The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XV

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Here it is… the last chapter. :’-( This story is complete. It’s been a journey, all right…

This time: A friend, a speech, an announcement, a decision, and a Knighting; and last, but not least, a happy ending.

Chapter XV

                Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon through the streets of Theed, glancing about in admiration. He had never seen a city quite like this one before. “Where are we going, Master?” he asked, slightly curious. Qui-Gon turned briefly back to face him, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“We shall see,” he said cryptically. Obi-Wan sighed, more amused than annoyed.

In time, they arrived at a small private garden within the city. Qui-Gon slipped in through the gate and they walked slowly along its winding paths, contemplatively. They found their way gradually through a huge maze formed from tall green hedges and into an open space with a fountain in the center. Sitting by the fountain was a tall, golden-skinned woman. “Master Tahl!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. Tahl looked up at the sound of his voice.

“Obi-Wan! For goodness sake, boy, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Her words went disregarded as her strides rapidly ate up the distance between them. She pulled Obi-Wan close. “It’s so good to see you again, sweetheart,” she murmured.

“Sorry about sneaking up on you,” Obi-Wan apologized. “I can’t risk leaving my presence unshielded with Sidious anywhere in the vicinity, and I’m a bit tired to keep up the illusory one right now, especially since I’m out of his sight…” Tahl pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” she said, fingers brailing his face. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“I haven’t, not that much. I’ll never be as tall as you, or Master Qui-Gon.” Tahl laughed.

“It would be hard for anyone to be as tall as Qui-Gon.” She grinned mischievously at Qui-Gon, who mock-frowned at his friend.

“He’s scowling now,” Obi-Wan said, for the benefit of the blind master.

“I can tell that, thank you, Obi-Wan.” Tahl laughed, the sound like silvery bells. “What has happened to you since the last mission the three of us had together?” Obi-Wan sighed.

“Not much,” he said. “The Sith are gathering an army, and the kidnapped queen has been rescued… Siri Tachi was captured, but I managed to free her… you probably know all about those already anyway. There’s a lot going on, that’s all I can say… everything is moving forward, getting faster and faster… it’s all moving toward a great confrontation, the reckoning for our wrongs.” Tahl smiled.

“I feel as if this state of affairs will not last much longer. The balance is shifting, and shifting towards us this time.” Tahl shifted slightly, facing Qui-Gon’s direction, and sent him a look that Obi-Wan could not quite decipher. It was as if the two of them knew something he didn’t. Obi-Wan shifted, a sudden chill running down his back. Not that it was an unpleasant feeling, it was just as if something was about to happen.

“How many of the Jedi are here, on Naboo, right now?” he asked softly. “There’s the Council, Padawan Tachi, you, Master Jinn, Quinlan, me… that’s seventeen of us in one place! Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It may be dangerous,” Tahl said softly, “but the Force called us here. We can not but heed its bidding, Obi-Wan. Didn’t you hear the summons?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I merely went with the flow, so to speak.”

“Hm,” Tahl replied quietly, noncommittally.

“It’s almost time for the announcement, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said softly.

“Goodbye, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “I’d better get back before Sidious misses me.”

The balcony overlooking the plaza at Theed’s center was a good perch to watch the crowds from. Obi-Wan scanned the surrounding area with a habit born from bitter necessity. He looked nervously at Qui-Gon, who was standing down in the crowd, from his vantage point behind Sidious. No one noticed, except for Qui-Gon. The Jedi Master sent a wave of reassurance along their bond, glancing sympathetically at Obi-Wan without seeming to particularly look at him. Then the Sith Lord rose and began his speech. Obi-Wan barely heard a word he said, watching the crowd closely. They were ripe for the governor’s announcement.

“And, despite this great tragedy, the Naboo should know that they are not alone…” Sidious was saying. Obi-Wan inwardly winced. Where is Governor Bibble? he thought anxiously.

As if on cue, the elderly Nabooian came forward, in the plaza below. “Your Majesty! Forgive the interruption, my lord, but we have an important announcement. The Queen-elect has returned!” Stunned silence greeted this interruption. Obi-Wan smiled behind the cover of his hood. Perfect. Padme came forward, already dressed in the ceremonial robes of the Naboo ruler, her face covered with the elaborate makeup.

“My people! The stars shine down upon us in this happy hour!” she proclaimed.

Then the whole meeting erupted into excited cheering. Obi-Wan noted the look on Sidious’ face with satisfaction. The Sith seemed torn between rage, frustration, and confusion. Obi-Wan smiled behind his hood again. Checkmate.

The rest of the gathering was caught up in a number of long, flowery speeches that no one listened to (as a matter of course,) Queen Amidala’s inauguration, and a banquet. Somehow, the arrangements had been miraculously altered, with Sidious and Amidala sitting at the head of the table, the very picture of mutual friendship and congeniality. For having planned the whole thing, Obi-Wan served the two rulers with astonishing equanimity. The feasting and popular celebration ran on late into the night.

When the banquet was done and even the most persistent of the revelers had retired to bed, Obi-Wan made his way down to the subterranean levels of the palace, where he and Qui-Gon had agreed to meet, after receiving Padme’s permission. Obi-Wan found his master in one of the rooms bordered on one side by the waterfall and knelt down beside him in his meditation posture. “Master,” he greeted, sotto voce.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon acknowledged. “Master Yoda spoke to me earlier today. The Council is agreed. They will confer the title of Jedi Knight upon you.” Obi-Wan gasped softly, his breath a puff of pale steam in the cool air.

“I am humbled, Master, but I…”

“You don’t think you’re ready.” Qui-Gon said. It was an answer more than a question. He opened his eyes and looked at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan did not have to speak for his master to know the truth. “Obi-Wan, I know you are ready, even if you do not think so. In the past twenty-two years, I have seen you grow in so many ways, and not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.” Obi-Wan winced, a wry expression on his face. His lack of height got him laughed at, often. Qui-Gon grimaced, then smiled apologetically. “Sorry. But I have seen you face many foes, some of them Sith, some from within yourself, and you have overcome them all. You have always risen to the occasion, Obi-Wan. No matter what the obstacles; you have surmounted them. No matter what the circumstances, you have overcome them and risen above them, and I believe that there is no one more worthy for the accolades. Life has tested you in more ways than I can count. You have passed far harsher trials than any the Council might assign.” Obi-Wan gazed up, open-mouthed and wide-eyed in wonderment. Qui-Gon smiled. “Yes, they are giving you a field accolade. I don’t have to tell you what an honor that is.” Qui-Gon rose slowly and helped Obi-Wan to his feet. He led the younger man a bit closer to the waterfall; Obi-Wan brushed his fingers across the glassy curtain. “I have also been instructed to tell you something, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan gazed quietly at his mentor, glance questioning. Qui-Gon touched the clear, brilliant pendant that Obi-Wan always wore. It was hidden beneath the cloth of his shirt, but in the Force it gave out an unmistakable, clear, sweet chime. “You know that this belonged to your mother, Padawan. You know enough of the old language of her homeworld to know that the name you bear—the name she gave you—means ‘Child of the Light.’” Obi-Wan nodded slowly, clearly unsure of where this was going. “Hear me now, Obi-Wan. What I’m going to tell you may be hard to take, but you must listen. You have a right to know this.” Qui-Gon swallowed and took a deep breath. “You know of the prophecy of the Chosen One?” Obi-Wan nodded silently, once again. “Before she died, your mother told me to train you. She said you were our greatest hope for victory, our only hope for lasting peace. She told me that you were the Chosen One.” Obi-Wan stared, at a complete loss for words. Qui-Gon took a deep breath. “Obi-Wan, Sharya remained a virgin until the day of her death. You were conceived by the will of the Force itself. When I first found you, I tested your midichlorien count. It was impossibly high, too high to measure properly. Later, I tested you again, with a more up-to-date tester, and it still could not determine your exact count. However, I can tell you that it is higher than twenty-five thousand.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be impossible?” Obi-Wan asked, finding his voice again.

“Obi-Wan, many things that are believed to be impossible exist. It does not do to call anything impossible.” Obi-Wan sighed. Qui-Gon rose. “Come. You’ll complete your vigil tonight, and your knighting will take place just before dawn.” Obi-Wan rose and followed Qui-Gon out, and through a maze of passages into another room. Once there, Obi-Wan knelt down and sank into his meditative state. Visions moved quickly through his mind’s eye, winking swiftly one to another; the thousand possible futures that awaited him. The crossroads; he could see it plainly. But he already knew which he would choose. He had already chosen his path. There was no turning back.

At the fourth hour, Siri came to him. “Obi-Wan?” she whispered, her voice sounding hollow, its echo softening the sharp edges of the name.

“I’m here,” he replied, quietly. Siri knelt down in front of him.

“I—I wanted to talk.”

“About what?” he asked. Siri shrugged.

“Oh, nothing.” A pause. Obi-Wan did not look at her. They both knew that it wasn’t nothing. Siri was just gathering up her courage.

“Master Gallia volunteered to take over and complete my training,” she said, softly.

“That was kind of her. She’s a good teacher.”

“Have you ever met her, I mean, on a mission or something, and she helped you out?”

“Once,” he said softly. He had never been so frightened in his whole life as that one day… Adi Gallia had helped him through it. She was a good and kindly woman, somewhat of a maverick like his own master, but a true Jedi—like Qui-Gon in that as well—in spite of it. She and Siri would make a perfect team. “I think I know what you wanted to talk about it.”

“Good,” Siri snapped irritably, “maybe we won’t even have to talk about it after all.”

“We will, Siri, you know we will.” Siri just huffed. “Siri, I’m going to be honest with you. I… I never expected this to happen. I fell in love with you. But at the same time, I don’t think…”

“It’s only forbidden under the Ancient Code,” Siri said. “Not under the intermittent one.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I know, but all the same. There’s a war coming. I want a family more than anything, but… we both have a duty, to the Jedi Order. If we married, had children… we’d probably never be home. And they… they would worry about us. We might never come home. That’s no life for a child, is it, having to worry all the time?”

“No,” Siri said softly, agreeing with him. “It isn’t.”

“And then, there’s the fact that we might have to choose, one day, which would come first; family or duty. And… And I’m not sure which one I would say, Siri. I don’t know the answer, and that… it bothers me.” Obi-Wan looked down. “I think the ancient masters were right when they eliminated attachments from their lives. But, at the same time, I can’t deny that I do love you.” Slowly, Obi-Wan drew out a ring with a single, scintillating jewel set in it. “This belonged to my mother, once. I think it’s only right that I should pass it on to you.”

“I have one for you, too,” Siri said, pulling out a plain silver band.

“I’m going to vow myself to chastity once again, Siri.” Obi-Wan said softly. “But at the same time, I want you to know that my heart is yours. I really don’t have a choice about that.”

“I’ll do the same,” Siri decided. They spoke their vows, softly, into the welcoming silence.

And then, they parted.

Morning came.

With it, came the memory of something forgotten, just beyond reach. Joy leaped into being.

Silently, Obi-Wan rose, attending to assigned duties as the personal attendant of Sidious. The hours passed swiftly by until he was free again. Padme showed him the hidden garden that she would be honored to host the ceremony in.

At last, it was time.

After entering the garden, Obi-Wan walked slowly forward, clad in the traditional Jedi robes that had been worn by so many before the decimation and supposed destruction of the Jedi Order. The white cloak, slightly too long for him, trailed softly across the soft grass. At a Knighting, the supplicant traditionally wore all white robes, symbolizing innocence, purity, and dedication to duty. The pale cloth over his shoulders, the folds that met above a rapidly beating heart, were a constant reminder of the wings of the seraph, modestly hiding themselves away from view, in awe of their Maker.

For one precious, sacred moment, they were living in a fairy tale. The sweet scent of the flowers in the hidden garden caressed the attenders’ senses, and the birdsong in the trees was as sweet, and sweeter than, any mortal music. The soft green carpet of moss and grass underfoot rustled softly at the gentle, whispering wind that tiptoed through it, and the light, bare feet that trod it, leaving barely a mark. The chuckling fountain, offset to one side, sent a rainbow of soft spray into the air.

Obi-Wan walked forward to the focus of the half-circle formed by the waiting Council. As he knelt on the cool, soft grass, the circle closed behind him. Last night, he had knelt on cold, hard stone; but today, he knelt on rich green grass. What he knelt on did not matter; it was the humility in the heart that made all the difference.

All the others who were there to witness the ceremony gathered around the circle of Jedi Masters. Mace Windu raised his hands, signaling that the ceremony which was about to begin. “My Jedi brethren—honored friends—we are gathered here to witness the ceremony by which a young Jedi comes of age. Padawan Kenobi will be knighted today, in recognition of his readiness, which he has proved many times, and most recently by his rescue of Padawan Tachi and Queen-elect Amidala.

“In ancient times, before the reign of Deriaka, the Padawan would wear a small braid behind the ear on the right side. This was the symbol of the commitment of the student to the master, and conversely of the master to the student. Now, it is safer not to wear such symbols, but the commitment is no less today than it was two thousand years ago.

“It was also the custom, when the apprenticeship was complete, to cut the braid, as the Padawan was then a Knight, and no longer under his or her master’s tutelage.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, you come before us today. Your training is complete. What do you seek?”

“To serve the Order, to serve the people of this galaxy, and to serve the Force.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor that you will live simply, and unobtrusively, whatever honors may come your way, and not give into despair when men speak ill of you?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor that you will abstain and keep yourself free from all emotional ties, instead dedicating yourself to the service of the people and the keeping of the Code?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor that you will obey your superiors, whatever their commands, even to the danger of your own life, and that should you be ordered to do something morally unacceptable you will defy their words?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor to pass on these teachings as they were passed on to you, should the time come?”

“I do.”

“And do you vow and give your word of honor to defend the innocent in all things and at all times, even should you be placed in danger of your own death, and never harm another living creature or raise your hand in violence unless it is in protection and preservation of life and for the good of all?”

“I do.” Master Yoda hobbled forward. Obi-Wan bent his head down, and the aged master and placed a hand on his forehead, in blessing.

