DREAMS OF PEACE
CHAPTER 5: A NEW BEGINNING
pairing: obi-wan kenobi x f!reader
chapter summary: you reach a milestone in your career as a jedi
rating: teen and up
warnings: oblivious pining, sheev palpatine (derogatory), anakin is a manchild (affectionate), light angst
word count: 7.7k
notes: we fast-forward 8 years in this chapter, folks. reader is 23 :)
links: series masterlist | playlist | moodboard/vibes | read on ao3 | my masterlist
The air was stifling and dry, gritty and unrefreshing, as it ran across your skin. You stood still, underneath the suns that beat down on the landscape like an angry slave owner. Miles of desert stretched out all around you and ended in jagged crags and cliff faces, only a shade or two darker than the sand you stood on. The soft, breathable fabric of your tunic protected your body from the harsh light, and the thick soles of your boots shielded your feet from the heat of the suns-cooked sand. In the distance, the air itself wriggled with it, near-invisible serpents blurring the scenery.
But there was another sensation, as familiar as it was welcome, that stole your attention away from the boiling heat and the coarse sand. Although unbearable, they paled, plummeted, failed, in comparison to the feeling of a hand—always there, always radiating pleasant warmth with its soft touch and with the presence of its owner. You gave a soft sigh as it held onto you, both gentle and unyielding, lazily stroking your palm in a way that brought tears to your eyes.
You held on, never able to let go, though whether it was from lack of ability or lack of will, you didn’t know.
Normally, a loss of faculty caused your frustration to rise, boiling in your chest, but never here. Besides, it was the face, rather than the hand, that haunted you. The hand wrapped around yours was solid, real, but the face it belonged to was elusive. If only you could turn your head an inch, you could—but no. Per usual, every effort to learn the identity of your dream-world companion was in vain. You felt pieces of who they were—steadfast, unafraid—but all distinguishable features evaded you.
You sighed, a great heave of your shoulders, up, and then down, and then closed your eyes.
And in the next moment your eyes opened as if no time at all had passed, as if a single blink was all it took to traverse time and space. The light of Coruscant’s sun was barely peeking through the window to your quarters in the Jedi Temple, and as it did so it appeared to be draping—no, stretching—itself across your room, barely awake.
You stretched as well, envying the sun for how it could remain in that relaxed position before sitting up. Coruscant was in the thick of its summer season, but none of the heat—made worse by the general proximity of everything —reached your quarters. The air conditioner gave a slight hum. Nonetheless, the back of your neck was damp, and your skin, despite the clean, soft condition of your sheets, felt covered with sand, like it was in the very air you breathed.
“Dreams pass in time,” you spoke softly, partly to the sun, partly to yourself, and partly to no one at all, but it resonated in your mind in the deep tones of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent. Attempting to imitate it, you asked, “How come this one never does?” At the failed attempt, a grimace broke out on your face before a chuckle reached your lips.
A few minutes later, as you clipped your lightsaber on your belt, your eye was captured by your old slingshot that had sat untouched on your dresser for years. The pocket was tan, the same color of the hilly landscape from your dream, from Tatooine. And it was coarse to the touch, while your new, Order-sanctioned weapon was smooth. Still, you fastened it to your belt with care before opening your door—
—and coming face-to-face with Anakin. The young Padawan was leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Morning,” you greeted him, your eyes narrowing, before shutting your door.
“Morning,” he replied, taking a place at your side as the two of you walked toward the lift together. Then, with exaggeration, he looked at his chrono. “You’re one minute off schedule. Master Yoda won’t be pleased, especially not today.”
Rolling your eyes, you checked your own. The time, 06:29, lit up before your eyes. Craning your neck to look up at him (for he was no longer a nine-year-old but was seventeen, and was just as determined as he’s always been, but now with an air of even greater confidence and a focused intensity that concentrated in his eyes), you scolded, “Annie, I’m one minute early.”
“Ah,” he said, not removing his gaze from your own and clasping his hands behind his back. “But [Y/N], I was five minutes early.” His smile was teasing, and the pitch of his voice seemed minisculely higher. Anakin’s aura, too, was warm, but there laid a heaviness underneath, words unspoken. “You’re going to be a Jedi Knight. You’ll have to be early instead of just on time.” As he spoke, his smile grew but didn’t transfer to his eyes.
At that moment, you reached the lifts, and Anakin stepped forward to press the button before returning to his place next to you—because, of course, that was his place. Your hand reached up to gently tug at his brown robe near his elbow. He looked down at you, his expression a little stiffer than before, but you gave him a small smile, and the hard lines melted away.
“I know, I know,” he said, nodding his head and looking away from you as the lift doors opened.
The two of you stepped inside, and, as always, you faced the glass, which showed you flying high above miles and miles of city. As the lift began to descend you turned around, leaning back.
