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The last few weeks had been a blur since Obi-Wan and Leia returned to Alderaan. Obi-Wan was still on the mend after several medical procedures as his burns were extensive. Even with the worst of it addressed, there was some remaining wound care, physical therapy, and processing of trauma that needed to be done. It was no surprise, Bail supposed, that Obi-Wan had been diagnosed with severe PTSD.
The Alderaan Royal hospital could treat Ben’s physical wounds, but his spiritual and mental wounds were not so quickly mended. The Jedi had been quiet, having not spoken a single word since Mapuzo. Bail visited him often, and they sat together in silence. From talking to the medical staff, he knew that Obi-Wan seemed to be trying to meditate often. But he didn’t seem to be finding any peace.
It concerned Bail; he knew how private and necessary mediation was to his friend. He wondered if he had underestimated how poorly Obi-Wan was feeling. When Bail arrived to visit, Obi-Wan’s physician stopped him at the door. They stepped into her office, looking at the latest scans and tests. Obi-Wan’s condition had neither improved nor worsened.
“I have no explanation. His recovery should be further along than it is.” Dr. Frost said sympathetically.
“Could it be his connection with the Force? I know the Jedi used meditation and trances to facilitate healing.” Bail asked quietly.
“ I’m not an expert on force-sensitive persons. I have no medical explanation.”
“I’d like to see him.” Bail said.
“Please do not upset him, your highness. I just got him settled.” Dr. Frost glared.
“As you wish.” Bail swallowed the lump in his throat.
Dr. Frost walks Bail down to the private ward where Obi-Wan was being cared for, instructing him to wash and gown up to protect Obi-Wan’s healing immune system and skin.
Bail releases a shaky breath. The guilt consumes him. Leia is safe, but his friend is in a hospital bed. The hardest part is knowing that Obi-Wan would have given his own life for Leia, and that he would have done so gladly.
Composing himself, Bail knocks at the door, wishing his friend called back. Instead, he is met with silence. Obi-Wan sits in a meditative posture, staring blankly through the window overseeing the city.
Judging by the visible worry lines on his face and a frown, Obi-Wan hasn’t found peace.
Bail shudders. He remembers Zigoola and the all encompassing fear of whether the dark would consume his friend. He didn’t have to be force sensitive to know Obi-Wan’s brush with the dark side had sent him into a spiral.
Obi-Wan recoiled, scrambling to pull his cloak around himself tighter. Not safe. Too seen. Too vulnerable. Bail realizes he must’ve projected too loudly. Obi-Wan releases a shuddering breath, the only sound he’s made in the three and half weeks Bail has visited him.
“Obi-Wan?” Bail said softly.
Obi-Wan rested his head against his knees, shielding his face from view. His shoulders trembled, letting out a quiet sob.
Bail takes a seat beside the window seal and waits for Obi-Wan, who decides to sit beside him, resting his head on Bail’s shoulder, wanting warmth and contact.
Bail opened his arms to receive his old friend. They sit there together, Obi-Wan clinging to Bail, and it reminds him of another lifetime ago. Obi-Wan makes a soft sound…
Bail gathered the courage to ask a question. He wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.
“Is your connection to the Force imparied?” Bail asked.
Obi-Wan nodded, still struggling to voice how painful it is to access the Force. He had been alone in the dark for so long that he didn’t dare let himself hope for the light. When the Jedi died, it felt like a candle snuffed out.
“I’m sorry. I-I don’t think I realized how much you are struggling.”
Obi-Wan blinked away the tears and sighed. Bail gave him a gentle squeeze.
“It must be lonely.” Bail said.
Obi-Wan gave the nod. It was. His connection to the Force is painful. He wants to feel the light again and commune with Qui-Gon. But he can’t sink into the Force, not like he used to. He feels more like a frustrated youngling trying to focus and meditate rather than a seasoned Jedi master. He has grown rusty, and it feels like an atrophied muscle out of practice.
Leia had been the only one in recent memory to ask him how the force felt. A light in the darkness, a beacon of hope. And these days, Obi-Wan feels like a scared child calling out for a parent. Oh, how badly he wanted Qui-Gon’s reassurance and companionship.
“Leia said you told her the Force feels like turning a light on in the dark.” Bail hummed.
He gave another nod, listening to Bail talk. He had long since suspected Bail might be force sensitive.
“You are scared, aren’t you?”
Bail watched as Obi-Wan shuddered and nodded again. The man murmured reassurance, and it’s okay to be scared. They live in frightening, uncertain times, after all.
Before long, the nurse shooed Bail away, citing that Obi-Wan needed to eat lunch and rest. It didn’t surprise Bail that Obi-Wan soon returned to his meditation cushion, desperately searching for reassurance.
The visit hasn’t settled the pit in Bail’s stomach. Berha had noticed how restless her husband felt. He laid awake in bed.
“Bail, darling, what’s wrong?“ She asked.
“Can’t sleep.” Bail whispered.
