Chapter Text
In a time before Anakin knew of Inner Rim politics and the weight of a lightsaber hilt in his hands, there was endless sun and the blisters on his heels.
He had loved Tatooine as much as he’d hated it. The dunes to race through with Kitser; the grains of sand sticking to the raw wounds on his knees. The quiet nights with his mother; the view of her beaten to the ground.
She had taught him to appreciate the silver linings.
“There is hope everywhere, Ani. Just hold your chin up, don’t let them keep you down.”
And she had been right. He knew that, now.
How much more wisdom would she have been able to give him, had Qui-Gon Jinn agreed to save her all those years ago? On that fateful day on which Anakin had refused to escape slavery to go with the Jedi?
He had wanted to say yes so badly, he recalled. Had imagined the life he could lead on planets with lakes and greenery and angels like the queen of Naboo. But then he’d seen his mother, looking so very forlorn when Qui-Gon said they could only save one of them.
In the end, he hadn’t been able to stomach leaving his mother. Qui-Gon had reluctantly promised to come back for them both.
But no shiny ship had ever come to their rescue. Not when Watto refused to give them food for days. Not when Anakin got an infection from his open wounds. Not when Tatooine went through the worst drought it had seen in decades.
No Jedi with blazing swords had emerged as Anakin’s mother had lain on the sand, choking on her final breaths. There had been sand underneath her fingernails. She had always hated that.
Anakin had held her hands in his own as they grew stiff and blue. He had never felt anything so cold on Tatooine before.
It had been a sickness. Bacterial or viral, he didn’t know. It would have been cured easily by Coruscanti healers, he reckoned. But there was no such thing on Tatooine, and so Shmi Skywalker had died while working on the dunes as she slowly grew too sick to talk.
She had died feeling scared and uncomfortable.
With sand stuck underneath her nails.
There had come no Qui-Gon Jinn.
Two years later and Anakin was thirteen years old with little left to live for. Until another kind of Jedi had appeared: one with a red blade and a set of black robes that grew as hot as blasterfire underneath the Tatooine suns.
“You may call me Count Dooku,” the tall man had introduced himself. His voice carried a deep timbre and a sense of superiority that had initially reminded Anakin of the slavers.
Unlike Qui-Gon, Count Dooku offered him little choice—Anakin was escaping, and that was it. He vaguely remembered a pinprick in his elbow and a scattering numbness, followed by a cloth wet with fresh blood and a glistering blade.
Dooku had cut out his slave chip to ensure he wouldn’t be blown up when they then boarded his grand ship and traveled to Serenno.
In a vast dining hall that was void of anyone but them, Dooku had explained something about the galaxy that Anakin could not remember any longer. It must have been convincing enough, though.
He had never looked back again.
-
[Three years later]
“Hello there.” A man raised an eyebrow at him. His auburn hair was long, reaching past his ears and swooping at the nape of his neck. Anakin was growing his hair out too, but wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be that long.
“Hello,” he said. Then, remembering the manners Master Dooku was trying to teach him, added, “Sir.”
The stranger’s blue-grey eyes narrowed a little, more so in an amused manner than a suspicious one. The distinction was important, his Master said.
People were often caught off guard when Anakin appeared at these diplomatic events with Dooku. After all, he was only sixteen; by far the youngest person in a five mile radius. Too young to have any input. Nevertheless, Dooku insisted it was educational. (Anakin was pretty sure it was a creative form of punishment, but alright.)
This man seemed pretty young, too. Just above 30, maybe. “Did you grow sick of all that small talk as well?” His accent was sharp and distinct—Coruscanti, if Anakin recalled correctly.
He huffed. “You could say that.” He swung his legs against the stone wall he was sitting on. They were in the gardens of the fancy castle where the event was taking place. The sky was turning a deep purple overhead.
The thirty-something gave a chuckle. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. What’s your name?”