“Then speak your final vow, you will.”

“I pledge myself, heart, mind, will, body and soul, to the service of the Force and its creatures, to my very death, and even beyond.” Obi-Wan said, firmly.

“Then a Jedi, you truly are.” Yoda lifted his lightsaber. Its blade did not graze Obi-Wan, even in the slightest, as Yoda dubbed him. “By the election of this Council, and the blessing of the Force, dub thee I do. Arise, Master Kenobi.” Obi-Wan bowed slightly, then stood. He walked forward to greet Qui-Gon and Tahl. The two Jedi Masters smiled. He turned and bowed slightly to Siri. She raised her hand, subtly, in a gesture of blessing.

The Force chimed in approval and joy.

All was well with the world.

Author’s Note: So, this story is complete. *sob* They say all good things must come to an end. But it’s not the end of the series! The Shifting Tides run onward in the embrace of time, and where one story ends, another begins. I may be taking a temporary hiatus from the series (partially due to the fact that I’m Nanoing away at a novel, not a fanfic ;-P), but have no fear– in the future, the sequel to this story, which will be entitled Battlefield of the Soul, will be posted on this blog. Thank you all so much for following and reading this story, and may God bless you. 🙂

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XIV

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, completely random posts, insanity, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Sorry if it looks like this is rushed, but I’m trying to get this posted. I have a bunch of reviews and commentaries and whatnot waiting to be posted, and I want to get to work on the sequel, so I thought I would post this first. 😉

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XIV

                Obi-Wan rummaged in the closet. Tossing his slave tunic aside, he picked up the shirt that Padme had just bought for him at the market. It was a somewhat rough material, an oddly bright shade of vibrant electric blue. Obi-Wan snorted softly. It was her idea of a joke, a subtle probe. Sort of. Of course, subtle was far more up his alley than hers. He preferred more muted cool colors, something Padme had obviously somehow picked up on, and this tone of blue didn’t qualify. It was, of all things, most definitely not subtle. Obi-Wan sighed. He was going to stand out like a bantha in a snowstorm.

On the other hand, if everyone else was dressed the same way…

Obi-Wan held up the shirt. It did look rather nice, he decided, even though it was too fancy for his own taste, with the slashed sleeves and delicate embroidery in silver thread that seemed to be so dear to the heart of the Naboo. He looked over at the mirror. Without the markings on the left half of his face (Jubal Naberrie’s concealer was a miracle), his reflection didn’t look like him at all, and at the same time it was more him than he had ever looked since that day…

Obi-Wan struggled as the man’s hand came down again. He gave vent to a cry of pain as the needles pricked his face, again. A none-too-gentle hand rubbed the pigment across the lacerations and Obi-Wan kicked out as hard as he could. He didn’t understand what was going on, any of it. How could he? He was only four.

                “Blasted nuisance!” one of the men howled, clutching his midsection. “Hold him down tighter, you idiots!” The man leaned in close, Obi-Wan froze. “You know what they’re doing, don’t you?” Trembling, Obi-Wan shook his head. Mother! Where was his mother? Oh, that was right… he had seen her die last year. He was lost, alone.

                “This is your identification,” the man snarled, his lips curving back in a nasty grin. “You’ll never be able to escape, you little runt. Anyone who sees you will see these marks and bring you back. That’s what it is. It’s your badge of shame.” Obi-Wan bit his lip to keep from crying out. The nasty-smelling blue pigment burned. It hurt like nothing else could. Obi-Wan struggled as the man with the needles came forward again. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. The grayness at the edges of his vision deepened, swallowed him up. Everything went black.

                Obi-Wan sprang up. He was lying on a cot somewhere, he wasn’t sure where. The agony was gone, but it left behind a terrible numbness. Obi-Wan rushed across the room to the mirror. He stared at his reflection, appalled.

                It was the face of a stranger looking back at him.

                The right side of his face looked normal, but the left was adorned with sinuous, twisting tattoos. Obi-Wan stared, tears running down his cheeks. He felt wrong, violated. He gripped the small pendant on the necklace that was the only thing he had left of his mother. She was gone, for good.

                He was completely and truly alone.

Obi-Wan jolted back to reality to find himself still looking into the mirror. But it wasn’t his reflection he was looking at—it was Siri’s.

She stood behind him, in the doorway, mouth wide with horror. Obi-Wan spun around to face her, instinctively drawing the cloak across his body, but it was too late. She had already seen the scars.

Obi-Wan froze, uncertain of what to do next. His breath was already coming with a shudder to it. A hot flush flickered across his face. He couldn’t breathe properly, his heart was racing; it was the horrible second he knew that he was about to lose control, have a panic attack… or worse. Siri stepped forward, eyes still bright with horror.

“What,” she breathed, “did they do to you?”

Obi-Wan felt as if he was about to pass out. A long beat in the room and the tension was growing all the time. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. Get a grip, Kenobi! he mentally snapped at himself. He opened his eyes, refocused. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice almost steady. He turned away and was about to pull the shirt on when a gentle, soft hand on his back stopped him. Obi-Wan froze again, stomach twisting. Why couldn’t she let well enough alone? Couldn’t she see he was about to be sick as it was? Muscles tightened, his whole body stiffening, he could feel the blood draining away from his face. He was going to have another flashback, a panic attack, faint, do something completely ridiculous, he just knew it.

“Show me,” Siri requested softly. It was as if someone else was in control of Obi-Wan’s actions. His mind still screaming out in protest, he slowly dropped the cloak away… and hit the floor. Hard. Obi-Wan leaned back against the bed, his shoulders heaving, struggling to control his breathing. In. Out. The situation was completely beyond his control, and that hit Obi-Wan hard. Why am I so upset? he thought. I shouldn’t be this upset… Is it because I’m so controlling? Why do I have this need to be in control? Why does it have to be like this? It was the biggest difference between him and his master. Qui-Gon could go with the flow; Obi-Wan needed to know something about the mission beforehand, to plan, to think. It was the divide between the Living and Unifying Force; Qui-Gon could live with things as they were, whereas Obi-Wan needed to learn to let go… He mentally rolled his eyes with the irony. Even though Qui-Gon seemed to believe that it was the least likely thing possible, Obi-Wan was very much the same as many Sith, at least as far as mechanics went. However, when morals were added to the equation, he went far beyond them.

Siri’s hands ghosted over the scars, both older and more recent. She seemed shocked that anyone could do that to another living person. “That’s what the Sith are,” he replied to her unspoken thought. Siri’s hand paused on a singular scar, dark, slightly ridged.

“What’s this?” she asked. “I can tell what the others are—electricity burns or lightsaber cuts, or… whip lashes. But what’s this?”

“It’s a burn,” he said, looking down. “I was branded.” He showed her the mark on his arm.

“What’s… branding?”

“It used to be used to mark cattle, until some group of bleeding-heart politicians blacklisted it as cruel and unusual. It involves heating a piece of metal—a branding iron, they call it—and then pressing it to the skin. One of the Sith favored it as a torture method.”

“They tortured you?” Siri whispered. “How dare they!” She clenched her fists indignantly. Obi-Wan pulled the tunic on, somewhat fiercely.

“It’s nothing, they’re only scars. It’s all in the past,” he said. “It’s been and done, and nothing can change it. What’s done is done. What’s gone is gone.” Siri frowned.

“But it’s so unfair—so wrong!” she complained.

“I have to release it, Siri,” Obi-Wan said softly. He buttoned up the shirt’s collar, again drawing the fair veil across the horrid realities that scarred his existence.

“You think you can wash those scars off your back?” Siri snapped. Obi-Wan’s eyes were hard, cold.

“No. But at least I have a choice.” He took a step nearer, eyes as cold as ice and hard as flint and sharp as tempered, beaten steel. “The Sith may wash the blood off, but they can never get their hands clean. I have the choice not to ever get my hands dirty, and I don’t want to start it up again.” He pulled the collar straight, resuming a lighter tone of voice. “Well, what do you think? Presentable?”

“You look rakish,” Siri joked. Obi-Wan frowned.

“That’s not quite what I was trying for,” he said. “I was hoping for respectable.”

“That might be hard, since you’re more respectable than the rest of the galaxy. Which makes you a radical.”

“Does that even add up?” Obi-Wan asked rhetorically. “Oh, wait, it does make sense.”

“Did you just agree with me?” Siri gasped. Obi-Wan shot a mischievous grin at her.

“From a certain point of view.” Siri frowned, trying to reach below the surface, wondering how everything could change like that in less than a moment. It took reason, rather than a probe… his mental shielding was good enough that he seemed to be Force-opaque. But he was multi-layered, and seemed to be able to think on so many levels at once that she was completely lost. By the time she reached this realization, Obi-Wan was already halfway down the stairs.

“Well?” Obi-Wan asked. “What do you think?” He stepped off the lowest step, then turned around. Qui-Gon stood.

“At least you don’t look like yourself,” he said.

“And I don’t look like the Phantom of the Opera, either,” Obi-Wan added.

“Come,” Qui-Gon said. “We must report to the Council. In the meanwhile, I’m sure Padme can make all the other necessary arrangements.”

“Absolutely,” Padme said. The three Jedi bowed and went out.

As they passed through the streets, Siri noted, “You seem a little on edge.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“It’s that obvious?” he said. Siri sighed.

“Well, not exactly, but it is there. What’s wrong?”

“I guess I’m just a bit… nervous,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, scuffing the toe of one boot as he walked.

“About what?” Siri probed. Obi-Wan sighed.

“About going before the Council, I think,” he said thoughtfully.

“Why is that such a…” Siri began.

“I’ve never gone before the Council before,” Obi-Wan admitted. “At least not assembled, and definitely not in person.” Siri raised her eyebrows.

“Really?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded, silently. Siri smiled. “Well, it’s not really anything to be worried about. Getting grilled with a bunch of questions and cross-questioned and completely intimidated by a certain bald Jedi Master is about the worst that can happen.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I guess… You’ve never had stage fright, or the real-world equivalent of it, have you?”

“Nope,” Siri said cheerfully.

The plains of Naboo have been described as gorgeous, and holopics of them on the travel agencies are known to make the city dwellers of Coruscant or Taris gape. However, no holopic or holovid can do true justice to the majestic, yet humble, world, whose name is spelled out in those five simple letters.

The plains of Naboo are no less than breathtaking. Rolling hills spread for miles upon miles around, cloaked with deep, rich green, like a soft mantle of velvet. To the man or woman who has spent the entirety of their life cooped up in a city where green is only a dream, a flashback to a memory that is older than themselves, the effect is like a breath of fresh air after hours of being caught up in choking fog or smog. Something about those open plains speaks to the very heart of any person.

On those breathtaking plains, in a small rift between two hills, the Jedi Council was gathered. As the three Jedi approached, then made their respectful bows, Obi-Wan could not help but think of Erin Kenobi, the famous outlander Jedi, coming supplicant before the Council in the years before Deriaka’s reign had begun. There was a famous picture, or had been—had it been found and burned, along with all other artistic references to the Jedi?—of that meeting. Obi-Wan listened in silence as his master outlined the report, then he repeated his own report, facing straight forward, trying hard to remain calm. The tension in his core wouldn’t let up, no matter how hard he tried to relax. As Obi-Wan completed his report, he released a slow breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Yoda smiled.

“Done well, you have,” he said. Obi-Wan barely heard the next few words, almost giddy with relief. Siri delivered her master’s report, which was duly noted. The Council meeting was swiftly completed, and the gathering broke apart into informality.

“Padawan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan bowed.

“Master Windu,” he greeted in return.

“A word, if you please,” the Korun master said. Obi-Wan bowed and followed him off, unconsciously folding his hands back, as if to slide them into his wide sleeves, then stopping as he realized that he wasn’t wearing the robe that he usually wore while on missions. A faint smile quirked on Windu’s lips. “You suppressed your nervousness well, Padawan Kenobi,” he said. Obi-Wan stiffened slightly. Windu made a swift motion with one hand. “Peace.” Windu continued. “I merely wanted to tell you that the Council wished to commend you for your actions. Your plan for what will happen this afternoon was direct, but will be effective, I believe.” Obi-Wan bowed, silently. “War is coming, young Padawan. The board is set, and the pieces are moving. There shall be no turning back from this moment on. We will need young warriors like you, Obi-Wan. Your intelligence has been invaluable, but we are also going to need you on the battlefield. Now, if you would kindly return, we have your little event to attend.”

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XIII

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, home economics, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! Chapter XIII is here. And this story is nearing its end; only two chapters to go yet… I know, sad… but it’s not the end of the world. Or the series, for that matter. 😉

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XIII

                Obi-Wan smiled quietly, to himself. Once he was away from Sidious, the rest was all fairly—almost ridiculously—easy.

And this time, he knocked before entering.

The cordon of guards would have been no challenge for a fully-trained Jedi Knight, and it wasn’t a challenge for a Padawan as experienced and well-versed in the arts of misdirection and deception as Obi-Wan, either. The streets were well-marked and unconfusing, and with Padme’s directions he quickly found his way toward her parents’ home.

Theed was a beautiful city. The well-kept streets were bright and airy—no close alleyways—and the scrubbed pavement shone in the sun. Fountains on the corner of a street played and chuckled, and children splashed happily in their basins.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Siri asked for the umpteenth time.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” Obi-Wan challenged in return. Siri closed her mouth and dropped her head.

“Sorry. It’s just that—well, all these streets look alike to me.” Obi-Wan’s eyes softened.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” he said. “Yes, I do know where we’re going. At least it’s not like Coruscant, where we might get turned around and end up in some seedy, one-way-street district. Oh, here we are. First left after the Bejer Plaza fountain.” Confidently, Obi-Wan climbed the steps up to the neat, bright little row house in the old town section. He knocked briskly at the door. A young woman who looked rather older than Padme opened the door a crack.

“Yes?” she asked. Obi-Wan made a quick bow.

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m expected?” Instantly, the woman’s suspicious demeanor changed. She smiled briskly and opened the door wide.

