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Dear Qui-Gon,

I am tired of talking into thin air, so I have decided to write down my meditation. I was able to get a transport to Bestine to purchase a few personal items including the journal in which I now write these words. On this planet it actually seems like it will be more durable than a datapad, and I find writing very therapeutic - something about the elegant movement of a stylus on paper seems so much more civilised than the tip and tap of fingers on a datapad. 

Since I fear discovery of the boy more than anything, I have also purchased a small locker with a combination access code, in which I will store this journal as well as my lightsaber. And of course, the lightsaber of….

I’ve discovered that Anakin is alive – no – I should use his new name. Darth Vader. I immediately went to the Lars homestead, as this changes things dramatically. Owen and Beru decided to let Luke carry the name of Skywalker rather than Lars, evidently to honour Anakin’s mother. I saw no problem with this before, as he is their child now and thus it is their decision. However with Vader alive the situation is much more dangerous for us all. I know that Anakin hated this planet and would have no reason to return, and it is too late for Owen and Beru to claim Luke as their child. And yet it seems so dangerous. I seek your guidance Master, and hope you will come to give me counsel on this matter.

But then I recall you were an exemplary teacher, and so much of what I seek you have already shown me. I remember what you told me once when I was still a padawan and had made a mess of our mission on Alaris. You said: turn your face to the sun, and let the shadows fall behind you. Well, Qui-Gon, this planet has two suns and twice as many shadows, but the advice is apt. What is done is done, and I must look to the future, now. 

And yet I cannot stop thinking of Anakin, how how I failed him, and how ill-qualified I am to protect his son. How can I not blame myself for his fall? It was my responsibility to train him, to teach him to be strong enough to resist the dark - did I not love him as more than a brother, was I not respectful and silent regarding his relationship with Padmé because I knew it made him happy, did I not encourage his strengths and try to reign in his excesses? And yet I failed, as I failed the Council and the Republic, as I fear I will fail Luke... 

I can almost hear you chiding me, Qui-Gon, that blame and self-pity are as helpful as carrying stones in one’s pockets. I must not let the shadows take me, but turn away if I am ever to protect the boy, on whom all our hopes rest. 

I will heed your advice, Master. I will hide in the sun, in plain sight, and hope that the light dwarfs all who look too close. I will trust in the Force, and myself, and I will not fail.


Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon

This place is so barren. I remembered that, of course, from the first time I was here. But then I kept mostly to the ship, with only minimal exposure to the elements. And of course as a child Anakin never shut up about the place - the coarseness of the sand and the harsh twin suns which bleached fabric, burnt skin and cracked the already brittle earth. At first it was in comparison to the sights and sounds of Coruscant and the splendor of the city; Tatooine desolate where Coruscant was teeming with life. Unbearable heat versus climate-controlled, perfect weather. The latest technology of the Core versus equipment and droids cobbled together from numerous sources; where even tech that was barely functioning was highly prized. Wealth and amusements versus a meager living where water was valued above all else. 

As the novelty of the city wore off, Anakin would mention the planet in passing, almost as if his hard early life as a slave set him above the other padawans who had all grown up in the Jedi Temple. They had formed bonds with one another as younglings, their clans becoming their families as they grew from initiates into apprentices. Anakin had no such luxury, becoming my padawan immediately - which in hindsight may explain his lack of understanding that to be a Jedi is to be one of a whole rather than a collection of individuals. That is however my failing as a teacher. At the time I did not see his prideful scorn of the other apprentices as indicative of anything darker, I merely thought him competitive. Now that I recall those days, Anakin seemed to despise Tatooine, but also had a strange sort of conceit that it had made him stronger than the others. More hardy, perhaps. 

Once his mother died, of course, he never mentioned his homeworld again. 

It occurs to me that I am back where this whole journey began. And yet this time the world is to become my new home, even though the heat is almost unbearable and my moisture vaporator keeps malfunctioning. I have never been mechanically minded and I am embarrassed to say that the thing confounds me. If only Anakin were here, he would have it fixed within a few minutes – probably even improve its functionality.

But I must not think that. Anakin is dead. 

I visited the boy today. He is so tiny, so fragile. Yet he is a happy enough child, and well cared for by the Lars couple. I went under the pretext of purchasing some water from their farm and asking if they knew of an honest mechanic who could fix my vaporator. Beru seems a sweet girl, and yet also rather sharp. 

“Owen is out on the north ridge,” she explained as she let me inside. “But I gather you knew that.”

I had indeed waited until Owen had left for the day and was out of sight of the homestead. Other than my first conversation with him over the comm, the man has not spoken to me, and in fact kept his back turned when I delivered the boy to their care. When I gave them the news of Vader he had said nothing, and simply glowered and left Beru to ask the pertinent questions. 

“Forgive me if I am imposing,” I told her, and I regret causing her any distress. 

Beru simply handed me Luke as she went to prepare the tea, or rather the Tatooine version of tea made from harvested H’Kak beans. It is orange in colour and not unpleasant, although quite different from the tarine tea I once favoured. Still, I am resolved to acquire a taste for it. 

I will not embarrass myself by describing the silly faces and cooing I performed to delight little Luke – I’m not quite sure what came over me, but it suddenly seemed very, very important to make the boy laugh. 

“I am trying to talk Owen around,” Beru informed me, as she finished preparing the tea and brought it over to the table. “He does not want you visiting.”

“I understand,” I acknowledged. “I have come here to protect Luke, and if I must do that from a distance, so be it.”

“Owen only wants what’s best for Luke,” Beru pressed. “He already loves the boy so much, and thinks only of keeping him safe. If his father should return…”

“I do not believe he will,” I told her. “And I will feel his presence, if he does.”

Beru looked down at her tea then. “I’m afraid I still do not understand your powers.”

I decided to let the point stand – any good negotiator knows when not to press too hard. “He is a very calm child,” I observed, although not having much experience with infants I had little to compare that to. 

“Yes, he is,” Beru said with a sweet smile on her face. I can already tell that little Luke has become her whole world. “Most of the time – but he becomes quite agitated when someone around him is upset, even if they are not holding him.”

“He is attuned to the world around him,” I told her. “He…will have powers, too.”

Both Luke and Leia were tested for midi-chlorians when blood samples were taken soon after birth, and each of them had a count of approximately 20,000 per cell, only slightly less than Anakin. At such levels it is only natural that the twins will start to exhibit abilities congruent with such sensitivity. This was explained to Bail Organa, and I have no doubt that as Princess of Alderaan young Leia will have the royal training required to channel these gifts in perfectly ordinary pursuits unlikely to raise suspicions. 

Luke is another matter, especially growing up on a planet where he will be faced with much hard work and little reward. Tatooine is almost completely devoid of life, and I had hoped that this would in fact dampen his connection to the Force. The Force is present in all living things, and it has been my experience that the more life a planet has, the greater connection a Jedi can forge with the Force. On Tatooine, however, there is little life to draw on, and indeed I have struggled to achieve a deep connection with the Force. 

And yet as I held Luke in my arms I realised that his potential was undiminished by his harsh surroundings. He shines brightly in the Force; a light aura around him that both thrilling and frightening in equal measure. But how to explain this to his guardians? 

“Owen will return soon,” Beru said pointedly. She took Luke from me then, and held him close to her breast, kissing the crown of blonde hair on his head. I decided the let the matter drop for now, in hopes that I will be welcome when I visit again. I sense in Beru I will have a great ally, and will need one to counter Owen’s obstinacy. 

For what, though, remains uncertain. As you know, Qui-Gon, a plan has yet to be formed regarding either child. Our first priority is their safety, of course, but what of the future? Are they to be trained as Jedi or kept in anonymity? Either path has its risks, and I do not fancy trying to convince Owen Lars to let me train the boy under any circumstances. And yet I sense that the galaxy will have need of the Skywalker twins, sooner of later, and that it will not always be possible to shield Luke from the burdens of his bloodline. I hope, Qui-Gon, that you will come soon and give me counsel. 

Until then I remain ever your apprentice,

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Thank you for your counsel this morning. I admit that I only heard your voice very faintly, but I have been working on the exercises you suggested and hope that in time I will be able to converse with you properly. Dare I hope that I will be able to see you in corporeal form, as I did on Mortis? But that planet was teeming with the Force, it was no effort to perceive you. I have been cautious, using my powers only as necessary so not to project – I dare not try and reach out to Master Yoda in case Vader somehow senses me. Perhaps Yoda is being equally cautious, for I have not yet heard from him on Dagobah.

I imagine he –

Qui-Gon, some hours have elapsed since writing the above words. I had an unexpected visitor: Owen Lars. He appeared at my front door with a sour look on his face, and yet despite his countenance I welcomed him inside. He declined, but cast a cursory look around my small hut and did not seem impressed. He should have seen my quarters at the Jedi Temple - compared to that my new home is spacious! But I chose not to make this comment, and instead asked what I had done to deserve the pleasure of his company.

"Beru says your vaporator's busted," Owen said, and even with all of my Jedi insight that was the last thing I expected.

I wondered whether Beru forced him to come and assist me, or if hearing her speak of it he had simply taken it upon himself. Owen strikes me as the kind of man who would not let another suffer if it was within his power to assist – however he may feel about the person in question. In any event I was grateful, since the mechanics in Anchorhead had refused to journey across the Dune Sea to inspect the life-giving machinery.

Owen spoke little, but diligently worked on the vaporator located outside of my hut. I nonetheless tried to engage him in conversation – asking technical questions about moisture farming, requesting advice about the area and enquiring after Beru and Luke.

"I must thank you – again – for taking the boy in," I told him, after several attempts at conversations were answered monosyllabically. "After all, he is not your blood kin."

"No. But he's still family," Owen said gruffly into the vaporator. I didn't have a response for this, and it was a while before Owen spoke again.

"Do you have a family, Kenobi?" he asked eventually. "People out there missing you – wondering where you are?" From Beru, such questions may have been rippled with concern, but from Owen they were nothing but accusations.

My family are all gone, I wanted to tell him. He thinks me so detached, so unfeeling. I wanted to tell him about those I've loved that I've lost – you, Qui-Gon - Siri and Satine and Ventress, Ahsoka and Mace and Rex. Luminara, Aayla, Kit, Shaak Ti. Padmé. I could fill these pages with their names and there would still not be enough room. I wanted to tell him that the Jedi were my brothers and sisters, and that rather than searching for those who have survived this terrible purge so I can can be with them, I remain here to watch over the son of the man who was closer than my brother, and more than my friend. The very man who is at this moment committing this genocide against his own people – who is probably hunting me, intent on my death more than any other.

I wanted to tell Owen that every time another one of my comrades dies I can feel it, in my heart and my mind and my soul. It is a death by a thousand cuts, but even worse than that pain is the fear that one day I will no longer be able to feel my brothers and sisters join the Force. On that day I will truly be alone.

But I told Owen none of this, because it cannot possibly assist either of us.

"Anakin was my family," I told him instead. "And therefore so is the boy."

Owen gave me a look of utter contempt, and I realised that I had erred in my choice of words.

"His name is Luke," Owen told me as he turned back to the vaporator, twisting his hydrospanner into the machinery forcefully.

"I know that." I admit, my patience in that moment wore thin – who was this farmer to condescend to me like that? Anakin had been more my brother than his.

But I know you always used to say, Qui-Gon, that pride is not a weakness if tempered with humility – that one should acknowledge their own worth, just not in comparison or competition with others. It was these words I thought of, reminding myself of the advantages and experiences I have had, and those I have not. I do not know what it is to be a husband or father, to have the responsibility of keeping a family alive in a tough and inhospitable landscape. I would have raised Anakin's son myself if I thought I was capable of it, and despite our differences I do believe Owen and Beru better qualified.

As such, if I am ever to be allowed to visit Luke, and not relegated to watching over him from afar, I must keep Owen onside. Or at the very least not completely alienate him. I must hold my tongue, and save my complaining for you, Qui-Gon!

When Owen finished his work he deigned to explain to me to problem so that I could fix it myself should it happen again. I thanked him cordially, and held out my hand. Owen hesitated, but took it, and that felt like a victory.

"I only want to protect Luke," I told him, grasping his hand.

"I know," Owen said, and his gruff voice was a trifle softer. "But I don't want to see you at my home, Kenobi." His eyes met mine for the first time, and I saw nothing but steely resolve, felt nothing but determination as he dropped out of our brief handshake. And yet there was no malice in his words – simply a statement of fact.

What could do I do but tell him that I understood? He seemed satisfied by that, and left so he could make it home before darkness fell and the Tuskens started their hunts. He was probably mollified with the encounter, and I was happy to provide him with that satisfaction.

Ah, but you see, Qui-Gon, I am looking at Owen's words from a different point of view than he perhaps intended. He did not say that I was not to visit the homestead – rather, that he did not wish to see me there. So there is nothing to prevent me from visiting Luke if Owen is not at home, correct?

I hope you can see me Qui-Gon – I am smiling.

Obi-Wan

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

As you likely see and hear everything, it will not surprise you to learn that I have finally been able to commune with Master Yoda. It was a dangerous exercise, but well worth the risk. Given my barren surroundings dampening my connection to the Force I set out to find a location better suited to reaching out to Master Yoda across the expanse of space.

My first option was the city of Mos Eisley, as close to a metropolis as Tatooine offers, where a plethora of living beings pulsate and sing with the Force. And yet the distance poses a barrier to regular communication, not to mention the privacy concerns. My face may be still well known enough to the intragalactic clientele who frequent the city, not to mention the bounty which I am certain is on my head, meaning that my image is transmitted into every scum hole, drive bar and cantina.

So where else on the Sith-forsaken desert planet am I to find life? It was then I remembered my rescue of young Kallie Calwell from a field of Sarlaccs, not long after I first arrived on Tatooine. The creatures pulsated with life despite their dormancy, and I knew that their presence in the Force would not only augment my own abilities, but mask them. And yet the journey out into the Dune Sea was still an immense undertaking – my epoie Rooh would not be persuaded to take me, no doubt remembering that harrowing day where we both almost fell victim to the sarlaccs. I do not blame her. She is my lone friend here, and the only one I can talk to. Other than you, Qui-Gon, but of course she is flesh and blood, and I find that sometimes makes a difference.

Oh, if the Obi-Wan of fifteen years ago could have heard that! Sometimes I envy that boy so sure of his convictions and place in the galaxy. And yet, he was a young, dispassionate fool who thought other life forms pathetic and beneath him. No, even with all that I have suffered, I would rather be me than him. I have learned so much, and still have more to learn. I know that now.

But I digress. I journeyed out into the Wastes where I knew several sarlaccs dwelled and was able to conceal my presence from them while reaching out into the galaxy and call to Yoda. He answered almost immediately, and explained that Dagobah was a planet teeming with the Force, light and dark, enough to mask him and yet also enable him a deep communion with the Force itself. I am not sure if I envy this or not.

I asked him if his meditations had revealed to him the future; whether we had made the right choice going into exile rather than standing firm to fight this new Empire. On this point Yoda was obtuse and cryptic as always, which leads me to believe he has not found the answers either. He advised me to stay the course and protect the infant Skywalker; that is my task. Perhaps someday we will form a more concrete plan, but for now I will heed Master Yoda's advice, and endure.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I find time passes very slowly on Tatooine. I've only been here six months, and it already feels like six years. The days are long and bright, and I can feel my skin begin to weather under the twin suns. There is little to occupy my days, and I content myself with meditation, talking to you or communicating with Yoda. Occasionally I go into town to get supplies, but I do not want my face to be too well known.

Every morning Rooh and I make the journey through the Wastes and across the Dune Sea to the Lars homestead. I always make sure to arrive after Owen is up on the ridges tending to the vaporators, and Beru is in the home going about her daily chores. I sit with Luke and let her work, the brief time enough to content myself that the boy is safe, loved and well cared for.

Today he was asleep when I got there, and I held him in my arms, marveling at the wispy blond hair, the features which are so familiar to me. His expressions are much like Anakin's, although sometimes I see dear Padmé as well, when the boy smiles.

He is not a calm sleeper, constantly wiggling and shifting in my arms as if always striving for a more comfortable position. And yet he sleeps soundly, his movements instinctive. Beru was particularly talkative today, and I discovered that Luke had been unsettled the previous night and wouldn't stop crying. This is not unusual for a child his age, Beru told me, but when Luke's cries reached their zenith the power in the room went out.

"Owen is convinced it was a generator glitch," Beru said, wringing her hands. "But…you said that Luke has the same powers that you and Anakin have."

"Yes," I replied, and I could see she suspected that Luke's distress triggered the lighting malfunction. A sound assumption. "He is very strong in the Force," I told her.

"And you can't...take it away?"

"No – I'm sorry." I truly was, because I could see her distress. In her eyes, Luke's Force potential was a danger to him – it made discovery far more likely, especially if his emotions were having physical consequences. "When he's older, he can learn how to control it."

Beru did not seem comforted. "And what will stop him from falling to the…dark side...like his father?"

"The proper training," I told her. "Discipline and self-control."

"Was Anakin not properly trained?"

Her words struck me. "No," I said after a long silence. "He wasn't." Looking back, I see only my mistakes with Anakin – my indulgence. I loved him, but I'm not sure I ever really understood him. I certainly didn't give him what he needed.

"But you think you can train Luke?" Beru asked, and the tone of her voice was a trifle sharp. I do not blame her, for what assurances are there that I would not make the same mistakes as I did with Anakin?

"Yes," I told her, with as much conviction as I could muster. What other choice was there? And besides, I have learnt from those mistakes. I hope.

"And what would you want of him, if he is trained?" Beru pressed when I did not answer.

"The Empire cannot stand forever," I said. "It may take years, but I believe that good will prevail."

"So you want to make him a Jedi," Beru turned her face away. "A soldier."

"Perhaps." In truth I am still undecided.

"You had thousands of Jedi," Beru pointed out, "and they were not enough to stop the Empire rising."

"We were betrayed," I said, a bitter twist in my heart. "And unprepared. This time we won't be." I looked down at little Luke, still asleep, his tiny hand curled around one of my fingers. Luke is not his father, I remind myself; he radiates pure light.

"Luke is just one," Beru told me, stepping forward to lightly brush the boy's hair back. "What difference can he possibly make?"

Of course, Luke is not just one – I think of Leia on Alderaan in the care of Bail Organa. He is unlikely having the same dilemma that I am. He is without the Force, and so will be raising Leia as Queen Breha's heir as he would have done his own blood daughter. I doubt he has given much thought to her Jedi potential – but then I suppose neither have Yoda or I.

Owen and Beru know nothing of Leia, of course. Somehow I think they would not approve of us separating the children.

Luke awoke in my arms then, his chubby cheeks prominent as he cracked a wide smile, his eyes a brilliant blue as they bored into mine. He wiggled and I lifted him upright, securing my grip under his arms and letting him kick his feet down towards my lap, trying to stand.

"Hello, little one," I said softly, and was rewarding with a babbling laugh.

The tension in Beru's shoulders seemed to ease, and she smiled as any indulgent mother would. "He likes you," she said. "That's why I let you visit."

I thanked her heartedly, since I knew my contact with Luke was entirely dependent on Beru's goodwill. And although the circumstances are not what I would like them to be, I remind myself that Luke is thriving under their care.

"Ba-ba," Luke said, a cheeky grin on his face as a sliver of drool ran down his chin. Beru laughed and wiped off the spittle with a cloth.

"You see," she said, as if being salivated on was a mark of approval. But I didn't mind, and engaged in some more embarrassing cooing with the boy as he kicked his legs and laughed. He's strong, always moving and unable to sit still – I remember Anakin was much the same as a child. At the end of my rope, I once asked Mace for some advice in teaching Anakin to sit through a meditation session without his usual fidgeting, huffing and exclamations of boredom. Mace suggested that every time Anakin broke concentration, we start the meditation all over again, and eventually the boy would learn patience.

Suffice to say I gave up after eighteen hours. I don't think Anakin ever actually mastered that skill, in the end.

I suppose this was reflective of his life here on Tatooine, before his training. He was a slave, a commodity, and therefore every moment he was not doing something useful was a moment wasted, a moment when he was not performing as expected. I did not see this clearly until now, did not understand how profoundly his early hardship affected him.

Does he meditate now? Is he even able to in that suit that sustains him? It must require intense concentration to even keep himself alive, and I wonder if that occupies him enough. There is scant news of him on the holonet; he is a specter, a bogeyman, where once he was the holonet prince, the galaxy's greatest hero. How far he has fallen.

How far we've all fallen.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I felt Shaak Ti die today. I do not know the circumstances, but I felt a sharp pain which has become so familiar to me; like the tearing of my soul. I do not mind the pain so much, it is the nothingness that follows which is the hardest to deal with, for I know that the beautiful space occupied by Shaak in the Force is now gone forever. I hope she has been able to find her way to wherever you are, Qui-Gon, I hope that her spirit and strength are still part of the galaxy somehow, and they were not truly lost. 

I hope it was quick for her.

Yoda and I are the only members of the Jedi Council left now. I did not try and communicate with him today, for I know he would have felt her death even more keenly that I.

Was it clones that killed her? The same clones she supervised on Kamino? Shaak was a fair, just and insightful woman, and she gave opportunities to those who others would have discarded and dismissed. Have those men she instructed now turned against her, forgotten her kind and encouraging words, and repaid her tutelage with death? I sometimes think about Cody, so affably handing me my lightsaber on Utapau only minutes before trying to kill me. 

Had they served the Emperor the whole time, feigning camaraderie with the Jedi until they received the signal to strike? Or perhaps they been programmed too well by their Kamino creators, following any order received from the Chancellor without question. Did they feel sorrow at our massacre – do they wonder if they should have made a different choice? I suppose I will never know, and yet I remember soldiers with heart and determination and loyalty, and I cannot believe their respect and friendship was a deliberate falsehood. Perhaps that is only what I want to believe. 

Luke is growing well, and I find I seek him out in these dark moments. There is a comforting banality to the Lars’ home and their simple existence which could never be found within the Jedi Order. For the Lars couple, the goal of each and every day is simply to get to the next one – to ensure there is enough moisture harvested from the vaporators, to check the perimeter and ensure no Tuskens have breached the farm, to keep little Luke fed, clothed and alive.

And yet I am enjoying these simplicities, and Beru is trusting me more with Luke every day. When I first began visiting she would never leave the room, always watching how I held him, what I said to him, the toys I gave him. Now she happily goes about about her daily chores, checking on the droids, placing a comm call to her sister in Anchorhead. Beru is never still, as if she needs to keep active or the home will fall in around her. Even when I persuade her to sit and take tea with me, I see her watching the chrono as if going over her itinerary for the rest of the day in her mind. 

I flatter myself that my assistance in looking after Luke has made her life somewhat easier – and console myself that my presence is all I can offer. I wish I had access to funds so I could assist the couple with their bills or improve security on the farm. I am concerned that Jabba the Hutt or one of his minions may come sniffing around the place if it is not properly secure. But I have spent most of the scant New Republic credits I had, and of course have no access to the new Imperial credits. It occurs to me that I should find some kind of employment when my funds inevitably run out, but that is a problem for another day. 

Today’s problem was in the form of Owen Lars. He came home early from his toil up on the ridge, and there I was holding his nephew and enticing him to play with a small rattle. Owen shot me a distasteful look, but otherwise did not seem surprised to see me. Beru came back then, touching Owen’s arm lightly as if to calm him. He sat down at the table while Beru prepared his lunch and did not even look at me. 

Beru did, when she sat down with her own plate. I realised that while I thought I had been so skillful and clever in evading Owen, he had known I was visiting the whole time. Of course Beru had told him, I realise now; she is not the kind of woman to keep such secrets from her husband. Somehow, she had convinced Owen to allow my presence, or at least pretend that he wasn’t aware of it. I appreciate her all the more - she is a true and fair ally and probably more than I deserve. 

I happily turned my attention back to Luke, who was unusually quiet and still. I wonder if he felt my distress and grief, for he stared at me with bright blue eyes for some time. Then he put his little hand on my chin, and I do not know if it was Luke’s unconscious Force powers, or simply my instinctive reaction to an infant, but I felt my sorrows lift away. 

The boy is well named, for he is indeed pure light. He shines so brightly that I am simultaneously filled with happiness and anxiety. I do not want the Emperor – or worse, Vader – to somehow feel his presence. I had thought the dampened Force of Tatooine may assist but Luke grows brighter every day. I know that soon I must talk to Owen and Beru about teaching Luke, if only to control and conceal his power, to keep him safe. 

I could not save Anakin or my Jedi bretheran – I could not save Shaak Ti from meeting her terrible fate. But I can save Luke – I can protect his life and keep all harm from coming to him. 

That is my life’s goal, and I intend to fulfill it.


Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I chanced a visit to Mos Eisley today, since my vaporator is once again on the fritz and they didn’t have the spare parts in Anchorhead. You will be shocked to learn that I have become quite the mechanic, and this time I did not require the assistance of Owen Lars to discern the problem. 

I remember you telling me the old Jedi wisdom; “Trust in the Force, and it will provide.” However, you were always quick to remind me that faith alone cannot fill one’s belly, and it is important to look to the Living Force for guidance, rather than providence. 

The Force cannot fix one’s vaporator either it seems, and accordingly I’ve had to learn skills I never even dreamed I’d need. But even mastering the mechanics of a vaporator is not sufficient when the binary brain burns out, and I must return to civilization for spare parts. 

If one could consider Mos Eisley civilization, since even the worst scum-streets of Coruscant would seem refined next to this spaceport which serves as a haven for bounty hunters, smugglers and thieves. And yet it seems I am one of them now, just another criminal hoping not to be caught or recognized. 

I see the influence of the Hutts in Mos Eisley far more keenly than in Anchorhead – their slimy presence is everywhere, although I have yet to actually see one. Poverty is rife and slavery rampant, and for the first time I get a glimpse of what Anakin’s life must have been like as a boy, in fear of the powerful crime families that controlled everything. The grip of the Empire is loose here, and I suspect that it will remain so whilst the Hutts do not interfere with their galactic rule. 

So it was under the Republic, and I always thought such concessions were necessary to keep a democracy alive. But now I wonder…the Republic outlawed slavery in the Senate and yet treated with the Hutts all the while knowing their vile deeds and nature. How do we justify acts performed to serve the greater good if they were purchased with the suffering of the innocent? 

I recall myself, Anakin and Ahsoka working to rescue Jabba’s son from the Separatists, so that the Republic might have access to the trade routes of Hutt Space. I stood before Jabba, and chose not to see the Twi’lek dancer chained to his throne, although her lifeless eyes no doubt saw me. Once she may have dreamed of a Jedi rescuer, but perhaps many had come and gone, ignoring her as I did. Hindsight brings shame as well as clarity. 

I recall Ahsoka questioning Anakin later about the mission – the poor child had no idea of his history – and he’d brushed her off with a flippant response. Was that when he’d begun to lose faith in the Order? When we had sent him on a mission to assist those who had once enslaved him – asked him to save the son of a creature who had stolen so many other sons from their father’s arms? 

And my dear Ahsoka…where are you now? Your abandonment of the Order has likely saved your life, and I am grateful for that. Do you mourn your old master as the rest of the galaxy does, or do you know, somehow can you sense that Anakin lives on in Vader?

But I remind myself that he does not – that any trace of Anakin has been obliterated by the dark lord who has taken up residence in his battered and burnt body. In Mos Eisley I sat in a bar for hours and watched the holonet – official addresses by the Emperor and Admiral Tarkin about the New Order, as it is called. Trade restrictions, military homogenization, and the introduction of regional governors to represent the Empire’s interests in populous systems. All in the name of security and peace.

Vader is the spectre behind such reports, and the hunt for the Jedi traitors is well publicized. I saw my own face on a bounty hunter’s callscreen, and can only hope my hood was low enough to conceal my identity. That is the biggest threat, that my presence here on Tatooine will be sold to agents of the Empire, and Vader himself will come to hunt me down as he has hunted so many others. It would lead him to wonder why I chose this planet, and Luke’s discovery would be almost certain. 

I am resolved not to return to Mos Eisley unless absolutely necessary, or until time and these blasted double suns has sufficiently altered my appearance. There are too many villains there anxious to pounce, and I will not be the brush-mouse caught in a trap. 

I just hope my vaporator doesn’t go bust again. 


Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Chapter Text

I haven’t left my hut in three days. A perverse sense of melancholy has caught root in my heart, one I can’t quite seem to shake. I have not been to visit Luke, for I am conscious that I must not intrude too heavily on the Lars couple. Even if Owen has given his tacit permission, his opinion could change on a whim and I shan't press my luck.

Nor have I been to Anchorhead, subsisting on the ration bars and desert roots I have in my store, with Rooh providing me with eopie milk. Nothing gives me much pleasure, let alone food. 

I cannot even bring myself to talk my morning walk through the red ridges of the wastes to observe the sunrise which I once found so beautiful. I do not know what is wrong with me, or how to claw my way out of his dark hole. I try to remind myself that Luke needs me, but then treacherous thoughts whisper that he is better left alone with Owen and Beru, without my interference. Look what I did to Anakin, after all. 

Yoda has tried to contact me, and I feel my old Master’s presence and yet I fear if I speak to them they will know how far hope seems to have slipped through my grasp. We have progressed no further on forming a plan to combat the Empire, and in truth I fear all has been lost. What can two Jedi and two Force-strong infants do against the might of the Empire – against the Emperor who even Yoda could not best? 

There is no joy to be found here, no satisfaction, no courage. All I see is despair and far and wide as the Dune sea – barren and devoid of life – and I cannot force a storm no matter how much I will it. 

Rooh comes inside, squeezing her bulbous torso through my front door. She must sense my distress and has sought to comfort me, laying her snout on my lap and looking up at me with large sympathetic eyes. Or perhaps I am attributing sentience onto the creature because I am so lonely, and she is the only one who seems to care for my presence. 

I wonder how much longer I can stand this. 



Dear Qui-Gon,

I have nothing new to report.

Obi-Wan

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Beru came to my hut today.  Evidently she has created some kind of secure harness for Luke in the backseat of their speeder, and I am impressed by her ingenuity.  The boy seemed to love the ride, for when I first saw them pull up he was waving his arms wildly, his soft blonde hair windswept and a look of pure joy on his face.  I can see he has inherited his father’s love for speed.      

“I thought we would drop by and see how you are doing,” Beru told me with a smile of such kindness as she unfastened Luke from his harness and I let her inside.  “We haven’t seen you much lately.”

“I did not wish to impose,” I told her somewhat lamely; a comfortable lie she was kind enough not to contradict. 

“I worry about you here all alone, Ben, with no one to talk to.”  She held Luke close to her as she walked a circle around the small main room of my hut.  I cringed at the state of the place, remembering her immaculate homestead and the pride she took in it.  My beard had grown far too long, but I still tugged at it nervously and asked her to take a seat.  I did not tell her about you, Qui-Gon, nor Yoda.  The woman already thinks of me as some crazy wizard, telling her that I do in fact have two others to talk to, but one is dead and the other is halfway across the galaxy may not improve my standing.    

“How are things at the farm?” I asked as I prepared the tea, noting that I was running short of leaves.  I will have to make a run into Anchorhead soon.

“We are doing very well,” Beru said, although I did not miss her pained smile.  “It is harvest soon, which is always a busy time of year.”

I put down the tea in front of Beru and took Luke gratefully from her arms when she offered him.  The boy has grown so much since I last saw him – is it possible for infants to develop so quickly, or have I been secluded longer than I thought?  He is already sprouting his first teeth, white caps peeking through his gummy grin, and his language has improved from grunts and giggles to words, however nonsensical. 

“Ba, ba,” he said as he patted my face.  “Ba.”

“That’s right, Luke,” Beru smiled over her tea.  “That’s Ben.”

“Ba.” Luke tugged on my beard hard, which made me hiss through my teeth. 

“Luke!” Beru admonished him, but the boy seemed to find it absolutely hilarious and tugged again.

“It’s alright,” I assured her, giving Luke my best ‘stern Master’ expression.  “Yes, little one, it is attached,” I told him, extracting his sticky fingers from my beard.  Luke only laughed again, leaning back against the table and clapping his hands together.  His joy was infectious, and I could not maintain the air of discipline.    

He looks well, I am happy to report.  Chubby, rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and a cheerful disposition.  The same, unfortunately, cannot be said of Beru.     

She looked very thin.  Her cheeks were gaunt and hollowed, her skin was sallow and there were stress lines around her eyes.    

I wonder, Qui-Gon, if the farm is doing so well, why does she look so ill?  Perhaps it is the stress of the upcoming harvest, or the rearing of Luke which is causing her undue anxiety.  I am aware that young mothers often feel overwhelmed at such a time, and I can see that whilst Luke is a good baby, he is clearly active and it would be quite a task to watch him constantly.  I feel guilty for not being there as much as I should to help her, for failing in that simple task.  What kind of guardian have I made, dwelling on my own pain and sadness when my charges have clearly been struggling?

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, bouncing Luke on my lap.  “I confess I know little of moisture farming, but I can learn.  Perhaps I can assist Owen with the harvest.”

Beru took several moments before answering, calmly sipping her tea before putting it down and folding her hands in her lap.  She looked up at me, although her smile did not quite reach her eyes.         

“My husband is proud,” she told me.  “He would not allow you to give us assistance without paying fairly for the work, which I know you would not accept.”