As always, Anakin refrained from saying his true name. His Master hated it when he did that, same with when he referred to Dooku as ‘Master’ to strangers. Their whole ‘Sith Lord and apprentice’ thing was meant to remain a well-kept secret.
“Faux Verity,” he replied. It was one of his favorite fake names, though he did have to be careful his Master wouldn’t overhear.
“Hm. I’m unfamiliar with the name,” Kenobi said. There was a loose smirk on his face. “Who are you here with?”
“Count Dooku, my mentor. Who are you with, Kenobaby?” He couldn’t help but snark, feeling demeaned by this man’s careful manner of speech. It felt as though he could see right through him.
“My my,” Kenobi said, though his eyes brightened with mirth. “Such an impolite boy. I do wonder what the esteemed Count Dooku would say…”
Anakin swallowed thickly and feigned confidence. “You’re not going to tell him. I bet you can’t even get close to him without being brushed off!”
“To answer your earlier question, Faux, I am here as a Jedi representative.” The man smiled, entirely unbothered when Anakin’s face soured. He should have known—Kenobi was a steady, shielded presence in the Force. “And Count Dooku happens to be my Grandmaster, had he not decided to distance himself from the Order. I am quite sure he would grant me an audience with him.”
The smug bastard ran a hand through his hair. Kriff, Anakin couldn’t believe this horrendous Jedi was speaking to him like this.
“And I am sure you’re too much of a bag of potatoes to try it,” he retorted angrily, instantly disappointed with himself for the admittedly weak insult.
“That is no way to speak to your elders, now is it, young one?”
“Bite me, Kenobi,” Anakin snarled.
“Maybe if you tell me your true name. Or do you really expect me to believe your name is false truth?”
Anakin threw his head back. “Oh for Force’s sake,” he muttered, mortified to have been caught. He hated this stupid Jedi even more than he did the rest of them. It was no surprise that this was Qui-Gon Jinn’s apprentice—which he assumed was true, since Dooku was Kenobi’s Grandmaster.
Which did make him wonder… was the man who had abandoned Anakin and his mom with false promises here right now? If Kenobi was here, was Jinn too?
He jumped off the wall, satisfied to find himself the slightest bit taller than the Jedi. “I’m heading back inside.”
To find your Master and possibly kill him, he didn’t add.
“Have a pleasant evening.” He left a bemused Obi-Wan Kenobi behind.
To his disappointment, he found only his Master waiting on him with his arms crossed by the time the event was nearing its end. No Qui-Gon Jinn.
Dooku’s elegant robes folded smoothly, sweeping across the polished floor as they headed out the exit.
“I had the most intriguing conversation with one Obi-Wan Kenobi, my apprentice,” he spoke, his voice low. They met the cool air as Anakin suppressed a sigh. The Jedi had actually tattled on him? How utterly immature, and he was the teenager!
“No bad things, I hope,” he joked, awaiting the lecture.
The elder man shot him a sideways look. “Indeed. Kenobi spoke appreciatively of your sharp wit. A rare reaction to your… charming oddities. He did ask if your name truly happened to be Faux Verity.”
He could not suppress his sigh, now. “Right.”
“A foolish name to pick, Anakin, though I’m sure you already knew that. I see I have yet to succeed in ridding you of your attempts at humor.” The words might have sounded harsh to anyone else, but Anakin easily picked up on the fondness in the Sith Lord’s tone.
“Attempts?” He smirked. “You wound me, Master.” He raised a dramatic hand over his heart.
Dooku ignored this, as he always did. “I told Kenobi that your name is Vader,” he said instead, and Anakin froze where he had been walking.
His Master stopped too, a little ways in front of him, and turned. He raised a sharp eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”
“Vader?” Anakin echoed, in disbelief. But when Dooku’s face remained serious, a smile broke out on his face. “Truly? I get to go out on the field?” He had been waiting for this for months, now. As his Master had been preparing the start of the war, gathering as many planets to join the Separatist cause and manufacturing as many droids as possible, Anakin had begged and begged to be able to command a legion himself once the war broke out.
