Work Text:
Unlawful
“You know what the Senate will decide. They will not send aid to a neutral system.”
Obi-Wan knew the barely-leashed despair in his voice would not impress his fellow masters. He knew further debate would prove fruitless. Master Ki Adi Mundi had succinctly summarized the official position of both the Jedi Council and the Senate. Mandalore had maintained steadfast neutrality throughout the increasingly costly war – and now would pay the price. No one had resources to waste on what looked like an internal dispute.
And even before the current upheaval, it had never been the place of the Jedi to interfere in a system’s internal politics.
“Obi-Wan. I need your help.”
“At this time, nothing more, can we do,” Yoda said firmly, and his cocked head was a lecture in detachment in itself.
“For you I would have left the Jedi Order.”
I still will, the Negotiator realized as he bowed woodenly and saw himself out of the war room, eyes unseeing as his footsteps followed through on the path he had already determined, the Force a maelstrom of spiny warnings lining a narrow path of brilliant rightness.
Disobedience to the Code was one thing. Disobedience to the vague expectations of the Council another. In each, there was leeway to beg forgiveness when one had not asked permission. But to directly and deliberately disobey Master Yoda…Obi-Wan could only guess at his punishment.
He could not find it in himself to care. The prescience that had flared with such regular ill-effect in his youth remained silent, as it often did when faced with the prospect of immediate action. There would be no hints as to his future along this path.
But forewarned and forbidden, he could not ignore her. The recording ended with Satine on her knees, surrounded by Death Watch. He could not leave the woman he loved at the mercy of butchers and crime lords. No matter what the Jedi thought. Regardless of what the Mandalorians wanted.
“Obi-Wan. I need your help.”
**********
“Going somewhere, Master?” Obi-Wan froze on the ramp as Anakin’s amused voice cut through his hasty, unasked acquisition of the Twilight. Heaving a sigh, he turned around.
“I need it for an errand for a few days. You and Ahsoka are Temple-bound for the next few weeks. I figured you wouldn’t miss it,” he replied. And if I don’t ask you for it, you’re not implicated, no matter what happens to me.
Anakin was frowning now as he picked up the thought, his unique and powerful grasp on the Force funnelled uncomfortably onto Obi-Wan, tugging at the edges of their bond where the older Jedi had deliberately closed his thoughts.
“What’s wrong? Where are you going that you can’t do it in your own fighter?”
Obi-Wan exhaled, shoving Anakin back mentally as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His often-self-absorbed former Padawan had picked the most inconvenient time to favor the older man with his perceptive mind. He briefly considered lying, instantly discarded the idea. He had never lied to Anakin and he wasn’t going to start now. “Mandalore.”
Anakin brightened momentarily. “Reeeeeally? That kind of errand?” But his smug glee swiftly faded as he searched Obi-Wan’s face, the tension winding between them, prickling uncomfortably.
“Not that kind of errand,” the younger man deduced flatly.
“It’s Death Watch. They’ve deposed Satine and I can’t—” Obi-Wan cut himself off, turning his face away. He couldn’t explain this to Anakin. He knew how the other man felt about Senator Amidala. Heavily suspected that their relationship had been consummated. He would be no fit master if he tacitly encouraged such attachment by helping Anakin draw conclusions about his relationship with Satine.
And would it be the wrong conclusion, Obi-Wan? The amused question sounded so much like his old master that Obi-Wan nearly looked around for the long-dead Qui-Gon before shaking his head. This situation was clearly muddying his thoughts. A distant part of him knew that when Anakin had acted like this in the days of his apprenticeship—
“Put the ship down!”
“Anakin! Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way!”
“I can’t leave her!”
“Come to your senses! What do you think Padmé would do were she in your position?”
—he had demanded his Padawan fulfill his duties and release his worries to the Force.
But Anakin was not arguing with him or sarcastically making remarks on the tables turning. The younger Jedi was already level with him on the ramp. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
An explosion of warmth surged in the Obi-Wan’s chest, momentarily robbing him of breath. His bond to his apprentice – strengthened after years of campaigning together rather than withered after training – glowed with a mixture of determination and commitment, and the fierce, bright loyalty of lovebrotherfather that had always – even in their worst moments together – been the bedrock of Anakin.
“No.” The master gritted his teeth before forcing out: “I can’t let you come with me. I haven’t been cleared for this mission by the Council.”
Anakin stared at him as if he were being deliberately dense. “Of course you haven’t. Why should that matter?”
Why should that matter? Qui-Gon would be proud. The elder Jedi’s voice was sharp as he continued. “I can’t ask you to come with me on a mission that may end up with my censure.” Possibly his removal from the Council. A distant part of him panicked at the idea, but he still could not make himself care in the face of his immediate, present desperation to get to Satine.
“You didn’t ask, I volunteered. I’m not letting you walk into that gundark’s nest on your own, Obi-Wan. Death Watch is a serious threat, one I have yet to properly face, despite you and Padmé,” Anakin’s frown deepened, “having crossed paths with them several times.”
Obi-Wan knew that look on the taller man’s face: Anakin would not be deterred. He cared little enough for the Council’s opinion as it was. It had been many years since the young Jedi had truly believed the Council knew best in every situation, and the war had only exacerbated the problem. Like grandmaster, like grandpadawan.
They were wasting time. “Come,” he bade his friend curtly. “And follow my lead.”
His anxiety clearly bled through their bond, spikes slinging worry through the Force, because Anakin made no sarcastic rejoinder, levity suspended as they strode up the ramp and strapped themselves in. He provided no sardonic jibe as they fired the Twilight’s engines, only making a quick, vague holo call to Ahsoka to inform her of his absence and sternly remind her about completing her Temple studies. Obi-Wan could tell his grandpadawan was more than slightly miffed to be left behind and in the dark about their mission, but he couldn’t spare more than a twinge of sympathy for the young woman, thoughts consumed by what awaited them on Mandalore.
“Obi-Wan, I need your help.”
**********
“That’s your plan?” Anakin yelped, crossing his arms as he glared at his former master. “Blast your way past the dock guard, infiltrate a high-security prison, grab Duchess Satine and then make your way back to the ship through the destruction you’ve just caused? ”
Obi-Wan glared at him. “Simple. Swift. No flourishes. Need I remind you that deposed political leaders do not often survive more than a handful of days? By the time they’ve realized what’s happened, we’ll be gone.”
Anakin rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m with you, Master. This is only going to work with two of us. Alone, you would have gotten someone killed. Probably you.”
“Haha. Your confidence is most reassuring. We’re about to revert. Make sure our signal is masked.”
They dropped out of hyperspace on the approach to Mandalore herself. Obi-Wan perched on the edge of his seat as the planet grew in his vision, but beside him, he felt a spike of surprise, followed by a cold suspicion.
“What is it?”
“Who did you say had taken over Mandalore?” the younger Jedi asked slowly.
“Death Watch. And Satine mentioned crime lords as well. Why?”
“You can’t feel it?” Now the surprise was directed towards Obi-Wan.
