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The slight, fair-haired boy is sitting all alone in the already sweltering heat of mid-morning, apparently unphased by any discomfort he may be experiencing; the dry desert wind tousling his hair and kicking up tiny whorls of sand.
Obi-Wan draws nearer, silently and cautiously so as not to startle him, and soon realises that the child is so absorbed in his activity that it’s no wonder he cares nothing for the harsh conditions of his surroundings.
He would be used to it, anyway, Obi-Wan reminds himself, all too aware that young Luke knows no different.
Unlike him.
Gradually, he’s able to pick up on the boy’s chatter, watching as he pushes what appears to be two tiny pieces of scrap metal along a stretch of sand that has been smoothed out by hand, the fragments obviously representing ships or speeders of some kind.
“… and they come ‘round the last turn, and the kid is ahead, faster than anyone’s ever been ever before, and- and he’s gonna win! This is amazing, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
Smiling fondly, Obi-Wan pauses to watch the imaginary race draw to its conclusion.
“And yes, he’s done it! Skywalker wins the title!” He makes a sound that replicates that of a cheering crowd, and launches to his feet, jumping up and down in celebration. “No kid has ever won the Boonta Eve Classic Podrace in history! This is totally the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”
Chilled by Luke’s words as though doused in icy water, Obi-Wan stills, momentarily stunned.
‘Boonta Eve Classic’?
How would the child know about that?
“Luke?” he speaks up unthinkingly in his bewilderment, before remembering that Owen and Beru would be decidedly upset at his interference.
The boy spins around in shock at the unexpectedness of his presence.
But it is not Luke.
“Anakin?” Obi-Wan breathes, incredulous.
And in a startling instant, the young, sweet face morphs from innocent to venomous.
“Master,” he hisses, sneering in disdain.
Though taken aback at the bizarre and disturbing change, Obi-Wan is spellbound as he steps closer, dropping to his knees before the child, who recoils in revolt.
“How are you here?” Obi-Wan mutters hoarsely, “I don’t understand…”
“Not surprising,” Anakin scoffs, in a manner beyond his apparent years, “I mean, you always were a lost cause.”
Barely absorbing his words, Obi-Wan shakes his head mutely, still grappling with confoundment.
“Completely useless, in fact,” Anakin continues, the taunting almost conversational, “As a Jedi, of course… as a master. As a friend, especially.” He pauses, smiling wickedly, “Or even… as a brother.”
His voice is sly and mocking as he places emphasis on the final word, and the onslaught drives home in a painful jab, spearing Obi-Wan’s sternum more effectively than any ‘saber, and leaving a burning agony smouldering deep in his heart.
“How humiliating it must’ve been for you,” the boy goes on, “Coming to realise that someone you claimed to love didn’t care for you at all.” He leans towards him, pointedly. “Never did, actually. But then, I made that perfectly clear, didn’t I? The last time I saw you.”
Blue eyes flash a dangerous red, and the boyish face twists with loathing.
“I hate you.”
Ground out vehemently through teeth gritted in unbridled rage, the harsh assertion tears Obi-Wan apart as acutely as it had the first time. Caving in on himself as though the words struck a physical blow, he finds he can scarcely draw breath. Coarse sand scours one side of his face as the wind kicks up, and he flinches as Anakin closes the small distance between them with menacing intent, extending both hands in front of him with fingers curled in a grasping reach.
The Force builds and swells in a visceral maelstrom, almost crackling with intensity, and Obi-Wan encounters a rare, genuine fear; cruelly tormented with his past trauma by the one who caused it in the first place.
Then, out of nowhere… all goes still.
Anakin too freezes in place, then abruptly vanishes with a final puff of scorching wind, before that too fizzles out, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Obi-Wan rises to his feet shakily, turning to look about, now seeing nothing but featureless desert dunes in all directions. Even the Lars homestead is nowhere to be seen.
A moment of confusion is cut short as he senses something at his feet, and glances down to find the small, pale green shoot of a delicate plant sprouting impossibly from the barren sand, which rapidly develops into a tiny sapling. Upon closer inspection, it glows from within with interwoven filaments of viridescent light, and it’s so enchantingly beautiful, Obi-Wan can’t resist stretching out a hand, his fingers gentle as he strokes the delicate leaves.
