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.

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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.

Mordred’s Lullaby

Tags

alternate universe, bbc merlin, clone wars, completed stories, short stories, song-related fiction, star wars

Hello all! I found this song online (well, actually Iris told me to go look it up online) and I absolutely LOVED it. It’s kind of a dark lullaby that Morgan Le Fay would sing to Mordred. The story about Mordred (that is, if you don’t watch BBC’s Merlin, in which Mordred’s backstory is different) is that he is the son of Morgan and her half-brother, Arthur; he was raised by Morgan to be the bane of Arthur. It’s a great song, rather creepy but still amazing. All credits for the song go to the wonderful Heather Dale. I hope you enjoy the fic, which is kind of based around the song. Note: It’s in the same AU as the other short fics I’ve been publishing lately; in this story line, Qui-Gon did not die, and it’s Obi-Wan and not Anakin who is the Chosen One. (Hence the “stolen birthright” in the last verse, before the chorus, from Sidious’ point of view. Made things interesting.) Anyway, enjoy!

Mordred’s Lullaby

                Sharya shudders as she holds her newborn son close. She knows she doesn’t have long to spend with him. Her time grows short. She breathes in, out, focusing on each pulse, the essence of her own life held in her own arms as the life that is left in her fades away.

Hush child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

                Qui-Gon takes the boy’s hand in his own, gripping it firmly. Another innocent child by his side for as long as he will train him. This is the third Padawan he’s taken, and will probably be his last. He is determined to teach this boy all he knows, and not to let him fall, as long as he is given to guide this child. The Force gives and it takes away, like Time both benefactor and creeping thief.

Guileless son, I’ll shape your belief

And you’ll always know that your father’s a thief

And you won’t understand the cause of your grief

But you’ll always follow the voices beneath

                The ghosts of long gone times swirl around him in his dreams at night, whispering to him. The saints protect him, and the angels, his departed brothers and sisters, guide his way. He is given this life for one purpose, and one purpose only.

To redeem the lost souls, and to free the holy ones.

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, only to me.

                Another day came, another voice sang the lullaby. Tahl leans over her friend’s ward, ghosting gentle fingers over perfectly smooth cheeks. It has been entrusted to her to protect and nurture the young life before her, and she will discharge her duty, even if it kills her. Even if she goes to the grave in silence, at least she will do one thing worthwhile.

Hush child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

                Obi-Wan watches as Padme follows Anakin away, feeling deep within that something is breaking, even as a bond that has long lain dormant re-asserts itself. He knows there is something between them, but he does not speak his thought aloud. He is not going to give Anakin’s secret away. How can he? How can he violate their trust?

Guileless son, your spirit will hate her,

The flower who married my brother the traitor,

And you will expose his puppeteer behavior

For you are the proof of how he betrayed her.

                Ghostly fingers brush across his cheek in the night. She is here again; his savior, his guardian angel. She has come to help him again, to aid him through the dark watches that do not ease his rest. She is the goddess of mercy, the one who offers hope without limit, though not unmingled with pain, aiding him through the difficult nights.

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, only to me.

                He isn’t sleeping soundly. Padme rushes into the room. Her “ward” is moving restlessly on the bed, not really awake, not truly asleep. Padme tries to hush him, but without success. Shmi rushes in to Padme’s aid. Pressing the man’s shoulders down, she quickly calms him with a lullaby. Looking down at her friend, Padme wondered, thinking how childlike and innocent he looks.

Hush child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

                Sidious watches from afar as the young Jedi continues to live and grow and discover his own true power. As far as Sidious is concerned, the man before him is not the true Chosen One, but a usurper. Skywalker deserves the power, should have had the power. And a false fulfiller of prophecy can not be allowed to live. The Chosen One will die.

Guileless son, each day you grow older

Each moment I’m watching my vengeance unfold,

For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul

Will die in returning the birthright he stole.

                The Dark Lord’s mind is turned to something else, poisoning Skywalker’s mind, making him believe in lies, pulling him into the twisted maze of the Dark Side. It is only a matter of time until he can turn his pawn fully into the Dark, and set him against the Chosen One.

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, only to me.

                Sharya hovers beside the bed of her son, protecting him, humming the lullaby once again. She can not protect him from his destiny, but she can prepare him for it.

Hush child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep

And carry you down into sleep.

                The time is coming, coming fast, when their world will be changed forever. The tides of fate are rushing them on and on, faster and faster, toward a confrontation.

Light against Dark, once and for all. And only one can prevail.

Okay, I kind of forgot to mention… Padme and Obi-Wan managed to buy Shmi’s freedom, and Shmi is now helping Padme out as a Senator’s aide. Yeah. Confusing… sorry about that. :-S

A link to the song this is based off can be found here.

You Raise Me Up

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, short stories, song-related fiction, star wars

No, this is not going to be the lyrics for the song. It’s a short story centered around the song. 🙂 Just so you know who wrote it, it was not Josh Groban, though his performance is extremely popular; it was written by Rolf Lovland and Brendan Graham. The copyright belongs to them. The story, however, is all my own creation. I suppose it’s at least partially AU, it falls in the line of some of my other alternate-universe stories. For one thing, it’s in the Clone Wars, yet Qui-Gon is still around…

I love Christian music… it’s my biggest continuous inspiration, and one of my complete obsessions. I think everyone else loves this song, too, whether or not they are Christian… it’s very approachable. Just like “How To Save A Life” is.

Enjoy!

You Raise Me Up

                Qui-Gon stared around the small, underground bunker. Through the busy façade, he could see the troops’ exhaustion. Everyone was tired. They had lost the battle. Everyone looked dull and dry. Out of nowhere, a voice was raised in song, soft and gentle; a simple, soulful sound.

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;

When troubles come and my heart burdened be;

Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,

Until you come and sit awhile with me.