“Welcome! Come in. Come in!” As they passed through the door, Obi-Wan nodded to Siri.

“This is my fellow Jedi Padawan, Siri Tachi.” The woman nodded to Siri, smiling.

“I’m Sola Naberrie, Padme’s older sister. Everyone’s in here…” She led them into a bright room, airy, open, with windows that opened on a sunny garden. Padme sprang to her feet with a glad cry.

“I’m so glad you got here safely!” she exclaimed. That started off a loud and complex hubbub.

“I’m Siri Tachi,” Siri introduced herself in the midst of all the confused chatter.

“These are my parents, Jobal and Ruwee Naberrie,” Padme introduced them. Obi-Wan made a graceful, respectful bow to them, then slipped off to one side toward the spot where Qui-Gon was standing, waiting for him.

“Master,” he said, sotto voce.

“Obi-Wan. I trust things went according to plan?”

“Yes, mostly.” Obi-Wan bowed his head. Qui-Gon looked at him, frowning slightly in concern.

“What is it?”

“There was an incident at Sidious’ meet and greet. Some… ill-intentioned…” He coughed politely, then continued. “The woman had the audacity to lay hands upon my person, and I guess I must have subconsciously sensed a less-than-savory intent. The next thing I know, she’s slammed back against a stone wall and falls with a broken neck.” Obi-Wan bowed his head, dropping to one knee. “I know that this is an example of excessive force, Master. I submit to your discipline.”

“So,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, “you unintentionally slammed someone into a wall?” Obi-Wan dropped his head lower.

“Yes, Master.”

“I don’t think this is serious,” Qui-Gon said, “if you had no prior intention of harming her. It only means we need to go through your control exercises again.” Taking Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he helped the young man stand up.

“All right,” Sola said sternly over the chatter in the room, “this meeting will hereby come to order.” She pounded with her fist on the side table, in lieu of a gavel.

Obi-Wan found himself sitting next to Ruwee on one side and Qui-Gon on the other. He leaned over and whispered to Ruwee, “Does she always control the floor like this?”

Keeping a straight face, Ruwee answered, “Yes. She’d a holy terror of a public servant if she decided to go into politics like her little sister.” Sola scowled darkly at them. Obi-Wan looked innocent, then changed his expression to contrite. Satisfied, Sola smiled.

“First of all,” she said, “I want to thank all of you for rescuing my little sister.”

“Thank you for aiding our daughter and keeping her safe,” Jobal said. Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly.

“We are here to serve,” he said, sotto voce.

“What about the political plans?” Sola asked. “Padme mentioned them, but didn’t say what they were.” Obi-Wan looked at Padme, who blushed. He sighed and shook his head.

“We were going to spring Padme on the crowds while Palpatine is making his condolence speech. Does anyone know of someone who might help us? Because I can’t be the one to introduce her. Obviously.”

“Sio Bibble might. He’s the governor,” Padme said. Ruwee frowned.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, young man?”

“She was popularly elected,” Obi-Wan said. “And this speech will most likely go on the Holonet. Millions of people will see it. If the Queen were to disappear again, there would be even higher suspicions, and all of Naboo might rise up and protest, and be joined by other people on other worlds. Sidious views this as a small matter—Naboo isn’t that important, even though it is his homeworld—and won’t want to run the risk of you blackmailing him for kidnapping the Queen-elect—doubtless Padme has told you the whole story by now. Spread it to a few who you can trust, but no further. That way you will have leverage against Sidious. He’s too intelligent not to recognize the fact.” Obi-Wan looked down. “I’ve been thinking…” He passed a parchment to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon quickly perused its contents and then looked at the Padawan, a smile perking on his lips.

“You certainly do have an innate, and perhaps intolerable, love of drama, Obi-Wan,” he said. Obi-Wan blushed and hung his head. Qui-Gon laughed. “But in this case, I think that’s a good thing.” He passed the speech to Padme, who inspected it thoroughly.

“You should go into politics, Master Jedi,” she said. Obi-Wan blanched, his face the picture of total horror.

“Heaven forbid!” he gasped, almost as if the words were being jerked out of him. Siri nearly fell out of her chair laughing.

“All right,” Qui-Gon said, joining in the burst of general laughter, “after that slight to the queen-elect’s avocation, I expect you to apologize, my very young Padawan.” Obi-Wan rose from his seat, face as red as a beet, and dropped to one knee in front of Padme.

“I beg your forgiveness, your highness,” he said, still blushing. Padme placed her hand on his head, trying to ignore the impulse to mess with his thick auburn hair, in the traditional Naboo gesture of forgiveness.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” she said, grinning. Obi-Wan regained his seat.

“I’ll need some Naboo-style clothes to get about unnoticed,” he remarked. “The tattoos on my face will be the hardest thing to take care of…”

“We’ve used paint before,” Qui-Gon noted. Thoughtfully, Jobal looked critically at Obi-Wan.

“I have some concealer from an old makeup kit—I haven’t used it in years. It should work to cover up the tattoos.”

“Right…”

“And I’ll go buy some clothes for you,” Sola said. “There’s no way Father’s would fit you. You’re taller than he is, and much slimmer.”

“Thank you, Sola,” Ruwee said. Padme giggled. Ruwee shook his head at her.

“Is this council of war over?” Jobal asked.

“I think so,” Qui-Gon said.

“It should be,” Obi-Wan added.

“Good,” Jobal said, rising. “Come upstairs, Master Jedi. We’ll see what we can do.”

“And I’ll go see about those clothes,” Sola said, leaving the room.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XII

Tags

alternate universe, apple butter, apples, applesauce, completed stories, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, fruit leather, home economics, insanity, long rants, rambling musings, sewing, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, story dynamics, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! Once again, I’m back, after dropping off the face of the ether. Sorry about that… we were processing apples from the orchard behind our house (which, sadly, does not belong to us… :’-( ) and making some into applesauce and some into apple butter and some into fruit leather, and then we were canning it, and then we were making clothes and costumes for Halloween, and all in all I was too busy to update, besides which I had no place to put my laptop, since there was sewing paraphenalia covering the dining room (which gets used for sewing much more frequently, by the way X-P) table, and canning paraphenalia on the kitchen table, and the lap desk is kind of cumbersome, besides which I hate using the mouse pad attached to my laptop… yeah… Sorry about that little rant. KRAYZEEEEEEEENESS.

This chapter: Qui-Gon has a talk with Padme, Obi-Wan looses control and self-depreciates (seriously, what is it with his lack of self-esteem?!), and memory takes a hold, linking the past to the present, and the future.

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XII

                Qui-Gon relaxed once the ship was in hyperspace. He walked back to the small salon. “Your highness. We’re well on our way to Naboo.”

“Thank you, Master Jinn,” the young queen said, her eyes sparkling with joy. “But please, don’t call me by my formal title. I’m not the queen, not yet. Until my inauguration, I’m not the queen. I’m just plain Padme Naberrie, from Ikili-in-the-Hills.” Qui-Gon nodded slowly, not making any moves in one direction or the other, keeping his face neutral. Padme Naberrie seemed to be studying him. Suddenly, she burst out, “You’re not really like Obi-Wan.”

The next moment, her face was the picture of shock. Apparently, she hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Qui-Gon burst out laughing. “I should hope not! Not all Jedi are alike, Miss Naberrie.” The young girl blushed.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” she backpedaled. Still smiling, Qui-Gon shook his head.

“It was honest. Obi-Wan would probably say that we are two of a kind.”

“I’m guessing that Obi-Wan can be blunt, too, though.”

“Brutally honest at times,” Qui-Gon affirmed.

“Well, in that case, we’re three of a kind.” Qui-Gon laughed again. “What are the other Jedi like?” Padme asked.

“Some of us would say that Obi-Wan is one end of the scale and I’m the other,” Qui-Gon replied without really replying. “If you look at us, it’s a bit of a minor wonder of the galaxy how we get on so well.”

“You complement each other,” Padme said. Qui-Gon smiled.

“You sound very certain of that, Miss Naberrie,” he said.

“Of course!” Padme said eagerly. “I can just see Obi-Wan running off to get things done, hitting up all the villains, and finishing with a flourish, while you’re his ballast, the safe haven.” Qui-Gon smiled at how sure she sounded. And she was right.

“You should have been a Jedi,” he said. “Your observations of Obi-Wan are absolutely correct. He has a lot of fire; he needs someone who compliments that. He’s all fire and water, whereas my element is earth.”

“That fits,” Padme remarked. “I think… well, Obi-Wan… he just gives me the impression of tightly controlled power and energy. He has… an aura… I think that’s the right word. The first time I met him, I was a bit disappointed, under all my other distress. I had… a feeling that something was outside the room, though I was too upset and buried in my own worries to think about it at the time. And then, when he came in, my first subconscious thought was, ‘That’s it?!’”

Qui-Gon laughed. “He does seem a bit small for his presence, doesn’t he?” Inwardly, Qui-Gon was a bit surprised. Obi-Wan did make impressions, but he had never heard of anyone perceiving him through extra-sensory perception. Quickly, he probed Padme’s Force-presence. She was slightly more sensitive to the Force than the average human, but still nothing particularly out of the ordinary. “So, you’re saying you actually sensed him without sight, hearing, touch or anything like that?”

“I know it sounds crazy…” Padme said. “But yes, I think I did.” Qui-Gon smiled.

“I don’t think it’s crazy. Often, that’s how Jedi tell where the others are.” Padme’s eyes widened.

“But, I’ve never…”

“I don’t think you have any Jedi abilities,” Qui-Gon said. “But Obi-Wan has a very deep and particular connection to the Force, and perhaps that’s what alerted you to his presence there. On some level, we’re all able to feel the Force. Some of us are just stronger with it than others, have more of a natural talent.”

And some of us, Qui-Gon added mentally, are talented beyond belief.

 

                Qui-Gon moved through the corridors of the Imperial palace like a wraith, silent, with practiced ease and unremitting purpose. Suddenly, ahead of him, there was a startled gasp in front of him, and a very small person darted out before him, scuttling into the shadows beyond. On instinct, Qui-Gon leaped forward and grabbed the offending shape. Pulling the child back into the light, Qui-Gon found himself staring in honest surprise into the face of a three-year-old human boy with huge, frightened, blue-gray-green eyes. He was thin, too thin, not chubby like most children his age, and had thick, ruffled dark chestnut-auburn hair. Qui-Gon relaxed. The child shrank away from him, fearfully. Qui-Gon smiled reassuringly at the little boy. “It’s all right, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Stars above, this child glowed like a beacon in the Force, a blaze of pure silver. An untrained, instinctive Force-probe came across his senses, and Qui-Gon almost laughed. He was being evaluated by an untrained three-year-old. Emerald and sapphire mingled in a captivating swirl in those perversely huge, expressive and completely adorable eyes. They studied him for another excruciatingly long moment, then the boy lowered his eyes and reached a decision, satisfied.

                “Mama’s hurt,” he whispered. His voice was a treble, soft toddler lisp, with just a hint of a familiar aristocratic-yet-pragmatist accent. Qui-Gon suddenly felt a sharp premonition, but he pushed it aside. “Can you help her?” the child continued. Qui-Gon didn’t hesitate. It wouldn’t interrupt his search too much, and he had a feeling that if he hesitated, it would be too late. Besides, there was something about this boy…

                “Lead on,” he said. Instantly, his small guide took off at a rattling pace that amazed Qui-Gon. Hastily, they made their way towards the slave quarters and into a room, bare, dilapidated, and sparsely furnished. It was unoccupied save for a figure that lay on its back, perfectly still, on the bed. The little boy hurried to the prone figure’s side.

                “Mama?” he said, in a broken whisper. The young woman moved, pushing herself up in bed.

                “Master!” she exclaimed, her clear sweet voice soft, weary. Qui-Gon walked forward, three long strides swallowing up the distance between them.

                “Sharya,” Qui-Gon breathed. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry it took so long to find you.”

                “Well, at least,” Sharya breathed, “you were in time… for my son.” She grabbed the little boy’s hand and placed it in Qui-Gon’s. “Master, this is Obi-Wan. Please, don’t just leave him here. He must be trained as a Jedi.” Sharya leaned close. “Because he is the Chosen One.” There was no sharp inhalation of shock, no quick, excited searching of the Padawan’s face. Qui-Gon merely gripped the slender, white, six-fingered left hand in his.

                “You’re sure?” he asked, searching her eyes. Sharya blinked, then sighed, closing her eyes.

                “Yes,” she said, voice assured. “I am vowed to perpetual virginity, Master, and I have kept my vow.” She coughed a little, uncertainly. “Thank heaven… you got here in… time…”

                “Sharya?” Qui-Gon asked. She slowly slipped back down, settling into the pillows, and gave out one last, long breath. The warrior and wanderer had departed on her final journey. The silence was broken by a pained cry as young Obi-Wan sensed his mother’s death. The three-year-old sank down to the floor and began to sob. Qui-Gon closed the beautiful hazel eyes for the last time and hurried to comfort the child. “Hush. There, there, now,” he soothed. “It’s all right, everything is going to be all right.”

                “Are you going to take me away?” the boy asked, his huge sapphire eyes awash with tears. “I won’t leave Mama,” he whispered firmly. Qui-Gon smiled sadly.

                “Don’t worry, little one. Mother’s only gone away to live far, far away, but she’ll be with you too. She’ll never leave you, Obi-Wan, and someday you’ll see her again.”

                “She’ll be with me?” the little boy whispered. Qui-Gon smiled again.

                “Always.”

“Master Jinn?” Padme’s voice broke through Qui-Gon’s reverie. He straightened up.

“Yes?”

“I was…” she looked away, unable to finish.

“Wondering?” Qui-Gon supplied. “About what?”

“Well, I was just… unsure about… well, Obi-Wan was saying that he hoped to instate me properly as Queen, according to the rules of democracy…”

“He informed me of his plan,” Qui-Gon said. “Go on.

“Well, it’s just that…” Padme shrugged. “I wasn’t sure about the political dynamics of this, is all.” Qui-Gon laughed softly.

