Summary: Obi-Wan looks back over time and to the future while
waiting for destiny on Tatooine.
Feedback: Okay, we all love it, even if we don't like to admit
it. ;) And hey - I won't even try to mind-whammy ya for it :)
Thank Yous: Thanks to Beth and Kim for the betas, and Kristi
for the very early-on readover :)
Disclaimer: Ya know, I wouldn't put Obi through the misery that
canon does... So I'm hoping it's painfully obvious that the
boys aren't mine.
The days on Tatooine are deadly, mid-afternoon especially so.
The nights lack the cruel suns, but hide their own perils in
the darkness. Between the two, there is little time to wander
among the dunes that surround my small hovel. Just as well,
there is little to see amid the sands.
Each morning I walk, my way lighted by the pink skies of
predawn. I keep just in sight of my dwelling, and walk along
the perimeter of the land I inhabit. I keep the hood of my robe
pulled up high, hiding my face.
This serves a joint purpose. Partly for protection from the
double suns, but also, in some small way, to add to the
mystique that surrounds me. Someone that is merely whispered
about, and never directly looked at, is more likely to be
ignored by the Empire's whelps and paid-hunters.
It is unlikely that I will meet anyone during my chores. After
many years, I have yet to do so. Even though I do nothing to
stop the crude rumors, that I am nothing more than a wizard or
fool, I still loathe the idea. It is sad - what I have lived to
see the once-revered Jedi reduced to.
I check the few water vaporizers. Tedious work, this. Tasks
reapeated, each morning after the next. Yet if I am to survive
on this harsh world, I must put aside my own petty comforts and
move onward. There is little for me to do here, hidden away in
plain sight, and my tasks are accomplished quickly.
No, I cannot say I enjoy this work, but I relish the small
diversion. In fact, I can only truly regret that my chores are
done so soon. The midday that follows drags on endlessly. Then
I am left to my own devices, and what would I give for the
opportunity to practice forms, katas - anything to keep busy.
But in the wastes I cannot risk using my lightsaber.
Long hours later the suns fall low and I can venture out once
more. Although not truly needed, I recheck the vaporizers that
sustain my meager existence. The repetition that has become my
life is mind-numbing, and occasionally I find that I miss the
excitement of my youth. The same adventure I was so often told
not to crave.
As I walk, right at dusk, I reach outward. Some distance away,
if I concentrate just right, I can feel the faintest stirrings
in the Force. Golden and pure, a young boy grows, guided by my
estranged family. Although I have only seen him twice since
bringing him to the guardianship of my brother, I am comforted
by his safe presence.
Ironic, isn't it? Where better to hide one of the twins who
might grow up to save the galaxy - to undo the painful mistakes
of men soon dead - than in the open expanses of the planet of
his father's birth?
His father. My apprentice, fallen from grace. The last time I
did see Luke, I was surprised by the sudden memories that
struck me. That of another young, fair-haired boy. My feelings
for Anakin have been at the heart of many meditations, even
before we lost the bridge that joined us. My Master was the
link that drew us together, and that link was lost far too
early for both Anakin and myself.
The anger I once felt has left me. The echoes of his screams as
he fell into the molten pit have not. Nor do I think they ever
will. I shudder when I acknowledge that.
Guard duty, such as mine, is a long and tiresome affair. It is
one that I bear, if not gladly then without complaint. It is in
the nature of my calling to bear most any burden without
comment, and I continue to live as I was raised and taught by
my Master. My duty now lies with the children who hold the
future in their destiny.
Call it retribution if you will, a debt owed the galaxy. Now my
place is to guide a light to banish the darkness I helped to
spawn.
Luke's sister is guarded similarly, tucked into the ruling
family of an ever-peaceful world. While guarding her is not my
duty, I think of her often. As I still often think of her
mother before her. Lost long ago - the beautiful Queen was
defiant until the end, even as her world crumbled. I have known
few truer friends than she.
The greatest relationship that I was ever blessed enough to
know has been lost to me the longest. That relationship has
been absent to me now for more years than I held its gift. That
loss marked the turning point in my life. The days when I might
turn to another, for comfort or reassurance, ended with a
single fatal blow.
Now, whenever the nights feel as if they will stretch on into
eternity, and the world lies eerily still, I find what little
comfort where I can. When the ghosts of memory are at their
worst, I reach out toward that unknowing light I stand watch
over. It is but a brief touch, lest anyone seeking such a sign
sense it as well.
That age, when I might have known such a lightness of spirit,
naive to the darkness the galaxy holds, is long passed. In its
place has settled years that twist from apathy to
determination, downward to anger and back again.
Endless years on a barren rock with only my past to examine and
an uncertain future to ponder will do that to a person. Such
apathy is not an emotion befitting a Jedi; yet, isn't it true
that there are no Jedi left?
No, contrary to Palpatine's propoganda, that is not quite true.
There are two of us who do remain. We hold on, refusing to let
go of this life - a mere two left out of thousands, Yoda and I.
My Master's Master and I are the only ones who remember the old
ways and the peaceful, although bureaucratic, Republic we once
served.
Beyond Yoda and I who are, both grown old and weary, are the
two children who will eventually step forward to take our
place.
If the ends justify the means, then the long years of solitude
and misery Yoda, Amidala, and I have endured will be rewarded
with the fall of Palpatine's virus-like Empire. I have to
believe that the future shall be bright enough to rival the
past we've lost.
If only the same could be said for the perils and failures that
I've known in these dark years. The years since my Master was
lost. His death the final strike of the portent to this
smothering darkness.
I stand just inside what passes as a home, although I've not
felt the connection of home anywhere since that time. Looking
out across the wastes, I squint against the harsh light. I
blink quickly when I pull the blinds closed and turn to look
into the shadows that fill the interior of the building. I have
to wait for just an instant as my eyes adjust.
