Chapter Text
He rubs his burning eyes tiredly and then drops his hands to wrap around the cup of tea, the warmth of the beverage has long been leeched away in the coldness of the cabin. The drink is dark and bitter now, the leaves have steeped for far too long. Obi-Wan drinks it anyway.
There is dirt under his fingernails, and spots of blood on the cuff of his right sleeve.
He should probably take a sonic or go crash back into bed. But the nightmare he had awoken from with a cry caught behind his teeth is still too near the surface of his thoughts and the Force around him feels too heavy, oppressive. He doubts sleep will come easy, nor will it be anywhere near restful, and so doesn’t even try to make the effort.
He finishes his drink and rinses the cup in the sink, and then goes to find a place to meditate.
There are only so many places in a ship this size, but he’s the only soul on board so it’s not privacy he needs to seek, but a spot that feels like it can help grant him the peace he’s searching for. He finds it in the engine room, the rumbling of the ship’s engines and the steady hum of the hyperdrives is a welcome white noise that can perhaps help to drown out the voice he still hears echoing in his ears.
He settles himself onto his knees, palms resting light on his thighs, and closes his eyes.
Sometimes, during meditation or in the slivers of quiet between battles, Obi-Wan thinks about the stories told of the Old Republic and the Thousand Year Peace, and wonders what his life would have been as a Jedi in those days. It all sounds very much like tales traded in the creches; Jedi working as diplomats to bring peace and justice, rather than fighting for it as war generals and commanders.
Obi-Wan cannot imagine winning wars with mere words when he knows that it is the strength of an army and the weapons they bear that will bring peace and ensure security.
The path of a Jedi is not an easy path to tread when so many things can lead one astray. Darkness and death batter him constantly and it feels like the Darkside grows evermore stronger, almost overpowering, and it would be so, so easy to slip, and to Fall.
Obi-Wan finds it hard to find satisfaction in battles won, when the Wars rages on and when the price is paid in lives extinguished, ripped violently from the Force, there and then not, bright lights that fade to dark. He knows this with his mind and even when sometimes his aching heart tells him otherwise, it is his duty to the Order and his oath to the Republic that steels his resolve, steadies his hand on his blade.
He releases his conflicted feelings into the Force and stretches outward for peace.
He knows better than most the dangers of dwelling too long on such negative emotions, of how even powerful and great Knights can Fall and be subsumed by the Dark.
It is hard to forget when his own skin still bears the scars from Bandomeer.
Carefully, he gathers up this uncomfortable memory and offers it to the Force as well, letting it and the painful memories of personal betrayal be carried away. It helps no one to dwell on such things, least of all himself, since everyone else involved is long dead. That incident is many years behind him. He has to keep his concentration on the here and now, where it belongs.
The Force curls tighter around him, a heavy shroud that stifles rather than comforts and Obi-Wan pulls back from that uncomfortable press, and his concentration slips, just a little, and he is suddenly there, sliding past Obi-Wan’s shields as if they didn’t exist.
Obi-Wan, the voice hisses, dark and full of delight, because it is very rare for Obi-Wan to be quite so careless.
And really, he can’t help himself, blames it on the exhaustion and the narrow escape off Xagobah because he sends back a dry and tired, Hello there, before he even realises he’s doing it.
The other pauses and Obi-Wan feels their start of surprise at his response – because Obi-Wan never responds – before he is almost overwhelmed with their dark rush of pleasure, and they try to burrow deeper into his mind, trying to dig in.
Obi-Wan recoils and then rips them from his mind, ignores the flash of hurt and disappointment he feels from the other as he casts them out, and slams up his shields. His eyes snap open and he breathes heavily, shaken.
The corner of his mind where the other had touched is quiet again, but it feels tender and bruised like it had been raked with claws. He is alone in his head and the Force is a mulish hum around him.
He pulls his robes tighter around his shoulders.
I really dislike space travel, he tells himself, and tries to ignore how his fingers are trembling; it really is much too cold.
Slowly, he rises to his feet.