                It was with some surprise that Qui-Gon realized that it was Obi-Wan’s voice. His former Padawan had a remarkable voice, Qui-Gon knew that, but it still caught him off-guard every time he heard it. The voice trembled a little, then steadied and became clearer, even though it was still quiet. A respectful silence began to replace the painful murmur of the tiny, enclosed vaults.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up… To more than I can be.

                Now, some of the clone troopers had stopped to listen. The silence grew, and with it grew a sense of serenity perhaps deeper than any Qui-Gon had felt since before the Clone Wars began, a deep inward peace that no Sith could ever shatter. By taking Obi-Wan as his Padawan, Qui-Gon had been given a wonderful gift. By making peace after falling out, he tried to give it back, but it turned out that Obi-Wan only have him more. Is that his destiny? Qui-Gon wondered, pondering over the true fate of the Chosen One. To give of himself until he gives himself entirely away?

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up… To more than I can be.

                The voice was gaining in strength and power. Anakin came racing in a manner that was almost subdued across the bunker to Qui-Gon. His eyes were wide and stared into Qui-Gon’s with awe as he gripped the older man’s forearms. “What is it, Master? What is it?” His voice bore a deep urgency, a wonder more powerful than any despair. Qui-Gon smiled at him.

“It’s Obi-Wan’s way of giving us peace amid the battle,” he replied, almost in a whisper. Obi-Wan had always been able to manipulate events using nothing but his voice, inflections, tone. It was an impressive natural gift that made him a natural negotiator, the trait of a leader.

“But how? How?” Anakin asked.

“By laying his heart bare,” Qui-Gon replied simply.

There is no life—no life without its hunger;

Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;

But when you come and I am filled with wonder,

Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.

                A smile, like sun bursting through clouds, leaping up into a fountain of laughter from deep within, had crept into the voice; it was rich with triumph in the knowledge that no evil could ever subdue this joy; no darkness could reign forever. Qui-Gon looked at Anakin and was almost surprised to see tears in the younger man’s eyes.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up… To more than I can be.

                As the chorus began to ring out once more, first one voice, and then another and another joined with the first. Qui-Gon and Anakin were both singing at the top of their lungs, borne away on the waves of the endless sea of music. There was sadness and strife and pain ahead, but there was more than that. There was victory and triumph; there was joy and peace. And out of the ashes, there was resurrection.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up… To more than I can be.

                And then, there was silence for what seemed like a long moment. Anakin and Qui-Gon looked at each other, hope renewed. Obi-Wan’s voice rose up one last time, to seal the promise.

You raise me up… To more than I can be.

Okay, that didn’t end remotely near where it started… 😛 One way of seeing my faith in my fandoms, this is.

This partly sprang out of a conversation that I had with Iris (my best friend and fellow author.) Basically, I asked, “Since Obi-Wan is not the Chosen One, then what is his destiny?” And the obvious answer was, “Kicking Anakin’s rear back into line.” 😛 But, though that was a joke, it had an element of truth. Obi-Wan is important because he is Anakin’s anchor and moral compass. In my opinion, Obi-Wan is actually stronger than Anakin (at least, stronger of will and definitely morally stronger,) because he is able to put what he wants aside, in order to serve the people of the Republic. In the end, though, Anakin is his undoing. Obi-Wan’s allegiance is to Anakin, though he tries to put his duty ahead of that. In the end, because he won’t accept the suffering that comes his way, Anakin sentences Obi-Wan to suffer. And at the same time, Obi-Wan seals his fate with his own hand and of his own free will.

Hope you enjoyed the story! 🙂 God bless.

We Don’t Have To Be Cinderella

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, short stories, small rants, star wars

Hello, all! Here’s another story from my archives of various Star Wars shorts. It’s just something I threw together because, well, it’s all too rare to see a story where Padme and Obi-Wan are interacting that doesn’t have them in a romantic relationship. I mean, SERIOUSLY?! That just weirds me out… There’s Satine and Siri, I’m honestly tired of the whole stupid set-up… and Obi-Wan and Padme might have been a great pair, but honestly, let’s stick with Padme and Anakin being married and not risk any love triangles, shall we?! Oh, and then there’s the small matter of Ventress…
Shut up, Erin, and just post the story. Oh, one last thing… this is an alternate universe story. I don’t think that it requires any more explanation…

