When Anakin arrived, he and Obi-Wan had recently parted on good terms; for Obi-Wan, that moment was ten years ago. A reunion soon dissolves into an argument.
Following the map he had received, Anakin almost ran to the location marked the Green. He expected that Obi-Wan would look more wrinkled, but he hadn't anticipated how different his friend would actually be. It wasn't just the wrinkles, or the additional gray hairs, or even the hair that was much longer. Only hours ago, from Anakin's perspective, they'd said their farewells before Obi-Wan departed for Utapau. Obi-Wan had not indicated considerable time had passed since then, but it both looked and felt to Anakin like much had.
The child, Leia Organa, had said the Republic fell and the Jedi were dead or being hunted. Did that explain the new weight Obi-Wan seemed to carry, how tired he was?
Not that Anakin wasn't tired, too, but his exhaustion was of a different kind. Three years of war seemed about to end, which should have meant they were close to achieving peace. Instead, he'd been asked by the Jedi Council to spy on his mentor and friend, Chancellor Palpatine, who in turn believed the Council was plotting against him to seize power. Obi-Wan was on a mission that should have been Anakin's, or Obi-Wan's and his, yet the Council didn't trust Anakin with it—even though he had repeatedly proven himself to them. His former Padawan Ahsoka was on Mandalore and would soon face Maul, but all he could do was send her reinforcements and review status reports.
More importantly, Anakin hadn't slept properly in days thanks to his visions. Over and over, he saw that Padmé was going to die. He couldn't bring himself to ask the Organa child what she knew about her parents' friend for fear of what the answer may be. He must save her. What if he'd failed?
"Obi-Wan, that isn't just sinkhole air," Anakin said.
From the moment Obi-Wan learned the process of Derleth’s seemingly haphazard selection of individuals from various universes and timelines, he knew the possibility that he might run across a familiar face was increased. When Leia arrived, he considered himself fortunate. Of all the people in his life, fate couldn’t have chosen more kindly. But seeing Anakin’s name and face on the network without warning filled him with a deep sense of discomfort—and he was glad to have not accidentally crossed paths with him on the campus because he would not have been able to hide his feelings. His combined grief and fear would have sent hurricane waves through the Force. Waves that even Anakin wouldn’t be able to ignore.
But just as he couldn’t ignore Leia and her persistent questions, he knew he couldn’t avoid Anakin. And choosing the meeting place would give him the time he needed to prepare how he would respond to his former Padawan. And how he would answer what Obi-Wan was certain would be a fervent and demanding array of queries.
The only complication was how Obi-Wan would approach those questions. Because while he couldn’t tell Anakin the truth—just as he couldn’t reveal everything he knew to Leia—he couldn’t lie. Not about everything. Eventually Anakin would discover that Obi-Wan was withholding something from him. And if the lies were too problematic—
Obi-Wan exhaled a weary sigh. Then an unexpected thought crept up from the back of his thoughts. Perhaps this is an opportunity to change the course of the future. He stroked his beard and allowed that thought to weave through the troubled membranes of his mind. Was that even possible? Could Anakin be swayed back to the light? Was there a chance that all of their shared pain and suffering could be prevented?
Could Obi-Wan be a better teacher the second time around? Could he avert his own failures?
He didn’t know. But it was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to dismiss. If only he’d had more time to meditate on the issue.
Obi-Wan stepped out from beneath the shade of one of the large conifers lining the edge of the forest and gave Anakin a smile. An honest smile. Because, in truth, he was glad to see him. Glad to see the young man he once believed in. The Jedi he’d once put all of his hopes in. It was like a memory of what-could-have-been.
He laughed at Anakin’s comment, knowing full well that the harsh suns of Tatooine hadn’t been kind to his face. “I never could hide anything from you, my young Padawan. In truth it has been nearly ten years since I have seen you.”
"That explains a few things about how you look. But the hair? Really?" Anakin gave it a critical look, although he wasn't fully serious about it. Really, he was just stunned and trying to joke his way through it.
How could hours turn into years? How could Obi-Wan not have seen him in ten years?