“Indeed I would not,” I agreed with a grimace.  I understood her meaning – if they could afford to hire another hand they would do so.  As my work would be pitiful compared to an experienced day laborer, if I forced my help on them it would do more harm than good.    

“I have found your visits helpful,” Beru assured me.  “It is good for Luke to see you.”

“Do you honestly think so?” I asked her with a desperate kind of hope. 

“I may not agree with your desire for him to be a Jedi,” she told me firmly. “But I know you care for him, and in this harsh world he needs love more than anything.”

I do not disagree with her per se, although my treacherous thoughts claim that love is what got us into this mess – Anakin loved Padmé too much and he turned to the dark side trying to save her, I loved Anakin too much to kill him and now he is Darth Vader.  Love can be dangerous – look what happened to Satine, killed by Maul to hurt me, all because I loved her.

But I do not voice any of these thoughts to Beru.  Instead I promised to visit more often, and offer to care for Luke if she needs to run errands or help Owen on the farm. 

“Thank you,” she told me, reaching into the cloth bag and withdrawing a small jar of what I guessed was baby food.  “In fact, you can help me now, and feed him?  I must use the 'fresher.”

“Of course,” I told her, juggling Luke in my lap and reaching for the jar as Beru disappeared into the back rooms of my hut.  Luke became very excited when I unscrewed the jar, hitting my shoulder repeatedly in excitement. 

“Alright, youngling,” I told him with amusement, settling him in the crook of one arm so I could use the other to spoon.  “You’ve got a healthy appetite I see.”

“Ba,” was Luke’s response, his gummy grin wide as he grabbed my hand and helped the spoon towards his mouth.  His eagerness made me laugh, and I let him show me how he liked to be fed. 

“Is it good?” I asked, and Luke seemed to understand, because he grinned, some of the goop dribbling down his chin.  Luke smeared it with his fingers then put them in his mouth, sucking happily away.  I thought it best to finish feeding him before cleaning him up, and gathered another spoonful.  It didn’t look appetizing to me – a thick brownish mush I couldn’t identify by smell.  Feeling brave, I dipped my finger into the jar and tasted it, finding it actually not too bad.  I could identify stewed bantha, which had obviously been pureed with some kind of root vegetable, no doubt by Beru herself.  Such produce was not cheap, in fact perhaps the only meat the family could afford - but of course it was important for Luke’s growth and his health took precedence.  I resolved then to find some other way to help Owen and Beru – whatever she said they were clearly having difficulties.

“Ba!”  Luke seemed to take offence to my theft of his lunch, pulling on my beard again to get my attention.

“Alright,” I chuckled, spooning him another mouthful.  “I’m sorry, my boy.”        

I was halfway through feeding Luke before I realised Beru had not returned, however when I listened closely I heard the spin of my washing unit, then the clatter of dishes from the kitchenette along with the sound of a woman humming.  Gathering Luke in my arms, I headed towards the source of the sound, only to see that Beru was at the sonic sink, cleaning the pile of dishes I’d left neglected on the counter for a week.  She was humming a jaunty tune to herself and studiously ignored my entry – in fact I felt as if I was intruding on her so retreated. 

I went next to my bedroom, which I found spotless, the pile of robes and clothes which had been piled on the floor put into the washing unit.  Unsure of how to react, I went back to the living room and resumed feeding Luke.  I told myself I should stop Beru – it was embarrassing to have a grown woman with a house and child of her own to look after cleaning up after me.  But she had evidently set her mind to the task, and it felt rude to interrupt. 

I finished feeding Luke and then played with him on the floor – he’s getting quite adept at crawling and seemed to enjoy the game where he was a Tusken Raider and I his bantha.  It was the happiest I’ve felt in a long while, his mere presence enough to keep the gloom at bay.        

Eventually, Beru appeared again, once the hut was spotless and smelling vaguely of cleaning solution.  I was embarrassed to mention anything, or even thank her for such kindness.  However, she acted as if she hadn’t done anything as she gathered Luke and said her goodbyes. 

“It has been lovely to see you, Ben,” she said, leaning up and kissing my cheek.  “I hope you stop by the homestead soon.”

I watched dumbfounded as she sped away in the speeder, utterly touched by her compassion.  I had felt welcome before in her home, but this was the first time I had felt wanted. 

Perhaps life here isn’t going to be so bad after all.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I am most distressed, and I ask that you come to me so I may seek your counsel. I have attempted to communicate with Yoda, but I sense that he has entered into a deep and lengthy meditation and cannot be disturbed.

Today was Empire Day, or so it has been proclaimed throughout the Imperial worlds. One year ago the Republic fell, and the galaxy was plunged into darkness. One year ago that my dear friend died, and a monster took his place.

But I will not dwell on those thoughts, for the pressing concern is what happened at the Lars homestead today. It is Luke's birthday soon, and I visited Beru to see if she was planning anything in particular. I remember at the Temple the day of one's birth was a day of pranks, and I recall fondly the tricks of my fellow padawans that often got the better of me – itching powder in my robes, replacing my breakfast tea with cold bantha broth, reprogramming my datapad to play Roda-pop music rather than training holos. I remember my birthday the year you took me as your apprentice, Qui-Gon, and pretended that I'd been pronouncing your name wrong the entire time!

I worry for Luke when he grows, that he will not have such close friendships. There are a few children close to his age in Anchorhead, or so Beru tells me, but birthdays are not marked on Tatooine – at least amongst the farming community. I gather than most cannot afford such festivities; the only event on which precious resources are spent being one's wedding.

I understand this, of course, but still promised I would visit Luke on his birthday with a gift. I had already been to Ancorhead for that purpose, as well as to purchase tea to replenish my dwindling stores. I had bought an extra box, which I gave to Beru for her recent kindness and was pleased when she simply thanked me and stored it in her larder.

This was my first cause for concern. As Beru put the tea away I noticed that the larder was very bare indeed, with only the essentials and not much of those. Jars of homemade food for Luke seemed to make up the bulk of their supplies, and I then realised why Beru looked so thin.

Luke was in my lap sleeping, and a quick examination revealed that he was healthy; as chubby as any baby ought to be. But Beru looked almost skeletal, her face thin and her waist impossibly small – if possible even more ill than when she had visited my hut not too long ago.

"Are you quite alright, Beru?" I asked, deciding the straightforward approach probably best.

But for her many fine qualities and talents, Beru has a poor sabacc face. "Yes, of course Ben," she said with an unconvincing smile. But she gave herself away, tugged nervously at the binding on her wrist I had not noticed before. She saw my gaze rest there and pulled her hand away, smoothing her sleeve down over the bandage to hide it once again. "A reality of farming life," she said in an attempt at explanation. "Those vaporators often get the best of me."

But they did not call me The Great Negotiator for nothing – I know when someone is lying to me. More often than not I can see the truth written across someone's face – as I saw it in Anakin's at the beginning of the Clone Wars, when he escorted Padmé back to Naboo and claimed nothing of interest had happened. I had stayed silent then, but I would not do so now.

"I do not believe you," I told Beru firmly as Luke started to stir in my arms. "I want to help, Beru."

"We don't need your help." Owen's rough growl came from the doorway, and when I turned there stood a man severely altered from when I had seen him last. He was thin also, but in a different way from Beru, in the way of a man who worked too hard with not enough to eat. He was lean to the point of tragedy, his robes hanging loosely off a frame of bone and muscle and nothing else. It was then I noticed the black eye Owen was sporting, blotchy and dark, perhaps a few days old.

Luke woke up and began to cry, perhaps sensing the altered mood of the room. Surprisingly, it was Owen who crossed the small room to take the boy from me, and I did not miss that the man was limping slightly.

"This is none of your concern, Kenobi," Owen said gruffly, holding Luke up against his shoulder and patting him on the back with large, weathered hands.

I rose, angered by his recalcitrance. "If Luke's welfare is at stake, it is absolutely my concern," I told him. "Beru said that the farm was doing well, and yet I see you have barely any food supplies, with the two of you practically fading away and injured to boot."

"Luke has enough, we make sure of that," Owen held the boy tighter, almost as if to protect him from my line of questioning.

"If the burden is too great, I can make other arrangements," I offered, anguished at the thought that the young couple were struggling because their meager income could not stretch to accommodate a child as well.

"Get out," Owen ordered me, and I knew I had made an error of judgement. "This is Luke's home now, and we are his guardians. We will look after him."

Beru went to her husband's side, and put a small hand of support on his shoulder. "You are always welcome here Ben," she said softly. "But Owen is right, you must leave us to our own affairs."

Seeing that I would get no further, I bowed my head and left. It is now as I write this that I realise that there must be external forces of pressure on the Lars family, something they did not have to worry about before. Perhaps a local bully like Orrin Gault? Or more concerning a source…

I will meditate, Qui-Gon, and hope that you appear.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I am sure that you have been watching over the events of the past few days, since they have been the most harrowing and dangerous of my time here on Tatooine. Clearly I have come out of it unscathed, for am able to write these words! But I find the transcription to be just as helpful as meditation in making sense of my new life here under the twin suns, and I am sure you will want to know what I was thinking. It was a risk, and perhaps Qui-Gon you approve of me. I know Yoda was not impressed, as he so informed me during our most recent commune. But I recall your wont to gamble, particularly when the stakes are high, and flatter myself that you would have made the same choices.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I took your advice regarding the issue at the Lars farm and spent my days is distant observation. Of course I continued to visit Beru and Luke every few days and did not question her as she indicated when my presence would not be required. She was full of easy excuses – visits planned by her sister Dama in Anchorhead or her friends the Darklighter’s at their own nearby farm. 

On those days I made sure to sequester myself on the nearest ridge armed with drinking water, a hat and a pair of macrobinoculars. The conditions were harsh but I was determined not to move from my position in case I missed some vital clue which would reveal the reason for the Lars’ distress. 

I watched Owen tend to the barren fields where the moisture vaporators pulled what little they could from the atmosphere. It was harvest season and Owen was busy, toiling away all the daylight hours with the few droids he had for assistance. Although I know little about farming to my eyes the harvest seems bountiful, which was at odds with the family’s impoverished conditions. This solidified in my mind that there were external forces at play, and I watched all visitors to the homestead over the course of a week. 

Most I recognized – Dama Whitesun, Huff Darklighter and his young son Biggs, the Loneozner couple who ran Tosche station. I had vetted all of those in Beru’s circle, although I had never met any of them other than in passing in Anchorhead – Owen did not think it best to introduce me and I agreed. They were simple folk who would not question Owen and Beru’s story about poor Shmi’s son, who had been making his living out in the stars and left behind an infant boy. Luckily Anakin had been a secret Shmi had kept close to her heart, and news of the Clone Wars had been scant to reach Tatooine. These desert-dwellers seemed to take no side, and had no concern for the galaxy falling apart outside their borders. Many of them had never even heard of the Jedi, let alone The Hero with No Fear or his origins among them. The only connection these people have with the name Skywalker was Shmi, and the fact that Luke inherited her name was unsurprising and of little interest to them. 

However, there was one set of visitors that gave me cause for concern. They came from the Dune Sea, a human male wearing rancor hide and a bulky Gammorean in a dusty speeder. Owen saw them too, and I watched him hurry down from the south ridge so he could make it inside the homestead. 

I was anxious to join them as well, but clearly Owen and Beru had not wanted my help. I had to reason that there was just cause for this, and I would perhaps walk into a situation without knowing that facts and therefore make the matter worse. Although I desperately wanted to know what was happening inside that homestead I forced myself into inaction – to watch and to wait. 

The visitors stayed perhaps half an hour, although it seemed like a lifetime. When they left it was towards Anchorhead, although the plains between the Lars homestead were too open and if I followed I would surely be detected. I readied Rooh for travel, and waited until I sighted the speeder again some time later, travelling back across the Dune Sea and through the Jundland Wastes. Rooh was thankfully swift, eager for the run after a day of inactivity. 

When the speeder docked at the great palace of Jabba the Hutt, I was unsurprised. Who else could be responsible for such suffering, leaving Owen and Beru without recourse? In my isolation I had forgotten how cruelly the Hutts ruled Tatooine, although I had thought the Lars’ small farm would be beneath their notice – evidently not. 

I watched Jabba’s goons over several days, making the rounds in Anchorhead and the surrounding farms. It was extortion, pure and simple, and I no longer wondered why Beru’s storecupboard was bare. And yet what could I do about it, without exposing my identity and threatening Luke’s safety? However I knew I could not stand idly and allow it to continue – I needed to formulate a plan. 

When I next visited Beru I waited for her to relax, pretending not to notice her gaunt face or that she had no tea to offer me. I had been to Anchorhead and used the last of my credits to buy supplies – cured bantha meat, flatbreads and dune beans. I placed the food on the table and took Luke from Beru, commanding her to eat. 

“You look as thin as a Kaminoan,” I told her in a tone that did not warrant argument.

However this did not stop Beru. “You presume too much, Ben,” she said softly, with her eyes downcast. 

“No,” I told her. “I presume just enough.”

“It is not our way to accept charity,” Beru’s voice was brittle, and when she looked up at me her eyes were bright with tears. “And yet I am grateful, for Luke’s sake.”

“It’s not for Luke,” I told her, bouncing the young boy in the crook of my arm. As usual, he had stuck his sticky fingers into my beard, but I tolerated it for my attention was for his caregiver. “I can see he is well fed, I suspect with food meant to be shared between all three of you.” 

Beru nodded, although she seemed not to have heard me. “Owen has been working so hard in the fields, he will appreciate the extra strength this will provide.”

“It’s not for Owen either,” I told her sternly. “At least not all of it. I am going to sit here until you eat a decent meal, Beru.”

In the end she took little convincing – probably from her obvious hunger which had left her weak and frail. She took small bites of the flatbread, as if rationing the meal to last as long as possible. Then she ate the dune beans one by one, and finally she cut off a slice of the cured bantha meat and nibbled on it like a bird. 

“I know about Jabba,” I said when she had finished eating to my satisfaction.

Beru paled and trembled, struggling to maintain her composure. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the two goons who came to see you last week,” I told her. “Who then visited the Darklighters and the Gamoots and the Loneozners and the Sunseekers. It is they who have been taking a cut from your harvest, and leaving you with barely anything to live on. Isn't it?"

Beru nodded, nervously patting down the braids in her hair. “Our farm used to be too small to bother with, but the harvest was good this year." She sighed, and I could sense she was relieved to unburden herself. "Owen tried to explain that we have an extra mouth to feed now with Luke, but it was no use. They say that Jabba protects us from the Empire, and so we must show our gratitude.” 

Luke had started to whimper in my arms, his keen senses picking up on his aunt’s distress. I soothed him by brushing back his soft hair and sending a calming wave through the Force. 

“And if you don’t pay?” I asked. 

Beru bit her lip, taking a moment before answering, clearly upset. “The Sandspinners a few farms over refused, and a squad of stormtroopers raided their homestead only a week later.”

Of course Jabba was in collusion with the Imperial forces, I realised. They wanted use of the trading routes in Hutt space, and so likely permitted him to continue to govern as he saw fit, sending as squad troops when he asked to do whatever dirty work required of them. 

“So you see you cannot help,” Beru insisted. “There is nothing you can do.”

“There is always something to be done,” I promised her, although the situation was difficult. I held Luke closer to me, and tried to soothe him further but the boy was agitated, flailing about in my arms and unwilling to be calmed.  I soon found out the reason.   

There was a great clattering from outside, and I heard the sound of heavy footsteps on stone. Owen ran into the room, red and panting, taking in my presence, and I felt a sharp spike of fear. 

“Get out of here, Kenobi,” he growled, stepped forward and roughly grabbing Luke, who had begun to cry in earnest. “They can’t find you here.”

“They are here?” Beru stood, her face stricken with fear. “But they are not due to collect until next week!”

“I don’t know why,” Owen said, grabbing my arm and leading me towards the back of the homestead. “I don’t want any lip, Kenobi, go out the back way so you won’t be seen.”

I wasn’t going to protest, but when I reached the rear entrance I found the way blocked by the Gammorean, who growled at me and pointed with his axe that I should return to the main room. When I did Beru was holding the bawling Luke to her chest, trying to soothe him while Owen was arguing with the human goon in rancor hide armor. 

“Where’d you get the creds for this, eh?” Rancor-hide sifted through the remaining food I had brought on the table. “You been holding out on us, Lars?”

“It was a gift,” Beru tried to explain. 

“Ain’t no one around here who can afford to buy you food,” Rancor-hide ransacked the store cupboard to see what else he could find. The Gammorean behind me grunted, drawing Rancor-hide’s attention. He narrowed his eyes as he turned, scrutinizing my appearance. “Who are you, then?”

Owen cleared his throat. “That’s my brother, Ben. Visiting from Mos Espa.” 

“Bearing gifts?” Rancor-hide’s smile was vicious. “So that’s your Eopie outside, then?”

“That’s right,” I said, affecting the best ‘Rim accent I could. I remember Anakin used to mimic my Coruscanti accent all the time as a boy, and when I tried to repay the favor he laughed and said I sounded like a dying frog. 

Rancor-hide seemed similarly unconvinced, and he turned to Beru. “Is that right, little lady?” he leered at her. “Has your brother in law been bringing you gifts while your husband is working the farm?”

Owen lunged at Rancor-hide, but the goon was too quick for him, landing a punch to his cheek and sending him sprawling to the floor. I tried to assist, but found myself restrained by the Gammorean. 

Rancor-hide laughed, and approached me with a smile that showed his yellowed teeth. “You know, I almost could believe you could be his brother,” he said conversationally. “You look a bit alike. But I know you from somewhere else.” 

“Do you go to the podracing in Mos Espa?” I asked in a last-ditch attempt at misdirection. “I have a stall there.”

“No,” Rancor-hide shook his head, and retrieved a datapad from his robe. He spent a few minutes flicking through various pages, and my heart sank as I realised what he was doing. Owen had picked himself up from the floor and taken Beru and Luke into his arms, embracing them protectively and shooting me an accusing look from behind Rancor-hide’s back. 

“Here you are,” Rancor-hide stopped scrolling through his datapad, and then held the screen up next to my face. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight. Wanted for high treason against the Empire. That’s you, eh?”

“No,” I told him firmly, planting the lie in his mind. “My name is Ben.”

For a moment it almost worked, but Rancor-hide shook his head and cast off my Force probe. “Don’t try anything funny, Jedi,” he spat at me. “I’ve heard about you.”

The wild thought crossed my mind that I should call my lightsaber from within my robes to my hand, and cut down Rancor-hide and his Gammorean friend. But that would be pointless, I realised. Jabba would only send more goons, and the Lars family would be punished. But if I could at least save them… 

“Fine,” I said to Rancor-hide. “I’ll come quietly – but leave them alone.” I nodded to Owen, Beru and Luke.

Rancor-hide laughed as if I’d told a particularly hilarious joke. “No way,” he said. “You’re all going to Jabba, because I think he’ll be very interested to know why a Jedi is hiding out with moisture farmers.”

The Gammorean squeezed my biceps and pushed me outside as Rancor-hide drew his blaster to force Owen and Beru to follow. Luke was screaming now, and Beru was frantically trying to calm him as they lead us outside to the speeder. I glanced over at Rooh and nodded at her to stay where she was – there was enough drinking water and shade for her at the homestead. Hopefully I would be able to return to retrieve her at some stage, but in that moment I feared I would never see the dear creature again. 

As Beru was soothing Luke and Rancor-hide yelling at the Gammorean when the speeder false-started twice, Owen grabbed my arm and growled harsh words in my ear. 

“This is why I told you to stay away.”

Chapter Text

I tried to reassure Owen and Beru in the speeder ride to Jabba's, but Owen kept his face turned deliberately away and Beru was struggling to settle poor Luke. He was sobbing, burying his wet face into the shoulder of Beru's homespun robe while she tried to soothe him with her sweet words and the soft stroking of his hair. I would have offered to settle him with the Force, but I doubt Owen would have allowed it and my position was already precarious enough. Rancor-hide and the Gamorrean believed me to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, renegade Jedi, but they could not confirm it. Using my powers to calm Luke would leave no doubt in their minds.

"It will be alright," I said to Beru softly as she hugged Luke close to her, rocking back and forth slightly in the seat to see if that would calm him. "Trust me, I've been in worse situations than this."

She turned to me with a fierceness in her eyes. "No matter what happens, you have to protect Luke," she told me firmly, low enough so that two goons in the front of the speeder couldn't hear. "If you have to use your…powers to take Luke away and leave us to them, promise me you'll do it."

"It won't come to that," I assured her, although I sounded more confident than I felt.

Beru pulled Luke tighter against her and kissed the top of his head. "He's so special," she whispered, her words barely audible over the roar of the speeder engine. "Not in the way you think he is, though. If the worst happens…just say you'll love him."

My chest suddenly felt very tight as I looked down at the young boy, finally calm, his head pillowed on Beru's breast and gazing at me with wet eyes so strikingly blue it seemed almost unnatural.

"I already do," I told her hoarsely, and turned away with shame.

When we reached Jabba's Palace our captors led us down into the throneroom where Jabba was giving audience. The chamber was filled with his court – the stage with the musicians and singers, the floor with the dancers plying their trade and the smugglers, pirates and various other unsavory characters milling around in discussion; trading tips and smoking death sticks. Jabba of course was the focal point of the room, puffing on his hookah with a slave girl chained to the base of his wide throne. By his side was his majordomo, a pale-skinned Twi'lek whose name I recalled to be Bib Fortuna.

Rancor-hide gestured to Fortuna, and the Twi'lek made his way through the crowd towards us. I'd pulled up my hood upon entering so no one else would recognize me, but the presence of a human child in Jabba's Palace was earning odd looks and interest from the crowd. I reached out through the Force and could not feel any ill-intent, although there was a strong sense of danger. Rather than becoming upset again, Luke looked alert and interested in his surroundings, even squirming in Beru's arms to try and break free. It was only when Owen's firm hand grasped his small shoulder and told him to hush that the boy stilled, although he still cast longing glances around at the crowd. The lifeforce in the room was palpable, more than he'd ever experienced, and it seemed to energise and excite him.

After a few minutes of hushed conversation, Fortuna returned to Jabba's side to repeat the information. The Hutt seemed pleased, his large bulbous eyes locking on us and his wide mouth stretching into a smile that sent a shiver up my spine.

Jabba waved his arm and addressed the room, and through my limited Huttese and the gesture I guessed he was instructing his Court to leave. I breathed a sigh of relief, for if I was to be unmasked it would be only to a select few. Evidently Jabba didn't trust the bounty hunters, pirates, smugglers and other criminals in his employ any more than I did - once they had the information on who I was they could easily turn around and sell it to a rival Hutt.  Or worse, the Empire.

To my surprise, Rancor-hide and the Gammorean also left, until all that remained were Jabba, Bib Fortuna, and the Zeltron slave girl lounging at Jabba's feet. A black-plated protocol droid appeared from the other room to translate Jabba's Huttese, for which I was grateful. To prevent myself from needing to repeat this each time, Qui-Gon, you can assume that the below conversation took place via that interpreter.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Jabba said. "We meet again."

Seeing that it was foolish to deny it when Jabba had clearly recognized me, I pulled my hood down and gave him my best appeasing smile. "I go by Ben Kenobi now," I told him.

"Your circumstances have changed," Jabba pointed out, his massive tongue escaping his mouth to moisten his slug lips and I tried to not be repulsed. "And yet you have come again to ask for my assistance."

"We were forced to come here," Owen spat out somewhat petulantly, his distaste for the Hutt clear.

"And who are you?"

"Owen Lars," he said. "My wife Beru, and our son Luke."

Bib Fortuna leaned over to whisper to Jabba, and by enhancing my senses I heard the domo explain to Jabba that Luke was not Owen and Beru's son but their nephew, and that his last name was Skywalker. By Jabba's reaction, I saw he had figured out exactly who Luke was.

"I remember Skywalker," Jabba nodded very slowly.

"He saved your son, Rotta," I reminded Jabba, seeing an opening to perhaps play on the Hutt's sympathies.

"And in return I gave the Republic access to Hutt trading routes. That deal was done, and do not expect further lenience because of it."

Trying another tack, I bowed my head in deference. "We would only ask for your compassion, mighty Jabba."

Jabba's gaze was intent upon Luke, and to his credit the boy stared the Hutt right in the face and showed no outward fear.

"So The Hero with No Fear had a son."

"Even if he did," I countered, knowing that denial was pointless at this stage. "What use to you is an orphan boy?"

"The offspring of Anakin Skywalker?" Jabba asked. "He could be very dangerous to the Empire. Why else would they be hunting the Jedi down if they did not fear them? The Emperor may pay handsomely for the son of a Jedi Knight. "

Thankfully Jabba didn't know just how much Luke would mean to the Emperor – or to Darth Vader. "He will pay more for me," I told him, stepping forward to block Luke from his view. "If I surrender will you leave the boy alone?"

Jabba was silent for some time, and then chuckled to himself. "You are not in a position to negotiate, Kenobi," he boasted. "What use is surrender, you are already my captive."

"Perhaps," I inclined my head towards him. "And yet I am for now a willing prisoner, and I could go along quietly, or I could…cause a fuss." I drew aside my outer robe to reveal the lightsaber hanging from my belt. Jabba seemed amused by this, and so I pressed the advantage.

"I know you've worked out some kind of truce with the Empire, but what will happen if you turn me over, do you think Palpatine will just leave it at that?" I shook my head and smiled. "If he knew one Jedi was hiding here, perhaps he will think there were more…perhaps he would decide that it is more convenient to conquer the Hutts rather than make deals with them. The Empire is not as keen on negotiation as the Republic was."

Jabba looked to Fortuna, who again whispered advice in his ear. I glanced at Owen and Beru, the former scowling at me and the latter looking very worried as she held Luke on one hip and stroked his hair protectively.

"Perhaps I should take the boy myself?" Jabba suggested. "I've never had a Jedi in my employ."

"No!" Beru's outburst was fierce, her lower lip trembling with rage. "You will not take him."

"Quiet, woman!" Fortuna roared, approaching her in four strides and lifting the back of his hand up as if to strike her. Owen got there first, grasping Fortuna's hand tightly and then punching him in the face.

"Owen," I called warningly as Luke began to cry again. But Jabba only laughed at the pathetic form of his majordomo on the floor, felled by Owen's powerful fist. Owen grunted and kicked at Fortuna for good measure, then stepped back to grasp Beru protectively by the shoulders. I sighed and turned back to Jabba, opening out my palms in a gesture of conciliation.

"That would be of little advantage to you." I imbued every word with truth and purpose so that deceit could not be detected from my voice or face. "The boy is not Force sensitive."

To their credit, neither Owen nor Beru reacted, as if sensing the purpose of my ploy. Fortuna had crawled back up to Jabba's throne in shame, and the slave girl seemed quite amused by his injuries. Jabba, however, looked skeptical.

"They say that Skywalker had the highest midichlorian count of all the Jedi," he countered, and I cursed Anakin's hero reputation. Although the farming community had heard little of the Jedi, it seemed Jabba was well versed in the intricacies of the Clone Wars – it was likely more profitable that way. "Wouldn't his offspring not have the same potential?" he pressed.

I gave a shrug, clearing my mind of everything but convincing Jabba I was telling the truth. "Since Jedi rarely have children it has not been studied. I tested the boy myself, and his midichlorian count is low - far too weak to be a Jedi."

"Then why do you bother with him?" Jabba asked, and I forced myself not to react with anger. Owen did not do so well, growling dangerously and placing one arm around Luke to draw the boy and Beru closer.

"Anakin was my friend," I said truthfully. "It was his dying wish that I look after his son."

Jabba studied me for a long time, searching for weakness which I refused to give him. Eventually he nodded to Fortuna, who left the room and returned a few minutes later followed by Rancor-hide and the Gammorean who between them were carrying a carved wooden box with a combination lock.

Beru's gasp and wild look at me gave her away, and I grimaced and tried to gesture that she should stay silent. Jabba however had noticed, and started to chuckle.

"You are very persuasive, Kenobi," he said as the goons set down the box on the floor in front of his throne. "But we will see what you are hiding."

Beru held Luke to her and closed her eyes - she'd recognised the box from my hut, and knew the damning evidence it contained. Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber, my journal and worst of all - the results of Luke's midichlorian test.

Chapter Text

Jabba sat patiently on his throne, smoke from his hookah rising silently as he puffed away. Bib Fortuna examined the box which had been retrieved from my hut, trying to determine how it opened.

"How did you find that?" I asked, affronted.

Rancor-hide gave me a grin, showing his stained yellow teeth. "We followed your eopie - those creatures always go home when untethered."

"You didn't hurt her?" My words were steel - imprison me, ransack my home, steal my belongings, I can deal with that. But Rooh is innocent, and my only friend.

Rancor-hide hissed through his teeth. "Nah, she's fine - but it's you that's got to worry, Kenobi. About yourself and that boy."

"I told you," I said firmly as I turned back to Jabba, imbuing my words with sincerity. "Luke is an ordinary child, no threat to you."

"You disappoint me, Kenobi," Jabba said via his translator droid. "Of all the Jedi you were the most revered for your honesty. How the mighty and righteous have fallen."

"The box is locked, Master," Bib Fortuna declared, his spindly white fingers running over the seam. "And there is a pressure bomb to deter tampering."

I smiled, and gave Jabba a shrug. My flippancy earned me a renewed scowl from Owen, his arms still tightly around Beru and Luke.

"Give us the access code," Jabba demanded, and did not need to elaborate on the threat.

"THX1138," I said with resignation, knowing that resistance was useless if I had any hope of keeping the Lars family alive.

Fortuna punched in the code, leaning back just in case it exploded in his face. But the box simply popped open, and Fortuna sighed with relief as he craned open the lid to rifle through its contents. He retrieved a leather-bound journal, flipping through the pages and pausing to skim a few entries. Jabba's droid waddled forward to retrieve it, taking it back up to Jabba so he could read it aloud to the Hutt. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Owen lean forward in curiosity, trying to overhear the droid's words, which amused me despite the situation.

"Master," Fortuna called out, a piece of flimsi in his hand. "This is a test for Jedi aptitude."

Jabba's grotesque lips pulled back into a wide smile. "You tested the boys blood for...what are they called?"

"Midichlorians."

"Yes," Jabba nodded. "That's right. And how many midichlorians does a Jedi have?"

"It varies," I stalled, throwing a quelling look to Beru, who had started to cry silently. "Most humans have around 2000 midichlorians per cell, but the Jedi accepted no one with less than 5000."

"And the boy's father?"

That was a question I had hoped Jabba would not ask. "Anakin had just over 20,000 per cell."

Jabba began to laugh so hard he made himself cough. "I see why you called him the Chosen One," he said after he calmed himself, and his large eyes shifted to Luke. "And since he is dead, is this boy the next great hope?"

Fortuna cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on the flimsi in his hand. "It would appear not, Master." He rose and approached Jabba's throne, showing him the test results. "3000 midichlorians per cell."

Confusion passed over Jabba's face, and he took the flimsi from Fortuna to study it himself. Rancor-hide and the Gamorrean looked uncertain and began to whisper quietly between them. Beru clutched Luke tighter to her and gave me a look of such betrayal that I had to turn away, my cheeks turning red.

"Kenobi has lied to you," Jabba addressed Owen and Beru, throwing the flimsi down onto the floor. "Listen to how he speaks of the boy," he gestured to his droid who still held my journal. "Of his burden to watch over a child who can be of no use - who will never be a Jedi, let alone live up to his father's legacy."

The droid began to read from my journal, and indeed it sounded damning - entry after entry of my disappointment that Luke was not the child I had hoped he would be, that he demonstrated no talent at all in the Force. Of how much I resented the promise I had made to Anakin before he died, defending the Jedi Temple on Coruscant - how much I hated Tatooine with its heat and desert and uncivilised, unwashed masses. It was a work of art, if I do say so myself.

"You see?" I said, cutting off the droid when I felt all had heard enough. "The boy cannot be a Jedi, but I am bound by duty and promise to watch over him, and I will do so."

Jabba was clearly disappointed - having a pet Jedi would have pleased him immensely. "The Empire will still pay well for you, Kenobi."

"I would remind you that I am still a Jedi, and a Master at that." My voice became hard, and I rested my hand gently over the lightsaber hilt hanging from my belt. "I could cut you into tiny pieces and feed you to the rancor if I so chose, before your goons could even draw their blasters."

Rancor-hide and the Gamorrean indeed reached for their blasters, but stopped when Jabba began to laugh again. An easily amused fellow, I thought to myself, and joined him in a chuckle, even though Beru was looking at me as if I was mad.

"I like you, Kenobi," Jabba said as he began to puff on his hookah again. "You amuse me. But this does not change what is owed by the moisture farmers."

I nodded, anticipating that additional hurdle. "Let me take on their debt," I suggested. "Keep my identity a secret, even from your own people, and in return I will...work for you. I'm sure I can save you from doling out exorbitant bounties, and that will more than pay for your silence, and cover the tithe for the Lars farm." I looked him directly in the large bulbous eyes. "You will have a Jedi in your employ after all."

"No, Ben," Beru called out in distress. "You cannot do this."

I ignored her and kept eye contact with Jabba so that he would know how serious I was. This was the moment, the point in every negotiation when all could be won or lost, and I could not be distracted from my task.

"The moisture farmers can leave," Jabba decreed. "You have no further business here."

