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The battle of Malloth was won, the planet given back to its starving people. But at such a cost.
Obi-Wan's 212th Attack Battalion had fronted the assault, accompanied by an elite squadron of clone snipers. Your old master had brought up the rear with his 403rd Support Battalion, you in tow with 777th's Blaze Company. It should have been an easy mission.
But the intel was bad.
*
The air filled with cheers and laughter, dampened neither by the rain nor cold. The clones were mixed among the civilians, on the receiving end of handshakes and claps to the back. The people of Malloth searched for their loved ones, and threw themselves into each other's arms. But the cries of relief were punctuated with cries of sadness.
Celebrations such as these came with a cost.
Your men – what remained of them – stayed close by, glancing at you from time to time, grief and concern in their eyes. Captain Hart of Blaze Company asked if you needed anything, his usual bright smile gone, and in its place the grim determination to hold everything together. You assured him you were fine, and the priority for now was to tend the wounded. But a lump caught in your throat.
How many good men had been lost? Blaze Company had come close to being obliterated in its entirety, outflanked and outgunned. Without a second thought, you'd dashed to the rear and taken point, assuming a defensive stance to block the hail of blaster bolts and shield as many of your troops as you could. But it hadn't been enough. One by one, they'd been picked off, their bodies embraced by the unforgiving marshland. And you'd soon grown tired, your deflections missing their targets more often than not, your arms heavy as duracrete.
Just as it had seemed the battle was lost, you'd seen the flash of your master's green lightsaber as it carved through the air. And then he'd been beside you, protecting your men, his presence a comfort, a fresh wave of hope. With renewed energy, you'd planted your feet and stood your ground, ordering your men to keep low. From between each swoop of your lightsaber, they had fired upon the enemy, until it had seemed as if the conflict could still be won.
And then a blaster bolt had torn through the flesh and bone of your leg as you'd stepped between your captain and death. With a cry, you'd gone down to one knee, ears ringing and rain water in your eyes. Hart had run to you, even as you'd continued to swing your lightsaber through the pain. But before he could reach you, your master had stepped in front of you and stared down the Separatist onslaught, telling you it was going to be all right.
*
Once your surviving men had been accounted for, and the wounded seen by medics, you stepped away before anyone could notice your composure slip.
The ground was soft and damp beneath your feet, and the rain like needles against your skin. Your leg ached, but the bacta patch did its work as you ducked into the cover of dense woodland. The chatter of the civilians and the clones died away as twilight wrapped its dark arms around you, and your tears escaped into the silence that followed.
Tremors wracking your body, you leant against the nearest tree, and wrapped your arms around your chest as if they were all that held you together. You recalled everything your master had ever taught you, everything about the Force and its mysterious workings, and you tried to apply them now: closing your eyes and sliding to the ground, reaching out with something that wasn't physical, seeking help and guidance now that your master was gone, looking for warmth and comfort.
That was how Obi-Wan found you, knees pulled to your chest and silent tears trickling down your face. When you felt his presence, you jumped to your feet and swiped a hand across each cheek.
"Master Kenobi," you said, avoiding his gaze.
When he spoke your name, it was with such tenderness that you almost broke down again. "I'm so sorry."
You shook your head. "You've nothing to be sorry for. We were taken by surprise. You did everything you could, and you had your own men to think of."
By the time Obi-Wan had arrived, it was too late.
You'd been leaning on Captain Hart, the pressure in your chest as much as the sharp pain in your leg, and he leading you away with his arm about your waist. You'd continued to deflect the blaster bolts, placing most of your weight on your good leg, your free arm about his shoulder. Your chances of survival hadn't looked good.
And then Obi-Wan had vaulted into your line of vision, vision that had grown dark around the edges, and put your knowledge of Soresu to shame. With ease, he held back the enemy's barrage, deflecting their own bolts back at them, while his snipers – who'd safely made it to higher ground – had begun to pick off the battle droids like flies.
Your men had done the rest, what few were left, until the way was clear.
"I'm not the only one who lost someone," you continued, voice tight and stomach hollow. "My men lost many of their brothers today. Brothers I should have saved …"
"No," said Obi-Wan, taking a step closer, his cloak sweeping across the damp moss like a whisper. "You mustn't think like that. They were beyond your ability to save; we were led into a trap, and your men took the brunt of that deception. There was nothing any of us could have done."