“There’s no need to worry, your highness. Sometimes even I don’t quite follow Obi-Wan’s thoughts very well, either. At times, it’s as if he’s something completely different from me…”

“Yes,” Padme said thoughtfully, “I had that feeling a bit too… but then he was also capable of so much compassion…”

“Obi-Wan is special,” Qui-Gon said, “like I said before.”

Siri came looking for him.

Or rather, she was about to, when the doors to the cargo bay slid open and two of the Red Guards dragged him in and flung his inert form on the ground. Siri, who had dived into hiding behind the boxes of supplies the instant she heard them outside the door, slipped out of her hiding place the moment she was sure they were gone, and rushed to Obi-Wan’s side. Hurriedly, she checked his pulse. It was even and steady, and his breathing seemed fairly strong. He was completely unconscious, however. Siri gently turned him over, then brushed his wayward shoulder-length ginger hair out of his face. Oblivious to the world around him, he looked so innocent, so much younger than he really was. However, there was a subtle twist of the lips that spoke of suppressed pain. Siri looked down at him for what seemed like a long time. He was handsome, but the Sith tattoos that were spread across the left side of his face marred it somewhat. Siri felt toward him like she had felt to very few in her life. Almost protective, almost… something else. She didn’t dare to say what.

Something had happened. At last, Siri took in a deep breath, then grabbed his shoulder and began to shake him. “Hey. Wake up. Come on, Obi-Wan, you have to wake up” Even in sleep, Obi-Wan’s reaction was instantaneous. His hand snapped up, closing, vice-like, around her wrist, as his eyes opened sharply. He saw who it was who had aroused him, sighed, released her.

“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to alarm or hurt you.” Siri gave a low sigh of almost relief. In the moments before he was fully awake, it was dangerous, perilous even. Survival instincts took precedence. Evidently, living all his life in the midst of the Sith had taught him harsh lessons.

“Do you miss your mother?” Siri asked, on an impulse. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Yes. But, of course, I barely knew her. I was so young when she died. For twelve years, I never laughed or smiled, except when I was with my master, and I rarely spoke.”

“What changed that?” Siri asked.

“A woman called Shmi Skywalker, who was brought to the palace one day. With her kindness, she began to break down the chill around my heart. She was good enough to consider me as her own son. If there is anyone there who deserves to be free, it’s her. Her, her son Anakin, or one of the future Sith apprentices there.” Siri gave him a confused look.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “A Sith is a Sith is a Sith. They’re all the same.”

“No, they aren’t,” Obi-Wan argued. “Some of them aren’t really evil. They use the Dark Side, yes, but they have never been given the choice to use the Light. They are only doing what they’ve been taught. How can they do anything else, without someone to teach it?” He shook his head softly, falling into silence. Siri stared at him in awe, eyes widening in realization.

“That’s why you stayed,” she said in a near-whisper. Obi-Wan dropped his head, thick auburn hair falling across his face, obscuring his expression. Siri was still staring. “You wanted to try.” Obi-Wan bowed his head, resting his forehead against his knees.

“Better to redeem than to destroy,” he said, so softly that she could barely hear him. “We should never condemn those who fail in haste; we don’t know all their circumstances. We don’t really understand.” He shifted slightly, not raising his head. “It might be a good idea for me to pretend to be unconscious when the guards come back.” he said, half-wistfully.

“It might,” Siri said slowly. She peered thoughtfully at him, sideways. “Do you ever rest?” Obi-Wan laughed ruefully.

“My master wants to know the same thing,” he said with the same half-uncertain, self-depreciating humor Siri had been so bewildered by before, lying down. His eyes flickered shut. Siri stared, wondering if he was really unconscious, or still awake and watching her with some sense that was perhaps, even inexplicable by the Force itself. His abilities seemed uncanny at times, as uncanny to her as those of an ordinary Jedi would have been to a layperson. “Stop thinking so loudly,” Obi-Wan chided her from his prone position, “you’re making it hard for me to think.”

By the time the guards returned, the ship had made the odd jerk that signaled they were coming out of hyperspace. Obi-Wan had never liked the feeling of accelerating into hyperspace or leaving it much; for the first few seconds it felt as if he was being jerked abruptly through a ray shield, or was in an abruptly-dropped elevator, and the next few minutes his core temperature would fluctuate oddly—probably due to the sudden changes in the flow of the Force. Obi-Wan grabbed the long concealing cloak from the peg in the slave quarters as he was marched off. The guards shoved him into place behind the emperor and he dutifully followed the man down the ramp.

But nothing was enough to stifle the spark of defiance thinly veiled behind a mask of diplomacy. Obi-Wan carried himself straight and tall, self-assured and confident, as if he was one of the delegation instead of Sidious’ slave.

The welcoming committee was uninteresting, as was the extremely normal banquet that was to follow. Obi-Wan stood behind Palpatine’s chair, trying to keep from yawning with boredom. These visits were always the same; some rebellious, courageous souls sticking to the background, attending against their will; the others, obsequious, fawning Imperial sympathizers and sycophants of the crown, groveling before the throne of the Sith. Even simply making eye contact with anyone in the room would have been dangerous, more so for them than for him, since he was such a… favorite… with the Sith. If he made eye contact with a rebel, they might be executed. If he made eye contact with an Imperial, he might be beaten. It was simply easier not to take the risk, and so he kept his eyes downcast, but not without scanning the room thoroughly, without outwardly appearing to look, monitoring for potential allies and enemies, a habit he had learned by years of hard experience. Hard lessons had been taught him by years upon years of contending with the same enemy, and he would have been a fool indeed not to pay heed to them. Never let your guard down. Never leave an enemy in the room unwatched. He had learned his lessons well, as the Sith would one day know, to their cost.

Despite the fact that his eyes were downcast, he noticed that a few—or rather, more than just a few—of Sidious’ syncophants were ogling him appreciatively. Obi-Wan inwardly felt a rush of revulsion. He hated being stared at. It was at times like this that Obi-Wan wished with all his heart that he had been born plain. Good looks served no practical purpose whatsoever; thought it was true that “handsome is as handsome does”, he would rather not have been seen—flaunted—in this flagrant way. Slavery was demeaning. Slaves had no rights. They were considered non-persons, un-persons, less than persons, to be used, and used up, and thrown away on a whim, by their masters.

Once, when he was ten, Obi-Wan had been carrying a breakfast tray to an ageing Sith Lady; he had fallen and cut himself three times n pottery, ceramic, and glass shards, and once on the knife that had fallen from the tray. He had been given twenty lashes for nearly ruining his appearance, as if his other injuries had not been punishment enough for mere adolescent clumsiness. Obi-Wan wished he had been scarred across the face. Perhaps he might be left alone, then. He might not be classically handsome—his features were too angular to be classically handsome—but he still drew attention, and he hated that.

After the formal greeting, with all its flowery speeches, during the duration of which no one ever actually said anything worth saying, there was the formal banquet. Of course. Politicians were capable of many things, but not originality. Oh, goodness no.

Obi-Wan busied himself, by habit, monitoring the room the while. Two Bothans in the back corner—what exactly were they doing there? Other than making small talk, of course… A Nemoidian rapidly moving in the direction of being drunk to the nines. Oh wonderful, he was mixing his metaphors now. A Senatorial aide making love to another Senatorial aide. Naturally. People just had no decorum nowadays, though maybe his expectations were too high—the galaxy was ruled by the Sith, after all. Quinlan Vos wasn’t there, neither was the senator to whom Vos was an attaché. Pity, Obi-Wan thought. He truly enjoyed Vos’s company, no matter how much the Kiffar annoyed and/or embarrassed him.

He was startled by someone suddenly putting their hand on his arm, pawing lewdly at him. Quicker than thought, he subconsciously sensed a lurid intention and a reflexive Force-push batted the offender away like a fly. The gaudily-dressed woman flew backward, her head smacking against the wall with a sickening crack. There was a shocked silence. The crystal serving tray slipped from Obi-Wan’s hands and shattered into millions of sparkling fragments on the floor. Someone hurried to the woman’s side, checking for a pulse, but Obi-Wan already knew the truth. A wave of revulsion swept through him.

The woman was dead.

And he had killed her.

There wasn’t even outrage in Sidious’ eyes, merely cruel amusement. He laughed, clapping his hands three times, a vicious mockery of applause. Sidious laughed. Obi-Wan felt sick inside. “Well done, Korzu,” Sidious said, still laughing. Obi-Wan was still too much in shock to even make a scene. Slowly, people resumed eating as several other servitors whisked out, to sweep up the broken fragments of the tray, while a group of slaves carried out the woman’s body. Obi-Wan turned his face away from the debauchers. Sidious laughed again. “Your first kill! Isn’t it marvelous?” Obi-Wan fell to his knees and threw up, violently, though his stomach was all but empty.

No more. He could not take any more of this.

However this ended, he wanted out. Just away from Sidious, and the rest of the Sith.

Even if it meant he had to die.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XI

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Back, once again. Sorry about the wait… :-S

This chapter: Some dark flashbacks, mentions of torture, Sidious being… well, Sidious. And we finally get to find out more about Obi-Wan!

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XI

                Obi-Wan rose long before dawn, his innate time sense, part of him as deep and ancient as the Force itself, waking him at a good time. It wasn’t hard, after all. He could endure hunger, thirst, exhaustion, pain, all without flinching or complaining. He was used to this. He rarely got tired, or suffered because of a lack of sleep, or was debilitated by malnutrition, for some odd reason. The Force was sustenance enough, somehow.

Quickly dressing, Obi-Wan went down to where Siri was hidden. She was already awake and ready, albeit somewhat sleepy-eyed. Obi-Wan checked her over quickly. “Come on. Shield yourself, and let me take the lead.” Obediently, the sleepy younger Padawan followed. Obi-Wan allowed himself a brief smile. They were making progress.

“I have a question,” Siri remarked as they made their way through the passages of the palace. No one was up yet, and the corridors were empty. “I wasn’t shielding like this before. How come the Sith didn’t sense me and come and find me?”

“I was shielding for both of us,” Obi-Wan replied. “Actually, it’s a bit of a relief to be able to let you take over. I’m used to shielding myself, but not two people.”

“Oh,” Siri replied, somewhat subdued. Or just sleepy. It could be either one.

They found their way to the landing platform without mishap. However, on the edge of it, Siri spotted the two guards and stopped. Obi-Wan shot her a half-exasperated glance and walked boldly forward. He waved his hand in front of the guards’ faces. They didn’t even stir, they just kept staring blankly ahead. Obi-Wan smiled briefly at his companion. “The Force can be a strong influence on the weak-minded,” he quoted impudently. Siri’s mouth dropped open.

“They don’t even realize we’re here?” she gasped. Obi-Wan shook his head.

“No. At the moment, they can only think what I’m thinking for them.” He guided her into the craft and into the hold, where he hid her in a box behind some struts. “After we lift off, you won’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll make sure that whoever sweeps this area—if they even decide to follow protocol at all—doesn’t even realize you’re there.” He nodded briefly to her. “I will knock this time, I promise.” Then he swept out of the hold. A few moments later, Siri felt as if a surge of energy had been released back into her. She had no idea what it was, but at least she didn’t feel so tired now…

Keeping the new shields firmly about her mind, Siri slid into a deep sleep.

Sidious was almost surprised to see Kenobi waiting by the ship with the guards. However, true to form, he obviously hadn’t been able to simply submit to fate. One of the guards was holding him with his hands in a pair of stun cuffs behind his back. Sidious scowled angrily. “What was he up to this time?” The guard shrugged.

“Some cheek about us going to be late if you didn’t hurry up, sir,” he said, keeping his eyes down and speaking dully, as if he had no choice but to say the truth and only hoped that he wouldn’t be killed for saying it. “Saucy son of a varmint can’t keep his mouth shut.” Sidious caressed the darkening bruise on his slave’s un-tattooed cheek, then slapped him, hard. The young man’s eyes steeled into determined gray, staring cold defiance back at his captor, as if to burn the memory of Sidious’ every feature from yellow eyes to cruel mouth onto his mind. Sidous wasn’t used to defiance. This display from young Kenobi fascinated—and troubled him. There was something unsettling, something vaguely disconcerting in Kenobi’s gaze, the wild, untamed gray eyes burning into him, as if to see through to his very soul, pregnant with a promise of whispering peril. But at the same time, the boy was fighting a fight beyond his strength, a futile exercise. He might be bright with potential, but he was untrained and untested. Fully trained, Kenobi might have been a formidable warrior, capable of besting the Dark Lord of the Sith. Perhaps, Kenobi was the only one capable of defeating Sidious. And yet, he couldn’t do it without training. It was almost a pity, Sidious mused, that someone so gifted would have to go untrained. And yet, the bitterness he felt every day in the young man was a sweet taste of revenge against everything Kenobi stood for. In this dark time, ironically enough, this untrained whelp was the only living reminder of the Jedi, the last son of an ancient tradition, spawned after its death, to live on in bitterness and pain in the darkening world with no chance of ever restoring his noble parentage to its rightful place. It was a sweet and intoxicating thing, Sidious mused, to feel the boy’s constant suffering and outrage. And so, he had let Kenobi live, but what an existence… slowly squeezing the life out of him, feeding off of his pain and mental torment, the Dark’s taunt at the staid, stagnant Light, whose servant was being slowly bled out on the sacrificial altar of the Sith and of his own choice. It was one way of trampling the memory of the Jedi, and Sidious intended to trample. This boy, disgustingly noble and spirited as he might be, was only a means to an end, a symbol, dying for what he stood for. Kenobi meant nothing; what he might have been was everything.

“Take him on board,” Sidious snapped, and then walked forward. He heard a gasp of pain from behind him. He didn’t bother to look back. A hitch in the tight breathing, a stoop in the proud shoulders. A whisper of agony echoed in the Force, then there was silence.