Beru shook her head, her jaw visibly clenching as she squared her stance. I must say I was touched by her loyalty and concern for me, and I wonder if Rooh is not my only friend on Tatooine after all. Still, her attitude was unhelpful and luckily Owen was practical enough to see that they could not assist me - it was I who must fight for them. He whispered quietly to Beru and she acquiesced, hitching Luke up further on her hip - the boy had quite surprisingly fallen asleep, and I considered that a blessing. They left without further incident, although Owen shot me a look that clearly meant I would have to explain myself later.

Jabba stared at me for some time, and I felt the sweat prickle at the back of my neck. I felt my ruse with the box had succeeded in convincing him that Luke was worthless and not to be bothered with, but whether he felt I would be of more benefit serving him than the reward he would receive from the Empire remained to be seen. I tried not to think of how such service may compromise my integrity and principles, reminding myself that Luke's safety was paramount.

"I accept your offer, Kenobi," Jabba said eventually, and looked very pleased indeed.

I sighed with relief, and bowed my head in deference. "Thank you, mighty Jabba. I hope this will prove advantageous to us both."

"The moisture farmers will be left to your protection," Jabba added. "Provided I find your service adequate. If not, nothing will save you - or them - from the Empire."

"You will be more than satisfied with me," I told him. "But I will hold you to your word, Jabba," I added, my voice becoming hard again so that he could have no doubt of me. "I may have made my reputation on resolving conflicts without using my weapon, but do not think for a moment this means I am unwilling to unleash it. If the Lars family are so much as harassed in the street, I will bring a galaxy of suffering upon you. I will tear down this palace stone by stone and scorch the sand where it once stood. I will destroy you and your hordes of mercenaries, and think it a great service to this planet. Do not test me."

I was cold in this moment, careful not to feel any anger or hate at the creature before me - and yet I meant every word. What I did next was not the act of a Jedi, but perhaps I am a Jedi no longer. Perhaps everything I had once revered and treasured had been slowly chipped away by the war until all that is left is what I am now - a man willing to do anything to protect a single child.

Before Rancor-hide and the Gamorrean even noticed my movement, I had drawn my lightsaber and ignited the blue blade, sweeping it through the flesh and bone and cleaving them each in two. Bib Fortuna screamed and backed away, but that was insufficient to protect him. I reached out into the Twi'lek's weak and open mind, rifling through his memories as easily as he had pawed through my fake journal. I plucked at the memory of the past few hours, ripping it from his mind as he screamed and fell unconscious to the floor. I let the memory go, disappearing into the ether where it could be of no trouble.

Now only Jabba knew of our arrangement - and I suppose his slave girl that was still chained to the base of his throne. She turned her large black eyes to me in fear, and I knew I could not bear to inflict pain upon her, although of course Fortuna would be fine when he awoke in a few hours. I trusted I had demonstrated my power enough that she would remain silent, and I had no worry about the protocol droid as I knew Jabba performed nightly memory wipes.

"Do we understand one another?" I asked Jabba, trying not to think about the lives I had just taken in cold blood.

Jabba watched me silently for a few moments, puffing away on his hookah before his lips curled into a satisfied smile and he nodded.

Chapter Text

When I returned to my hut on the edge of the Dune Sea Rooh was waiting in her usual spot outside the door. She stared at me with her big black eyes and whined pitifully, nudging my hand as I passed.

"It's alright, girl," I soothed her as I crouched down, rubbing the soft skin of her neck. "I'm not mad." I was thankful to see no outward sign of mistreatment by Jabba's goons, although I noticed someone had set out some aloki stalks for her to munch on. "They're here, aren't they?" I asked the animal, although of course she did not answer. Sighing deeply, I entered my hut and was unsurprised to see Owen and Beru waiting for me. Luke was on the floor happily playing with a stuffed bantha I had bought for him, for once oblivious to the tense emotions of those around him.

"Kenobi," Owen nodded to me without displacing the scowl from his face. "Why don't you take a seat."

I bristled at being directed in my own home and remained standing, folding my arms. "I suppose you are looking for an explanation."

"At the very least."

"Owen." Beru put a hand on her husband's arm, and he exhaled harshly and looked away. My ire rose slightly – had I not saved them from Jabba's filthy clutches, protected Luke's secret and improved their financial situation? I do not expect gratitude…or perhaps I do. Perhaps it is not much to ask in return for all I have sacrificed.

"You must have spent I lot of time on that ruse," Beru said evenly. "How did you know?"

I relaxed slightly and gave her a smile, spreading my hands. "Once I realised that Jabba was involved, I knew it was only a matter of time before they found me. I forged the midichlorian test results and wrote a new diary – and I apologise for the...less than flattering things I wrote about you both and Luke. I'm sure you understand it was necessary."

Owen's jaw visibly clenched, and Beru gave me a tight smile as she fiddled with the tight bun tied at the nape of her neck – a nervous habit of hers. "Of course," she said. "Where is the real one?"

"Safe," I assured her, not quite prepared to give her all my secrets. "Trust me, it will not be found."

Owen cleared his throat, although he was still looking steadfastly at the wall. "So Luke has the Force after all?"

I realise now that my ruse had perhaps given Owen a moment of wild, desperate hope – that Luke wasn't in fact Force sensitive, but a normal child he did not have to constantly worry over.

"His midichlorian count is far higher than 3,000," I told them, which only made Owen grimace again.

"What is his count?" Beru asked, leaning forward and ruffling Luke's hair slightly. At her touch the boy turned around and beamed at her, and Beru smiled back at him with as much love as any mother would.

"Well…" I was reluctant, but perhaps it was best that they understand. "Luke has 20,000 midichlorians per cell."

Beru's mouth dropped open and she put one hand over her throat in clear surprise. This was a reaction Luke did not fail to notice, using Beru's knee for leverage as he pulled himself up off the floor and reached out to her. She enfolded him into her tight embrace, her shoulders shaking with slight sobs as she pressed her face into his hair. Owen reacted as well, turning to her and rubbing her back lightly.

"It will be alright, Beru," he whispered to her, his usual gruffness absent. "I will make things right."

"I had no idea," she sniffed. "How hard this will be for him."

I felt rather like an intruder, and shifted my stance uncomfortably. "It is high," I conceded. "Higher than myself, certainly. But with the proper training-"

"There it is," Owen's voice was razor-sharp. "Did I not tell you, Beru? You think him so brave, but he is self-serving."

Beru wiped the tears from her eyes with some help from Luke, his chubby fingers patting her cheeks. This made her smile, taking his small hands and kissing his palms. "But he saved Luke today," she argued, turning back to Owen. "He took away our debt."

"No, he simply transferred it," Owen spat out, shooting me a venomous look. "We owe him now, and no doubt he will collect – force us to let him corrupt Luke with that Jedi nonsense."

There is no emotion, there is peace, there is no emotion, there is peace. I repeated the mantra until I no longer wanted to throttle Owen in a most uncivilized manner. The lack of gratitude is bad enough, but to insult my character so? It was not to be borne, and I was about to explain to Owen in detail why when Luke started screaming.

"Oh, Luke," Beru tried to soothe him, rocking him in her arms and kissing his head. "I think he needs to be changed Owen, can you do it please?" Without waiting for his response Beru plonked Luke down in Owen's arms and shooed him in the direction of the 'fresher. "Ben had some supplies in there," she assured him, giving him a little nudge in the back.

Owen was not happy, but acquiesced to his wife's instruction and took Luke into the 'fresher. Beru sighed and turned to me, her forehead creasing in distress.

"Why can't you boys get along, for Luke's sake?"

"The problem is not with me," I defended myself, shaking my head in disbelief. "All I am trying to do is protect Luke."

"As is Owen," Beru said as she approached me, touching my arm lightly. "You just disagree on how best to do that. I appreciate all that you are doing for us, Ben – so does Owen, even if he doesn't realise it. He is a proud man, and the thought that he cannot protect his family without assistance wounds him deeply."

On reflection, I can see Owen's point – yes of course I am protecting Luke for his own sake, and yet I cannot deny that he is one of the last hopes for the Jedi. I do want to train him, Owen was right about that, and perhaps my eagerness to come to their aid was in part to curry favour. I keep thinking that eventually I will wear Owen down, and he will see why Luke needs to be trained in the ways of the Force.

The Lars family left soon after, and Owen apologized for his outburst – although he almost choked on the words. I know Beru worries about me working for Jabba and what I might have to do to earn his good grace, but I am resolved not to concern myself with that until the time comes. Although I did not tell Beru about dispatching Jabba's goons - perhaps I have proved myself to be of lesser character than I thought. The ease in which I made the decision to end their lives was as quick as any bounty hunter might have done with someone who came between them and their prey.

So, Qui-Gon, do you approve? You were always fond of the unconventional, and the ends justifying the means – would you have done the same? I have killed before in battle which did not trouble my conscience, and is not my life here on Tatooine a battle of a different kind? Jabba respects power and strength, so my actions served me two-fold and will go a long way to ensuring I can continue to protect Luke.

That is, after all, why I am here.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Oh Qui-Gon, why don't you speak to me? It has been hours since I wrote the above, and you have not come.

Do you disapprove after all, have I breached some kind of moral fabric of the universe which prevents you from appearing the counsel me? In the war we had rules of engagement, and my opponents went into battle knowing death could be the outcome – this was not so at Jabba's Palace. I murdered those two men in cold blood, violating the mind of another, and I told myself it was the right thing because of Luke, because of Owen and Beru, because of everyone how had suffered at their hand. But that does not make it right, and now it can never be right again.I can never be right again.

I despair, and regret, and I am a Jedi no longer.

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

It has been a while since I wrote in this journal, and even longer since you last appeared to me. I wonder whether you disapprove of my new occupation as Jabba the Hutt's bounty hunter, or perhaps the veil between our worlds has become too heavy for you to push aside. I have not dared ask Yoda if you still commune with him for fear of the answer. He disapproves of course.

A Jedi you are, Obi-Wan, he has said. No honour a mercenary has.

It is easier for him, sequestered away on Dagobah. He does not have young Luke's life in is hands, for all he watches over the boy through his Force-sight. He reminds me whenever we communicate that the boy is three years old now and under the Old Order he would have already started his training. I grew frustrated the last time, and suggested that perhaps he would like to come to Tatooine and persuade Owen Lars to let him train the boy, and I can sit in a swamp and judge his efforts.

Unhelpful your sharp tongue is, Obi-Wan. Instead on your task your focus should be.

It has been some time since we have spoken, and I have done everything the Jabba the Hutt has asked for me – perhaps Yoda is jealous that I heed the Hutt's word more than his own! Thankfully, my work for Jabba has not included anything which has troubled my conscience too deeply. I helped rescue some of his bantha herd that had gotten lost in the desert and chased down debtors among his crime faction in Mos Eisley. I even attended a meeting with one of his Hutt family members – in the shadows of course – so I could advise him of the veracity of his cousin's words. The result was the acquisition of a trading route to Kessel, quite a financial boon for Jabba and he was exceedingly pleased with me. By way of the meeting I also uncovered his cousin Hutt had his own spy in Jabba's court, a Rodian by the name of Silas. Unfortunately, Silas grew suspicious when his master's negotiations with Jabba did not go as planned, and fled offworld.

This required me to heed Jabba's command to bring to Rodian back to face Hutt justice, a cause of some anxiety. I was loathe to leave the Luke unprotected even for a short while, and I knew that the chances of my discovery were far higher once I returned to the Core. Jabba assured me that our deal would stand and the Lars farm and family would remain unmolested – provided of course that I was successful. It was a reminder that the future is not assured, and that my charge still remains in danger, although I trust Jabba will keep his side of our bargain as long as I am of use to him.

So my duty took me into Imperial Space – to the Mandalore moon of Concordia where I had tracked Silas down. The planet was far too close for comfort, and my heart was heavy to see the once beautiful and peaceful world assimilated so completely into the Empire. How my dear Satine would have wept to see the Imperial Academy blighting the capital city of Sundari, its grey walls built high on the site where the Peace Park had once stood. Perhaps it is well that she cannot see how her beloved Mandalore has fallen, how the hard-fought neutrality of her people during the Clone Wars has been replaced by Imperial recruits creating a new order of so-called "stormtroopers."

I think of her often, and you will forgive me if I do not feel it right putting such thoughts in writing.

I will stick to recounting my mission. While Mandalore is Imperial territory, it appears that its moon Concordia remains a haven for bounty hunters, mercenaries and other criminals. I had procured some armor in the Old Mandalorian style, for the customary helmet is useful for hiding my identity and although it would have made me a target on Imperial streets, among the criminal brethren it does not seem out of place.

Unfortunately, I miscalculated on this point, for while in any other system the armor is not uncommon among those who have fled Mandalore to escape the Empire and pursue lucrative careers in crime, on the moon of Concordia it drew the attention of a group I thought long since stamped out. It was in one of the dingy bars littering the moon settlement, and I had been making discreet enquiries as to the whereabouts of Silas since I knew him to be lodging somewhere in the city, likely looking for a new master to align himself with. A group of Mandalorians were seated at the table next to mine, and I took pains to avoid speaking with them, for a recognized the symbol on their helmets at once.

They wore grey and blue armor, such that I had not seen since the Clone Wars – the armor of Death Watch. I do not know how they took me for a fraud, but evidently they had been listening to my hushed conversations with the other patrons for some time, and despite concealing my Coruscanti accent I must have slipped. My danger sense flared but I was no match for a brawl against five, and I had left my lightsaber on my ship as I could not conceal it in my armor.

They tussled me up a bit, although the armor did its work and prevented any serious injury, then dragged me to the back room of the bar, where they locked the door behind them and forced me into a chair. Another Mandalorian sat at the rear of the room, shrouded in shadow with their booted feet propped up on a table.

"What have we here?" Her voice was steely and measured, and I recognised it immediately.

"An imposter," said the man next to me as he removed my helmet forcefully. "He is no true Mandalorian, but an outsider – a dishonor to us."

I felt his gloved fist slam across my face and tasted blood in my mouth, yet I did not cry out. I'd felt worse pain in my life. This seemed to irritate my attacker, who punched me again and I felt my nose break. That almost made me happy, because perhaps it would not heal properly and disfigure my face enough to hide my identity in the future.

"Stop," the female voice commanded from the shadows, and her lieutenant obeyed immediately, stepping aside to stand at attention facing her. She rose from her seat and walked slowly into the light, illuminating a pale, hard-edged face softened only by the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. Her red hair was cropped around her shoulders, and pale green eyes studied me intently.

"Hello, Kenobi," Bo-Katan said with a smug smile. "How nice to see you again."

Chapter Text

They covered my head in a burlap sack, took me out the back door of the bar and shoved me into a speeder. We traveled for some time, although as far as I knew they were driving around in circles for a while to give the illusion of distance. When we eventually stopped they hustled me inside a building and tied me to a chair in a dark room, where they left me alone for some time.

The Mandalorian armor was hot and uncomfortable, or perhaps I just felt ill-at ease in it. I tried to meditate to pass the time, and so I would not worry about what Bo-Katan and her crew would do to me. Although we were allies for a short while at the end of the Clone Wars, I am certain that Bo-Katan still hates me and the Jedi for our part in what has happened to Mandalore - for what happened to her sister.

It was my fault Satine died, after all.

After what seemed like hours the sack was yanked from my head, and the sudden light in the room stung my eyes. When they adjusted I saw Bo-Katan sit down in a chair opposite mine - she still wore her Death Watch armor, although without her jetpack or helmet. Her sharp green eyes glared at me for several minutes and I stared back at her in silence. I usually found such a tactic to unnerve people, but Bo-Katan held my gaze, unblinking, until she rolled her eyes upwards and sighed.

"I assume you're no longer going by the name Kenobi," she said in that hard-edged voice of hers, the one that invited no argument.

"No - they call me Sikesh now," I confirmed, giving her my cover name.

"Where did you get that armor?" she asked.

"I...liberated it from a bounty." It was the truth - both the name and demeanor I had acquired from a particularly slimy character who had accepted a bounty from Jabba and succeeded in the job, but had ransomed the prize back to her family for twice the credits. The fool had not even left Mos Eisley when I caught up with him and returned him to Jabba, and at night I try to forget the sound of the rancor crunching the man's bones. One less scum-merchant in the galaxy, I tell myself, as if that should alleviate my guilt.

"You're a skiptracer?" Bo-Katan seemed surprised.

I feigned embarrassment, and ducked my head. "One has to make a living."

"Bounty hunters," she sniffed. "Riff-raff and scum - a dishonour to our proud Mandalorian heritage. You're almost as bad as that Fett boy, running around with Cad Bane and Aurra Sing."

My interest was piqued by the name - I had heard rumors in Jabba's court that Bane's Syndicate was still active despite attempts by the Empire to squash it. Thankfully Jabba had not yet shown any inclination towards employing them since would go badly for me - many of Bane's crew knew my face.

"Except he's worse," Bo-Katan continued, smacking a closed fist into her palm. "He should know better." She stood and walked over to side of the room on which hung a large map of the ancient city of Sundari, long destroyed by the Mandalorian wars. "All around us there are thieves and betrayers - those pacifists who did nothing, whose beloved neutrality allowed the Empire to take over." She gently traced the curves and lines of the old city map. "We should have fought - we all should have risen up the day Palpatine's war ships breached our airspace."

"You would have all died," I told her gently. From what I had gathered from the holonet, the subjugation of Mandalore had been quite simple in the end. The Parliament had maintained their desire for neutrality but had been mindful of the Star Destroyers blockading the planet while negotiations proceeded. It was the death by a thousand cuts; one submission after the other until a Governor had been installed in the Palace and an Imperial Academy built at the very heart of the city.

"Better to die than to suffer under the Imperial yoke," Bo-Katan turned back to me, fists clenched and eyes blazing. "Like Satine - I envy her that."

My heart was pained to hear her name, unable to forget that terrible moment when Darth Maul cut her down for the sole reason that it would hurt me.

"She would have wanted you to live," I said softly, and saw Bo-Katan's face become hard and pinched.

"But not to fight," she said stiffly, and her eyes were dark and cold. "No, it is better she is dead. She would have been one of those who allowed the Empire to take hold, and then I would have had to kill her myself."

I felt slightly sick - for my own pain and hers, for the agony of such a thought - all that we have lost and all that we have become in this new galaxy. I doubt very much that Bo-Katan's words were the truth, and yet given my perilous position I chose not to argue.

It soon became irrelevant when a small child burst through the door, ginger hair flying behind her. "Mama!" she cried as she flung herself into Bo's arms. I had not realised that the dwelling was a home, as the room we were in gave the appearance of a meeting space, and yet glancing back through the open door the girl had left I saw the warmth of a domestic life. She could not have been more than four, clad in sleep clothes and her face soaked in tears.

"You have a child?" I asked Bo-Katan, looking at her in shock. I could feel the girl's distress roiling off her in waves, and knew that no ordinary nightmare had woken her.

Bo-Katan ignored me, putting the girl down on the empty chair and pushing back the hair from her face. "Mara," she scolded her. "What have I told you about disturbing me?"

Mara sniffed and wiped her nose. "Not to...but I had a bad dream."

"Dreams cannot hurt you," Bo said stiffly, and yet there was a tenderness in the way she stroked the girl's hair.

"My head felt hot again," Mara pressed one hand to the side of her temple. "It feels angry."

"Shhh," Bo-Katan urged her, drawing the girl into her embrace made somewhat difficult by her armor. "It's alright." The child's sobs soon died down, and peering over Bo-Katan's shoulder she seemed to notice me for the first time. Her brow furrowed and her lips curled into a frown, as if my mere presence was offensive to her. I tried to smile, but this only seemed to agitate the girl further, and she buried her head in the cold armor of Bo-Katan's shoulder somewhat unsuccessfully. Without another glance at me Bo-Katan picked the child up and carried her out of the room, returning some time later wearing a tired expression.

She said nothing as she again took her seat facing me and we sat in silence for several minutes, staring at one another as if in stalemate.

"The child is Force sensitive," I said when I could bear it no more.

Bo pursed her lips and then sighed heavily. "I know."

The selfish part of me knew in that moment I'd won – Bo would not turn me over to the Empire or anyone else for fear for her child. Of course I would never put the girl in such jeopardy, but Bo didn't know that, and for once I could use her hatred of Jedi to my advantage.

"She felt your anger," I said cautiously. "And it caused her distress. If I could sense it an Imperial agent may also." I'd heard rumors of the new Force acolytes of the Emperor - the Inquisitors who were helping Vader hunt down the remaining Jedi and any child found to have the Force.

"It will not matter," Bo-Katan shook her head. "All will be well soon enough."

Her words struck me with apprehension. "What are you planning?" I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"I told you once," Bo-Katan said in her voice of steel. "No outsider will ever rule Mandalore. We will take the planet back from the Empire."

"But your child," I protested. "Surely you know you cannot put her within the reach of the Empire – if she is captured Force knows what they will do to her. If she's lucky they'll kill her. If not…"

"This is for her," Bo insisted. "The rule of Mandalore is her heritage, her right. I can give that to her, to all of my people."

So they were planning a war - perhaps even an assault on the planet as Death Watch had done during the Clone Wars. But this time there were armed stormtroopers on the streets who would not hesitate to fight back. Even if they had insurgent support in Sundari it would be a hard task, and yet I knew there was nothing I could do to stop them.

"What will you do with me?" I asked, resigned.

"I know where your bounty is," Bo-Katan said. "I'll tell you, if you do something for me in return."

"If it's within my power."

"It is," Bo-Katan nodded. "Teach Mara how to hide her abilities, or shield herself of whatever you call it."

The request was so shocking I took a few moments before responding. "Such training takes a long time," I said uneasily. "And great skill. Even among the greatest of the Jedi, few could truly hide their presence. But I can teach her rudimentary control," I conceded, deeply moved to help this child who would walk such a dangerous path. "Enough that she will show no physical manifestation of the Force."

"Then do it," she ordered me.

I spent several hours with the child, although it took some time for her to trust me, so harshly had she been told to keep her abilities secret. I tried to explain that I was a friend of her mother's, but she saw through that easily enough. Eventually I told her the story of when I'd been tasked with protecting her Aunt Satine during the Mandalore Civil War, and how we had outrun bounty hunters and insurgents and through the course of it all fell in love. However, we both knew our duties lay elsewhere, myself to the Jedi Order and hers to rebuild the government on Mandalore. Sometimes, I told the child, life brings us great trials along with great happiness, and we must choose to stay true to our duty and purpose.

"What happened to her?" Mara asked me, wide-eyed and transfixed by my story. In the corner of the room Bo-Katan was glaring at me, although I couldn't quite decipher her expression.

"She died, young one," I told her child gently, putting my hand on her shoulder. "Only a few years ago now."

Mara scrunched up her face. "You didn't protect her in the end, then."

"No," I sighed, a great weight upon my heart. "I suppose not."

Chapter Text

Bo-Katan's information about my quarry turned out to be extremely accurate, but I had expected nothing less from her. She detested artifice and trickery, living by her own code of honour which although quite different from my own, is nonetheless strong and true. I almost envied her resolve and unwillingness to compromise, as I had done, and time I suppose will reveal which of us made the right choice.

I fear for her young child Mara – she is strong in the Force, but already she is so mistrustful and ashamed of her potential. While Bo-Katan clearly loves her daughter, she hates her abilities and the young girl has no doubt absorbed her mother's distaste and directed it inwards. Mara is a hard-edged, mistrustful child, and I cannot help but compare her disposition to sweet Luke, although the differences in their situations also plays a part. Mara has lived her entire life on the run, hearing stories of the evil Force users who had killed her aunt, and the Jedi who had not been able to protect her.

"Does is hurt?" she asked after I had told her the story of Satine, which had not seemed to earn her trust but had at the very least intrigued her. "Inside your head?"

"No." I looked at her curiously. "Does yours, young one?"

"Sometimes," she said, looking up at me with large green eyes that seemed far older than her years. "It's like I have too much in there."

"It's the Force," I explained. "You're keeping it bottled inside you, and all that energy has nowhere else to go."

"I don't like it." She stuck out her bottom lip and scowled, and I glanced back at Bo-Katan. For a moment her cool façade dropped and I saw pure agony – at her inability to help her child, at needing to ask for help from me of all people, at the hard days ahead.

"You must learn to let go of the pain," I instructed her, and tried to touch two fingers to her temple, to reach inside her mind. But she swatted my hand away angrily, jumped up on the bed and punched me in the nose.

"Ah!" I reeled back, in surprise more than anything else. Her little fist had struck exactly where Bo-Katan's lieutenant had earlier, and I could hear the woman's laugh as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Mara," Bo-Katan admonished her, although it was insincere. "He is trying to help you."

"Don't need his help," Mara sat back down on the bed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Not like he helped my Auntie."

Bo-Katan sobered at the mention of her sister. "It wasn't his fault," she said softly, reaching forward to stroke Mara's hair. "Not really."

I don't know if she told Mara this simply so the girl would allow me to help her, or if Bo-Katan had truly forgiven me for my part in Satine's death. I suppose I may never know, but at Bo-Katan's urging Mara allowed me to take her small head in my hands and reach out into her mind. I showed her how to stop bottling up the Force, to allow it to flow through and out of her. She was a quick learner, and took well to the simply barrier techniques I taught her – it would not be enough to sustain a Force probe, but at least she would stop projecting. She was much calmed afterwards, allowing Bo-Katan to tuck her into bed as she grew noticeably sleepy.

"Do you feel better, little one?" I asked, and she nodded, drawing the blankets up near her chin. She still eyed me somewhat suspiciously, and I suppose I could not hope to change the girl's nature in a few scant hours.

"I know a little boy," I told her softly before I left, as if telling her a bedtime story. "He is just like you – gifted. Because of this his life will be very hard, and he will face great trials. But he will do great things, and you should know, Mara, that you are not alone. You will never be alone."

I believe that, Qui-Gon. Somehow the Force tells me that young Mara has her part to place in the years to come, although I cannot see the details. I see darkness in her future, but then again darkness seems to blanket all of us, and I also see hope. That is the word, so clear in my mind that it has become an unshakable belief. Hope.

Your friend,

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

There has been some major developments since I last wrote. Time seems to be slipping away from me, and I find myself writing in this journal less often - I'm not sure if that is a good sign, in that I am more secure in myself and less in need of your guidance, or whether I want to avoid too much self-examination.

I had given Beru a comlink in case of emergencies and thus far it has not been required. However today she called me in great distress, although I felt uneasy all morning and luckily was already on my way to the Lars homestead to check on Luke. However I was not the only guest - the Darklighters had been visiting from their farm and unfortunately their dewback had been injured while Luke and the Darklighter boy Biggs were riding her. Beru told me tearfully that the beast's leg had been severely broken, and Huff Darklighter had decided to put the beast out of its misery. Luke started screaming and clutching his own leg, as if it too was injured. I was not surprised, since I had observed Luke to be Force receptive to the feelings of others, sensing their distress as if it was his own. It is not common for Jedi to be so with sapient beasts, at least without rigorous study, but I was aware that Luke was very fond of the gentle dewback.

When I got there the boy was in hysterics, throwing his body over the poor beast and begging Darklighter not to shoot her. I can still hear the young boy's panicked screams - don't kill her, don't kill her! - over and over. Beru was in tears, trying to reason with Luke that the animal was in too much pain and that the act was actually a kindness. Owen was trying to physically pull Luke away from the dewback's side to no avail; the boy held firm. The Darklighter boy Biggs, a few years older than Luke, was watching with distress.

I approached as Luke held the beast's leg gently in his arms and pressed his cheek against it, his eyes shut tightly and tears streaming down his face. "Don't kill her."

"Luke," I said gently, trying to pry him away. "There is nothing you can do."

"She can get better," Luke insisted, keeping his eyes tightly closed and gently rubbing the scaly hide of the animal's leg as she whined and moaned in agony.

"I'm sorry, Luke," Huff Darklighter said gruffly, yet his face was filled with regret. "She's in too much pain – she can't even stand." He threw a somewhat accusing look at Owen, as if to chastise him for not exposing Luke to the harsh realities of farming life.

"No," Luke said, still stroking the animal's leg and scrunching up his face tighter. "She can get better, I won't let you hurt her, I won't give up." He mumbled the words as if like a mantra, his child's mind unable to comprehend anyone's explanations. It was a child's faith – he believed he was right, and would hear no opposition.

What happened next was so thrilling and yet so dangerous even now, hours later, I am still anxious. I sensed a tremor in the Force and stepped back, and Qui-Gon, you would not believe it - or perhaps you would, but I certainly did not - the beast stopped her pitiful crying. She lay her head against Luke's tiny back, as if to comfort the child, as if he was one of her own young who required her protection.

We all stared dumbfounded as Luke laughed, hugging the creature tightly before scrambling up onto her back. Beru stepped forward, her mouth open as if to rebuke him, but she only gasped when the dewback pawed experimentally at the sand and then stood.

Not only had Luke felt the dewback's pain as if it had been his own, he had healed the creature. She showed none of her former agony, walking around with Luke riding on her back, quite happy for him to do so and with an energy that beguiled her age. I know that I could not have performed such a precise and effective healing technique even though I trained with the Masters at the Jedi Temple, but it seems that Luke's power is stronger than even I anticipated.

He willed it, and so it happened. The thought is equal parts thrilling and frightening.

"How is this possible?" Darklighter asked, shaking his head as if he didn't quite trust his eyes.

Beside him, the boy Biggs was grinning and pumped a fist in the air. "Yes! Way to go, Luke!"

In the boy's enthusiasm I saw only danger – what would happen, if the tales of a four year old child performing a miracle spread through the farms and Anchorhead? And it would, they are hungry for gossip. It would not be long before Luke's anonymity was compromised, and the news reached Jabba. That could not be allowed under any circumstances.

I glanced at Owen and Beru, who looked stricken and shocked and would clearly be no help. "She must have only twisted her leg," I suggested, reaching into Darklighter's mind and that of his young son, planting the lie there. "And only needed a moment to recover."

Huff Darklighter nodded, as if dazed. "Yes, that makes sense."

"An event so inconsequential," I added with a wave of my hand, "that there will be no need to mention it to anyone."

"No need to mention it to anyone," Huff and Biggs both repeated, and I released their minds. Thankfully they left soon after, although it took some coaxing to pry Luke away from the dewback with the promise that they would return tomorrow and he could ride her then. I, however, was again left to make my explanations to Owen and Beru.

I seem to be making a habit of this.

Chapter Text

The mood in the Lars was tense, as Owen and Beru sat on one side of the table and me on the other. Luke was still ecstatic from the dewback's recovery, but it was clear he could sense the discord between his guardians and myself.

"Hey Ben," he tugged at my robe, as if trying to dissolve the tension. "I built a model Skyhopper, wanna see?"

"Certainly," I smiled down at the child, as Owen huffed and Beru placed a calming hand on his arm.

"Luke," she beckoned the child closer and he went to her obediently. Beru gently brushed the hair back from his forehead. "Your uncle and I need to talk to Ben. You can show him your toy later."

"Auntie," Luke whined. "It's a model, not a toy."

Beru laughed and ruffled his hair. "Alright, now go play."

When the child was safely gone from the room I was confronted with the severe expressions of both Owen and Beru. But explaining myself is old hat now it seems, and it does not cause me the anxiety it once did.

"What was that?" Owen asked gruffly.

I spread my hands and shrugged. "Luke seems to have an aptitude for healing through the Force."

"I thought you said that here in the desert his…abilities may be dampened?" Beru looked concerned.

"I still believe that," I told her solemnly. "But his power is raw and immense – it will still bleed through, if he wants something enough."

"What did you do to Darklighter and his boy?" Owen demanded.

I grimaced, not quite happy to reveal all of my Jedi secrets. "A simple mind trick," I tried to shrug off the question. "They were not harmed, they will simply have no reason to doubt the reason I gave for the animal's recovery."

But Owen looked angry, I could see it in the tremor of his clenched fist in the table, in the twitch in his cheek. "Have you ever done anything like that to us?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," I told him, locking his gaze and hoping he would find the truth in it.

"Be sure that you don't," Owen almost spat at me. "My mind is my own."

"It is a disturbing power," Beru said, and although she was calm I could see she had grown wary of me. "We would not like you to teach Luke how to do that."

I cocked my head, considering her choice of words, and what she had left unsaid. "But…you would like me to teach him something?"

Owen huffed and looked away, clearly unhappy and willing to let Beru continue the conversation.

"Luke was very…difficult while you were away," she said. "Sometimes he would get upset over the smallest things – I killed a sand-gnat in his room and he cried for hours. He gets nightmares sometimes, that he's hiding in the dark from a bad man who is coming for him and will wake up screaming. The other day he wanted his bantha toy from the table and it floated through the air towards him."

I sighed, stroking my beard in contemplation as if I could find the answers there. "In the Republic he would have already started Jedi training at the Temple," I told her. "He would be learning to control his powers, but with no guidance they are manifesting in ways we can't anticipate. Unchecked he will only get stronger."

Owen was still resolutely looking away, and Beru glanced at him and squeezed his hand. "We have discussed it, and will allow you to teach him to control his powers."

"But not use them," I nodded, understanding her unspoken limitation.

"We just want him to be safe," Beru told me, her eyes wet. "And happy – since you cannot take his powers away, we thought perhaps you could at least help him…limit them."