It was hard to feel anything over the desire to crawl out of his own skin, the pressing need to get down to the planet, growing worse with every passing breath. “Feel what?” he snapped.
“Darkness. Cold. Either Ventress is down there with a friend, or there are more Sith acolytes than we thought. Who are these crime lords?”
“She didn’t specify,” he admitted, wondering at the crawling Dark that clawed so obviously against his senses since his brother had pointed it out. Two presences, both familiar. The foreign brush of Dathomiri magicks edged the fangs seeking to sink into them. Ventress it was. With one of her siblings.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and thanked the Force that Anakin had come with him. He was confident in his ability to handle Death Watch in whatever numbers they could summon to throw at him, regardless of their formidable training. But Mandalorian warriors assisted by Ventress and another, unknown (though he should know it, he recognized these signatures, he should be able to place a name to the second), Darksider? The goal was to rescue Satine and escape in one piece, not descend into an out-and-out battle with would-be Sith where they were dreadfully outnumbered.
“Change of plan. You can’t wait with the ship. We’ll only be able to take them together. I’ll need you with me the whole way,” Obi-Wan said after a moment.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, Master,” Anakin said, shooting him a grin as he started the landing cycle. “Let’s go rescue the duchess.”
***********
Getting to the prison had been easy. Far too easy. “This is a trap,” Anakin said baldly as they reached the floor where Satine was imprisoned. They’d strode in past no more than a handful of guards on their way in. Even dressed as they were in stolen Death Watch armor, the situation stank of deceit.
“So it is. But I fail to see a way to our goal without springing it,” Obi-Wan admitted. He held up a fist, halting. “She’s on this floor. I’ll go. Stay here and cover the exit.”
“Eager for a little alone time, Obi-Wan?” Anakin ribbed, humor returned as they closed on their objective. Obi-Wan glared at him from behind his mask, easily picturing his apprentice’s grin under his helm.
“Hardly,” he bit back. “Just keep the path to the lift clear, Anakin.”
“Anything you say, Master.” Obi-Wan hardly heard the other man’s blithe reply as he hurried down the metal walkway to the transparisteel box containing one of the two most important people to him in the universe.
“Attachment leads to carelessness. Ignore the needs of the many to save the one, would you, Padawan?” Yoda’s voice echoed across the years. Naive, fifteen-year-old Obi-Wan would have studiously scribbled down the words, regarding every utterance from the Grandmaster’s mouth as pearls of wisdom.
Twenty years later, a warrior, a general, a diplomat, a member of the Jedi High Council, master to a man he’d raised and loved like a brother and grandmaster to a Padawan who was shaping up to be a formidable maverick Jedi in her own right, Obi-Wan added a footnote to the aging master’s philosophy. Sometimes the needs of the one only you can save will also help the many. Even if they were a neutral system, it could not be in the best interests of Mandalore or her people to be ruled by crime syndicates. Left unchecked, the cost in life and Light would surely be catastrophic.
Especially since the architects were Sith-trained.
The blonde head was bowed, her back to him. But he didn’t need to see her face to know he’d found her. He opened the door.
“Here to do more of your master’s bidding?” Her voice was cold dignity, slicing the air between them. Obi-Wan had never been so glad to hear it.
“I do my own bidding,” he told her, pulling off his helmet.
“Obi-Wan!” She leapt to her feet and threw herself at him, curling against him in a confession of relief, of helplessness, in gratitude, in love. Reflexively, the Jedi’s arms came up to embrace her, to cradle her close and murmur that she was safe now, that he would never let her go—
—but Anakin was just down the hall. He and Satine had decided more than a decade ago that they would not pursue these feelings. He could not give in to his instincts, the clamoring of his beating heart to throw all caution aside and just kiss her as he’d wanted to since he’d seen that desperate transmission.
He gently set a hand on her shoulder and disentangled himself. She straightened, self-control returning as swiftly as it had abandoned her. “Are you alone?”
“Not quite. The Jedi Council and Galactic Senate will be of no help to us here.”
“But…?”
“But Anakin caught me ‘borrowing’ his ship. He insisted on joining me.”
A mischievous, relieved smile lit the duchess’ face. “Of course he did. I would expect nothing less of the man Padmé loves.”
Obi-Wan covered his eyes with his free hand, mortification briefly distracting him from escape. “Does everyone know about that?”
She blinked at him. “Of course not. She hasn’t even said as much to me, but a woman knows when a friend has a certain look in her eye. I’m sure Padmé has deduced how I feel about you.”
A pained expression flashed across the Jedi’s face, but he quelled it quickly, checking the hallway before grabbing her hand and pulling her out behind him, keeping his armored body between her unprotected one and the rest of the exposed floor. He dropped her hand as they approached Anakin, but there was a strong undercurrent of amusement in their bond that told him he was too late.
“Jedi Skywalker,” she greeted him quietly. “I trust you two have an escape plan, then?”
Not a good one, Anakin thought at him.
“As always,” Obi-Wan assured her, ignoring his fellow Jedi and tapping the lift button before Anakin could say it aloud.
“A pleasure to see you again, Duchess,” Anakin’s voice was muffled by his helmet.
The lift opened to reveal a member of Death Watch. Obi-Wan felt his friend tense, but the younger man made no sudden move. They glanced at each other briefly over Satine’s head, then Obi-Wan’s hand was on her back, shoving her roughly into the pod. Anakin followed, every muscle on high alert as he took a position behind the duchess and slightly to her right.
For a moment, as the lift began to slowly eke downwards, it seemed they were going to get away with it cleanly. Then the other man said:
“There’s no record of a prisoner transfer here.”
“The orders came from upstairs,” Obi-Wan responded without a moment of hesitation.
Again, it appeared for a handful of seconds that that would be the end of it. The Mandalorian shrugged and faced forward…only to turn suspiciously and ask:
“What’s the authorization code?”
Aggressive negotiations are more my style anyway, Anakin thought as he chopped the man in the neck before anyone could bluff and give him warning, striking his jugular where his armor left him exposed.
“Anakin. ” Obi-Wan’s exasperation rang clear as their enemy clanged to the floor.
“What were we going to do? Make up a number and hope we got it right? The Force doesn’t work like that.”
The older Jedi could see his point, but he wasn’t going to admit it.
Their two speeders were still parked on the arrival platform. Perfect. All they had to do was get to them—
“Hey you! Stop!”
“Go!” Anakin yelled, lightsaber already humming. “I’ll catch up!”
“Get on!” Obi-Wan shoved Satine at a speeder. It went against the ingrained instincts of more than a decade to follow her rather than draw his ‘saber and defend his Padawan—
—but Anakin was a knight now, and had been a fierce, capable fighter for years. One who would not welcome his master’s help while wasting precious time to escape with the defenseless duchess. Obi-Wan climbed onto the speeder Satine had already claimed, molding his chest to her back as he reached around her for the controls, blocking her unarmored body with his beskar-plated one. He revved the engine and took off to the sound of deflected blaster fire.