“You’re carrying your slingshot,” Anakin stated, brows furrowed and a small smile on his face.
You instinctively reached to feel where it hung on your belt. “Yes,” you said and looked down at your two weapons. Anakin, however, studied your face; his attention felt like a target upon it, like he was pointing a blaster at you. “It seemed...appropriate to have it with me today.” You sent another smile his way, but it was more subdued than before, a dwindling fire.
Anakin remained silent, and his focus upon you was steady. A sigh left your lungs as you met his gaze. “I had the dream again.”
A look of recognition crossed his face, and he nodded. “It’s been a while.”
“Was it the same?”
You nodded, resisting the urge to close your eyes and relive the moment. “I was on Tatooine. Someone was holding my hand. I knew they were familiar, but I couldn’t see their face. Like always.”
“What do you think it means?” he asked suddenly.
You furrowed your brows. He’d never asked you that before. “Annie, I—”
The lift then came to a halt, and you stopped speaking, aware that, in a moment, your conversation would no longer be private.
Anakin, however, was determined to get one last word in. “We’ll talk about it later,” he whispered as the doors opened.
“You’ll talk about what later?” said the unmistakable voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He stood in the hallway, hands on his hips and an expression on his face that screamed both teacher and big brother.
Anakin was quick as the two of you stepped out of the lift, slightly bowing his head and giving Obi-Wan his most innocent smile. “Nothing, Master.”
It took everything in you to hold back a chuckle, but there was no stopping the small smirk that lifted the edges of your mouth. You caught Obi-Wan’s eye and saw in them a similar amusement. His gaze flicked between you and Anakin before he said, “All right, young Padawans, let’s move along.”
As he said “Padawans” his eyes lingered on Anakin but then turned to you.
“You’re carrying your slingshot,” he said, much in the same way Anakin had but with a warmer smile, much more pleasant than the stifling heat from your dreams.
You smiled back. “Yes.”
Obi-Wan placed a hand upon your shoulder. “You’ve come a long way.” His tone was genuine, warm; it filled you from head to toe.
The smiles continued, memories bouncing around your mind. Your slingshot had been your ticket off of Tatooine, where, unlike in your dreams, there’d been no one to hold your hand, no one to place their hand upon your shoulder, no one to look you in the eyes and count them as familiar.
Yes, I know you , Obi-Wan’s eyes seemed to say to you.
Anakin cleared his throat. “Are we going to eat any time soon?”
Obi-Wan’s gaze shifted to his Padawan. “Of course. You’ll need your strength for training today, my young Padawan.” As he spoke, and as he removed his hand from your shoulder, he looked at you—not with his eyes, and almost imperceptibly, gauging your response to his teasing Anakin, who visibly slumped, for his Master could mean either a grueling lightsaber training or a tedious philosophy assignment—and his hand gave a tug to your Padawan braid, so slight that you might’ve imagined it. The spot where it connected to your skin felt warm, alive, but you were frozen to the spot for one moment.
Your friends began to walk away, and you followed, your eyes trained on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. A small amount of golden hair covered it where he’d let it grow out, and it wasn’t until you were in the refectory that you looked away.
After retrieving your food, you sat down, Anakin sliding in beside you and Obi-Wan across the table. It was silent for a few minutes. Anakin always ate like his life depended on it; Obi-Wan ate like he was always thinking about the manner in which he was eating; and you fell somewhere in between.
Anakin had been a scrawny child, but since leaving Tatooine—where he’d been a slave and where you’d lived on the streets—both of you had grown, your bodies now adorned with powerful muscles from all your years of training. Anakin had increased in stature as well, and even—
Suddenly, there was a yank at the hairline on the right side of your neck. Your hand swatted Anakin’s away from your Padawan braid. “What?” you asked, your brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and back straight as you glared at him.
“You weren’t listening. I asked you a question.”
You rolled your eyes. “Then tap me on the shoulder, Annie!”
Anakin’s expression turned sheepish, and Obi-Wan shook his head.
“My question was about your…” He reached to point at it, and you again swatted his hand away, with a quick glance to Obi-Wan as if to say, Would you get a load of this? “...braid,” Anakin continued, his brow knotted. But nothing could conceal the slight curve to his lips.
You shook your head and held up a finger toward Anakin. “Don’t touch my braid.”
“Yes, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan as he leaned his elbows on the table and intertwined his hands. “You mustn’t pull your sister’s hair.”
“I didn’t pull it that hard,” Anakin retorted, looking from Obi-Wan to you.
“You shouldn’t pull it at all,” said you and Obi-Wan immediately, the circumstance bringing a grin to your faces—as well as a feeling of blooming flowers to your chest—and a scowl to Anakin’s.