We Don’t Have To Be Cinderella
It was the night of one of the less formal Senate balls; more exclusive than the annual formal, but still a Senate ball. Padme walked gracefully across the floor in her high heels and formal red dress, exchanging gracious greetings with everyone she met, whether she liked them or not. Diplomatic courtesy was such a burdensome thing sometimes.
As Padme made her way around the slightly crowded rooms, she found herself looking for one person in particular. Anakin Skywalker was offworld tonight; he wouldn’t be there. But his mentor and her confidante, Obi-Wan Kenobi, might be there. But if he was, he was probably in a corner somewhere, watching the hustle and bustle on the floor, the retiring scamp. He preferred to watch from where he couldn’t be seen, probably a result of being in all those battles. It was an instinct, of self-preservation. Padme remembered the haunted look in his eyes the last time they had met, and wondered what had happened, but she knew better than to ask, especially since she had been honor-bound to pay more attention to Anakin than to the older man. What a painful circle they made; Obi-Wan worried about all of them, but especially Anakin; Anakin worried about Padme and Ahsoka; and all of Padme’s instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong with Obi-Wan. Why Anakin couldn’t see it was beyond her; if he didn’t see it soon, she would have to give him a talking-to…
Without warning, a hand shot out of a curtained alcove and dragged her in behind the curtains. Padme fumbled instinctively for her blaster. The war had left her with survival reflexes as well, though not to the point it had forced them upon Anakin, or Obi-Wan. However, she desisted as a strong hand grasped her wrist, keeping her from injuring herself, and she looked up into a pair of very familiar, changeable, stormy eyes, now sparkling with amusement. Despite her awkward position, pinioned by both wrists, Padme grinned. “Obi-Wan. I was hoping I might see you this evening.” Obi-Wan smiled back, like sunlight breaking out from behind clouds, and released her.
“Stop thinking so loud,” he said quietly. “You’re deafening me.” Padme scowled at him, not too happy with this reminder of his ability to read her mind. Obi-Wan winced. “Can I help it?” he asked.
“I guess not,” Padme said, still frowning. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Do you think I like living my life with other people’s thoughts in my mind, other people’s lives running through my head?” he asked. Padme flinched at the graphic description.
“No, I guess not,” she repeated, more gently this time. “What are you doing in the alcove?” she asked, though she already knew. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Hiding,” he replied truthfully. “Some of your colleagues don’t seem to understand the fact that I’m not eligible.”
“Oh, they know that,” Padme said lightly.
“They certainly don’t act on it.” Obi-Wan muttered.
“You know, I’m starting to agree with Senator Rabanna. You are uptight.” Obi-Wan winced at the name of his most determined… admirer.
“I simply don’t see the point of flirting, especially when it leads to nowhere,” he said. Padme sighed dramatically, fluttering her eyelashes in comic imitation of the determined Rabanna.
“It can’t do any harm, can it, Master Jedi?” she drawled. Obi-Wan started and instinctively jumped away from her. Regaining his control, he held himself still, though not without stiffness. Padme laughed and returned to her own mannerisms. “I’ll never understand how you can be so naive and innocent, and clever and brave and street smart at the same time.” Obi-Wan slowly began to relax.
“I’m just not one to fence around what I mean,” he said softly. “I’ve been plagued with the gift of clairvoyance. A step further and I’d have Mace’s shatterpoint ability as well.”
“You know,” Padme said, regarding him thoughtfully, “you’re like a riddle. Unbelievably complex and incomprehensible on one side, and absurdly simple on the other.”
“And you’re one of the few people who has ever found the answer to the riddle,” Obi-Wan replied, lifting a water glass from the table and eyeing her over the edge of the rim. “Go to most other people, especially other politicians, and they’ll only see what they want to see about me. They won’t see what I am deep down.” Blue gray eyes stared deep into her, seeming to see the very depths of her soul, just like they always did. It was never unpleasant, though; she didn’t have to worry about hiding things from her friend. That was part of what she liked about Obi-Wan—he understood her boundaries, when to stop. He was trustworthy and honorable, and loyal on top of it all. Not like Anakin—sometimes she felt uncomfortable under Anakin’s gaze. Never under Obi-Wan’s. Still, those complex blue eyes staring deep into her always gave her a bit of a turn, at first. Now, though, she noticed with a start that something was different. The eyes she looked into held a slightly haunted look, shadowed, wary black depths that she had never seen there before. There was also a veiled, predatory gleam, though its interest was to something else, not her; still, it was faintly disturbing. Padme gave an inward huff. As if he wasn’t disturbing enough already, at the same time as he was extremely reassuring. She didn’t like what she was seeing.
“Bad mission lately?” she asked. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Maybe, a little.” he said quietly, sipping at the water again. The thought sprang into Padme’s mind, unbidden. He’s glad I wasn’t there to see the horrors he’s witnessed. Padme swallowed hard.
“You seem… disturbed. And disturbing.” Obi-Wan sighed, suddenly vulnerable.
“It was Anakin’s victory, not mine.” Padme suddenly became painfully aware of the hitch in his breath, the slight twitch of his fingers toward his side. She reached for it, but Obi-Wan caught her wrist before she could reach it. She glared at him through the tears in her eyes.
“You’re injured!”
“I was sent back here to recuperate,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s mostly healed now, so I have no excuse for not attending the ball…” He dropped his eyes quickly, not wanting, seemingly, to meet Padme’s soft brown ones. “It’s not a pretty sight,” he confessed. “And… I’m just not healing properly like I used to. Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to say, it’s basic Jedi nonsense, but the Dark Side is stronger than it was ten years ago, and getting stronger still. I have an unusually deep connection to the Force, and… well, let’s just say that healing is connected to the Light, and the Dark Side feeds off of pain and hate and anger and loss of life, so naturally it would interfere with my healing properly.” Padme caught in her breath.
“Is there any way to… fix that?” Obi-Wan sighed.
“Not unless I could go to some place where the Light was completely unhindered and went into a very deep meditation, and I hardly know of any such place.” Padme reached again for his side.
“Let me see,” she urged. Obi-Wan pulled away again.
“It’s hardly the time or the place,” he protested.
“Then…” Padme drew in a deep breath, hoping with all her heart that he would answer favorably, “at least… come and dance with me?”
“I would like that, Senator,” he said quietly, with perfect honesty. Padme smiled. At least he wasn’t fighting her over that. She rested her fingers on his black-gloved arm—he had lost the gauntlets, at least for now—and they left the alcove.

