Chapter Text
It had only been a week.
Seven days since he’d returned to the temple, seven days that had felt like a lifetime with how slowly they passed. It was strange to think how much could change in such a short amount of time – how one decision could destroy so much.
But then, that was the way it went, wasn’t it? One wrong word could topple an empire. One wrong move could kill millions.
His decision to accept the mission to protect the Chancellor – at the man’s insistence, mind you – had dragged him through the bowels of hell, undercover and alone, and his eventual return had been... well.
It hadn’t been a welcome home at all – more an outcasting.
Ahsoka had laughed at him for getting milk foam on his nose at Dex’s the day before he’d received the briefing – she wouldn’t look at him now.
Dex had given him a hug before they left the diner – he wouldn’t answer his call.
Cody had handed him his lightsaber after his last mission, complaining about Jedi not being able to keep themselves safe if their weapons were Force knew where because he’d used it as a distraction – there wasn’t even a look his way as his report was delivered on behalf of his new General, ever the professional.
Garen had hugged him tight before flying off on his relief mission a month ago – their pairbond was now silent and cold.
Reeft had stolen a muja fruit off his plate before shipping off to his homeworld to fight in the war – his communicator continued to say he was ‘unavailable at this time’.
Bant had cuddled up to him at the end of her shift two days prior to the briefing as they reminisced on the old days in the Room of a Thousand Fountains – she hadn’t come to see him in the Healers Wing when he returned.
He hadn’t seen Siri in almost a year, his friend running deep undercover work, trying to flush several high-ranking Separatists out. She’d taken the time to message him when he returned, well and truly making her ire known before disabling her communicator so he couldn’t respond.
Quinlan had kissed him long and slow after a night filled with passion and laughter and just being, before heading off on his own mission two weeks before Obi-Wan was given the Hardeen one – Quinlan’s comm went straight to voicemail before it disconnected on his third attempt to call.
Satine had teased him for the length of his hair the last time they spoke whilst worrying about the toll the war was taking on him – her Chief Advisor had told him, coldly, that the Duchess had a full schedule and wasn’t taking personal calls for the foreseeable future, but would he like to leave a message?
Bail had cooked him a warm meal the night his comm went off with the meeting notification, before taking him apart so slowly, so gently, he’d nearly forgotten his name – he'd refused to look at him over the holo call Yoda had made to the senate’s Security Committee and had afterwards ignored his request to talk.
And Anakin...
His Padawan, brother, best friend, son had been simmering with rage once he’d learned of the deception – and he'd let loose once the Chancellor was tucked safely away on his ship out of harm's way; hurling words like untrustworthy, arrogant, betrayed, disgusted -
And todays particularly pointed comment: we’d all be better off if you were dead.
That, he knew, was meant to cut deeply – just as deep as the shards he’d been sprayed with when the glass Anakin had thrown exploded against the wall behind his head.
Obi-Wan watched silently as his former Padawan stormed from the dining hall, his boots crunching through the broken glass as he shoved his way out the doors. At least Ashoka had been in class, rather than here to witness her master’s rant.
Not that he could confidently say she wouldn’t have done the same.
He waited until the doors slammed shut before slowly lowering himself to the ground, carefully picking up the shards and using the corner of his robe to deposit them in. One could argue that it was the job of the mouse droids to sweep up, but he’d been subjected to enough rants over Anakin’s padawanship to know that glass didn't mix well with their electronics, as the boy had spent countless hours over the years repairing them.
Once the anger had faded, Anakin would undoubtedly regret leaving such a mess for them, and it was the least Obi-Wan could do to minimise the damage as much as possible.
Piece by piece, he slowly cleaned up, uncaring of the blood left behind when it sliced into his hands. His life-force dripped onto the ground much like his grief, thick and heavy, and he noted with a vague sense of interest that it pooled much the same on the stones as it did in his heart.
What he’d done in the name of peace had almost been too high a price to pay.
Near silent footfalls dragged him from the stupor he’d fallen into as he worked, and he paused when the person stopped in front of him, but didn’t look up. He couldn’t bring himself to see yet another sneer of disappointment on the face of someone he cared for.
“Obi-Wan.”
