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“I reviewed the footage from your latest training session. Your form is improving.” The flickering holographic image smiled. “I’m proud of you.” Palpatine was on Coruscant, speaking to Obi-Wan through their private comm link. The signal was weak, breaking in and out.
He was returning to Naboo in a few days, to his sprawling family estate in the Lake Country, where Obi-Wan had remained in isolation for the past month and half. The senator did not keep servants, only droids. In his absence, the droids oversaw the boy’s training. The musty old wine cellar had been converted into a practice room, and it was here Obi-Wan spent most of his days, lean and pale from lack of sunlight. He’d fought against training droids before, but these units were far more aggressive than those at the Temple, armed with Force pikes and vibroblades, and while they proved a challenge, Obi-Wan was eager to test himself against a Force user.
He glanced up and turned his pleading gaze on the blue, holographic image of his father. “Would you be willing to spar with me?” he asked, hesitating. “When you get back? If you have the time?”
The holograph flickered again. The senator’s voice cut in, slightly warped, “-think you’re ready for that?”
“I don’t know,” Obi-wan sighed, rubbing his neck in frustration. He was still flushed and sweaty from his latest training session. “How will I know until I’ve tried?” He’d never seen his father’s skill with a lightsaber, and he was curious.
“You wish for a greater challenge,” Palpatine surmised.
Obi-Wan nodded, but it was more than that. He wanted his father to take a traditional, hands-on approach to his training. He knew he was asking a lot. Palpatine was a very busy man who nevertheless found the time to review Obi-Wan’s progress from afar. But it had been over a month, and there was still no training bond between them. Obi-Wan was beginning to despair. Was there something wrong with him?
The senator fell silent in thought. “I understand,” he said softly as his image began to fade. “We will continue this conversation when I return to Naboo.”
…
It was late when Palpatine finally arrived home, but Obi-Wan was still awake, waiting to greet him in the candle-lit entry hall. His smile faltered at the sight of second hooded figure in black robes. The senator was not alone.
“Go to your room,” Palpatine said, turning to address his companion. “We will speak later tonight.”
“Yes, Master,” came the soft, whispered reply. Maul lifted his head, surveying the dark, spacious room from beneath the shadow of his hood. His savage gaze finally settled on Obi-Wan, glaring at the boy as he shoved past him and up the curved marble staircase, lugging his bag over his shoulder.
“What’s he doing here?” Obi-Wan muttered when the Zabrak was out of earshot.
“I invited him,” Palpatine said, shrugging off his traveling cloak as Obi-Wan stepped up behind him.
The boy took the cloak and draped it over the bannister, pausing before he spoke, “He called you ‘master’…”
“Maul is my apprentice.” The senator peeled off his gloves, stuffing them in his pocket. His shimmersilk scarf hung limp around his neck. “You know that.”
Obi-Wan chewed on his lip. He knew his father had trained Maul, but he didn’t realize their relationship was quite so formal. “I thought-“ He cut himself off, blushing hotly. I thought I was your apprentice.
The senator raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. “I can send him away,” he offered after a moment, staring at Obi-Wan curiously. He tilted his head in thought. “When last we spoke, you said you wanted to test your skill in battle. I thought Maul would prove a worthy adversary. No?”
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply, but Palpatine spoke over him, “If you cannot beat my apprentice, how do you think you will fare against me?”
“I have beaten him,” Obi-Wan protested.
The senator nodded stiffly. “Of course, Maul was at somewhat of a disadvantage last time,” he said in reference to the Force collar the Zabrak had been wearing. A rather large disadvantage, all things considered. “You exploited his weakness, and I commend you for that. But are you ready to face him on even footing? He will not hold back,” his voice dropped in warning.
Obi-Wan clenched his teeth. “Neither will I,” he ground out.
“Good.” His father set his bag down on the carpet with a sigh. “Now,” his smile widened into a grin, “may I see your lightsaber?”
Obi-Wan already had a hand on the ridged, alloy hilt of his saber. He unhooked it from his belt held it out proudly. He’d built the saber during his father’s month-long absence. Palpatine had sent him the parts, but this was his first time seeing the weapon up close.