Kenobi served breakfast with his usual panache; in short, icy silence. Sidious toyed with the idea of baiting him for a moment, then almost decided against it, then decided in favor. He looked up. “I suppose the white knight is champing at the bit at the moment,” he said. Silence. An almost imperceptible twist in the corner of the mouth. Kenobi stared straight forward, face unreadable. “His lovely lady fair is trapped in the dark tower, and he can not go riding out to save her. Oh no, he’s chained down himself, and about to watch the coronation of the usurper of her throne. What will happen to the sweet damsel in distress, I wonder?” Still no response. Sidious’ icy fingers clawed around the young man’s shoulder, forcing him down. “And what will the brave knight do when he sees her execution in secret and is helpless to stop it?” Horror spiked through the Force. The young man’s eyes snapped with a dangerous glint.

“Monster!” his voice snapped, taut like a whip. And then it failed him completely, and the young man turned and rushed from the room.

Obi-Wan rushed blindly from the cabin, trying to calm himself, but the deep breaths only seemed to bring on more adrenaline. How does he get under my skin like that? I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Why can’t I just be… Silence. Breathe. Peace. It wasn’t about the words, it was the way Sidious said them. It wasn’t the sneer, it was the thought behind the sneer. Obi-Wan fell back against the wall, closing his eyes, blanking the face out by force. Sidious’ face. The last face he had seen before the huge black phantom hand had reached into his chest and ripped his innocence away from him. His childhood had been short and had ended with Sharya’s death, all those years ago…

Sharya. Sharya. Mother. Beloved mother. Pure-hearted woman and strong comrade, ultimately destroyed by the evil that was the Sith. Obi-Wan’s hand went to the pendant that he still wore, under his tunic. He barely remembered his birth mother. He was an orphan, and the small, white gem was the only connection he had left to his family.

The day after she died, Obi-Wan had been dragged from her room in the palace, sordid and small and completely unworthy of her, forced to his knees in front of Sidious. And there, he had left childhood behind.

He was only three.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the memories. The scar under his ribs from the ceremonial blading burned like fire, a phantasmal pain that wasn’t really there. That was the first time.

Obi-Wan forced the memories away. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—think of that now. Obi-Wan had been born with the ability to see the future and past as if they were happening at that moment, but he had espoused with whole-hearted abandon his mentor’s mantra to live in the moment. He might look forward, but only for practical purposes, and only when it was necessary. He had to live in the moment. The past was too painful; the future, too dark. Only in the moment could he put aside the pain. He focused on the Living Force, reaching out to all the corners of the universe. Joy. It was someone’s birthday. Sorrow. The anniversary of a death. Pain. A mother was giving birth. Hope. A child was becoming a man. Light. The other Jedi speckled the surrounding nothingness, like blazing stars. They were all one, they were all united.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, re-centered. It was moments like these that gave him hope, the strength to go on fighting. He was satisfied in the knowledge of having something worth fighting for.

Quietly, he went back to Siri’s hiding place.

Siri looked up at her… host? as he entered. The thought was somewhat amusing, but he was. He was offering her the best he could, and if that wasn’t all a cup of tea at least it was something better. “We’re en route now,” he informed her, sliding to the ground as if exhausted. Siri couldn’t help but frown in confusion at the resonances in the Force. He wasn’t so much of a presence or entity as a brightening in the undercurrents. He felt oddly vacant in the Force, as if he were not really there—and yet there was the Force-presence, but it did not quite resonate as his. It was as if he was sealed off, blocked from her in some way. Siri frowned thoughtfully. She had an odd memory of his real Force-presence, detached from her other memories, not fitting into the time line, adrift, singular. Finally, Siri plucked up her courage and made the decision to ask her question.

“I’ve been wanting to ask,” she said, “about a couple of things.”

“You can ask,” he replied noncommittally. Siri shook her head.

“I guess you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she said. “I don’t think I could make you.”

“Wise young lady,” he said sardonically. Siri huffed, but continued, determined to get an answer.

“You feel so… strange… in the Force. Almost as if you’re not there. And your Force-presence… it’s not your Force-presence, almost like it’s an illusion. But I can tell when you’re there, because of the way the Force… well… it swirls around you, and it warms up around you. I don’t know any other way to describe it.”

“You’re right about the Force-presence you can feel not being my real presence.” Obi-Wan said. “It is an illusion that I project. It gives the Sith the idea they can pry into my mind, when they really can’t. As to the Force being warm around me… is that… unusual for a Jedi?”

“Well, not really, but around you it’s a different kind of brightness and warmth. Unique. It’s almost as if you’re a part of the Force, you have a deeper connection…”

“I’ve been drawing on non-stop it for years, I don’t see why that would be strange,” Obi-Wan remarked.

“And then, there was a moment when you had just left the ship. All of a sudden, it felt like I had more energy and I suddenly realized I’d been inexplicably tired and drained up until that moment…” Obi-Wan blushed.

“That was a mistake on my part, and I apologize,” he said. “I was probably subconsciously drawing off of your strength as well as my own in order to distract the guards. I’m so sorry I drew on you without your permission… can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course,” Siri said, puzzled. “How… did you know what it was…”

“Some of the younger Sith apprentices seem to find my presence extremely draining. I had no idea what I was doing, or even that I was doing it, until I accidentally did it to Master Qui-Gon on a mission. I’d never done it to any of my friends, though, and I only did it to Qui-Gon when I was at my own limits, and that’s what tipped him off. Apparently I have an innate ability to draw on other people’s energy and strength when I’m completely exhausted, but after we figured that out, I focused on simply drawing off the Force instead, rather than preying off of other people.” Obi-Wan looked down. “I’m glad Master Qui-Gon found me. If I’d stayed untrained—even if I’d been able to keep to the Light—I would have been a danger to everyone around me.”

“How did you come to be at the Imperial Palace?” Siri asked. “You were joking when you said you were born there, right?”

“I wasn’t joking,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I really was born there.”

“Then how did you come to be trained? And why were you still there?”

“It’s a long story…”

“It’s a long, long way to Naboo,” Siri informed him. Obi-Wan sighed.

“My mother was kidnapped before I was born. Master Jinn, who had been her mentor, came to find her, too late. She… she died. We couldn’t find a way to deactivate my slave transmitter, so Master Jinn would slip into the palace to train me, after dark. Then, we figured out a way to deactivate the transmitter—you’ve heard of ionite, right?”

“Isn’t it one of the most valuable minerals in the galaxy?” Siri asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“And rendered even more rare and valuable by the fact that it is so dangerous to obtain. It’s found in only a few places, and it carries an electrical charge, neither positive nor negative, but neutral. It makes most types of electronics go dead—the theory is that it creates an anti-magnetic field strong enough to stop electricity from cycling normally. Of course, this is all quantum physics…” Seeing the glassy-eyed look in Siri’s eyes, he took the hint. “Like other electronics, the transmitter deactivates if it comes into too-close proximity with ionite. And once it’s offline, it’s easy to bring it back on with a simple use of the Force. I can’t deactivate it using the Force—it only reacts to the Dark Side for that—but I can use the Light to bring it back on. It’s odd little quirks like that that bring down empires, my friend.” Siri watched him, looking at those odd, changing eyes, now stormy gray like the sea of her homeworld.

“You really have thought everything through, haven’t you?” she asked rhetorically. His solemn gray gaze did not waver.

“Completely. No stone goes unturned.” He fell silent, turning away for a long moment. He sat down on another pile of boxes.

“Do you think there will be… fighting?” Siri asked. Obi-Wan took in a deep breath.

“I hope not. There shouldn’t be, if everything goes as planned.” Another long pause.

“Why was your mother kidnapped?”

“Because she was the true heir to the throne.” Obi-Wan said softly. “Sidious wanted to ensure she’d never be a threat to his power.”

“You’re a prince?” Siri asked, shocked. Obi-Wan whirled on her, his eyes gleaming with a terrible fire.

“No. I have never claimed my birthright, and I do not intend to. I am the heir to a thousand years of oppression, born to be the Prince of Darkness. I would rather stab myself to the heart than claim that throne or hold that scepter. It would change me, twist me into something I have no desire of becoming, and I would no longer be the man who stands before you now.”

“Still…” Siri said. She hesitated again. “Why didn’t you ever… leave? You said yourself that you could have.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I… I was just needed there, and they decided…”

“The Council ordered you to stay?”

“No, not exactly. It was my decision in the end… And I have never been able to quite say why I stayed.” There was a deep regret in that.

“In the course of your missions, have you… well, what I mean to say is… have you ever… ever taken a life?” This time, the beat was so long that Siri wondered if he had gone to sleep. Then, a soft, almost incomprehensible word.

“Yes.”

There was such pain in that single word that Siri looked up sharply. Obi-Wan had risen to his feet, and she could only see him in profile. His face was impassive and cold and proud, and for a moment she could only see the self-disinherited prince. Then he turned toward her and that guise all melted away. Suddenly, Siri realized that the reason why his eyes were so unusual, so changeable, was because they were so ancient. Even Master Yoda, who had lived for centuries, did not have eyes quite like this. It was almost as if he was seeing through all the various eyes of the very Force itself. “I have killed. Never by choice, but all too often, all the same. Wherever I go, I leave behind death. People die for me, I kill those who might kill me, and I never requite it. Horrible, isn’t it? I’m a monster, a monster wearing a fair guise. How many times have I actually saved lives? Not enough, never enough. I’m a murderer.” Siri’s jaw dropped, horrified.

“That’s guilt talking, not you.” she said. “No real murderer would feel guilt for what they’ve done. Or what they haven’t done.” She fixed him with a stern look. “I don’t believe you’re a monster. You may have Deriaka’s blood, but you aren’t Deriaka.” Obi-Wan sat down, his head in his hands.

“I wish it wasn’t this way,” he said softly, into his hands. “Sometimes, I wish I had never been born.”

“Well, at least I got to meet you,” Siri said. “I’m glad to have known you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“We have several hours until we get to Naboo,” he said, “and I’ll expect you to spend at least some of it sleeping. I have to attend Sidious…” he made a slight face at that. “After we land, though, I want you to wait until I come for you. I’ll have to accompany Sidious to the palace, then slip away and come back here to pick you up. We’ll head out to meet my Master, and you’ll be a free woman.” He spoke without a quiver of his voice or a single movement to indicate any emotion, but his eyes paled a shade, flickering sadly. The deep self-control he had over himself was not enough to control his eyes. It was deeper, more sincere.

And all in all, it made him more dangerous.

Obi-Wan made a quiet, graceful bow and exited. Siri sighed. She wished that he wasn’t so insanely confusing.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter X

Tags

alternate universe, bbc merlin, completed stories, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, the hero's dream

Hey! I’m trying to catch up, desperately… I hope you all don’t hate me for not being faster… :-S

Anyway, this chapter: Obi-Wan reports to his master, to Padme, and to Siri, and then has the luxury of a little rant (partially inspired by Merlin’s famous… or infamous… one in the BBC show.) Enjoy!

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter X

                “Master,” Obi-Wan reported, via hologram, “they are gathering an army, as Padawan Tachi said. From what I heard, it is comprised of droids from the foundries of Geonosis as well as clones, from Kamino.” Qui-Gon put his chin on his fist, pensively.

“This is serious news, Obi-Wan.”

“Not the most serious I have, though.” Obi-Wan said. “The Sith do suspect that we have the organization we would need to fight back against them. The Council must be warned. They have to be cautious…”

“Obi-Wan, I will inform the Council. Don’t worry…”

“That is my prerogative,” Obi-Wan quipped, tongue in cheek. They both laughed. Qui-Gon looked hard at his apprentice.

“I should take it that you have a bad feeling about this?”

“Not such a very bad one,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“But a bad feeling, nonetheless.” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan smiled.

“One more thing. Sidious is going to Naboo in the morning, and I guess that this time that means that I’m going as well. I have a plan to get both Padme and Padawan Tachi out of the palace, if you can smuggle the queen-elect out with you.”

“That won’t be a problem, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said firmly.

“I’ll meet you in the normal place then, tonight. We may be running late—I don’t know yet. After Padme is out of the palace, can you get her to Naboo? I’ll meet you there.”

“Will do.” Obi-Wan smiled.

“Thank you, Master. Over…”

“Oh, and Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said. “May the Force be with you.” Obi-Wan smiled again.

“May the Force be with you, Master. Over and out.” He cut the transmission.

Obi-Wan walked into Padme’s room, carrying her lunch on a tray. She looked up at him and smiled. “And how are you today, milady?” Obi-Wan asked, setting down the tray and scanning the apartment, checking it for bugs as he had the first time he had come into her room.

“Fine, I guess.” Padme replied. “Bored to death, though.”

“I have good news, then,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. “You’re going home tonight.”

Padme leaped from the bed and flung her arms around him, hugging him tight. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you! How are we getting out of the palace? Why tonight? Will you be coming too?” Obi-Wan gasped for breath in her overexcited embrace.

“Just let go of me for a moment and I’ll give you the details! You hug like a full-grown Wookiee.” Padme released him and he sat down, rubbing his bruised ribs. “There’s a system of tunnels leading out of the palace from the hall where we’ve been meeting with Master Qui-Gon. Few people know of their existence, and the Sith are not among that number. How did you think he was getting in and out?” Obi-Wan teased gently. “You’re going tonight because Sidious is headed for Naboo in the morning—the vicious, backstabbing toad—and he won’t be there to hear about your escape and the hunt until it’s too late. Maybe they’ll figure out how to get communications to a ship in hyperspace in our lifetimes, but for now it’s still science fiction. Besides, I’ll have some of my friends cover for you—maybe they won’t even realize you’re gone, if we’re lucky. The moment you’re out of the palace, Master Qui-Gon will take you to Naboo—this is the tricky part—and we’ll spring you on the crowds just as Sidious is making his condolence speech. That way, the Naboo will have a ruler whom Sidious will think twice about messing with in future. He’s too smart to miss the fact that you have leverage with the possibility of blackmail, so he’ll leave you alone.” Padme gasped.

“That’s brilliant!” was all she could find to say. Obi-Wan smiled slightly.