Sleep and meditation are beyond him. Fortunately, he can keep his mind occupied with reports and datawork. And he will arrive at Coruscant in less than a day anyway.
It is just past noon planetary time when he enters atmo and gets the clearance to land at the Temple hangars. He is just stepping off the landing ramp when he finds an Initiate there, clearly waiting for him.
‘Master Kenobi,’ the young Tholothian greets, bowing low. ‘The Council is waiting for you.’
Obi-Wan has expected as much, when the second half of his mission had gone muja-shaped and he had returned empty-handed without the Blue Shadow Virus samples or its antidote, but it is still disheartening to be ushered straight into the Chambers.
‘Thank you, Initiate,’ he says and returns the bow.
The Initiate gives him a shy smile and then darts away.
Obi-Wan takes a spare moment to reach out into the Force, to spread his senses out and feel the welcomed familiarity of the Temple brushing along the edges of his self, the bright minds of the sentients around him focused and sharp, like pinpricks of Light against the warm slow stirring of the currents of the nexus below his feet. He breathes in deep, soaks it all in – Force, it’s been months – and then carefully, he draws back, shoring up his shields again.
The journey from the hangars to the Chambers is a long one. It takes more than a half hour to reach the pinnacle of the Temple and Obi-Wan crosses paths with many Jedi on his walk there.
There is a brush against his shields, and a moment later, Bant is falling in step beside him. He gives her a small smile, even as they continue apace.
‘Hello, Bant,’ he says warmly and Bant knocks shoulders with him.
‘It’s good to see you well, Obi-Wan,’ she says sincerely, her presence happy and relieved in the Force, reaching out to him through their bond. He meets her halfway, and it feels breathtakingly good to still have this strong and vibrant connection with her, when so many of his other bonds have gone dormant from distance, or been torn asunder by death.
‘Have you heard from the others?’ he asks her, as they step into the turbolift.
‘You’ve just missed Garen. He returned to his posting at Centax-2 three days ago,’ Bant tells him, giving him a small rueful smile which he returns, and then she proceeds to update Obi-Wan with what she knows. Operational security is a constant concern in their lives, so the information that is available is vague and imprecise, sometimes outdated.
There’s Siri and her regiment, still entrenched on Hosnian Prime and eight months into their campaign, and the last anyone has heard from them was two and a half tendays ago, before communication was lost. Bant doesn’t say it, but the prospects seem grim.
Reeft, Bant tells him, tone flat and bland, is on a mission somewhere in the Middle Rim. And through their bond where they can’t be overheard, Obi-Wan hears her whisper, Naboo. The name of the planet makes the hair on the back of his neck stand, and Obi-Wan shunts his apprehension into the Force, prays that his friend remains safe from harm.
Naboo is a painful scar in Obi-Wan’s life. Obi-Wan had been to the Sith planet once before, and it was one time too many. It is where he had lost his Master and gained a field-Knighting, had Found a young boy strong in the Force, and then had failed him.
If Bandomeer left upon him physical marks, Naboo has left permanent wounds in his mind.
Obi-Wan, that Dark voice whispers, soft and entreating, and Obi-Wan hurriedly checks his shielding but they are holding strong; it is only his imagination this time.
Bant sends him a soothing wave of calm and comfort, likely sensing the sharp spike of his unease.
Obi-Wan draws in a deep breath, allows himself just this one moment of vulnerability with a deeply loved and trusted friend.
‘Come see me after?’ she asks softly, cocking her head at him and blinking her large green eyes.
They’ve reached the very top of the tower, the doors of the turbolift sliding open to reveal the last stretch of corridor leading to the large double doors to the Council Chambers.
Obi-Wan brushes his hand down her shoulder and gives her a warm smile, ‘Of course, dear Bant.’
Then he steps out of the turbolift cabin and the doors close after him. He can track Bant’s presence as she descends once more, likely heading back to the Healing Halls.
The Temple Guards standing sentry permit him entry, the door closing shut behind him as he moves to the centre of the room and bows to the assembled Councillors and greets them with a deferential, ‘Greetings, Masters.’