And yes, Obi-Wan had offered his help, but Anakin had kept some rather large secrets from his former master. Even though he had rushed over, he didn't know where he would even begin to ask. There was so much to take in all at once.
“What’s wrong with the hair?” A playful retort. Something reminiscent of the time when he and Anakin used to bicker and banter with each other on missions. It felt foreign on Obi-Wan’s lips. Like a reenactment of a life he’d once lived in another world, another galaxy. It also sparked an uncomfortable nostalgia. A sentiment he thought he’d lost long ago. One that was crushed when he realized his former Padawan still lived and that he had taken up the mantle of the dark side.
But If Obi-Wan could slip so easily into the old routine, what else could he do? What else could he forget? What else could he forgive?
And despite the jest, Anakin wasn’t wrong. Obi-Wan was in desperate needing of cleaning up with regards to his appearance. He’d attempted that the first week he was in Derleth. Unfortunately, the resets were less than kind when it came to the work he did. And he had yet to give his physical appearance much consideration this week. He’d been hoping to merely enjoy the change of pace. No zombies. No sentient cities and man-killing tree roots. Sadly, there never seemed to be a real reprieve in Derleth.
Anakin’s arrival was proof of that.
He ran his fingers back through his shaggy hair, tucking the wild unkempt strands behind his ears. “I admit it is not one of my finer appearances. But there hasn’t been much opportunity for vanity here. Or in the time I come from. And you were always the prettier of the two of us.”
"I thought you gave up that kind of hair when I grew mine out. Too busy to find a barber?" To Anakin, the bantering was still their routine. Only days ago, they'd fought the Separatists above Coruscant, rescued the Chancellor... and there was what happened with Dooku. Anakin had been avoiding reflection on that. He didn't have a beard to stroke, but he rubbed his chin in thought as he pretended to consider what to do about Obi-Wan's hair. "Oh, you're just saying that so you can get out of public appearances."
They were both avoiding the subject, which was also routine for Anakin. Obi-Wan or Padmé would try to get him to open up, and Anakin would close off and change the subject. Or if he did consider saying something, a literal explosion or other imminent problem would interrupt.
That didn't seem to happen as much with Palpatine. It was easier to talk to him; the Chancellor would listen without judgment, and validate decisions that Anakin was certain would be met with criticism by another audience.
A half-formed thought teetered on the edge of Obi-Wan’s mind, but he was careful not to express it. Or to even allow it to finish. He cut it off before it could fully develop into something dangerous. It was a sharp barbed response to Anakin’s playful banter. One that didn’t come from goodhearted enthusiasm. This was one that came from a place of pain and grief. And Obi-Wan was not going to allow himself to venture into those treacherous waters. Certainly not now when he was at his weakest emotionally.
Instead he covered it up with a laugh. His eyes crinkled in the corners, skin leathered by the harsh suns of Tatooine. Sometimes he thought he even had sand in his lashes. Anakin had always been right on that account. The sand got everywhere. But eventually he failed to notice it. Just as he failed to notice the quick passage of time and how his war-torn weariness was so easily displayed in the lines of his face.
“To be fair, I’m not entirely certain even a barber can help at this point.” Continue with the game, Obi-Wan. Perhaps it’ll ease the difficulty of having to eventually segue into more serious conversational ground. “And I’ve long since put public appearances behind me. I never was one for the limelight. That was your specialty.”
He motioned to the forest, an inexplicable addition to what he’d been told was once a small field of grass. “Shall we walk?”
"Wow, you're declaring it a lost cause? I'll try to get used to it, but I can't guarantee it."
It had always been easier for Anakin to speak of serious matters when he was moving, working on a task, doing something other than just sitting or standing there. A walk had the added benefit of not having to look Obi-Wan in the eye as he spoke. He nodded once to Obi-Wan and turned towards the forest.
"The sky is strange here."
“It’s not a real sky,” Obi-Wan said, momentarily turning his gaze upward before slipping into the forest. “It’s an illusion created by one of the other residents. A formidable ability. He is even capable of creating stars at night, although I am not familiar with any of the systems they’re reminiscent of. Normally the sky is just an endless void, not unlike what you will find if you venture too close to the edges of the campus. At least, that’s what the others say. I have yet to witness it myself. But I appreciate the illusion even if that is all it is.”