“You don’t live among the worst schemers in the galaxy for twenty-five years without learning something.” he said. “Oh, and I won’t be coming with you—I’m supposed to be attending Sidious, but I’ll slip away from the palace… Speaking of which, can you write out some directions so I can find your home? We’d better make that our rendezvous point and base of operations.” The next several minutes were spent in writing and memorizing directions, with Obi-Wan rapidly committing to memory Theed and its streets.

That night, after dropping Padme with Qui-Gon and repeating last-minute messages and injunctions, Obi-Wan directed his steps back toward the room where he had hidden Siri. He palmed open the door. “Siri?” he called.

The room was empty.

Obi-Wan panicked. Casting about through the room, scanning for any sign of life, he took a step inside.

Instantly, something dropped down from the rafters, tackling him. Obi-Wan struggled, but as he did so his hand came into contact with a thick mane of blond hair. Siri.

Obi-Wan gasped and rolled her weight off of himself. “It’s just me,” he panted, trying to regain his own equilibrium. “Sorry about that, I should have pre-arranged a signal with you.”

“Just knocking would be completely fine,” Siri said, throwing her hair back out of her face. “The Sith haven’t got the brains or the manners to knock, believe me.” Obi-Wan grinned, then turned serious.

“I have a way of getting you safely off-world,” he said.

“Thank goodness,” Siri quipped. “And none too soon. How?”

“Sidious is going to Naboo tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s going to take me along with him… There are advantages to being his favorite personal slave, however few they may be.” He favored her with a quick, humor-bright smile. “What he doesn’t know, however, is that you will be on the ship as well, and once safely on Naboo, getting clean away will be relatively easy.” Siri gasped with shock.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, then registered a double take as she saw the determined expression on his face. “Wait, what? You’re planning to smuggle me on a ship with the most powerful Dark Sider in existence? What are you thinking?! He’ll sense my presence!” Obi-Wan leaned forward slightly, earnestly.

“No, he won’t. I can teach you a few shielding techniques that will allow you to hide your presence completely, or alter it if you so choose. I’ve been using them for years, it’s why the Sith never caught on that I’m a fully-trained Jedi. They won’t expect you to be trying to escape on Palpatine’s personal shuttle while he’s on it, which is what makes it so perfect.”

“What makes it so hare-brained, you mean.” Siri pointed out. She sighed. “Are you sure this is going to work?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he replied, perhaps just a bit too quickly. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t do anything to risk your life like this if I wasn’t absolutely sure it would work. Don’t you trust me?”

“Have you ever tried this ruse out before?” she pushed. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Well, no, not exactly. But I have been an undercover operative here for the past twenty-two years, and I wouldn’t be alive today if I made a habit out of being foolhardy.”

“Great,” Siri sighed. “So, basically, we have no idea whether this will really work or not.”

“I don’t do anything without thinking it through, ever,” Obi-Wan insisted. He sighed. “Listen, this is a very busy week for me. I have a full schedule. I have to get one young woman out of the palace already, which is hard enough, and she’s not even in high security holding, in which case it would be difficult but not impossible, I have crossed Sidious several times and was tormented for a few hours, not to mention that I’ve had some very unwelcome attention from two different Sith, and may have inadvertently landed myself on the radar in general due to a fight with a Sith apprentice, and I can not possibly get two women out of the palace without detection, so I must settle for smuggling them out separately, which has the added bonus that if one is recaptured the other may not be. And honestly, this is the best I can do right now. It’s been an insane week for me. You should have turned up another time if you wanted five-star service. It never rains, but it pours,” he sighed, shaking his head. Siri giggled at his tirade.

“From the way you were talking, for a moment there I thought you were someone important,” she laughed. Obi-Wan shook his head at her again.

“This isn’t a joke, Padawan Tachi,” he said, somewhat ruefully. Siri laughed again.

“Oh, really? Then who exactly are you?” she asked. Obi-Wan looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, frowning as he thought it out.

“Well,” he said pensively, “taking everything into account, and all things being equal… I’m the third most influential, second most powerful, and absolutely the most dangerous person on Coruscant.” The laughter died on her lips as she saw his expression.

“You’re serious?” she asked.

“You’d be surprised how many people’s destinies I hold in the palm of my hand. I’m the only thing that stands between them and death or torture. And I am not about to fail them, Padawan Tachi.” His face was stern, almost as if he was speaking a sacred oath. Siri thought for a moment before asking her next question.

“All right… so… what about tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’m afraid you won’t get too sleep much tonight,” Obi-Wan said apologetically. “I’m going to teach you how to cloak your presence tonight, then I need you to get up early tomorrow morning so I can get you aboard Palpatine’s shuttle and well-hidden before anyone else goes on board. Oh… one last thing. I have to ask your permission first, but the shielding technique—it’s one of the more restricted ones. It involves me wiping your memory of myself teaching you; no one is supposed to know who else knows this technique. You’ll remember being taught, but you won’t remember who taught you. I’ll also have to wipe your memory so that you don’t remember me telling you about the technique, either, after the mission is over, and my own memory of teaching you, after submitting a report to the Council so that they’re aware you know it. Neither of us will know that the other knows it. Understand?”

“I guess,” Siri said doubtfully. “You’ll be in my mind?”

“It’s very specific, not like a probe,” Obi-Wan cautioned her. “It’s for your own safety, and mine too, remember.”

“Have you ever done that before?” Siri asked. “Selectively wiped someone’s memory, I mean.” Obi-Wan smiled, half-mischievously.

“Yes, I have actually done that. It’s part of the reason I’m alive today.”

“Oh.” The silence dragged out between them for a long moment, then Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

“Lower your shields. I’m not always good with words, it’ll be easier to just show you.”

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter IX

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Once again, the Hero’s Dream returns. Sorry about the wait, I was delayed… *sigh*

This chapter: Sidious makes a disturbance and Obi-Wan uncovers more evidence in the Sith plot. Enjoy!

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter IX

                Obi-Wan paused in the kitchen, leaning on one of the counters and smiling at the cook. “Hello, Steela.”

The Onderonian woman gave him a slightly pugnacious stare. “I suppose your being here means His Nibs wants his breakfast?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Please don’t try poisoning it. You should know better by now.” Steela huffed. Obi-Wan chuckled. “Don’t worry, the day will come when all our wrongs will be righted. I promise you that.”

Obi-Wan made his way to Sidious’s room, pushing the door open by pressing his back against it, then slipping deftly in before it could close, hooking his foot around the jamb and pulling it closed slightly faster. When he walked in, the Sith looked no less angry than he had before. Obi-Wan heaved a mental sigh behind tight shields. I should have known what was coming.

Sidious was sitting at his desk, acidic yellow eyes staring down at his papers, as if to burn holes in them with his gaze alone. Unfortunately, looks could not kill or destroy, and the papers remained as they were. Obi-Wan walked forward, icy mask in place, and put the tray down on the table. A split second later, Sidious had him by the hair, fingers twisting tight into the ginger locks on the left side, winding the thick auburn hair around his hand, pulling the young man’s face down onto a level with his. “You’re late,” the Sith ground out. Obi-Wan stared defiantly back at his tormentor, not offering any apology. Sidious suddenly let him go, flinging him back. Obi-Wan picked himself up off the floor in complete silence. He had outgrown childish temper tantrums years before. Sidious scowled at him. “You had better not be late tomorrow. I’m going to Naboo, and you will attend me. Be on the landing platform by the shuttle at dawn, or else I’ll have my guards drag your sorry hide on board, and add in a few whip lashes, to clinch the bargain.”

Obi-Wan stood up. Drawing himself up to his full height, which was not much compared to many, but was still taller than Sidious, he exclaimed, “You have a lot of nerve to show your face there—on Naboo—after what you did to them, kidnapping their queen-elect.”

“Enough, boy!” Sidious snarled.

“I suppose you’re headed there to offer your condolences for their loss of a leader, and to ‘suggest’ one or two candidates—all of whom are practically in your pocket! Well, not all people are yours to command, Sith. You may enslave our bodies and our minds, but our souls are still free!”

“I said enough, boy! Be silent!” Sidious roared.

“I won’t be silent!” Obi-Wan returned, shaking with cold rage. “Many people have died in speaking out against you, and I suppose I’m next, but I won’t be silent. You can’t kill us all and one day, someone is going to put an end to your tyranny—” Obi-Wan was suddenly cut off as his airways constricted. Instinctively, his hands went to his throat. Sidious stood up, getting up from his seat as he maintained his Force choke. Sidious was wheezing for breath, fuming with anger, but still controlling himself—the stranglehold on Obi-Wan was not too tight, just enough to keep him from inhaling, without causing permanent damage.

“Now you listen to me,” Sidious hissed. “I’m not going to kill you, Korzu. I can feel it—your anger, your hatred. For me? Ah, no, what a pity, it’s for that name, isn’t it? The Dark Side is within your grasp, and yet, it’s just out of reach. You’re not going to die. You’ll go on living, you hate this wretched existence, don’t you? I am going to make your life a living hell.”

“That’s what yours is, already, and I’m not going to give in,” Obi-Wan gasped. “I can’t suffer like you… I’m not evil like you.” Sidious almost tightened his grip, but he regained control again and released it instead.

“You are going to suffer,” Sidious hissed. “You will live with everything denied to you, the use of your gift, the light and dark both… and if I decide to kill you, you will die screaming, begging to die, just so that the pain will stop.”

“I will never beg you for anything,” Obi-Wan said contemptuously. Then the Sith attacked. The world went gray. Darkness rose up and consumed everything.

“Obi-Wan?” The voice penetrated the fog in Obi-Wan’s mind like the beams of a lighthouse. Obi-Wan didn’t move.

Go away, leave me alone, his mind pleaded. Let me sleep. I just want to sleep!

“Obi-Wan, come on. You have to wake up!”

Obi-Wan fought the urge to go back to sleep. Come on, Kenobi, he argued with himself, you’re a fighter. Don’t just give in and concede the battle! Listen to her!

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, blinking at the dim light in the corridor. Shmi was kneeling beside him, leaning over him. He was at the center of a worried-looking ring of slaves. Shmi sighed with relief as he opened his eyes. “Thank Heaven! I was afraid we’d lost you, sweetheart.” She turned irately toward the others. “Go on, go about your business. Give him some room to breathe. He’ll be all right.” Some of the others hesitated, but an angry look from Shmi scattered them like butterflies in a gale. “Go on, you!” she snapped. Shmi turned back to her adoptive son. “Why do you have to antagonize him like that?” she demanded. Obi-Wan sighed, sitting up.

“I don’t know. I just… I’m disturbed by the injustice surrounding this place. I can’t stop myself.” Obi-Wan slammed his fist into the wall in helpless rage; Shmi winced as his hand pounded the wall, making it shake slightly. An ornate mirror on the opposite wall cracked at the anger washing off of him in hot, furious waves. “When? When will all this evil, this vicious circle, end? When will the galaxy be free again?” Shmi pulled him close, holding him tightly.

“It’s human to be angry, son,” she whispered, “but you must also be patient.” A tear ran down Obi-Wan’s cheek, to be lost in her dark hair.

“I know. I just feel so sick inside. Why was I born like this, Shmi? I wasn’t born for this. If I can’t be free, if I can’t be a Jedi, then I’d be better off dead!” Shmi hugged him fiercely.

“My precious son,” she whispered. “No one deserves this, least of all you. I don’t have all the answers, sweetheart, but you’re the strong one. One day, things will be different. Knowing you, I feel sure that soon things will be changing. I wish you could be safe, but the danger would follow you wherever you go. You’re fated, somehow, Obi-Wan. You were born for just such a time as this, my son. And I can not help but believe that you were born to be our deliverer. Please, son, don’t let us down.”

“I won’t,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You have my word, mother.”

Obi-Wan slipped, wraithlike, through the halls, so well-shielded and concealed that he was almost a void in the Force, following Sheddra Azhrahai. The Sith Lord made her way through the halls and passages of the palace, completely unaware that she was being followed. Obi-Wan had an instinctive feeling about the Sith. He knew that, somehow, she was important. Beneath her lust for power—his power—her desire to have him her willing, mindless pawn—there was something else; something else was going on, beneath the surface. Obi-Wan’s intuitions were seldom wrong.

Finally, Sheddra found her way to a less-used part of the palace. Obi-Wan slipped into a curtained alcove behind her as she glanced around herself, checking to see if she had been followed and looking for someone. From the curve in her lip, a vicious snarl, Obi-Wan thought that, even if the follower had been a Sith like herself, the tail would have been instantly and mercilessly slain.

Obi-Wan sensed rather than saw a cloaked figure stepping out of the shadows ahead. Sidious. “Is the army prepared, Lord Azhrahai?” he asked.

“It is well prepared, though the clones will take time to complete their growth cycle,” Sheddra said. “The droids, however, are mostly already built. The Geonosians have been most obliging.”

“You have done well, Azhrahai,” Sidious said. Obi-Wan could hear a ghastly smile in the Sith’s voice.

“One thing worries me, though, my lord,” Sheddra said. “From what Xanatos said, I fear that the Jedi may not be as extinct as we once thought. The Jedi he accosted on Kamino was not a lone pair of saboteurs, working solo, but a team of spies. Who were they working for? Who were they reporting to? Who were they answering to? This points to organization, my lord. With no hierarchy, and leaderless, the Jedi are hardly a threat, not a very dangerous force to be reckoned with. However, organized, the Jedi become a very serious threat indeed.”

“Keep your mind on the army, Azhrahai,” Sidious advised, in a ghastly mockery of a fatherly tone. “The Jedi are my concern. I will take care of them. Continue with your work, Azhrahai. You are doing well indeed.” Obi-Wan did not wait to hear any more; he slipped away, back to his room.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter VIII

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Wow, two posts in two days. Still, after that long hiatus, I have a lot of catching up to do, right? 😉

This chapter: Night falls, Obi-Wan reports to Qui-Gon, and meets an unexpected ally…

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter VIII

                Night had fallen hours ago, but Coruscant never slept.