They were asking the same favor as Bo-Katan had, I realised to my sorrow. In days gone past parents were ecstatic to learn their child was Force sensitive - eager for the Jedi to share their knowledge. But now the Empire reigned, the Jedi were seen as traitors and parents all across the galaxy probably watched in dread as their children showed signs of Force abilities. What will happen to these children, I wonder – will they learn the control on their own, or seek self-discipline through other methods? Would the Emperor gather them around him, to seed them with the dark side? It was a thought to terrible to contemplate.

But my concern is one child, and what would be best for him. In my opinion, that means full training, but I know the limitations I face with Owen and Beru.

"I can teach him discipline and control, which may dampen outward use of the Force," I said to Beru. "If that is what you want."

"None of this is what we want," Owen spoke up with a scowl. "But I accept this is what we must do, for Luke's sake."

"Wonderful," I said, unable to keep the grin from my face. "When can I start?"

As you can imagine, Qui-Gon, my enthusiasm did me no favors. Yet Owen permitted me to spend some time with the boy (under Beru's supervision of course) and he showed me his model Skyhopper and a few of his other toys. He is very strong in the Force, and the light within him is growing day by day. Although I fear I cannot teach him as I should, perhaps controlling his powers is the best option for now, to avoid detection by the Empire. Perhaps if I do well I will be able to convince the Lars couple that Jedi training isn't the death knell they seem to think it will be. Time will tell.

In the meantime, I worry for little Leia. First Bo-Katan's daughter Mara acting out through the Force, and now Luke – how is Leia to be concealed if she is doing the same? Alderaan is a fertile world where the Living Force is strong, and I worry for her being in the Core, right under the nose of the Emperor.

I must contact Bail Organa.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I have managed to speak to Bail Organa, although it took re-routing of the comm call over several secure channels and relayed by his ship the Tantive IV to further scramble in case he is being watched by the Emperor, as he suspects he is.

He seemed grateful to hear from me, and as I suspected little Leia's Force powers are also starting to manifest. She has such a keen intuition, or so Bail told me with some pride, almost as if she can read minds and I wonder if perhaps she can. She is highly intelligent for a four year old, although I suspect Bail may be exaggerating somewhat, having easily fallen into the role of proud father. And yet he does not fear Leia's skills as Owen and Beru fear Luke – perhaps he is more wordly, or perhaps he is simply better acquainted with the Jedi as a force for good.

Bail was always one of our greatest friends and champions, and I will never forget that when the Jedi Temple on Coruscant burned, he was the one who went to investigate, and when he discovered the horrible truth, he was the one who came looking for us.

Leia is a princess, Bail told me, and although she may be a prodigy he assures me that it will raise few eyebrows on Alderaan, a planet of high culture who expect their heir to be astounding. But it seems she can also be quite the hellion; stubborn and defiant, and there have been a few outbursts – one of her tantrums caused a power outage throughout the palace, and she once managed to mind-trick her nanny into giving her extra cake. This concerns me, and I offered to come to Alderaan to see if I can assist, but Bail assures me she has tutors and instructors of the highest calibre who will teach her control. A princess must be self-possessed and poised, and she will soon learn to discipline herself.

I am not so sure, and urged Bail to contact me if anything seems amiss.

But it is not all bad – Bail told me she has frequent dreams filled with oceans of sand, and tells Bail she's made friends with "the boy who lives in the sun." A childhood fancy, perhaps, but I am not surprised that she and Luke may be reaching out to each other somehow – they are twins after all.

However I am not displeased to stay on Tatooine for a while, now that I have made a breakthrough with Owen and Beru.

As I write this Anakin's lightsaber sits on the table before me, and my greatest hope is to one day pass it down to Luke – I will tell him only the good of his father, I have decided. I will tell him about the Anakin I remember – my dear friend who craved adventure, who was fiercely loyal, who flew a Starfighter like no one I had ever seen and who was always by my side when I needed him.

I will not tell him of how I cut off his father's legs and left him to die on those sulphur banks beside the river of fire on Mustafar, of how I stole his lightsaber while my friend burned, crying out in agony. I wish I'd had the courage to end it there, and yet I know even if I was faced with Dark Vader now I would not be able to strike. My friend is gone, and yet I know that I could not kill even the shell that remains, and I hate my own weakness. Yet I have his blade – that symbol of a Jedi. At the time I was so angry I had picked up the saber from the black sand, thinking that Anakin no longer deserved it, even facing his death. Now I have resolved to keep it for Luke, the only part of his father the boy will ever have.

But I can never tell him the truth – even if he is to become a Jedi, he can never know about his father. I admit a part of this is selfish – how can I tell the boy of how terribly I failed Anakin? How could I expect him to trust me to teach him, if he knows what I did?

I must focus on the present. The future will take care of itself, and will not come sooner by be worrying about it. I must remind myself of the victories I have had – Luke is under my protection, and I am closer than ever. Surely even Yoda must be pleased with this development!

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I have begun my lessons with young Luke – he is eager for my company – or perhaps simply eager for any company at all. His only friend is the Darklighter boy who he sees infrequently, and though he is much loved by his guardians he craves variety in his humdrum life. But he adores Beru, happy to help her with chores beyond any five year old I have ever encountered – although I admit I have not been exposed to a wide range. The Jedi Padawans I remember were never very keen on chores.

Those younglings learnt discipline and order as soon as they arrived at the Temple, but Luke's focus is difficult to hone. He resembles his father in that respect, although Anakin was several years older when he came under my charge with hard work already drilled into him by his years as a slave. I try not the pressure the boy too much at this point – he will know the harshness of life soon enough. As soon as he is old enough he will need to start helping Owen run the farm, which can be exhausting physical as well as mental work.

When I do finally get him to focus, Luke is desperate to master the task as soon as possible. The exercise I had him to clear his mind is but one example:

"Imagine the desert," I instructed, thinking it would be easier for him to visualize. "Barren and lifeless – completely empty. Imagine your mind is the desert."

"Okay," Luke answered, scrunching up his face as he closed his eyes.

"Don't try so hard," I advised, lightly touching his shoulder. "It is counterproductive."

Luke opened his eyes and blinked at me, confused.

"The opposite of what I want," I explained. "The point is to let go of all your thoughts until your mind is as clear and empty as the desert."

"Okay." Luke closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. I let several minutes pass before I asked him if his mind was clear.

"No," he told me unhappily.

"Did you picture the desert as I asked?"

"Yes." Luke wrung his little hands, looking frustrated.

"So where did your thoughts go then?"

"Well I saw the desert," Luke explained, dragging out the last syllable. "But it wasn't empty at all like you said. I saw the suns that go up and down every day, and the sand that blows everywhere making new dunes, and the crawlers and bantha herds and sometimes Sandpeople calling to each other and sarlaccs under the ground waiting to snatch someone up and…"

"Alright, Luke," I squeezed his shoulder. "I understand."

"Did I do it wrong?" Luke's eyes filled with tears.

I thought about what you would have said to the boy, Qui-Gon. If it had been Anakin I would have told him yes, that he had completely missed the point of the exercise. But I am older now, and I hope wiser. I look at this barren planet and see nothing but wastes – Luke sees life and possibility.

"No, you didn't do it wrong," I told him. "You showed me how I was wrong – of course the desert is full of life. It shows lateral thinking."

"What?"

"It's a good thing," I assured him. "But let's try the exercise again, but this time, imagine you're in a dark room, with no light, no sound, nothing."

"Why am I in the room?" Luke asked, his eyes wide. "Did I do something bad?"

It is a struggle, Qui-Gon, let me tell you.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I have grave news. The day seemed to start poorly; I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, anticipation and dread all rolled into one. The sunrise was deep red, and although I was never one of those Jedi who looked for meaning in my environment, all the same it boded ill. A storm was coming, the kind that rained dust and ash and left none alive that were unlucky enough to be caught in it.

Still, I saddled Rooh and made my way to the Lars farm, knowing that if a storm did approach it would be safer there or in town. In any event, it was a good opportunity to continue with Luke's instruction. I must remind myself that I am teaching him the basics only – focus, control and concealment. Beru keeps a watchful eye, although she is often distracted by daily chores which I flatter myself I assist with in some capacity.

I make a game of it with Luke – we both fold coarse sheets while I speak to him, telling jokes and singing songs and making up stories. It is his job to focus on his task and not telegraph his reactions through the Force. As you can imagine, Qui-Gon, the boy is poor at this, and excels at the opposite. When I ask him to project a feeling – to try and make me share whatever emotion he has it is potent and powerful. From even this rudimentary instruction I can see where his skills are – persuasion, healing, and intuition. It is a shame I cannot help him develop these abilities, and must restrict myself to dampening the light which burns so brightly inside him.

But today Luke was unsettled, although he was reluctant to tell me why. A dream, I eventually got out of him – a crying child that was not himself, heavy breathing in the darkness, a flash of red light. He was afraid, Luke told me, even now that he had awoken and knew he was safe. He still felt cold.

I despaired, thinking that his fraternal bond with his twin on Alderaan was the cause. Had Vader discovered her identity? I bid farewell to Beru as she wrapped Luke in a blanket and cradled him to her chest, giving him a mother's comfort I could never replicate. Then I headed straight for Anchorhead to see what I could find out. Tosche Station had access to the holonet, the small bar projecting the latest news from the Empire and Hutt Space, although few gave it attention.

I quelled my urgency and ordered a drink, glancing at the holonet absently as if I was disinterested. I knew if Leia had been exposed and Bail and Breha punished the Emperor would not have been able to resist broadcasting their treachery to the galaxy. Alderaan was still the pinnacle of Core society, and though they gave Palpatine lip service everyone knew their true allegiances.

However the report on the holonet was entirely unexpected. News travels slowly out here in the 'Rim, but evidently there had been an uprising on Mandolore, and I knew at once the source of both my and Luke's discomfort.

Bo-Katan and her Death Watch had indeed risen against the Empire, destroying several wings of the Imperial Academy before a grass roots rebellion had seen them commandeer the Palace. I remember Bo-Katan saying as much, although I had hoped with the passage of time she had come to see the foolishness of such an act. No rebellion can take root against the Empire on a single planet – it must be a collective, and only with strength in numbers across many worlds will it succeed.

The news report was brief, proclaiming victory for the Empire in stamping out the uprising. Death Watch had held the Palace for only three days before the Imperial fleet arrived and decimated them. There were no survivors.

I had to turn away when footage of the Emperor's speech began to play, unable and unwilling to hear his cruel, victorious words. He denounced Death Watch as terrorists swiftly dealt with rather than patriots fighting to reclaim their homeland of course, and he is so persuasive and cunning I fear for Bail Organa's roots of rebellion. The Emperor is still popular, and the people still blind.

But my sorrows are with poor Bo-Katan, with her child Mara who will now never know the peace I promised her. Luke must have dreamed her death, his mind so open that his father's dark deeds are manifesting themselves in his sleep. I must make stopping this a priority, lest Luke's mind reaches back to Vader's and he senses the boy's presence here.

I had such hopes for young Mara – I had nurtured wild dreams that one day Bo-Katan would find me and ask for the girl to be trained. What good I could have done with Luke and Mara, and perhaps one day Leia, teaching them to grow strong in the Force! There had been a strange whisper in the back of my mind when I met her, as if she was to play a part in the life of my young charge. But it must have been only a reflection, a path in life now blocked.

I hope she is one with the Force now, Qui-Gon, the poor child who deserved so much more. Perhaps, if it is even possible, you can watch over her for me.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I am happy to report my lessons with Luke are going well. He has learned to control himself, not as well as I would have expected from a youngling at the Temple, but to a satisfactory degree. Beru has informed me that they've had no other incidents of unconscious Force usage like power surges or strong reactions to other's emotional states.

While I know these measures best protect the boy, I cannot help but feel stifled not to show him more. He is so powerful, Qui-Gon. Even in this barren environment with my own Force senses dulled his brilliance is undiminished. I work hard with him to close his mind and erect barriers around his Force sense so his presence cannot be so easily detected by others, but it feels like caging a brilliant bird so it cannot show off its unique plumage.

No, it feels rather more like clipping that bird's wings.

I spend most of my days at the Lars homestead, and often Beru leaves Luke with me while she goes about her day's work. I suppose she trusts me enough now not to break my agreement with them, and only teach Luke to control and suppress his abilities.

It was incredibly hot today, even by Tatooine standards, so by the time I reached the homestead poor Rooh was dripping with sweat (as was her poor master!). I often let the eopie into my hut in such conditions, for companionship as well as anything else. When I mentioned this to Beru she laughed as if I was making a joke, and then gave me a stern look which clearly said there were to be no animals allowed in her house not matter the circumstances.

So before we began our lessons I enlisted Luke to help me wash the creature down with a synthetic saline solution I had bought in Mos Eisley the last time I was there on business for Jabba. It is expensive but not moreso than the amount of water needed would be, and Rooh seems to find relief when it is rubbed into her hide.

Luke loves Rooh, often patting her and giggling when she snuffles her snout into his hair. He talks to her also, and I cannot blame him for that, since I often ramble to her myself. Through the Force I feel her emotions and moods, but today when I observed Luke stroking her neck and babbling away I noticed that his conversation did not appear to be one-sided. He asked the animal questions and acted as if he had heard a response; enquiring whether she preferred the saline rub or baths, what the Dune Sea was like at night, whether she'd ever been ridden past a Tusken Raider camp.

"Luke," I asked nonchalantly, rubbing the solution into the eopie's spine. "Are you talking to Rooh?"

Luke laughed and gave Rooh a look as if I was the strange one. "Of course, Ben!"

"And does she talk back?"

"Yes."

"You mean you're playing a game," I asked, although I knew I wasn't going to get the answer I wanted. "Eopie's aren't sentient, they can't speak or form thoughts like we can."

Luke looked to Rooh and then back at me, biting his lip before answering. "I can hear her, in my head," he explained, pointing at his temple with one finger. "It's not like people talk, but she still saying things to me. She wants you to rub the stuff into her neck now."

Rooh turned her head to me, and I couldn't deny the confirmation in her large eyes. Remembering his skill in healing the dewback and his affinity for animals I couldn't think otherwise, and dutifully transferred my attention to her long neck.

"Luke," I put my hand on his shoulder when I'd finished, and he looked up at me with wide blue eyes. "You know not everyone can hear an animal's thoughts."

"Yeah." Luke looked down and scuffed his boot in the sand. "Aunt Beru says I mustn't tell about what I can do."

"That's right," I told him. "You can listen, but it is best if you don't respond."

"But isn't that mean?" Luke asked. "I don't wanna ignore her."

"They are used to it," I assured him, and patted Rooh's side. "And it is for the best, Luke. I know you don't understand now, but someday I promise I will explain it all to you."

Luke huffed. "Okay." But he put his little arms around Rooh's neck and gave her a sloppy kiss while I continued to bathe her down.

"Why do you live alone?" Luke asked and appeared at my side again. "Rooh says…" He slapped his hand over his mouth at his slip, and then sighed. "I mean, it must be lonely out there."

"It can be," I nodded, uncomfortable with the new line of questioning. "When I was your age I lived in a grand Temple where I studied with thousands of other children, and learnt wonderful things."

Luke squinted in the bright sunlight, holding one hand to shield his eyes. "Why aren't you there now?"

Oh, how such innocent words can sting. "Because I am no longer a student."

"You mean you learned everything?"

I chuckled softly, and mussed Luke's hair. "No, little one. If there's one thing the last few years have taught me, it's that you never stop learning."

"Is that what you're teaching me?" Luke asked. "What you learned at that place?"

I had promised myself I would never lie to the child – mislead and misconstrue perhaps – but never lie. "Some of it," I said carefully, looking around the make sure Beru was nowhere in sight. Likely she was inside so we could not be overheard. "Discipline and control is an important part of what I learned at the Temple."

"But not all of it," Luke nodded in understanding.

"No," I said. "I am like you, Luke. I can do things other cannot, and grew up was a place where I was taught to do much more."

"Like what?"

This was an error, Qui-Gon, but I could not help myself. How long had it been since I had used the Force properly, and Luke so desperately wanted to know! I was weak, I admit.

"This," I said, holding out my hand and lifting him up into the air. He shrieked in delight and I had to tell him to shush, which he did as soon as he figured out he could turn a somersault in mid-air. I knew I was treading close to the line, so slowly lowered him back into the sand as Luke grinned from ear to ear.

"And you could teach me to do that?" he asked, eyes wide and expectant.

"Well, your Aunt and Uncle wouldn't like it…"

"Oh, please Ben!" He rushed over to me, tugging in the sleeve of my tunic. "Please, I won't tell anyone, I promise!"

What could I say? In hindsight there may have been some duplicity in my actions but I swear Qui-Gon in the moment it did not seem that way. All I saw was a young boy eager to learn, and my own worries that teaching him only to suppress his abilities would do more harm than good.

What Owen doesn't know won't hurt him.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Today's entry will be short, as I am not sure when I will have the strength to write again. The situation here has become most distressing but I know I must record my immediate thoughts – at the very least for later examination and reflection.

I thought lessons with Luke had been going so well, even though I was slowly teaching him beyond what had been agreed between myself and the Lars couple. It was simple Force skills, really, levitation of small objects, honing senses, even basic kata – all harmless in my eyes, and Luke excelled, eager to learn and pleased when he had accomplished a new skill.

But halfway through today's lesson, when Luke had successfully lifted a spoon with his mind and gotten it to dance in midair, he gasped and the utensil dropped hard onto the floor. I turned around to see Owen and Beru standing in the doorway, evidently having returned three hours early from their trip into town.

Beru looked confused and betrayed; Owen merely angry.

"Come here, Luke," Beru held out her arms to him, and he ran to her obediently. She swept him up and held his head against her shoulder, stroking his hair as he began to sniffle. If I could feel Owen's rage through the Force, there was no doubt Luke could, and probably more keenly.

"What is this, Kenobi?" Owen demanded, scowling at the spoon on the floor.

There was no point in lying, and I reached out through the Force, trying to calm Owen's mind but he swatted at the air as if at a bug, and I retreated knowing that it was not an option.

"Telekinesis," I said, keeping my voice even and soothing. "It is a Jedi skill."

A crease formed between Beru's eyes. "I thought you agreed not to teach him any of that?"

I spread my hands, trying to look apologetic. "I have taught him to control and discipline, enough to keep him safe. But the boy is so strong in the Force, and so eager to learn I thought it harmless."

Beru's face took on an uncharacteristic hardness as she held Luke closer to her. "Then why did you not discuss it with us first, instead of going against our express wishes?"

"You know why, Beru," Owen said, shooting me a murderous look. "He knew what we would say. But he is the high and mighty Jedi, and we simple farm folk, so clearly he thinks he knows best. Just like that Jedi who took Anakin away said it was for the best – I know, Shmi told me. They said they would teach him to use his powers to help people – protect them – but instead they ruined him." Owen's mouth twisted bitterly, and in that moment I knew I had underestimated his resentment of the Jedi.

"But I'm not going to let you do that to Luke," Owen shook his head. "Get out of my house."

"Owen, please-"

"Get out of my house!" Owen roared, clutching my robe and physically dragging me up and out of the homestead despite my protests. When we reached the ridge above the home he thrust me out and I tumbled down into the sand.

"Stay away from my family!" Owen ordered me, kicking sand in my face as I spluttered and tried to stand, raising my hands palms outward in an effort for conciliation.

"Owen, I apologise, I should have talked to you first. But I believe that forcing Luke to hide his abilities will only put him in more danger in the future-"

"The only danger he is in is from you," Owen pointed his finger at me. "We've tried to compromise, tried to understand, but no more – I see now you are a liar as well as a fraud."

I tried to explain myself, but something about my manner or words only incensed Owen further, and behind him Luke ran out of the homestead, tears in his eyes.

"Ben!" Luke cried. "Don't go!"

"Luke," I called and tried to go to him but Owen blocked my way. I was not prepared to use the Force against him, and so tried to get round physically but felt only Owen's hard fist slam into my jaw. When I tried again he began to punch me in earnest, and how could I fight back against him with Luke there watching?

Luckily Beru appeared and I looked to her for support. But I found only resentment at my betrayal of her friendship and trust – she shook her head at me before scooping Luke up and taking him back into the homestead without a second glance.

Without his family to witness Owen became even more violent. He attacked, and I could only retreat, but he held me in place and punched me in the face repeatedly.

"I won't let you do to him what you did to Anakin!" Owen screamed at me in a rage. "Anakin was good before you Jedi took him away. He was good - Shmi told me so!"

I took the beating - what else could I do? It was not underserved, his words not without truth - from a certain point of view. They had given me a chance to prove myself, to remain true to my word but my arrogance and pride had ruined everything.

Owen's face was red and angry tears spilled down his cheeks; for the step-mother who had taken him in and loved him without reserve, for the step-brother he had never gotten the chance to know, and now for Luke who was the only part of Shmi he had left. Soon enough he turned away, leaving me bruised and shamed on the sand, unwilling to even lift a hand in my own defence.

I backed up, nodding and admitting defeat, knowing that I would pay severely for my error in judgement. Rooh had pulled free from her tether and ran to my side, her coarse tonge licking my wounded face. I grasped at her gratefully, pulling myself to my feet and looking over one last time at Owen.

"You stay away, Kenobi," he called as Rooh and I retreated. "You come near this homestead again and I will shoot you."

I believe him, and do not blame him. I have made all of the same mistakes in new ways, and perhaps it is better if the boy grows up knowing nothing to his heritage, without the taint of the Jedi who had failed his father and now him.

I will watch Luke from afar. It saddens my heart dreadfully as I have become so very fond of the boy. Not hearing his laugh, his cheerful chatter and insightful questions is as much a loss to me as the chance to properly train him as a Jedi.

But it is still too raw to write anything further, Qui-Gon, and can only sign off your erstwhile apprentice,

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

It has been some time since I have written, although I cannot claim that I have been too busy to do so. It has been many months since Owen ejected me from his home and I have not attempted to return, for I believe his promise to shoot me on sight should I do so.

I miss Luke terribly. I had expected to form of bond with the child, of course – he is Anakin’s son and our best hope to end the darkness which presently engulfs all of our lives. And yet…I find myself quite bereft of his presence in way that is quite separate from his heritage or destiny. Luke is such a happy child that his attitude cannot help but be infectious, and I feel as if I have been forced to live in a dark world where once I knew bright sunshine. I miss his insightful and eager responses to my teaching, that feeling of pride and accomplishment that this time I would not fail. That Luke would one day be the Jedi I could not make of his father.

But I am banished now as well as exiled. Luke will grow up and forget his strange powers, dismissing them as an idle childhood fancy. And perhaps that is for the best. Perhaps Yoda and I were wrong to include him in our plans, to expect more of him than he may be willing to give. That was our mistake with Anakin, for when the nine year old boy wanted to become a Jedi I doubt he thought it would mean a life of war and hardship, of sacrifice where his love for Padmé would have to be hidden and denied. Would he have made the same choice?

I know I would have. The Jedi have been my life’s purpose; it has given me structure and fulfillment. I have not always agreed with the Council, but I have always believed in the Code.

There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force.

All my life, I have looked to these tenets and found guidance and comfort in them. Yes, I have loved – Siri, Satine – but I have never felt the uncontrolled passion that must have coursed through Anakin’s veins, leading him to take such drastic steps so he would not lose what he had come to possess. I once told Satine that I would have left the Jedi Order if she had asked it of me, but I wonder now whether that had been nothing more than a flight of romantic fancy. Perhaps she had never asked me because she knew it would not have made me happy.

Even with all that has happened, I still choose the life of a Jedi, although my resolve is often tested. A true Jedi does not work for a crimelord, although I convince myself that such acts are countered by the protection it affords Luke. A true Jedi should not have lied to Owen and Beru, and tried to train Luke without their knowledge, and I accept my error. Yet I believe my heart remains that of a Jedi, and every day I learn and I improve.

I wish Anakin had come to me about Padmé, so that I could have counselled him. And yet, what would I have said? Advised him to leave the Jedi Order, to become another Lost One, shunned by his brothers and sisters? Or would I have begged him to stay, convinced him that his love was mere longing, and that he was needed in the upcoming war? That more was required of him, the Chosen One, and that he should put aside such fancies for the greater good?

Perhaps he had been trying to spare me that choice. I had known of course, the nature of his and Padmé’s relationship although I had underestimated how deep his attachment was. Anakin made the choice to keep that secret, and I made the choice to pretend I didn’t know.

Time will only tell what Luke’s choices will be.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I have received a missive from Bail Organa, so well encoded that it took me the better part of the day to read the message. We have corresponded on occasion but it appears security provisions in the Core Worlds have tightened and a meeting over the holonet impossible no matter how secure the line is. I reproduce the decoded message here:

Ben,

I hope this message finds you well and in good spirits. Alderaan is prospering under the benevolence of the Emperor, and he had honoured us with the particular attention of Lord Vader, who is to attend our millennial celebrations later this year.

Breha is determined to hold an Organa family reunion in the lead up to the celebrations. I know you are only her distant cousin, but as a dear friend we would be pleased for you to attend should you have the time.

Bail Organa

As you can see, Qui-Gon, even in a coded message Bail must be careful, but I can easily read between the lines. The Emperor and Vader are getting too close – perhaps they sense Bail's dissent, or my earlier warning that little Leia could give herself away are hitting home. I am of course in no way related to Breha Organa, but it is an easy lie and would not give raise flags should the message be intercepted.

So I must journey to Alderaan. I am reluctant to leave Luke, but what good am I doing him here? Every day I journey out to watch Luke as he starts to assist Owen on the farm, learning the mechanics of vaporators so that they can be methodically checked and repaired. It is hard work for one so young, and although Luke has a vast aptitude for mechanics being out in the heart all day is exhausting. But he is old enough now to start earning his keep, the same as Owen would have done at Luke's age.

For the moment he seems happy enough, although every now and then he looks in my direction as if he can sense my presence. Perhaps he can, and wonders why I no longer visit. I hope Owen and Beru told him I was to blame, so the boy does not think it was anything he did. It's likely, given Owen's feelings about me.

There is nothing more I can do for Luke at present, but perhaps I can help his sister. I can only hope Bail and Breha will be more receptive, or at the very least happy to see me.

I can't wait to take a proper shower.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Alderaan is even more beautiful than I remember. A planet of towering, snowy mountains, deep blue oceans and endless, fertile woods, she is not by some idle fancy that she is known as the jewel of the Core. When I stepped off my transport this morning the crisp breeze that caressed my face was so gentle and mild I'm ashamed to say it almost made me weep.

I looked up at a sun that did not scald my eyes, and for the first time in years saw clouds. Tatooine was harsh and demanding, but Alderaan was like the warm embrace of a friend, every aspect of my surroundings from the smiling faces in the spaceport to the smell of orowood blossoms in the air giving a sense of welcome.

Even so, I was cautious, as I had no idea if there were Imperial spies lurking about. I had dyed my hair a dark brown to pass more convincingly as a relation of Breha's but I was worried that I was too fair, for the Organas are renowned for their beautiful golden-brown skin. But it seems the twin suns have done their work over the years, and my once pale complexion has become careworn and tanned.

Though friendly, no one gave me a second glance as I headed towards the speeder rentals and I was confident my meagre disguise was adequate. Briefly, I wondered how many had once seen my face on the holonet, when news of a victory had been broadcast. I was one half of Skywalker and Kenobi in those days, a beacon of hope in the galaxy who had been too long at war. Children had play-acted as me and adults had felt reassured by my image, and now only a few years later I am just another face in the crowd.

I never reveled in the adoration like Anakin had, but I cannot deny my own vanity is stung by being back in the Core, and wholly forgotten. But I quickly scolded myself for such thoughts and turned them into gratitude, as anonymity meant safety not only for myself but others as well.

I was halfway across the spaceport when my breath caught in my throat and I stopped abruptly at the sight of a woman. No - a ghost.

I have seen her sometimes in my dreams, of course, a scared, piteous woman in pain as she births her child. Sometimes her cries turn into accusations – help me, Obi-Wan, why didn't you help me? We could have brought him back together. One error among many, I had revealed myself on Mustafar at precisely the wrong time, too upset with Anakin and desperate to stop him. The endless what ifs run through my mind – if I had waited until she'd calmed him down, if I had showed understanding instead of judgement, if, if, if…

I swallowed heavily and blinked, shaking those thoughts away. When I looked again it was not Padmé before me, not a specter come to warn me away from her daughter as I have been warned away from her son. It was Sabé.

I breathed a sigh of relief as she approached me, a delicate smile on her lips. She still bore a striking resemblance to Padmé, although perhaps age had differentiated them further; Sabé's face was thinner and neck longer, her eyes darker and deeper. I had always considered Sabé to be the more regal of the two, although perhaps that was simply because I first knew her as queen and Padmé in her disguise as handmaiden.

"Hello, old friend," Sabé greeted me, extending her hand warmly. I grasped it with a smile, and it had been so long since I had done so the skin of my cheeks felt tight and cracked.

"Thank you for meeting me." A banal comment, to be sure, but I could not be certain Sabé was still using that name, or what cover story they had concocted. She gave me a nod in recognition as her smile widened slightly, as is pleased I had picked up on her cues. But then, we'd always made a good team.

Sabé took me to the Palace, explaining that Bail and Breha would visit me tomorrow as they were involved in court duties until then. I was happy enough with that, particularly when I was shown luxurious guest rooms and given some time alone to refresh myself. I will admit only to you, Qui-Gon, that when Sabé left the room I lay on the blue silk sheets of the bed and ran the soft material against the desiccated skin of my cheek for longer than perhaps necessary.

The shower was heaven itself, washing away years of accumulated dust and dirt that no stanisteam could properly remove. I rubbed at my dry skin until it was a plump pink, and experimented with the various oils and creams set out for me until I felt civilized again. There were fresh clothes as well, of stylized cut and fine material in shades of Organa blue, a thousand times more comfortable than Jedi robes.

When I emerged from the refresher I saw Sabé had returned and was seated at an ornate table by the window. The cups and saucers set out before her were recognisably royal – delicate porcelain with intricate blue brushstrokes made by a skilled hand. But the teapot doesn't match – it was red and black, engraved with the images of flowers and vines; old and well-worn, yet delicate despite its cast iron construction.

I took a seat beside Sabé as she poured the tea, a dark amber liquid which gave off an enticing aroma. It brought back fond memories of tea ceremonies we'd shared over the years, the first when she was still masquerading as Queen and had offered to show a young and bored apprentice the practice of her people. Since then on the rare occasions we met it had often been over a cup of tea, trading blends, stories and advice.

"How have you been, Ben?" she asked, even in private using my assumed name. "How is young Luke?"

I raised the teacup to my lips and blew on it lightly before taking a sip. "Oh, that it lovely," I said with relief, the tea strong with herbal undercurrents. "Luke is a precious child," I added with a smile. "Clever and sweet, and everything a young boy should be."

"I am glad to hear it." Sabé took a sip of her tea, her smile as gentle and warm as I remembered. "I have been acting as dear Leia's governess, and she is precocious and mature beyond her years."

I drank my tea as she spoke, so happy to hear friendly words and anxious to know how Leia had been faring. It was almost like the old days, even though I know that they are long gone and will never return.

"She will make a wonderful queen someday," Sabé said, toying slightly with the tablecloth. "But...she still dreams of the boy who lives in the sun, and sometimes I catch her seeming lonely even if a crowd of people. As if she misses something she has never truly known."

I finished my tea, allowing the last mouthful to linger pleasantly on my tongue. Sabé poured me another cup without me needing to ask as I pondered her statement. Luke was a lonely child also - I had attributed that to his isolation but perhaps it was something more.

"I have wondered from time to time," I said eventually, "if it was a mistake to split the two up."

Sabé seemed impassive as she took another sip of tea, but I knew from experience there was something brewing beneath her cool expression. "How did you come to the decision in the first place?"

I thought back to those moments on the Tantive IV. "There really wasn't much of a discussion at all," I conceded, and saw everything I needed to in Sabé's raised eyebrows. She gently put her cup back in its saucer and wiped her hands delicately on a napkin.

"I see."

"It was a trying time for us all," I attempted to defend myself, wounded by her unspoken accusation. "Yoda rightly suggested that they needed to be hidden, and Bail said he and Breha would adopt Leia. Why he did not offer to take them both I do not know." The selfish part of me thought that perhaps it would have been a better option, and then I would have been able to watch over them both in relative comfort.

"Alderaan needs a Queen," she pointed out. "It was natural for him to want a daughter, and perhaps he felt Luke would grow up in his sister's shadow."

I nodded, although somewhat shamed for never giving it thought before. "Luke's powers have already begun to manifest," I added, the thought coming to me easily. "Both of them together may only amplify each of their strengths, and all of us would be in far more danger."

"Hmmm." Sabé seemed unconvinced. "Yet I wonder if an absence in the heart is even worse. From each other, and their family still on Naboo…"

"They can never know," I said firmly. "You as well as anyone know the planet it too volatile now."

Her sharp eyes flicked back to my face, and the corners of her mouth turned downwards. "Yes, I do."

"I'm sorry." I reached forward and placed my hand over hers. "It is so painful to know you will never see your home again. For you Naboo, for me the Jedi Temple…all that is lost to us now, and we must look to the future – to Luke and Leia."

Her expression softened. "You are right, of course. We mustn't cling to the past too much." With her free hand she touched the side of her teapot lightly, heedless of the heat that was surely held by it.