As they crossed the floor, they were flagged down by the head of defense, a tall, angry man named General Stalgard. Padme knew his flawless reputation as a stalwart soldier and a solid tactician, but personally she disapproved of his totalitarian air. “General Kenobi,” Stalgard snapped. Obi-Wan paused, his diplomatic presence flawless, and bowed, giving no sign of what he was thinking.
“General Stalgard,” he said deferentially. Padme, who knew diplomacy well, could see that every element of Obi-Wan’s stance and words and tone was carefully designed to avoid offense, to assuage and sooth upset tempers, to sidestep affront, avoid a confrontation. However, Stalgard, as always, was spoiling for a fight.
“General Kenobi, what do you mean by attending a formal event out of uniform?” Obi-Wan drew himself up to his full height; he was still smaller than Stalgard, by several inches.
“I have been active in the field as a Jedi for twenty-four years as a Padawan, Knight, and Jedi Master, and my attire has never been a cause for offense before,” Obi-Wan said, switching tactics. “Is there a problem, General Stalgard?”
“There is a problem when you’re out of uniform, General Kenobi,” Stalgard grated. Obi-Wan retained his calm mask, though Padme thought he must be inwardly seething. There was no apparent reason for Stalgard’s sudden attack.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. My Jedi robes have always been good enough before—”
“This isn’t before, General Kenobi. And I am not speaking to you as a Jedi, I am speaking to you as a general of the Grand Army of the Republic. This breach in regulations is disgraceful, especially for someone as high-ranked as you.”
“Yes, Sir.” Obi-Wan said quietly.
“Salute and stand at attention when you speak to your superior officer!” Stalgard barked. Silently, Obi-Wan obeyed. Padme stiffened behind him. “That’s better,” Stalgard snapped. “Now, as long as you are standing on the bridge of your own cruiser, I don’t give a nexu’s rear what you’re wearing, but while you’re here on Coruscant, you wear your uniform.”
“Yes, Sir.” Obi-Wan said again. He saluted and walked away. Padme quickly reclaimed his arm.
“That was uncalled-for,” she hissed in his ear. Obi-Wan murmured softly in reply.
“Indeed.” he said, his voice still neutral, emotionless. “There’s only one problem, I fear.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t have a full-dress uniform.” he whispered conspiratorially. Padme giggled in spite of herself.
“Why didn’t you tell him that?”
“What good would it have done?” Obi-Wan said inscrutably. Padme scowled at him. Obi-Wan smiled regretfully at her. “Unless we’re in the middle of an emergency, I think this will be the last time for the duration of the war that you see me wearing my Jedi robes.”

It was months before Padme saw Obi-Wan again. This time, it was not an official Senate ball, but one that Padme was personally hosting.
As she mingled with the crowd, fulfilling the duty of the hostess, Padme stepped away from an overweight man in a military uniform and almost collided with another man. He was not above average height, but in much better shape than his fellows, and, setting him apart even further, rather than being some gaudy color such as burgundy, the uniform was stark, bleached white, with gold epaulettes. Padme took all this in at a glance, her political training kicking in. She had to remember everyone she met; it was a prerequisite of public life. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said politely, evenly, stepping away from the man. He turned suddenly.
“Padme?” he asked. Padme gasped. It was Obi-Wan, but he definitely didn’t look like himself in the starched uniform coat, the ironed trousers tucked into smart black boots, polished to a shine per regulations. Quickly glancing around to be sure they weren’t being observed, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him quickly into the same curtained alcove they had hidden in at the last ball.
“Obi! I didn’t recognize you dressed like that!” she hissed through her teeth. Obi-Wan smiled sadly.
“I told you, didn’t I, that that was going to be the last time I came to a formal occasion dressed in my plain Jedi robes?” he said softly. Padme let out a string of curses, sotto voce, that did not sound in the least ladylike.
“That snob! He’s taken the life out of you!” she hissed angrily, looking at Obi-Wan again, from the boots up. The uniform was as plain as possible, under the circumstances, but still unbelievably… fancy… for the Jedi Master. Along with the epaulettes, there was gold braid on the sleeves, a gold cord laced across the front of the coat, and a small colored bar pin, denoting his rank. Perfectly spotless white gloves covered his hands. Certainly, Obi-Wan was presentable, even smart, in the uniform, but it did not suit him. It was cut to be flattering, showcasing his slender, muscular, lithe form, but Padme was overwhelmingly aware that it could not conceivably be a comfortable outfit. The white did not offset the healthy color in his cheeks like the light beige of his Jedi tunic did. The uniform made him look pale, unwell, and for a moment Padme wondered if he had been wounded again. The only sign that Obi-Wan was really a Jedi was the lightsaber that hung by his side. Obi-Wan shrugged, uncomfortably.
“Better that I make a smart turn-out and be uncomfortable than make a public scandal in clothes that are my own,” he said awkwardly.
“But it isn’t you,” Padme said in a choked voice. “I don’t like this. Something is wrong with the Republic when they make you dress up like… this… and make you hide who you really are.” Obi-Wan looked down.
“I can’t tell you how much I hate being General Kenobi. I know my family has been dedicated to military service for generations, time out of mind in fact, but that was under different circumstances. Dressed like this, I wonder if I’ve suddenly traded places with Hadrian. I thought I came to terms with that years ago… I’m not Hadrian, and I could never be.”
“Who is Hadrian?” Padme asked softly. Obi-Wan reached into a pocket in the uniform coat, and pulled out, not a holopic, but an unusually detailed and beautifully done sketch, colored with inks and watercolors, displaying a wealth of untapped genius on the artist’s part. He handed it to Padme.
“That’s the way I remember him,” he said softly. Padme studied the sketch closely. It was of a young man, bearing a remarkable resemblance to Obi-Wan, but with hazel-gray eyes, instead of blue-gray-green ones. “He was my half-brother, fifteen years older than me. My father married my mother after his first wife, Hadrian’s mother, died. Hadrian was a cadet at Hale Gray. He died in a training mishap when I was five.” Obi-Wan swallowed, looking down at the spotless gloves. Padme handed the sketch back, thinking that Obi-Wan had probably done it himself, but not wanting to ask.
“Were you there when he died?” she asked suddenly. Inwardly, she groaned. What in the galaxy had prompted her to say that? Obi-Wan glanced at her, not noticing her discomfort. His eyes had dimmed to a lusterless black.
“Yes,” he said, a deep ache that he couldn’t hide in his voice. “He was the first person I had ever seen die. He was encouraging, he was my idol…” Obi-Wan swallowed and took a deep breath. “I’m not the prince in the fairy tale.” he said softly. “I’m the stepmother’s son. Hadrian was special, though, he was…” Padme watched as he sought to fight off the thirty-two-year-old grief. She stood up slowly.
“Dance with me again?” she asked quietly. “We don’t have to be Cinderella.” Obi-Wan was silent as he followed her out to the empty hall. Quietly, Padme put her hand on his shoulder. They began to dance.
“Is Satine here?” Obi-Wan asked softly.
“No, she’s still on Mandalore,” Padme said quietly. “Busy, as usual.” Obi-Wan gave a deep sigh.
“It’s as well. I wouldn’t want her to see me dressed like this.” Padme sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. There was something between Obi-Wan and Satine, she could tell, though exactly what it was was harder to determine. Suddenly, Padme spoke up again.
“Have you ever… have you ever been in love, Obi-Wan?”
“How did you guess?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost wistful.
“I don’t know. I guess, maybe the way you act, maybe… I don’t know.” She hesitated again. “Is it Satine?”
“Yes.” Obi-Wan replied, even more quietly than before. “I’ve tried to hide the way I feel, lock it away, but it doesn’t seem to work. I have to accept it and move on, I suppose, however much I’ll regret it. Sometimes… sometimes I wish I didn’t have emotions, or… that they wouldn’t play tricks like this on me. I’ve loved other women as well… when I was maybe fourteen, there was a girl who died on Melida/Daan, but everyone loved her… and then there was Siri… but I love her more like my own sister now… I can’t seem to come to terms with this, though. With Cerasi and Siri, I always felt more like myself around them. But, with Satine, even though there’s that, I just get so confused. I don’t understand it, and it is the nature of humans to dislike what we don’t understand… but I couldn’t go against this if I wanted to.”
“I know how you feel,” Padme said quietly. “How did it happen?”
“We were around each other for a full year. Things tend to happen in three hundred sixty-five days, and I didn’t know as much about life as I do now. If I had, I might have nipped it in the bud, but as it is, I didn’t know how to. Neither of us ever crossed the line, but…” Obi-Wan fell silent. “It was almost as bad as if we had pushed the boundaries.” There was a short pause. “Facing death every day, these philosophical arguments we got into… they always wound up making us, and my master, laugh… our choice of subject matter to argue over varied from the public schools to when warfare could be called justifiable… It partly helped me to get back on my feet after a particularly rough assignment, but when I left, it felt like I was leaving behind part of myself. I guess… I guess Satine was just everything I would ever hope to be. She was always the brave one, not me. I was the survivor; she was the warrior. I know it sounds funny to say that, but… it’s true.” They fell silent, moving to the music.
“I’m glad you told me,” Padme said quietly. “It just makes you seem more human, I guess, and maybe… maybe I was thinking of you as being some kind of higher being that didn’t understand human emotion.”
“Oh, I have emotions, all right,” Obi-Wan snorted mirthlessly. “I just never show them, and I never let them control me.”
“I think I like you best when you’re vulnerable,” Padme said. These nights are all that’s keeping me alive right now, she thought. She was almost startled when Obi-Wan replied in kind, without even using words, directly into her mind. Padme just relaxed into the strong shoulder that was a constant support, and they danced until dawn, long after everyone else had gone home, completely oblivious to the fact that their hostess had, summarily abandoning her duties, vanished into a secret place to dance with a Jedi. The sunrise was something to remember, though she was so tired; Padme barely recalled Obi-Wan carrying her to her own bed before he vanished into the dawn.