The Council murmurs their welcome, their presence grounding and warm in the Force and Obi-Wan can pick out their individual signatures – Masters Gallia and Fisto pressing in closer than the others, impressing upon him their gladness at seeing him again.
‘Received your report, the Council has,’ Yoda says, resting his clawed hands on the top of his gimer stick. ‘Some questions, we have for you, Master Kenobi.’
‘Of course, Masters,’ Obi-Wan says agreeably and they begin their interview.
His mission on Xagobah had started off well with him slipping planetside undetected amidst the chaos and distraction provided by Republic troops as they engaged the Dark Empire forces entrenched there. He had found his objective quickly, their intel surprisingly solid for once, and everything was going seemingly according to plan, until it wasn’t.
‘Do you suspect it was a trap?’ asks Windu, his expression stern and grim.
Obi-Wan’s had the entire length of his hyperspace travel back to Coruscant to ruminate on the failed mission when he wasn’t trying to distract himself with datawork.
‘Yes, I do believe it to be,’ he admits, and he sees the way the other Masters shift uneasily, ‘but not one laid by Darth Arkanis.’
The emotions of the Masters swirl restlessly, and underneath the agitation and concern, there is also the taste of suspicion. Obi-Wan holds steady, even as the tide rolls over him, at once comforting and scrutinising, as the Councillors brush against his senses.
Master Yoda taps his gimer stick against the ground and the pressure Obi-Wan feels in the air around him recedes.
‘Noted in your report, you have, that believe Darth Vader was waiting for you on Xagobah.’
Obi-Wan dips his head in acknowledgement at the prompt for more information and offers a recounting of that part of the mission. Mission reports are dry, factual, words on a screen. Here, in this Chamber, he speaks, slightly freer and he ends his telling with a note-
‘I met no resistance or difficulties, making my way into the Inner Sanctum. In retrospect, it feels like the way might have been cleared for me on purpose.’
‘By Vader?’ Windu asks for clarification, his face and presence in the Force are unreadable.
‘Yes,’ Obi-Wan says simply, and the jut of his chin is slightly defensive.
Compromised, drifts in the air around the Chambers and the atmosphere dips colder with suspicion. Obi-Wan does not react.
‘Did you know he would be there?’ Cin Drallig’s tone is even, his blue eyes piercing as he gazes intently at Obi-Wan.
‘No,’ Obi-Wan answers, turning slightly towards the Battlemaster, and his honesty rings true. ‘I did not know he was there and did not sense him until it was too late.’
‘Dangerous, this Darth Vader is,’ Yoda says.
‘As dangerous as the next Sith,’ Saesee Tiin mutters darkly and Obi-Wan feels the Master’s scrutiny curling over him again, inspecting him closely. ‘He seems obsessed with seeking you out. From your own reports, Kenobi, you’ve engaged him in battle dozens of times… and yet somehow, the both of you always walk away from the other with no more than a few grazing burns.’
‘We are… very evenly matched, Master Tiin.’ There is nothing else Obi-Wan can really add to that statement because it is true.
Yoda makes a soft sound, and Obi-Wan thinks that maybe he imagines that there’s a tinge of pity in it. Still, the words the wizened old Jedi Master offers are cautionary. ‘Twisted by the Dark side, young Skywalker has become. The boy you knew, gone he is. Consumed by Darth Vader.’
Obi-Wan remains silent because this is also true.
There was nothing of that supernova of Light that was the Anakin that Obi-Wan knew, when they had faced off against each other in that Sanctum. It was no sandy-haired little boy that stood before him, but a Sith Lord, clad in dark-coloured armour and burning cold and hungry in the Force like the abyss of endless space.
It is Master Tholme who speaks next, and his tone is mild as he says, ‘Darth Arkanis has been reported to be killed.’
Obi-Wan blinks and says slowly, feeling like this is all a test somehow, ‘That is news to me; last I heard was he was very much alive and commanding his army and his Acolytes against our troops.’