Anakin heard the speeder shoot off behind him with grim satisfaction, blocking the bolts now aiming around him to catch the speeder, trying to angle close enough to chop his opponent’s weapon in half. But the Mandalorians had used the centuries to hone their skills specifically to fight Jedi, and he couldn’t get an opening in time to stop the man calling a warning.
The hum of incoming aircraft told him it was time to disengage. He threw out a hand, shoving his adversary back inside the prison before somersaulting onto the remaining speeder. Another wave of his hand closed and locked the door.
“Jedi scum!” the man snarled, fists pounding on his makeshift cell.
“We’ll have to continue this another time!” Anakin told the infuriated Mandalorian, putting his foot down and bringing the screeching speeder about before shooting after Obi-Wan.
He arrived at the port just behind a slightly larger air taxi, in time to see the Twilight taking heavy fire as his master tried to lift off. The younger Jedi didn’t spare a single thought to worry about apparently being left behind. Mandalore’s rightful ruler had to be the priority – he could look out for himself until he could steal a ship to get off world.
And he knew he would be doing the same in Obi-Wan’s position if Padmé was in danger.
Cold pierced him. The Dark Side saturated the air as two Zabraks—
—neither one was Ventress, how many apprentices did this Sith master have?—
—disembarked from the air taxi in front of him, coiling around them in satisfaction. Nausea settled in Anakin’s stomach as they faced away from him, eyes fixed on the floundering Twilight. It was a trap. And they hadn’t cleverly escaped at the prison. This moment was the one the Darksiders had carefully forced them towards.
Obi-Wan was running out of time to save the woman he loved, fear and worry rebounding across their bond in incoherent snatches of thought as his master fought for control of the craft. Death Watch and their Sith masters needed to be distracted. Now.
You’re the closest thing I have to a father. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for the man who’d raised him.
“Hey! Bantha brains!” he yelled, launching himself from his speeder. The Zabraks turned in time to see the uncontrolled craft speeding straight for them and they dove to the side as the speeder slammed into the taxi, metal screaming as both transports tore across the landing pad, scattering Death Watch in their wake. Anakin was relieved to see Obi-Wan take advantage of the sudden pause to right the Twilight in the midst of take off.
A crimson lightsaber flared to life in the red Zabrak’s hand, his yellow-green companion following suit with his own double-bladed weapon.
Anakin stared at the shorter man, lightsaber blocking automatically in moves ingrained from thousands of hours of practice as memory overwhelmed him.
“Anakin! Drop!”
Black robes flapping like an overgrown bird of prey as a speeder flies over his head, close enough for the exhaust steam to singe his back. The rider leaping from the seat, blade already ignited as he flips forward to lock blades with Qui-Gon.
“Go!” the Jedi bellows. “Tell them to take off!”
The hum of a lightsaber near his ear yanked him out of his flashback as he flicked his blade in a parry and he jerked backwards, cursing his timing. They had taken advantage of his distraction to close in. Sabers flashed, nearly sparking in their proximity, but fury welled in Anakin as he focused on the smaller Nightbrother, the face of his first real victory coupled with devastating loss.
“I did it! I was in the ship and the autopilot engaged and there were lasers firing everywhere! And then I felt this…” Anakin flounders for a moment, uncertain how to put that pull, that absolute certitude into words, “this feeling that I had to turn and fire, and I did and it exploded!”
The boy looks eagerly to Obi-Wan, hoping for admiration in that blue gaze has seemed so disapproving since the instant Anakin had boarded their ship on Tatooine—
“The boy is dangerous. The Council can sense it. Why can’t you?”
—to meet eyes nearly grey with pain, the sheen of loss bright in them.
“Obi-Wan?” he falters, childish voice pitching higher. He glances about them, suddenly all too aware that Qui-Gon has not emerged from the hallway with his apprentice. Sickness builds in his stomach as the emotional agony of the man squatting in front of him broils around them.
“Where’s Master Qui-Gon?” he whispers, and he does not need the Padawan’s answer to know the truth, to feel the ragged edges in the universe like a monster with massive teeth has bitten into it and ripped the man away from them both.
Now he was facing that monster.
Hatred swelled in him. This…creature had taken a good man, a Freer of Slaves, and slaughtered him. Anakin’s hope of acceptance, of love, of compassion from the Jedi Order had been destroyed with Qui-Gon. The aftershocks of Qui-Gon’s death had forever cracked the foundation of the slave-boy’s place amongst the Jedi. Even now, after years of serving with Obi-Wan, of considering him a brother and father as well as a master, whispers still nipped Anakin’s mind, the poison of his slavery and the Council’s begrudging acquiescence slithering into the fissures of his grandmaster’s absence.
“What will happen to me now?”
“You will be a Jedi. I promise.”
A promise made by a grieving apprentice to a dead master. Unwanted. Unneeded.
“You, ” the Jedi snarled, and he curled his fist, yanking the larger male out of the way, sending him into the hangar wall with a violent thrust of the Force. The smaller man wove around his flying gargantuan brother like a viper, red blade singing as it sought to sting, a half-smirk sliding across his face.
“Keep Kenobi here!” Maul bellowed over his shoulder at his stunned ally and the regrouping Mandalorians. He grinned ferally at Anakin as their blades crashed again. “Well, well. If it isn’t Kenobi’s brat and the Chancellor’s favorite hero. The Force is with me today.”
Dancing at the edges of Anakin’s perception was the power he had seized at his mother’s death, the headlong, heedless fury, the bottomless well of addictive strength that made it all right not to care, to glory in his power, the ease with which the Force answered its true master, to revel in the superiority it gave him, to rejoice in putting down animals like the one before him—
Anakin…Obi-Wan’s faintly touched their bond, a bright, steady torch laced with worry and—
—love. That’s love. A brother’s love. A father’s love. His love—
—and the urge to viciousness faded.
The need to win did not. He twirled his saber in an arc as he lunged forward, matching Maul’s Juyo with Djem So as the Zabrak favored him with a speculative look.
The small Sith was quick. His training had been thorough and acrobatic, and their mutual aggression flowed freely between them, strikes punishing and brutal and not-quite-landing as they hissed over clothes and skin, blue and red biting each other savagely.
Two soldiers launched heat-seeking missiles at the Twilight. Anakin parried an overhead strike one-handed, reaching with the other to jerk the explosives with the Force and implode them safely, but the second Sith had recovered and barrelled forward to join the fray, his lightsaber smashing on the Jedi’s blade, and it was focus or lose his head to their sure strikes.
Maybe Snips is onto something with her dual blades, he thought grimly as he parried and gave ground, incorporating the Sorensu Obi-Wan had mastered. Even Djem So could not hold off this attack indefinitely—
—the Twilight’s left engine exploded as the first missile found its target, raining burning shrapnel as she spun uselessly, bucking—
—Master, get out of there!—
The ship exploded over them, and Anakin knew a brief flash of indignation and anger at the loss of his vessel, swiftly released to the Force as he felt Obi-Wan thrown clear.
