Work Text:
Obi-Wan loved to meditate, truly, despite how much people of his age typically loathed it. He loved the peace, loved the serenity, loved the focus. 13-year-olds couldn’t typically hold the focus, sit still for so long, but he found peace in the inactivity.
His visions jolted him so often, disturbed his sleep, ruined his studies, but when he meditated, all became linear, or at least, it all became clear.
But this was not normal, the Force seemed to convulse around him, his body was shaking and tensing and relaxing so rapidly it was almost painful, before his eyes rolled up in his skull, and he was floating in the abyss.
“Hello there, Obi-Wan.”
A man floated directly opposite him, like a reflection in a mirror, in fact, judging by the rippling surface and how it spanned to infinity in either direction, he wondered if it was. The man was old, but he recognised him, instantly.
“Hello there, Obi-Wan.”
“Oh, you are so young...”
“Where are we?”
“We are within the Force. This barrier,” their hands brushed against it, “is all that separates my time and yours.”
As his fingers brushed it, it rippled, and the elder reflection vanished, replaced by memories that were not his own. He saw himself, locked in brutal battle with children who needed him, hauling a beautiful blonde teen across a city through blaster fire, pressed close to an even more beautiful man with curly hair and shining beskar, stealing kisses in alleyways as their enemies passed. Saw himself negotiating freedoms of planets or slaves, fighting a sith in a darkened chamber, losing his dear master, no.
He tried to pull back, but his fingers felt glued. He could not look away.
A child, his padawan, his son, his to raise, time and again as he grew, his own braid lengthening with time. More time with the Mandalorian, then the grief of his vanishing, the grief of his death. The war.
Oh Force, the war, the darkness rising the soldiers with his Mandalorian’s face, another padawan, his or his padawans he wasn’t sure, a seat on the Council, death, so much death. Unending.
The darkness, the betrayal, the end of the war, the end of the Jedi. A child in his arms, perhaps their last hope, perhaps all that was left of their people. It was all gone, how could it all be gone. The bitter bite of the sand, the longing to march away to those he’d lost.
He was the last.
His hand was released and he clasped it to his chest, tears rolling down his face, panting.
“What must I do?”
“Obi-Wan...”
“No... no it must not happen; it must be stopped. They cannot, this cannot be. There must be another path.”
“There is not, I am so sorry.”
“No, you lie. I can feel it. You would not bere here if there wasn’t another path.”
“There is, but the price, I cannot ask it, it is too steep.”
“How long do we have, until this path is set?”
“If the tide is to turn, it must be before the end of the year, if not... all paths will lead to the same fate. The loss of all our people. But you are so young.”
“So soon... Tell me what I must do, for our people, for my family. For him.”
“You must simply have a vision, young one, but... but the Force has a price, I cannot ask it of you. I wish it was not so.”
“My death. That is the price, isn’t it? The future will be bright, but I will not live to see it.”
“My death, little one, I bargained my life for this new chance, to give him a better life, all of them. My life, not yours. I would not have done so it I had known it would take yours too. I found out too late.”
“What must I do?”
“No, Obi-Wan, I am old, I have made my mistakes, live my life. You are young, you have a wide path against you, perhaps this may not be your fate. You must not choose this. You must simply wake tomorrow with no memory of this and forge ahead, I cannot ask this of you.”
“You do not have to. I give myself freely. Save the Jedi, the Light, our people, our peace, our future. I am one person, I would give my life to save even one other, you know this well I'm sure. That many lives, the cost is not high at all.”
“I am so sorry, little one.”
“Can you tell me about him?”
“My beloved? He was Mandalorian, beautiful, strong, powerful, brave, true. We met on Mandalore, when we were 17 and he was 19, freshly free of enslavement and ready to fight. We did not mean to fall in love, after all we are opposites, enemies, but it was meant to be. He... he vanished when I was 27, said he had a mission to take, that he’d be back in a month. He never came home. I found out too late that he had been taken by a Sith, that his leaving was not of his own will. Years of needless anger and sadness. He was killed less than a week after we were reunited.”
“He will live this time?”
“He will, they all will.”
“What will happen to me?”
“You will relay your vision, and then you will join the Force with the dawn.”
“Will I have a chance to say goodbye?”
“You do not have to do this... please, Obi-Wan.”
.
.
.
“Master Dooku, Master Dooku!”
Dooku turned to see a youngling, perhaps padawan, running towards him calling his name.
It was the middle of the night, what was one so young doing out of bed.
As he approached, Dooku could clearly see the short braid woven into his fiery hair behind his ear, he could also see tear tracks on his cheeks and horror in his eyes.
“Padawan?”
“Master, please, when you go to Galidraan, you must go with an open mind, you must go with patience and peace or it will be the end of everything. Galidraan is the tipping point, the start of a new era. It is up to us, up to you, whether that Era contains the Jedi, or whether we will fall into the coming darkness. Go without prejudices, go without judgement, go with patience and investigate, don’t fight, or you will fall into the trap, and it will be a slaughter on both sides. Go with peace, Master, when you go to Galidraan, go with Peace.”
Galidraan? He was not going to any such place; in fact he did not even know the name.
He did not understand what this child spoke of, nor why he spoke so frantically, but with such purpose.
And then, quite suddenly, the padawan’s posture shifted, shoulders dropping, eyes fluttering closed, stumbling into the wall for support, one hand against his forehead.
“Padawan? Are you feeling well?”
“M... master? Where? What?”
“Obi-Wan!”
He knew the voice carrying the name in panicked relief. Qui-Gon, his former padawan, racing towards them. He barely acknowledged his former master, instead checking his young padawan for injuries. He had not known he had a new Grandpadawan, but given what had just happened, perhaps he could get to know the child.
“Obi-Wan, what are you doing?”
“I don’t know... I don’t... I was meditating. How did I get here?”
“You do not remember?”
“No... no, I...”
“I went to check on you, to make sure you weren’t up late reading, your room was a mess, objects flung everywhere, you were missing. I worried, little one.”
The boy was swaying as though exhausted, and had been speaking of things he could not have known.
“I believe, Padawan mine, that he had a vision.”
Qui-Gon smiled up at him, a more positive reaction than he’d been expecting.
“Master Dooku, it is good to see you. I wish the circumstances were a little better.”
“Indeed. Tend to your padawan, I will find you tomorrow.”
The boy was falling asleep in Qui-Gon's arms, and it was no effort on his former padawan’s part to lit him up and take him to his bed.
Galidraan... what could be so important that the Force would possess a padawan to send its message?
Tomorrow, he decided.
That was something he would work out with the new dawn, and the new day.
.
.
.
The dawn came with a shiver through the Temple, through the Galaxy.
Mace Windu’s comm chimed early, too early, but he was Master of the Temple, so he drew himself from his breakfast, trying to resettle himself, and headed for Qui-Gon's rooms.
It was only bumping into Healer Che on her way to the same destination that sparked unsettled into concerned.
Something was wrong.
“Qui?”
“Mace.”
Qui-Gon's voice was broken, barely a whisper, coming from his padawan’s rooms.
Vokara gasped behind him.
Obi-Wan could have looked asleep, if not for the vacant hole where his soul should have been. His skin, Mace somehow new, was already cold, though Qui-Gon cupped the boy’s face as though it could return him.
“He was fine when he went to bed, Mace. He was fine.”
“Oh Qui, I'm so sorry.”
“My little imp, how... how could the Force steal him away like this? He was so young.”
.
.
.
Jango woke with a start, hand over his heart, gasping and crying out.
“Alor!”
He waved Myles and the other guard off. He was fine.
He was fine.
So, why did it feel like a part of him had been torn out?