I'd be left wondering what I did wrong, even questioning my place at the Temple."
Obi-Wan felt the sting—not just from Anakin's words, but from the truth behind them. Anakin's words weren't meant to inflict anguish but to push Obi-Wan to acknowledge what he had been avoiding. And he knew Anakin would never let him hear the end of it.
He wanted to defend himself, to rationalize his distance, but deep down, he knew he had no excuse. Mace had cautioned him to approach the boy gently, now that the truth had been confirmed. That had been over a week ago, and he had done nothing. If guilt had been gnawing at him before, it was now eating him alive. He had let his fear paralyze him.
Every time he thought back to his conversation with Solan outside the Council chamber, a heavy weight of regret settled in his chest and it was only getting heavier. It didn't get much worse than that. But Anakin wasn't done yet.
"And Cressida, too," Anakin pressed on, shaking his head in disbelief. "Having to raise a son in complete secrecy for ten years? Always in danger, constantly looking over her shoulder—I can't imagine how she even managed such a thing. Probably many sleepless nights…" He blew out a heavy breath, emphasizing his apparent bewilderment. "No one she could truly count on, probably pushed to her limits, mentally and physically more times than she could count," He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Then, when she finally returns to the place she should feel safe, she's met with an endless barrage of questions and criticisms. It must be incredibly painful for her…"
Obi-Wan blew out an exasperated breath, frustration evident in his posture judging from the lines on his forehead. "Alright. You've made your point, Anakin."
Anakin smirked. "Have I, now?"
"Painfully so."
"You sure?" Anakin asked, he just couldn't resist. "I thought I could bring up a few other points about how Solan must be feeling lost and out of place, and maybe how Cressida is feeling like a stranger among her people…"
"No, that's quite enough. You paint an excruciating portrait."
After a few minutes, Aankin reached into his pocket and produced something Obi-Wan hadn't seen in many years. A small, smooth, rounded stone. He tossed it up into his hand catching it several times before holding it out to Obi-Wan.
For a moment, Obi-Wan simply stared, then he breathed out a sigh and accepted the simple object with the same fondness one might expect as if he was handling an ancient treasure. A warmth fluttered in his chest as he looked at the stone before finally accepting it.
He had given Anakin on his thirteenth birthday—the same way Qui-Gon had gifted it to Obi-Wan years before in an attempt to help him meditate. Its familiar texture anchored him, grounding him in a way that nothing else could, and it felt good to have it in his hand again.
It brought him a sense of peace as he levitated it up into the air, reflecting on all the times it had helped him find his way.
"I don't know how to be a father, Anakin. It's a role I never expected to have, and I wouldn't even know where to start." He admitted.
Anakin nodded, "You didn't know how to be a Jedi either, remember? But you became one of the finest masters the Order has seen."
"Those things are hardly the same." Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes slightly, sarcasm creeping back in. "A pity there isn't a compendium of Jedi who could teach me to be a father." As he trailed off, he caught a mischievous glint in Anakin's eyes, barely suppressing a laugh. "What's so amusing, Anakin?" Anakin tilted his head suggestively, his grin widening as his unspoken suggestion dawned on Obi-Wan. "Oh no, absolutely not. If you think I'm taking your parenting advice, you're out of your mind!"
"You never know, Obi-Wan, I could be a good master for you…"
"Ah, wise words indeed from the man who thought hiding a secret marriage with a sitting Senator he was sworn to protect was a good idea." He shook his head. "Parenting advice from the Chosen One? What could possibly go wrong?"
"Hey, I'm just saying, I did pretty well with Ahsoka as my Padawan."
"A Padawan is not the same as a child, Anakin. But you let me know how your parenting lectures go…" His sarcasm dripped from every word.
Anakin grinned, reveling in the banter. "Great! I'll make sure to give you all the 'Anakin's Guide to Fatherhood' tips upon its publication. I'm sure it'll be a bestseller."
"Oh dear Force, please spare us." For the first time in days, tension eased. But then a somber note returned, the gravity of the situation settling in. "I don't know how such a thing could happen. It's all… unexpected."
Anakin, ever the provocateur, pressed on. "Well, I believe it's simple biology… You see, Obi-Wan when a man and a woman—"
Obi-Wan quickly cut him off, a pleading tone in his voice. "Anakin, I beg of you, do not finish that sentence. We both know I understand the mechanics of it all."