It was not until the next spring that Obi-Wan came back to Coruscant again, somewhat out of persona still after his escapade as Rako Hardeen. Given his confession, Padme had privately wondered how he had apologized to Satine for the deception, but knew better than to probe into his business by asking. This time, the ball was the full formal, and Padme knew with some regret that there would be no vanishing into a side room to dance, this time. However, she did have Obi-Wan to herself for some time, as Anakin arrived characteristically late.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to come,” Padme said softly as he walked into the room.
“I wasn’t,” Obi-Wan said in reply.
“Do you ever decide to make the decision to come back on your own?” she teased gently. However, her companion was in no mood to tease. His heart-stopping eyes were gray with fatigue, almost black. There didn’t seem to be any of the gentle, bright blue left in them, Padme thought. Her heart wrenched at the thought. The change in him was becoming more evident. The war was changing him. He was older, sadder. Almost, part of her was screaming, What have they done to him? She dearly missed the young man she had once known.
“Qui-Gon and I are going to start operating as a team again,” he said without inflection. “He’s worried about me.”
For good reason, the nagging part of Padme’s mind whispered. Instead of saying it aloud, she asked, “What happened?”
“There was an incident. We lost… a group of… children. So many…” he sighed, putting his head in his hands, leaning what looked like his full weight on the railing of the balcony where they stood, waiting for Anakin to appear. He was just waiting, Padme realized, for a reason to slip away discreetly… Wasn’t that just like him? To run away when she wanted to help him, hide from her when all she wanted was to talk? Padme decided to use the time she had left wisely.
“How are you coping?” she asked gently.
“Badly,” he replied with a deep sigh. “Thank goodness they weren’t Force-sensitive. That would have destroyed me completely. As it is, I can still hear their screams. The Defoliator that surfaced early in the war has come back into use. And the Separatists… I just can’t believe that they’d sink to… burning… children. Alive.” He sank to his knees by the side of the railing. Padme gripped his shoulder, wishing she could do more. “I understand why Satine wants war abolished completely,” he said bitterly. “And I feel just as guilty as the man who ordered those children’s deaths. I should have been the one to die.” As she looked at him, Padme wondered how old he was. She racked her memory. Thirty-seven—thirty-eight, maybe, at most. And yet he looked at least fifty, easily twice his age, even. It wasn’t in his face or his stance, but in his eyes. Obi-Wan suddenly stood, self-consciously, dusting off the uniform jacket. “Here comes Anakin,” he remarked, trying to sound unconcerned. “Late, as usual.” Padme looked over the railing at her secret husband. She leaned back, blinking with surprise.
“He’s still dressed in his Jedi robes.” she commented. It wasn’t lost on her companion.
“He’s the Prince Charming of the galaxy, the Republic’s darling. He can do whatever he wants; no one cares if the Hero With No Fear is out of uniform. In fact, our favorite scoundrel is expected to bend the rules. Unlike boring Master Kenobi.”
“And what do they call you?” Padme teased. “The Negotiator. That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
“Well, it seems that General Stalgard’s wrath was assuaged by jumping at me,” Obi-Wan commented. “The old hypocrite. Still, maybe he thought I was… how did you put it? ‘Too uptight’?”
“I believe I just said ‘uptight,’” Padme commented.
“He may have had my reputation in mind when our dear friend so kindly suggested that I come to all official functions dressed in this ridiculous foppery.” Obi-Wan backed away and bowed. “And now I’ll bid you good night, so you may fly down to your preferred escort, milady.” Padme could tell from his eyes that he was teasing and not offended in the least, but she still felt disturbed when he vanished. She should have done more to help him…