“You always take her side,” muttered Anakin, sitting up straighter.
Obi-Wan sighed as he replied, “I’m not taking sides, Anakin. I’m your Master; not hers.”
“But it’s more than that,” continued Anakin, whose eyes were focused intensely on Obi-Wan. “You’re like a father to me—to us .”
Anakin looked at you then, as the galaxy seemed to tilt slightly about its axis. The surprise—like the feeling of someone cutting you off in traffic (traffic that was thousands of stories high, mind you)—was palpable. You felt the core of Obi-Wan grow still, but his edges began to fidget, like a leaf in the breeze.
It felt...wrong, the idea of Obi-Wan being your father, and it wasn’t because you had had a father, and it wasn’t because Obi-Wan didn’t care. It was like... Anakin being your father. But no, that wasn’t quite right. Like Yoda being your father? No, that was further away. There was something there, something elusive, something—
“What?” Anakin asked, his gaze sweeping between his companions. “You’re like a father to me, Master.”
And for a moment, Anakin was that small boy clutching your hand as you ran across the desert, being covered in a blanket by a young Queen and mourning his mother, and helping you gather stones in a forest on Naboo.
Obi-Wan sighed and smiled. “I know, Anakin.” His eyes flitted to you for a moment. “But you forget that [Y/N], well…” Those blue eyes met yours again, and for a moment, that elusive something seemed just in reach—available, tangible . Obi-Wan’s smile held an apology. “She had a…”
“A father,” you said, and all of a sudden it wasn’t you searching for something in him ; it was them —Anakin and Obi-Wan—searching, hoping for a glimpse of the unknown within you .
Eight years had gone by as a Padawan learner, as a Jedi, and as a friend to the two men before you, and still you had opened up to no one, no one except your Master, who’d taught you to protect yourself against the emotions of others, of enemies. Obi-Wan and Anakin weren’t your enemies, but you could still feel the heat on your body and the ice in your lungs from that day on Naboo, when the emotions of a friend and foe alike infiltrated your very being.
If you told them the truth, they would... feel , and those emotions would snake through the air, wrapping themselves around you until there was no discerning them from your own. No, it was all you could do to sort through your own .
So, with a small, defusing smile, you turned to Anakin. “What was your question?”
His eyes fell to his empty platter, disappointment clear on his face. When he looked back up at you, though, that mischievous glint was back. “Well, now I have another question I’d like ans—”
“ Anakin ,” came the warning voice of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and a genuine smile lifted your lips at its sound.
His Padawan huffed before turning to you. “Fine.” He looked pointedly, exaggeratedly at your braid with wide, dramatic eyes. “What are you going to do with your Padawan braid? You know, after Yoda cuts it off?”
“I have no idea,” you said immediately. Then, “Incinerate it?”
Anakin’s eyes widened with glee, and you smiled at his propensity for chaos before turning to Obi-Wan, whose eyes were on your braid, lost in thought. “What did you do with yours, Obi?”
At the nickname, he locked eyes with you and smiled. The simple familiarity in them made your heart sing. Then, came his answer. “I threw it in the melting pot.”
Anakin tilted his head, and your gaze remained locked on the older Jedi, the two of you sharing a moment both in the past and in the present. The image of red-and-black, tattooed skin seemed to linger in the air between you. Obi-Wan had cut the Sith Lord in half; his body had tumbled down into the abyss—and then Obi-Wan had thrown into it his Padawan braid, the thing that had marked his status as a learner to a teacher, as an apprentice to a Master, as a son to a father. To anyone else it may seem cold, callous, but you instantly understood. He’d let go.
“On Naboo,” Obi-Wan explained as he looked at Anakin.
“Where you—” started Anakin.
“Indeed,” Obi-Wan interrupted with a sober smile.
“Why would you dispose of it there, Master?”
“That, my very young Padawan, we will discuss later.” Obi-Wan stood up, throwing a meaningful glance at Anakin and a softer smile at you. “Our friend has an appointment with the Council.”
There was a deep warmth in his eyes, the affection of a friend, and when he’d walked around the table to stand in front of you, one hand went to your shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” Obi-Wan said as you were reminded of the peaceful touch of his late Master, on the first time you’d ever set foot in a starship, and of the disarming, comforting words of his Padawan who was now a Master himself.
Anakin placed one hand atop your head, and your eyes snapped to his, a warning. He smirked, but his hand remained completely still. “I’m proud of you too, Rocky.”
You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, your lips tugging upward as you shook his hand off of your head. Obi-Wan’s, too, left your shoulder. “I thought we left that nickname in the past.”
The younger boy pointed at your belt. “I’m not the one carrying around a slingshot when I have a lightsaber.”
“Yes, but Annie,” you replied, in the same tone he’d used to tease you earlier, “I have no rocks .”
