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Failed. Obi-Wan had failed his Trials. He was shipping out to Bandomeer in the morning to join the AgriCorps. It was good work. Noble work. It was not a demotion, just a different path.
But not the right path. Not for him. Not for Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Its not up to you to decide your destiny, the cultured voice of Jedi Master Ki-Adi-Mundi cut into his thoughts.
Obi-Wan frowned and took a swig of grog to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. He coughed, eyes tearing up as the fiery liquid burned a path down his throat, pooling in the pit of his stomach.
He felt empty. Numb.
He should be with his friends, saying his goodbyes to Bant and Siri - even Quinlan. Instead, where was he? Deep in lower levels, drowning his sorrows in a seedy underworld cantina.
A green-skinned Twi’lek dancer winked at him from across the room. He slumped in his seat, pulling his hood down to shield his face, and closed his eyes, submerging himself in the Force. The alcohol dulled his senses, but still he struggled to block out the din of the music, the loud bass pulsing in his ears. He heard the sound of drunken laughter, and beneath it all a low, silky voice calling his name.
“Obi-Wan.”
He opened his eyes, tilting his head back to meet the pale blue gaze of his interloper: a slight, middle-aged man with neatly-trimmed graying red hair. He looked decidedly out of place, wearing a rich burgundy cloak over a stately set of robes, a polite smile on his face.
Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Do I know you?” He asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty. The man seemed vaguely familiar, but Obi-Wan could not place him at the moment.
“No,” the man said after a brief hesitation. He licked his lips and took a small step forward, glancing over his shoulder. Obi-Wan straightened in his seat, picking up on the man’s nerves. “That is to say, we’ve never met. But I confess, I’ve been hoping to meet you for some time.”
Obi-Wan shot him a long look, his gaze searching. “Who are you?” He asked, curiosity laced with suspicion.
“I am Senator Palpatine of Naboo,” the man said, dipping his chin.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan said dully.
A senator.
No wonder the man was on edge. The Coruscanti elite rarely ventured into the lower levels.
“What are you doing down here?” The boy asked, shifting in place. He glanced to one side, scanning the crowd. The green-skinned Twi'lek caught his eye and waved.
The senator politely cleared his throat. “Looking for you, dear boy. As I said, I’ve been hoping to speak with you for some time, but the Jedi Council have stymied my efforts thus far. Perhaps we might speak somewhere more private?” He suggested, motioning towards the exit.
“No,” Obi-Wan said flatly. The alcohol made him bold, and he did not entirely trust this senator. “If you have something to say to me, say it.”
The senator let out a soft sigh, bowing his head in defeat. “Very well. May I sit?”
Obi-Wan was half-tempted to refuse, but his curiosity won out. He slid over to make room. The senator seated himself beside the boy, folding his slender hands in his lap. He paused before speaking in a low, even tone. “I heard you’re leaving for Bandomeer tomorrow. You failed your Trials, is that right?”
Obi-Wan stiffened, a furious blush darkening his features. He bit back an angry retort - it’s none of your business! - and glowered into his empty glass. “Failure is the greatest teacher,” he said in a clipped voice, echoing the familiar words.
The senator hummed in thought. “Do you want to go to Bandomeer?” He pressed.
The boy said nothing for several minuets, his heart hammering in his chest.
No.
“A Jedi’s life is one of sacrifice,” he rasped, a lump forming in his throat. “We go where we are needed.” The senator scoffed lightly, and Obi-Wan bristled in defense. “It is the will of the Force, Senator Palpatine. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he added sharply.
“Then explain it to me. Have you no free will? Are you a slave?”
“I am a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, lifting his head.
The senator appraised him for a moment. “A Jedi who - as of tomorrow - will spend the rest of his life toiling in a field like a common peasant. How extraordinary.”
Obi-Wan jolted upright, banging his knee on the underside of the table. He was half out of his seat when he felt the senator tug on his sleeve. The young Jedi swung to face him, his face flushed, eyes blazing with raw hatred and unshed tears. For a brief moment, he contemplated hitting the man.
The senator stared at him serenely. “Peace, child,” he said, holding up a hand. “I do not mean to disparage you. On the contrary, you are a supremely talented young man. Clever, disciplined. I sense great potential in you, my boy. You would be utterly wasted on Bandomeer. A shame the Council cannot see that.”
Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. His heart soared. The senator was right. He wasn’t meant to join the AgriCorps. He knew it. He knew he was capable of so much more, destined for greater things…
He quickly stamped down that line of thought. It was not for him to decide his destiny.