The sky was less visible under the canopy of tall conifers. And Obi-Wan carefully maneuvered through the dense foliage. Someone had briefly told him about the witch, Julia, who had one day created the forest in the Green. And how, despite the odds of the resets, it had remained for many months afterwards. He was glad for it. It was a far cry from the last ten years of sand and sun. A gentle reminder that there were still beautiful places in the universe. Even if this particular beautiful place was a kind of prison to most of its residents.
Obi-Wan had yet to decide if he felt that Derleth was a prison or a reprieve; a sanctuary for a weary soul. Perhaps it was both.
“We may see a real sky next week. This world appears to be on a cycle of seven days. Seven days here. Seven days in another place. Always a surprise. Always something out to get us.” He stopped as a small flock of dodos scurried across the path in front of them. “Derleth collects all sorts of creatures in its travels.”
"Is it projected, then, like a hologram? A void where there should be sky sounds... unsettling." Although there were droids that could do the work, young Jedi learned methods for identifying and calculating their location based on the stars in the absence of outside aid. With the many star systems and planets within them, there were many, many factors to consider as one's location changed. These illusionary stars were entirely unrecognizable.
Anakin was mindful not to snag his cloak as he followed Obi-Wan's lead. It wouldn't be the first time if it did happen, but it was a bit ridiculous getting your wardrobe caught on your surroundings. He paused as well to let the avians pass them by. "How long have you been here?"
“I believe it is some form of magic.” Obi-Wan grinned at the thought. He never thought he’d use that word and actually mean it. He’d spent years explaining to people that the Force wasn’t magic. That magic was simply a word to explain something people didn’t understand. Only to arrive here and discover that in some worlds magic was a real thing. Sometimes a living, breathing thing with form and consequence. “Go ahead and laugh. I did too when it was first explained to me. But the more I come to understand the people here … Well, there’s always something to learn it seems. No matter how much one has experienced in life.”
Obi-Wan tucked his cloak closer to his body when they entered a particularly brambly patch of foliage. Once they were beyond that, however, the forest opened up to a much more spacious terrain. There was still a thick undergrowth beneath their feet, but the trees were further apart and there was more space to walk side by side without having to climb over fallen branches or get caught on prickly bushes.
Above their heads a pair of birds sang a warning song, alerting other creatures to their presence. That was one thing Obi-Wan liked about the Green. The life. The serenity. It was the one place in Derleth where he felt a constant flow and connection with the Force.
“Twenty-nine daily rotations based on the Derleth clock. But there are many who have been here longer. Perhaps even a year.”
Anakin tried and failed to keep a straight face, breaking into laughter as well. The Nightsisters called their Force abilities "magicks," and some mistook the Jedi for magic-wielding wizards, but it wasn't true. "I certainly never imagined discussing 'magic' as something real. The illusion of a daily rotation, I take it."
There were rumors that the Sith had practiced some sort of alchemy or sorcery, but as with nearly all knowledge of the Sith and the dark side, it was restricted. Only Jedi Masters had access to the holocrons and other records that would contain the truth. Since Anakin had been denied that rank—as usual, his emotional state was obvious when he felt a flash of resentment at that thought. The title itself wasn't nearly as important as the access it would have given him to what the Council was keeping secret.
If they had granted him the rank, he'd already be researching exactly how to save Padmé, starting with what Palpatine had told him.
“I have yet to really speak to any of them about their abilities or how they manage to harness this so-called magic. There was one sorceress when I first arrived who seemed willing to open up about it. But she has since been returned to her world.” Obi-Wan hadn’t shown any outward disappointment at Yennefer and Ciri’s disappearance. He hadn’t had time as Leia had arrived shortly after. But though he hadn’t known the two women long, he felt as though there might have been a connection there. Or, at the very least, an opportunity for a sort of educational alliance. “This place has the ability to return people to their lives without warning. That sometimes causes a great deal of distress among its residents. Something to be mindful of.”