The emerald luminosity spreads at his touch, moving up along his fingers, weaving around his hand… his arm… and before long, his entire body.
But he isn’t alarmed by this, because he readily identifies the feeling. It’s the sensation of being wrapped in the comfort that only a friend can provide.
Loki.
Hello, Obi-Wan.
Warmth and concern are immediately perceptible, and Obi-Wan soaks them up unashamedly.
What are you doing here?
Worried he’d come across as demanding or impolite, he winced a little at his own words. In truth, he was endlessly delighted to hear from his friend… only rather surprised.
Saving you from yourself, apparently.
Somehow Loki is able to sound simultaneously amused and terribly serious… then Obi-Wan registers what he’d said, and realises what he means.
Ahh. A dream.
That’s right.
He shakes his head, flummoxed.
It felt so real.
They often do.
No, I mean, extraordinarily real. I felt the Force rising. I- I felt… I felt him. His revulsion. His- his hatred.
There is a loaded silence before Loki replies.
You felt a memory, Obi-Wan. You fought a memory.
And it bested me, didn’t it.
It is a statement, not a question. Disgusted at his lack of control, of stability, Obi-Wan sighs heavily.
How did you end up here?
In your lifethread? Or within your dreamscape?
Both, I suppose.
You… summoned me. Unwillingly, it seems, since you were clearly not expecting me. But you indeed reached out, just as you’ve done before in meditation, and- and I heard you.
Oddly embarrassed, Obi-Wan feels like a grown adolescent caught crying out for their mother.
I apologise. It was very much unintentional, as you say.
No apologies necessary. I’m always happy to visit with you. Though, I do feel maybe we should leave this rather bleak and unforgiving environment before we continue.
Of course. I can urge myself to wakefulness, if you’ll give me a moment…
Not having needed to do so in a very long time, Obi-Wan begins to draw focus, but before he can do anything more, Loki chimes in.
I’m sure you can. But… do allow me.
The web of light that encapsules him brightens considerably, and he detects an odd tugging sensation deep in his core. He trusts this feeling, because as with the energy field, it is heavily imbued with Loki’s Force signature. Thus, Obi-Wan lets it take him over and guide him… until he is inexorably pulled into the sapling itself; his noncorporeal dream-self turned to little more than a stream of vapour being sucked through a vortex.
But he is released from this fleeting ordeal in a mere instant with a displacing pop, and finds himself sprawled on the threadbare mat in the centre of his hovel, where he’d sat earlier in preparation for meditation… yet another attempt to make contact with his former master, Qui-Gon.
He must’ve fallen asleep.
Well, that’s pathetic.
What is?
I fell asleep during meditation, like some infantile Jedi Temple initiate.
He suppresses the soul-deep pain that threatens to resurge at the mention of his old home. Of the younglings.
Maybe you were just tired?
Loki’s tone carries a note of mild humour which alleviates a little of Obi-Wan’s suffering, but as he pushes himself to sit and rubs his face roughly, he feels traces of drying tears on his cheeks, and is again agitated at how badly he was affected by a ridiculous dream.
I am tired. But not in a way that can be remedied by sleep.
There is a short silence before Loki replies.
Yes. I… have a lot of experience with that.
He suspects that Loki wouldn’t elaborate on this statement if questioned, so he asks something less intrusive.
Do you sleep? Wherever you are, in whatever form it is that you take?
Endlessly curious about his friend who he’d never seen, and only barely perceived through the Force, Obi-Wan wonders for the thousandth time what he looks like, and about the mysterious place where he sits in solitary vigil.
Not really. Well… to a degree, I suppose. I spend the majority of my time in a state similar to meditation, although I have sporadic episodes of significantly decreased awareness, which could be regarded as similar to sleep.
About to reply, Obi-Wan freezes in shock at a sudden realisation.
Loki… we’re talking to each other.
We are, yes. How incredibly astute of you.
He ignores the teasing response.
I mean, without me being in meditation.