“It’s about Obi-Wan, isn’t it?” The queen said knowingly.
“His recovery has plateaued. I am worried about him.” Bail admitted.
You worry because you asked your friend to do something he didn’t want to do, and he got hurt.” Berha said, met his tired glaze.
“Yes. I played into Vader’s hand.”
“You couldn’t have known.” The queen murmured.
“I know better. I let my concern for Leia sway my objectiveness.”
The couple spoke for a moment about Leia’s return. She had spoken nonstop about Ben since they arrived. It seems he had charmed another Organa. The queen had a suggestion she thought might soothe Obi-Wan’s restlessness as well as Bail and Leia’s. Leia had taken after her father in many ways, it seems.
“Why don’t I make arrangements for him to continue his recovery from the palace? Perhaps a change of scenery would do him so well.” She hummed.
“He never did like medical environments.” Bail agreed.
“I’ll take care of everything.”
True to her word, the Queen makes arrangements with Obi-Wan’s medical care team to discharge him to the palace. There is no reason they cannot continue to provide the same standard of care from the palace as the Royal Hospital. Besides, Obi-Wan has reached a point in his care where his healing was no longer primarily physical but emotional and spiritual. Bacta could mend the physical wounds, but the Alderaan medical team knew there was little they could do for Ben’s invisible wounds.
It was a matter of days before Ben’s medical team declared him ready to be discharged to the palace’s care to continue his recovery. Ben was getting around well enough with his cane, he was tolerating his medication, and his skin grafts looked healthy. Although the medic fussed at him that he could eat more, having lost muscle and weight from being unwell, not that he had much, to begin with.
The nurse returned his saber, boots, and few personal items he had come in, not that he ever really had much in terms of personal belongings. He is given a clean change of clothes given the only clothes Ben had left Tatooine are tattered and ash. Ben had made a soft sound of loss at being given a new change of clothes.
Being admitted to the hospital had meant little privacy. It was nice. Ben thought he was well enough to shower. With actual water. He almost felt bad for standing under the hot spray as long as he did. Water is a precious thing on Tatooine, and there is little of it.
He let his mind wander, stepping out of the shower, and toweling off. The Jedi caught sight of his scarred, battered skin in the mirror. Ben realized he didn’t recognize himself, weary and tired, hair long and tangled, and messy beard. He used to be proud of his groomed and neat appearance. That was another life.
His breath comes in too quickly, confronting a stranger’s face, his face in the mirror. Ben’s hands pawed at his face. He tried desperately to calm himself. A lifetime of muscle memory is still there. The three-part breath prayer taught in the crèche. Ben breathes in and out, closing his eyes.
He remembers the words he traced on the walls of the safe house. Only When the Eyes Are Closed Can You Truly See? Quinlan’s handwriting. A sign pointing him back to the Way. Ben had tried not to be a Jedi. He couldn’t if he wanted to survive. But maybe that’s what he is missing, the way. Being a Jedi is like breathing to Ben, except the Jedi are supposed to be dead. He is supposed to be dead. It would be better if he were dead.
Ben dressed with a shaky breath in the soft blue and gray clothes the nurse had left for him. He composed himself, well tried, and failed, swallowing the tears as he closed his eyes, letting Quinlan’s words be a mantra that grounded him.
He hears a voice, and it’s as familiar and sweet as the warm, spring breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and Ben shudders. “Hello, Ben.” He cannot fight the onslaught of tears that well in his tired eyes.
“Qui-Gon?” Ben called but heard nothing in return. It frustrated him. With a growl, he punched the mirror, shattering it. He hissed in pain. He had waited for so long, and this is all he gets from Qui-Gon, a hello? He needed him. He had been so afraid, alone for so long.
Ben stood at the bathroom sink, wailing until a nurse found him and bandaged his hand. They had considered for a brief moment whether to continue with the discharge, but Dr. Frost merely instructed them to continue with their morning routine of meds and breakfast. She would see to Ben’s mental state herself.
As far as Dr. Frost had been concerned, the wailing was progress. She wasn’t thrilled that Ben had injured his hand, but she could see something she hadn’t before: frustration, determination, spite. There was a light in Ben’s eyes that had been missing before. She sat across from him, and he grumbled at her. It delighted her to see after weeks of silence and cooperation.
Ben couldn’t remember all that Dr. Frost had said to him. He meant to ask her to write it down but could only bring himself to nod. At least they had given him written recovery instructions for his wound care, though, at this point, he’s old hat at caring for them.
Bail met him outside the hospital. Ben used his cane with ease, bag over his shoulder. It was a nice change to see his friend upright.
“Hello, old friend.” Bail said, offering a hug, and Ben accepted with a happy sound.
It’s nice, Ben thinks, not to be alone. He slightly sounds at being touched, leaning into Bail’s warm, reassuring touch. It’s been too long alone in exile.
“I can carry your bag.” Bail offers. But Obi-Wan shakes his head. *Mine.*They walk together to the speeder.
