Rating: G
Summary: Ben Kenobi starts his vigil on Tatooine.
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: The Jedi are George's. The dictionary is Webster's. The thesaurus is Roget's. The computer is my school's.
Ben Kenobi stared into the golden liquid in the glass he held between his hands. At the other tables in the hazy dim cantina liaisons were discussed, schemes debated and deals hammered out. The tenuous possibilities of the here and now, which did not exist in his world any more. His rich heritage, his interwoven legacy had frayed to three thin threads - Yoda, the girl and the boy.
Once he left, once he exited this door and entered that other, it began. He stalled, or rather he didn't rush, for he had a lifetime. A lifetime. His lifetime when he had first stepped foot upon this blistered rock. Then, nothing had been set in stone. The liaisons discussed involved him, the schemes debated concerned him and the deals hammered out dealt with him.
He had neared an end and it came all too quickly. It wasn't how it was supposed to happen, not how he wanted it to happen, but his braid had been cut and he had been released from his apprenticeship. They called him a knight. Yoda bestowed the honor himself. He took a padawan of his own. Anakin was to be trained.
Obi-Wan Kenobi spent the first third of his life following another.
Ben Kenobi stared at the golden sand he let sift between his fingers. All around him in the blinding bright sunlight the Dune Sea of Tatooine waved frozen, silently immobile. Following the footsteps of the eopie he had ridden back to Mos Eisley, he trudged in the deep shifting grains of the long, narrow track.
He did not rush for he had no reason to. He had a lifetime.
Yesterday, he had led the eopie to his new home. Laden with his belongings, he took it to that dwindled remanent of his universe. Once, his horizon spread far and wide, limitless, insured with his own discipline, his own restraint. Limits imposed, chafed.
That abomination had none. Neither within, nor without.
The small boy, Anakin, had nestled into his heart and claimed for his own the hole seared there for Darth Maul's lightsaber had truly been double-bladed, burning away a piece of his heart along with Qui-Gon's life.
The boy grew and became a man, his own. And a good friend.
Allowing the evil to grow unchecked, to disease and taint his soul had been Anakin's decision alone. Qui-Gon's voice deeply intoned in his memory - "Your focus determines your reality."
He was content he had done right by Anakin, teaching him well, by example and words, but he did not pride himself in it. For he had done so out of duty, his promise to Qui-Gon, his personal honor, his reverence for the Force, but most importantly, his love for Anakin himself.
With a small smile, he thought of Qui-Gon. He followed still in Qui-Gon's steps for the Jedi Master preceded him long ago. After delivering the hyper-drive generator, Qui-Gon had retraced the path of the eopie he had ridden back to town. Only the return trip on foot had been at a run, the immediacy of the now important and Qui-Gon not alone.
Obi-Wan Kenobi spent the second third of his life training another.
Ben Kenobi stared at the golden strands of hair he held in his fingers. Beru had given him a lock of Luke's hair. Little Luke. The hope of the future of the Jedi Order.
The sand left behind, he climbed the rock outcropping. Atop, he gazed out from beneath the hood of his cloak over the arid landscape. Rock and sand. A terrible, majestic view he lingered over for he dreaded turning around.
Panic jolted him rushing electric through his body, gripping him in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to flee. Or continue to fight. The two ancient instincts ran deeply in him. Anything, but face that terror behind his back. But there was nowhere to run and fighting would sever the final threads. One of which he was entrusted to keep whole.
Once, he had encouraged Qui-Gon to amend his stubborn streak and join the company of leadership. All that was left now were two equals deciding the fate of a thousand generations of Jedi upon two infants. The children of that dark beast that had rampaged through their ranks, decimating them, nearly extinguishing them.
It was a dire situation, yet the decisions had not been made in desperation. The boy would not begin training until he was nearly an adult and the girl, not at all, at least by them. Stripped of their context, he could not have imagined coming to these conclusions himself nor Yoda concurring.
He recalled a tribe, a primitive people. In travelling from one campsite to another, one was entrusted with the sacred duty of keeping an ember from the last fire aglow to light the next. He was that one now.
Twins. Together in the sky, two suns arced a descent. Twins. Separated at birth, two children arced an ascent.
Luke, too, he knew would some day look across the desert, but he would look out with different eyes. This, too, would be his entire world, but all that he knew. Something to escape from, not something to escape to.
He dropped his gaze and turned around slowly, his boots scraping the rock beneath his feet. Slowly, he raised his eyes to rest upon the squat monster. Four duracrete walls tapered upward to end abruptly flat. A small dome capped the center of the roof. An archway door and a chimney.
Yesterday, it had held nothing and it did not frighten for he was occupied with unpacking. He had things to do. Unload the eopie. Carry things in. Decide where to place them. And then, he still had the animal to bring back.
He clenched his fists trying to control his trembling. He cast a wild look back out to the wind-swept sand and scoured rock. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in. It began.
He was lost.
He stood there and looked at the white stucco curves of the walls. Slowly, he tilted his head upwards towards the ceiling and then after a long while, down at the floor. He then looked at each item he had placed in here yesterday. At last, he noticed something new. The silence. He shuffled his feet just to make noise.
He moved the wooden chest over to square even with the section of the wall it rested alongside. He stepped back and stared at it. He turned his head and the low round table earned his attention now. The three items upon it he rearranged slightly, the clay pot more to the outside and the two metal statues, which had always reminded him of long-necked waterfowl of Naboo, closer together.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at his hands clasped between his knees. He had a lifetime. As many years as had passed when he first landed here with Qui-Gon. As many years as it had taken Anakin to darken into Darth Vader. As many years as it will take for the infant Luke to grow into a man.
All he had to do was - wait.
Obi-Wan Kenobi spent the final third of his life watching another.