The voice was unfamiliar enough that he blinked, confused, before braving a glance up to see who was speaking to him. It took a second to place her name, and when he did, he was surprised to see her. “Master Altaïr?”
The Master of Shadows crouched in front of him, worry lining her weather-worn face. “What are you doing, Obi-Wan?”
He grimaced as his finger slipped on the edge of a shard, slicing the pad wide open. “Cleaning up a mess my Padawan made.” It was the least he could do, given he was the reason for the outburst in the first place. “The mouse droids aren’t equipped to deal with glass.”
The older Tholothian master shook her head before getting to her feet and waving a hand over the debris pile. Using the Force, all the shards lifted off the floor and out of his robe, and were carefully deposited in a nearby trash compactor. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Frivolous use of the Force isn’t exactly encouraged around here.”
“How is protecting someone from harm a frivolous use?” she countered, smiling kindly and holding out a hand. Obi-Wan only hesitated a moment before taking the offered help. “It’s a worthy cause, in my book.”
His knees cracked at the sudden change in height, making him wince even as he hummed an agreement, for what else could he say to that? It was a bit of a grey area, for sure – but then again grey areas was what she specialised in. It seemed the Master of Shadows didn’t need a reply, simply smiling in acknowledgement of her victory in their verbal spar. “I was actually hoping to speak with you in private, if I may?”
“Of course.” They left the dining hall shoulder to shoulder, before he turned to the older master in invitation to lead the way. Altaïr turned down the corridor and led him to a part of the temple he was unfamiliar with, although it quickly became clear it was her office they were heading to.
Once they were inside, he felt a small change in pressure when the door shut. His confusion must’ve shown on his face, as Altaïr chuckled when he sat in the proffered chair. “Security measures,” she explained, taking a seat behind her desk. “No recordings, no listening devices, no eavesdroppers.”
“Here in the Temple?” He asked warily. Just what kind of conversation were they about to have that needed such excessive safety measures?
“You never know who’s listening.” Altaïr steepled her fingers in front of her, her expression sombre. “This is completely off the record and must stay that way. The only people who will know the full extent of this conversation are you and I.”
Obi-Wan straightened in his seat. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss, it had to be serious if she was bypassing the Council entirely. Altaïr dipped her head in thanks to his silent agreement, her white locks wavering with the gentle movement.
“I believe I know the identity of the Sith Lord,” Altaïr said calmly, as though it weren’t the explosive revelation it was. “However, I have no evidence to back up my claim, and getting it is going to be incredibly dangerous.”
“I...” he huffed an explosive breath, the ramifications of such a confession running rampant in his mind. He asked the only question he could think of. “Why are you telling me, and not the Council?” He was hardly the right person to talk to about something as significant as this. Mace and Yoda would have been the better ones, as they’d know best how to proceed with handling the situation.
They’d need to send someone, or several someones, to find the information they needed before facing the Sith head on. Given his friends had recently turned their backs on him, he wasn’t exactly the best candidate for a group mission which meant he'd be alone if it was him undertaking the assignment.
But then, perhaps that was what she wanted.
There was a knowing look in her eye; Altaïr knew he’d come to the same realisation she had. “I need someone to go deep undercover, to not only collect the evidence we need to bring the Sith down, but to learn everything they can so they have the means to stop them once and for all. You, Obi-Wan, are the only Jedi I believe capable of doing this.”
“You have plenty of capable Shadows,” he countered, eyes narrowing as he tried to work out her angle. “They’ve all trained in espionage; I haven’t.”
“You’re right, I do have plenty of Shadows; but I do not have any capable of doing what needs to be done without losing themselves in the meantime.” Altaïr tapped her finger against the desk once, twice, in a seemingly unconscious fidget. “Quinlan is the best of them; and yet his upbringing has made him susceptible to the Dark. Tholme warned me about it years ago, and you’ve seen what happened to him for yourself – you saved him from a fate that I very nearly brought down on him out of desperation. What I ask of you will be infinitely harder. You will delve into the dark side of the Force to learn what you can, while retaining your Light so that you can stop the Sith when the time is right.