Obi-Wan could still feel the loss of certain people lingering in those who were left behind. Some held onto that anguish stronger than others, making their pain too pervasive for him to approach them. Their agony rippled through the Force. Perhaps one day Obi-Wan would attempt to offer them some form of assistance. But that would have to wait until he was more settled. Until he had a better handle on his own emotions and his own presence in Derleth.
Until he knew what to do about Anakin.
He slowed his gait when he reached a large oak tree in a small clearing. Obi-Wan frowned as he looked at it. He placed a palm on its trunk and felt the rough exterior of its bark. Then he looked to the ground. He sensed something dark had happened in this place once. But the feeling was fleeting and it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.
And then, without warning, Obi-Wan changed the subject. “You should go easy on the young princess. She, too, is in a strange world full of unfamiliar people. I understand that her point of view is difficult to comprehend, but she is from a different time from us. Perhaps even a different reality. And she’s without the people she trusts the most.”
Obi-Wan turned to face Anakin for the first time since they’d begun their walk. “She believes in the Jedi. We would do well not to disappoint her.”
"I suppose finding a way to use those abilities to return people to their lives whenever they wish takes priority over satisfying our curiosity about how they work. I suppose the distress is understandable. They may lose a friend at any moment, and they have no way of returning home themselves."
Speaking of curiosity, Anakin watched with it as Obi-Wan examined the tree; when Obi-Wan turned to him, however, Anakin frowned as he looked back and crossed his arms.
"The young princess," he said, "is old enough to learn not to speak nonsense. What she says is absurd."
He could understand believing in the Jedi. After all, he had idolized them himself when he was a child, when he wished more than anything to become one and bring freedom to those he loved. Now that he was a Jedi, the limits of the Jedi Order clashed with that idealized image, and that had been shaken even more when Obi-Wan had delivered the Council's off-record order to spy for them.
And he had also felt the truth in what the princess had said. Absurd, yet that had also been his reaction when Palpatine said the Jedi were plotting against him. What Leia said would mean Palpatine had been correct. Anakin didn't want it to be true.
"Maybe she should be disappointed. Maybe her belief is misplaced."
“Is that what you truly believe?”
It was, of course, a double-edged question. Because Obi-Wan knew that even in this moment, isolated from their world, Anakin was on the path to the Dark Side. He knew that his faith in the Jedi was waning and that his indoctrination by the Emperor was becoming more prevalent. He knew that because he had seen the outcome of the manipulation. But he had never really had the opportunity to ask Anakin directly. Perhaps, if he had, there would have been an opportunity to understand his Padawan better. To learn more deeply what it was that turned him away from the Jedi. From the people who cared about him.
Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the forest floor. It was difficult choosing his words. It wouldn’t take much to inadvertently say more than he ought to or to raise Anakin’s suspicions. Even more problematic was the situation with Leia. Obi-Wan feared the ramifications of being caught in the middle of so many untold truths. That age-old question of whether withholding the truth was also a form of lying plagued his thoughts. Any misstep could lead to disaster. Or to hope. And he wasn’t certain which path was the best one to follow.
“It’s not nonsense. The galaxy has changed considerably since the Clone Wars. Changed in ways that, I’m afraid, no one was prepared for. She’s a glimpse of the future that none of us could have anticipated.” Or could they have? Perhaps if Obi-Wan had been a more considerate mentor to Anakin, he would have been able to foresee the damage that would be done.
But Obi-Wan had always adhered to and defended his own master’s fortitude. His fervent dedication of belief. Qui-Gon had been adamant about Anakin from the beginning. He never had any reservations. And it was difficult for Obi-Wan to shake the notion that Qui-Gon might have been wrong.
"I don't know what to believe, Obi-Wan." Anakin's jaw tightened and he took a step away, not quite pacing yet but too restless to stand still.
"Master Windu has never hidden how much he dislikes me, how he doesn't trust me. Maybe he is just being honest, but I'm ordered to be dishonest and spy on the Chancellor for him and the Council? How could they ask this of me? And my premonitions—"
He glanced at Obi-Wan before looking at the oak tree, reaching out to feel the bark with his flesh hand. "Master Yoda wants me to simply allow them to come to pass. But the last time..."