Our conversation shifted to more pleasant topics – I told her of young Luke's love of my eopie Rooh, and she spoke of Leia doing her level best to ruin every outfit she owned by playing in the mud. I did not tell her of my banishment from the Lars' farm, pretending instead that we were both speaking of our wards as equal and loving guardians. Once I reached up to stroke my chin, the smooth skin feeling odd rather than the beard I was used to, and Sabé laughed into her tea.

"I like it," she told me. "It reminds me of when we first met."

"How young we both were then," I said wistfully, thinking back to that arrogant padawan who thought he knew it all, and the steely handmaiden who had absorbed the life of another as her own. "How foolish."

"Or perhaps," she countered. "We were wiser than we would ever be again."

"Perhaps you were, my dear," I teased. "But I look back on that young fool and think only of the mistakes he will make."

"You are too hard on yourself, Obi-Wan," she said softly, for once her adherence to protocol slipping. "I remember a young padawan who gave reassurance to a girl conflicted without her Queen to guide her. She watched him grow into a man who took on far too many burdens, and blamed himself too harshly for events over which he had no control."

My heart was warmed by her kindness, however unwarranted. I have felt so alone and rejected these past months, and Sabé's gentle companionship has been a balm far better than a hot shower or silk sheets.

Tomorrow I will meet with dear little Leia – with any luck I will provide the same kind of relief to Bail and Breha Organa, and not let Sabé's faith in me prove misplaced.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

It was mid-morning when Sabé escorted me down to the Great Hall of the Delanieve Palace, where Queen Breha was holding court. She sat on a massive throne of gold and white, several steps above all those in the room. And yet her expression was serious as she listened to her trade minister give his report, a dedicated and involved monarch. To her right and down one step sat Bail Organa on a smaller throne of brass, although his attention was distracted by the small girl on his lap.

My heart leapt at seeing little Leia after five years, so different from the serene infant I had once held in my arms. In many ways she resembled Breha, dark hair bound in braids around her head and wearing a gown of shimmering blue. But her skin was fairer, the most obvious indication she was not an Organa by blood. They had of course never hidden Leia's adoption – she was one war orphan among many and we had taken great pains to ensure everyone believed Padmé's child had died with her.

I see so much of her mother in the child, and Anakin too. While Breha sits absolutely still, her hands resting lightly on the arms of her throne, young Leia is squirming in Bail's arms, seeking to escape. I glanced at Sabé with an indulgent smile, but see the corners of her mouth slightly downturned. Evidently Leia's behavior is not as one would expect from a princess of Alderaan, although I think privately that it is exactly what one would expect from a Skywalker.

"She is just a child," I say under my breath. "Is so much required of her?"

Sabé arched an eyebrow at me. "Any more than was required of younglings at the Temple?"

"Fair point," I conceded. Have I already forgotten the rigorous study and responsibilities of young Jedi, that I contrast Leia's upbringing to Luke's rather than my own? I think back to the harsh life on Tatooine, and the struggles Luke will face ahead, and yet while he will never know the finery of Leia's life, perhaps he will have a different sort of comfort.

The public audience ended soon afterwards, and as the various attendees filtered out of the room Sabé brought me forward in a way that was oddly formal. Yet as I reached the base of the steps which lead up to the throne Breha's face split into a friendly smile.

"My dear Ben." She rose gracefully and approached, kissing both of my cheeks in greeting. I had met Breha a handful of times in my life, and yet her demeanor made even me believe we were family. "How good of you to come."

Bail brought Leia forward, the child's hand grasped gently in his own. "Leia," he introduced her as she eyed me warily. "This is your cousin Ben."

I crouched down to Leia's eye level and gave her my most charming smile. "Hello, Leia."

She gave me a curtsy, but it was very shallow indeed. "Have we met before?" she asked, her voice crisp and her dark eyes inquisitive. "You feel familiar."

I glanced up at Bail, and he grimaced. And yet Leia's gaze was so probing, I could feel her unconsciously reaching out through the Force to discern the truth. She was not a child who could be easily lied to.

"Once," I said, reaching forward to pinch her cheek. "When you were a tiny baby."

"Perhaps you should adjourn to the private apartments," Sabé suggested, giving a worried glance to the collection of officials still clustered near the doorway.

"Yes," Breha nodded. "But Leia is due for her equus lesson."

"I'm going to be a steeplechase champion," Leia declared, her little chin lifting proudly.

"Oh?" I smiled at her confidence, and thought perhaps we had found some common ground. "I once rode a varactyl, she was a very fine mount."

Leia cocked her head to the side and looked at me quizzically. "What's a va-rac-tyl?"

"A kind of giant lizard," I told her, impressed by the way she'd sounded out the word. "Native to the world of Utapau."

Leia's eyes widened in excitement, but Bail touched her lightly on the shoulder and shook his head. "Don't even think about it."

"Cousin Ben can tell you all about it later," Breha said kindly, reaching down to give Leia a kiss on the cheek. "You don't want to be late for your lesson."

"I will take her, my Lady." Sabé took Leia's hand and gave me a reassuring nod before leaving the chamber. Breha led the way to more private rooms, and I took a seat on the low couch she indicated, crossing one leg over the other. It was not unlike a session in the Jedi Council, as Bail and Breha sat opposite me. It felt good to be consulted again.

"So you have not told Leia who I am?" I asked, simply wishing to confirm the protocols.

"That was more for the benefit of any spies which may be lurking about," Bail said seriously.

"Many members of my family have been visiting this year for the millennial celebrations," Breha explained. "So your presence is easily explained, but we must be careful. It is really only in private we can speak openly."

I nodded, stroking my chin in thought. "In your letter you mentioned Vader planned to attend the celebrations."

"The Emperor is suspicious of me – with good reason," Bail said with a grimace. "Although I keep a low profile in the Senate, and am forced to vote horrific measures in support of his regime, he likely fears we will use the ceremony to spread dissent."

"We worry most for Leia," Breha spoke up, a crease forming between her eyes. "He is her father – will he not be able to sense her through the Force?"

"It is possible," I considered. "He would certainly be able to sense me, if I were here. But he has never been in Leia's presence, so he would not know her unique signature."

"But you cannot be sure," Breha pressed, looking worried.

"I have had some success in teaching Luke to suppress his Force abilities. He is a powerful empath, and he had learned to…cocoon himself, for lack of a better word."

The couple shared a glance, and Bail reached for Breha's hand, clasping it tightly. "Leia's gifts are so extraordinary," Breha said. "We would not wish to stifle her."

How different, Qui-Gon, from Owen and Beru's attitude. And yet they live very different lives, with very different expectations.

"Would you wish for Leia to be trained?" I asked, careful to keep the hope out of my voice. Another glance between the two, which told me everything I needed to know.

"Being the future Queen of Alderaan is pressure enough," Bail said, but it was kindly, as if knowing his words would disappoint.

"So what would you ask of me?" I spread my hands. Bail looked to Breha again, and she nodded her head slightly, as if in consent.

"If you could teach Leia some basic skills, enough to decrease her risk of detection by Vader or the Emperor, we would be grateful."

I sighed, but forced a smile. "Of course."

This is the third time I have received such a request – perhaps this time I will finally get it right?

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I have spent several days with young Leia and have made little progress. Where Luke was keen to learn and quick to trust, Leia is as stubborn and sceptical as her father, and I have struggled to reach the child. Her mind is nigh impenetrable, which demonstrates her natural skills, but makes teaching her anything vastly more difficult. Luke’s mind and heart were open, his immense aptitude in the Force making him feel the thoughts and emotions of others too deeply – a true empath. In contrast Leia is a thinker – analytical and precise in everything she does.

I do not mean she lacks feeling, in fact I have witnessed a great kindness and sense of justice in the girl. But all of her energy is directed outward, with such great self-control that I fear there is little she lets truly affect her.

I’ve tried to teach her to hide herself in the Force – to enhance her natural shields to reduce the chances of detection by another Force sensitive. It was under the guise of meditation, of course, since her parents felt trying to explain the Force to her would appeal to Leia’s ambition and take her down a path they feared.

But I found my efforts frustrated, Leia unwilling to relax and allow me into her mind to demonstrate how the skill was learned.

“Why don’t you trust me, child?” I asked, frustrated. We were sitting cross-legged on the floor in Leia’s rooms where she usually took lessons. Sabé sat in the corner, one leg crossed over the other, idly overseeing the session.

Leia looked at me through narrowed eyes. “Because you’re lying.”

“Oh?” I was curious. “What makes you say that?”

“I always know when people are lying,” Leia said matter of factly. “Mama lied when she said you were her cousin, Papa lied when he said you were a tutor, and you lied about everything.” She stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t like it.”

The Force manifesting itself in her, Qui-Gon, ordinarily such a wonderful thing to behold. But now it is dangerous. Could I trust a little girl to keep my secrets? On the other hand how can I expect her to trust me, unless I give the same to her? I looked to Sabé for permission as much as advice, and she gave a small nod.

“My real name is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” I told Leia, looking directly into her eyes. “And I am a tutor of sorts, but unlike one you have ever known. Have you heard of the Clone Wars?”

Leia nodded slowly, and through the Force I felt the tension in her lessen slightly.

“I fought in them – with your father in fact.” It amused me, I do admit, to use language in this way, since it was not a lie at all.

Leia narrowed her eyes again. “Papa wasn’t a fighter.”

I smiled to myself. “Quite right. Bail was a Senator who nonetheless was drawn into battle occasionally, and I was a General often charged with assisting his relief efforts.”

“General Kenobi,” Leia sounded out the words slowly. “I like that.”

I had struck something within the girl – she was drawn to order, a need to find her place in the chaos. “You can call me that if you like,” I told her. “And be my cadet?”

Leia seemed to mull this over, toying with her braids as she studied me. “Aren’t Jedi cadets called padawans?”

Sabé, halfway through eating a biscuit, almost choked on it, coughing and spluttering and giving me a bewildered look. I was no less shocked, but took it better.

“Why do you think I am a Jedi?”

Leia shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Most generals in the Clone Wars were Jedi, and you want to teach me stuff to do in my head. I’m not stu-pid.”

Clever girl. “It is not safe in the galaxy for Jedi,” I reminded her, seeing that denial would be useless. “So you see why your parents and I had to lie?”

“I can keep a secret,” Leia looked up at me, her large, dark eyes earnest with a spark of excitement lingering within.

“Good,” I nodded. “Because what I want to teach you is for your own protection. Alright, cadet?”

Leia straightened her back and lifted her chin, giving me a stern salute. “Yes, sir.”

Later, Sabé and I shared tea in her quarters. Much like the woman herself, they were refined but not sterile, lavish without being showy. Similar to the rest of the Palace the room was adorned with furnishings in Organa blue, but there were hints to Sabé’s own heritage in small touches – accents of red on the drapes and tablecloths, a painting of Theed Palace hanging on the wall, and of course her cast iron tea set of black and red, the only keepsake of her family she had left.

“You say that Master Jinn can reach you from the beyond?” Sabé asked as she poured the tea, a calming blend of khama and sweet-roots.

“Yes,” I said, inhaling the delicate scent of the tea. “Not always, but we can communicate sometimes – I speak to him more often, and believe he hears me.” Or rather, Qui-Gon, that somehow you sense the words I write, since even to Sabé communication via journal may seem too strange!

“How?” she pressed.

“I admit I do not quite know,” I admitted. “Everything passes on into the Force as you know, but somehow he was able to retain form and consciousness. He is teaching me, for when I pass on.”

Sabé set the teapot down on the table a trifle hard, making it shake. I steadied it with one hand and regarded her curiously – eyes downcast, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and a shadow passing over her face. But it disappeared as she looked up again, as ever serene.

“Do you think non-Force sensitives could do this?”

“You’re thinking of Padmé,” I realised, reaching out to over her hand with mine.

“It would be nice to talk to her,” Sabé said with a sad smile. “I know I can, and sometimes I do, just like you with Qui-Gon. But she never answers back.”

“I’m sure she would say she was grateful,” I assured her. “For you looking after Leia. She is a wonderful child.”

Sabé brightened then, her thoughts clearly drifting the girl who was the centre of her world. “Yes,” she nodded at me. “And you, with Luke.”

I withdrew my hand and took a sip of tea, the floral-sweet flavor instantly calming. “It is nice to be teaching again.”

Sabé gave me an odd look, and I knew she had spotted a discrepancy. “How eager you must be to resume your training with him,” she said, prodding cautiously at the hole in my story.

“Oh, Sabé.” I looked up at the ceiling, the weight of my secret too heavy to keep up. “I have not seen Luke for some time. No,” I corrected myself. “I have seen him from afar, but I am not even permitted to speak to him. I am exiled twice over.”

The whole, dreadful story spilled from my lips – my initial friendship with Beru, the deal with Jabba, my encounter with Bo-Katan and her daughter and finally my arrogance and betrayal of Beru’s trust leading to my violent dismissal at Owen’s hand. To her credit, Sabé simply listened to my tale, quietly sipping her tea and giving no outward sign of judgement.

“So you see?” I finished, offering her my palms as if that would absolve me. “I have failed with Anakin, and now Luke as well. You should send me away before I can do the same with Leia.”

A crease formed between Sabé’s eyes. “I have never known you to be so self-pitying," she scolded me. "Anakin made his own choices despite your training, and while you overstepped with Luke, I can see it was only out of concern for his wellbeing. A bit of arrogance, perhaps,” she added, a small smile appearing. “Which is hardly a fatal flaw, and one reigned in easily enough.”

“Anakin used to help with that,” I said wistfully, tracing the rim of my teacup. “His skills and achievements kept me humble, and now I am unchecked.”

“I can berate you, if you like,” Sabé said, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “But it seems you need reassurance. How strange,” she added with a light laugh. “That a Jedi Master would need praise from a governess.”

“I am not a Jedi Master anymore,” I pointed out. “And you are far more than a simple governess.”

Then Sabé looked at me in a way I can’t quite describe, the barest of smiles gracing her lips. I wonder if she has always looked at me so, and I simply did not see it, or if time and circumstance has caused such a feeling to bloom within her. It was the look of a dearest friend and confidante, and yet so much more that I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

I have always considered her beautiful, but in the way one might appreciate a delicate flower. And yet she seemed different, as if I had always admired from afar and so had never fully appreciated the colour, bloom, and scent. Looking back over our friendship, I wonder if something had always been brewing there below the surface, never quite strong enough to breach until now.

“I should go.” I cleared my throat and rose to leave, nerves skimming under my skin.

“Don’t.” She rose as well, tugging lightly on my arm. “Please.”

I could not refuse her, turning to see her face close to mine. “Sabé,” I sighed her name. “In my heart, I am still very much a Jedi. And attachment is forbidden – look at what happened with Anakin.”

“I know,” she said, and my gaze couldn’t help but linger on the way her mouth formed the words. “And soon we will part again, as we have done so many times before. Duty first, always.” She cupped my face gently in her small hands, her thumb brushing over the side of my mouth where the skin was smooth. “But comfort, fleeting as it may be – is that also against your Jedi code?”

She waited a few moments for my answer, but I had none to give her. For the first time in a long while I felt understood and accepted, her presence and conversation helping to lift away some of the burdens which had plagued me these past months.

My dear Sabé, who was not a Jedi, and yet understood the life I lived perhaps better than any other. Sabé who drew my face towards hers and pressed her soft lips against mine, a kiss of deep affection and companionship, a culmination of years and distance and brief conversations over tea, of support and reassurance and yes, even love, although not the great passion that had driven our friends to the brink and beyond. Rather, something far more pleasant, her arms winding around my neck and drawing me close to find strength in her, and in return to take comfort from me...

But to write any more would be indelicate, so I will leave it there.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I am pleased to report that my lessons with Leia have progressed nicely. She is studious and bright, and I think much to that is thanks to Sabé, her erstwhile governess. And yet I see a great deal of Bail in her as well; that single-minded drive in everything she does, and already she shows half of Breha’s poise although she does not yet possess her restraint.

We do not speak of the Force, although I do not lie to the child either. I teach her “special skills” which are primarily directed to strengthening her mind and will, so that even under direct probing her Force sensitivity should not be detected. Unfortunately as she grows these barriers will strengthen even further, and her mind will not be easy to unlock. She may not even remember our lessons – oh, she may have a vague recollection of me, dear “General Kenobi” as she has taken to calling me in private, but her special skills will no doubt merge with all her other lessons of riding and history and etiquette. Perhaps that is as it should be.

But events have turned. I accompanied the family and Sabé to the public gardens, where a variety of sculptures by local artists had been collected as part of the millennial celebrations. They were quite beautiful, although I confess many of them I did not understand, and Sabé would patiently explain the media used, the possible meanings, and tidbits about the artist if she knew them well.

Leia would chime in occasionally, and I was impressed by the young girl’s insight although I knew art to be vitally important to Alderaanian culture and studied since birth. Bail and Breha walked a few paces in front of us arm in arm, nodding regally at their subjects as they passed, occasionally stopping to converse with them.

One piece caught my eye, a large charcoal sculpture carved into a triangular shape. On the walls were etched words I knew to be Old Alderaanian although I could not decipher them. Around the base were scattered five pillars, clearly broken off the sculpture where jagged spires jutted out of the stepped apex. From these open wounds emanated a billowing, translucent material of grey and red that danced in the air.

Sabé didn’t need to explain the piece to me – I had seen the Jedi Temple burn with my own eyes.

“It’s called The Death of Peace,” she told me softly, putting a hand on my arm. But I was transfixed, all the memories and pain of that day flooding back.

“Sabé.” Breha’s voice, unusually curt, and I turned to see a tall, silver-haired man in an Imperial uniform approach briskly. I could see from the bars on his chest that he was of high rank, and quickly fixed my expression into one of neutrality.

“Governor Maxiam,” Breha greeted the officer evenly. “Nice of you to attend our celebrations and see the rich culture Alderaan has to offer.”

“Yes.” Maxiam examined his fingernails with disinterest. “I am well aware of your – culture – your Majesty. In fact, I am inundated with it.”

“Good morning, Governor.” Leia stepped forward and curtseyed sweetly. “It is our pleasure to welcome you to our gardens.”

Out the corner of my eye I saw Sabé smile, pride in her pupil clear. It seemed to work, a chip falling away from Maxiam’s cold exterior.

“Thank you, Princess,” he said to her and bowed slightly, before his gaze drifted to me. “And who is your guest?”

“This is my cousin, Ben,” Breha introduced me.

“Ah,” Maxiam nodded and waved his hand airily. “Forgive me. You Organas are so numerous it is hard to keep track. Your cousin, you say? Bellum’s son?”

“No, Ben is my third cousin,” Breha lied smoothly. “Great Great Grandmama Alderia had ten children, the youngest of which-”

Maxiam held up his hand to stop her. “Please,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “No more family history.”

Breha’s smile betrayed no relief, although she must have felt it. “As you wish.”

“And what is this?” Maxiam brushed past me to examine the sculpture more closely.

“A work of great skill,” Bail said tightly. “Perhaps it depicts the smoking mountains in the South Seas.”

“No.” Maxiam turned back to face Bail very slowly. “Senator Organa, you know what this is, just as I do. You were a witness to this event.”

“What are you implying, Governor?” Breha’s voice was steel. “We do not censor our artists, they are free to submit any piece they feel appropriate.”

“And this?” Maxiam gestured to the sculpture. “I assure you the Emperor would not feel it appropriate.” He removed a commlink from his belt and thumbed it on. “Commander Vidian, locate and arrest,” he examined the sculpture plate for the name of the artist, “Pasquale Allidia.” Maxiam turned off the device and took a menacing step towards Breha. Bail stepped in between them, and the two men stood eye to eye.

“I advise you not to interfere,” Maxiam said, his voice low and dangerous. “Unless you want to Emperor to think you are complicit. I am sure Lord Vader will be vigilant when he arrives next month to ensure something like this doesn’t happen again. For your daughter’s sake - I hope not.”

A muscle in Bail’s jaw visibly clenched, and he glanced down a Leia, looking at Maxiam with wide eyes. He stepped aside and allowed the man to pass, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” I assured him when Maxiam was out of sight, trying not to think of the fate of the artist.

“But that’s not fair,” Leia whispered softly, a frown marring her pretty face.

“I know.” Bail scooped her into his arms and held her close.

“What kind of monarch am I, who cannot protect her own people?” Breha asked, for once her calm manner dispelled by distress. Bail put his arm around her too, the three standing there together and I felt inadequate to comfort them. There would be many such choices ahead, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

Sabé tugged lightly on my arm, and led me back to her quarters where she prepared the tea – black and bitter, this time. Appropriate.

“I have to go,” I told her. “I’ve been away from Luke too long, and I cannot be here when Vader is.”

Sabé nodded and took a sip of her tea. “You think he will come earlier?”

“It’s possible.” I stroked my chin, actually looking forward to growing out my beard again. “Especially if he is looking for anything treasonous.”

“And Leia?”

“She will be fine,” I assured her. “I’ve taught her all I can. Well…all that was asked of me. I will miss her, though,” I added at Sabé’s soft smile. “I will miss you all.”

I knew she would never ask me to stay, although it was doubtless on her mind. Force knows it was on mine. But I had made a vow to Luke, and as much as I cared for Leia she was not my charge. In truth, I missed the boy terribly.

“Leia told me she’s stopped having her dreams,” Sabé said, placing her cup down in its saucer and turning it slightly. “About the boy who lives in the sun.”

“Yes.” I sighed. “I regret that connection is probably lost to her now.” A side effect of her Force barriers; an unwelcome but unavoidable one.

“In her dreams she was a girl in the mountain, who would call the sun to her when it set so they could play together.” When Sabé raised her eyes to mine, they were wet. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Indeed.” I took a sip of tea, the bitterness welcome on my tongue.  What else was there to say? 

“The last dream she had, she woke up crying,” Sabé added, her usually cool countenance starting to crack. “He’s so lonely, she said. So I know you must go back, that your place is with Luke.” She shifted around the table to sit next to me, her small hands grasping mine. “But I worry about you, Obi-Wan,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Out there in the desert with no one to talk to.”

My heart ached to think of Luke all alone, wondering if he’d noticed my absence, if his loneliness was in part because of me. As much as I wanted to see him again, I was not looking forward to returning

"I have Qui-Gon," I said somewhat feebly. "And Yoda, if I feel I need a scolding."

"I mean a friend of flesh and blood," she said, a smile quirking her lips. "Everyone needs that."

"I'll get by," I whispered, kissing her forehead and choosing not to mention my eopie Rooh. Somehow even though she fit the criteria I doubt Sabé would find her adequate either.

“If you ever so feel alone,” she told me, turning her face upward to mine. “Just remember, someone is out there, thinking of you fondly.”

She kissed me then, and we did not speak further, since words were unnecessary and goodbyes unspoken.

I met with Leia and her parents the following morning to bid my farewells. I tried reaching out to Leia through the Force, and felt nothing out the ordinary which gives me both comfort in the knowledge of her safety, and disquiet that the Force within her is suppressed. Although necessary, I can't quite forgive myself for the act.

But Bail and Breha are grateful enough, Bail shaking my hand firmly and Breha giving me a warm embrace. I tell them not to worry about Vader, that their concern will be felt keenly by him, and he will wonder why. Trust in the Force, I advise them, and in your daughter, whose mind is stronger than anyone I have ever known.

“Goodbye, my little cadet,” I crouched down to Leia’s eye level, and pinched her cheek fondly. “You’ve done so well.”

Leia wrinkled her nose at me, mischief sparkling in those large brown eyes. “Don’t I deserve a promotion then?”

I laughed. “Fair enough,” I winked at her, unable to deny the child such acknowledgement. “My little Lieutenant.”

“General.” She stood to attention and saluted me, one a returned with pride and a promise. One day, I will awaken the Force in her again – perhaps when Luke is grown I can bring him to her, and reunite the family I played a part in tearing apart.

Yes. I feel this in the Force, Qui-Gon, in my very bones. I do not know when, or how, but one day Luke and Leia will see each other once more. After all, the sun crests and embraces the mountain before the two are separated during the long day. But always, the sun sets and touches the horizon again, for the two cannot be kept apart.

Their separations may be frequent and long, but they will always find one another.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

So to Tatooine I have returned, and yet this time the sight of the desert did not fill me with dread and sorrow. The hot, arid air was almost welcome on my face, the sight of the vast sand plains and red rock a strange sort of comfort. You must be laughing, my friend, to see me – ever the fastidious, civilised student, who would not brook even a loose hair on my robe, become a desert child. For all its faults, the planet has grown on me; it has a kind of wildness which makes me believe anything to be possible. The dry wind blows over the sand every day, slowly tearing down the old dunes and making new ones in their place. There is a kind of futility in that, and yet hope as well, because nothing is fixed, and life moves ever on.

Except, it seems, at Jabba’s Palace. His spies must be effective, for I had not been home an hour before a had a visitor. It was a Zelton female, her pink skin almost red from the trek across the desert. The chain around her neck told me she was Jabba’s slave, and even without it I would have known from the fearful look in her eyes. She was skittish, her gaze always darting around as if expecting her doom at any moment.

“You must be exhausted, my dear,” I said, drawing her into the kitchen and to my table, careful not to touch her sensitive skin. 

“I mustn’t stay too long,” she said, her bird-like voice barely a whisper as I placed a cup of tea in front of her.

“Time enough to drink that,” I urged her, taking a seat across the table. “It is a special blend – it will revitalise you.”

A gift from Sabé – as much tea as I could fit in my travelling case, and a wide variety far beyond what even the importers and marketeers in Mos Eisley could offer. In particular, a blend of Alderaanian swellblossoms and flikus roots known to have healing properties. I had left a small box on Beru’s windowsill when I had gone to check on Luke, allowing myself a peak through into the home where I noted how much he’d grown in the short time he’d been away. Tomorrow, I will make a longer inspection, but for now I hope Beru will accept the gift even though she would have no doubt as to the source.

The girl sipped the tea with both hands on the cup and her head bowed, as if she’d been given a great honour.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Marei,” she answered without looking up.

“Marei,” I repeated, the name pleasant to hear. “So why did Jabba choose to send you?”

She put down the cup and when she lifted her gaze she looked wounded. “Don’t you remember me?”

I was confused for only a moment, and then recalled that awful day standing before Jabba’s throne to save Luke’s future. I had disposed of Jabba’s minions and taken the memory from his majordomo, but couldn’t bring myself to wipe the mind of the innocent slave girl who had witnessed everything.

“Yes,” I said, suitably chastised. “I remember you.”

“Most people don’t,” Marei said with a shrug of her shoulders. “And sometimes to ones who do are worse.”

I dared not let my thoughts dwell in that direction – I felt bad enough for the girl without having to think of the full horrors she faced in her life. “You are safe here, child.”

“I’m not safe anywhere,” Marei said softly, taking another sip of her tea, her hands gripping the cup tightly. “Jabba gave no message – he only wanted to make sure you were here. I don’t know why he sent me.”

She was Jabba’s message, I realised. A reminder of his power lest my trip away had given me ideas of rebellion against him.

“You must wonder why I don’t run.” Marei looked up again, her eyes so dark they were almost black. “But my chain isn’t here,” she put down her cup and touched the terrible device around her neck. “It’s here.” She indicated a spot behind her right ear.

“You have an implant?” It was hardly surprising – Anakin had told me enough about how Tatooine slave masters kept control over their property.

Marei nodded, her eyes pleading with me. “I have heard of the Jedi. The legends say you helped those who needed it.”

“Yes,” I said cautiously, worried at where the conversation was heading. “But I regret that I am not able to help all that I should.”

Marei took a few deep breaths, as if working up the courage. “I wondered if you could…destroy the implant with your powers.”

I hesitated but then rose, crossing around to Maraei’s side and waving my hand over the skin behind her ear. I could sense the device, evil thing that it was, but it was intricate and I had never had an affinity for such things. If Anakin were here…

“I’m sorry,” I told her, and meant it. “I cannot be sure not to trigger the deadman switch.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” she said, turning her dark eyes up to me. “Tried to convince myself to walk out into the desert and end my suffering, but I was too scared. But I would have courage if there’s a chance, and either way I would be free.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, knowing that my words were painfully inadequate. “I could not take the risk.”

Marei nodded and looked back down, clearly she had been expecting such an answer. “I understand – Jabba would know you did it, and punish that orphan boy.”

“That’s not why,” I tried to explain, unsure if she would believe me. I knelt down at her side and gently lay my hand over hers. She looked at me again, this time her black eyes leaking tears.

“I swear on the Force and my eternal soul," I told her, "if I can find a way to help you I will.”

“I would not want to boy to be hurt,” Marei almost whispered. “He seemed so sweet – I asked around about him. They didn’t know the farm couple, but some recognised the name Skywalker. Said it as a slave name.”

“His father was a slave, many years ago,” I told her, my heart fit to break and never repair. “But he was freed, so you see there is always hope.”

I heard a small whinny behind me, and turned to see Rooh had found her way into the house again. I had housed her at Anchorhead while I was gone, and she had barely left my side since. But I was no longer her focus, as she nudged me aside with her snout and lay her head in Marei’s lap. The girl began to cry in earnest and pressed her face into Rooh’s hide, and I took the opportunity to steal away for a few minutes. I knew how wonderful Rooh’s comfort could be, and hoped that it had given the girl some relief from the pain of her life.

When I returned Marei was almost smiling, chatting softly to Rooh and patting her lightly on the head. Eventually though, Marei rose, glancing outside at the suns which had started their afternoon descent.

“Here,” I gave her a pouch filled with glittergems – a gift from Breha for just this purpose. “This is enough to pay the tithe on the Lars farm for the next two decades at least. Tell Jabba that I work only for his silence now.”

Marei nodded her head, although I doubt she understood. “And don’t forget my promise,” I told her as she left. “I will find a way.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, although I could tell she didn’t believe me. I can only repeat the promise to you, Qui-Gon, and pledge myself to proving true my word.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

My thoughts these days are often on Marei, that poor piteous slave of Jabba the Hutt's, who every day must wonder if her dance will not be enough to satisfy him, and the last thing she ever sees will be the rancor’s teeth. Tatooine is full of slaves, and as a Jedi I have learnt to know the limits of my influence – we are small in number, Yoda used to say, and cannot expect from ourselves the impossible. Well, we are even smaller in number now, and yet somehow I feel my responsibilities have not been similarly culled.

I have my duties to Luke, of course, his safety is always paramount. But now I find myself resolved to look beyond, and help those I looked past or ignored before. There are no more wars to fight, so no more excuses of serving the greater good. I know I cannot make a dent in the slave trade here on Tatooine; the culture is too ingrained and the Masters too powerful, and yet I am resolved to keep my promise to Marei.

I travelled to Mos Espa and purchased a collection of second hand slave collars and implants from a local dealer, thankful that if nothing else they would never be used on another sentient being. The sycophantic ways of the slimy middle-aged human made me sick – he told me of his cousin arriving next week with a new shipment of slaves and offered me a good price. I had to swallow the bile and feign interest so not to arouse suspicion, and heard many details of the family trade.

I wonder if the man’s cousin is weak enough to withstand my best methods of persuasion. I am minded to head off the shipment and convince him to see the folly of his lifestyle, although that path is fraught with danger. I risk being exposed if it does not work, and even if it does the Hutts would not take kindly to the idea of liberated slaves and would spare no resources hunting the responsible party. Jabba would surely suspect my involvement, and even if he did not, imagine if he asked me to discover the culprit! I will have to consider this some more.

But I digress. I have come to an acquaintance of sorts with Lotty Mustrap, the proprietor of The Weary Traveller in Anchorhead. It is a good place for a drink and to overhear local gossip – Lotty is happy enough to share when I bring her something exotic from Mos Espa or offworld. This time, it was a dozen red-flesh melons which she could sell at a premium or include in her drinks as a nice flourish. I kept a few for myself, although for a different purpose.

“The Sand People are getting restless,” she told me, her weathered face creasing with concern. “Been seen near some of the farms on Klavern Ridge, gettin’ too close for comfort.”

“Have they come into the salt flats?” I asked, worried that the Lars farm could be a target.

“Nah,” Lotty shook her head. “They wouldn’t dare come so close, not now the farmers are organised.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Owen Lars was in here the other night riling ‘em all up. Gotta defend their families, he said. Sand People are a menace – they killed his stepmother, you know.”

“Yes, I…heard.” She had left behind two sons; neither had ever recovered and her loss spurned them both to cling desperately to their remaining family.

“Terrible business.” Lotty shook her head. “Shmi was a kind woman – I see her grandson around town sometimes. Do you know little Luke Skywalker?”

“I’m familiar with the family,” I said, trying to sound disinterested even though I was desperate to hear news of them.

“Sweet boy,” Lotty smiled. “Brings me desert flowers sometimes. But like I said, Owen’s in a tizzy about the Sand People, and the farmer’s have worked out a good enough defence for anyone who gets too close.”

I remembered the disaster of Pika a few years ago, and how Orrin Gault had almost orchestrated a war. No doubt Owen had far better motives, but his vehemence worried me, and I wondered why the Sand People would stray so far from their borders.

“You don’t think they’ll form a raiding party, do you?” That was my chief concern.

“Not yet,” Lotty told me, although I could see she shared my worries. “The worst the Sand People have done is steal some livestock, but if they attack a homestead…”

“I suppose we can only hope they do not.” I finished my drink and rose. “Thank you, Lotty, as always your company has been an oasis in this vast desert.”

“Get out of here, you flirt.” Lotty smirked and waved me away.