“May I?” His father asked before gently grasping the hilt. He turned the saber in his hands, inspecting it carefully. Then, holding it vertically, he ignited the blood-orange plasma blade. The room lit up with a red glow, and the senator’s eyes and teeth glinted in the blazing light.
“Do you like it?” Obi-Wan’s soft-spoken question was barely audible over the loud buzzing noise. He leaned forward, his burnished copper hair gleaming gold.
Palpatine flicked the beam off, plunging the hall into near darkness. “Do you like it?” He retorted, handing the saber back to Obi-Wan.
The boy nodded, clutching the alloy hilt to his chest. From within, he could hear the low, hypnotic thrumming the of the rare orange kyber crystal. It whispered to him through their bond. “Very much.” He’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed the fluidity and grace of lightsaber combat.
“As your skills improve, we can decorate the hilt with some electrum finish. It’s a bit plain, don’t you think?”
Obi-Wan shrugged, hooking the saber back on his belt. “I’m more concerned about functionality than appearance.”
“Very well,” Palpatine bowed his head, the shadow of a smile on his lips. “Tomorrow we’ll put it to the test.”
…
Obi-Wan only just managed to dodge Maul’s first strike, leaping out of the way of the crimson-red blade as it slashed through the damp, chill air of the old wine cellar. Maul's fighting style was as vicious and aggressive as he remembered, only this time the Zabrak had caught him by surprise, pouncing from the shadows as Obi-Wan stepped into the darkened training room.
Furious, Obi-Wan shoved him back with Force. He broke Maul’s shield, staggering him.
He ignited his own saber, flooding the room with a fiery, orange light, and fell into his Soresu opening stance as Maul quickly regained his balance. Then the Zabrak was on him, slashing at Obi-Wan with both ends of his saber. Their blades clashed, showering the air around them with red-orange sparks.
Obi-Wan had learned from speaking with his father that Maul favored Juyo, the so-called Ferocity Form. The most chaotic and fast-paced of all the seven forms, practicers of Juyo sought to overwhelm their opponents with erratic strikes, sacrificing defense to bolster offensive speed. It was particularly vulnerable to Force attacks.
Maul’s shields were strong, but Obi-Wan wore him down over time, buffeting the Zabrak with wave after wave of Force energy, finally knocking him back a few steps. He could sense Maul’s anger, his growing frustration as Obi-Wan seamlessly parried his next attack.
The Zabrak snarled, his yellow eyes bleeding at the edges, and Obi-Wan felt a crushing pressure around his neck as he was suddenly lifted into the air. Maul had his hand raised in a claw-like gesture. He crooked his fingers, and the invisible grip around Obi-Wan’s throat tightened. His lungs burned and his face mottled a dark shade of red. The Zabrak was choking him.
He struggled weakly but Maul’s hold on him was too strong. The Force swirled around the Zabrak, a chaotic maelstrom of Dark Side energy that eventually swallowed the room, feeding off Obi-Wan’s pain, his fear.
The boy went limp. His arms fell at his sides and he heard the clatter of his lightsaber as it hit the floor. The darkness was closing in on him. His eyes watered as his vision began to tunnel and fade. Was Maul going to kill him? He tried to speak, but he could only gape wordlessly as the invisible grip around his neck constricted.
Then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard his father’s voice, soft and indistinct over the pounding in his ears. The sound spurred him to action, and he made one last-ditch effort, thrashing wildly in the air. His foot connected with Maul’s face, and the pressure around his throat suddenly vanished as he was sent crashing to the floor.
…
Obi-Wan slowly awoke to find himself in his own room, propped up in bed with a dry mouth and a dull headache. His neck was stiff and mottled with bruises, but he felt no pain, floating in a warm, drug-induced haze. As the room swam into focus, he caught sight of a familiar face. His father was standing at his bedside, staring down at him with a dark, brooding expression.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling up a chair.
Obi-Wan tried to speak, but his throat was too swollen and his words came out slurred.