The boy drew his cloak tighter as the anger in his veins began to cool. He sat down with a tired sigh, a hollow ache in his chest. “What do you know about me? And why do you care?” He asked, lowering his gaze.
The senator hesitated and then reached out to grasp his hand. “I am your father. Of course I care.”
“You… What—?”
Obi-Wan gripped the edge of the table as the room seemed to lurch.
His father?
Of course he knew he had biological parents, but unlike many of his fellow padawans, he’d never spent much time daydreaming about a family. The Jedi Order was his family. It always had been, and it always would be. Taken at a young age, he had no memory of his life before the Order.
Blinking back to the present, he realized the man was still speaking. “— I only found out recently, myself. I tried to contact you, but the Jedi Council was adamant that I keep my distance.” He spat out a curse in his own language. “The gall! You are my son. I have every right to meet with you. It’s reprehensible, they way they snatch children from their homes.”
“You didn’t give me away?” Obi-Wan stuttered when he finally found his voice. He swayed in his seat, a hand reaching to steady him. “I don’t understand. The Jedi Order do not steal children from their homes as you seem to be implying, Senator Palpatine.” He tried to pull away, but the man tightened his grip.
“I did not give you away. Your mother did. As I said, until recently, I was unaware that I had a son, least of all that he was Jedi!”
“I never would’ve allowed it.” The senator continued in a heated whisper, squeezing Obi-Wan’s arm with surprising strength. “Believe me, child. I would not have given you up so easily.”
Obi-wan sat, reeling. He had a number of questions. Who was his mother? How did his parents meet? Were they married? Divorced? And why was his father so adamantly opposed to him being a Jedi? He was about to ask when a crash sounded from behind the bar. Someone had knocked over a tray of empty glasses.
The senator flinched at the noise. “Please, let us leave this place,” he begged. “My chauffeur is waiting outside. Perhaps we could go for a ride? At the very least, let me drive you home.”
They rode in silence until they reached the upper level of Coruscant, sitting side by side in the back seat of a luxury speeder. Obi-Wan stared dizzily out the window as the glittering cityscape flashed before his eyes. The senator - his father - observed his son’s muddled reflection in the tinted glass. Every so often he would reach out to touch the boy’s face, gently stroking his cheek, petting his hair.
“My beautiful boy,” he murmured.
Obi-Wan blushed, resisting the urge to lean into the caress. He was uncomfortable, embarrassed, but a part of him obviously craved the attention. No one had ever called him ‘beautiful’ before. The Jedi were supposed to be above such vanities.
“You feel feverish, child. Are you alright?”
Obi-Wan nodded. Truthfully he had a sore throat and a pounding headache, but that was his own bloody fault. He didn’t usually drink. In fact he was underage, but a simple Force Suggestion had convinced the bartender otherwise.
Finally he confessed this to the senator, who laughed softly in understanding. “I remember how I used to sneak into my father’s wine cellar when I was your age. Our family owns one of the oldest vineyards on Naboo, did you know that?”
Of course Obi-Wan didn’t know that.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth about all this?” He said, turning to face the man beside him. The thought nagged at the back of his mind. What if the senator was lying about everything? What proof did he have that they were father and son?
Palpatine smiled, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan confessed, sliding back in his seat. His head lolled to one side. Flitting his gaze out the window, he noticed the Temple spires shrinking in the distance. He frowned in confusion. “Where are we going? I thought you said—“
“I said I would drive you home.” The senator’s voice was gentle but firm.
Obi-Wan swallowed, his mouth dry. He took a deep breath, drawing himself upright. “Home with you, you mean? Am I being kidnapped, senator?” He asked, only half-joking.
The senator arched a brow. “Would you rather I drop you off at the Jedi Temple? Drunk and reeking of death sticks?”
The boy started to protest, “‘M not—“
He cut himself off. He did not want to return to the Temple. Not yet. Not like this. But did he want to go home with this man… this kindly stranger… his father?
Father.
Obi-Wan felt his heart clench.
“Its not about what I want,” he cried suddenly. “You asked me if I want to go to Bandomeer? Well, the answer is no. I don’t. But it is not for me to decide, father—” His voice hitched. “Please try to understand.”
“It is the will of the Force,” the senator said, repeating Obi-Wan’s words from earlier.
Obi-Wan nodded as the man pulled him into a warm embrace. “Yes.” His voice came out muffled. He closed his eyes, burying his face in his father’s chest, breathing in the exotic cologne.
The senator continued to pet him, his fingers playing absently with the short hairs on the boy’s nape. “Perhaps this is the will of the Force,” he mused, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead.
Yes, Obi-Wan thought to himself as his eyes grew heavy with sleep.
Perhaps it was.