The Jedi And The Warrior

The Sacrifice

Obi-Wan could hear the murmur of conversation coming off from the pilot bay, and Anakin's small voice piping up every now and again. He still could not grasp why his master seemed so interested in the boy — he was certainly kind enough, if overly desperate to prove himself, but he did not seem as remarkable as Qui-Gon seemed to believe.

Obi-Wan frowned, turning his mind from these thoughts of doubt and to the task at hand. Their route to Coruscant successfully mapped out, he had only to alert the Council and the Senate of their approach before he could catch a few hours of much-needed rest. He flicked his eyes to where Qui-Gon stood in the hallway, consulting with Queen Amidala. He hoped Anakin would not distract his master from the mission at hand.

What was the matter with him? Why was he doubting so much?

He searched his feelings, delved inward, letting himself sink into the depths of his emotion so that he could explore their roots. He ceased to hear the murmur of conversation, the rumble of the engine, the thud of footsteps.

What he found scared him a little.

Jealousy. He could feel its beginnings, like the rumblings of a dormant volcano. Hurt, that his master had turned from him so quickly upon finding the Chosen One. That he could be cast aside by Qui-Gon who he had loved so carelessly — it twisted like a knife he would not acknowledge.

Fear. A hollow pit of it, dread, despair at the thought of telling Flyra what he must. Fear at the thought of losing her. Terror that he might never hold her again.

Hatred. That the world had made him choose.

Doubt. That he had even chosen the right thing.

Everything a Jedi must learn to leave behind. Everything he was supposed to have let go.

"Master Jedi?"

The tentative voice broke him from his trance. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, wrenched back to reality, to find Anakin standing before him, looking nervous. He made himself smile at the boy.

"What is it, young one?"

Anakin seemed to take this as invitation, and sat down on the small white stool beside Obi-Wan. "You remind me of my mother," he said, sadly.

Obi-Wan had to smile wider. The sadness in the boy's eyes was entwined with excitement; this was both an adventure and a terror to him. Obi-Wan could not resent him. "How do I do that?" he asked, shaking his sleeves back from his hands and folding them in his lap.

Anakin looked up at him, then away again. "She said she used to know a man who became my father. She said he was good, and kind, but that he went away one day because he could never be happy in the life she lead. She said she was happy for him."

The boy looked wistful, speaking to his hands, avoiding Obi-Wan's gaze. But Obi-Wan stared at him, the words sounding sharp in his head.

"But she wasn't, really," Anakin went on. "She always looked sad when the suns were setting and she thought I couldn't see her. Like she was waiting for something, or someone." Anakin bit his lip, brow furrowing. "And now I've gone away, too. She'll be all alone."

Obi-Wan couldn't help pitying the boy, who looked no older than nine but spoke as if he were many years beyond that. A life of slavery in the heat of Tatooine had been unforgiving, for both the child and his mother.

"I am sorry," he said, and meant it. "She sounds like a strong woman. She'll look after herself, young one."

"You look sad," Anakin said, and Obi-Wan raised his brows. "When you think he can't see you." The boy nodded to the figure of Qui-Gon.