It’s ironic, Ben thought. He was once a gifted orator and now cannot bear to string a mere sentence together. He swallows the words he wants to say to Bail. I cannot help you and the resistance. The man you are looking for is gone. But it is too much to bear.
Ben thought he had left that behind when he buried himself next to Anakin in the desert. Except Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead, and Anakin Skywalker lives.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. And I’m not him. “ Ben thought.
‘I can’t be him. Not anymore.’ Ben wants to tell Bail. He would die a thousand deaths if it quenched Vader’s quest for revenge.
Ben shudders. He is no longer listening to Bail’s droning. “I am what you made me.” His skin burns with the knowledge of it. He left Anakin to burn on Mustafar.
He thought it was kindness. Was it a blind spot? He hadn’t wanted to believe that Anakin, his shining knight, was capable of such darkness. He wouldn’t have unless he had seen the holos, felt the menacing in the force, and experienced the sheer carnage for himself.
Ben released a shaky breath. How many more people must suffer and die because Obi-Wan Kenobi is a coward?
He is not a good man. He is not a strong man. Ben knows this. He knows his greatest weakness has always been attachment.
“Obi-Wan?” Bail called, having arrived at the palace.
He hummed, blinking and realizing where they were. Ben looks at Bail with confusion, getting lost in his thoughts again.
There’s a blur of green in the corner of Ben’s eye. His eyes light up in a way they haven’t in weeks. He released an oof as the small child collided with him. Before Bail can scold Leia, Obi-Wan has bent to her height to scoop her up.
“Hi, Ben. I missed you.” Leia smiled, hugging him.
“Hi. Me too.” Ben said, voice hoarse from disuse. Bail stood stunned, and it was the first time he heard a word out of Ben’s mouth.
“Can I show you my tree house?” Leia asked.
Bail interrupts, “Surely Obi-Wan is tired and would like to rest. Maybe later, sweetheart.”
“His name is Ben,” Leia says stubbornly, crossing her arms.
Ben simply offers his hand to say, ‘Lead the way.’ Leia looks up to her father, all stubborn and pleased.
Leia smiles, skipping as she holds Ben’s hand. She gives him a look, and it makes him giggle. She’s a force like her mothers. Good. She’ll need that.
“Grown-ups think they know everything. What you need is some sunshine and a hug.” Leia said with a hmm.
Ben smiled softly, he was content to follow Leia to the gardens. Bail made an unhappy sound of concern as Leia insisted Ben get into the tree house with her. Ben set aside his cane and climbed the rope ladder.
“What do you think, Ben? Dad made it for me.” Leia beamed as Ben settled on a cushion.
Leia and Luke were around the same age as Anakin when Ben met him. Ben looked over the royal gardens and smiled, feeling the sunshine on his skin. He was lost in time and memories for a moment, they could’ve been in the Room of Thousand Fountains, and this Skywalker child could’ve been Anakin.
“It’s a great treehouse, Anakin. You’re such a lucky youngling to have a great dad.” Ben smiled.
“Ben?” Leia asked, confused.
Ben let himself drift in the memories of a past life. Anakin. Nine years old. Kind. Anakin, his shining star, wanted to be a Jedi to help other people. He wanted to liberate the enslaved people. When he looked at Leia, he saw another Skywalker child.
“Yes?” Ben blinked.
“You called me Anakin,” Leia said quietly.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ben discreetly wiped away the tears.
“Who was he?” Leia asked.
Ben swallowed thickly. My padawan? My brother. Everything. Anakin was everything.
“He was my apprentice. I met him when he was about your age.” Ben said quietly.
“Would you tell me about him?” Leia asked.
“Perhaps another time.” Ben smiled sadly.
It wasn’t long before they were called in for dinner. Ben and Leia walked hand in hand back to the palace dining room. Ben had a quiet smile on his face, closing his eyes as he nursed a cup of tea. It was the most at peace Bail had seen him in a long time.
Leia had a smug pleased look on her face. She knew that’s all Ben needed for some sunshine and being outside. Bail quietly prayed for strength to raise such a spirited soul. Ben didn’t open his eyes until the staff placed his plate before him.
Bail and Breha shared a knowing look; this was the beginning of Ben Kenobi’s healing. They would’ve suggested it earlier if they had known being out of the hospital and surrounded by people who loved him would be so beneficial.
“Is he okay?” Leia asked after the meal had concluded, and Ben drifted to the balcony to meditate. He seemed to sink into the Force; he suspended several household items unknowingly in the air.
“The Jedi meditate to seek clarity.” Bail explained.
“Oh, I hope he finds who he is looking for.” Leia gazed up at her father with such knowing and wisdom.
“Me too, baby. Me too.” Bail said as he left to give the Jedi privacy.
Ben quietly murmured to the Force, “I am ready, Qui-Gon. He thought of Luke and Leia; he saw so much of Anakin and Padme in them. I was afraid to face the past. But I think I must if I want to be around for the future.”