When We Two Parted

by Kaly (razrbkr@juno.com)

Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/kalyw

Rating: G

Archive: Master_Apprentice. Want it? Just ask me.

Classification: during TPM, angst, first POV

Warnings: Angst; major TPM spoilers

Series: No

Summary: The scene that didn't happen toward the end? Well, this is a different perspective on that.

Feedback: Okay, we all love it, even if we don't like to admit it. ;) But, as this is the first thing I've managed to post in several months, I'm very curious as to what you think!

Notes: Hey... I'm writing again... who knew that would happen. ;) And, I've actually been wanting some fic that dealt more directly with the movie (as opposed to when I was burnt out on it last summer *g*) and so I wrote this.

Thank Yous: Keely, Kristi, Krychick and good ole Master Kim for reading this over at various stages *g* -- Yes, todays fic is brought to you by the letter K! :)

Additional Note: The title and intro are both taken from "When We Two Parted" by George Gordon, Lord Byron. (um, that's not mine either)

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.

When we two parted
  in silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
  To sever for years

The flames of the funeral light up the deep blue of the night, casting the long shadows that mask my presence. The heat warms the air and those nearby, but it fails to reach inside my heart. In this moment, standing so near the raging flames, I cannot help but feel frozen and trapped.

It is a most solemn occasion, but it is not the loss of the man in the flames that moves me. No, it is not the spectacle of the pyre's light to which my eyes are drawn. Rather it is those who stand clustered nearby whom I find myself watching. There are those I do not recognize, others acquaintances and some I have known and loved for years. It is their pain that is the hardest to see.

Some of them are caught up in grief, staring into the flames. They do not realize that I am here, just off to the side and tucked away. What shadows do not hide, the whirlwind of emotion surrounding the enclosure does.

I glance across all of their faces, and feel my own emotions churn in response. Especially when I look at the stoic young man in front. Of all those gathered, I have eyes only for him. Obi-Wan.

The hood of his robe is pulled up, tugged as far forward as he could manage. Still, I can see the emotions that show on his face. Rather, I can see what emotions slip by his rigid control. I've seen this before, his consuming need to be in control of his emotions. I fear he learned that lesson from his Master far too well.

Some might think there is little that effects me, and standing at a funeral unmoved would hardly go toward proving them wrong. However, often they would have been just that. Never more so than at that moment - standing in the shadows, a mere handful of steps away from Obi-Wan - but unable to reach out to him.

Even standing there, among the others, he is alone. My heart feels as though it might thaw, seeing the lost and confused look in his eyes, however brief. I clutch my hands into fists, and press my head back against the wall. While I do not want to miss even the smallest moment that I might have near these people, it pains me to look upon such ill-inflicted sorrow.

Obi-Wan is fighting against that grief and confusion as hard as he can. His composed facade would make any Master proud, yet the emotion is there, only carefully guarded. Jedi or not, it is only human to feel it. Anyone who might take the time to look at him could see his pain. I'm left to wonder if I am the only one who has bothered.

I want to reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder in comfort, as I have done in the past. Yet I cannot. This is something he was destined to journey through without my guidance no matter how much I might despise this particular turn. The Force is ever persistent in maintaining it's course.

Never mind how it might hurt each of us to abide by it.

As I watch, unable not to, he turns and speaks with the young boy who stands next to him. As he does, I try to read Obi-Wan's expression. Both he and Anakin have been through so much recently. So much was left unsaid around each of them during this crazed mission, Obi-Wan especially. I blink, hard, against my own emotion. In Obi-Wan's eyes I can now see only determination. Determination to do as he was asked, to help a boy he is still uncertain of.

A flicker of pride fills me at how he deals with the young boy, before it is shattered. It is replaced with a searing guilt at the renewed flash of pain on Obi-Wan's face as he turns his attention back to the fire.

The boy. Anakin is so young to have lived through so much. Yet through it all I do believe he has found others who will stand by him. Those who will guide him through what perils might lay ahead. The guidance of a Jedi Knight and the companionship of a Queen. Hardly the life of a lost child from the Outer Rim.

Eventually my eyes are torn from Obi-Wan, and I glance at the stone pyre. The flames are lessening, not nearly so bright or tall. Oddly, I cannot bring myself to care about the waning flames. It is then that the mourners begin to part from the scene. The aloof new Chancellor is the first to go. I can hardly say I mind, the man is troublesome at the very least.

Although she casts a sad glance toward the soul who so holds my attention, the Queen moves instead to place a hand on the boy's shoulder and guides him away from the pyre. Anakin looks back toward the man sworn to train and teach him, a lost look in his own eyes, before he allows Amidala to lead him away.

I do not watch them go, and soon is when we two are all that remain. The air is oppressively silent in the eerie stillness that has permeated the evening. Neither he nor I move.