To avoid digging his fingers into the bark, he pulled his hand away; the tree, after all, had done nothing wrong. "You told me it was a dream. That they pass in time. But it came true. My mother died and I was too late to save her because I listened to my orders and to you."
What could Obi-Wan say? Maybe saying nothing would have been the safest route. A diversion of the conversation could have also offered a reprieve from the discomfort of the discussion. But how would that have been any different than what he’d done before? How would that help Anakin choose a different path? If not in their galaxy, then here.
In truth there was only one thing he could say. One thing that wasn’t a lie or a deception of the future he’d witnessed.
“I am sorry, Anakin.” And Obi-Wan was. He had many regrets in his life, but one of the biggest was not allowing his Padawan to see his true feelings. Of trying to be strong for the both of them. Of not being more open-minded to Anakin’s pain. That was a regret he couldn’t make up for no matter what he did. But perhaps, in this place, he could at least try to do things differently. To be a better father figure to the person he cared for the most.
Because the Jedi could care. And they did. At least, Obi-Wan was not void of feeling.
“You have never had it easy. And perhaps it was wrong of the Council to ask that of you. Perhaps it was wrong of me not to take your premonitions more seriously. For that I am deeply sorry. Sometimes I forget that you have a lifetime of memories before the Jedi.” Obi-Wan sighed. “You’re right. I should have been more receptive to your dreams. And while I know it cannot change the past or soothe the incredible loss you still feel, my inattentiveness in this matter does weigh heavily upon me. And always will.”
The apology was welcome, but Anakin's appreciation of it was brief; his emotions flared up again as Obi-Wan continued—fear, anger, grief, exactly what he'd been warned about so many times.
"'Perhaps' it was wrong?" Yes, Anakin could feel Obi-Wan's sincerity and regret, but he was easily overcome by everything he'd been dwelling on.
"My mother," Anakin's voice broke and he tried to hold back his tears. "She'd been tortured for weeks and if I had just... She died in my arms, Obi-Wan. And now—I will not let it happen again. Nobody else will die like she did."
Obi-Wan withheld the urge to sigh. He knew from the moment he saw the change in Anakin’s face that he’d chosen his words poorly. Or perhaps it was his timing. It was so difficult to know with Anakin. Even with Obi-Wan’s deep connection to the Force, he was often blind to truly knowing the proper course of action with his Padawan.
Former Padawan, that tiny voice in his head reminded him. Right. Former Padawan. Because in his time, Anakin Skywalker was dead. And seeing this young man in front of him was like being haunted by a ghost.
A ghost Obi-Wan feared he could not soothe. No matter how hard he tried.
“People die, Anakin. That’s part of life. You can’t change that. You can’t stop it. Eventually all life comes to an end. And new life replaces it.”
"You're wrong." Anakin didn't bother to wipe away his own tears; his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "She didn't have to die. I could have changed it, I could have saved her, if I had gone before it was too late. But instead, I only had moments with her before she died in pain. If Padmé hadn't taken me seriously..."
When Anakin had still been a young Padawan, he had accompanied Obi-Wan on a particular mission to a dead system. Its star no longer had fusion reactions, leaving it cold and dense and unable to support life. Witnessing that star was meant to impart a lesson about the nature of life. Nothing would live forever. Even stars burned out.
Anakin had been terrified.
"I will stop it. I won't let her die, too."
The age old argument.
Obi-Wan knew that they were at an impasse. This was not something they could resolve now. Not in a single conversation. This was something that would take time. Time Obi-Wan didn’t have before. Not while Anakin was under the watchful eye of Palpatine.
But Palpatine wasn’t here. Neither was the Jedi Council nor the Sith nor the war. Perhaps that was the mercy of this place. Derleth may have just offered him a second chance at saving his Padawan from a horrible fate. From the pain and suffering he would endure as Darth Vader. And from the terrors he would inflict upon others. Maybe in this place he would have the time he needed to reach Anakin. To find that boy who’d once been such a shining beacon of hope for the future. To find the savior Qui-Gon believed him to be. To find the father he could have been to his children.