The precious seconds spent confirming his brother’s continuing presence in the galaxy of the living cost him dearly. A red blade hovered inside his guard at his throat, another controlled strike stopped just millimeters from his abdomen, both sparking with deadly electricity at close range.
“Surrender,” Maul said in his soft voice. “Your dear master is in no condition to fight, and if I say the word, my Mandalorian friends will be only too happy to execute a Jedi.”
Obi-Wan! The older man was non-responsive, their bond ringing with pain. Gritting his teeth, Anakin sheathed his weapon. The larger Zabrak wrenched it from his hand.
“Put him in binders,” Maul bade his accomplice. “And then we shall see to Kenobi.”
**********
“Time for Plan B?” Anakin muttered wryly as they were marched forcibly into the throne room by four Mandalorians.
“I don’t suppose Artoo is busy coming up with something clever,” Obi-Wan replied weakly.
“Desperate enough to hope for a droid rescue, Master? I’ll have to tell him when we get back to Coruscant.”
“Silence!” Members of Death Watch cuffed them as they yanked the Jedi to a halt in front of the Sith occupying Mandalore’s highest seat. Maul waved a careless hand.
“Keep Skywalker back. Bring Kenobi forward.”
Obi-Wan barely spared a glance at Qui-Gon’s killer as he was shoved toward the new-minted crime lord, his gaze caught on Satine, thankfully unhurt as she knelt next to her throne.
“Your noble flaw is a weakness shared. By you…” Maul’s hand came up as he rose, using the Force to lift Satine by her neck. Obi-Wan took an instinctive step forward and his guards seized his shoulders, “...and your duchess. You should have chosen the Dark Side, Master Jedi.” He spit the last two words as he descended, dragging Satine with him. “Your emotions betray you. Your fear, and yes…your anger. Let your anger deepen your hatred.”
“Don’t listen to him, Obi!” the duchess gasped.
“You can kill me. But you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the Dark Side. Only the weak embrace it.” A sudden spike of guilt stabbed through his bond with Anakin, guilt and…shame?
“It is more powerful than you know,” Maul hissed. His yellow eyes slid to where Anakin stood, and a feral smile curled his mouth. “Your apprentice though…he does not have your…inhibitions, Kenobi. Ask him if he felt weak embracing the Dark Side.”
Obi-Wan refused to look away from Satine, even as mortification and contrition saturated the link to his brother. Anakin…?
I’m so, so sorry, Master. Flickering visions of pain, loss, blood, fire and rage skittered across their bond, underpinned by a Darkness so dense it was nauseating.
Momentary horror threatened to distract him, but Satine’s pained gasp re-focused his attention even as humiliation tied to a soul-deep remorse flooded from the Jedi behind him, haloed by the brilliant Light the boy from Tatooine had always possessed. The Dark poisoning their link slithered off, and Obi-Wan felt his chest loosen as an unknown weight lifted.
He knew Anakin. Knew that his prodigious abilities had made him arrogant, knew that as a Padawan he’d struggled with guidance meant to teach him to calmly engage when he could use force to reach his objective more quickly, knew that Anakin had always sought to be in control of every situation.
But Obi-Wan also knew that his apprentice felt the Force so keenly that he could feel death and destruction from star systems away and would do everything he could to prevent it. Knew that Anakin’s desire for decisive outcomes and absolute control was less about commanding others and more about ensuring he could protect his loved ones.
The younger Jedi was here on Mandalore because he loved Obi-Wan, because what was important to his master was thereby critical to Anakin by default. It was attachment, that bane of the Order, and the older man realized with a rush of absolute certainty that he would not change that part of Anakin even if he could. Of course he had felt the pull of the Dark. So had Obi-Wan. It was not possible to lose a loved one and not brush against it.
Mace Windu, premiere Jedi of the Order, had used his Darkness to create Vaapad. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to think less of Anakin for his struggle. If anything…
You are so strong, Anakin. I am so proud of you.
…and just like that, the fear growing behind him dissipated, soothed by his confirmation that this Sith would not be allowed to drive a wedge between them.
“He obviously didn’t feel like it made him stronger,” Obi-Wan challenged Maul, smirking. “There is no Darkness now. Those who oppose it are stronger than you’ll ever be.” He took a breath, forcing his expression back to neutral. He could feel Anakin seething, longing for his lightsaber. He sent a silent reminder to release frustration into the Force and gazed up at Maul with compassionate eyes.
“I know where you’re from. I’ve been to your village,” he kept his tone purposefully gentle, as if he were not the one held captive. “I know the decision to join the Dark Side wasn’t yours. The Nightsisters made it for you.
Maul bared his teeth. “Silence! You think it so easy to simply shut off the Dark Side? You think you know me? It was I who languished for years thinking of nothing but you, nothing but this moment. And now, the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you…but I will make you share my pain, Kenobi. ”
His fist tightened, Satine’s gasps grew fainter, and sick dread foamed in Obi-Wan as Maul held the Darksaber in a ready position.
NO!
He started forward, hands out, anything to stop what was about to happen—
—his Mandalorian guards kicked out his legs, forcing him to his knees as Maul ignited the saber—
—power surged, two sides of the Force crashing around them as Anakin broke his bonds, and the heads of both Sith snapped to him like vornskr scenting prey—
—snarling, Maul jerked his fist, wrenching Satine forward to the dark blade angled to impale her—
—Satine jolted to one side, the blade grazing her tunic as the Darksaber curved back towards Maul’s chin. One hand still extended to fight for control the legendary sword, Anakin kicked one of his guards out, tore his blaster from its holster with the Force and shot the other before putting laser bolts through Obi-Wan’s guard’s exposed necks, the elder Jedi’s grip on Satine unwavering as he leapt to his feet, running for her as Anakin charged the Nightbrothers.
“No! Kenobi!” Maul snarled, but Anakin was there, a beskar spear snatched from one of the fallen Mandalorians trilling as it caught and held on the Darksaber.
“Stop him!” Maul snarled at his apprentice as he struck at the Jedi.
“You’re going to have to re-think your revenge,” Anakin snarled, twirling the spear and blocking Maul’s enraged swings. “Or no…” he pretended to evaluate the Sith while summoning his own lightsaber from the belt of a downed Mandalorian, blue flaring into existence alongside the spear, “No, I think this ends today. With your head on this spear for the Council.”
Maul laughed, high and cold. “Such anger! Your aggression is powerful, Skywalker. So easy to tip into hatred. I can see why the Chancellor likes you. So much power is in you.” He flipped away, blocking Anakin’s next strike and faked a sigh. “Such a shame you are so unwilling to use it.”
Anakin gritted his teeth and consciously let go the part of himself that wanted to shove this Sith bastard into one of Dex’s industrial blenders and mince him. Even when fighting the Sith, a good Jedi did not give in to raw cruelty.
Anakin felt Obi-Wan blast the second Nightbrother backwards, defending Satine as she overrode the lock on a side door.
Anakin! It’s time! his master bellowed through their link. A hastily constructed image of a shipyard with Mandalorians dressed in blue armor thrust into Anakin’s mind.