I returned home with fresh worries to add to my not insignificant collection, and attempted to be productive. I took out the remaining melons I had purchased and inserted the slave implants deep into the ripe flesh, activating them via remote. The first melon was experimental – I reached out through the Force and attempted to simply deactivate the tracking.

The melon exploded, red flesh flying everywhere, coating the walls of my kitchen, staining my robes and sticking to my face. The device was only intended to kill the slave it was bound to so I was unhurt but naturally disappointed. Clearly this would be no easy task, but regardless I set my mind to work with the remaining melons.

It took hours of concentration, attempting to identify the elements of the device in the Force to isolate the deadman switch and deactivate, but my efforts only ended in burnt-out implants and a face full of goopy fruit.

“Rooh!” I called out to the eopie who would no doubt be happy to clean the melon flesh off my walls with her tongue. When she did not enter I reached out through the Force, surprised to find she was far away. It was not unlike her to roam and I made no effort to keep her penned, and yet she must have left almost immediately after we returned from Anchorhead, as if she had some purpose.

When I touched her mind to indicate she should return home I felt her anxiety – something had scared her and I immediately left to find her in the desert. Night was approaching but I did not care, knowing Rooh would not be easily unsettled, would not wander so farm from home without reason.

I thought back to the journey from Anchorhead, and recalled she had wanted to follow some scent or another she had picked up. But I was weary and disinclined for adventure and had led her firmly back to the hut, thinking she had just found some friendly animal tribe or another.

But clearly it had been something else. I found her out in the Dune Sea, clearly on her way home although her manner was agitated. She looked at me with her large dark eyes and when I touched her mind again I felt a mother’s love for her cub, and a strong sense of danger.

“What is it, girl?” I stroked her neck, but she pulled away and turned back the way she had come. “Alright, I’ll follow.”

She ducked down for me so I could mount, and then took off speedily into the night, following the scent she had picked up earlier, and had no doubt followed to find the source before returning to get me. In the ride it was easier to merge my mind with hers, to feel the sand under my feet and follow the instincts of my snout.

That was when I realised what she had found – the scent was the Sand People, there was no mistaking it. But there was another, so familiar to Rooh when he had carefully rubbed her hide, given her childish hugs and talked to her like no human ever had.

It was Luke.

Chapter Text

One would never describe Tatooine as a planet with any safe time of day, but travelling across the desert after sunsdown is the most perilous of all. Night brings out the beasts ready to feed on wayward travelers and cubs who have strayed too far from their pack, and more dangerous still are the Sand People. During the day concealment is their art, only revealing themselves to those who foolishly find themselves in the Wastes the Tuskens have claimed as their own. But at night the entire desert is their dominion and woe befalls all who trespass.

I could sense Rooh’s fear as we travelled deeper into Tusken territory – the only thing stronger was her determination, and I patted her neck in reassurance as she followed Luke’s scent across the desert. I reached out for him through the Force as well, and the answering glimmer made me breathe a sigh of relief – he was still alive.

It was dark by the time we reached the Tusken camp – their fires the only light between the barren and rocky cliffs. I stopped a safe distance away and dismounted, rubbing Rooh’s snout gently.

“Wait here for me, girl,” I whispered, knowing that her presence would rile the Bantha herd which was hunkered down just beyond the camp. Rooh whinnied in response, unwilling to let me go alone but I impressed upon her the need to rest, as it was likely she would need all of her strength to carry myself and Luke back across the Wastes at high speed.

I made my way slowly towards the camp, and from the bone sculptures at the edge to ward off trespassers it was not a tribe I was familiar with. Yet my experience with A’Yark’s Raiders had shown me that the Sand People were not the mindless and brutal monsters the moisture farmers believed them to be. They were intelligent, and so they could be reasoned with. I tried not to think about how a band of them had kidnapped Anakin’s mother and tortured her to death without cause, and instead focused on the task as hand, reaching out to the Force for calm and confidence.

There were two sentries standing guard by the first tent, and it was impossible to avoid their attention. Instead, I raised my hands to show them my empty palms and slowly advanced as they held out their gaderffii sticks and growled a warning in their native language.

“I am no threat,” I spoke loudly, imbuing the Force behind my words. “I have only come for the boy.”

The sentries conversed between themselves, and then one beckoned me forward. I was cautious, knowing that it was just as likely he would bash my head in as take me into the camp, and I was relieved when he pressed the end of his gaderffii stick lightly to my chest as the other moved behind me to touch his weapon to my back. Held thus they led me into the camp, calling out with their baying tongue to their clanmates.

A group of twenty or so were gathered around the campfire, among them men, women and children distinguished by their masks and cowls. My eyes scanned the area, breathing a deep sigh of relief when I spotted a mop of blond hair by the fire, the only person not covered in thick robes and face coverings. He appeared unharmed, although his hands were bound in front of him.

“Luke!” I started to walk towards him, but the sentries hissed and pressed their sticks into my chest and back. The pressure held me firm, but I had attracted Luke’s attention and he looked up at me with obvious relief. He then turned to the Tusken sitting beside him, which I identified as the clan shaman based on the necklace of bone he wore around his neck.

“That’s Ben,” Luke said. “Don’t hurt him, he’s my friend.”

The Shaman beckoned me closer, and the sentries released me. I walked forward, slightly perplexed but taking the time to catalogue exactly how I could grab Luke and fight my way out if necessary. Always my last option, but important to consider if negotiations went south.

As I approached the Shaman held out his hand – he wanted an offering. I had little on my person and knew that the Sand People cared not for Tatooine currency. Then I remembered the Tuskens held water sacred; believed it to be theirs by right and the root of their conflict with the settlers.

I grasped my waterskin and held it out to the Shaman, bowing my head in deference. Another clan member snatched it from me and presented it to the Shaman, who unscrewed the lid and sniffed the water before taking a sip. He muttered a few words in Tusken and then nodded, passing the water to the rest of the clan to drink in turn.

“Luke,” I said softly while they were occupied. “What happened?”

“I was trying to help,” he told me earnestly. “Uncle Owen and the others were talking about striking first, and Aunt Beru was so scared. I thought if I could explain things, everything would be okay, no one would get hurt.”

The Shaman bayed at me to draw my attention, gesturing to Luke and then to me. I sought understanding through the Force, and made out the word ‘prisoner’ and ‘withdraw.’

“You could get hurt. They plan to hold you hostage, Luke,” I said evenly. “Return you only for exchange for reclaimed land.” It was something I knew the farmers would never agree to – this would start a war which would never end.

The Shaman pointed to me again and then back to the camp entrance, his meaning plain enough.

“They want me to take terms back to the farmers,” I explained to Luke. “But don’t worry, I will not leave you here.”

Luke looked at me somewhat petulantly, and then shrugged and scuffed his booted feet in the sand. But I didn’t have time to dwell on his strange reaction, and turned back to the Shaman.

“Let me take the boy as a sign of good faith,” I said, spreading my palms outward to indicate conciliation. “I will make sure the farmer’s will not breach your territory nor divert your water supplies. None of us want war.”

A few of the younger Tuskens began to chant and beat their chests, but I knew posturing when I saw it. The elders were too careful and knew that fighting with the farmers would only drain resources and give them little in return. The Shaman held out his hands and stood, silencing the cries of his people. Then he pointed to me, and gestured to the camp entrance – go, he seemed to say. Do what you say you can.

Then he pointed to the ground, and lay a hand on Luke’s head. The boy will stay.

I looked around at the camp, and wondered if the Shaman’s words could restrain his people. I was unwilling to take the chance - Luke would not be safe, and there was no way I could agree to the proposition.

“No,” I shook my head and unhooked my lightsaber from my belt, igniting the blue blade. “He is coming with me now.”

It had the desired effect – the women began to screech and the young men who had been so brave only moments ago were suddenly cowering in fear. The Shaman drew back pointing at me and repeating one word over and over – a word I knew.

Demon.

“Luke,” I said calmly, my eyes on the Shaman so he would understand that I was serious. “Come here.”

The boy looked up to the Shaman as if for permission, but the Tusken seemed to have forgotten he was present. Luke stood and waddled over, twisting his bound hands in front of him. It made quick work of the bindings with my lightsaber, and he gasped and looked up at me in wonder.

I put one hand on Luke’s shoulder and drew him with me as I walked backwards, holding out my blade in a warning. I could taste their fear – the sight of my lightsaber had struck something visceral deep inside the tribe, something they were unwilling to challenge.

Rooh was waiting just outside the camp, and I hurriedly placed Luke onto her back before climbing up myself. She took off immediately in a fast gallop, putting distance between us and the Tuskens in a matter of minutes. I had feared them following on their banthas, but it seemed the fear was too strong and for that I was grateful. Once far enough from the camp Rooh slowed down to a walk, and I turned my attention to my Luke.

“What were you thinking?” I asked, unable to keep the anger from my voice. “We were lucky to get out of there alive.”

Luke shrugged, and I was unable to see his face or read his mood through the Force. It seemed my lessons in that regard had worked, and he now instinctively hid his emotions.

“They didn’t hurt me.”

“But they could have,” I chided him. “All actions have consequences, Luke, even if your intentions are good.”

Luke was silent for a long time, but his shoulders were stiff and he grasped the saddle tightly. I sighed, not wanting to be too harsh on the boy but needing him to understand.

“Why don’t you come to see me anymore, Ben?” His words were soft and plaintive in the darkness.

I was caught off guard, unsure of what to say since I did not wish him to think badly of his uncle, or myself for that matter. I thought back to the bright child who thought through every exercise I gave him, seeking a greater truth beyond the lesson. I’d taught him to trust his instincts and look for a solution, and perhaps that was exactly what he’d been doing that night. He saw the Tuskens not as an enemy, but as people to be listened to and reasoned with.

It was the attitude of a true Jedi, and while such a thought should have filled me with joy, all I felt was dread that Owen would see it exactly the same way.

Chapter Text

It was past midnight by the time we made it back to the Lars farm, but found the power off and the place still.

“Sorry, girl.” I patted Rooh’s neck as she panted, exhausted from the journey. “Just a little bit longer – take us to Anchorhead.”

Luke had fallen asleep, his small form resting back against me and I thought about leaving him at the Homestead but quickly decided against it. I may need proof that he was alright, and even I knew it was irresponsible to leave a six year old alone. Especially one with a penchant for wandering off!

As expected, I found a gathering at The Weary Traveller and I carried Luke in my arms into the establishment. I was relieved when he continued to sleep soundly, his head against my shoulder as I loitered in the shadows for a moment. Owen was addressing the crowd – I saw Gavin Darklighter, Fara Marstrap and Jully Sandskimmer amongst them, nodding along with Owen’s heated words as he urged them to form a raiding party. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been arguing his case for hours, and I saw some unconvinced faces among the crowd.

“It’s not enough just to chase them away every time they get too close,” Owen said, smacking a closed fist against his palm. “They see it as weakness and an invitation to trespass further. We need to strike back, and hard, because it isn’t just some vaporator they’ve vadalised this time.”

“Look, I know they’ve got your boy,” a voice spoke up, someone I didn’t recognize. “But it’s a suicide mission, Owen. We can fight ‘em off alright here, but on their own land? It’s madness.”

“So we just let them take our children?” Owen demanded, earning a few cries from the crowd in agreement.

I noticed Lotty was absent from her usual position behind the bar, and scanning the room I found her in the corner booth, a sobbing Beru in her arms. Seeing her distress made me ashamed of waiting so long, and I immediately stepped out into the main bar area.

“Luke is fine,” I called out to get their attention. “He’s here.”

“Luke!” Beru wiped her tear-stained face and bolted over to me, jolting Luke awake as she pulled him from my arms and into her own.

“Aunt Beru.” Luke began to cry as well, burying his face in her shoulder and grasping her tightly about the neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, my daring,” Beru said, rocking Luke as if he was still a baby. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Owen approached slowly, his gaze fixed on Luke as if he couldn’t believe it. He reached out slightly for him but then pulled back, as if realizing Beru wasn’t about to give him up. Instead he placed a soft hand on Luke’s head, thick fingers twining in the boy's soft golden hair.

“Alright, alright,” Lotty spoke up. “Crisis averted, you can all go home.”

The crowd begrudgingly dispersed, likely out of respect for Owen and Beru and fear of Lotty, although I received a range of looks from suspicious to admiring as they shuffled out of the bar.

“Well well well, Kenobi,” she said as the room emptied. “It seems like you’re a good one to have in a pinch.”

“I try to be,” I said, wary of further questioning.

“Thank you, Lotty,” Beru cut in. “We’re going to take Luke home now.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” Lotty dug around in her skirt pockets and withdrew a small wrapped sweet, handing to Luke who grasped it with a muffled thanks. “And stay out of trouble, young man. You had all of us worried.”

Luke sniffed and nodded, while Owen put his hand on Beru’s back to gently guide them towards the door. I turned back to Lotty, my mind already working on how to spin the story of how exactly I walked into a Tusken camp and retrieved Luke.

“Kenobi.” Owen’s gruff voice called from the door, although when I turned his back was still to me. “You coming?”

Lotty raised her eyebrows at me and shrugged, walking back behind the bar and so I had my reprieve. Owen and Beru clearly had a superior claim on my explanations, and I followed them back to the farm with Rooh. I left her outside with a large bucket of water and some mushrooms then made my way into the homestead.

“What did you think you were doing, Luke?” Owen was asking as I walked in, and I hung back for a moment. Luke was sitting at the meals table, shaggy hair falling in his eyes as he looked down at his hands.

“Your Aunt went to hang the washing for ten minutes, and when she returned she found this.” Owen lay a scrap of paper on the table, the writing smeared with what I assumed were tears. “A note to say you’d gone off to talk to the Sand People? It was the height of foolishness.”

So Owen had known Luke had left of his own accord, rather than been kidnapped. I wondered if he’d shared that information with the others, or if that knowledge would have hurt his chances of raising a party to rescue Luke and so he’d let them assume it was an abduction – like it had been with Shmi all those years ago.

“We know you wanted to help, Luke.” Beru lay a hand on his shoulder. “But you scared me and your Uncle to death.”

“I’m sorry.” Luke’s tears started anew, and I could see Beru’s heart break.

“Come here.” Owen remained stoic, but his voice was softer. Luke got up slowly, wiping his nose with his sleeve and standing before his uncle, clearly expecting a further rebuke. Instead Owen drew him into his arms, hugging the child fiercely. It was the first time I’d ever seen such unrestrained emotion from Owen that was not anger.

“You have to stay safe, Luke,” Owen whispered, and I turned to look at the wall, feeling I was intruding on an intimate moment. “Your Aunt and I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke said again through his tears. “I love you, Uncle Owen.”

“I love you too,” Owen almost choked out the words. “Now go to bed, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

The wait while Beru put Luke to bed was interminable – the glimpse of the gentler side of Owen disappearing as soon as they left the room leaving only his scowl as I took a seat across the table. He did not speak, clearly waiting for his wife’s return before the interrogation began.

I heard a gentle singing from the other room, and for a moment I felt a pang of sorrow for the mother I had few memories of. At the Temple if you had difficulty sleeping there was no one to sing you a lullaby – being a Jedi youngling was about learning not to need such things.

When Beru returned she went straight to the kitchen, returning after a few minutes with a tray of beverages – tea for her and myself, and what smelled like caf for Owen.

“It’s the tea you left me,” Beru said as she poured me a cup. “Thank you, I’ve never drunk anything so fine.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s from Alderaan.”

“On an errand from Jabba?” Owen’s voice was sharp, and he glared at me over the rim of his cup as he took a drink.

“No,” I said carefully, since they had no idea that Leia even existed, let alone where she was. “Visiting an old friend.”

“So how did you find Luke?” Owen moved on to the next question without missing a beat.

“Rooh found him,” I explained. “Picked up his scent in the desert.”

“She is a special animal,” Beru smiled. “Luke was so fond of her.”

“Did the Tuskens harm him?” Owen pressed on. “Because if those bastards touched a hair on his head…”

“They didn’t,” I assured them. “They were keeping him as a hostage – for bargaining purposes.”

“And yet you got him out.” Beru pushed a small plate of sweet biscuits towards me. “We are so grateful.”

“They were afraid of my lightsaber,” I said, sweeping aside my robe to where it hung on my belt. “Called me a demon.”

“Because of Anakin,” Beru nodded. “He slaughtered the tribe that killed his mother.” My shock that she was aware of the circumstances must have been obvious, because she continued. “I overheard him and Padmé talking about it after he brought back her body. How he killed them all.”

“The only good thing he ever did, other than father Luke,” Owen said gruffly. “It was justice for Shmi and better than those sand-skullers deserve.”

“I only hope they don’t seek you out for retribution Ben.” Beru looked concerned, nudging the plate of biscuits closer again until I took one. It was soft and delicate in my mouth, perfect with the tea.

“Seek him out?” Owen puffed air between his lips in dismissal. “More likely they will become even more aggressive with us – this changes nothing, we still need to stop being defensive and take the fight to them.”

“That will do no good,” I tried to reason with him. “It will only start a war no one would win.”

“And how would you know?” Owen all but spat the words out. “You don’t know our ways, you haven’t lived for years with the Sand People creeping closer. They killed Shmi and countless others – they maimed my father – I won’t allow that to happen to what’s left of my family.”

I took a long sip of tea, calming myself before answering. “I have not lived here long, you are correct. But I have known war, and I have known suffering – I have lost more friends than I can count to an enemy that I am unable to do anything to fight against. I live with more guilt and sorrow than you could ever imagine, and although Luke is not my own, even though I must stay away from him at your request, I place my duty to protect him above my own life. If I thought a fight against the Tuskens would keep him safe I would be out there on the front lines. But I have fought in enough battles to know when it is fruitless – when the cost will far exceed the reward. "

I stared him down, no longer willing to allow myself to be cowed.  "You may dislike me and everything I stand for, Owen, but at least respect my experience.”

Owen was silent for a long time, scrutinizing me as if looking for a kink in my armor. Eventually, he looked down at his hands, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked, and I could see he was having difficulty getting the words out.

“Give me a few weeks,” I said. “I’ll think of something.”

“Owen.” Beru put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Ben has earned a bit of trust.”

“Look what he did with it last time.”

“And learned his lesson,” Beru insisted. “If the Sand People fear him, maybe he can help.”

Owen exhaled loudly, his eyes darting back to my face. He stared and me for several minutes, before nodding curtly. “If you think you can reason with those savages, go ahead.”

I stood, smoothing out my clothes. “I’ll let you know how things progress.” I walked towards the door but was halted by Owen’s final words.

“Thank you, Kenobi,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “For bringing Luke back to us.”

A small victory, a simple thank you, given begrudgingly. But better than a punch in the face - quite literally.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I am beginning to wonder if my reputation as a great negotiator was overstated, or if Tatooine is just so far removed from the culture and etiquette I am used to that it has left my talents blunted. I admit that perhaps the Tusken’s fear of me has contributed to a lack of progress, although the more pressing concern is the communication issues.

I have journeyed to the Tusken settlement several times over the past few weeks, although I am no longer permitted inside the camp. The Shaman will meet me outside accompanied by two warriors, and on occasion I believe only the presence of the lightsaber hanging from my belt prevents them from lodging a gaderffii stick in my skull.

I have been able to discern some intent from the Tuskens through the Force, but the nuance of negotiation is so often in the use of language cues, which has frustrated my efforts to find common ground between them and the moisture farmers. I know the thrust of the dispute of course – the Tuskens are indigenous to Tatooine and see the water as their divine right, usurped by the arrival of the settlers despite the generations which have passed since colonisation.

It is a dispute so old that it hardly seems productive attempting to resolve it – the best I can hope for is convincing the Tuskens to halt their recent aggression which has led to damage of equipment on several outlying farms. It was only today that I made progress, when I received a quite unexpected visit from Marei.

She had a mission for me from Jabba – a bounty who his sources believed was hiding on Kiffu.

“What is this man’s crime?” I asked her, my continued debt to Jabba quickly becoming an issue I cannot ignore.

“He thought you might ask,” Marei said, looking down at her hands. “He said that was none of your concern and he had other bounty hunters in his employ if you did not wish to take the job.”

A warning, since I knew Owen and Beru’s livelihood relied on Jabba’s goodwill. If I were to refuse the bounty he could very well renege on our entire agreement and again push the Lars family into poverty despite the tithe I had paid him. I admit that in some of my wilder dreams I imagine convincing them to leave Tatooine with me, running off to somewhere more hospitable. And yet I quickly push aside such thoughts, knowing they would never be swayed to leave their home, and even if they could be, there is nowhere in the galaxy we would be safe.

“Tell Jabba I will take the job, with gratitude,” I told Marei, putting aside the quandary for reflection later. “It is good to see you again,” I added softly, indicating she should take a seat at my table. “Come share tea.”

But Marei stood rooted to her position, and eyed me with something like pity. “You know why he sends me, don’t you?”

I was slightly surprised by the question which seemed quite out of the blue. “He trusts you, I suppose.”

“No.” Marei shook her head. “He knows you cannot help me, and he wants to remind us both of that fact.”

“I will help you,” I told her, guilt lacing through me for my neglect the past few weeks. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Marei seemed skeptical, hugging her arms around herself. “Have you had any more luck with deactivating the implant?”

“No, I’m sorry,” I told her, rubbing my forehead. “I’ve been distracted lately – trying to stop a war between the Tusken Raiders and moisture farmers.”

“Don’t let Jabba know that,” Marei warned me. “War is profitable.”

“Jabba’s not involved in this is he?” I asked. “Riling up the Tuskens to agitate the farmers so they retaliate?”

“I don’t know,” Marei shook her head. “Jabba had a Tusken working for him once – he’d been exiled from the tribe for some reason. Ar’tk was his name. He always said the Tuskens hated the farmers, but they’d only attack if they knew they could win. They scare easily, especially if they’re outnumbered.”

That was surprising intelligence, and I leaned forward on my chair. “Is this Ar’tk still at the Palace?”

“No,” Marei said sadly. “He didn’t take to life there well, but nor could he go home. There is only one way to escape Jabba the Hut.” She touched the back of her neck lightly, where the implant remained burrowed into her skin.

I shuddered thinking about it, and although Marei has been strong all the years she’s been a slave I worry for her resolve. “I will find another way,” I promised again. “If you know who keeps the codes for the deactivator wands, perhaps I could pluck it from their mind.”

“Only Jabba knows those.” Marei looked away.

“Well, the answer is there,” I assured her. “I just have to find it.”

Marei was silent for a few moments, biting her lip as she stared out my window as if deep in thought. I watched her with deepening concern – the bruise around her throat, the slight nervous tremor in her hands and the thin, sallow skin that cling tight to her bones. When she turned back to face me, she was full of unexpected determination.

“I know the Tusken language,” she said, her voice firm. “Ar’tk taught me, with the help of Jabba’s protocol droid. I could help you negotiate with them.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other nervously when I did not respond. “I do not have your experience, but I have listened to Jabba conduct business for years, and I have learned much. If you give me a chance-”

“Marei,” I stood, holding up my hands to stop her. “Do not mistake my surprise for scepticism.” I approached. “I would welcome your help, but are you sure you want to risk it? Jabba’s wrath would be terrible.”

Marei looked up at me, tilting her chin. “I have asked much of you, Ben, and you offered help without a second thought. I have never known such kindness or bravery, so should I not follow your example?”

“You need do nothing to earn my assistance,” I told her gently. “You have it.”

“I know,” she said, a new fire replacing her former listlessness. “I want to help – for you, for that little boy you watch over, for Ar’tk and all my slave sisters who have died with their hands still bound.”

It was defiance, I realised. An act which was not ordered or forced, but done of her own free will, to prove to herself that she could.

The people here continue to surprise me, Qui-Gon. Although lacking the sophistication of the Core, they have a steely resolve and fierce hearts and are in many ways the better of those like myself who rose through opportunity and grace.

In many ways, perhaps it makes Tatooine the perfect place to rear a young Jedi.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Since I am still alive to write these words, you can assume that all went well at the Tusken camp. Although perhaps “well” is not the best way to describe it - “better than it could have been” is a more apt description.

Marei was an asset. The girl was nervous, which was to be expected - as was I! I had informed her of the intricacies of the dispute as well as I knew them, and she provided insight into Tusken culture - body language, a rise in voice pitch to indicate aggression, their fear of krayt dragons and the special bond between a ranger and their bantha.

Although the Tuskens were suspicious when we arrived at their camp, Marei was able to convey her willingness to act as a translator and this seemed to satisfy them. I’m sure they wondered how she knew their language but if she told them I will never know, their grunts and gruff words as intelligible to me as ever.

We sat before the Shaman once again, and through the Force I could sense his agitation as he greeted us.

Marei turned to me. “He asks what you could have to say they have not already heard.”

I had never been sure of the Shaman’s comprehension of Basic, but it seems that they have understood my words far more than I have theirs. When I spoke, Marei translated for me anyway and I was glad for that, as perhaps she would be able to phrase things in Tusken that could not be conveyed in Basic. I told him of my wish for peace, that I was not a farmer nor a demon, and that I had only drawn my lightsaber to protect Luke.

The Shaman made a low-pitched sound, the large black goggles over his eyes and swathes of fabric over his face concealing all. He spoke to Marei, a short question it seemed.

“He asks where your tribe is, if you have no allegiance here.”

A pain that would never cease. “They’re dead,” I told him. “There were thousands in my tribe, spread across the stars. But they are all gone now, hunted down by the Empire.”

The Shaman cocked his head, and then beat a fist against his chest twice. The other gathered Tuskens followed suit, and I could hear a mourning wail from the women gathered near the huts. It was sympathy from a people to whom their tribe was everything, and to be isolated from them worse than death. Even though they must have guessed that one of my people had once slaughtered theirs by the blade I carried, they still felt for me.

“Thank you,” I said, looking around at all of them in acknowledgement.

The Shaman spoke again, and I looked to Marei for a translation, trying not to see her pity, to feel her empathy wash over me like a warm summer tide.

“He asks why you care for the boy, if he is not your tribe.”

“I suppose...Luke is.” I looked down at my hands, the skin red and cracked from the constant heat and dry air. “I am not his father, nor his guardian. But in a way he is the only one of my tribe left.”

Not technically, of course. There is still Yoda, and I am sure there are other scattered Jedi out there in the galaxy, hiding like I am. But in my heart, and in every way that counts, Luke is it. One day he will be The Last, even if everything works out for the best.

Negotiations went better after that, and I believe they stopped seeing me as an enemy. However, they certainly did not see me as a friend.

“Farmers are all the same,” Marei said, translating the Shaman’s response when I assured him I could broker a peace. “They steal and hoard water rather than revere it, and their offences grow with each passing year, encroaching on the ancient lands.”

“Please ask him which areas in particular,” I said, unrolling the map I had brought with me. “Perhaps we can work out a boundary.”

The Shaman shook his head and waved one hand in clear dismissal, his words clipped and short.

“There can be no treaty with those who lack honour,” Marei translated. “Those who...steal from the sky gods. They are never content, they always want more than they need, and they will never learn.”

“The farmers are not all the same,” I said to the Shaman. “You saw it yourself in the boy who came unaccompanied and alone into your camp. He was worried for the sake of his family and community, and that concern was stronger than his fear. He believed that there could be peace between his people and yours, and risked his life to try and achieve it.”

The camp fell quiet, and the Shaman sat still while Marei relayed my message. He stared at me for a few moments, or so I assume since I could not actually see his eyes, and whether he was angry or I had broken though was impossible to know. Then he began to speak, low utterances, and Marei took a moment before translating.

“You said the boy was your tribe, so it is not the same,” she told me. “He is not one of them.”

I grimaced. “He is both,” I suggested. “And either he will grow still believing that there can be peace, or that despite his efforts the Tuskens cannot be reasoned with, as his Uncle believes. Young Luke will grow into a community leader, not truly a farmer, but not an offworlder either. Someone who respects your people, unless circumstances convince him otherwise.”

Marei began to speak, gesturing to me with her hands and then the Tusken tribe. But her words continued long after the time it would have taken to translate my message, so clearly she had gone off script. But I wasn’t about to interject – the Shaman seemed to be listening intently.

When she finished the Shaman conversed quietly with his people, and I looked to Marei for an explanation. She shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes still fixed on the Shaman, and I followed her example.

When he turned back to us, the Shaman jabbed at the map I had provided, indicating the ridge where the farmers were starting to build new fields of vaporators. This meaning was plain enough – I had to convince them to stop, and keep to their existing lands. That was why they had started raiding again, but my earlier offer to enforce firm boundaries had been rebuffed. Whatever Marei had said to them must have been more convincing.

Marei stood, and I did the same – our audience was over. She said a few words, one I recognised as the equivalent of thanks, and I repeated it to the Shaman, nodding my head in acknowledgement.

He nodded once in return, then pointed to the exit of the camp.  I was under no illusions that the peace could be kept indefinitely, what Marei and I had achieved was a stopgap measure only, to pacify both sides until the next dispute arose.  But for now Luke was safe, and that was my primary concern.

“I must go,” Marei said as we left the camp, looking to the north where a trek across the wastes would lead her back to Jabba’s Palace. For anyone else, the journey would be perilous but not even the Sand People dared risk Jabba’s wrath by accosting one of his slaves.

“What did you say to them?” I asked.

Marei smiled, and touched my arm lightly. “Your words worked – they sensed strength in Luke, that was why they did not kill him when he walked into their camp. I simply told them that you were not to be underestimated, that you had defied Jabba the Hutt himself with no fear, and brokered a favourable deal with him – after that convincing the farmers to heed would be easy. I also said that you were a great warrior, and they were right to fear your blade if they did not agree to terms.”

“I see,” I told her, not entirely happy to win through fear.

“The Tuskens respect strength,” Marei said, frowning slightly. “It was the only way you were going to reach an accord with them.”

“I do not mean to sound ungrateful.” I realised my error and took her hand, patting it lightly. “Thank you, Marei, truly. You have saved many lives today, and I could not have done this without you.”

“There is little a slave can be proud of in her life.” Marei smiled sadly. “Because even if she has the good fortune to serve an honourable master, no deed is through her own free will.”

“But this was,” I murmured, understanding. “It was your choice, and therefore your achievement. The first of many in your life, my dear. You will not be a slave forever.”

She looked up at me, her eyes bright, that sad smile unchanged as if she still didn’t believe me. Marei said no more, she simply withdrew her hand and walked away.

I must now put every effort into keeping that promise.  I can tarry no longer, Marei's freedom requires singular focus and I am sure the answer is there, I just need to find it.

I swear, Qui-Gon, that by the time I return from the mission to Kiffu, I will have a plan. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Kiffu is an interesting planet, although perhaps a bit too volatile for my taste. When close in orbit to her sister planet Kiffex the most incredible electrical storms are produced, bright bolts of lighting streaking constantly through the sky. A phenomenal sight perhaps, but the noise wears a bit thin.

I hadn’t had the best luck tracking my quarry, a Pa'lowick in the employ of Jabba’s rival Gardulla the Hutt. The ongoing feud between them kept many a bounty hunter occupied over the years, although I was certain neither party recalled exactly what the original dispute was.

But that was not what had brought me to a bar housed at the top of a great tower in the city where a transparisteel dome allowed for viewing of the electrical storm, where I was assured that an outer shield prevented the building itself from being struck. I had sensed another presence, muted and slightly distorted, but still recognisable and I have to admit, immensely comforting.

Quinlan Vos was seated at the edge of the room, feet up on the table before him as he gazed out at the lighting storm which lit up the yellow sky. I wasn’t sure it was him at first, his black hair cut short and his once muscular physique somewhat diminished. But as I reached him, the yellow tattoos on his face and presence in the Force gave no doubt as to his identity.

I waited for him to glance up from his drink and notice me, which took almost a full minute. No doubt he knew I was there, but perhaps he thought I would go away and leave him alone if unacknowledged.

“Kenobi,” he said eventually, as he looked up with something of his old charm. “You’re alive then.”

“And you Vos,” I said, taking a seat next to him even though he did not offer it. “Thank the Force.”

Vos snorted into his drink. “I don’t think we have much to thank the Force for at all these days.”

I wasn’t surprised by his attitude, given his descent during the last days of the Clone Wars. His love for and ultimate loss of Asajj Ventress had deeply wounded him, perhaps even more than his fall to the dark side. I have to admit I’m not quite sure he ever fully recovered from that, although I did not sense any lingering darkness in him.

“So you’re a bounty hunter now?” Vos asked, looking at my attire with a smirk. “I’ll be honest with you, Obi-Wan, I don’t quite believe my eyes.”

“You’re right not to,” I told him, relaxing slightly and indicating to the serving droid to bring me and Vos another drink.

“Oh?” He seemed interested. “You’re not a Jedi anymore, I know that.”

“I will be a Jedi till the day I die,” I challenged him, surprised by my own vehemence.

Vos began to laugh, throwing his head back. “Ah, Kenobi. I am happy to see you.” His gloom seemed to dissipate, and I saw again the man I had known before the darkness had taken him. “So what are you doing here, dressed like that?” he asked, taking a fresh cup from the serving droid and clinking it against mine.

“Can I trust you, Vos?” I asked, leaning closer to him. “I’m being serious.”

He stared at me for a few moments, and when he said yes I believed him.

“Anakin had a son,” I told him, my voice hushed. “He’s being raised by family on Tatooine and I am watching over him. I’m chasing bounties for Jabba to keep the boy safe.”

