thesaurus | ITT: SAD JEDI

Entry tags:

!caitlin,
#ic

ITT: SAD JEDI

Obi-Wan stood behind the little hovel he called home, tending to Rooh-the-eopie. He watched the first of the two suns sink below the horizon, halving the amount of light that bathed the desert. Dusk was here, and soon so would night, and so too would the bad dreams arrive: the images of terrified younglings and friends dying. But he closed his eyes against the early onslaught of thoughts. There was no need to let them plague him before their time; if he let them take him at any moment at all then there was no way that he could go on.

Opening his eyes, he stroked Rooh's snout carefully, calming her as she became restless. He made sure she was secured, fed and watered, then he moved onto her son, Tooh. Tooh wasn't big enough yet to be ridden, but that was alright. When he took Ferus to Mos Eisley they could walk and he would lead the eopies with them. He could ride Rooh home, or pick up some supplies and have her carry them. But the walk there would be good for them all, he thought.

Ferus Olin was inside the hut, taking care of whatever would pass for dinner that night. It wouldn't be long now before they parted ways, before Ferus took his leave to Alderaan, but for now the company was something of a comfort. Ferus was family, though they hardly got along perfectly. Ferus mouthed off, for one thing, and questioned Obi-Wan regularly. It was a little like having Anakin--

Obi-Wan stopped his thoughts again, patting Tooh and straightening up. Ferus wasn't Anakin. He never would be. But he had come closer to becoming Anakin than either of them dared talk about.

For now there was much pain for both of them.

He stood on the hill, looking east, toward the Lars homestead in the far distance. He waited for the second sun to set and wondered. He wished he could reach out with the Force to Luke, check that all was well, but he couldn't connect to him. Shouldn't, even if he could.

It was lonely in the desert, so far from everything, even with Ferus there. In some ways, Obi-Wan thought, more so because Ferus was there, comfort or not. They had both lost so much: friends, family, purpose. More than Obi-Wan could bear, he thought some days. But now they were guardians of the galaxy's hope. It would be a long, difficult job, but Obi-Wan would shoulder that burden. He only hoped that Ferus could too. He didn't know how the young man was coping. Obi-Wan barely knew how he was coping.

The sun finally disappeared, leaving him in relative darkness before the stars began to twinkle into life. He turned his chin up to the sky, searching for familiar constellations he would never find from this remote planet. He had never paid much attention to Tatooine in the past, even knowing it was Anakin's homeworld. It wasn't as if it should have mattered. But a remarkable amount of the galaxy seemed to orbit around this little planet on the outer rim.

And here they were, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ferus Olin. Two men, stripped of everything, almost ready to say goodbye. How long would they need to hold together before peace returned?

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"Not necessarily a bad thing," Obi-Wan retorted, his own voice teasing in return. He smiled still, but it faded somewhat as they continued on. He knew what had happened, after all, and no matter the impression he had made on Trever... well. "And he was very fond of you."

'Was', unfortunately, being the key word.

And how did one comfort for such a thing? At least Trever was still alive, but Ferus had lost him all the same. Obi-Wan felt that pain, albeit in a very different way, with Anakin. He was alive, but gone. But at least it was for the greater good with Trever.

"You did the right thing, Ferus."

Not that that necessarily made the pain any less. But perhaps it would make it easier to live with.

"I ..."

He caught himself, bit back something, and looked away, pressing a hand to his mouth as if to further force down whatever he'd meant to say. There was a sudden vulnerability that ... well, honestly, perhaps it had been there all along, but it was made more pronounced when Ferus tiredly, and with some frustration behind the gesture, roughly scrubbed his hand over his face and through his hair.

Drew in a breath.

Obi-Wan was right. It wasn't any less upsetting to have done what was needed to ensure the boy's safety. In time, the pain would dull, but right now it was fresh, the newest of his many losses, and it hurt to have acknowledged in that gentle tone.

"I know that", he said after a moment, steeling himself, but still looking away from the hologram of Obi-Wan. "I'm trying not to regret it. Why it had to be done."

Obi-Wan was quiet and still, patient with Ferus while he processed all of it again. It was such a fresh wound, yes, and he understood how much it would hurt in the immediate aftermath. He knew that Ferus would learn to handle the pain and it would lessen, but for now it was a very real grief. He had to give Ferus space to manage it in his own way, though he would make sure that he was not consumed by it.

Ferus had so much to grieve for. They both did.

"It is regrettable, but it was unavoidable. It was the best course of action and no fault of your own."

"See, you can say that", he said quietly, leaning his cheek on his knuckles; elbow on his knee, eyes downcast. "But I shouldn't have told him as much as I did. I shouldn't have brought him into this mess to begin with, actually. He did so much, but now ..."

Shrugging faintly, a helpless gesture, he found that he didn't really know what to say. Obi-Wan had known Trever for such a short time. It was strange to think that even that was more than Trever now knew of himself.

The boy had found so much courage in himself, and that was gone. That was the second hardest thing to see. The most difficult thing had been the indifference in his eyes when he last saw him.

"I know I can't dwell on this. But I feel responsible."

"Had you not brought him along," Obi-Wan reminded him, "he would not have had these memories or grown in the way that he did." The words were gentle but firm, imploring Ferus to listen in his own reserved way. It was true that he had not known Trever, not really, but he knew Ferus and he knew the boy meant a lot to him.