Still, the palace was more calm and empty than it would have been during the day. Obi-Wan made his way briskly down to the cells, located in the subterranean levels of the palace. However, unlike the interrogation cells, these were built for the purpose of detention, impossible to get into or out of, without some sort of key or Force ability on the part of the outsider.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and carefully concentrated, extending a thousand wisps of ethereal light outward. He felt a pull toward one particular cell… Walking toward the cell, he palmed the door open. He paused for a moment in the doorway, staring down at the prone figure on the floor at the other side of the cell. He advanced into the cell, up to the prisoner. Suddenly, the figure shoved itself up on its elbow, flipping over to face him, revealing a striking young woman not much younger than himself, with sky blue eyes and blonde hair. Her eyes glistened with defiance.

“Listen, Sith, I’m not going to tell you anything, so why don’t you just toddle off and do something more fitted to your abilities, whether it be destroying an entire planet or taking candy from Younglings.” the woman said defiantly. Obi-Wan was taken aback. For a long moment, he couldn’t find anything to say.

“I’m not a Sith,” he said at last. The woman eyed him with obvious distaste and disbelief.

“Prove it.” she said. Obi-Wan pulled in a deep breath. She seemed to be determined to make his job difficult. “How am I supposed to know that this isn’t a trick?” she demanded, distrustfully.

“Because, it isn’t,” Obi-Wan said, annoyed. He made a brisk bow. “Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, at your service.” Dropping his mental shields just enough to allow her to probe his mind, Obi-Wan braced himself. Occasionally, allowing less experienced people to access one’s mind could hurt. The movement was brisk, and over more quickly than he had expected. The young woman sighed and leaned back.

“I’m Siri Tachi,” she said.

“Pleasure to meet you. Now let’s get going.”

“Going?” she repeated, confused.

“Yes. I’m not going to leave you here!” he said. “Come on.” He gave her a swift hand up and led her quickly from the cell. He was not about to leave her to be tortured and interrogated.

Moving briskly, they passed quickly through more corridors and passages, all of them dark, dank, musty-smelling, and poorly kept. Siri glanced quickly at her inscrutable, mysterious new ally, curious. He wasn’t lying… but if he was telling the truth, then what was he doing here? And she had never heard of a fellow Jedi by the name he had claimed. She stole a quick peep at him. His face was oddly illuminated by the pale, flickering lighting of the corridor. Handsome, but somewhat disfigured by what appeared to be Sith-style tattoos on one side of his face. He seemed somewhat exasperated, impatient. Who was he?

Siri gave up her mental exploration and shuddered, her mind rambling along dark avenues, wondering what poor wretches lived here, what exactly was that lurking in the shadows… was that a rat? and why did this place even exist, unless it was a monument to pure evil? She pulled slightly closer to her guide, who did not seem unduly bothered by the darkness or disturbing surroundings. Perhaps he had gotten used to the dark all around. Finally, he led her to one room, which seemed even colder, darker, and more decrepit than the others. “You’ll be safe here,” he said, palming the door open. “No one will look for you here. I’m sorry I can’t do better for you.”

“It’s better than a cell,” Siri said with somewhat-forced cheerfulness. A brief flash of a slightly worried yet still dazzling smile, then his face sobered again.

“Where were you taken?”

“Kamino. We were… investigating… reports… reports of a clone army that was being formed. We sensed it… my master’s on the Seers’ Circle… and the Council ordered us to investigate. That was when… we ran into the Sith. They killed my master…”

“What was your master’s name?” Obi-Wan interrupted, leaning forward eagerly, eyes sharp, piercing, searching.

“Tola Finn. He… he… he tried to fight them, to protect me… but there were too many of them…” A tear escaped Siri’s eye and rolled down her cheek. “He died… so slowly… they were mocking him… I tried to fight them but they held onto my sword hand… and the leader threatened that if I didn’t surrender, they’d kill him… so I dropped my lightsaber… what could I do? And then, with no reason… none at all!… they killed him anyway!” Obi-Wan’s eyes were hard, grim.

“Scum.” he gritted out, through clenched teeth. Tears streamed down Siri’s cheeks. Her rescuer’s eyes softened, and he almost hesitantly pulled her close, awkwardly trying to comfort her. “Go on,” he said, somewhat unwillingly. “What were your findings? Who was the leader? I need to know all the details… to report to the Council.”

“We found out that the rumors were true. I think someone… one of the Kaminoans… had been bribed for something, though. That can’t mean anything good… can it?”

“No, it can’t, conceivably, mean anything positive,” he allowed. Slowly, he looked up at the walls. “So they’re preparing for war at last. They should have begun earlier, should have known it earlier. They left it unconscionably late. But who was the leader? Did you see his face?”

“Yes, I did. He was human, tall, with a sort of marble and ebony complexion, not really sallow, but unnaturally pale, clear skin and jet black hair. He had horribly cold, icy, pale blue eyes that seemed to look right through me, as if I was completely transparent… Oh, and he had a scar on one cheek, the right one, I think. It was like an incomplete circle, like a hex or a pentacle in a horror novel.”

“Xanatos. He has a heart of stone. And about how long ago did this happen?”

“About a week ago, I’d say. We arrived on Kamino August 22, standard.”

“That’s five days ago now,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Thank you, Padawan Tachi.”

“Please, call me Siri,” Siri said. “How did you know that I’d been captured? How did you get here? And why are you still hiding me in the Palace? How did you get in?”

“Getting in… that wasn’t a problem. I was born here.” Obi-Wan gave a humorless, bitter laugh, then prepared to depart. “I’ll come back again when I have news. Until then…” He raised a hand and slipped off into the darkness, vanishing in less than a moment. Siri gave a deep sigh and went further into the room, closing the door behind her. She sat down on the bed, thinking over the recent events. She had been a Jedi for far too long to trust anyone overly easily, even someone who had rescued her; deception was rampant in a galaxy controlled by the Sith. And yet, she found that she did trust Obi-Wan, for some reason she herself did not truly understand.

Obi-Wan entered his room, deactivated the listening device that he had discovered there years ago with a swift wave of his hand, and removed a holoprojector from its hiding place. Quickly, he activated it. It was a short time before he received any answer, but at last he was rewarded by the image of Qui-Gon Jinn coming into focus. “Obi-Wan, what is it? It’s the middle of the night. Has your cover…”

“No, Master. It’s not that bad,” Obi-Wan said hastily. “Would you please inform the Council that Master Tola Finn is dead and his Padawan Siri Tachi was captured, but I’m preparing to complete a rescue now. The Sith have commissioned a clone army on Kamino, and one of the Kaminoans has accepted a bribe of some sort. Xanatos headed the group that took Padawan Tachi prisoner.”

“They’re preparing for war?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Well, we’ve known for a while that war was coming. I’m just surprised that they left it so late.” Obi-Wan paused. “I’m also afraid that Sidious might know that we aren’t just a scattered group, but an organized and dangerous rebellion. Why else would we be investigating Kamino, moving in the coordinated way we are? He’ll be looking for our leaders.”

“I’ll inform the Council. Well done, Obi-Wan. Be careful, stay safe.”

“I will, Master.” Obi-Wan smiled reassuringly.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”

“And with you, Master.” Obi-Wan shut the com, then relaxed, settling down for a few hours’ rest before the next morning.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter VII

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, my beloved readers. Yes, The Hero’s Dream is finally back! With the revisions complete, I am free to take it off its hiatus. Also, I have good news: The series in which The Hero’s Dream is the first installment finally has a title! It will be called Shifting Tides, mainly because it is a story about renewal, and also because it’s very different from the galaxy we’ve all come to know and love, a long time ago and far, far away.

This chapter: More Obi-Wan and Dooku interaction! You know we didn’t get enough of it in Attack of the Clones. Here’s some more of the good stuff!

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter VII

                “Punctuality is a virtue,” Dooku observed as Obi-Wan came into the room, absent-mindedly banging the door behind him. Obi-Wan shot him a quick, hard glance.

“As is patience,” he said. Dooku merely stared at him coldly. Obi-Wan stared Dooku straight in the eye. “I doubt that Palpatine agrees.”

“Palpatine is a fool.” Dooku said. “You, my young friend, are merely an object to him.”

“And I’m not to you?” the young man challenged. Dooku acknowledged the hit with a nod. He was… fascinated… by Kenobi’s style. To say the least. Circling, probing the defenses, relentless once he found a gap, making the strike… without mercy. It was a Sith’s style. Dooku was slightly curious as to how deep it ran, since it was so overtly the fighting style of the Dark Side…

It wasn’t.

Dooku paused, shocked by this revelation. It wasn’t a Dark Sider’s true style.

Kenobi never twisted the blade in the wound, never poured salt in an open cut. It was startling to find everything but that one in place… and yet, on the other hand, it fit with everything that made up who the young man was. His very presence murmured with the sense of honor that, by all rights, was outdated by generations. A Jedi’s sense of honor. “Perhaps,” the Sith Lord said, “I should ask you if you have ever used anyone.”

“Were you intending to force a confession, or to make an ad hominem attack, or to efface yourself, or make a point that we have more in common than I think?” Dooku blinked. He hadn’t expected this. Kenobi was nothing if not unpredictable, it seemed. The boy had evaded the strike with the elusive grace of a Soresu master.

“Master Kenobi, how very astute of you.” Dooku said in a low tone. Obi-Wan inclined his head, giving nothing away. “I must admit, you fascinate me.”

“Prepare for disappointment,” Kenobi returned, his voice ice-laden.

“Sidious might not have noticed the one or two curious details about you, but they have not gone unnoticed, I assure you,” Dooku said. Obi-Wan walked slowly over to the table where the chess set waited, surveying it, then moving one pawn out of its place.

“Wait and the chance is lost,” he said. “Your move.” Dooku advanced a rook.

“If Sidious were to meet an unfortunate accident…”

“No.” Obi-Wan snapped. “There’s no love lost between us, but I will not resort to murder. I don’t stab people in the back, or kill them in their sleep. Is that not what happened to Aggradus?”

“Aggradus should have known better than to take the medicine Kolvaya prepared for him,” Dooku sniffed. He poured out two glasses of wine, offering one to Obi-Wan. The slave pressed it away.

“I would be better off dead than on that throne.” he said. “And if I were fool enough to wish to mount it, I would be as good as dead already.”

“Sidious intends to go to Naboo,” Dooku mentioned casually. Obi-Wan frowned.

“Oh, so he has the gall to go there after what he’s done with their Queen-elect?”

“It appears so.” Obi-Wan moved another piece.

“I suppose I’ll be the one that he brings along to push at the assassins when they come.” he said, icy disgust coloring his voice.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it, to put the one who is most likely to survive in the dangerous situation?”

“It’s been only sheer luck that I’m still alive.” Obi-Wan’s agile mind had not been idle. There were possibilities in this… Sidious doubtless meant to bear his insincere condolences to the Naboo, and install a puppet ruler while he was at it. In the galaxy, now, they had the appearance of democracy, not the reality. Dooku raised an eyebrow.

“In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.” In Obi-Wan’s, as well, not that he was going to let Dooku realize that.

“I’ve drawn the white shell from the box so many times now I’ve lost count. I’ve pulled the ‘life’ card out of the loaded Sabacc deck repeatedly. The odds have been stacked against me and I’ve survived time and time again. If that’s not luck, I don’t know what is.” Obi-Wan’s eyes met Dooku’s and locked, neither one betraying any emotion or thought.

“Perhaps the Force has another purpose for you.” Dooku remarked thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose anyone has ever taken the time to properly explain it to you?” Obi-Wan did not bat an eyelid. He was used to playing this role; here, he was a slave. Not a Jedi. He remained silent. Dooku decided to carry on. “You have doubtless noticed that you are like no other slave in the palace, and that you have the same abilities as the untrained children who are brought here. You are like us; you are Force-sensitive. I am surprised that you retain such a strong grasp on your more unorthodox abilities. Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about that little stunt you pulled in telekinetically flinging a bench at Xanatos while you were chained to the wall. Most children, if they are not trained, simply forget, in time, how to use those abilities. The Force, my young friend, is a sort of energy field. Life projects it, and it, in turn, feeds life. Perhaps you have found that you are more persuasive than most? No? You seem so spoiled, I would have thought that you have been subconsciously influencing others’ minds, in order to get your own way…” Obi-Wan gave Dooku an icy glance. Dooku shot him an unapologetic, white-toothed grin. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Not as much as the possibility that you might not be telling it,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“Hmmm,” Dooku murmured, observing the stacked board. Slowly, he moved a bishop forward. “Check.” Obi-Wan promptly knocked it off the board with his king, and brought the king up to leave no option for Dooku.

“Checkmate.” Dooku stared with some surprise at the board.

“A bold move,” he acknowledged. “But reckless. I wonder if it is natural talent, or a series of worthy opponents, that has given you such a gift for effective, if unconventional, military strategy?”