“As for you not having trained in espionage, it’s not espionage I ask of you. I ask for you to learn; learn everything you can then learn even more. You have such a capacity for greatness, Obi-Wan; far more than being a General in this Force-forsaken war could let you explore, even with your already stellar track record.” The intensity of her stare faded to a soft smile. “Did you know, that if I had been on the planet at the time, I was planning on taking you as my next Padawan?”
Obi-Wan blinked, stunned. “No,” he murmured faintly, slumping against his chair as he tried to process the fact that someone had willingly wanted him after spending his entire apprenticeship thinking no one had. “No, I didn’t.”
When they’d first met, Qui-Gon had had a raft of issues stemming from Xanatos’ betrayal and had refused to take another Padawan because of it. He’d believed for years that his master had only taken him out of pity after he’d tried to sacrifice himself on Bandomeer, and it had only been years later that Qui-Gon had quickly dissuaded him of that notion when he’d learned of it.
While he’d found closure with that part of his life, the sting of believing no other Padawan-eligible masters back then had been interested in him still cut deep.
There was a soft, almost sad sigh from the other master. “Your time with Qui-Gon has helped mould you into a formidable Jedi, both in skills and words, and I don’t regret watching you grow from afar. Despite your rocky start you flourished under his care, and I know you loved him dearly, as he loved you. It also became obvious to me you were always destined to be his Padawan – it was why Yoda meddled so much when Qui-Gon decided to be a stubborn bantha about taking you on. I cannot, however, help but wonder what kind of Jedi you would’ve become if you had trained as both Shadow and diplomat.”
“I guess you’ll be getting an answer to that soon enough,” he replied dryly, bolstered by her revelation that he’d been wanted by another highly skilled Jedi – one who had been Tholme’s Second until his death the year before at Ventress’ hand.
Altaïr smiled, relieved. “I guess I will.” She leaned across the desk and placed a hand over his own. “Thank you for doing this. The fact you’re willing... it means more to me than you will ever realise.”
“As you said, I’m a Jedi. My duty to the Order and the Republic comes first.” Not that many others seemed to think the same these days. Perhaps his time away would be good for all of them. “Where will I find the Sith Lord when I’m ready to face them?”
“Here on Coruscant, although I don’t recommend confronting him here, as there’s an enormous risk of significant collateral damage.” Altaïr grimaced and seemed to brace herself. “The name I’m about to give you, it’s another reason why you were the only choice.
“It’s Chancellor Palpatine.”
Obi-Wan was seriously concerned his brain was short circuiting. Palpatine was the Sith Lord?! No, no there was no way that he could be the Sith. It was laughable, given he...
... had been given more and more control of the Republic and had been in power far longer than he should’ve been.
... was often making grand speeches about peace yet was getting very little done when one looked closer at his work.
... was murky in the Force when he shouldn’t be. Even some of the most self-absorbed politicians weren’t that hard to get a read on.
... was focused, somewhat unusually, on his Padawan’s wellbeing.
His Padawan. Anakin. The Chosen One. The one who had the highest Midi-Chlorian count the Order had ever seen, and a boy who had grown unusually close with the Chancellor because of Palpatine’s insistence on seeing him over the years.
It had worried him ever since the first request to see him came in, but he’d always squashed his concern because he believed those fears were unfounded, and visiting the man made Anakin happy.
He should’ve trusted his instincts.
“Oh Gods,” he choked out, thoughts whirling, his chest tight and making it hard to breathe as the severity of the situation hit him. “Oh Gods.”
“Breathe, Obi-Wan.” Altaïr was crouched in front of him now, her hands cupping his face. “Breathe, young one.”
She exaggerated her breathing, and he copied her; his chest rising and falling in time with hers. It took longer than he’d have preferred to calm down, but when he did, his head was quieter, and the path forward – the only path, because there truly was no other option – was clear.
Obi-Wan looked at her, rage simmering beneath the surface. He’d been blind he’d been over the years, but no longer. “I’m going to kill him.”
Altaïr nodded. “You see it, too.”
“I don’t know how more of us haven’t,” he growled as she drew away. “He’s been right under our noses this whole time. He’s had the Jedi under his thumb this whole time.” He’d often heard the phrase ‘Lapdogs of the Republic’ thrown around on planets where the hatred for the Senate and Jedi was strong, and thought it was as ridiculous as it was insulting when all the Jedi wanted was peace in the galaxy.