He understood why Ferus felt responsible, but it would do him no good to put that blame on his own shoulders.

"In the end, you have not hurt him but only yourself. You need not magnify your pain by asking yourself what-ifs."

Drawing in a sharp breath, Ferus tensed and stilled, as if coiled. There was something in that statement that he didn't like at all - this ... this implication that pain was selfish, maybe, but more than that the simple fact that it wasn't true, because so many more than Ferus had been hurt and many were now dead.

But he couldn't lash out. He wouldn't. So he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes and willed the tension away. Willed the pain away.

Willed the anger away, too.

"He'll have a family now", he said after a moment, voice tight but the sentiment sincere. "It's for the better. I know."

Obi-Wan sighed softly, recognizing that his words were likely taken the wrong way. Once again, he and Ferus were not seeing eye-to-eye. But he was not going to press the matter or correct him, not if Ferus wasn't going to pursue it further either.

He nodded instead, accepting that. "I know," he agreed. And then, more gently, "we are doing what we can, Ferus. We can't ask more of ourselves than that."

"But we still do."

He said it because he knew it was true for both of them, and he looked up at the flickering shape of his friend again with a faint wry smile. Because while he was sure of what they were both thinking, he was just as certain that it wouldn't ever really go away, either.

They both had too much in tow, now.

Obi-Wan's smile in response to that was small and sad. He bowed his head in quiet concession to Ferus's point. They both were too prone to taking on too much of the galaxy. It would only continue to cause them pain, those burdens. But such was who they were and such was their fate.

"We do," he agreed. "Even though we shouldn't. It helps nothing, and yet here we are."

"Here we are", Ferus echoed quietly and dragged his fingers beneath his eyes. Then he sighed, straightened up. "It's difficult to help ourselves. That's something about attachment I don't think the Jedi ever saw."

Pausing, frowning, he found himself pulling slightly at his sleeves, a gesture that was unusual for him. Something like nerves, which made little sense, because he'd always been so assured.

He shook his head, went on, uncertain of why, but speaking freely simply because he felt the need. He thought of Trever, still. He was trying very hard not to think about Roan. "But I see why we were warned of it. It hurts worse than anything else to lose."

Obi-Wan nodded, agreeing with the sentiment for the most part. Both that it was difficult to prevent--and that it was the greatest kind of pain. If only they had all seen that, had learned to manage it better.

He thought as far back as Qui-Gon's death, of the pain of the loss that made him lose himself for a time. And now as recent as Anakin's betrayal, the loss of a brother in a worse way than death. To say nothing of Ferus's pain.

"Attachment is dangerous, even now without the Jedi to warn of it." He sighed, went on: "and yet I can't argue. No matter how much I've told myself through life to banish attachment, the pain of each loss has been left its mark. It was a path I should have corrected."

And that he was struggling with even now. He hadn't wanted to love Luke, but he was afraid that he did already. He was afraid of what would happen if he did.

Struggling for a moment, Ferus considered that answer. It felt ... wrong, and only a few months back, he would have argued it fiercely. Would have said that there was no such thing as correcting attachment and belonging and love, because each deserved its place in your heart.

Now, though the words grated painfully at him, he felt that he had to concede them. What if he'd made a mistake? He'd taken so many wrong steps after ... after Roan, and he'd lost so much he hadn't seen the point of going on, and was exactly what he'd been warned against when he'd been so young: that you can't make someone else a reason for living.

And now, though that was still the case with the Princess, he found himself reluctant to get more than superficially familiar with her.

Attachment once again felt like a risk. Like a mistake.

And it hurt him badly to feel that way, because he also remembered being happy. Truly happy. He wouldn't experience that again.

Swallowing, he said, "I'm not certain that you should have. But I don't feel certain of anything anymore."

Obi-Wan was quiet for a long moment, looking away from the hologram of Ferus and staring out into the distance as he considered it further. He didn't look back to Ferus when he finally spoke.

"I feel certain of little now, myself," he confessed, "but correcting it likely would have been just as painful. I can't deny that I had those attachments in my heart. But I have lost each of them, and it has been devastating." He smiled to himself, looked back to Ferus. "Well, almost all of them," he corrected.

"We cannot blame ourselves for all that happens in the galaxy. It does not prosper or perish based only on our choices. But that understanding is merely one step forward."

"It's not a complete picture, either", Ferus argued tiredly, voice soft but rough around the edges. Digging his hands into the opposite sleeves, in a minimal version of crossing his arms, he let out a small sigh. "The people in the galaxy do prosper or perish based on what we do. On what the Emperor does. What his apprentice does."

He knew that was likely to sting, but he didn't wish to hurt Obi-Wan by the reminder. He just needed to make the point. Because as much as you had to accept that some things were outside of your control, Ferus couldn't agree with the idea that this many things were, or that the choices other people made didn't concern anyone else.

Recent events had shown all too clearly that they did. A lot.

Some responsibility, you had to face.

Obi-Wan nodded, lowered his head, fell silent a moment. Because it was true. He was struggling still with the complexity of it. Because no, it wasn't a complete picture. It wasn't simple in either direction.

And of course, he thought of Anakin. That Ferus was right, and that Anakin's choices especially had done so much.

That Obi-Wan's failures had done so much, if indirectly.

After a moment he said, "it is a lot of responsibility to bear. And yet you are right, because we must."

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ITT: SAD JEDI

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