It’s nice to know someone on this crazy planet is on our side, the younger man thought irritably.
Now! Obi-Wan ordered.
Anakin ignored him, glaring at the Sith. They could defeat Maul and his brother swiftly and take them back to Coruscant for questioning. There would be no reprimand from the Council if they returned with acolytes of the Dark.
Better for Mandalore to be temporarily left in the hands of the Death Watch than ruled by a Sith.
Maul struck, Anakin parried, returned a thrust the Nightbrother dodged. Cold drenched them, sudden enough to make the Jedi’s teeth chatter. Maul’s presence was a night breeze by comparison. Halfway through a vicious swing aimed at removing Anakin’s head, the Zabrak froze, stared skyward.
“I sense…I have not felt this presence since…” Anakin’s blade, leveled to take Maul apart at the knees, vibrated painfully as the larger Sith intercepted and blocked it. Tattooed face twisted in an ugly sneer, he swept his double-bladed lightsaber back to shear off Anakin’s hand—
—the Jedi leapt backwards as Maul threw out his hands. “Enough!” he barked. “Master.” His gaze went unerringly to the as-yet-closed double doors.
The Hero with No Fear froze, his breath coming in puffs in the icy air. Master. The Sith master?
Anakin! Obi-Wan’s faintly impatient cry barreled along their length, but he barely registered it. The Sith master. The one behind the Separatists. The man behind the war.
They could end this. He could end this. Today. In this throne room.
“You…you cannot be here,” Maul rasped, turning both the Darksaber and his own blade on Anakin. “You must not be here.”
“Then you’ll come quietly?” the Jedi challenged as he jumped over the swinging blades. “I’m sure the Jedi Temple has wonderful accommodations in the detention level if you’re so afraid of your master.”
“There is no time to fight with a self-aggrandizing Jedi!” Maul growled. He thrust out his hands and Anakin skidded back as the Force bucked around him, shoving him towards the door Satine had broken open.
“No,” he breathed out, bracing himself against the Force, he set his feet and started to sprint back towards the brothers—
Their faces twisted as they reached for the Dark and tangled it together and enmeshed him in it, the combined strength of their desperation strangling him as the Force congealed around him, but Anakin had touched the power of both Son and Daughter on Mortis, these two Sith apprentices could not be allowed to stop him now. He seized the Force and ripped, freeing himself, and heard the larger one grunt in pain in the wake of the backlash. Blue blade blazing, he was on them again, saber whirling to dispatch them before the master arrived—
—the great formal doors blasted open, bringing with them a killing frost. Anakin spun, saw a black-robed and hooded figure. The Sith master, he thought furiously, tensing to charge.
“No,” the figure snarled, and twitched his hand. The Force solidified at his command and rammed the Jedi with the speed and brutality of a star ship crashing, sending him flying backwards across the room—
“ANAKIN!”
—his head struck the wall, and darkness took him.
**********
Consciousness returned abruptly, but Anakin retained enough presence of mind to keep his breath coming in long draws in case he’d been captured, in case his captor was nearby.
He was outdoors. The chilly wind whistling around them meant in atmosphere and in motion. He recognized the rough hum of the planet-going craft, the metal plating under him and the restraints around his waist indicated he was clearly in a larger speeder or taxi of some kind.
Obi-Wan’s presence was close, urgent, tense, but not panicked. Probably not captured, then. The Jedi risked opening his eyes.
They watered instantly as the wind ripped over them. Narrowing them to slits, Anakin craned his neck to check their surroundings.
“Oh, thank the Ka'ra. Obi-Wan! He’s awake!”
“Tell him to stay down!” his former master called, and the speeder rocked as it took blaster fire.
“Where are we?” Anakin grunted at Satine, disobeying on principle as he sat up and removed the belt that was already only doing mediocre service as a safety device. “Where is the Sith master?”
“We’re on our way to the largest docks this side of the planet. My sister has arranged a ship for us. The Sith master didn’t seem interested in following us. He was fighting with Maul and Savage Opress when he escaped.”
“Why?” the Jedi wondered with a wince as he touched the back of his head. Surely the capture or death of the Negotiator and the Hero with No Fear made for better propaganda than beating up on two of his minions.
“Who knows?” Satine shrugged, glanced over her shoulder and blanched at what she saw behind them. “Obi-Wan! Incoming on the left!”
Anakin’s hand darted to his belt…to find it empty. “Where’s my lightsaber?”
“It fell out of your hand when you struck the wall. Obi-Wan retrieved it,” she nodded at a leather bag tossed hastily under a seat. “He indicated that you lose it often, so I put it there for safekeeping.”
“I…what?” He scowled at Obi-Wan’s back before a blast shot past his ear, reminding him that he could upbraid his master later. He could feel the unique imprint of the kyber crystal in the weapon he’d forged, and summoned it to his hand without further thought. “I advise you get down, Duchess,” he said, flashing her a charming smile. “This might get more than a little messy.”
Her mouth thinned and Anakin remembered too late that the duchess was a pacifist – one of the many reasons Padmé thought so highly of her – but she could not expect them not to fight to protect her and themselves.
Evidently she didn’t, as she retreated to a place near Obi-Wan at the helm and Anakin ignited his saber, acting as rear guard.
He blocked several blaster bolts and seized one heat-seeking missile, causing it to self-combust in mid-air, but his defense was largely secondary, aided by their blue-armored allies. They were brutal and effective against the rapidly dwindling Death Watch.
When they reached the dockyard, a ship was already running, engines hot. The trio leapt from the speeder towards a redhead with a hard face and a warrior’s mien.
“Go! Tell the Republic what has happened!” she bade them.
Obi-Wan jerked his head in a nod. “Go Anakin,” he ordered. “Get us ready for take off!” The younger Jedi obeyed, sprinting up the open ramp. Obi-Wan grabbed Satine’s hand, ready to do the same.
Satine hesitated, reaching out to touch the other woman’s cheek. “Thank you, sister.”
“Don’t,” the other woman said, averting her face and taking aim. She fired off three rounds in quick succession, and Obi-Wan had to admit he was impressed as three targets dropped like the dead weights they’d become. “It’s my fault they’re here.”
“Bo-Katan—”
“GO!” the armored woman shouted, shoving her sister towards the open gangplank. “We will cover your escape and disappear. Don’t worry about us. Take care of my sister,” she directed this to Obi-Wan, a bittersweet smile touching her eyes. “Make sure she can speak to the Republic Senate.”
“That will likely lead to a Republic invasion of Mandalore,” he warned her.
“Yes. And Maul will die. But Mandalore will survive. We always survive.”
“We will not leave you to fight him alone,” Obi-Wan promised. “Come!” He pulled Satine after him as they ran into the ship—
—the Force screamed a warning—
—Satine grunted behind him as her hold on his hand loosened—
—Obi-Wan whirled in horror to see the bolt’s exit wound in her side, so close, too close to her lungs—
—an inarticulate howl of rage from Bo Katan as her blasters fired doubletime—
— “No,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat as he caught her and she gasped, laboring to breathe.