“We can solve that problem,” he instantly retorted, a smug grin on his face.
Obi-Wan hid a smile underneath a half-hearted shake of his head. “Just congratulate her, Anakin, and,” he said, leaning forward with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, “leave her alone.”
You gave Anakin’s arm a light punch. “You’d better get on my nice side, because starting in an hour or two I can boss you around.”
Anakin’s defiance was immediate. It rose up like a storm as he opened his mouth to retort, but it deflated as he registered the teasing smile on your face. He shook his head. “Congratulations, Rocky.”
Your shared smiles transformed from teasing to genuine and spoke of the past, present, and future. Of all you’d seen and done, of all you still hoped for.
Obi-Wan, as well, gave you congratulations, and as you walked away from them and back toward the lifts, on your way to the tallest tower of the Temple, you felt once again like that fifteen-year-old girl sprinting through the streets of Mos Espa, running away from your past and into a future full of unknowns. To stay would’ve meant a slow death of all you are, but here you were, in that very future, and you were very much alive.
Bright light streamed in through the window. Speeders zoomed past, any one of a trillion people operating them. Coruscant was massive, dense, convoluted. You turned your newly severed Padawan braid in your hand, your mind once again floating to Tatooine—always ruminating, always comparing, and never able to forget.
The dreams certainly don’t help, you thought.
Behind you, the doors to the Hall of Knighthood creaked and were followed by the rap of a cane, the grunt of a small Jedi Master. Not until he stood next to you did you look down.
Master Yoda’s eyes were bright, his mouth was turned upward, and his hands were fixed upon his cane, which he placed directly in front of him. “Well, you have done, young one,” he said. You smiled, and he paused, reaching his hand up to his chin before pointing one finger at you, just as he’d done all those years ago and many times since. “How feel you?”
You breathed in...and then out—like he’d taught you, focusing on that pressure point in the Force, the one that centered itself in your abdomen and connected you to your emotions. There was a buzz, but it carried two different pitches: one high, one low. “I’m excited for this new chapter, Master, but…” Your vocal muscles slacked, and your companion waited as you looked once more at the city. “I feel strange, like there’s something I’m working toward, but it’s...it’s separate from the path of the Order.” Another pause. “I had the dream again.”
He nodded, his eyes closing for a brief moment. “Dangerous it is, assigning meaning to this dream.” He turned and began walking down the hallway, your cue to follow. “Believe it speaks of the future, you do?”
Your hands clasped behind you, you stared at the end of the hallway. “...No. I don’t know. I believe it’s possible, but the feeling, Master, that something is coming...it’s independent of the dream. I don’t believe the dream is the cause.”
“Mm. And yet, mention it, you did, when speaking of your future path.”
You kept silent, an admission.
“The same, it was?”
You sighed. “Yes. A hand holding mine. The face unseen. A feeling of peace...Hm.” You furrowed your brows. “Heat. I felt the heat.” You looked down at him. “Master, I’ve never felt the heat in my dreams before...nor the sand. It felt so real.”
Yoda looked up, his large eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a hard line. For a moment, you regretted saying anything, sure that a monologue would follow—a soliloquy, at the least. However, as he faced forward once again, his words were few—but unexpected. “Real, it may be, young [Y/L/N]. Real, it may be.” His feet shuffled, and his cane continued its thwacks on the hard floor. “But speculate, we must not. All will be revealed, for all is—”
“All is as the Force wills it,” you finished, feeling the pleasant weight, the delightful importance, of the familiar phrase. It took root in your chest; it had started as a blossoming flower but was now, eight years later, a young tree, producing fruit with the seasons.
Your Master—for your Master he would always be—bowed his head. When he raised it, his eyes were filled with mirth. “Find young Skywalker and Master Kenobi, you should. Wish you congratulations, they will.”
Yoda stopped, and you realized that you were in front of the lifts. After pressing the button, your heart suddenly swelled, and you said, “Thank you, Master Yoda—for everything.” For giving me a chance . The words hung on the tip of your tongue, but letting go felt impossible.
The lift doors opened, and you entered, turning around to face the small, green Jedi Master. He smiled and said, “Talk tomorrow, we will, about your new assignment.”
Your heart rate sped up as the door closed.
Heart still beating rapidly, you ran down passageway after passageway, your awareness focused on two signatures in the distance (but growing closer every second), letting the Force guide you, when, as you rounded a corner, you came face to face with the Supreme Chancellor. You let out a quiet exclamation of surprise as you ground yourself to a halt. A laugh bubbled up in your chest at the ridiculousness of the situation, but you squashed it down with all the Force you could muster.
The Chancellor himself looked amused as he watched you back away to a respectable distance and bow your head.
“Chancellor Palpatine,” you greeted, immediately raising your eyes to his once again.