Rather than being surprised by the knowledge, Vos nodded his head in understanding. “The Senator? I always thought there was something between them.”

“The boy must be protected at all costs,” I told him.  "He is our only hope." 

Vos chuckled and shook his head. “You think one boy is going to bring down the Empire someday? You’re an idealist, Kenobi.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But it’s better than the alternative.”

Taking a long drink, Vos became somber again. “Do you ever wonder if any of it was worth it?” He sighed and looked up at the storm above, the lightning dancing around the domed roof. “Ventress died to save my life, but what was the point? Any battles I won were made worthless by the rise of the Empire, so what was it for?”

I didn’t have an answer for him – it was a question I asked myself constantly. “I don’t know Vos,” I told him. “But if I can keep this boy safe, it will be worth it.”

He seemed to accept that, and we drank in silence for a few moments before Vos spoke again. “I can guarantee I’m a better bounty hunter than you, Kenobi.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“So tell me about your bounty,” he said, patting me on the arm. “And I’ll help you.”

I gave him all the details, including my failed attempts at tracking which seemed to amuse Vos greatly. Unfortunately I did not have any objects belonging to the bounty so he could use his psychometry, but his insights and local knowledge were invaluable. After many drinks we felt like old friends, not that we’d ever been close, but I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be with another Jedi. It was like reuniting with long-lost family.

Eventually I told him about my quandary with Marei, hoping he could bring his rogue point of view to the situation I had failed to remedy.

“Have you considered simply buying her?” Quinlan asked when I had finished relating the tale.

I was surprised, and it was a few moments before I could respond. “No…I actually hadn’t thought of that.”

Quinlan shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “Seems to be the simplest solution.”

I remembered that it was the same method Cliegg Lars had used to obtain Shmi’s freedom, and I was slightly perturbed that the option had never crossed my mind.

“There is a difference, I think,” I said carefully, “between helping someone escape slavery, and simply purchasing them in order to set them free. An inherent disrespect, an acknowledgement of the system that binds her.”

“Do you think the manner of obtaining freedom matters at all to her?” Quinlan asked, his features set in a frown. “Think of it this way – say you discover the key to neutralizing her tracker, and help her flee the planet. The girl will spend the rest of her life watching the shadows, fearing that every bounty hunter she sees is there for her. She will never truly feel free.”

“But allowing Jabba to profit from this?” I queried. “To contribute to his slave trade, in effect to legitimise it? It seems wrong.”

“You are a man of great compassion, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said with a shake of his head. “But all too often that is at war with your principles.”

I stroked my chin, almost offended by the insinuation. “I don’t see the two as mutually exclusive.”

“Of course they’re not,” Quinlan said with a smile and I think he was humoring me. “But you’re so concerned with your lofty ideals and proper way something should be done, you forget we live in an unjust galaxy and don’t see that the practical solution is often the best.”

I took another drink, and blamed the alcohol for my inability to come up with a response.

“Tell me this,” he continued. “Do you think slavery is legitimate, that the practice is in any way a natural law? Do you think you would actually own this girl if you paid Jabba for her?”

“Of course not.”

“So she is not a slave, she is a prisoner,” Quinlan reasoned. “And if paying a ransom is the only way to get a prisoner released, so be it.”

“Maybe it’s the drink, Vos,” I said. “But you’re starting to make sense.”

“Of course I am,” he patted my arm again fondly. “But I think you’ve had enough. Come on, you can stay at my place.”

“But Jabba won’t just let me buy her freedom,” I argued, although I let Quinlan pull me to my feet and hold me steady when the room spun slightly. “If only out of spite.”

“So you get someone else to buy her for you,” Quinlan reasoned, throwing credits on the table for our drinks. “Lucky for you, I’m ready to get back in the hero business.”

Or at least that's what I think he said. I confess I don't remember it exactly.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I dwell much on the futility of this life.  I remember your teachings, those I did not fully grasp at the time, young and foolish as I was. I listened to you warn me that exquisite successes would always be tempered by bitter defeats, and that the battles lost may far outweigh those won – such was the life of a Jedi, to do good where possible, in the face of constant and continual threat, and reality, of failure.    

Now I am middle aged and foolish, but I comprehend the lesson.  I am confronted by the truth of it every day; that by remaining in exile to watch over Luke, I have chosen his life at the expense of others – innocent people I have never met but are nonetheless lost through my inaction, and perhaps even my friends and comrades, my fellow Jedi whose ranks diminish day by day.  We are the hunted, the lost, and perhaps the damned.

But I should not allow myself to become mired in the decadence of guilt - not when when I am on the cusp of that very rare success.

The last time Marei visited my hut I told her the plan Quinlan Vos and I had developed together.  As Vos had suspected, Marei had no reservations regarding her freedom being purchased, in fact her agreement so swift I asked her if she had ever considered that option before.  She answered in the affirmative, and looking around my hut admitted that she thought me so poor she could not dare ask.

“Thankfully,” I told her, “my friend has the funds, and the desire to help.”

Marei looked down into her cup of tea, visibly nervous.  “Do you trust him?” she asked in a small voice.  “If he is to take me from Jabba, are you sure he will not expect…”

“No,” I assured her.  “He was once a Jedi, like me.”

She looked up at me in that way she had; a smile with a challenge.  “You say that as if it should be comfort enough.”

“It was once.” My heart was heavy, and yet could not blame her for it.  “We gave ourselves the titles of Knights, Guardians, and Sentinels, but perhaps we have long failed to live up to them.”

“I don’t know about the rest of your kind,” Marei put her hand over mine.  “But I don’t believe you have failed, Ben, at least not here.  Your friendship has saved my life, regardless of whether I am freed or not.”

“I feel much the same,” I admitted.  “Other than Rooh, you are the only true friend I have had here.”  Beru of course had been kind to me, and I am well known enough now in Anchorhead but I am still considered an outlander, and that is unlikely to ever change.  The time Marei and I had spent together was brief – a cup of tea while she delivered messages from Jabba – and yet they had become the highlight of my long days, to speak with someone who knew my true name.

Yet that was all to end – in that moment I realised that even if everything went to plan I would likely never see her again.  It hurt more than I ever expected it to.

I cleared my throat, knowing that such thoughts were selfish and unfair.  “Do you have any plans of where you might want to go?”

“I’m not sure.” Marei withdrew her hand so she could take another sip of tea.  “I grew up in Drella the Hutt’s compound on Nystari, and then I was sent to Jabba’s Palace.  I’ve never known anything else.”

“My friend Quinlan Vos is from Kiffu, but he said that he would take you wherever you wanted, and help you get your life started.”

“I have nothing to repay such kindness.” Marei placed her empty cup back in its saucer and folded her hands in her lap.

"I hope my dear, that you come to know a world where kindness need not be repaid.  But he will not expect anything,” I assured her.  “He is a good man, and only wishes for your freedom.  If you do not like the idea of Kiffu, can I suggest Alderaan?”

“Alderaan?” Marei spoke the name as if was from a fairy tale.  “Is it beautiful?”

“It is called the Jewel of the Core,” I told her.  “Snow-capped mountains, deep blue lakes – the sunsets are perhaps not as impressive as here, but they are something to behold.”

Marei was looking through me, perhaps already imagining a world without sand, oppressive heat, and rancors.

“I have a friend in the royal palace there,” I continued.  “Her name is Sabé – if you mention the Queen’s cousin Ben, she will know that I have sent you.”

“The palace?” Marei looked daunted.  “For a man who claims to have no friends you seem to know many people willing to help me on your behalf.”

“You are right,” I smiled, “but they are all far away, and cannot share tea with me.  Recommending Alderaan is not wholly altruistic on my part – I believe Sabé would find a way to send a message, so that I know you are safe.”

“Then I will go to Alderaan.” Marei rose with clear reluctance, knowing it was the last time.  “I don’t know how I can ever thank you Ben, and I can only say that I will never forget, and miss you terribly.”

She embraced me tightly, her skin warm even through clothes, tears wet on her cheeks.  Mine were returned in earnest; the loss of another friend, although at least it was to a better life rather than the abyss.

“Your life was stolen from you,” I whispered as I held her close.  “Go reclaim it.”

That was a week ago.  By design I could play no part in her liberation, to ensure Jabba would not suspect that I was involved.  Vos could not even chance visiting my home first, in case I was being watched.  Instead he had taken on the identity of a spice merchant with an introduction from Zaella the Hutt, Jabba’s fourth cousin three times removed and someone from whom Vos could demand a favour for reasons I asked not to be made aware of.  

I do not know when Vos will arrive at Jabba’s Palace, nor if the plan has been a success until I am summoned for my next assignment – or else an execution, if our ruse is discovered.  Slavery is the foundation stone of the Hutt Empire, and they can brook no opposition lest it all come tumbling down.  Many times I explained this to Anakin when he would rail and rage about the Republic maintaining good relations with the Hutts, and I thought I was reasoned where he was foolish, but I see now he knew the true suffering of slavery - he lived it - where my compassion was always rooted in the abstract.

He is a slave still, and I cannot save him from it.  There is no price I could pay to ransom him from the chains of the Dark Side, the only freedom he can achieve is one he seizes for himself.   

But Marei can still be saved – will that be redemption enough for me, one slave freed weighed against countless others to whom I was willingly blind?  Had I only…

I have become far too indulgent again, my musings have once again become circular.  These scribblings should be reflective, but self-flagellation achieves little but to release guilt that should be discharged by actions, not words.  I am not – should not – be helping Marei to assuage my own conscience, but for her sake, for my friend who deserves far beyond that which fate delivered her.   

Ben Kenobi 

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

It has been over a month and I’ve had little to do but wait for news of Marei, whether good or ill. I’ve settled back into a routine of sorts, working my meagre vaporator and tending to the small succulent garden I have managed to cultivate in the shade of my hut. I talk to Rooh sometimes, rubbing the saline oil to her weathered skin. She seems to require the treatment far more frequently these days, nudging my hand with her snout until I retrieve the solution from its box and tend to her hide which seems to callous and crack on a near-daily basis.

How long do eopies live? I think perhaps it is better for me not to know. 

Once a week we make the journey across the Dune Sea to the Lars Homestead to satisfy myself that Luke remains well cared for. Not that I have any doubt of it, but one must be certain, and I admit those few hours watching the boy are like water to me in this endless desert. 

He is growing, there is no doubt about that. Childhood is truly fleeting on Tatooine; the farm must be worked, and now that Luke is of a capable age he must pull his weight. I suppose it is not much different from a youngling in the Jedi Temple, who by the age of eight would toil away at chores when not occupied by lessons, but Luke is younger still and spends many hours in the sun walking the distance between vaporator nests, checking their sensors and fixing any issues he comes across, which are numerous given the age of the systems. 

Yet the boy seems to almost enjoy tinkering with the mechanics – he has a clear aptitude for the work. I wonder if he could build his own droid if given the parts and encouragement, and think fondly of Threepio and what that flittering fool would think of his creator’s son. Of course, I recall the droid once resided at the homestead under Owen’s care, and is currently owned by Bail Organa – another connection between the twins of which they must remain unaware.

I make frequent visits to Anchorhead as well, for supplies of course, but also for a little human interaction – I can always count on Lotty for a drink, a laugh, and the local gossip. Except this time the information I desperately need she would not be privy to, and to ask would set her sharp mind at work in a most undesirable direction.  But I certainly learned more about the Sandskimmer’s impeding divorce than I ever wanted to, and all the details of the latest scandal which seemed to revolve around Lotty’s great-niece Tilly Marstarp who had taken up with a podracer from Mos Espa who apparently had a searing smile but a less than sterling reputation.

It was surprisingly nice to hear about lives and problems that were in no way connected with me, where I could simply engage in speculative conversation and revel on the comparatively mundane. Births, marriages, separations - the day to day life of this community which cared little for the storms that raged out in the galaxy, where every day was a struggle but that meant what little luxury and happiness they had was shared and celebrated. I was not quite one of them, I would not be invited to a wedding or harvest celebration, but I was permitted knowledge and appreciation, amusement and commentary from afar. It was enough, and fulfilled part of that human need for interaction.

But the bulk of my days are still spent in the isolation of my hut and own meandering thoughts, where I can only wait. And Hope. 

Qui-Gon, since writing the above I have finally been given an answer. I was summoned to Jabba’s palace this morning, collected by one of his numerous minions rather than by a slave. I was apprehensive, did he simply have another mission for me or had we been discovered and were about to face the Hutt’s wrath? My escort gave nothing away, although perhaps that was due to the lack of any intelligence to speak of.

Nothing seemed amiss when I was given audience before Jabba, except of course, the obvious with his harem of slaves, collection of unsavory courtiers, and smattering of bounty hunters.  I scanned the room briefly looking for Marei but could not find her, and yet this was not any kind of confirmation or comfort. It was entirely possible that she was under the grating beneath my feet, slowly being digested by the rancor and I could very well be about to follow her.

My search did not go unnoticed by Jabba, no matter how subtle the attempt.

“Your friend is not here,” he said in Huttese, his translator droid not present. An ill tiding? But of course Jabba went through droids as easily as those slimy creatures he always kept close for a quick snack, so it could be entirely unrelated.

I tried to appear unconcerned. “Should she be?”

“You have missed her I think.” Jabba seemed rather smug. “I know you enjoyed her.”

I shrugged, quelling my distaste at his insinuation. “Only as the purveyor of your esteemed word, Jabba.”

“Well now someone else is enjoying her.” Jabba leered at one of his other slaves and my stomach turned.  “Some rich Kiffar took a liking to her – struck a hard bargain too, but off she went with him, and I have three times what I paid for her.”

“I congratulate you.” My voice was calm as ever, but inside I’d never felt such relief. “But did you summon me simply to boast of your good fortune?”

“No, I have a new mission for you.” Jabba gave me a sly look, his bulbous eyes narrowing. “But I did not want you pining for the girl.”

I inclined my head; if Jabba believed I had an attachment to Marei and her sale would grieve me all the better. It seemed he did not suspect any foul play, perhaps he had even been eager to offload the girl as a strike at me, clearly he had deduced at least the friendship between us, even if his foul mind assumed much more than that.

But my mind has been much occupied, I have not even opened the holo with the details of my bounty. Jabba is no fool, and although our ruse was well planned and executed, if he had seen through the charade I would not put it past him to make me believe in its success only to reveal the horrible truth at some later time convenient to him.

So I am waiting still, for news from Vos, from Alderaan, any confirmation of Marei’s true fate, to satisfy myself as to her safety. It would be dangerous to send word too soon, and I know Vos would advise caution and ensure that she was settled before I could be informed.

Wait and hope, wait and hope. That is my life now, in every way.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

Time stretches to infinity before me like the endless sands of the Dune Sea. I know there is life beyond those white dunes, empty sky, and brutal, relentless heat but it is difficult to remember, or imagine. My missions offworld pursuing Jabba’s bounties seem more like dreams – there is a veil over them, a sheen of unreality – they are the deals in the dark, the places where light cannot reach, and perhaps that is how I live with those sins. There are no shadows on Tatooine where I hide in plain sight, but perhaps the blaze of twin suns conceals just as much.

Age is winding through me like the grey in my beard, and I find I move slower and need to rest longer. I keep to my daily training ritual but all too often find myself out of breath, my reactions sluggish, and joints sore. I never thought I would be an old man – and certainly not this soon. I am not yet at the age you were, Qui-Gon, when you were my master, but I feel I do not have half your energy or skill. Were I to face Darth Maul now, I fear I would fall much sooner than you did. Thank the Force I no longer need to worry about such things!

But while I may no longer be a warrior, I must one day be a master. How can I trust myself to train Luke when he comes of age, how can I fight beside him, protect him? It was difficult enough to keep up with Anakin, and I have no doubt Luke will be just as energetic, and just as willing to throw himself into peril. I try to commune with Yoda, but he seems unconvinced of Luke’s potential – a dreamer he is, Obi-Wan, he tuts, he has not the focus of mind, the patience of a true Jedi.

He thinks Leia should be our objective; impressed by the poise and resilience shown even at her tender age. I do not disagree, and often think fondly of my time with her on Alderaan, and can imagine how formidable she would be as a fully trained Jedi Knight. Were she at the Temple I have no doubt she would excel, thriving in the structure and routine which perhaps is not unlike the duties and responsibilities of her role as princess. Yes, I understand why Yoda would gravitate towards Leia – in many ways she would exemplify the best of us; the pre-eminent Jedi of the old Order.

Luke, I think, is something rather different. Do you see it, Qui-Gon? You once saw potential in me when no other Master could, when they had all dismissed me as only good for the corps, you looked into my heart and divined something worthy in it.

Oh, I have no doubt Luke would have also done well at the Temple – with a strength in the Force equal to his sister there could be little doubt of it. But would he have chafed at the constraints and regulations, would he have questioned the bedrock of our dogma rather than absorbing it? I saw that well enough those few brief lessons I was permitted to give him – he would interrogate the premise of a question rather than answer it. Such a mind is not easy to train, it resists molding, and so it is likely a different approach will be required. What that will be, I don’t yet know.

But I can also see why Yoda would prefer to train Leia – perhaps he may yet do so, but I do not envy his trouble if his teachings also ignite her strong will. Such strength can be an asset if it employed on your behalf, but should it ever have cause to be turned against you…

Perhaps I am projecting too much on these poor children, seeing their father on flimsy pretext – I spent only a few weeks with Leia on Alderaan, and while I know Luke far better, I have not spoken to him since the incident with the Tuskens.

I miss them both.

Qui-Gon, I have such glorious news that I am slightly embarrassed by the melancholy in my words above, written before my weekly visit to Anchorhead. This time when I patronized the pub, Lotty had more than a drink to share with me.

“I received this with my last shipment from offworld,” she said, showing me a package wrapped in brown flimsiplast bearing half a dozen postage stamps and an address written in perfect cursive:

Ben Kenobi

c/o Lotty Marstrap

The Weary Traveller

Anchorhead, Tatooine R-16

Arkanis Sector, Outer Rim Territories

I recognised the handwriting immediately, but made a show of puzzlement for Lotty’s benefit. In examining the package, I could see that it had already been opened and rewrapped, and raised my eyebrow at Lotty, who gave an unrepentant shrug.

“Who knows what it might have been,” she said. “I’m not a post hub, Ben. Something’s delivered here, it’s getting checked.”

“Of course.” There was no malice in it, and I suspect there is nothing in the package which would have meaning to anyone but me. I dug a few credits out of my pocket and offered them in payment, but Lolly scoffed and waved my hand away.

“No need for that,” she said, and I knew I could trust her not to mention the package to anyone. “Do you know who it’s from?”

I traced the words that spelled my name lightly. “A friend.”

Even though Lotty knew the contents of the package, I returned home before I would allow myself to open it, for as much as a trust her discretion, some things (most things) I wish to keep for myself alone.

It was from Sabé, of course. I had spoken to her of Lotty, there was not one aspect of my life here that I did not tell her, and she must have gleaned that The Weary Traveller was the safest place to send something, since the exact location of my home is uncharted.

There was no letter, but I did not expect there to be, she is far too cautious and knows me well enough to send a message through the gift within the heart of brown flimisplast and cotton wool. 

A tin of tea, and to Lotty or anyone else who had checked the package on its journey (for I see it was re-routed though several different ports to disguise the origin), that is all it would appear to be. A gift from a friend, a luxury or a kindness. But I could see the truth; this was no ordinary blend but one of Sabé’s own creation.

The base was black camellia – a light tea likely sourced from Sabé’s own garden. She had proudly shown me her tea plants grown from saplings smuggled from Naboo, and cultivated in her greenhouse with as much care as one would show a child. Among them had also been a beautiful millaflower, also from her homeland, and she’d explained how she carefully dried the seeds and petals to make a tea suitable for soothing the driest sore throat.

But it was not milla in the blend, rather small star-shaped flower that had not withered in the drying process, but retained its five points in shrunken yet sharp darts. It was a hardly plant, a desert flower I knew well by the name of pentas, that bloom among adversity and in defiance of the suns. I brewed the tea and left it to steep while my thoughts turned to the secret of the blend.

I remember that Marei used to wear pentas in her hair, the one joy of her piteous life liberating the flowers from where they grew in the rocky enclave that surrounded Jabba’s palace, adorning the blossoms in her hair like pink and white stars in a cerulean sky.

At night, she’d told me once, she would hang them up to dry over her bed so their scent would settle over her while she slept, and as she woke she could watch them shimmer in the morning sun, lightly drifting in the breeze like a child would gaze up at a mobile. Once the moisture had been leeched from the arid air she would store them in a jar – the only possession she had, the only thing she could truly claim as her own.

The tea was pleasant to drink – the pentas giving a sharp note softened by a hint of vanilla. The message was clear enough – Marei had made it to Alderaan, a pentas flower transplanted from desert to mountain snow, and her life there was sweet.

It is a great relief to me, and as I drunk the tea I imagined Sabé and Marei sharing a pot in the quiet gardens against a backdrop of white mountains. I could almost feel the cool snow-touched breeze on my face as they laugh together, already old friends, I conjure up happiness on Marei’s face at the freedom so hard won, a hope for the life that stretches ahead of her with such possibility, and my heart is full.

Perhaps she still wears flowers in her hair, but now as a celebration rather than an escape.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I find I am writing to you less and less, although I assure you, I am not too busy. If anything I am the opposite, but so devoid of purpose I find I have little to say, for every day is much the same as the one that came before, and do not expect much different from the one that follows.

Luke is ten now, or as close to it as I can calculate since Tatooine has no seasons I can discern (Beru did once try to explain it to me but it was hopelessly beyond my comprehension). He has moved beyond her purview, old enough now to assist Owen with running the farm, spending the long sundrenched days walking between the vaporators to check yield and assess and maintain the machinery. I spend my days watching them, Rooh and I beginning the journey across the Dune Sea at dawn to the Lars farm, her gait rivalling that of a speeder since she herself is anxious to catch sight of Luke, even if she cannot enjoy his affection as she once did. This sorrow we share.

I catch sight of the spindly vaporator spikes in the far quadrant of their holdings and every time I hold my breath, anxious to see Luke, to know he’s survived another day. Of course I know such worries are foolish - he is perfectly safe with Owen and Beru and faces no more dangers than any other child. But I know how fragile life can be, that there is always the threat of sickness or injury - or worse still, that somehow his identity will be uncovered and Vader will come to claim him. It would be the only reason he would ever set foot back on this planet, and I trust that hatred and fear of his past to be the shroud that will keep Luke safe.

Often Owen and Luke are at the vaporators when I arrive, and I venture as close as I dare using the Force shield I have perfected in the past few years. Not quite rising to the level of invisibility since it would not fool anyone standing too close, but rather a form of camouflage for myself and Rooh, like the khami-dragon of the Jundland Wastes. I have studied the species at great length, capturing several to examine and pinpoint the interaction with the Force and their biology that allows them to blend in with their surroundings. Small, spiky, mean little creatures, although I suppose I would be likewise were a giant to pluck me from my nice warm rock and take me home. I always make sure to return them, and have learned to avoid the stinging venom of their spiked tongue.   

I seat myself in the sand with my waterskin and Rooh beside me, casting both of us in the yellow-white hue of our surroundings. To Owen and Luke, were they to throw a glance in our direction, we would look only like a small dune of sand, but it allows me close enough to see the smile on Luke’s face, hear the animation in his voice, and content myself that he is a happy child. 

Eager too; attentive to Owen’s painstaking lesson. The vaporator has malfunctioned and required the interior to be taken apart, the mechanics laid out on the rough-spun mat on the sand. Owen points out each part to Luke, explaining its name, function, and how to examine and test it for error. I confess, my eyes glaze over, as they always did when Anakin would take apart his speeder engine in a never ending quest to boost its performance, but Luke is riveted, repeating the names of the parts after Owen and able to repeat the tests almost immediately. 

My heart aches at the memory of our lessons together, and all I can think of is how fine a Jedi he would make. But it is more than that, now I reflect on it; I miss the boy’s company - his quick wit, his unique way of approaching and solving the tests I gave him, his enthusiasm and infectious laugh. I recognise the emotion as I look at Owen and Luke - it is envy, that Owen is the recipient of Luke’s boundless love and admiration, that it is he who the boy looks up to as a father.

But that was my choice, I must remind myself, and I cannot fault the Lars couple in their care of the boy. I recognise my negative emotion, accept it, and ensure it does not turn to bitterness. It is better for Luke to know a normal life, to be free from the burden of his special heritage, safe in these boundless sands so far from the war that ravages the stars above. 

As I watch the pair fixing the vaporators, I marvel at Owen, usually so gruff and irascible, completely transformed into a patient and gentle teacher. My jaw still clicks sometimes from the beating he once gave me, but around Luke that overprotective drive is channeled by a gentle guiding hand rather than a defensive fist. They laugh together, sharing some inside joke, and it is not long before the vaporator is reassembled, Luke blossoming under Owen’s praise. 

I watch them walk into the distance, and I’m not sure I have ever felt more alone. 

I go to Anchorhead on market day, knowing I will see Luke there with Beru. In the throng of the crowd I can get closer to hear the sound of his voice, chatting away animatedly about the new speeder for sale in Mos Eisley that his friend Biggs has told him about. Beru promises to take him to see it after Harvest, although cautions him that they simply cannot afford to buy one - at least not for some time. His face falls only momentarily, but then he gives Beru a broad smile, assuring her that seeing it in action will be enough, drawing close so she can sling her arm around his shoulders and kiss the top of his head. 

I take Rooh on the long trek to Mos Eisley to see the speeder for myself. It is a vile city, full of drunkards and thieves and I hate it there. I am no stranger to denizens of the underworld - many I have even called my friends over the years - but there is a cruel streak to those who gather in Mos Eisley. Working for the Hutts is either a life one has been bred into, or a last resort, attracting that breed of criminal with a savage heart, for whom violence is a sport and mercy a failing. 

But the vehicle dealership is in a more reputable part of town, although of course on Tatooine the word reputable is entirely relative. The T-44 landspeeder is on display, and a female Toydarian flutters over the moment I walk through the door. 

“Welcome, welcome!” she greets me in Basic and gestures to the speeder. “A beauty, huh? The very latest model.”

I inspect the vehicle, and although I am no expert it doesn’t take one to see that the model is of Imperial design. 

“SoroSuub?” I ask, and the shrewd Toydarian narrows her eyes - she recognises I am testing her. 

“If that’s what you’re looking for,” she says, “I have a few X-34’s over there. But they have basic functionality, nothing like the T-44. It’s Imperial, but I see you knew that.”

I shrug, not wanting to look too interested. “Isn’t everything these days. How much?”

“Twenty thousand credits.” The Toydarian looks at my tattered clothes. “But worth every one.”

“Hmm.” I examine the speeder more closely - Imperial designers have abandoned the sleek curves of the Republic vessels for blunt durability, but there is no denying the quality of the construction, even if it was likely several years old. It takes time for such things to filter to the Outer Rim - and it is probable the vehicles have been stolen from the Empire for resale outside of their dominion.

I can just see Luke’s face light up if I drove the speeder up to the Homestead, I imagine him jumping for joy and demanding to be taken for a ride. He would excitedly take apart the engine to find out how every part fit together, and reassemble it so it ran faster than ever. He would learn to drive it, and be the envy of everyone in Anchorhead - but more importantly he could come and visit me, every day if he wanted to, we could sit and drink tea and he would tell me everything about his life that currently I only watch from afar. 

But it is a flight of fancy; I know this. Owen would never accept such a gift, even if I could scrounge up the credits, he would accuse me of trying to buy my way back into Luke’s life, and he would be absolutely correct.

I tell the Toydarian I will think of it, and have her show me the X-34 for good measure. A much more practical option, half the cost of the T-44, and I know this is the model that they might be able to afford in a few years so Beru can keep her promise. But even that is not something that I can give, it would raise too many questions, and so I leave the dealership somewhat dejected.

I find the least odious bar in the city, Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina, and have a drink. It is not long before I am approached by a beige-furred Wookiee with a deep scar running across his shoulder and chest, who introduces himself as Chalmun, the proprietor. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I tell him. “Lotty Mustrap speaks highly of your establishment here.”

Chalmun laughed. “I bet,” he answers in Shyriiwook. “How is the old girl?”

“Well enough,” I glance around the bar, careful that no one is listening in. “But I suspect you did not come over to talk about The Weary Traveller of Anchorhead.”

“No,” Chalmun admits, looking me up and down. “You dress like a farmer, but I do not think you are.”

I take a sip of my drink. “Oh?”

“I have family who fought in the Battle of Kashyyyk,” he says. “The Jedi were always a friend to the Wookiees.”

“There are no Jedi anymore.”

“Not the way things are going out there.” Chalmun pours me another drink. “Lots of bounty hunters come through here, talking about the good credits they’ve made working for the Empire, hunting them down.”  

I reach out through the Force, trying to sense Chalmun’s intent. Is he an informant to the Empire, searching for confirmation of my identity to sell? No - the Wookiee may have a less than scrupulous past, but I believe his motives are good - he wants only to help me. 

“One came through last week,” he continues. “Claiming he helped the Inquisitors find Jocasta Nu.”

That rattles me, and I take a large gulp of whatever alcohol I've been given - I remember the formidable old librarian fondly. She deserved a peaceful end to her life, not death at Vader’s hand - I know that no matter what means the Empire is using to track down the Jedi, it is always Vader who strikes the killing blow. Did she know, I wonder, that her executioner was once the boy who would spend hours in her Archives, his young mind soaking in the knowledge of the galaxy with what seemed like an unquenchable thirst? A part of me hopes she did not, because how her heart would have broken. How mine breaks, to think of it.

“I hear other things too,” Chalmun says when I make no response. “People fighting back - not just hiding, waiting for their turn to die.”

There is a tinge of judgement in his words - perhaps he is disappointed in me, the Jedi in exile on this desert world. I have no doubt Jocasta died fighting, even though she was no warrior. She was a keeper of knowledge - her mind a holocron all of its own, and her loss is a great one. Another death knell for Jedi, and they are ringing closer together every day.

“The Rebellion,” I say finally, holding out my glass to be refilled.

“Fools and dreamers, some say.” Chalmun pours a glass for himself and then downs it. “But here’s to them.”

I hold the glass to my lips as I think of Jocasta and all my fallen brethren. How many more are out there, hiding, fighting, dying, without me even knowing? Without anyone to mourn their passing? 

I throw back the alcohol in one shot, thank Chalmun for his hospitality and leave the bar. Rooh is waiting for me outside and can sense my distress, nuzzling her snout against my cheek to try and cheer me up. It does, but only a little, and I have the long trek back to the hut to dwell on my thoughts. 

Perhaps I am not needed here after all. Luke is happy, and healthy - perhaps it is not the life he would have had, if the Republic had never fallen, if Anakin had never turned, if Padmé had not died. So many possible fates, like branches of a Force tree spindling out in all directions.

Should I be out there, with the Rebellion? For ten years I have told myself that I have another purpose, that it is my duty to watch over Luke and keep him safe. But perhaps I have accomplished that, and besides, what kind of world am I keeping him safe for - one where his father hunts down my people one by one until we are the last left? What then?  

Is it my fate to stay here, doing nothing except watching Luke grow from afar waiting and hoping for the day he will come find me? Perhaps he never will, perhaps his strength in the Force will remain dampened by this barren planet. Perhaps he will remain a farmer, find someone to marry, have children, and live an unremarkable, but fulfilling life. Perhaps it is too much to ask for a child to take on the burdens of his forebears, perhaps I am asking the impossible - Luke is after all only one, one against the might of the Empire.

Perhaps he is not the Chosen One. Perhaps there is no such thing.  

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

A sad day.

My eopie Rooh, perhaps my only true friend on this planet, has become one with the Force. She has been sickly for months, and steadily declined despite the tonics I procured from Mos Espa at great expense, but could not delay the inevitable forever.

I remember how Luke loved her - he would rub oil into her hide and plant wet kisses on her snout. I considered asking Beru to bring him out to see her one last time, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. He’d been a small child then, he probably would not even remember her, and no doubt Owen would refuse as it may raise questions he didn’t want to answer. Nothing is more enticing to an eleven year old than a wizard who lives far away, and once brought to my home may wish to return. 

I remember too how Luke used to talk to Rooh. That was never my gift, but through practice and perhaps the bond formed with two over the years, in her final hours we were able to communicate. It was not much - only my thanks for her companionship, and her answering affection, but it gave me more peace than Yoda’s oft repeated lesson. 

Rejoice for those who become one with the Force . I have lost many whom I have loved, including you, Qui-Gon. And yet you are with me still, by my side always, and I trust that you at least will not find fault in this request: to guide Rooh’s spirit to wherever in the Force eopies reside.

May you run forever across the sands of eternity, my dear friend. Goodbye. 

I have decided to leave Tatooine - only for a short while -  to try and find others of our kind, to see if I can do some greater good in this universe.

You will think this decision driven by sorrow, Qui-Gon, and I suppose you would be right. Rooh was my companion,  and perhaps I did not fully realise how accustomed I was to her presence until she was gone. The way she would nudge my hand with her snout when she wanted to be fed, her diligence and speed in carrying me wherever I asked her go take me, the utter trust I saw in her large dark eyes, and the comfort of her laying her head lightly on my shoulder when she could sense I needed comforting. 