Months passed once again. Obi-Wan Kenobi came back from Mandalore with some new sorrow which he carefully kept secret, and a report of Darth Maul’s activities in the system, which the Senate duly ignored, adding just one more item to his list of troubles. More missions went by, and time dragged heavy on Padme’s hands when she wasn’t kept busy. Occasionally, Qui-Gon would send her a report on Obi-Wan’s well-being, for which she was grateful, but it just wasn’t the same. She wanted to see her friend herself. At times like these, she wasn’t sure who she missed more; Anakin, or Obi-Wan. She needed them both, she felt; she needed Anakin’s love, but she needed Obi-Wan’s support. Feeling more than a little jealous of Anakin, and annoyed with him that he wasn’t pressing his advantage in having Obi-Wan around all the time to the fullest even though she encouraged him to do so, Padme let work take control of her time, slipped into its oblivion. Punctually, at least once a month, and often more often than that, she received a letter from Obi-Wan, all of them closed with some variation on “Anakin says hello, and he will write when he has time (which is never, apparently.) Give my regards to all those at home. Your faithful servant, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” in his neat, elegant, old-fashioned hand, and occasionally a post script, such as: “P.S. Jar Jar turned up at our base today. Why, I don’t know. He sends ‘all meesa lovin for yousa and a big gooberfish kiss.’ N.B., I quote him directly.” “P.S. Anakin has upset a jar of paint on his head somehow. Just thought you might like to know. A holopic is enclosed, so you have something to blackmail him with.” “P.S. Anakin got into the kitchen today. You don’t want to know. I wish I was there so I could mind-trick you, but… he’s coming back home. Oh, he didn’t give himself food poisoning, but this is almost as bad… Forget I said anything.” And once, “P.S. Obi-Wan got sick and I’m supposed to post this stupid letter for him. Wish I could read his handwriting so I know what he’s been saying about me… Anyway, love you lots, and see you soon, I hope. Anakin.” Padme always hesitated before writing back. She knew it wouldn’t bother the Jedi Master if she didn’t, and she always felt awkward writing letters.
And then, late one night, Captain Typho walked into her room and said, “Milady, you should come downstairs. There’s someone there… I didn’t know what to do with them, so I came to you.” With some surprise, Padme came along, slipping on her robe as she did so. There could not be any danger, or Typho would never have let her near it, but that only raised more questions. Who could have come to visit in the middle of the night?
As they entered the lobby, Padme bit back a gasp. Her midnight visitor was none other than Obi-Wan. He was dressed in his normal Jedi robes, but they were practically in rags, both ripped and burned. He was missing his outer cloak, and the leather of one boot was scorched; the other had been slashed and scraped badly in several places, scoring it badly. His hands were bare, half-hidden by the tattered sleeves that partially covered them. Padme stared at those brown, scarred hands, wondering when was the last time she had seen him ungloved. It was probably when the war began, she concluded. Obi-Wan was sitting lightly on the very verge of the sofa, and seemed uncharacteristically edgy, reacting almost imperceptibly to every noise, every sudden movement. As Padme entered, he rose formally to greet her. “Senator Amidala—I’m sorry to intrude—” Padme sucked in a gasp as he swayed and almost fell, catching himself on a mantel. His knuckles whitened as he gripped it, trying to hold himself upright. He swayed again. Padme leaped across the room and grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the couch.
“Sit down, man!” she cried, finding her voice. “You’re not well!” Obi-Wan collapsed weakly onto the sofa, breathing hard. Padme felt his forehead, wondering if his current mental state had induced some sort of nervous breakdown. He was feverish, no doubt of that. Probably somatoform, she decided. “What happened, Master Kenobi?” she asked, motioning anxiously to her handmaidens to bring a glass of water and other various necessities.
“Bomb… in my quarters. Thank goodness Ben and Nasriel weren’t there. Ben’s on assignment… and Nasriel’s spending the night with Zaina Daemes. Council… sent me here… said… assassin would never suspect… I didn’t agree. I don’t want you in danger… all over again.”
“It seems to me you didn’t have a choice,” Padme said sternly, helping him swallow. “And you know I would always be willing to help.” Obi-Wan smiled weakly.
“They… said so too. I… was… no condition to argue.”
“I should say not! What happened to you?”
“I’m… just bruised. Nothing more. Just tired…” Long ginger lashes fluttered closed. Padme looked up at Captain Typho.
“We’ll put him in the guest bedroom,” she said decisively. “Reset the security system. Code red.”
“As you wish, my lady,” Typho said. He nodded and went out. Teckla Minnau hurried across to Padme, beckoning hurriedly to Dorme.
“We’ll help you get him there, my lady,” Teckla said. Padme smiled at her in relief.
“Have Yane get the medical supplies,” she said. “From the fever he’s running, I’d guess that he’s probably dehydrated. We’ll need to establish an IV line. Yane? Yane! Get Shai Ledon up here now and tell him we need him. And…” she paused for a moment, “his patient may have a concussion.”