Dooku had been tight-lipped about it. Until now.
Vader meant Anakin was finally going to be allowed to adapt his Sith name. Vader meant freedom and the title of a commander.
A rare curve of his lips appeared on Dooku’s face, Anakin’s enthusiasm being noticeable and contagious in the Force. “The dawn of a new era is upon us, Anakin. The Republic will soon act on the growing Separatist movement, and we will fight to protect the liberty of the galaxy. You will aid the cause as Commander Vader of the 2nd Legion. I trust you will make me proud, apprentice.”
“Yes, Master.” Anakin inclined his head, remembering the customs briefly before lifting his head and grinning broadly. “I’ll crush them all. I’ll show Jedi like Kenobi what power really is.”
“Do be mindful, child. The Jedi are unlike any opponent you have ever faced.”
“I’ve sparred with you, haven’t I?” Anakin shrugged, unbothered. He was sure he could beat Kenobi if it came down to it.
Dooku released a deep breath, which told Anakin he was a little peeved, so he remained quietly cheerful as they flew back to Serenno, where he then celebrated with his droid, E-17.
Things were finally looking up.
-
He made his debut on Geonosis a month later.
Dooku despised him using such terms. “You are not some sort of pitiful holostar, are you?”
Well, Anakin thought, why not? Commander Vader, enforcer of liberty and justice, the hero of the Separatist movement. It had a nice ring to it, didn’t it?
The battle on Geonosis was a mess of dusty torrents and flashing fire when he entered the arena in his inky robes. The mask on his face was heavy and stifling, heating up underneath the desert sun, but he wore it proudly nonetheless.
He remembered how he’d looked at Dooku’s dark robes on Tatooine all those years ago—he had been confused. Who wore black on one of the hottest planets in the galaxy?
But now he understood.
He had not yet ignited his red blade when a Twi’lek Jedi spotted him and shouted, “Sith!”
Every nearby head turned. Blaster fire quieted, proximate combatants pausing to stare at Anakin. At Vader, looming in the arched gate. His power seeped into the cracked ground, pushed the air down with its presence.
His robes, endless like a night sky, were the telltale sign of danger. More so than a display of darkness, they symbolized the blood he would spill even as he had yet to move.
Anakin smiled from behind the mask, excitement coursing through his veins. He had anticipated this moment for far too long.
His lightsaber finally hissed to life, red blooming in the midst of blue and green plasma, and Anakin moved like a shadow with teeth, the Force warping around him as he lunged at the Twi’lek who had announced his presence.
Blood-red flashed in the Jedi’s dark pupils and he fell down with a thump. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Towering over the body, Anakin straightened and reverted back to a loose hold on his lightsaber. He gazed at the men and women surrounding him, horror on their faces, and didn’t move.
He waited.
A woman with a blue blade was the first to act. She varied her attacks, sweeping low and high before coming at him from the side. By the deep anger on her face, Anakin guessed that the Twi’lek male at their feet had been a friend of hers.
The battles around them rekindled with fire and blood.
The woman was quick but predictable. Her mind was not well shielded, nor were her eyes; she had a tell that he had been trained to discern immediately. Her eyes would dart toward her next point of attack twice in quick succession.
And so he stepped away from her swipes easily enough, almost lazily swinging his own saber. His Master would disapprove of him prolonging the fight, but it was just so fun. If he put all his effort into this, he’d already be going back to Serenno in less than an hour!
The Jedi’s attacks were growing harsher with frustration when a second woman jumped in to help. He was thrilled for the challenge at first, but soon found the second Jedi to be just as boring.
As he fended off their strikes, he looked around the arena. There were heaps of droids already down, which was a disappointment. He had helped manufacture them, but it seemed they needed some durability upgrades. Nevertheless, there were plenty left. The Jedi were struggling against the quantity of them.