“Satine, Satine you’re going to be all right,” he murmured frantically, deaf to the increasing blaster fire around them as he reached for the suddenly-slippery Force, trying and failing to slow time around them.
“Remember, my dear Obi-Wan,” she whispered.
His raw distress bled into the Force around them, calling Anakin as the ramp raised and the ship began to turn about on auto-pilot. Pounding footsteps, felt through the shuddering deck. “Master, come on! ”
“Get her into the medbay. I have to pilot us out of here.” Anakin was too close, his face too expressive, his voice too loud in the vacuum where Obi-Wan could hear only his own heartbeat.
“Obi-Wan! Pick her up! She’s still alive, damn it. Keep her that way! ”
Still…still alive…? And sound rushed back in a sudden wave, the useless blaster bolts suiciding on their sealed hull, Anakin’s hurried bootsteps tearing away as he raced for the bridge to pilot them offworld, and best of all, Satine’s gasping breaths as she fell into unconsciousness.
Med-bay. Right. Lifting the woman he’d loved since his youth, Obi-Wan began to run.
***********
Leaving Mandalore had proven surprisingly easy. With Bo-Katan and her renegades engaging the Death Watch and the Sith master (Anakin was still seething over that – they’d been so close to identifying him. Even if he hadn’t fought him, if he’d just been able to blast that hood backwards long enough to see his face, they would be that much closer to ending the war) keeping Maul and his brother Savage busy, there was no one to tell orbital control that the unremarkable ship leaving atmosphere should be detained.
They had made their uninterrupted jump to hyperspace, and Anakin tentatively stretched into their bond for Obi-Wan.
A ceaseless pleading with the Force met his touch – too personal, he shied away – underpinned by weariness, fear and heartache. But it was not yet the soul crushing kind. Anakin could feel Satine’s faint light, present and…stable. The Jedi breathed out in relief over a concern he hadn’t even noticed beneath the ebbing adrenaline. His brother would not feel the pain of losing his beloved. Not today.
***********
Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed bent over Satine as she lay prone on the bench, in a med-bay that was little more than a closet with an EMT droid. Despite his desperate need to concentrate, he’d barely heard half of what the medi-droid said over the blood roaring in his ears, the incessant yammering pleasepleasepleaseplease that beat against the inside of his skull.
There was bacta carefully and copiously applied. The Jedi master had been appalled that he’d had to let the droid do it, his own hands shaking too much to deliver her the necessary relief.
She was breathing easier now, a relaxant and heavy sedative pushed into her system. Fixing the delicate tissue damage would have to wait for Coruscant and the temple’s Hall of Healing, but they were lucky (blasphemy, thinking of luck when this beautiful, passionate woman had nearly died) she’d been caught by a blaster bolt. They cauterized as they ripped through flesh and bone, leaving almost no internal bleeding. The half-face respirator bolstering her oxygen intake balanced the tiny hole in her left lung, the bacta would ensure minimal scarring around the wound site.
But she was so still. Her slender fingers were so cold trapped between his own, and the Jedi couldn’t meditate, could hardly breathe himself as the litany pleasepleasepleaseplease formed on his lips. The detached part of his mind, the part of himself that he had always been able to keep separate and aloof in the face of exploding mortars, of the deaths of his men in front and behind him, of the endless holes this war had torn in the fabric of the Force, had ceased to exist. There was only a fervent hope that was almost a prayer, and the fear that if her heart stopped beating, his own would irrevocably lose a most important piece.
I should have left the Order, he thought furiously as he pressed her freezing hand to his mouth, blowing on it to warm her pale skin. I have wasted the years we might have had. She would never have been in danger with a Jedi for a husband. I could have defeated Maul and his sycophants, Death Watch never would have gained a foothold if I’d been at her side.
With a sudden, sharp inhale, she awoke, interrupting his self-directed tirade. Obi-Wan started as her Mandalorian genetics asserted themselves, rapidly metabolising the sedatives. She blinked up at him, fingers twitching in his. Her free hand scrabbled at the respirator, seeking to pull it off.
“Leave it on,” he soothed, plucking her hand away as he silently cursed her peoples’ evolution towards efficient warfare. She had enough drugs in her system to keep any other humanoid out until they reached the temple. “You’ve been severely injured.”
She frowned at him faintly, tugged her fingers from his and deliberately returned them to the mask. Carefully, she pulled it away from her face, blue eyes studying him intently, compassion painting her features. She lifted her hand to his cheeks, and he felt her fingertips press against the wetness there. Her eyes smiled.
“My dear, brave Jedi. Don’t grieve. I’ve always loved you,” she squeezed the hand holding hers, “and I always will.”
And even though this brief speech left her short of breath, even though they’d promised, even though it violated every oath he’d taken as a Jedi knight and then a master, Obi-Wan took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Her fingers might have been cold, but her lips were warm and pliable under his. He could feel her smiling against him before she surrendered fully, twining her hands in the cropped hair at the nape of his neck as she responded ardently.
A strong surge of amusement slammed into him, and Obi-Wan went rigid, pulled back. He saw a question in Satine’s eyes, answered as her gaze shifted over his shoulder with rueful chagrin.
“Did no one teach you to knock, Jedi Skywalker?” she asked, and somehow, she managed to sound exactly as regal as she did in her throne room.
“I’m sure I had a master somewhere along the line that tried to knock that into me, but I’m afraid the lesson didn’t take,” Anakin replied, and even though Obi-Wan was desperately trying to get his flaming face under control before turning around, he could hear the other man’s face-splitting grin. He busied himself getting the respirator re-affixed to Satine’s face, her breathing much shallower than he liked.
Indeed, her exertion had tripped the EMT droid from its sleep mode, and the droid hovered over her, checking its diagnostics for a moment before turning a mechanical glower on the two men.
“Arousal is not a good state for healing. It requires too much of the body’s resources for an unnecessary task,” it scolded mechanically. “This patient needs rest.”
Anakin actually guffawed as Obi-Wan felt every part of his body burn in mortification. He was sure if he set a kettle on his face right now, it would boil.
The droid was not nearly as amused as his former Padawan. “Out,” it ordered peremptorily. “The patient is stable and needs to stay that way. You are not helping. Go.” For a droid supposedly designed for caretaking, it was surprisingly demanding as it pointed an imperious finger in the direction of the cockpit.
“I think you’d better listen to him,” Satine said, voice muffled through the respirator, and Obi-Wan could see the smile crinkling her eyes. “I will be all right until we get to the temple, Obi.”
“Come on, Master,” Anakin was still chuckling. “Better get away from this patient before you irreparably damage her chances of a full recovery with your arous—”
“Anakin!”
“Stimulating, er, conversation?”
Obi-Wan groaned and physically shoved the taller Jedi into the narrow corridor leading to the cockpit. “Not another word out of you.”
**********
The silence when they reached their seats was comfortable for a while, but Anakin began to feel the tension in his friend as amusement and embarrassment ebbed. Though catching his master kissing the duchess had been diverting, he had no small amount of concern regarding the revelations made on Mandalore himself.