Anakin smirked, leaning back with a satisfied air. "Just checking. It's a topic that might need revisiting, considering your new role."
Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. "This is not the conversation I thought I would be having when I woke up this morning..."
"But here we are!" Anakin chuckled, the levity hanging in the air as they both took a moment to absorb the absurdity of it all. Several seconds passed and Anakin shifted, turning to face Obi-Wan, regarding his master as though he was a puzzle to be solved. "So—"
Obi-Wan didn't wait for him to finish, not even bothering to look up from the rock in his hands. "You want to know about Cressida." It wasn't a question.
"Can you blame me? You've never allowed yourself to get close to anyone, but the way you defended her in the council chamber? Well, it makes one wonder. I'm not the only one who noticed."
"Indeed," Obi-Wan replied, huffing out a breath of acceptance.
"She is beautiful. I mean, she's no Padmé, but I have to say, Obi-Wan, I never knew you had it in you." Anakin smirked, he caught Obi-Wan's sharp gaze and realized he might have struck a sensitive nerve. "I don't mean to cause you anguish, Obi-Wan. It just seems so out of character for you."
Obi-Wan's expression softened as he looked down, collecting his thoughts. "Well, you must remember, that young Obi-Wan was a very different person, Anakin. And, as you pointed out, Cressida is undeniably beautiful." He turned a small rock over in his hands. "You should have seen her ten years ago—utterly fearless, able to make anyone smile, a wealth of compassion. It was a different time then. Before the war. Before everything."
Anakin said nothing, his brow furrowing in thought.
"You still don't understand," Obi-Wan said, and Anakin shook his head. Obi-Wan met Anakin's gaze, his eyes reflecting regret and introspection. "At the time, I didn't think our paths would cross again. I let myself believe that with Cressida, it could be a fleeting connection—a physical intimacy without the emotional consequences."
Anakin tilted his head, a more understanding tone in his voice. "So Cressida was the safest option for you?"
"That's part of it."
"What's the other part?"
Obi-Wan paused as he wrestled with the question. He didn't know what bothered him more: the question or the answer.
"Anakin, surely I don't need to explain the loneliness and desire for comfort that comes with loss and change, to you of all people." He glanced at Anakin, checking to see if he might take offense, but his friend's face held no trace of judgment. "I was struggling, and at first, it was a close friend reaching out to make sure I was alright. As I said in the council chamber, it evolved from there." He couldn't quite bring himself to say aloud that he craved the kind of touch and comfort only a lover could offer, but Anakin seemed to understand.
"Yes, Anakin. She was the safest option, or so I believed. But life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?" His voice carried a hint of resignation. "I trusted myself with her; we'd been there for each other before, this was just another time we needed each other, it was logical, and nothing about what happened was reckless or without foresight. We both knew what we were doing and look where it's brought us. Why do you think I never explored anything further with Satine?" Obi-Wan's voice was quiet, distant, as though the question had been weighing on him for years.
Anakin tilted his head slightly. "To be honest, I was never sure if you did."
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to push away the memory. "I wanted to. Many times. But..." His voice faltered. "I couldn't bring myself to do it, something inside me always stopped."
He closed his eyes, the memory of Satine's final moments rushing back with cruel clarity. It had been less than a year since Mandalore—since the day he held her in his arms, watching the light in her eyes fade. The grief still clung to him like a shadow he couldn't shake.
Anakin's voice softened. "Did you love her?"
Obi-Wan didn't answer right away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. In the past, the answer might have been simple: yes. But now... What was love? Could he still define it after years of denial, restraint, and loss? What was left of it after watching Satine slip away? A great sadness tightened his chest, a weight he'd carried since the moment she was gone, one he wasn't sure he would ever lift.
Then he wondered if the 'her' Anakin spoke of was Satine or Cressida. And in either case, he didn't know. He cared very much for both women in different ways, and he wasn't sure which one meant what.
Anakin's brow furrowed in thought. "We're always warned that attachment is dangerous, that it leads to fear and suffering. But sometimes… sometimes the comfort of being close to someone, of letting them in, makes the risk worth it. An embrace. A kiss." He paused for a beat, his voice softening as he searched Obi-Wan's eyes. "It's not always about following the rules, but finding something—someone—that gives you the strength to carry on. Even if it's just for a moment."