My hut feels so empty without her, and more than once I have found myself talking aloud but finding no one there to listen. Ah, how sentimental I have become! How old I feel.

The galaxy is not what I remember - how in ten years so much has changed, it is almost as if the Republic never existed. It is a cold place now. Dispirite. Oppressive. The firm hand of the Empire grows tighter the further I travel into the Rim, and instead of bright open faces I see fear, sidelong glances and bowed heads. No one wants to see stormtroopers in their streets, so they keep their gaze lowered, desperate to pretend that what they cannot see or hear does not exist.  

It has brought me great sadness that most of the trails I have followed have grown cold - either my friends have successfully hidden themselves out there in the universe and cannot be found, or they have been lost. In many cases there has been no doubt, the locals brimming with tales of Jedi hunted down and killed in the streets or bars or safe houses; sometimes told with horror, and sometimes glee. 

However the stories differ, there is one common denominator: Vader. 

There are stories that he is a demon, a curse that follows the fleeing Jedi. Others, that he is an advanced droid of some kind, for what mortal being could hunt and kill with such merciless efficiency? The only wild tale I do not hear is the truth - no one suspects that the dark enforcer was once a creature of the light, let alone their greatest champion. 

Eventually I sent for help from Bail - I could not risk going in person, the danger was too great with Leia almost a teenager and my appearance likely to trigger the dormant power within her. Besides, I have reached greater communion with the Force; it whispers to me, not quite visions of the future, but glimpses - impressions. Understanding.

I know I will never set eyes upon Leia again - at least not in the flesh. That brave, bright girl I had the privilege to teach for a short time; I have given what I can to her, and while the future is always in motion, I sense that my path lies elsewhere.

I know the next time I see Vader, I will die. 

I did not have the will to kill him the last time we fought, and I know I will not have the strength to do so when we fight again. I have made my peace, and accept the inevitability. After all that has passed between us, what other end could there possibly be for Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi?

But that time is not yet upon me, so I do not seek him out, although I gleaned enough from hacking into intelligence networks that he has built a castle on Mustafar - a grim irony, or self-imposed penance? A part of me feels desperately sad to think of him surrounded by the lava that burned away his flesh and trapped him inside that suit, but the other part hopes he is in anguish for all that he has done, and all he will do.

In my despair I go to Jedha, even though it is in the heart of Imperial occupied territory. My own heart breaks to see those ancient, holy streets fouled by stormtroopers patrols and Imperial ordinances stamped to every wall. There is so much fear it chokes the air; citizens cower behind doorways and shoot furtive glances as they hurry through the streets trying to avoid attention. The Temple remains untouched, at least for now, but it cannot hope to stand much longer under a regime that is intent on obliterating the Jedi and all that is associated with us. 

I have abandoned my robes for more fashionable attire, and as I enter the Temple I blend in among the other scavengers - Imperials and tourists, here to preside over the death of a way of life. I try not to look at them, and instead examine the central stone effigy depicting the Jedi of old, still standing as its brothers decay in the desert sands outside the city walls. 

A Guardian with a staff approaches, and although I see the man is blind he seems to have no trouble seeing right through me.

“Welcome pilgrim,” He says formally, then lowers his voice as he leans in. “You should not be here, sir Jedi.”

How he knew, I will never understand - but Guardians of the Whills always had a unique connection to the Force that could not be defined by reason or midichlorians. 

“I’m afraid I’m not a pilgrim,” I announced for the benefit of anyone listening in. “But an architect. My employer has a great interest in Temple aesthetics for his new estate on Chandrila.”  

“I see,” the Guardian held out his hand. “For a donation I will gladly take you on a tour - no doubt you wish to view the kyber sculptures in the catacombs.”

I handed the Guardian some credits and followed him down through a locked door leading to a winding staircase. Another Guardian - this one tall and stocky with a sour look on his face - followed us. I expected it to be dark underground, but when we entered the chamber the fire from torches set along the path was reflected in the thousands of kyber crystals that grew out of the rock above, casting refracted light all around us. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” The blind Guardian asked, a serene smile on his face. “I may not see what you do, sir Jedi, but beauty is not just what the eye takes in.”

I closed my eyes briefly, reaching out through the Force and felt the resonance of the kyber reflected back at me, thrumming in tandem with the crystal of my lightsaber hidden under my clothes. I almost wept to feel the Force so strongly again, to remind me that it had not died but burned as strong as ever for those who knew where to look.

“I understand,” I said as I opened my eyes again. “Thank you for bringing me here…”

“I am Chirrut,” he nodded at me, then gestured to his companion. “This is Baze.”

“You shouldn’t have come here, Jedi,” Baze said, scowl seeming to be fixed on his face. “You put us all in danger.”

“That is not my intention,” I assured him. “I will go if you ask it of me.”

“I’m afraid you must,” Chirrut said, but placed a warm hand on my arm. “Imperials patrol the Temple regularly, and if you do not have appropriate identification they will take you away for interrogation.” 

“I see.” This knowledge upset me more than I can express. “Thank you for the warning.”

“We will show you the secret way out of the catacombs.” Baze brushed by me further into the chamber.

I followed, but while Baze strode ahead, I kept a slower pace with Chirrut who was so good as to tell me of the kyber sculptures that lined the walkway. They were indeed magnificent, depicting various scenes and persons of Jedi legend - Mott slaying the Red-eyed Serpent, the Three Priestesses of Dathomir, the Council of Bonded. Moreover they seemed to glow from within, the artists having revealed the very heart of the kyber in a way quite different from that used to harness their power for lightsabers.  

“The Shaman of the Whills,” Chirrut gestured to a sculpture of a tall humanoid figure whose features were obscured by the hood of  their robes. “The founder of our order.”

I stopped to view the piece. I know you, Qui-Gon, were always intrigued by the Whills - perhaps that is whom you commune with now.

“Not a true likeness of course,” Chirrut leaned against his staff. “It is said the Whills had no mortal form at all - at least not manifested in our plane of existence. The identity of Shaman who they communed with is unimportant. They are all of us.”

“Have the Whills communed with you?”

Chirrut gave me a secretive smile and moved on. I followed, as I had not expected a clear answer - it was simply gratifying to see faith again, and I felt buoyed by his trust in the Force. However as we walked through the tunnels I grew increasingly disturbed by the large gaps between the sculptures and deep crevices in the rock above.

I expressed my concerns to Chirrut, who gave a deep sigh and stared at me with his unseeing eyes.

“The Empire is taking the kyber,” he said, “I fear when they finish here they will start to mine the heart of the planet.”  

“But why?” The idea was baffling. “To prevent them from being used to power lightsabers? There are not enough Jedi left to make use of them.”

“I am sorry,” Chirrut shook his head. “I do not know.”

“I do,” Baze turned around, a crack of distress breaking through his scowl. “Because it’s all the Imperials do - loot and pillage. Look around you, Jedi, every day they cut away at the sacred heart of this temple and take the crystal back to their palaces like trophies.”

While probably quite true, I felt that the answer was somehow more than this - more than petty greed and gleeful destruction. Something so perverse it made me shiver, although I cannot pinpoint exactly what.

“Look at these treasures while you can, Jedi,” Baze said, a deep sadness in his voice. “One day there will be nothing left.”

“ We will still be here,” Chirrut argued, and Baze gave a dismissive grunt. “The Force will still be here,” he added, placing a hand on Baze’s arm.

I was sorry to take my leave of them, but Baze was right that I posed a danger every moment I lingered - harbouring a Jedi was a death sentence. I bid them my farewell and Baze pointed me to the narrow tunnel that would bring me back outside the city walls, but I could not help but ask one last thing of them.

“Have…any of the others come?” Although I was beginning to fear that I would be the last Jedi to walk those kyber hallways, perhaps I was not the first to seek them out.

Baze gave me a look of sympathy that spoke to the strength of his heart beneath that gruff exterior. I sighed and turned to leave, unsure of where I could possibly go next. 

“Wait!” Chirrut called after me. “Now that I think of it, there was a pilgrim a few months ago - but she said she was no Jedi.”

I whipped back around, a desperate hope gripping my heart. “Did she say what her name was?”

Chirrut shook his head. “But she left a message, were a friend ever to come looking for her.”

“And?” 

“She said: Snips Emergent, Shield Collapse .” Chirrut leant on his staff and cocked his head to the side. “But I don’t understand it.”

I smiled, hope turning to emergent joy. “I think I do.”

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

The message Ahsoka left with Chirrut and Baze was easy enough to decode - Christophsis was her first mission as a Padawan, where Anakin first dubbed her Snips and they successfully brought down the Sepratist shield generator to win the battle. I did not find her there, but another message with another clue - she was being careful, ensuring that only a close friend would be able to follow her trail. In truth the messages had probably been left for Anakin, perhaps still nursing hope that he was alive, that he had not fallen as everyone believed defending the Jedi Temple, but was out there looking for her as she was looking for him.

I followed her trail to a small planet in the mid-Rim, to a small shack on a cliff braced against a tumultuous, seemingly constant storm. Inside was a single chair, a narrow cot, and a complicated-looking transmitter system with an input-output signal I could not decipher. I surmised the storm masked any transmission but that my presence had been flagged nonetheless, so folded my cloak around myself and waited.

Ahsoka arrived on the third day, cautiously entering the shack with her blaster raised. She was older than when I last saw her, her montrals high and her lekku falling down to her waist. Seeing her as a woman grown, it struck me just how young she had been during the war - no more than a child, and we had expected her to lead armies and fight to the death. At the time we had justified it by tradition - padawans always followed their master, even on dangerous missions. But no one had anticipated just how brutal and prolonged the Clone Wars would be; we had turned our children from students to soldiers, and then made them fugitives. 

“Obi Wan?” Ahsoka lowered her blaster. “I saw you on the holo feed, but couldn’t be sure…is it really you?”

“It’s me,” I assured her as I rose, but the words had barely left my mouth before she flung herself across the room, arms closing around me in a tight embrace.

“I thought you were dead!” she explained as she pulled away, placing her hands on either side of my face and studying me - we are the same height now. 

“Where have you been all this time?”

How much could I tell her? I had shared the truth with Vos, although in hindsight I probably should not have. But for Vos the information only held mild interest; for Ahsoka it would be deeply distressing. 

“In hiding,” I said carefully. “Like all the others. Have you seen them?”

She shook her head sadly. “There are so few left, and they are scattered to the winds.”

“So I have found.” I stroked the side of my beard, unsure of how much she knew. “Hunted down by a Sith Lord, or so they say.”

Ahsoka shivered - she had no doubt heard the stories too. “Who is he, do you think?” 

“Sith emerge from the shadows,” I said, studying her. “As if from nothing.”

I felt her studying me right back, and yet she had not completed her training, her skills acute but incomplete. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed and turned away. “He's a Sith, that's all that matters.”

“You should be careful,” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “If I can find you, the inquisitors could too.”

I felt her tense, her emotions swirling close to the surface of her mind, her pain and sorrow undiminished despite the years that had passed.

“They say some of them were younglings from the Temple, taken and twisted to hate those that were once their family.” She turned to face me, tears in her eyes. “Oh Obi-Wan, what has the galaxy come to?”

She strays too close to the truth for comfort, but I say nothing, lest it give me away. Instead I fold her into my arms, and she is a child again, seeking answers and protection and instruction from the elders she had been taught from childhood to respect and revere. She had needed to be the strong one these past years, out in the galaxy alone, cut off from all the support systems upon which she had always relied. She had survived, but it had been at a cost. The bright-eyed padawan had been lost, forged in the crucible of war into something quite different.

“I left the trail for Anakin,” she told me, chin tucked over my shoulder. “I know they say he died at the Temple, but there was something inside of me that couldn’t believe it. I thought after everything that had happened, he would surely find me.”

She took a shaky breath as she pulled away. “But he hasn’t, so he must be dead.”

My heart broke, but I dared not tell her the truth. What would it do, but cause further hurt? I had nothing that would comfort her, feeling painfully inadequate that we should meet again but I could be of no use to her.

“I see you still carry lightsabers,” I said, latching onto a safer topic. 

That cheered her, and she drew the weapons, igniting them to reveal pure white blades. 

“I took the crystals off an inquisitor,” she said proudly. “And purified them.”

“Really?” I had never heard of such a thing - once a kyber crystal was corrupted I thought there was no way back. It was with great relief that I had taken Anakin’s saber before he’d had a chance to bleed the crystal - it comforted me that his Jedi blade was not being further yielded in service of the dark arts.

“I’m not a knight, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka deactivated the blades and reattached them to her belt. “But I remember everything I learned. From Anakin - and from you as well.”

“I am glad to hear it.” 

“We are fighting back,” she pressed on, suddenly alight with purpose. “There are few of us now, operating alone or in small rebel cells. But more are joining us every day.”

“Yes,” I said carefully. “Bail is doing well.”

Ahsoka gave a pointed look. “We could use your help.”

How could I tell her? Ahsoka would never agree with the plan Yoda, Bail, and I had agreed on - naturally she would want to know the children of Anakin and Padme, and very likely would shoot off for Tatooine for Luke the moment the words crossed my lips, enticing him away with tales of his father, offering him a chance to escape to the stars he longed for. 

I had seen him at twilight waiting for the moment the universe opened up to him, the sky changing from the monochromatic blue of day, to the kaleidoscope of sunset and fading to the black of night punctuated by the light of a thousand other worlds. He was his father’s son, the boy who had once dreamed of visiting all the stars in the sky, and had all too soon found that dream came at a bitter cost.

Luke’s place was not with the Rebellion - not yet -  and perhaps the selfish part of me simply does not wish to share him with anyone. He is my charge - my hope to protect.

“I cannot,” I said, the words painfully crossing my lips. “I’m sorry.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why did you come?”

“I…” There was no answer I could give her, no explanation that would satisfy.

“I don’t understand you, Obi-Wan,” she shook her head in disbelief. “You are the most honourable Jedi I have ever known, and the last I would have expected to give up.”

“I have not given up,” I defended myself. “I have been in communion with Yoda-”

“Oh.” Ahsoka cast her eyes down. “I have not heard from him. I suppose because I am not a Jedi.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “That is not the reason.”

“Is he in hiding too?” Ahsoka asked with a sharp edge to her voice.

“Yes,” I said, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “Or rather - exile.”

“What is the good of that?” Ashoka pulled away, sharpness turning to steel. “Punishing yourselves won’t save any lives, it won’t stop the rest of us from being hunted down and killed. You’ll really stand by and allow the Empire’s power to grow beyond the point it can be challenged? What hope will there be then?”

It was an impassioned speech, and I was moved to question my own choices - was it reasonable to pin my hopes on Luke and Leia, to succeed where so many of us had failed, and facing much worse circumstances? Was it fair to either of them? To Ahsoka and the rest who remained, to the rebels she fought with, who would fall while waiting for the twins to grow into their great destiny?

But I remember your teaching, Qui-Gon, that the flow of water will work upon a rock but slowly. Time, and pressure, will always win out no mater the strength of the force that stands against it.

“I know it’s difficult to accept,” I said, keeping my voice very soft. “I am playing my own part in the rebellion, but I cannot tell you what. I must ask you to trust me.”

She looked hurt. “But you will not trust me ?” 

“I…”

How to answer? Ahsoka was brave, and loyal, and true, and yet I did not feel I could trust her with the knowledge of Luke’s existence. She was an active member of the rebellion, and no spy network was impenetrable. Information had a way of leaking out no matter how many precautions had been put in place and the risk to Luke was too great. If Bail had not told her the truth, how could I?

Ahsoka stared at me, and then gave a deep sigh. I could not help but feel that I was stealing something precious from her.

“Keep your secrets, Obi-Wan,” she said without malice. “I hope whatever it is you’re protecting is worth it.”

She held out her hand and I took it with both of mine and squeezed it lightly, hoping to convey all of my wishes for her success and regret that I could not stand beside her. 

“I hope so too.”

I wish we had parted on better terms. 

I wish I had given her some way to contact me, but I fear it would tempt away from my responsibility - away from Luke, away from the path I had chosen. I know that once drawn into the rebellion I would not have the strength to extricate myself, to return to Tatooine where I feel useless and alone.    

Perhaps that is what I have been out here searching for. A reason to leave, to rejoin the fight, to feel I am doing something worthwhile against the Empire - more than being a guardian surplus to requirements on a desert world so far removed from the struggle. And yet when presented with the perfect opportunity I demurred, even though it made Ahsoka think less of me, even though I desperately wanted to join her, to see Bail and Sabé and Leia again, to do whatever I could to destroy the cankerous rot that grew at the heart of the galaxy.

Because I know in my heart - it’s time to go home.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

It has been a harrowing night. 

When I returned to Tatooine there was a note pinned to the front door of my hut that read come to the homestead in large, untidy scrawl. I thought that perhaps I had been missed after all, an idea that gave me not a little satisfaction as I rode the spluttering, ancient speeder bike I’d purchased in Mos Eisley across the dunes towards the Lars farm.

However when Owen answered the door I was met with a grave anger far behind his usual scowl.

“You,” he growled at me. “How dare you show your face here.”

“You asked me to come,” I protested. “The note on my door…”

“I left that weeks ago!”

“Weeks?” Fear gripped my heart as I realised too late there would only be one reason Owen would invite me to his home. 

“Is Luke alright?”

Owen shook his head, his mouth a firm line. I swept past him into the homestead, eyes casting around for the boy. I could not see him, but there was the stench of sickness in the air.

“He was stung by vormir,” Owen brushed past me. “There is no antidote, and the poison has been working its way towards his heart.”

“A vormir?” 

When I first arrived on Tatooine I had consumed countless data discs on the local flora and fauna to prepare myself for living on the hostile planet. A vormir was a rare desert arachnid with a deadly sting in its tail, and I recalled with dread that once stung, the poison slowly worked its way to the victim's heart and the prognosis for survival was very poor.

“Where have you been?” Owen rounded on me, fists clenched. “I went to your hut to find it closed up, with no word of where you had gone or if you were coming back. Every day I went!”

I almost pointed out that I had been offworld many times before without informing them, but it was not the time. It did not matter where I had been, it only mattered that I had not been here when it counted.

“I even went to Jabba,” Owen continued his ranting, “to ask him where he’d sent you, but he knew of no bounty he’d asked you to chase. You were just gone .”

“I am sorry,” was all I could say, spreading out my hands. “I am here now.” 

“What good is it,” Owen said through the verge of angry tears, “when he’s almost dead? You’re meant to be here to protect him!” He pointed, his index finger stabbing me in the chest. “If you can’t do that, can’t be there when he needs you,” he punctuated his words with further jabs. “Then what is the point of you?”

I had no answer, and Owen’s anger crumpled into despair as he collapsed weeping onto a chair, but I had no time to be shocked by his uncharacteristic display of emotion. I moved past him to Luke’s room, where Beru was cradling him on the narrow bed against the wall. Her eyes were dry, but her torment was etched deep into her face as she stroked the boy’s hair and rocked him gently, singing a desert lullaby.

She stopped as I approached, and I was stricken to see Luke’s grey pallor - in his unconscious state, he looked far younger than his twelve years. I sat next to them on the bed and examined the dark red wound on his wrist where he must have been stung, and black veins running up his arm. I moved aside the fabric of his tunic and was dismayed to see them also creeping across his shoulder and down over his chest.

“We’ve tried everything,” Beru said, her voice raw. “Poultices, elixirs, Owen even went to Mos Espa for a healer, but nothing has worked.”

“The poison can only be slowed,” I murmured, recalling the reading I had done. “But not stopped.”

“Is there no hope, Ben?” she asked, holding Luke a bit tighter.

I placed a hand on her arm, urging her to lay the boy down so I could examine him. 

“There is always hope,” I said with more certainty than I felt, because when I put a hand to his forehead his skin was cold and clammy which meant he was in the final stages of the infection. Once the poison reached his heart, he would die.

“Luke?” I called to him gently, but he did not answer. I briefly touched his mind with the Force, searching for signs of active brain function. The subconscious response was weak - but it was there. He was still fighting.

“Luke?” I patted his cheek gently, as if to rouse him from a slumber. 

“He won't wake,” Owen’s voice came gruffly from behind me, and I turned to see him leaning despondently against the doorframe. “No matter what we do.” 

I turned back to Luke and lay my palm against his chest, over his heart. I reached out to him through the Force and almost recoiled at the acrid response - the poison was potent, and he was very close to the point of no return

“Jedi can use the Force to heal,” I said, trying to keep my voice measured. “I have trained in it, but he is so far gone, some of the healing will need to come from within. I can try to reach him, urge him to use his natural abilities to cleanse himself..”

“Yes, anything,” Beru said. “Please.”

“It may not work,” I stressed, then looked over to Owen, who nodded. His anger had completely faded, leaving only wrought-out despair, looking as if he would collapse if the doorframe was not holding him up.

“Please try,” he said.

I took a deep breath - I would hardly consider myself a skilled healer, certainly not proficient enough ever to practice in the Halls of Healing, but there had been many times during the Clone Wars when bacta had been in short supply and Force healing necessary. I was out of practice, not having much cause here on Tatooine, but I had a very firm incentive. 

Luke simply could not die. There was nothing in me that would allow for that possibility.

“Sing to him again,” I advised Beru. “And hold his hand. It may help tether him to us.”

Beru took Luke’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Then she looked to her husband, and Owen moved across the room to kneel by the bed, taking Luke’s other hand. Then she began to sing - I could not quite make out the words, seeming to be a mix of Huttese and Basic, the kind of song passed down through the generations until no one could be sure of its original intent. But Beru had a soothing pleasant voice, and as I reached out to Luke through the Force again his mind stirred to hear it.  

I closed my eyes, seeking to commune with the boy. I knew Luke had the gift for healing - he had once cured a dewback of a broken leg only by his determination to keep her alive. Whether that strength could be turned inwards was the difficulty, as it had been many years since our brief training, and his abilities all but suppressed.   

I could not touch his conscious mind - he was too far gone for that. Instead I sought to fortify his primal survival instinct, allowing him to connect with the midichlorians in his blood that opened him up to the Living Force, in order to cleanse his cells of the infection.

The Force was there, within him, as strong as ever. As I touched Luke’s mind again I understood that his innate connection to the Force could not be truly sublimated - it was waiting under the surface, like a fire that would reignite the moment it was exposed to the air. I could feel his heartbeat and his skin grow warm under my hand, vaguely aware of Beru’s song calling to him, drawing him home.

I turned my attention to the poison in his bloodstream, tasting bitterness in my mouth but I swallowed it down. It was a aggressive toxin, fighting fiercely to spread, but I drew on the Force to target one cell at a time, trying to replicate what the great Jedi Healer Vokara Che had once taught of a body being its own ecosystem, and a pathogen as an invasive species that must be eradicated.

Reaching out to Luke again, I sought to re-establish the connection we’d once shared as teacher and pupil, buried deep in his subconscious. We could not communicate in any direct way, I could not speak to him or explain what I was trying to do, I could only show him my work and hope he could replicate it. 

Some time passed, but eventually I felt his presence in the Force strengthen alongside mine, the infected cells being purified at a greater rate as he learned to heal himself, following my lead as we fought together for his life, and I could feel the poison slowly being cleansed from his system. It was difficult, even both working together - painstaking, repetitive, and exhausting - but I could not give, up, could not stop even if everything in me screamed that I must, that I was pushing myself past the brink of my abilities and energy.

When I finally heard Beru’s voice again it was hoarse from singing, and I opened my eyes to see the room was bathed in the dim grey-light of dawn. Luke was drenched in sweat and as pale as ever, but I was beyond relieved to see that the black veins were no longer visible under his skin. 

“Ben?” Owen’s voice was uncharacteristically small. “Did it work? Is he alright?”

My mouth was dry and my head was pounding, and for a moment I thought I was going to pass out right there. But I marshaled my remaining strength and examined the wound on Luke’s wrist - still aggressively red, but no longer carrying the deadly poison.

Owen turned back to Luke when I did not answer, squeezing his hand and calling his name. His breathing was even but he did not wake - and Beru stroked his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“His fever is gone,” she said, her voice raw.

“Luke?” Owen called again. “Come on, son. Come back to us.”

There were a tense few moments, and I feared that it had not been enough, that the poison had taken hold too deeply to be fully cleansed. But then Luke made a small sound, head shifting slightly from side to side as he slowly began to rouse.

His eyes fluttered open and I shrank back, knowing I must not intrude upon the moment. 

“Auntie?” he said weakly, gazing up at Beru, and she wept for joy, drawing her to him and enclosing him tightly in her arms. Owen put a hand to his mouth, tears falling onto his cheeks as he reached forward to embrace them both.

My joints were stiff as I rose, and in truth I do not think I have ever been so tired - or so relieved. I drew my cloak around me, backing away towards the door so as to leave the family to their joy.

“He will need rest,” I told them, my own voice coarse and frail. As Beru lay him back down I could see that he had already fallen back to sleep, but his breathing was steady and the rest was easy. “And fluids, when he wakes.”

“Thank you, Ben,” she said through fresh tears. “Thank you.”

Owen did not turn around, but only because his attention was all for Luke, placing his large, leathery hand on the boy’s forehead and gently stroking his hair. I desperately want to stay, to keep the boy company, to tend to him in his convalescence, but I am no longer needed - I have played my part, and must leave Luke to the care of his guardians. Besides, exhaustion permeates my very bones, and I retreat to my home where I will require a healing trance of my own to recover.

That is where I have written these words - now, while the imprint is still fresh. I long for rest and know that sleep will soon overtake me, only eclipsed by my relief in saving Luke’s life, to finally be of use to him, to be grateful that I returned to Tatooine when I did and not been tempted to follow Ahsoka into the rebellion. And - I must admit - pride in finally mastering a true healing skill, at the time when I most needed to.

Master Che would have been proud, don’t you think? Alas she would have perished in the attack on the Temple, but perhaps she is in the Force with you Qui-Gon - wherever it is you are.

Ben Kenobi

Chapter Text

Dear Qui-Gon,

I awoke this morning to a puzzling sight: sun streaming in through the window and Owen Lars seated at my table. He made no reaction as I blinked a few times and simply stared at me, his gruff face impenetrable as always. 

I rubbed my face as I sat up, trying to get my bearings. This journal was open on the table across from where he sat, right where I had finished writing the last entry after helping to heal Luke. I had been so exhausted I must not have had the strength to make it to bed, instead laying down on the recess by the wall and passing out.

“Owen.” I nodded to him, the absurdity of the situation almost amusing.

“Kenobi.”

He may as well have been a work of wax, for all his face moved. And yet he was here, in my home, so there must be something he wanted of me.

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked in hopes of drawing that out.

“Three days.”

“Three days ?” I suddenly panicked; that was too long. “How is Luke?” 

“He’s mending,” Owen said, and I sighed with relief. I rose to my feet, my joints creaking from inactivity but otherwise feeling well rested - as one should hope after three days asleep! I took a seat across from him at the table, closing my journal.

He scoffed in response and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t read it.”

I believed him - even if Owen Lars wanted to know my innermost thoughts, he was a man for whom privacy was sacrosanct.

“Well.” I folded my hands over the closed journal. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No.”

We stared at each other for a few moments; he inscrutable, myself exasperated. Never a scintillating conversationalist, but I had always known Owen to be direct - if Luke was alright and he didn’t need anything from me, why had he come?

Eventually Owen cleared his throat, withdrawing a small package from his robes and pushing it across the table towards me.

“From Beru,” he said gruffly, as if to make clear the gift was not from him. 

“She was worried about you after you left the homestead,” Owen said as I untied the thick string wound around a piece of homespun. “I came to check on you, but you were passed out over there. I shook you, but you didn’t wake.”

“A Jedi healing trance,” I explained. “To recover my strength.”

Owen made a dismissive sound in his throat. “I came back yesterday too - Beru insisted. And today you woke up.”

I was oddly touched - Beru’s kindness I had come to expect, but for all that Owen claimed he had acted at her behest, he had stayed for a time watching over me when he hadn't needed to. Perhaps he had even felt a sliver of concern for my wellbeing, or perhaps it was simple gratitude for what I had done for Luke - with Owen one could never be sure.

I unwrapped the homespun to reveal a small wooden box with funnel flowers carved into the lid. The curious thing is that I’ve never known Beru to show an interest in whittling, but I have often watched Owen and Luke seated outside the homestead at twilight engaged in the activity. The boy was still learning the art, his uncle often placing a large, gentle hand over his to guide his movements, and so I knew from the intricacy of the carving that it was Owen’s work.

But I did him the grace of making no comment, and opened the box to see that it was filled with tea leaves, a blend of black camellia and what I assumed to be dried funnel flowers with their distinctive scarlet hue. I was touched; tea had formed a bond between myself and Beru, but funnel flowers grew sparse in the Dune Sea and she must have travelled many kilometres to source the flowers, then taken some time to dehydrate, preserve, and blend in the right quantities with the camellia which was imported from offworld. The tea in my hand was the work of many weeks and some expense, and sharing even a small quantity from her private reserve was a very generous gift indeed. 

“This is lovely,” I said as I closed the lid, knowing Owen would not appreciate effusive gratitude. “Please give Beru my thanks.”

Owen made that dismissive sound again, and evidently having done his duty, rose to his feet and made his way towards the door without another word. But I felt there were still explanations to be made - his accusations that night had not been unfounded, and I could never forget that had I returned to Tatooine a day later, it would have been to find Luke dead.   

“You were right,” I called after him, and he stilled. “I have made it my duty to protect Luke, but I was not here when he needed me. I assure you, that will not happen again.”

Owen turned, looping his thumbs through his belt as seemed to appraise me. “Out there fighting the Empire were you.” 

From his lips, it did not sound like a virtue.

“I was…looking for a friend - I wanted to make sure she was alright. She is, and so I have returned.”

Owen made that sound in his throat again. “Suppose there’s lots of people out there that could use your help.”

“Yes there are,” I said carefully, unsure where he was going. “But I’ve chosen to stay here.”

Owen grunted, his gaze sliding askance. There was a long beat of silence.

“I am…” his mouth worked, as if tasting something bitter. “…grateful,” he managed to force out eventually. “I thought he was going to die, and I…”

He was silent for a few moments more in statuesque rigidity, but then there was a crack in his stern facade - almost imperceptible, but enough to see the deep pain he held inside - how much panic and fear he must have felt as Luke’s life slipped away. How much anger he must have felt for me not being there, how much agony at his own helplessness.

“It’s hard for me…,” his mouth worked again, “to admit that there are some things I can’t protect Luke from.”

He was silent for a long time, and I chose not to point out that he still hadn’t admitted it.

“I thought here, I could keep him safe.” Owen shifted from one foot to the other. “Out there is a galaxy full of people wanting to hunt him, or hurt him, or use him. But here I thought…”

My heart went out to him - despite our disagreements Owen was a good man, and I had come to accept that he and Beru were the best caregivers for Luke. Other than the time he had become full of anger and exiled me from the homestead, and the previous night wrought out with despair, this was the most emotional I had ever seen him - through the Force I could feel a cacophony of regret and agony and self-reproach, barely held in check behind that stoic facade.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he took a long, deep breath. When he turned his gaze back to mine, there almost seemed to be tears in his eyes - although I knew he would never let them fall.

“You saved him when I couldn’t,” Owen said eventually. “I’ll never forget that, Ben.”

I inclined my head and thought that would be the end of it, but he remained where he was, staring at me.

“But it doesn’t change anything,” he added eventually, voice reclaiming its steely edge. “Maybe it’s unfair, maybe it’s wrong of me…but I still can’t let you know him.”

“I understand.” I had not expected anything else. 

“Not because I think you’re bad, Ben.” He gave an amused huff. “Well at least I don’t anymore.”

He looked around the room; it was sparsely furnished, for what need did I have for adornments? His eyes paused at the wooden chest that sat under the window - where I kept Anakin’s lightsaber and my other Jedi keepsakes. He must have recognised something in it, because when he turned back to face me his expression had softened ever so slightly.

“Shmi used to tell me about Anakin,” Owen looped his thumbs through his belt again. “About how all he wanted was to help other people. He couldn’t bear to see suffering without trying to do something about it. And Luke’s the same way.” 

“I know there’s terrible suffering out there. And Luke has a kind heart, it could easily sway him to take up some damned fool idealistic crusade against the Empire - especially if he knew about his abilities, about you and his father and…” Owen glanced back at the wooden chest. “The Jedi.”

“But it would destroy him - we both know this galaxy was not made for kind hearts.”

“Perhaps not,” I said gently. “But it is improved by them.”

Owen grunted, in assent or disagreement, I could not be sure. Then his eyes met mine in steely resolve.

“He is my son,” Owen said plaintively, but firmly. “I must…I will protect him.”

“As will I.” 

Not a challenge - an affirmation. For once, we could agree on the outcome, if not the manner of it.

Owen gave a gruff nod, and then left. I will go to the homestead later, when Luke is sleeping, just to reassure myself that he is recovering and does not require any further intervention.

But otherwise I know I must stay away, return to watching over the boy from a distance, only to be called upon when needed. I can never leave Tatooine again, unless it is in Luke’s company - he is a boy now, but one day he will feel the lure of the outside world and no longer be constrained from following it - he had the same wild heart that Anakin did, the same restless spirit. I can only hope that it will not lead him to the same tragic end, as Owen fears.

This is my home now, Qui-Gon. There is to be no doubt of that - the galaxy must take care of itself, for my only charge is Luke.

Ben Kenobi