He chuckled. “Ah, Padawan [Y/L/N]. What a pleasant surprise. I was just on my way to find our friend, young Anakin.”
You remembered the first time you’d spoken to him. He hadn’t spoken to you at Qui-Gon’s funeral, nor at the victory celebration, but he had acknowledged you on his first visit to Anakin, only a couple weeks after the return to Coruscant and the beginning of your training. Obi-Wan had been teaching you and Anakin Form I. You could still feel the heat of embarrassment from starting off on the same level as someone six years your junior.
However, Obi-Wan had never treated you like a child, always making you feel separate from Anakin—seen, known.
When the Chancellor had arrived—apologetic for having interrupted but ultimately allowed to take a moment of Anakin’s time—he’d congratulated you on being Master Yoda’s apprentice. Then, Obi-Wan had watched carefully as the two spoke. Not directly, in that unique way of his that you soon learned to be a gift of most Jedi, and while continuing to train you.
Back in the present, you pointed in the opposite direction in which he’d been walking. “They’re at the training grounds, sir.”
“Ah, thank you. Are you on your way there as well?”
Palpatine narrowed his eyes slightly but then smiled. “You can feel their signatures, can’t you? In the Force.”
Your lips parted. “I...yes.” No one outside of the Order had ever spoken about your abilities with any knowledge. Most were curious, but the Chancellor appeared more than that: intrigued. His smile was warm, though, and as he turned around he swept his arm to beckon you forward with him. You obliged, and the two of you walked at a slow pace.
“It’s fascinating,” he said. “Jedi have such an uncanny sense of the world around them, even the emotions and the locations of others. I’ve always been interested in the Jedi, and, of course, I’m very grateful for your service to the Republic.”
“And I’ve been told by Anakin,” he said, “that your senses are more acute than even Master Yoda’s.”
That wasn’t true, and you were tempted to speak freely, almost calling Anakin a liar, in the most affectionate sense of the word, but you caught yourself, instead replying, “I don’t presume to be more skilled than my Master in any area.”
A chuckle. “Yes, Master Yoda is among the greatest Jedi there have ever been.” His eyes found yours and then trailed to the area once occupied by your Padawan braid. “But oh, I see that he is no longer your Master, and you are no longer a Padawan. My congratulations on your becoming a Jedi Knight.”
“Thank you, Chancellor. It’s an honor to be chosen by the Council.”
Palpatine shook his head with a wry smile. “You’ve worked so hard—both you and Anakin have. I look forward to the day when he is able to serve the Republic as a Jedi Knight.” He paused, his chin lifting higher. “I love democracy, and I believe that we need someone as talented and as caring as Anakin to protect it.”
A smile lifted your lips. The Padawan in question had just come into view through the window, along with his Master, their lightsabers moving through the air. “I believe that too, Chancellor.” You ventured a look into his eyes, but his were fixed on Anakin. “It will happen.”
“Oh, yes, I have no doubt.” He turned to you. “Would you begrudge me a few minutes to speak with him?”
“No, sir. I know he’ll be glad to speak with you,” you said as Anakin bounded over, leaving Obi-Wan with crossed arms.
Chancellor Palpatine beamed at the young man. “Ah, Anakin. I was just giving your friend my congratulations on her amazing achievement. It’s just wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, wonderful news,” Anakin said, a smile on his face but a slight dip in his head.
For the second time that day, you tugged on the elbow of his robe and peered up at him with a soft smile, which he returned. Then, you turned to the Chancellor. “Chancellor Palpatine, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course, Pada- I mean, young [Y/L/N].”
After a bow of your head, you departed and made your way toward Obi-Wan, whose lightsaber now hung from his belt. Hands on his hips, he wore a smile, his eyes resting where your Padawan braid used to be. In turn, you did the same, your gaze on his right shoulder, remembering how long his had been, on that fateful day of your meeting.
As you neared him, his gaze trailed to your right hand, where you held the remnants of your apprenticeship, the ends of the braid hanging loose. “I see you haven’t incinerated it yet,” he said with a smirk.
“The day’s not over, Obi-Wan,” you replied, warmth filling you as Obi-Wan’s smile transformed into a grin.
He looked at you fondly, head tilting slightly as he took in the smile on your face. To him, you seemed to have a lighter step, a lighter air. He swore that the Force around you shined brighter than ever before, brighter than it had around anyone he’d ever known. His stomach knotted, and he looked at the ground for a moment. “Congratulations, my friend.”
When his eyes lifted from the ground to meet yours again, you almost choked on the feeling it brought, letting out a quiet, “Thank you, Obi.”
It had always been this way between you two. From the moment you met him, your eyes had been drawn together; he’d always known what to say, what you needed. Anakin may have been your brother, but Obi-Wan was your best friend.