"Perhaps if I'd been paying better attention," you muttered, to yourself rather than to him. "More of them might have survived. My master might have survived."
He reached for your hand then, such a rare display of affection for the emotionally-guarded Jedi, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment. "None of this was your fault," he said. "Without you by their side, many more men would have died, and this fight would have been lost before it even began."
Without me, my master might still be alive.
"Don't think it," Obi-Wan said, as if he'd heard your very thoughts.
You lifted your gaze and met the Jedi Master's eyes – a soft, deep blue in the forest gloom. There was such concern within, you could feel it in the Force, concern for you that was undeserved.
"Don't let this guilt consume you," he said. "Your master gave his life for yours, willingly. I've known him a long time, and I know that he wouldn't have it any other way."
Tears burned in your eyes, threatening to spill over again. You knew your master would have done anything for you. It was no secret that he had always been a sort of father-figure: not just a guide as you navigated the Force, but also your fiercest protector, and confidant. To see him cut down in front of you …
"When Master Qui-Gon passed," you began, "how did you learn to let go?"
You could feel the swell of sadness in the Jedi Master's chest, and wondered if you'd stepped out of line. But then he said, "I suppose it wasn't one thing, really. I reminded myself that he'd died protecting something he believed in. And I reminded myself that it was my responsibility to continue his legacy. If I was fulfilling that purpose, it sometimes felt as if he were watching over me, guiding me on my path."
"Isn't that just the Force?"
"It is. But when we die, we become one with the Force. I truly believe that. So our loved ones are never truly gone, if we leave ourselves open to it."
You sniffed, and felt a small smile on your lips. In the wake of Obi-Wan's words, you felt a spark of hope brighter than any you'd felt for a long time, a hope that burned like a small flame behind your ribcage. "Thank you, Obi-Wan."
He shook his head, and this time he did reach out to you, and pressed a warm hand to your cold cheek. Your heart stuttered. "While you live, as he wanted you to live, he'll be with you."
The tears fell this time, but the sadness and the guilt no longer suffocated. With Obi-Wan standing so close, a warm smile for you on his lips, and in this quiet place on the periphery of a battlefield, you felt safer than you ever had during the span of the war. With a gentle thumb, he wiped away your tears.
"You're shaking," he said.
The hair at the nape of your neck was damp and cool. Rain had permeated the outer layer of your clothes, and the shock was settling. Cold, and more tired than you could ever remember being, you were acutely aware of his warm hand on your cheek, then felt its absence like starting awake from a pleasant dream.
Obi-Wan opened his cloak wide, and said, "Come here."
No one but your master had ever hugged you before. Sometimes a hug from the side, his head resting against yours. One time, when you were still small, he'd borne you into the air, a daft smile on his face, when he thought he'd lost you on a dangerous mission, only to find you alive. Then there were the hugs he gave out like sweets after a nightmare, until your heart had calmed and the sweat on your brow had cooled.
You were going to miss them.
Trembling, you stepped into Obi-Wan's arms. He brought you into his warm embrace, arms about your shoulders, wrapping you both in his warm cloak. As the heat of his body began to seep through your clothes, your arms came around him, and you pressed yourself close. His hands on your back were a steadying, reassuring presence, telling you that everything was going to be all right.
"You're not alone," he said into your ear, his breath tickling your skin and sending a shiver, independent of the cold, through your body. "Your men, they respect you and admire you, and they're here for you. So am I."
Through silent tears, you smiled into the crook of his neck, and your heart swelled with relief. There was still a war to win, and your master's men were without a general. Would it be your responsibility to lead them, as well as your own legion? Perhaps if Obi-Wan were there, you could face the challenge, with your master watching over you.
"I'm glad," you replied.
He rested his cheek against the side of your head, and squeezed a little tighter. You took a long, contented breath, catching the scent of Obi-Wan's favourite Gatalentan tea, and something like cassica spice.
And for just a moment, the rest of the world, the whole galaxy, seemed to fade away, until you were aware only of the little bubble he'd created for you both: the weighty material of his cloak; the familiar, warm scent of him; and the unsteady pulse at the base of his throat, beating in tandem with yours.