Loki is quiet for a time, as though mulling this over.
Interesting.
You don’t know why?
Well, the only variation in this scenario compared to our previous interactions is that this connection was initiated within a dream.
But how would that allow for me to talk with you? In sleep, or fully conscious?
I… don’t know. Perhaps all I need is access to an unconscious mind to establish a connection, although I don’t know why it has sustained itself after you becoming conscious.
Taking a long moment to think on this, and knowing Loki was likely doing the same, Obi-Wan eventually voiced his thoughts.
Perhaps I only assumed that a connection would cease once I left a meditative state. It’s not like we’ve ever tried it.
That’s true. And I have had some success at linking with simpler forms of conscious minds, like those of animals or infants. It could be that the more open and accepting the mind is, the more likely I can penetrate its defences and generate a link.
Fascinating.
Quite. Something I need to explore further, I think.
Obi-Wan's smirk is irrepressible.
Loki… you’re not already making plans to attempt cameo appearances in the dreams of your love, are you?
Mirthful humour infused with a touch of mortification washes over him in a flood of warmth and lightness, and it improves his mood considerably.
Alright, you can stop that line of questioning right there.
Chuckling, Obi-Wan pushes himself to his feet with a small groan at the protest of his stiffened legs and back. It is a novelty to be able to get up and move around, he muses, whilst maintaining the interaction with his friend.
He pours himself a cup of the mineral-dense water typical of Tatooine from a nearby jug, and downs it in one go, before wandering over to his sleep pallet and resituating himself there with a boneless flump.
Do you have nightmares often?
Loki’s query is tentative, but he can hear the genuine care behind it, and feels a rush of gratefulness.
‘Often’ is subjective. I suppose they are not as frequent as they once were, small mercies. They are, however, increasingly intense, it seems.
I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I do understand.
I appreciate that.
Obi-Wan takes a breath that begins as a sigh but becomes a yawn, weariness overtaking him yet again.
I find it troubling how tired I am, all the time. Tonight is a prime example. Falling asleep during meditation, of all things, and now I can feel myself being dragged back under once more.
Then I should go, so you can sleep. It sounds like you need it.
But at that, a strange sort of panic takes hold of him, and he speaks up before realising he was even going to say anything.
I’d like you to stay. Please. I mean, if- if you can.
He can almost visualise the surprise on a face that he otherwise has no reference for.
Stay with you while you sleep?
Not… no. That wouldn’t be fair on you. Terribly boring, I’d imagine.
Smiling in mild chagrin, he eases himself down to lie on his side.
Perhaps, though, just until I fall asleep… if that’s alright?
There is barely any hesitation before Loki’s reply comes.
Of course I will.
Obi-Wan almost feels like crying again at the kindness, but he knows it is weariness overwhelming him, more than anything else.
Loki… thank you.
It’s fine, I assure you. In fact… I’ve actually been honing a particular skill recently; one that might be of benefit to you in this scenario.
Oh?
I may have been, uh, taking it upon myself to soothe to sleep particular infants of import upon the timelines, in order to grant reprieve to their weary guardians.
… Are you proposing you pat me to sleep like a baby?
He keeps his tone light and full of humour, so Loki knows he’s only joking.
No! Well, kind of. In a much more… ethereal capacity.
I’m not complaining. It sounds wonderful, actually.
I will, however, require permission to access your memories.
A little taken aback by this, it only takes Obi-Wan a scant moment of consideration to realise something that renders this one condition completely irrelevant.
Given that you can see my life in its entirety anyway, it’s not as though I can withhold any secrets from you.
That… oh.
There is an extended, awkward pause.
I- I never thought of it like that. Uh, I’m sorry?
Suppressing a chuckle at his transparent discomfort, Obi-Wan grins into his pillow.
Perhaps you could regard it as a privilege? One granted to you in exchange for your selfless sacrifice.
Mmph. I don’t know about that. Regardless, I’m going to feel very strange about this now. Looking at anyone’s life, not just yours. Like some kind of… cosmic voyeur.
With a snort, Obi-Wan can no longer smother his amusement.