A flash on the other side of the ashy pit caught his eye. Purple. Well, wasn’t that interesting?
Intrigued, Anakin finished off the two women and left them next to the Twi’lek.
A few more stares lingered on the sweeping black of his cloak and the gleaming red of his weapon when he traversed rather calmly across the battlefield.
(Dooku would rebuke his arrogance.)
(Dooku wasn’t here.)
The purple glare belonged to a tall, powerful man with dark skin. Human, by the looks of it. He was oddly edged for a Jedi—his fighting was aggressive, his Force signature grainy.
Pushing an incoming Jedi away with a simple Force shove, Anakin narrowed his eyes as he studied the purple-wielding man. To his chagrin, he had to admit that he might be unable to defeat the man.
Master Dooku had taught him to be truthful when assessing one’s own abilities, and while Anakin knew he was skilled, he was not as controlled as he would have liked; not adept enough to take on this particular opponent.
Standing there in the arena, still as a statue, he must have made a seemingly easy target, because another Jedi soon approached. The blinding blue of his blade made his presence all too prominent.
Deciding to turn back to the fight instead of merely pushing people into walls, Anakin turned to the Jedi and was surprised to find a familiar face lit up by the blue glower.
“Hello there,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said, in a perfect imitation of how he had greeted Anakin in the gardens a month ago. The Jedi looked a little worse for wear, his carefully arranged appearance replaced for a more chaotic assembly.
“Kenobi.” Anakin spoke his first word since his arrival. It sank with the weight of the mask, low and aged.
“And who might you be?” They began to circle around each other, a ritual Anakin found to be exceedingly tedious. He indulged, anyway. Kenobi was interesting enough for the time being.
“Commander Vader,” he answered. The title, paired with his new name, rolled off his tongue like silk.
He spun his lightsaber idly in satisfaction. His posture was ridiculously relaxed compared to Kenobi’s, who stood tense with his weapon extended, ready to fight.
Kenobi lifted an eyebrow. “Vader?” his stance faltered. “You can't mean to tell me that you are the petulant child I met a month ago?”
Anakin bristled. “Who are you calling petulant? You ratted me out to Dooku!”
Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. At the knowledge of the youthful face residing behind the mask, he had seemed to lose his hesitation.
This irritated Anakin to no end.
“What are you, fourteen years old? I can't believe the Separatists would stoop so low.” The Jedi shook his head.
His red lightsaber stilled at his side. “I am sixteen, and I have just killed three of your pathetic, heinous kind. I would not speak so freely, Jedi.” An unseen murderous glare was sent Kenobi's way from beneath the mask.
“A flair for the dramatic, too. Wonderful,” Kenobi said dryly.
Anakin lunged. His lightsaber was raised above his head, coming down in a rapid flash, but the red was blocked by Kenobi’s blue.
Indigo shocked on their faces, ozone leaking as the blades clashed mid-air. The Jedi turned, redirecting Anakin’s saber with a twist before sidestepping and jabbing at his side.
In response, Anakin held the lightsaber in place with the Force and glanced up, grinning when he found Kenobi’s face tightening with effort to free himself from the intangible hold. When Anakin let go, he kicked the man back with a boot to the chest.
Obi-Wan stumbled but managed to stay standing, and Anakin approached again with an ambling walk. “How disappointing…” he murmured, his calm demeanor belying the exhilaration in his chest. “Thrown to the dust by a petulant child, as you put it.”
Feet shifting in the dust, Kenobi composed himself. He smiled sharply, as though he had already won. “The fight is not over yet, Commander.” The title sounded like a joke on his tongue. Blue-grey eyes glinted dangerously.
Anakin could not seem to decide whether to be thrilled or agitated at this Jedi’s insolence.
An explosion rocked through the arena from somewhere behind them and he raised his blade.