Maul had usurped any chance for a genuine confession, even though Anakin hadn’t managed to get around to confessing yet. Hadn’t been sure if he ever really would, or if it was better to simply promise himself that he would do better, be better than he had been that day in the desert. How had the Sith known what a temple-full of Jedi masters had failed to discern?
“Ask him if he felt weak embracing the Dark Side.” Anakin could always hope that Obi-Wan thought Maul was talking about their encounter with the Son, but he doubted his master would be so easily fooled. His own reaction had given him away.
Obi-Wan’s signature agitated, thoughts spooling half-formed into their bond, and Anakin took a deep breath, resigned to telling his master the truth. His mind presented a string of incoherent fears of his best friend’s imminent rejection, his disgust, his feelings of failure…
Broken. Useless boy. What master wants broken property?
He swallowed the whispers of his past along with his resolve. Obi-Wan had always been content to let things lie rather than pry the lid off any feelings either man might have. Maybe he wouldn’t ask. They could pretend it was fine.
And Anakin wouldn’t have to deal with the scathing rebuke or icy disappointment of one of the few men he truly cared for.
Both men were staring at the streaking white-and-blue of hyperspace before the older man cleared his throat.
“I…I am sorry that you had to witness that, Anakin,” he said stiffly.
The sudden non-sequitar to his own thoughts momentarily stunned him before he managed: “Witness what? That you’re human?” he turned in his chair, incredulous. “Witness your relief that the woman you love did not die while under your protection? Don’t apologize, Obi-Wan. I completely understand. I would have done the same thing.”
“Not kiss Satine, I hope,” the older man quipped, relief in his eyes.
“Surely you know me better than that.” Despite his smile, the statement was heavily loaded. For years, his former master had made nothing more than off-the-cuff remarks about his relationship with Padmé. Enough that Anakin was certain Obi-Wan suspected them, but never direct enough to require an answer or an explanation.
The Sorensu master studied his student for a moment before seeming to make a decision. “Though I have been lucky enough to be spared catching you in the act, I would hazard a guess that you have engaged in such activities with Senator Amidala.”
And there it was. The chance to be completely honest.
Remember how much he holds you back? How jealous he is? How little he appreciates your talents? Why does he deserve your trust? The old mantra rose again, but this time it felt…foreign. Like an idea introduced, rather than a genuine opinion he’d forged on his own. Even the way the words whispered in his brain sounded like a voice not his own. A familiar one, a trusted one…but not his.
For the first time, Anakin wondered exactly when he’d started thinking his master held him back and why.
“Anakin?” he could hear the subtle disappointment as his brain stalled and he did not answer Obi-Wan’s not-quite-question. Resentment for the other man’s push reared its head, but Anakin yanked it back. He had just seen his master at his most vulnerable. He had to be worthy of that trust. Which meant telling Obi-Wan the full truth. No more half-explanations.
“You would be right,” he admitted, shooting the other man a lopsided grin. “But it’s more than that…” he took a deep breath, made a mental apology to his wife for breaking their self-imposed secrecy without consulting her, “Padmé and I are…we’re married.”
Ten very long seconds passed in the cockpit, and Anakin felt his master’s overwhelming shock, a touch of jealousy that Anakin had simply done something that Obi-Wan had always wanted to, the Code and the Jedi be damned, and a deep, abiding sorrow that he hadn’t been entrusted with the secret.
“You never told me,” he whispered.
“We haven’t told anyone,” Anakin quickly assured him, quailing under the different kind of heartbreak he felt from the man in front of him, marveling at the lack of the expected disappointment. “Even Padmé’s parents and sister don’t know. You are now the only one.”
Obi-Wan absorbed this in silence for a time, aware of the enormous trust Anakin had placed in him. Aware he had to earn it, and that any mention of the Council or the Jedi Code would not be well received.
Who was he to offer lectures of condemnation? Anakin had just seen him completely uncontrolled, without a care for the principles of either the Order or the Council – of which he was a sitting member. “I am grateful you decided to tell me this now, Anakin,” he said, and gave the other man a small, genuine smile.
His lighter blue eyes became serious as they held Anakin’s dark cerulean gaze. “Is your relationship at all connected to what Maul was talking about when he spoke of you embracing the Dark Side? He can’t have meant Mortis.”
And here it goes. Sarlacc tentacles writhed in Anakin’s stomach. He was a grown man, an accomplished Jedi Knight and a damn good general and Obi-Wan could still make him feel like a youngling.
He also might be neither a Jedi nor a general once he completed his tale, but he could not lie to Obi-Wan now.
“Padmé and I came to Geonosis from Tatooine to rescue you right before the Clone Wars were officially declared,” Anakin started, looking back out the viewport, unable to look his master in the eye while he told this story.
“I have often wondered what you were doing there. We never did get the chance to fully debrief about that mission.”
“I’d had nightmares about my mother. About her being in pain. About her death.” Anakin swallowed. They’d never spoken of this, and now, even with their newly-broken barriers, it loomed large between them, a seemingly-impossible mountain to scale.
“So you went to Tatooine to check on her,” Obi-Wan prompted quietly.
“Yes, we…yes. I found out she’d been freed. And she’d married. A moisture farmer. We went to their farm…”
Obi-Wan waited, barely breathing, eyes never wavering from Anakin’s face. If the story had ended there with a happy reunion, there would be no story. “She’d died?”
“She’d been taken,” Anakin snarled, and the Dark flared around them in eager response, reaching for the hooks it had placed in the young man years ago. Obi-Wan physically recoiled as the Force thrashed around his brother.
“Tatooine’s natives, the Tusken Sand Dwellers, are a brutal lot. They have been impervious to attempts at peace and contemptuous of all other types of sentient life. Occasionally, that comes in handy as they have no more use for the Hutts than any other off world group, but it’s the farmers that get the worst end of the deal most of the time.” He took a shuddering breath.
“Moisture farms are isolated, and large patches of desert separate them. A month before we arrived, the Sand People took my mother. The search parties couldn’t find her. But they did not have a Jedi’s instincts. I went after her. I found her.”
He swallowed, and the Dark calmed, overridden by a yet-unprocessed grief. “It was too late. She was alive long enough to tell me she was proud of me. She loved me. And then…she died as I held her, begging her to hold on. I felt her go. It was like part of me was sliced away with her death. Maybe the best part.”
Anakin closed his eyes, bowing his head in shame. The Tuskens might be unpleasant. Might be unforgiving, but they had been shaped by their equally harsh surroundings and he was a Jedi. His control had failed, and much as those who had kidnapped and tortured her might have deserved their punishment, the rest of the village had not.
“I reached for anything to ease my pain and the Dark answered. I slaughtered them,” he whispered. “Down to the last child.”
Obi-Wan tried to keep his emotions locked down, to present a non-judgmental face and presence, but he knew his pained disgust and overwhelming distress had overrun his shields when Anakin winced.