In that moment, though, his eyes moved away, fixed on a point behind your shoulder, where Anakin was speaking with the Chancellor. The warmth once emanating from your connection fizzled out, replaced by a slight frown on Obi-Wan’s face.
Without looking behind you, you reached out with your feelings. Anakin’s aura was alight with delight, with belonging and excitement, like miniature fireworks. The Chancellor...his was muddy, murky, almost sluggish in its inability to show itself. You matched Obi-Wan’s frown.
“I know why I’m frowning,” he said, “but why are you frowning?”
“I’m not sure.” You paused, unsure of how to tell him what you felt, unsure of why you should or whether you should. “I’ll tell you later.”
Obi-Wan, although he was already standing with perfect posture, seemed to stand even taller, straighter. His hand went to his beard, soft strokes of his fingers twisting in the hair. For a moment, he simply stood, suspended in thought, but after a moment his body language softened, and he smirked. “I’ve heard that before.”
You rolled your eyes, remembering Anakin’s promise: We’ll talk about it later .
And as you registered the rush of footsteps and the sound of Anakin’s voice behind you (“Hey, Rocky! Let’s spar!”), you looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes and knew that you would indeed.
The training ground was quiet, the thick, stone walls drowning out the blare of the traffic, and the dim light of the torches permeating the black of night. Your lightsaber, too, cut through the darkness, painting the area around you in the green glow you’d come to love. You focused on it, allowing every nagging thought to float away on the slight breeze as you moved through the basic forms.
Indwelling you, fortifying you, perfecting you was the Force. There was no pressure to move in any specific way, no Master to comment on your technique. It was just you and the fount you’d come to rely on more than air. This is why you came out here to meditate; sitting still had never suited you, your mind tending to run away, untraceable. No, you felt most connected to the Force in times of movement, in times of action, for it was then that you could focus on stillness.
It crept in, like clouds, like a sunrise, but there was a shift. A ripple disturbed the scene—someone in the Temple, watching you, their eyes light on your frame. You froze, your back to them, and when they began to move away, you called, “I know you’re there.” You turned around, their figure small at a distance but undeniable in its familiarity. “You can stay, if you’d like.”
They said nothing, pausing for a moment but then accepting your offer. You stood at the far end of the courtyard, and they glanced at the tree, which was imbued with the Force, as they passed it, their features becoming clearer by the second until you felt you could swim in the blue of their eyes.
Obi-Wan gave you that warm smile he always did, with a hint of teasing. “Form I?” he questioned, bringing his hands behind his back.
You smirked, holding your lightsaber higher and then twisting it in your palm with ease, relishing the familiar whoosh , almost like the buzz of an insect, as it sliced through the air before coming to a halt. “I was just getting started.”
He gave an exaggerated nod of his head. “Hm. I’m sure.” He looked around. “Do you do this often? Come out here to practice?”
“Sort of. I was uh...I was meditating.”
A smile—one that held bewilderment as well as pride—blossomed on his face. “Battle meditation.”
Your lightsaber, although still ignited, pointed down, toward the stone ground, and your eyes chased it.
After a moment of silence, Obi-Wan spoke up, his voice quiet, soft. “I’ll never forget the first time I achieved meditation during battle.” Another pause. “I’ve told you of our mission to Pijal.”
You nodded, raising your eyes back to his in confirmation. This was an even lower point in his relationship with his Master than right before his death. “Qui-Gon and I were ambushed by the blackguard, on Pijal’s moon.”
He paused again, looking at you with an intensity you’d never seen before; his gaze felt hot on your face. Your throat constricted.
“They wore shields impervious to lightsabers, and we were vastly outnumbered. So, I hid, and watched for my Master to do the same, but he never backed down, never even looked panicked. Qui-Gon was at rest and was serene, even in the middle of battle. And I remember suddenly saying to myself, ‘I am one with the Force. The Force is with me.’”
The Guardians of the Whills , you thought but couldn’t speak.
“And then I just relaxed, and I suddenly felt everything Qui-Gon had told me about, the feeling of the Force flowing through me, more than an instinct, more than an entity separate from myself.” Obi-Wan looked down for a moment. “It was guiding me, and banishing my fear. My body...was working without aid from my own mind. I felt…”
“You felt like you were exactly who you are and, at the same time, someone else entirely,” you interjected with a quiet voice.
Those blue eyes met yours again. “Yes.” He took a step closer. “I’d finally been able to do what my Master had always encouraged.” A chuckle struck the night air—lightning in your bones. “And I had thought it absurd.” His hands released to his sides. “As much as I hated to admit it, Qui-Gon was right about many things.”
Those words. They sent heat straight to your cheeks; fighting it was no use. Images flashed through your mind: a pristine starship, a red-and-black face, a kind handshake, a stiff smile. Then, he asked you something that caused the ground to shake.