“Indeed.” He inclined his head slightly, his smile evident in his voice. “This is where the fun begins.”
The rest of the duel was without pause. No quippy dialogue. No emotion but determination coursing through their veins. They danced around each other as though they had done it a thousand times before, anticipating each other’s every move.
Anakin had never fought like this before. Not even against his Master, whom he had dueled at least once a week for three years.
It was frustrating, the way he didn’t manage to land a single hit.
But it was intriguing, too. It fed the hunger in his chest, the need for a challenge—an equal.
The Force warped and twisted, pulling between them fluidly. He tried to resist, to keep its power out of Kenobi’s grasp, but it slid away from his hold.
It was connecting them, Anakin realized.
It latched onto them and coiled until a faint ripple of warmth reached his shields. It was barely there, wisps of light sifting into his mind, but he wanted it gone immediately. How the kriff had Kenobi managed to form this wretched bond with him? And why?
He glared at the Jedi, throwing a particularly rough strike his way, but then he noticed that Kenobi looked just as astonished as he was.
They both faltered, lightsabers lowering as they stared at each other. The Force stretched taut.
“What—” Kenobi began, but a shout ripped through the arena abruptly.
“Take cover!”
Deafening blasterfire thundered above, where multiple gunships had appeared. Republic, by the looks of it, with enough blasters to kill the entire droid army on Geonosis. Soldiers in white armor, edged with varying colors, departed from the ships and ran to protect the Jedi.
In the chaos, Anakin shot one last look at a stunned Obi-Wan Kenobi before delving into the fight.
He’d had his fun with Kenobi, but it was time to finish this.
-
There came no punishment for his failure to keep the Jedi from winning the battle of Geonosis, but the disapproval was clear in Dooku’s honed gaze for the next few weeks.
The clones had been a surprise—the Republic had discovered and arranged them early—but his Master had sternly lectured that this was not the only cause for their loss. “You fooled around with Kenobi for far too long, apprentice.”
Anakin wasn’t sure how to tell him that he didn’t think he could have beaten the Jedi Knight earlier even if he had wanted to. So he kept his mouth shut and spent the coming weeks working as hard as possible to upgrade the droids until he was deployed again, hiding his impatience behind polite nods and smiles.
At night, he meditated as Dooku had taught him. This was no usual habit for him and it reminded him of his earlier days on Serenno, when he had yet to shore up proper mental shields. These were not necessarily bad memories, but he always found himself vulnerable underneath them.
Instead of stabilizing his shields, he was now looking beyond them, drifting past and searching for the strand he knew was there, yet could not seem to grasp.
Kenobi’s presence was like a delicate outline in his mind; heat against frigid air. It was not disturbing, per se—his thoughts and emotions were still entirely his own. At times, he even found himself feeling lighter under the bond’s influence, like an immeasurable ache had been lifted from his shoulders.
But it was inexplicable, and this scared Anakin more than he’d like to admit. He did not want something inexplicable, unseen, in his being.
He had had enough of that already, he thought, remembering a small chip and blood on a cloth.
Dooku seemed none the wiser about the recent settlement in Anakin’s mind, which was something to be glad for. Only the Force knew what Dooku would do if he found out. Perhaps he would forbid Anakin from returning to the battlefield for fear he would run into Kenobi again, resulting in the bond possibly thickening.
To ease his own fear of this scenario coming true, he continued his meditations despite the connection remaining stubbornly over the months. It seemed he could just not manage to snap it; could not force it to wane.
It was still there when his Master finally requested his presence in his office.
But Dooku simply sat behind his lavish desk, his hands folded on the smooth wood. He did not mention Kenobi, nor Anakin’s failure on Geonosis. He only nodded in greeting and said Anakin was going back to the front.
It almost looked like Dooku was dismayed with his own decision, the words seemingly arising from reluctance. But he uttered them nonetheless, and Anakin left the office with a grin.
Vader was back.