I can’t believe you’ve ever seen yourself as anything but.
Hey! I’m a god, I’ll have you know.
Oh, do excuse me, your divine impertinence.
Do you want me to put you to sleep, or not?
Ah Loki, you do that just by talking.
Right, that’s it-
No wait, I’m sorry! You can stay, I promise I’ll be good.
Laughing heartily now, Obi-Wan gradually recomposes himself, realising it’s the first time he’s experienced a moment of such lightheartedness in literal years.
This sobers him quickly, although a touch of buoyancy lingers pleasantly.
Are you ready?
Loki sounds more reserved now… gentle, even. Obi-Wan relaxes into the bedding, holding then releasing a cleansing breath.
I am.
Alright. Can I ask you help me in turn, though?
How so?
Well, in the interests of avoiding further unjust accusations of meddling intrusion-
Obi-Wan smiles widely at the gruff pointedness, but wisely remains silent…
-and to save some time, it would assist me greatly if you could locate for me a memory. One in which you felt true peace and contentment, if at all possible.
This task is easier than Loki probably realises, for there is one lasting memory that he has frequently drawn on since his apprenticeship, in striving to attain placidity in moments of turmoil.
It floats to the forefront of his mind with ease, and he immediately senses Loki’s approval as he delves into it.
This one?
Yes.
He then detects Loki’s Force signature encroaching upon not only his mind, but his senses as well, and after several seconds, he opens his eyes and blinks in surprise, staring up into the night sky of a far distant planet – one he has not visited since a long ago mission at age fourteen.
Lush trees arch over him, half-obscuring the impressive variety of ships that are docked far above in orbit, and the sight is as captivating as he remembers.
“You did well today, Obi-Wan,” the deep, soothing voice emanates from somewhere to his right, and he flicks his head around, finding Master Qui-Gon reclined adjacent to him in the soft grass.
He smiles warmly at Obi-Wan, the subtle flicker of pride in his eyes making his insides soar in elation.
“Thank you, Master,” his boyish voice says respectfully, smiling back shyly.
He holds Qui-Gon’s gaze for a moment, and then turns back to the view, breathing deeply. The sweet smell of flowers mingles pleasingly with the scent of the palace lawns, and a nearby water feature bubbles softly in the semi-darkness.
“As a reward, I think we’ll skip training and meditation this evening,” Qui-Gon tells him lightly, “You’ve already worked hard enough. You deserve a night off, to do with as you please.”
Turning to look at him again, Qui-Gon chuckles warmly at the wide-eyed surprise on his face.
“And yes, if that means you wish to desert your old master, and find some age-mates with which to engage in some mindless frivolity, please, be my guest.”
Obi-Wan grins and lies back, mulling over his options. But after a while, lulled by the tranquility of the gardens surrounding them, a simple truth is made plain, and he gives it voice.
“Actually, Master,” he begins, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to do, well… this.”
He detects Qui-Gon’s incredulity without having to see him.
“This? As in, lie here with me, ship-spotting and stargazing?”
“Yes,” he replies with utmost certainty.
There is a protracted silence, then Qui-Gon answers, his voice a little rough with something that Obi-Wan never understood until he had a Padawan of his own.
“I’d like that very much.”
There is a profound moment of connection, as happiness and the joy of companionship passes back and forth between them through their ever-strengthening training bond. And as the minutes pass by, Obi-Wan feels himself drifting off; quelled by the satisfaction of a job well done, by his master’s sure and supportive presence at his side… and by Loki, who is apparently in the process of extracting himself from the idyllic tableau with all the tentative care of a parent tiptoeing from their sleeping child’s bedroom. As he retreats, the leaves in the trees overhead pulse faintly with a glimmer of verdant illumination, not unlike the blade of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber.
Rest well, my friend.
Thank you, Loki. This means so much to me… I- I can’t-
He breaks off as emotion swells, and he feels Loki’s mollifying touch upon his mind.
Shh. It’s okay. Just sleep.
An intoxicating haze clouds his remaining shred of consciousness.
Force be with you…
He barely manages to form the thought before falling into peaceful oblivion.
And you, Obi-Wan.