“I saw what happened,” the senator carried on in a light, conversational tone, leaning over to place Obi-Wan’s lightsaber on an ivory dressing table. He sat down, folding his hands in his lap. “Maul might have killed you had I not intervened.”
Obi-Wan wanted to protest, but his father was right. He slumped back on the foam mattress and closed his eyes, beaten and dejected. Maul was better than him, stronger than him…
“No,” Palpatine said gently, sensing the boy’s thoughts. “But Maul does have an advantage over you. To put it simply, Maul has been trained to use the Dark Side.”
He paused a moment to let his words sink in.
“You may be a skilled fighter,” he added, reaching out to brush his knuckles against his son’s cheek, “but your skills are no match for the power of the Dark Side. You felt it, didn’t you?” He sat back in his chair. “Is it any wonder the Sith are more powerful than the Jedi?”
Obi-Wan frowned at this. Pushing himself upright, he managed to rasp a few words, “The Jedi destroyed the Sith.”
“The Sith destroyed themselves through infighting,” Palpatine cut in, flaring his nostrils. He seemed personally offended by Obi-Wan’s comment. “The Jedi had little to do with it, I assure you.”
“The Sith were evil,” Obi-Wan said, swallowing hard. They’d had this conversation before. The boy knew that his father was fasciated by the Sith - and even harbored sympathies for the ancient Empire - and while he normally tried to keep an open mind, he was not in the mood to equivocate.
“Or so you’ve been taught. There is nothing inherently evil about the Dark Side.”
Obi-Wan thought back to Master Yoda’s teachings: “Fear is the path to the Dark Side. It leads to anger. Anger… leads to hate.”
“Anger is only natural,” his father said, scoffing. “If I were killed, how would you feel? Would you feel anger? Grief?”
Obi-Wan knew the correct answer to this question - there is no death, there is only the Force - but he could not bring himself to repeat the tired old mantra. Instead, he simply nodded.
“Of course you would,” his father said in a soothing voice. His eyes glowed with warmth, reflecting the soft, golden light of Naboo’s setting sun. “Because you love me, don’t you?”
Obi-Wan nodded again. “Yes,” although, he’d never actually spoken the words aloud.
“I know you do. I can feel it.” Palpatine squeezed the boy’s hand in emphasis. “And that is precisely why the Jedi must separate children from their parents. These feelings are natural.”
“Do you…?” Obi-Wan whispered.
His father stared at him, his face lined with confusion. “Do I what?”
“Love me?”
“Of course.” The senator retracted his hand. “Do you doubt?”
Obi-Wan said nothing for a moment. “Why don’t we have a training bond?” This had been eating away at him for some time. Was his father blocking him out on purpose?
Palpatine looked on in sympathy. “To answer that, I already have a training bond in place with another.”
“Maul,” Obi-Wan spat the name like an insult.
“He is my apprentice, as I said.” Then, in answer to Obi-Wan’s unasked question: “I can only have one apprentice at a time. My order is very strict on this matter. If you wish to replace Maul, you will have to prove yourself.”
“How?”
“By killing your rival, of course,” his father said, without so much as a blink.
Obi-Wan felt his throat dry up as he tried to speak. “I can’t…”
“Not yet,” Palpatine said, carefully. “You are not ready, and Maul is still of use to me. But someday…“
“I can’t kill him,” Obi-Wan rasped. He didn't like Maul, but he wasn’t a murderer.
“You may not have a choice,” his father said after a delicate pause. His voice was low but clear. “Maul is threatened by you, and with good reason. As your power grows, he will seek to destroy you. I will protect you for as long as I can, but I will not always be here. Sleep now,” he continued before Obi-Wan could interrupt, smiling gently. “I will watch over you.”
Obi-Wan’s head hit the pillow. His eyes were suddenly heavy with exhaustion. He blinked, struggling to stay awake long enough to ask the nagging question at the back of his mind. “You said something about your order… What order do you belong to?” He knew their were several smaller orders of Force users in the galaxy, but which one?
Palpatine let out a soft sigh. “You’re a clever boy,” he mused, stroking a lock of Obi-Wan's hair. “I’m sure you can figure that out.”