Xagobah will never be easily taken, but it had been the Senate that had decided that it was the pressure point to press. In the privacy of his own mind, Obi-Wan thinks that sending their ships and troops there to agitate the resident Sith Lord was a move that served little purpose. The planet’s defences are too strong to cave under Republic assault and their forces would have to pull back eventually, with nothing gained but high casualties.
‘We received the intel a few hours ago. It has been verified.’
There is a shiver of anticipation in the air and so Obi-Wan knows he must ask-
‘How did it happen?’
The other Masters seem content to let Tholme lead the conversation and the Master of Shadows watches Obi-Wan for a few long moments before he answers, ‘Darth Vader has claimed responsibility for it. His Dark troopers are razing the Sanctum to the ground as we speak, and he is reported to be on the hunt for Arkanis’s Acolytes.’
‘It is not uncommon for the Sith to turn on each other,’ he says, but even to his ears, his voice sounds slightly hesitant. The Force feels dissonant and heavy, as if there is something more to the situation.
Tholme cocks his head to the side, still studying Obi-Wan with his dark eyes, no doubt also feeling the unsettledness in the Force as well. There is a sharp swell of distrust again from Master Tiin, quickly subsiding into a sour and sullen feeling when the other Councillors firmly project a sense of placidly and calm.
‘Yes, that is true,’ the Master agrees mildly. A warning ring in the Force makes the hairs at the back of Obi-Wan’s neck stand up, and then Tholme says, still so calmly, ‘But it is uncommon, however, for a Sith to turn to the Jedi and ask to open negotiations.’
Obi-Wan swallows drily, throat clicking in the stillness of the room.
‘Did Darth Vader-?’ Obi-Wan starts to ask, but his question trails off into silence, unsure how he wants to finish the sentence.
‘Ask for you, he did,’ Yoda says and Obi-Wan breaks eye contact with the Master of Shadows to look at Yoda instead. ‘Offer us the contents of Arkanis’s vaults, he did. But only with you will the details be discussed, he demanded.’
‘…I see,’ says Obi-Wan slowly. He draws in a steadying breath and releases his inner turmoil to the Force. ‘How shall I proceed, Masters?’
‘The Republic is not in the habit of negotiating with the Sith,’ Windu reminds sharply.
Obi-Wan bites back his protest, struggles with his frustration for a second before forcing calm into his voice as he says, ‘Shouldn’t we at least hear what Vader wants?’
There is a morbid curiosity as to what ransom Vader would demand in exchange for the entire cache of weapons and artefacts and holocrons; a cache which would presumably include the modified virus samples Obi-Wan had been tasked to retrieve in the first place.
Quite without conscious thought, Obi-Wan pulls his focus inwards, turns it to the bond that he has kept cordoned off from the other parts of his mind. Even his brief and unobtrusive inspection makes Vader stir slightly, as if sensing Obi-Wan’s attention. Carefully, he eases away, shores up his shielding around the bond.
‘Careful, Kenobi,’ Yoda cautions, looking very grave. his long ears flattening against his head. ‘Once open door to negotiations, and the Senate gets involved, high price the Jedi might be forced to pay.’
‘The Council will deliberate on the matter,’ says Windu, and Obi-Wan knows that what that actually means is that they will not be entertaining Vader’s request but will only confirm that officially in the next few rotations.
Obi-Wan dips his head in acknowledgment; it is not his place to question the decision of the Council.
He is dismissed after that, with an instruction to get himself to the Halls of Healing to get checked over.
There is already another mission briefing sent to his datapad as he rides the turbolift down, just waiting on the clearance of a Healer.
Alone and in the privacy of the cabin, Obi-Wan slumps tiredly against the wall.
Sometimes, he thinks the Endless Wars really is endless, that the entire galaxy is condemned to fight for the rest of eternity. The Republic, the Sith Empire and the Mandalore Empire, locked in battles that will never stop until everything and everyone and every place is burnt up and grounded down into nothing more but ash and dust.
Of course, when the turbolift doors open and he steps out, he has managed to draw serenity around him again like a shroud, the strength of purpose and duty steeling his spine.