The two men fell into a comfortable silence, the ambient glow of the meditation chamber surrounding them like a soft embrace. Obi-Wan held out the river stone, offering it back to Anakin, but Anakin shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he gestured for Obi-Wan to keep it. Obi-Wan wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful for the gesture, so much so he didn't realize how tightly he was clutching the stone. He would hold onto it for a little bit.
"What do you want to do, Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked simply, leaning back against the cool stone wall, his arms crossed casually.
Obi-Wan sighed, looking out at nothing. "I don't know, Anakin. I only know what feels right, and I believe it's time for Solan to begin his training as a Jedi. It's his birthright, after all, and he belongs here."
"Would you like to know him?" Anakin asked gently.
He didn't need to squeeze the stone to know that no answers would come from it. He knew the answer and it frightened him. "Yes."
Anakin nodded, his expression earnest. "Well, knowing what you want is at least a step."
"Yes, but in what direction?" Obi-Wan replied, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Anakin.
Anakin shrugged. "That remains to be seen, but it's definitely better than doing nothing." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I don't expect an exception to be made for us. But surely, there must be a way forward that doesn't involve denying Solan what he deserves. We can't ignore his potential and the responsibility that comes with it."
"The Council makes exceptions every day, Obi-Wan."
"Not like this," Obi-Wan countered.
"Only the Sith deal in absolutes." Anakin winked. At that, Obi-Wan cracked a reluctant smile; Anakin had a point. "They made an exception for me and Padmé, didn't they?"
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. "Yes, well, we can't all be the Chosen One, Anakin."
Anakin's grin widened, the lightness of their conversation rekindling a familiar camaraderie. "The Old Republic saw a Jedi Order strengthened by family bonds; its numbers flourished. I see no reason we can't learn from our predecessors. In the end, individuals will do as their hearts and consciences dictate. How much stronger might our order become if we weren't losing so many because we forbid the connections that give us purpose?"
Obi-Wan's expression shifted, a shadow crossing his features. "The Old Republic also saw some of its greatest warriors fall to the dark side because of those attachments. Ulic Qel-Droma, Exar Kun, Darth Revan—any of those cautionary tales sound familiar?" His tone was teasingly serious, as though reciting an ingrained doctrine. "There's a reason the Order banned attachments, Anakin." He insisted.
"Well, maybe it's time to reconsider the rules. Yes, we've known great losses but also great triumphs. Satele Shan, Dace Diath—and need I remind you, Darth Revan may have fallen to the dark side, but he was redeemed and returned to the light."
"Redemption doesn't change the fact that his attachments nearly led to his downfall," Obi-Wan pointed out, his brow furrowed with concern.
"True," Anakin conceded, "but it also shows that the bonds we form can lead to growth and healing. Isn't that worth considering?"
Obi-Wan sighed, his resolve faltering slightly. Anakin's argument was compelling, and somewhere deep down, Obi-Wan knew there was some truth in it. Still, he had spent years upholding the Jedi Code—breaking from that wasn't something he could do so easily.
"I understand your point, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. "But it's a dangerous line to walk. Not everyone comes back like Revan. For every redemption, there are countless more who fall and never return."
He slipped the rock into his pocket, the weight of it as comforting as his lightsaber at his side. He smiled faintly at Anakin. "You know, in times like these, I find myself wondering what Qui-Gon would have done." His voice grew more distant, thoughtful.
He didn't expect an answer from Anakin. How could he? Anakin had only known Qui-Gon for a few short weeks before his death. Countless times over the years, Obi-Wan found himself speaking to the quiet air, fingers wrapped around the smooth river stone Qui-Gon gave him, as if his master might somehow hear him.
"He loved someone within the Order once, long ago," Obi-Wan continued. "Did you know that?"
Anakin shook his head, but Obi-Wan's smile faded, shadowed by the recollection. "And then he watched her die."
Anakin straightened, alarm flickering in his gaze. "Who?"
"A Jedi Master named Tahl. She and Qui-Gon were... very close. As a padawan, I always wondered about the nature of their relationship, but I never asked. Now I wish I had. Maybe something he might have shared would give me more clarity now."
"What happened to her?"