“I couldn’t face you,” there was water on the younger man’s face now, lids still screwed shut. “Or anyone. Only Padmé knows, and even so, only because she was there when I brought back my mother’s body. But she doesn’t understand the Dark Side. She knows it was awful. Inexcusable. Told me when we got married that she knew I could be – that I am – better than that. But I know…” he flexed his mechanical hand subconsciously, “that she can’t really comprehend the rush of power, the amazing high that comes with feeling like a god, the knowledge of holding life and death in just your own hands and not caring who gets either. That the fear of those you stand in judgement over only feeds your strength regardless of what you decide.”
The Jedi master had no idea what to say. He knew Anakin would one day tread paths he could not. Expected it, even, if he was indeed the Chosen One of prophecy.
But not this path. Every Jedi had felt its brush, the siren of its call in moments of pain, loss, or fear. They were scrupulously schooled in how to turn it away, how to cleave to the Light in the face of personal suffering. To keep them from the terrible, addictive path of the Dark.
How had he allowed his Padawan to suffer this?
“Maul was wrong,” Anakin continued, head leaned back, eyes still closed. “The Dark Side does make you weak. It makes you hate yourself, and then draw power from that loathing. And even for those of us who never want to touch it again, it burrows under your skin. Every battle I have to fight it off. Every time I draw my lightsaber, it’s humming alongside me, offering unimaginable victories if I am willing to embrace it.”
The two men sat in silence as Obi-Wan sorted through this second, much bigger bombshell his best friend had dropped. It was beyond appalling that the boy he’d raised would butcher a village in his grief. But…Anakin had been having nightmares about his mother long before the mission with Padmé. If they had gone to see her, checked when the visions first started, it might have been entirely different. Much as it grieved him to hear of Anakin’s descent into Darkness, he knew he himself was not blameless. Anakin had still been Obi-Wan’s Padawan, his responsibility, and he had not been at his brother’s side when needed most.
Just as his rescue of Satine might have – probably would have – failed without Anakin’s help. How would he feel if Satine had died at Maul’s hand? Would he have exercised restraint? With the suddenness marking a Force-vision, he saw the throne room draped with corpses, himself standing in the middle of them, Maul rent in four pieces and his own eyes a sick, burning yellow…
“I meant what I said in that throne room,” he finally offered softly. There was at least one truth that remained untouched. Anakin cracked one eye at him, confused.
“I am so proud of you. As a man, and a Jedi knight. And knowing this…I’m even prouder. What strength you have, to fight every time.”
Anakin cleared his throat to get past the lump his master’s words created. “I think about Padmé. And Snips. And Rex and the men. And you. How can I Fall with all of you counting on me? How could I leave you with everything we still need to do?”
“I am sorry that I have not been able to share this burden with you. You saved Satine and I on this mission, but it’s obvious that I have not always been the backup you’ve needed.”
“What happened on Tatooine…it wasn’t your fault. No one’s perfect, Master. Not even you.” The ribbing was half-hearted at best, and another spike of dread marred it. “Will you…” Anakin looked down, hands twisting in nervousness as they hadn’t since he’d been an early teen, “will you tell?” he whispered. “The Council?”
Obi-Wan blinked, blindsided by that thought, and then wondering at the fact that while Anakin had automatically assumed he would, he’d not yet considered it. It would be protocol, he realized. By the laws set during the Ruusan Reformation, Anakin’s transgression was deserving of Council judgment and punishment – up to and including expulsion from the Order and imprisonment in the temple’s lower levels.
He recoiled at the thought of subjecting his dearest friend to such treatment.
“Maul was wrong. The Dark Side does make you weak.” “It seems to me,” the older Jedi said slowly, “that you have learned this lesson well without the Council. I have never seen you act from Darkness in all the time we’ve worked together. I felt your anger at Maul, but I also felt your control, and your remorse. I might,” Obi-Wan hesitated, but the Force assured him that despite their tumultuous relationship, it might finally be time for Mace and Anakin to see the similarities they shared, “I would encourage you to speak to Master Windu when we return.”
Surprise surged through their bond, followed by touches of both resentment and wonder. “Master Windu has never trusted me,” Anakin said flatly. “I could be the incarnation of Ashla, and he would still look down his nose.” He took a breath, and the hopeful wonder threading their link made it to his eyes as he looked at Obi-Wan. “You think…you think he would really deign to teach me?”
“Master Windu does trust me. And when I tell him that I think there’s much the two of you could do and learn together, he’ll at least listen. You are a formidable Jedi, Anakin, and of all of us, Mace has the background to appreciate your struggle. You think he invented Vaapad because he got bored? You two should learn to trust one another. It will make both of you and the Order stronger, better, for it.”
A pulse of sheer gratitude traveled between them, for the things not said as well as the confidence Obi-Wan had in his former apprentice. I will request his mentorship.
Never doubt my pride in you. In your abilities. And in your choices. Cleaving to the Light when untested is easy. Choosing to do it in the face of overwhelming pain is what makes a Jedi. Nowhere is it written that you must face such tests alone.
Master…look. Obi-Wan turned his eye inward at Anakin instruction, and took a startled breath. Their bond was stronger, the braid of Light pulsing from one mind to the next thickened with a layer of trust and love, colors of a muted rainbow flashing between them.
Brothers in all but blood, Obi-Wan thought, and a strange contentment settled over him as the Living Force readjusted around them.
Silence stretched again as the tunnel of hyperspace wound around them. Then:
“So…do you want to come to dinner after we get back?” Anakin’s mischievousness had returned full-throttle.
Come to…? “At 500 Republica?”
“Well, I do have to tell Padmé. That I told you. And your presence would make it a lot easier.” The young man’s expression turned mock-pensive. “And it would be great payback for catching you with Satine.”
Obi-Wan groaned and covered his eyes as his one-time apprentice reverted to full teasing mode. “I mean, really, Master, did you need to scar my impressionable brain with that image for all eternity? Actually,” Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s pleasure in ramping up his awkwardness, “Satine should stay with Padmé. She would love to host the duchess. Then it would make perfect sense for you to visit.”
“Let’s get back to Coruscant first. We can play it by ear.”
“I thought you hated those kinds of plans.”
“Only in battle, Anakin. Right now, that seems the safest option.”
“Ah. So this is going to turn into a series of excuses to never make it over. Well, your loss. The duchess will be disappointed you’re so adverse to visiting.”
“We have to ensure that I will be allowed to set foot outside the temple again,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m not going to get away with this lightly. If I get away with it at all.”
“As you said, Master Windu likes you. So does Master Yoda. And, diplomatically, it’s a terrible idea for the world at the core of the League of Neutral Systems to be under the control of the syndicates. You’ll be forgiven,” Anakin said flippantly, waving a negligent hand. “You’ve changed the subject. Poor Satine. Abandoned by you before we’ve even arrived.”
“I never said—”
“Right. I’ll tell Padmé to prepare for five of us at dinner as soon as the duchess is cleared from the Halls of Healing.”
“Five?”
“If you think we can keep this from Snips, you can tell her why she got left out when she figures it out.”
…
“Five it is, then.”
“Glad you see things my way, Master.”