Perhaps it was all possible. If Obi-Wan could only manage to restrain himself from his own prejudices. If he, too, could learn to see things from a different point of view. The point of view of a young man in pain.
Obi-Wan nodded. Because there was nothing else he could say. Not now. Not on this topic. Not without ruining any potential they had for a new future. For a fresh start.
“Have you been to the canteen yet? The food supplies are better stocked at the beginning of the week, but there are some creative chefs among the residents. Skilled in making a variety of dishes.” Obi-Wan offered a halfhearted smile. “Would you care to join me for a meal? Then I can tell you more about what I know of this place. And what I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”
"I tell you Padmé's going to die... and you invite me to the canteen?"
Was Obi-Wan just trying to change the subject to avoid something uncomfortable or did he really not understand why Anakin would be upset, even not knowing the full story? This was exactly the sort of thing Palpatine had observed to him, how the Jedi avoided his pain, couldn't relate to it. As if meditation would save someone's life!
"Do you really expect me to care about food right now?!"
Obi-Wan was about to walk off, but he stopped himself when Anakin responded. Still that same juvenile complaint. Always demanding attention. Never taking a moment to reflect.
Well, this wasn’t the same Obi-Wan that Anakin remembered. This was a man who’d seen the worst in the person he’d loved most. This was a man who’d lost everything. Who’d spent the last decade on the run, hiding not only from those who were hunting him, but from himself. From the man he used to be. Denying everything he held dear. His morals, his philosophy, his hopes, his dreams, his faith. This was a man who turned his back on fellow Jedi because the risk was too great. A man who’d let good people die to protect a promise he’d made.
A promise to the woman Anakin was fuming about.
Obi-Wan caught Anakin’s gaze with a stony stare. Any lightheartedness he’d expressed in the moments before was gone; replaced by the hardened grit of a man who no longer had the patience for Anakin’s selfishness.
“What do you want me to say, Anakin? I’ve told you my thoughts on this matter time and again. This is why the Jedi are careful not to form attachments. Because people die. We all lose our parents. Our mentors. Our friends. Nothing lives forever. One day Padmé will pass on. As will I. As will you. That’s what makes every moment we have with those people so important. The fragility of life is the thing that binds us all together.” Obi-Wan paused. “And if you fail to recognize that then you will squander the time you have with everyone you care about.”
The look on Obi-Wan's face left Anakin wrong-footed and unsure of where they both stood. They hadn't argued as much during the war as they had before it, perhaps since Anakin no longer being a Padawan had changed the dynamic between them. How Obi-Wan would respond in those arguments was something Anakin knew well; this, however, was not. It wasn't even the bluntness of it so much as how Obi-Wan just seemed... done.
Obi-Wan had made it sound like he'd help, unlike Yoda. Instead, another lecture.
Anakin swallowed, then glared back. "What would you know about losing your parent? Or someone you—you wouldn't know, Obi-Wan."
Of course Anakin knew there was a history with Duchess Satine. After all, Anakin had loaned Obi-Wan a ship to attempt to rescue her, and he'd hoped it would succeed, even if his old master would have likely maintained their boundaries if Satine had lived. However, as far as Anakin was concerned, that was an unrealized possibility that couldn't compare.
"Why should any of us just accept that, when we could learn how to save them? Why should I?"
“I wouldn’t know? I wouldn’t know? I wouldn’t know what it’s like to lose a family? A father? A brother? A loved one?” It took all of Obi-Wan’s strength not to laugh. Not because he thought it was funny, of course. But because he couldn’t believe that Anakin had spent so much time with him and still knew nothing about him. That Obi-Wan had done his utmost to be friend, father, mentor, teacher, brother to Anakin and Anakin still failed—or, perhaps better put, refused—to see that he, too, was vulnerable to the same emotions as any man. As any person. As any being in the entire galaxy. “You do not own the monopoly on loss, Anakin.”