“Yes, milady,” Yane said, hurrying off. A hum of activity surrounded the apartment for a while. Padme stayed close to Obi-Wan the whole time, not wanting to leave; she wanted him to at least have a familiar face nearby when he awoke. She caught Yane moving to remove the lightsaber from his belt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded with unwarranted harshness. Padme winced inwardly. “I’m sorry for snapping, Yane. Leave his lightsaber where it is. He’ll panic if it’s not there when he wakes up. The last thing he needs is more stress at the moment.”
“I’m sorry, milady,” Yane said. “I wasn’t thinking.” Padme touched the handmaiden’s shoulder.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a long night. For all of us.”
It wasn’t until the IV was established and Shai Ledon had come and gone, stating that the Jedi Master’s collapse was due to exhaustion, and not any serious injury, and taking care of a bloody bandage that had missed the cursory inspection, that Obi-Wan awoke. He blinked, his eyes flickering open, a heady swirl of confused color before settling into a semi-distrusting jade color. Padme leaned over him. “Awake, sleepyhead?” she teased. Obi-Wan swallowed before speaking.
“Hello, there,” he croaked.
“Hello,” Padme said, smiling. She took a glass from the bedside table. “Here. Drink.” She guided his shaky hand and was gratified to see the glass half-drained. Obi-Wan swallowed and pressed it back into her hand. Padme set it back. “You gave us quite a scare, there, Obi-Wan,” she said teasingly. Obi-Wan swallowed again and spoke, more clearly this time.
“I scared the Jedi Council worse,” he replied lightly, in kind, wincing as his injured arm twinged. Padme frowned.
“That bad?” she asked, instantly wanting to slap herself. “Well, of course it’s that bad,” she continued. “Someone planted a bomb in your quarters… but to do that they’d have to get inside the Jedi Temple… and that’s supposed to be impossible… isn’t it?”
“No, actually. It’s been done before.” Obi-Wan half-whispered. “At least three times in my memory, and I was kidnapped out of my own bed one of those times. So no, it’s not impossible.” Obi-Wan suddenly leaned back and groaned. “And there I go, giving out information you’re not even supposed to know!” he whispered. Padme took in a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone,” she whispered back. Obi-Wan made a move to sit up. Out of habit, Padme pushed him back down.
“I have to get back to my duties,” Obi-Wan said, determination steeling in his eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Padme replied adamantly.
“Padme.”
“Obi-Wan.”
They stared into each other’s eyes, at an impasse. Padme was amazed that she was able to look at him this long without blinking; she was finding his constant gaze slightly hypnotic. Finally, Obi-Wan gave in. “All right, I suppose I’ll rest.” He leaned back onto the pillows, looking annoyed. Padme began to quirk a smile.
“It’s a good thing you decided to give in when you did. I was beginning to be afraid you were going to mind-trick me, or something.”
“I doubt it would work,” Obi-Wan grumbled. Padme giggled.
“You’re sounding much better now,” she said, then grew solemn again. “Something’s wrong when you aren’t safe at the Temple anymore,” she said.
“I’m not safe anywhere anymore,” Obi-Wan corrected. “And that’s wrong.” Padme frowned.
“I wish this would just be over,” she whispered. “And we could go back to being…” she paused. “Well, there wasn’t really a time when we were like family… I mean together, that sort of thing.”
“So, we’re talking about a someday dream, or just a nice thought that would never really happen?” Obi-Wan cut in.
“I hope it’s a someday dream,” Padme said softly, half to herself. “But it’s really not that realistic… I guess I was just hoping that someday, you… and Anakin… and Ahsoka… and I… and Qui-Gon of course,” she added as an afterthought, “we might… we might actually get to be… be… a family.” Obi-Wan smiled at her.
“We already are, Padme,” he said quietly.
“How?” Padme asked, feeling tears rise in her eyes.
“The deepest sense.” Obi-Wan said. He looked at the window, its shutters closed. “I used to look ahead to the future too much. I had anxiety to an extreme, bordering on being a mental disorder, partly as a result. I think one of the most important things my master ever taught me was how to live my life the only way I can.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “One day at a time.” Padme stood up.
“Sometimes, you look so… so vulnerable, so young,” she said quietly. Obi-Wan looked quietly up at her, but at that moment, Shai Ledon came in to remove the IV line. After he was gone, Padme continued. “So innocent. And yet, other times, you look like you’re aging so fast, you’re burning your life out far quicker than it should be burning. I guess it all comes down to living your life one day at a time, after all.” She looked down, then up at him again. “Dance with me?” she asked.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt myself, or something?” he asked quietly.
“It’s not that easy to get overtired in a bedroom this size,” Padme said solicitously. Obi-Wan shot her a quick glance, his eyes laughing.
“You’d be surprised.” he said.
Padme put a disk in the radio. “I made this song up,” she said quietly. “I was… just bored, and lonely, one day, and I suddenly remembered the day we danced in the garden, all those years ago… The night you were crying for Qui-Gon, because his life was hanging by a thread, remember?” Obi-Wan nodded. “And then, all those nights we would put in old country or folk music and dance alone in the ballroom of the palace? Well, I was thinking of that when I wrote the song.” She played the song. It was a recording of herself, singing.
Sometimes I feel like dancing
Across an empty floor
It’s getting late and the party’s over
But I just want one more
Even alone where the candles grow dim
Midnight’s tolled long since
Yet it’s here in the silence, it’s here in the dim light
It’s here that a friendship begins:

The first time we did this
You seemed so alone
Abandoned on the dance floor
Lost, forgotten, on your own
Your hand was so cold then
But now it’s gotten warm
And the light that was frozen over
Has taken a charming form:

Let’s dance, dance, dance
The whole night through
Alone in the ballroom
Just me and you
Let’s dance, dance, dance
The night away
For here in the shadows,
A light is at play
We don’t have to be Cinderella
No one’s asking to fit on a slipper
And expecting all those dreams to come true
But let’s dance together,
Just me… and you.
Obi-Wan reached down and set the player to record. Without any further planning, he continued the song.
I saw you dancing
The moonlight within
And all of me wondered,
Where did you find the strength to win?
But then you asked me
To come dance with you
And the loneliness of one
Became friendship of two

Each day the weak dream
In dancing grew stronger
And each hope that brought daylight
Steadily grew longer.
At first I was afraid I was dreaming,
But then the music started to play,
And I walked to the empty floor
And we danced the night away:

Let’s dance, dance, dance
The whole night through
Alone in the ballroom
Just me and you
Let’s dance, dance, dance
The night away
For here in the shadows,
A light is at play
We don’t have to be Cinderella
No one’s asking to fit on a slipper
And expecting all those dreams to come true
But let’s dance together,
Just me… and you.
Together, they sang the chorus again. Then Padme played the completed song.
And they danced.

Epilogue
Obi-Wan walked along the long hallways of the safe house on Taabar. Padme watched him from a curtained alcove, where she was sitting with Siri, hiding from the twins. Padme suspected that Ahsoka and Shaniel must have their hands full with the growing twins, but she wasn’t about to feel guilty about relinquishing the claims of her rambunctious children to the Padawans for just a short time. Siri peeped out through the curtains. “Here comes the Chosen One,” she remarked. “Head in the clouds, pondering some great moral mystery as usual. How he survived all those battles in the Clone Wars I’ll never guess.” Padme peeped out, giggling at her friend’s description.
“It probably had something to do with the glowering master who is currently following him around, trying to talk him into eating or getting some rest while he has the chance to do so.” she laughed. “What a team they make. Have you ever heard the insults that get bandied back and forth between the two of them once Master Jinn has worn Obi-Wan’s cool exterior away?”
“They’re men, what do you expect?” Siri drawled lazily. Padme giggled again. True, she had heard worse, between Obi-Wan and Anakin.
Anakin.
No, I won’t! she told herself fiercely. I won’t start feeling guilty about what happened to Anakin! I won’t let it spoil my happy moment! Padme curled her fists into the soft cushions of the couch. She willed herself to get back to thinking about Obi-Wan instead. Even though something about him always made her heart flutter, she had never felt romantically attracted to him. Instead, she felt protective of him, as she would feel protective of her brother, if she actually had a brother. But she did, sort of. Obi-Wan was an orphan, and though she had not known it at the time, she had adopted him, almost unconsciously.
Padme felt comfortable around Siri. Siri and Obi-Wan had loved each other deeply for years, and it had matured more into a fraternal affection, as passion died away. They could live without each other, just what Padme had been unable to do with Anakin. There was complete trust between them; they were more like brother and sister than lovers now. But at least Siri could understand what she was going through. There was a caring side to the Jedi Master, under her bluff façade. She and Siri and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and Ahsoka, along with a lucky few others, had become like a family. Their common factor? Obi-Wan. Whether people were just naturally attracted to him, or whether he just bonded with subconscious ease, she wasn’t sure, but he was the heart, soul, and backbone of the group, and they were there for him when he was tired or lonely.
Padme studied Obi-Wan as he walked the corridor. He looked completely exhausted, and this time, it was more than just his eyes; it was in the slump of his shoulders and the way he dragged slightly as he walked. There was a smudge of dirt on his left cheek, and a suspiciously reddish-brown smear along with it. Siri shook her head sorrowfully. “Most Shendi tend to be slightly longer-lived than other humans, but Obi-Wan… He’s tired, and you can tell. He always did take things rather too seriously.” She smiled sadly.
“I have an idea,” Padme said, moving to slip out of the alcove, but a movement spotted out of the corner of her eye stopped her. Asajj Ventress had appeared out of a side corridor and greeted the two Jedi Masters cordially. Padme watched with some amusement the fatherly way in which Obi-Wan acted towards the former Separatist. Asajj had been a fierce enemy—to an extent—of Obi-Wan’s in the Clone Wars, and had displayed a confusing sort of attraction to him, an obsession in some strange form; now that Obi-Wan and she were on the same side, she seemed to regard him with the same reverence that Obi-Wan showed to his own master. For now, all was right, or at least, as right as it could possibly be with one of their own number gone.
Ventress passed on down the hallway, and Padme decided to leap out and accost Obi-Wan before anyone else could turn up. She slipped out from the curtain and into Obi-Wan’s path, barring the way. He looked at her as if he hadn’t noticed her before, half-tired, half-challenging. It was good to see that the familiar spark was still alive in those changeable stormy eyes. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Padme snapped, mock-sternly. “Good to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed somehow.” Obi-Wan merely gave her a tired look and moved to slip past her. However, she moved along with him. Obi-Wan froze, echoing his Jedi training. Padme suddenly smiled. “We haven’t danced in a while,” she said softly. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Padme, that’s true, but I’m in no mood for…”
“Remember, we don’t need the glass slippers.” Padme said. “We don’t need the orchestra or the ballroom floor. All we need is the music and the star-spangled sky.”
“Very poetic,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “But, not now. I’m exhausted, Padme.”
“Obi-Wan, please dance.” Padme said quietly. “Remember, we don’t have to be Cinderella.” Then the music took hold.