angstpril day 22
prompt: “I had no choice.”
ao3
The last face Obi-wan expects to see on the steps of the ruins of Dantooine's Jedi Temple is Shmi Skywalker's.
Granted, he's never met the woman before today, but her force presence and appearance make the resemblance nearly uncanny. This woman can be no other than the mother of the boy they'd turned away for training so long ago.
And unwittingly chased into the Sith Lord's arms.
"Master Jedi," the woman says, stepping forward. "I have been searching for a long time for one of your kind."
"That's a dangerous pursuit, these days," Obi-wan replies cautiously. The open air makes the hairs on his neck stand up on end; there may be no Imperial presence here, but the shelter-free fields still make him uneasy.
Shmi walks forward until they're side by side, taking him in with a surprisingly observant gaze. "Hardly the most dangerous thing I have done for my son. Master Jedi, would you be willing to answer a few questions for me?"
Frozen to the spot, Obi-wan feels his mouth move without his command. "Of course."
"Were you familiar with a Jedi by the name of Qui-gon Jinn?"
Suddenly there's a lump in Obi-wan's throat. It's been nearly a decade. He should be over his Master's death. But it still aches. "He was my Master," he says, blinking rapidly. "He was a good man. He died at the hands of the Sith, many years ago."
"You were his student," Shmi says in surprise. "You know of my son, then. Anakin Skywalker."
The name sends a jolt through him. Suddenly he sees red.
"Everyone knows of Anakin Skywalker," he hisses in response. "Those who didn't ended up dead by his blade."
Shmi takes an involuntary step backwards. "What?"
"Your son is a Sith, Madam Skywalker. The young Vader you hear of in the news is him."
Something in Shmi hardens. "And why," she says, just as coldly, "is my son a Sith, Master Jedi? When Qui-gon took him from me, I was told he was to become a Jedi."
"Well," Obi-wan says bitterly, "Qui-gon was misguided at best. He was rather fond of making promises he couldn't keep." He looks up at Shmi. He's not sure what he's expecting to find; whatever it is, he doesn't see it. "Anakin was too old to be trained as a Jedi. Qui-gon knew this. He insisted anyways, and the Council set him back in his place."
"What happened to my son, Master Jedi," Shmi says, an undercurrent of—oh. She's afraid. That's fear he senses, coursing through her. For Anakin.
"He found sanctuary with the Chancellor." Obi-wan sighs and sinks heavily onto a crumbling bench. "It was too late when we discovered that the Chancellor had been a Sith Lord all along."
"You gave my son to the Chancellor of the Republic? You gave my son to a Sith Lord?" The fear is still there, but now she's furious. He's surprised she even knows what a Sith Lord is; she must have heard about the Sith from Qui-gon's stories, while they were back on Tatooine.
"I had no choice, Madam Skywalker," he snaps, and Shmi arches an eyebrow. "The Council had made up their minds. Your son was too old to be trained."
"So you sold him," Shmi says frigidly.
"The Jedi," Obi-wan says through gritted teeth. "do not deal in slavery. The Chancellor offered him sanctuary. We were hardly about to send him right back to Tatooine."
"I let him leave with Qui-gon so that he might be free, so that he would escape the bonds of Tatooine's slavery. And now, Jedi, you tell me he's become the Emperor's attack dog? And in the same breath you tell me the Jedi don't deal in slavery?"
"We didn't know!" he shouts. He's standing again. He'd survived for all these years by determinedly burying his knowledge of what happened; by trying desperately not to think about Anakin, or Vader, or the Sith or Order 66 or much of anything at all.
He'd run into the boy, once, after escaping the slaughter. He'd knocked off the mask. The face underneath was scarred like a soldier's and the sunken eyes were a sickly yellow. He'd still looked young. Obi-wan had been painfully reminded that a teenager had marched on their Temple, had killed everyone in his path and more.
He'd said nothing. Neither had Obi-wan. An aching contrast to so many years ago, when Anakin couldn't stop talking about droids, or Coruscant, or podracing, or his mother.
"Where is he now?" Shmi says, slightly softer.
"Coruscant, I assume," Obi-wan says, then he turns in shock. "You can't possibly be planning—"
"I will bring my son back, Master Jedi," Shmi says, already turning to leave.
"Whatever it takes."