It was easy to think of Qui-Gon and Satine as two important figures in Obi-Wan’s life who were no longer part of it. He had loved them both. Just as he loved the family he couldn’t remember. A family he could only recall through hazy memories and unclear feelings. The shape of his father’s hands. The softness of his mother’s shawl. And the vague belief that he had a brother. He couldn’t put any names or faces to them. They were more like feelings than people. But knowing they existed, unaware of what may have become of him, didn’t ease the pain of that loss. It may have offered some comfort in the night when he was a young boy. Alone in a room full of sleeping younglings, all far removed from families they’d never see again. But it didn’t change the fact that they were gone forever.
And then, of course, there was Anakin. The most cutting loss of them all. The one that felt like a dagger plunged into his heart. Twisted. Bleeding internally. Loss combined with failure. Loss interwoven with love. The fact that Anakin was incapable of recognizing how much suffering Obi-Wan had been through wasn’t a testament to Obi-Wan’s submission to the Jedi philosophy or his abidance of the Council’s rules. It was an attestation of Anakin’s ego.
If ever there was a bright center of the universe, Anakin would believe he stood directly upon it. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head at his own thoughts.
“I am not going to argue with you, Anakin. I haven’t seen you in many years. I would like to enjoy this reunion without confrontation. Perhaps, in time, we can address this again. But I, for one, do not have the energy. Nor do I have the patience.” His lips drew into a weary frown. “And I have no desire to compete with you on the concept of loss when clearly your anger has blinded you to the pain of others.”
Obi-Wan turned his back on his former apprentice and began making his way back through the forest.
Anakin's initial instinct was to refuse to allow Obi-Wan to turn his back and walk away. It stung Anakin's pride to have one of his own flaws so bluntly thrown in his face. It would be very easy to give in to his anger and follow Obi-Wan to keep arguing, or to just stop him; it would be easy to reach out through the Force and freeze Obi-Wan in place, even if Obi-Wan fought to get away, to make him listen.
It was so tempting.
But he was terrified about what (about who) he could lose and exhausted with that fear, not just angry in the moment. If he pushed now, he'd surely make things worse.
He could actually sense the almost overwhelming wave of loss emanating from his old master, of a kind that Anakin didn't know Obi-Wan had ever felt or could ever feel. There were unknown years between them now. If what the princess said was true, what had happened to Obi-Wan in those years? What, or more importantly who, had he lost? And maybe the losses that Anakin did know about had more of an effect than he'd realized. The exposure of Obi-Wan's feelings cooled Anakin's anger. His shoulders sagged as he sighed heavily.
With his arms crossed tightly over his chest, he called out. "Obi-Wan... you are right. I'm sorry. May the Force be with you."
Obi-Wan had felt more emotions in the last few weeks than he had in a lifetime. It wasn’t an easy thing to reconcile. There were many in this place who blamed Derleth for their anguish. For their pain. Not Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan knew exactly where the source of his own suffering came from. And it had nothing to do with some isolated world of kidnapped strangers. It had everything to do with the young man behind him. It had everything to do with himself. His past. His choices. His failures. And his inability to reach a boy who was supposed to be someone he wasn’t. Someone he never could be.
That, perhaps, was Obi-Wan’s fault. He’d always trusted his own master’s instinct. His wisdom. Anakin was supposed to be the chosen one. He was meant to bring balance to the Force. Peace to the universe. But he was too old. Too stubborn. Too angry. They’d tried too hard to turn him into something he wasn’t and they lost him.
No. Obi-Wan lost him. And, at this rate, he was never going to find him.
A horrifying thought came to him then. Perhaps Anakin had been Vader long before Mustafar. Perhaps before Anakin himself even realized it.
Obi-Wan slowed his gait. It took every ounce of strength in him not to lash out. He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, calming breath. Then he mustered the energy to ease the tension in his face and glanced over his shoulder. “I am weary. This has proven to be a challenging week with all of the unfamiliar memories. I think I will get something to eat and then meditate for the rest of the day. You’re welcome to join me if you wish.”
But before Anakin could answer, Obi-Wan continued into the forest, quickly disappearing in the dense aggregation of trees.