“How long have you been able to do that?”
Your eyes widened, and then stung, at hearing once again the first words Qui-Gon had ever said to you, in that alley, after the screams had ceased and all sounds had diminished into a low hum. His question had interrupted the serenity of the moment with a peace of his own—although, you hadn’t seen it that way, at first. You’d fought him. Your bitterness had clashed with his irrational calm, the latter breaking down the former until you had spilled your guts to a stranger.
Obi-Wan wasn’t a stranger, but you were thrust back to that mentality of being invisible, of focusing on being alive. You were almost tempted to ask what he wanted from you, just as you’d asked his Master, and the heat from your dream seemed tangible once again as if your skin would blister with it.
Obi-Wan’s brows knotted, and he took another step forward, now only a few meters away from you, his frame becoming more clear as he was further bathed in the green glow of your lightsaber, his hair laying in golden arcs where it used to stick up in spikey tendrils. “What is it?”
You took a deep breath, imagining the past falling away, off of your shoulders. “‘How long have you been able to do that?’” you repeated. Obi-Wan only stared, and you smiled. “Those are the first words Qui-Gon ever spoke to me. It just…” You looked away, toward the tree imbued with the Force, its golden leaves visible even in the dark of night.
“[Y/N],” Obi-Wan implored, his voice louder than before, and when you looked at him his eyes held a hardness. “I don’t know—” He breathed out a long sigh, that softness that hid beneath his solid exterior showing. “I don’t know anything about your past.” It was your turn to sigh. “You know that you can tell me—”
“I know, Obi-Wan,” you interrupt, turning away from him and rolling your lightsaber in your palm once more.
“Then why haven’t you? I just...I want to help. You know about Anakin’s past. You know about—” He cleared his throat. “—my past. You’ve told us nothing of your parents.”
“Please drop it. Master Yoda knows. That should be enough for you because I’ve moved on.” You turned around again. “I’m fine.”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “You’re fine. But it’s not enough.”
The two of you stared at each other then, locked in a battle of willpower—but, you realized, maybe that was the wrong way to think about it. Obi-Wan is not your enemy. Obi-Wan is not your enemy . Still, you weren’t ready to tell him what happened. The vulnerability felt too much to bear, like a small death. And so you continued to stare.
Eventually, he sighed. “You and Anakin are going to be the death of me.”
“You’d better be careful saying that. Anakin can sense it; he’ll come find you, and then you’ll have both of us to deal with.”
“Oh, no, we wouldn’t want that.” He trailed off, the two of you smiling at each other, his anger still there, but dampened, buried. He unhooked his lightsaber from his belt. “Would you like to spar, since we’re here?” In that moment, he was the Obi-Wan of eight years ago; there was a light in his eyes not often there. “You may have defeated my young Padawan, but you’re a Knight now. You’ll need to practice with someone with—” He paused, igniting his lightsaber and twisting in his hand, making a blue criss-cross in the night air. “—a little more experience.”
Rolling your eyes (and ignoring the giggle deep within that threatened to join the hum of the weapons), you held your lightsaber at the ready. Immediately, Obi-Wan made the first strike, bringing his lightsaber down close to your face, a move that you blocked with a swiftness that had come after many years of honing your relationship with the Force. It pulsed within you now, guiding your every move, guiding that of your opponent as well. Here was where you belonged.
Obi-Wan backed up, twirling his lightsaber in his hand, his raised eyebrows inviting you to make a move. “If you won’t speak of your parents,” he said, “perhaps you could tell me what Anakin was going to speak to you about.”
“Oh, that.” You shrugged nonchalantly, but the warm tingle of embarrassment trickled down your spine, and you averted your eyes, taking one step to circle him. “I...had the dream again.” And with that statement, you lunged toward him, an attack he parried without much effort, both of you thrown slightly off guard at the admission.
He nodded, and your battle continued, in slow, arcing motions, while your eyes engaged in a duel of their own. Let me in , his blue eyes pleaded, but from his mouth came no such request. It was closed, set in a sharp line, and he was breathing hard through his nose.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?” you asked, your breath slightly catching as you twisted, only for your blade to be met with his, faces close, adorned with the mix of blue and green light, but bodies separated (a fact you suddenly became aware of and shook your head slightly to dislodge it). The scrape of his lightsaber against yours was the only sound; the twitch of his brow was all you could see.
Obi-Wan stared at you for a moment more, his eyes softening marginally as he backed away again, keeping the pressure on your colliding blades as he did so, allowing you time to lean back as well. “How long has it been?” he asked.
You exhaled, cheeks puffing out as your robes flapped in the slight breeze. “Three years.”