Now it was clear why such comments existed.
Not only was it horrifying that the Jedi had been played by the Sith since Naboo, if not before that, but it disgusted him to realise that Palpatine’s interest in Anakin had only ever been for his own selfish needs - there was no way it was anything but.
It wasn’t friendship and understanding the older man had offered Anakin over the years – instead he’d been whispering lies in his ears and sowing seeds of doubt about Obi-Wan and the Order.
Grooming Anakin, but for what?
Almost as soon as he thought the question, he knew. “He wants Anakin as his apprentice.” He looked at Altaïr, stricken. “Doesn’t he?”
“I believe so.”
Obi-Wan dropped his head into his hands, fighting the sudden urge to vomit. Anakin was not only his Padawan and best friend, he was also his son in every way but blood. He’d raised the boy since he was nine; holding him through his nightmares, nursing him through illnesses, celebrating his triumphs, and nurturing his curiosity. He'd helped Anakin navigate classes, hormones, friendships, and his place in the universe – and he was so kriffing proud of him and the Jedi he’d become, even with all the challenges he’d faced since arriving at the Temple.
But now? Now he feared what would happen to his bright little boy if Palpatine tried to claim him. He was downright terrified what it would mean for the galaxy. “What do I do?” For the man who was supposed to be The Negotiator or The Man With The Plan, he was surprisingly lost.
“Go to Ilum, first,” Altaïr replied. “Your current kyber crystal will not cope with what lies ahead, and I know you won’t forgive yourself if you corrupt its core. From there, I suggest you head to Naboo; gather everything you can of Palpatine’s life before he became a Senator and follow the leads from there.” She sighed heavily before adding, “I suggest you journey to Korriban and Malastare, as well.”
“They’re Sith planets.”
“They are,” Altaïr agreed. “But there are also Sith Holocrons in the tombs that I believe will provide you with a better starting point for taking Palpatine down.”
Obi-Wan sighed, ceding the point. “How do I get there?” he asked instead. There was no longer any question about whether or not he was doing this. For the Jedi, for the Republic, for Anakin; he’d sacrifice himself if he had to.
“I have an unmarked ship waiting for you.” Altaïr picked up a credit chit and handed it over. “There are enough funds on there to get you started. Let me know when you need more and I’ll top it up, but keep in mind there’s only so much I can give you without drawing attention. If you find other ways to make money to fund this, do that too.”
“When should I leave?” The Council needed to be informed he was going off world, and a replacement, if only temporary, needed to be voted in.
“An hour.”
He blinked. “But the Council...”
“I will take care of them,” Altaïr promised. “I don’t wish to drag up bad memories, but as your friends are unhappy with your recent mission, the sooner you go, the better. Leave your commlink with me as well; you need to be untraceable to those who might go looking and there’s a new one in the ship that will only link to me – I’ll pass on any urgent messages, and we’ll deal with others as things progress.”
“Understood.” He stood once more, as did Altaïr. Obi-Wan offered her a deep bow. “May the Force be with you.”
Altaïr returned the bow, her eyes shining with pride and tears. “And with you, Obi-Wan.”
Packing was a surprisingly quick, yet somewhat sorry state of affairs. After all, beyond the three sets of clothes that were non-Jedi issue – trousers, shirts, and jackets that would help him blend in with the galaxy – and a couple of pairs of boots, there wasn’t much else to take.
After a moment’s deliberation he packed his tablet in case he needed to do any research, and it also had photos of his friends and family. He suspected he was going to need them in order to keep the darkness at bay.
He also took the river stone Qui-Gon had given him on his thirteenth birthday, and it was tucked in a pouch within easy reach of idle fingers. There’d been a second of hesitation as to whether he should leave it behind – if the worst was to happen, at least it could be passed down to his Padawan or Grand-Padawan – but then, Qui-Gon had been like his father, and he suspected he’d need the memories of his old master to help ground him over the coming months.