"She was sent to New Apsolon, caught in the political turmoil there, and taken captive by a warlord named Balog. He sought to use her as a pawn for his political schemes. He tortured her for weeks." Obi-Wan swallowed hard, as if trying to swallow down the taste of bile. "The Council wanted to remain neutral on the issue and they didn't intervene, but we defied their ruling, driven by Qui-Gon's feelings for her. But—" His shoulder fell, "By the time we found her, she was... broken. The damage had been too great, and she died in his arms."
Obi-Wan paused, the memory weighing heavily in his voice. "I remember the look on his face, as if the world had shifted under his feet. He was always so composed, but that day... something in him cracked. I thought I might lose him to grief, or worse, to the dark side. For a while, it felt like the light inside him had dimmed."
He looked at Anakin, the intensity of the memory still present, even after all these years. "There was a moment after her death, standing in that cell, when I saw him falter. He didn't say anything, but I could feel it—a battle waging inside him. He nearly slipped into darkness. He later admitted as much."
Obi-Wan's voice softened, turning inward. "He told me that it was the presence of our Jedi brothers and myself that kept him from falling. But I don't know if he ever truly forgave himself for not reaching her sooner, or the Council for failing her."
Anakin looked deeply disturbed. "I had no idea."
"I think I was about thirteen when it happened. I was still learning what it meant to be a Jedi, and how to uphold the Order's teachings. Seeing him so lost was... jarring. I didn't know how to help him. If I'm being honest, watching the depths of his despair after her death put me off the idea of attachments altogether. Hearing the lessons is one thing, but seeing him like that—I never forgot it. It was... perhaps another reason nothing ever truly developed between myself and Satine."
"He was a different master after that. He openly defied the Council more often and began to think of himself as more of a Wayfinder."
"A Wayfinder?" Anakin asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"It was a path Jedi could take long ago. Those who followed the living Force weren't always beholden to the Council. They had a looser relationship, focusing on the Force's will above the Order's dogma. It's a path that's closed to us now."
Anakin raised an eyebrow, curious. "Did he love her?"
Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I believe he did."
Anakin leaned back against the wall, contemplating. "If it were him in your boots, I think he'd face this challenge head-on. He wouldn't care what the Order thought. In fact, if recent events have shown us anything, it's that the Council is... a bit out of touch."
Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. "If it were Master Qui-Gon, I feel certain he would've told the Council to Hell with their Code and trained Solan himself."
"I agree," Anakin said with a grin. "And I think if he were here now, he'd probably tell you not to be afraid."
"But I am afraid, Anakin," Obi-Wan confessed, his voice softening. "What if I take on this responsibility and grow to love that boy? What if something happens to him, and I can't protect him? What if my attachment becomes too powerful? What if it leads me to darkness?"
Anakin's expression grew serious, his gaze unwavering and he grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Attachments don't lead to darkness. Fear of losing them does. Death is part of life, Obi-Wan. Once you accept that... The darkness can never take you."
Obi-Wan looked at his former apprentice, surprised by the clarity and conviction in Anakin's words. In that moment, he felt a swell of pride.
"And what if something happened to Padmé? Or your child? What would you do?" Obi-Wan countered,
Anakin's face tightened the silence that followed, heavy and uncertain. Obi-Wan could see that, despite his wisdom, this was still a fear that plagued Anakin.
"That's what I have you for, my friend," Anakin finally said, his voice calm but steady. "My Jedi family. To help me through the darkness. Shadow can't exist without light. If one exists, so to must the other. Maybe that's where our Jedi ancestors placed their faith when it came to attachments."
Obi-Wan smiled, his heart lighter than before. "Sometimes it surprises me, the things you say. I hear the wisdom of a great Jedi Master, and yet I still expect to see a ten-year-old boy in the sands of Tatooine, obsessed with podracing."
Anakin grinned, the tension broken. "I still love podracing. But you've got another ten-year-old boy to focus on now. Hopefully, he listens better than I did."
Obi-Wan chuckled softly. "One can hope, Anakin. One can hope." Obi-Wan almost smiled, touched by his Padawan. "Thank you, Anakin." They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Obi-Wan decided to lighten the mood. "You know, it's a little unnerving for a Skywalker to be the voice of reason."