Obi-Wan didn’t bother asking if it was the same dream. He knew you well enough to know that you would tell him if there had been a new development. Still, he didn’t know what to make of it; he never had. Even with the little he knew about your past, he believed you when you said that it wasn’t a memory. The first time had been on the night before Qui-Gon’s death, a fact you’d admitted after it became reoccurring.
Not knowing what else to say, he asked, “Have you told Master Yoda?”
“Yes.” Knowing what his next question would be you answered it, a smile on your face as you imitated your Master’s intonations. “‘Dangerous it is, assigning meaning to this dream.’”
Obi-Wan chuckled, raising his lightsaber again. “Is that why you were frowning earlier? Before sparring with Anakin?”
You poked his lightsaber with your own, drawing a shake of his head. As you got in a battle-ready stance, you quipped, “Don’t you mean before demolishing him?” You sprang forward, and he leapt back, his laugh filling the air, causing the corners of your lips to elevate. But only for a moment. “It’s probably nothing,” you continued, performing a flip to evade the swift—but obvious—kick he threw at you.
Obi-Wan advanced again as he replied, “Can I decide that for myself?”
You huffed as he jabbed toward your midsection, deftly pulling his saber close to his body once more after you blocked it. “I suppose so.” Your saber came down but was caught by his own. “It’s the Chancellor.” It was Obi-Wan’s turn to huff. Back and forth, the two of you took turns attacking and blocking, your movement growing faster. “His aura was...muddy. I couldn’t feel his emotions as clearly as I can feel others’.”
“[Y/N],” he warned, his voice breathy with the exertion.
Immediately you fired back. “You don’t have to scold me. I’m not your Padawan. And I wasn’t taking on too much. I know my limits. It’s under control.” When Obi-Wan said nothing, you continued, “I know why you were frowning.”
“I don’t want to see Anakin getting sucked into politics. It clouds everything but especially judgement.”
“You sound like Yoda.”
“Do you disagree with me?”
“No, I agree with you. It’s a form of attachment, of being beholden to others. But, Obi-Wan, Annie is smart, and he believes in the Order. He won’t compromise that.”
“I’m more worried about others using him.”
“That makes sense, but people always show their true colors.”
A smile broke out on his face then. “That’s how it was with you.”
You snorted but somehow were struck with self-consciousness. A fire spread on your cheeks, blocking any saving words that tried to make it to your tongue. There was a fire in your muscles too, lightsabers colliding again and again.
He noticed and cleared his throat. “You were shy,” he said, “and then you were suddenly very defiant and- and intractable and curious.” Your movements began to slow, the hum of the weapons softening from a zing to a buzz . “Do you remember what you told me before we left for Naboo?”
His words had your head spinning. The answer was yes, but you couldn’t speak.
“You said, ‘I don’t need to practice,’ and ‘I know that I hit him with a rock from the ramp of a moving starship.’” As he continued, his voice became more animated, but the duel felt as if it were sinking deeper and deeper into the sea, your movements becoming slower and slower. “But then you asked me all these insightful questions.”
“I asked you about attachments,” you said with a breathy laugh. “You told me that Master Yoda would give me the full lecture. And he did. By Force, more times than I can count.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Obi-Wan replied as your blades once again collided in front of you, and you stopped, time stopped, the planet stopped spinning, the wind stopped blowing. There was only the sight of Obi-Wan’s blue eyes, only the sound of his breathing, only the warmth of his aura, connecting you in the Force. But unlike eight years ago, it didn’t feel like an intrusion.
“After all these years, I still can’t give the speech like he does. You were wise to leave it to the Master,” you whispered, your chest heaving.
Obi-Wan smiled. “I’ll have you know that I’ve delivered the speech many times to my own Padawan. I’ll deliver it right now, if you’re questioning my lecture-giving skills.”
A laugh spilled from your lips. “You can’t lecture me anymore, Obi. I’m no longer a Padawan.”
His eyes left yours to gaze at where your braid used to reside, and you remembered how it felt when he’d grasped it. His voice was low when he spoke. “No. No, you are not, but we all must remember the lesson...younglings, Padawans, Masters…” His gaze rose back to your eyes. “And Knights.”
You swallowed, your throat constricting. But suddenly you backed away, just as he had earlier, giving him a chance to regain his balance. When he did, you disengaged your lightsaber and hung it back on your belt. “It’s late. I should go to bed. Master Yoda said that he’d give me my first assignment tomorrow.”
Obi-Wan looked down at the ground, his shoulders ascending and descending, tension in their every movement. As his eyes met yours once again, he replied, “Yes, your first assignment.” He extinguished his weapon. “You may be gone for a while...If I don’t see you, then may the Force be with you.”
You smiled at your friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. For breakfast.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good night, Obi-Wan.”
“Good night, [Y/N].”
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