My dwelling is almost empty of furniture; I have very little I
need to live among the desolate planes. My one extravagance is
a tattered desk next to the far wall, tucked into the corner.
Far in the back of the lowermost drawer rests a book. In an age
of padd's and electronics for communication, a true book such
as it is a rarity.
I have found, in recent years, that this book is one of the few
things that can pierce through the shields of apathy that
surround me. When everything began to spin out of control,
during Palpatine's push for power, feeling anything was a risk.
Especially for a Jedi.
The walls I have now were borne of that necessity. The
necessity that the Jedi - and my apprentice's two children -
survive. And even though there is no one near enought to sense,
much less care what I'm feeling . . . I find that I cannot
change. The idea of facing the clamor of emotion that would
follow such loss is humbling - my lack of facing them, shaming.
As such, tears are lost to me. But this was true even before I
pushed away other emotions. Beside my Master's burning pyre,
choked tears fell from my eyes. Not once since have I found the
heart to cry. Even the loss and death I have been witness to
was unable to rip such emotion from me.
I have often wondered if a part of me died along with my Master
that day.
I sit in front of my desk, and open the drawer. The book I keep
is not a legend of times past, as are most of the few that
remain. Rather, it is a journal that I have kept - off and on -
in the years since I became a Jedi Knight. It is my bound
journal - a birthday day gift from Qui-Gon, just before our
final mission. My Master was fond of such antiques, and I smile
faintly, thinking about how he taught me to share that passion.
Inside it are sketches, thoughts and meanderings. Some are
emotional, some not so. For some reason, I never chose to share
the journal with my own apprentice. His ignorance of it is
probably what allowed me to save it during my flight. A small
favor granted me by my fallen Padawan, but one I find myself
remarkably grateful for all the same. That book is one of my
most valued possessions, simply because it was a gift from my
Master.
Most common within it, buried among the papers toward the back,
are letters.. Thoughts meant for a person who will never see
them. I do my best not to think on the idea that he will never
read the pages I've collected.
The pain of loss is not gone, nor would I wish it to be.
However, I could not live day to day if I were to focus on it.
Instead it hovers in the background, the vaguest of shadows
haunting my carefully built shields. The pain mocks me, lying
in wait for the still hours, especially late at night when I
lie awake in bed. Living among so many at the Temple, I never
imagined I would face a fate so utterly alone.
Taking my journal from the desk, along with my one remaining
antique quill, I sit at the desk. I hold onto the quill
tightly, my ever-dry eyes pressed closed, my breath catching in
my chest. When escaping to this world, I was able to bring a
scant few things with me. Remnants of Qui-Gon are all the more
precious for it.
However, it has been many cycles since I have written to my
Master, and I find myself unable to resist writing once more.
After scribbling the date at the top of the page, I begin.
It's been years now, my Master. Ages both fast and slow have
passed since that yellow-eyed demon stole your life. I made a
promise to you then. Empty and alone I vowed to share with
another the lessons and gifts that you so eloquently bestowed
unto me.
To know that I failed in that, my one greatest vow, shall
shadow my heart until the end. He was your great discovery,
Qui-Gon. Anakin was yours to mold and guide and teach - never
mine. To think it so, even after your pleading request, was
merely a fateful presumption on everyone's part.
This world I inhabit now is a marked contrast to that where our
journey together began. Bright oranges and reds, rather than
the dull grays of Bandomeer. As much a contrast as lies between
that exuberant boy I once was and the war wizened general that
remains in his stead.
Often I find myself facing a stranger in the mirror. On
occasion I wonder if you would even recognize me, could you
look upon me now. Would you, if given the chance? Or might you
turn from your wayward student? A legacy left behind which is
possibly a greater failure than even Xanatos. It must be true,
for only a cold heart indeed could set loose upon the galaxy
the cruel hatred of Vader's wrath.
Should you look upon me, my Master, and I upon you, what might
I see in your eyes? Pain and regret rightfully earned, or the
faintest spark of love for a once Padawan long tired by the
journey? I wonder if even that might warm my neglected heart,
too long shied away from friends and lovers.
Little brings comfort, even the feel of my saber in my hands is
denied to me. Fitting that my greatest, and only, comfort lies
in knowing that you did not remain to see your prophecy's fall.
If that is because it saves you pain, or guards my shattered
pride, I've long forgotten.
Even still, I miss you, my Master.
My hand falls still, and I close the book gently. Nothing I
have written is a new feeling, merely those that have yet to
fade. I shake my head against the futile words and replace the
journal in its hidden spot.
The sky grows dim, and there is again work to be done. No more
time today for thinking on things I cannot correct. The winds
are swift and times are set to change - I am certain, for I can
feel it. I must be ready when this change comes to pass, not
distracted by my own problems.
Duty waits for no one, and for my remaining tasks survival is
essential. So once more I head out into the desert. There is
little point in spending the cool evening hours on daydreams of
once more seeing Qui-Gon.
I shake my head at the thought. For all I have borne, I do it
to ensure the future, but I would dearly love the assurance of
the Master I lost along the way. I move forward, wishing he
were beside me, even if just among the Force.
I successfully manage to refrain from reaching out into the
swirling eddies of the Force; I know well what I will find
there. Rather, from years of absence, I know what I will not. I
cannot feel him, I have not felt his presence since he died in
my arms. What small part of me might still feel sadness is
weighed down by the absence.
The thought does sadden me, but I swallow the lump in my throat
as I pull on my robe. I am left with but one thought. Were I to
see him again, if he chose to visit me . . . surely it would
have been long before now.
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