Anakin playfully nudged Obi-Wan. "Well, every once in a while, even Skywalkers have moments of enlightenment." Anakin's counsel seemed to strike a chord within Obi-Wan, reminding him of the significance of embracing change and the depth of the connection he shared with his son. "What was she like?" Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan's face brightened with a fond smile as he delved into memories of the dynamic presence that was Cressida. "A force of nature," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Confident. A troublemaker who rarely knew when to back down, no matter how outmatched she was." His gaze softened. "We engaged in an enduring prank war that landed us in hot water with our masters and even Master Yoda on more than one occasion, he was less than amused. Yet, I recall Cressida had a knack for batting those lovely eyes and charming her way out of trouble. I wasn't so fortunate."
Anakin's surprise was impossible to conceal at Obi-Wan's revelation. "Obi-Wan Kenobi? A prankster?"
Obi-Wan met Anakin's surprised gaze and nodded. "Believe it or not, the younger me wasn't always so serious. When we first met, she seemed like such a small, pint-sized thing. I made a joke about her height, and her response was to kick me in the shin." As Obi-Wan spoke, a fleeting ease filled the air, memories of happier times.
"She was happy, warm, utterly fearless. It was impossible to be in a foul mood with her around. Master Qui-Gon even had quite the soft spot for her so much that sometimes I thought he preferred her to me." Yet, as the memories lingered, a shadow veiled Obi-Wan's face, and the light in his eyes surrendered to a profound sadness.
"What changed?" Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan's reply hung in the air, each word carrying a weight that left Anakin shocked and speechless. "She killed her master."
Cressida slumped against the cool sink, the chill biting at her skin as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. The bitter, acidic taste of vomit clung stubbornly to her tongue. Each breath was a struggle—shaky and ragged—as she gripped the sink's edge, her fingers digging into the metal, grounding her. Bone-white knuckles contrasted sharply with the chrome.
Gasping, she splashed icy water on her face, hoping the shock would clear her head and dispel the dizziness. It didn't, but for a moment, the chill provided a brief distraction. She closed her eyes, letting the water run down her cheeks, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed, the panic fading, if only for a few seconds.
She spat into the sink again, before reaching for a towel trying to erase any signs of what had just happened. The nausea had passed, but exhaustion gnawed at her insides.
Staring into the sink, she focused on the rhythmic drip of water before daring to look up. The mirror didn't lie. Her reflection was hollow and pale, skin stretched too thin over sharp cheekbones, dark circles framing eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. This was the face of a woman battling something she didn't understand.
Maybe it was just fatigue—the stress of new surroundings, unfamiliar food, and disrupted routines. That's what she told herself. But in the quiet of the refresher, with no one to fool, a deeper unease whispered that it was something more.
Was it a coincidence it had started that first day back in the council chamber? The moment he was there, when their worlds collided again.
Straightening up, she smoothed every wrinkle in her clothes with precise movements. Each action felt like an attempt to impose order on her crumbling world. Her armor was slipping, but she couldn't let anyone see.
She smiled, but it was thin, just enough to convince anyone who might not look too closely. But the woman in the mirror wasn't deceived; she saw the tremor in Cressida's hands and the weight pressing down on her chest.
Stepping out of the refresher, she moved quietly across the room, her gaze softening as it fell on Solan's sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, sandy-brown hair tousled across the pillow. A bit of drool pooled beneath his cheek as he snored lightly, and despite everything, her lips curved into a smile.
He was so peaceful, so unaware—untouched by worries or burdens. Just a boy. Just her son.
But that smile faded, replaced by an unnameable ache.
Cautiously, she stepped back to avoid waking him and moved toward the small kitchen. Making sapir tea was a ritual, a steadying process. She filled the kettle and set it on the burner, watching the water come to a boil. The scent of sweet, floral leaves began to fill the air as she prepared the cup. Lifting it to her face, she inhaled deeply, letting the aroma calm her, though she didn't drink.
The warmth of the cup in her hands and the familiar scent wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
She sank into a chair, tension easing from her shoulders as she closed her eyes for a moment, the untouched cup resting beside her. Rubbing her face, she tried to massage away the weariness that clung to her bones.
Suddenly, the sharp buzz of her com shattered the fragile calm. Heart racing, she reached for the device as the message came through: the Council had made their decision.
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