“Possibly both,” Obi-Wan remarked. Blue-gray-green eyes sparked, challenging, pushing past the boundaries. Dooku raised an elegant eyebrow, impressed. The young man’s presence hummed with carefully controlled energy, shrouded and cloaked but impossible to fully hide. Beneath the layers, the slave practically glowed in the Force. The way it swirled around him—as though waiting on his every move—the future changing with every thought, every breath—he wasn’t just a confluence, he was a convergence. Dooku had heard of them before, but had never actually encountered one that had a person as its focus point. Thoughtfully, with his back to Kenobi, Dooku weighed his lightsaber in his hand. He wondered, fleetingly, what a lightsaber constructed by this young man would feel like. The resonances of a saber crystal were echoes of the lightsaber’s maker and user; for good or for ill. It was nearly impossible to imagine, however, since Kenobi kept himself so completely shielded. It was a natural ability that all the stronger-willed palace slaves developed subconsciously, to keep their minds from being invaded, and Kenobi was anything but weak-willed. In fact, Dooku mused, Kenobi had the sort of will that was stronger than the weak corporeal form which was its vessel, the kind of strength that would move mountains. Dooku picked up a training saber and tossed it to the prisoner. It smacked into Obi-Wan’s palm, rife with the solid weight. The echoes even of a saber used only for training were disturbing, to say the least. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, deliberately blocking out the distressing echoes of rage and fear and greed and hate. This duel would probably neutralize some of it, overwriting the evil with his own calm restraint, but it would take intense meditation to completely clean the weapon of its Dark Side alignment, and he could not do that. The training saber flashed into being. Dooku saluted with his own weapon, the hilt curved like the hilt of his full-power lightsaber. Obi-Wan stood on the defensive, allowing some uncertainty that he did not feel to bleed out into the currents surrounding him. As if it had a life of its own, the training saber leaped up to deflect the first strike. Then all was chaos, and light, and heat, and energy. This duel was nothing like the fight with Maul. Maul had not been able to compare to Obi-Wan, at least as far as mentality went. Dooku might possibly be Obi-Wan’s equal in intellect, but was certainly his better in saber skills, even with Obi-Wan’s training, which he could not use anyway. What with having to hold back, Obi-Wan was fighting a losing battle, though, had this been a serious duel, he might have been able to use the unexpected skills he possessed to take Dooku off-guard and claim the victory. At last, Dooku’s saber slipped through his all-too-weak defenses, burning his arm. Obi-Wan deliberately made an initiate’s mistake, dropping the saber and grasping at his arm with a gasp. Dooku’s lightsaber hummed down, grazing his leg. Obi-Wan gave a low hissing cry of pain and staggered to the ground, with Dooku prowling around him.

“Never drop your saber, young one,” Dooku scolded. Obi-Wan slowly, painfully pushed himself up from the ground. He was burned, not cut, and though the injuries would hurt for a few days, they wouldn’t be seriously incommoding. “I think this is a good place to conclude our lesson,” Dooku remarked. Obi-Wan bowed silently, and went out. He was gone before the Sith could do anything about it.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter VI

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! This chapter: Dooku is curious, Obi-Wan has a vision, and Sidious is evil. No warnings this time around, and sorry to disappoint you… the clincher is not also a cliffhanger. Ah well. We can’t always be having cliffies, now can we?

[10/27/2013: Edits to fix errors.]

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter VI

                Dooku eyed the young man who lay in the other seat of the speeder in a limp heap, due to the effects of the slave chip. The Sith waved a hand over the chip, deactivating it. Only a Dark Sider could deactivate the chip; Kenobi could not do it himself unless he used the Dark Side.

Which, despite all that had happened to him, the young man was still reluctant to try.

Strange, stormy eyes opened, several colors swirling and mixing, as the boy looked up in some confusion. Dooku did not miss the hard, sharp look that was flung at him. “Lie still and don’t try to struggle. The paralysis will wear off with time.” Kenobi gave an inarticulate groan, which Dooku ignored. He continued on his way.

Much sooner than he expected, Kenobi cleared his throat and said in a somewhat hoarse voice, “Where are you going?”

“Since you have seen fit to interrupt my business, boy, you will have to accompany me upon it,” Dooku said. “Sidious won’t miss you, don’t worry. Your chip is deactivated, which you could never do for yourself. The transmitter will be clear enough to tell Sidious that you must be with another one of us.” Dooku raised an eyebrow at the young captive. “You show a distinct lack of manners in trying to escape before our chess game, boy.”

The colors steadied and stilled, settling on a deep, uniform, steely gray. “If I see a chance to escape, I’ll take it.”

“Fool,” Dooku remarked. “You would never get beyond the palace walls. As I’m sure you’ve found out,” the Sith finished. The lad took up a stance of passive defiance, after trying to raise himself without success, letting out a hiss of pain in the process.

“I am not averse to a chess game,” Kenobi remarked. “However, I could find better company.”

“With less intelligence,” Dooku said. Kenobi perked a slight smile.

“It may be preferable, at times.”

“And at the same time, dealing with your inferiors becomes tiresome after a while.”

“I wonder why I’m even listening to you now, then.” Kenobi said dismissively. Dooku gave a deep chuckle.

“You’re not truly arrogant, so what are you?” he said, almost curiously. The young man’s eyes flashed a brilliant, dazzling blue before closing off, shutting down to almost-black.

“A riddle.” he replied with complete and serious honesty.

“Indeed,” Dooku replied. Kenobi shifted slightly in the other seat. Dooku spared him a swift glance. It was impossible to tell what the boy was thinking right now, at this moment. Dooku gave the young man a quick appraisal. Kenobi’s stance spoke of weariness, nothing else… except for the slight arch in his back, which gave the impression of passive defiance. By the time they had arrived at their destination, Kenobi had recovered somewhat. His outfit included a short midnight-blue cloak with a hood and a scarf; the slave pulled up the hood and covered his face with the scarf. Without a word, he followed Dooku into the office of the businessman.

Obi-Wan was privately amused by Dooku’s reaction—or apparent lack thereof—to his appearance. Evidently Dooku had his own reasons for wanting to keep Obi-Wan close by, though it was anyone’s guess what those reasons were. Obi-Wan was almost grateful for the scarf covering his face. It added nothing to his previously-existing defenses and carefully-controlled expressions, but at least he felt more sheltered, as if Dooku’s gaze was not burning his skin at every moment.

“Your display with Maul last night was impressive.” Dooku said. Obi-Wan fought the inward shiver that ran up his back, making sure that his shields were still in place, and made no comment. “I would almost say that you had been trained to use a lightsaber.” Obi-Wan met Dooku’s gaze icily.

“I’ve had more than enough chances to observe your acolytes in training,” he said. Dooku lifted an eyebrow.

“And yet, it’s almost as if you have a natural gift for swordplay,” Dooku mused. Obi-Wan silently bowed. “You fight using our motions, but not inspired by the same motivations. Your style is devastating, yet… restrained.” Dooku led him forward through an all-but-empty lobby to a lift. “Curious, is it not. I wonder what you could do, fully trained… and without those petty scruples that you call ideals.” Obi-Wan’s eyes sparked as he stared defiantly at the Sith. Dooku looked back at him. “If you did not hesitate, you would be unstoppable. And yet, you still fight against it. You are a curious man, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I fear I’m beyond your comprehension,” Obi-Wan retorted, sotto voce.

“Perhaps, my young friend, you have simply placed yourself… beyond my reach?” Dooku studied the adamant eyes. “I will admit, your natural shields are the most impressive I have ever seen. And you have proven yourself capable of strong deceptions. You are clearly firmly within the light, but your presence is shrouded behind a cloak of gray. Curious—very curious.” Obi-Wan stared levelly at the Sith, disdaining to answer. The lift arrived at the top floor.

After an hour of having to listen to debate and business parlance, Obi-Wan was thoroughly ready to depart. He was, however, concerned by the object of said debate. Something was definitely up. He felt cold inside as the Dark Side suddenly pulsed around him.

Master, I have a bad feeling about this.

                I don’t sense anything.

                It’s not about the mission, Master, it’s something… elsewhere… elusive…

Obi-Wan blinked. Where had that come from? Was it in the future? No, that wasn’t quite right… Obi-Wan choked back a gasp at the other possibility.

An alternate reality. A might-have-been.

A might-have-been which was lighter and at the same time darker… Lighter, in that the Sith did not rule the galaxy.

Darker, in that the other-him and other-Jedi did not know that Palpatine was Sidious, was the enemy…

It was Sidious that the other-self had sensed!

Suddenly, there was a burst, an explosion of life in the Force. And yet, it was shrouded by darkness… A thousand doubles of one person… but how was that possible? What was it? What…?

A world in a rainstorm. The name ‘Kamino’ burst upon his mind unbidden. A meeting with… someone… walking through white, sterile, too-bright halls… meeting another man… Jango…

                An army in action, all wearing the same gear and equipment, each soldier physically identical to every other soldier…

                “Come on Cody!” his other-self shouting at a man in armor… armor that was vaguely familiar…

                Death.

                The soldiers had turned on his other-self. The Force screamed with a rift of bereavement as friends… names he did not even know… were torn away. Pain ripped through Obi-Wan, sending him to the ground in a welter of agony. Shrieks of pain, howls of death… The Force was suddenly a void, cold and dark and unwelcoming. The Dark Side had risen. The Sith had won.

                He walked into a building, strangely familiar. It felt like home more than any place he had ever been before. It was home, something whispered to him. Bodies. The floor was littered with them.

                “Who could have done this, Master Yoda?”

Obi-Wan came awake with a gasp, feeling as if an iron band was restricting his chest. He couldn’t breathe properly, and he felt as if sharp claws had locked into his flesh, ripping at his stomach and throat. Anguish poured through him as he struggled for breath, choking, drowning in the cold whirlwind that the Force was at the moment. He couldn’t move, and he was being battered away…

Someone grabbed him and pulled him back, away from the icy, howling void, back into the material world. Obi-Wan gasped, panting, his whole body still wrapped in cold. Light. Gray light. Colorless, but still… visible light. Slowly, color returned, and the world didn’t look quite so washed-out. “I thought you were lost for a moment, there,” Dooku’s voice remarked nonchalantly. Obi-Wan made a move to get to his feet. They were in the lift car again, and Dooku had—apparently—hit the emergency stop button. Dooku pushed Obi-Wan back down, then pressed the ‘resume’ button.

“I’m a’right,” Obi-Wan argued, his voice coming out more like a croak. Dooku gave him an extra push, just to make sure.

“Lie still. I’ve never seen a reaction quite that bad,” Dooku said with a warning tone in his voice. Obi-Wan glared up at him. “The Unifying Force is none too considerate of its fragile vessels,” Dooku observed. Obi-Wan groaned. His head pounded as if it had been slammed into a wall, repeatedly. Pain. It washed over him in another excruciating wave. He focused on just breathing for a moment, then stood up. The pain receded, though he staggered against the wall, falling clumsily against Dooku as a dizzy shower of sparks turned the world gray. He took a deep breath and it washed away. “What did you see?” Dooku asked, finally giving into curiosity. Obi-Wan rounded on him like a cat that has been provoked.

“That does not concern either you or me!” he snarled, then turned on his heel and exited the lift, which had by this time arrived at the ground floor. Dooku raised an eyebrow as he followed.

Apparently, the young slave did have his limits, after all.

The trip back to the palace was made in complete silence, though Dooku could sense tightly controlled indignation seething and bubbling just below the surface. Upon alighting, Obi-Wan left the speeder without a word of thanks, returning in angry silence to his own room, where he dropped on the bed. His stomach was still churning, and his head throbbed. He gave a low groan and fell onto the bed, closing his eyes in an attempt to quell the burning behind them. He slipped into meditation, allowing the restless emotions to disperse. The vision was unclear, uncertain, though horrifying in its implications. He needed to think, but more than that, he needed to clear his mind. Obi-Wan groaned. He was supposed to serve lunch to Sidious and some of the Sith’s associates, and it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. With another groan, Obi-Wan regained his feet and went to get the food from the kitchen.

“Taris has risen again, my lord,” one of the dignitaries commented. Obi-Wan fought down a yawn. Intelligence that he already knew. He glanced across swiftly at Sly Moore and saw her blank gaze looking off into space. Was she as bored as he was? Obi-Wan almost snorted at the thought. Never had he dreamed, even in his wildest imagination, that he would ever be in the same boat with Sly Moore.

“It matters little,” Sidious said in a bored tone. “There is nothing behind it but certain citizens becoming dissatisfied with our perfectly-good government.”

“I heard there was a disturbance on Kamino,” said a younger, green-haired man, who looked human but probably wasn’t. Obi-Wan knew this one by repute, an ambitious neophyte to the political game, a fangless aspirant to the vipers. Jackarr Bomani. “Didn’t the security force make an arrest? I thought I heard on the holonet that she had been brought here.” Sidious smiled—to Obi-Wan’s experienced eye extremely unpleasantly—and leaned forward, a grin that seemed cadaverous, like the grin of a skull, on his face.

“Yes, indeed,” the Sith Lord purred. “She was brought here. She is, at this moment, in the depths of this palace.” Obi-Wan almost caught in his breath. Whoever “she” was, “she” must be important indeed to be imprisoned here, instead of in the public or military prisons. “Perhaps, Jackarr, the Jedi were not so extinct as we once thought,” Sidious said, running a finger around the rim of a glass. Obi-Wan’s heart raced ahead, time blurred around him. A prisoner, perhaps a Jedi, almost certainly Force-sensitive, probably a Force user. Obi-Wan kept his attention on the present; Jackarr seemed flattered by Sidious’ confidences. However, the young entrepreneur missed the look that passed between Sidious and Sly Moore. Obi-Wan noted it, though. However, he was still more interested in the prisoner, whoever it was. Still, he would have to warn Jackarr of the danger… It was no less than his duty as a Jedi, to serve and protect. He wasn’t a proponent of defeatism or passivism by any means.

After what seemed like a long time of more commonplace banter and idle conversation, which Obi-Wan without conscious effort filed away in an active mind, the guests finally prepared to go out. He went out on a pretext, and “accidentally” bumped into Jackarr Bomani, under cover of the movement grabbing the entrepreneur’s arm and pulling him gently but swiftly aside. The man spluttered with anger. “How dare you, slave?” he demanded. Obi-Wan shot him a hard glance.

“If you value your life, you will be off of Coruscant and under a different name before nightfall. Sidious simply does not throw information about like that with loose ends around, and he kills for sport.” he said under his breath. In an instant, Jackarr’s face went from angry and outraged to frightened and grateful.

“Thank you,” the man whispered. “Oh, thank you.” Obi-Wan watched as Jackarr walked off, an unsteady hitch in his walk, as if he had a concussion. Obi-Wan’s mind was still. So much, so many betrayals… and yet this man had never been betrayed before. Oh, the bitter, bitter irony…

Obi-Wan thought out a mental expletive as he realized that he still had his chess game with Dooku to look forward to and instantly set off in that direction, offering no apology to Palpatine.

After all, since when had he been beholden to Sidious for anything?

Except for constant mistreatment.

There we go, for once it’s not a cliffhanger… X-P See?