In the end, untold moments later, I am surprised when Obi-Wan collapses to his knees where he before had been standing so motionlessly. I wince at the sound, although Obi-Wan shows no sign of the pain it must have caused. I take half a step toward him, a familiar compulsion to check for injury, before I remember my place. I let go a long breath, silently cursing the laws of the Force.

He bows his head, and I can no longer see any of his youthful features. I do, however, recognize the shaking of his broad shoulders. While I cannot see his tears, I feel an answering moisture bite at my own eyes. For an instant, I am not seeing the grown man before me, but a young boy who pretended to be far more confident than he was.

What part of my heart might have still been cold is warmed, only to break at the near-silent anguish I am witnessing. It is almost enough to bade me leave my hidden alcove, damn any consequences. Almost. Even as my heart shatters at the sound of quiet tears, I cannot move. I have never needed a Jedi's restraint so much as I do in that moment.

He looks up to stare at the now flickering embers, a distant look in his eyes. Again I see the boy who fought so hard for acceptance; and at the same time, the strong, deserving Knight he became. Looking in his eyes, there is a depth of emotion in the swirling blue-green orbs. It is a sight both brilliant and painful to behold.

When his voice shatters the silence, the barest whisper, I flinch at the brittle edge to the words. "He's your golden child, Master."

His eyes turn hard, and I see him clench his fists just for a moment. "Not mine." Then the hostility fades and he shakes his head, a mocking smile on his lips.

Obi-Wan looks upward suddenly, a short, quick motion which causes the hood of his cloak to fall around his shoulders. Finally I am allowed to see the absence of the Knight's tail. I almost smile, knowing of his successful passage into Knighthood. The fact I never doubted it would be so, fails to dissuade me.

"Yet I will do as you asked, my Master." The spark has disappeared from his voice, leaving it hollow. He sounds almost defeated and I find that I want to block my ears to the sound. The dull fire light is reflected on his face, sparking off of the still-wet tear tracks.

I do close my eyes then, for the briefest of moments, unable to bear the open look on his face. However, I know time here is short, and I refuse to allow myself to waste the stolen moments I have been given. As is, truly any suffering he knows now is by my hand, and I shouldn't be allowed to hide from it so easily.

There is more emotion to see now than during the entire ceremony. Although rare to outwardly show emotion, I've always known him to feel as deeply as anyone. I am not surprised that he waited until he believed himself alone for such displays. I was always one of the very few who were allowed inside the walls he built around himself.

He ducks his head, and I can't help but be both curious and a bit worried at what might fall from his lips next. I know him well enough to realize his is thinking hard about something.

When he again looks up his face is dry, but his eyes are bright. He shakes his head, fresh tears breaking from his eyes, before he absently wipes at the shining trails on his cheeks. His gaze doesn't leave the pyre, nor does he even blink.

I hear him speak in a hushed whisper, his voice breaking. "Why did you leave me?" My throat closes, and were I even able to reach out to him, I would be unable to speak.

I feel an answering burn in my own eyes, and I fight the urge to shake my head in denial. The tears fill my eyes for the first time in many years, and my shoulders shake. I find myself replying silently, forgetting for a moment that he cannot hear. "I didn't choose . . ."

Again he shakes his head, before resting his hand on the edge of the pyre. My attention darts to the hand, concerned that he might hurt himself by lack of thought. Although by no means cool, neither is it the raging fire it was earlier, and he doesn't even flinch at the touch.

As it is, I have no true idea of how much time has passed since the funeral ended. My world in that time has revolved only around the man before me.

He kneels for a second longer, not releasing his grip on the edge of the stone. "I miss you." The words are barely that, they are more a mere sudden burst of breath. What might have been left of my heart was lost at the sound.

"Obi-Wan . . ." I think, but again the words are silent. I reach out to him, only to have my arm fall back to my side.

I watch as he walks away, head held high. He would seem to be far more composed than I. I wait until he is out of sight before turning my back to the cooling pyre. I move away silently, quickly. There is nothing to mark my presence there, nor my departure. Resignedly, I admit it is for the best that it be that way.

However, once outside the domed building I turn and look over my shoulder. Almost of its own volition, my gaze traces the path to the palace. There I see him, red-gold hair glinting in the moonlight, head high and back straight.

The faintest smile I find at the surety in the man I'm leaving behind is tempered by the tear that slips free at that last glimpse. He follows the pat around a bend, and finally moves out of my sight. My chest tightens - my heart wanting to fight against the unwelcome farewell.

I lower my head for the briefest moment at the loss. I shall miss him more than I would have thought it possible to miss anyone two decades before. I then straighten my shoulders, and tear my eyes away from the empty path. Turning, I resume my exit into the night.

There are days that I long to damn the Force, for the choices it makes for each of us. Yet, those moments are followed by the belief that the Force, which brought him to me before, will link us together yet again.

All each of us has to do is wait. Until then, I will do what I must.

End