There were a few boxes of his favourite tea added, a razor to keep him mostly clean-shaven and hair short to aid his disguise, and a data chip of different katas that he’d been working on for the Training Master in his ridiculously sparse free time. Hyperspace could be long and lonely – completing it would at least give him something to do. And if Altaïr was to be believed, then he’d possibly be learning new skills that could be passed on to the Initiates, or the new Knights if it was too advanced for the younger students.
Next, he gathered up the plants that had been looked after by one of the maintenance staff whenever he was out on assignment and did what he should’ve done from the start – he took them to the Temple Gardens. The plants were an eclectic variety, collected over the years by him and Qui-Gon and the only things he’d been unable to part from. They needed love and connection with Force sensitives, not to be locked away in a dark room, slowly wilting without another being to care for them; so what better way to give them that than in the Gardens where they could be tended to on a daily basis.
The Keeper of the Gardens wasn’t there, so he left them on their desk, giving each plant a farewell by way of a touch of his finger and the Force, before making his way back to his quarters for the last time.
As he entered his residence, he looked around the room with a heavy heart. Once, there’d been droid parts and books, robes and cups spread about the space. It had been filled with life and laughter, tantrums and tears, but most of all, love. It had looked lived in – now it was free of clutter, free of any sign that someone lived there save for his bag by the door and a few odds and ends that he, Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Ahsoka had collected over the years that he had no other home for, save the shelves they resided on.
Obi-Wan made his way to the living room, fetching a pillow off the couch and setting it on the floor before he knelt in front of it. He drew his lightsaber from his belt, and without allowing himself to think, he took the weapon apart to get to the crystal. He used his hands, rather than the Force to do this; aware that his crystal, the one that had served him well all these years, deserved his touch before he left it behind.
Nestled amongst the inner workings, the dark blue gem rung a mournful tune, as though it knew its time with him, albeit temporarily, was at an end.
“I’m sorry, old friend,” he muttered, using the Force to lift it free of the casing and settling the stone in his palm, his fingers curling over the top of it. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, focusing on the crystal’s strength in the Force, its loyalty to him, and its sadness at their parting. “I must do this,” he murmured, lifting his fist to his lips. “I must see this mission through to the end, and I will not corrupt your heart to do it. Thank you for serving me well all these years.”
The crystal rung with a chime of understanding, and he gently placed the stone on the pillow. It would stay there until his return, or should he die, someone returned it to the Memorial Arch.
Finally, there was one last thing to do. Closing his eyes once more, Obi-Wan slowed his breathing and cleared his mind, letting the air around him fill his lungs and wash away all doubt. “If you can hear me, Master, I need your help. I’m about to embark on a mission that threatens to destroy the person I have become. I must tear myself apart, and put myself back together in a way that...” he hesitated, fear rattling his breath before he soldiered on ahead. “That I might not come back from.” He swallowed thickly once, twice, before admitting in a small voice: “I need you with me, Master. I need your guidance on this path.”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen. Nothing, really – although perhaps it was more a case of admitting his fears aloud where no one could hear him; pretending a dead man was there with him, protecting him as he once had.
He hadn’t expected there to be a surge in the Force, so strong it ruffled his hair and brushed warmly against his back. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, startled – and was left gaping at the words now scrawled in a neat, golden script on the bare wall opposite him.
Staring at them, there were two things he realised. The first was that the script was one he knew as well as his own. It was his master’s beautiful, if somewhat frustrating to read, cursive writing.
The second was that it was in Mando’a – the language they had become fluent in during their year on the run while protecting the Kryze family, and one they’d used when they needed to have a private conversation out loud.
Only when the eyes are closed can you truly see
His eyes traced every letter the Force had gifted him with reverence, searching for another meaning hidden within them and finding nothing.
Unsurprisingly, even in death it seemed his master enjoyed being as cryptic as possible.
“See what?” he asked softly, afraid there’d be no answer beyond what he’d been given. “See what, Master?”
“The Way.”
Obi-Wan whirled around, eyes wide and heart rabbiting in his chest. That had sounded exactly like; “Qui-Gon?”
There was no reply, save for another breath of wind seemingly from nowhere that ruffled his hair. The soft touch, whether it was a coincidental breeze from the air vents or something more was enough for him to believe he wasn’t as alone as he’d feared.
“Okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders back as he got to his feet, determination filling him. “Let’s do this.”