can we just like….talk about dexter jettster? how qui gon passed this amazing giant four-armed lizard man’s friendship to obi wan and they just talk about everything together and how they probably have this secret code language or something for all the shady things going down in the republic? how they have casual lunches in this greasy diner with cups of steaming caff? how they sit and chat on rooftops through clouds of smoke from dex’s cheroots? and how dex’s seen it all– he knows obi wan, probably as well as some of the masters in the temple do- and how he knows anakin too and even ahsoka and how he probably saw the first billows of smoke roll up from the jedi temple that night?
CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW MANY NON-JEDI FRIENDS OBI-WAN HAD
how many he inherited from his old life
last pieces of love left over from a time he still looks back on with a smile
and how they looked for him
how they watched smoke rising in funeral pyre columns, as even the air in the underlevels took on the tang of burning
how they watched with dawning horror while the rest of the planet chose not to care. how they tried to contact him – how they tried the channels they knew, but those were ones that went through the Temple comm center, and obviously no one is there to receive and direct messages anymore
how they watched the papers and the ‘Net, wondering, hoping they could catch some hint, some whisper
you know they had to assume he was dead. and eventually they’ll be right; they’re just a little premature. but what gets me is that obi-wan kenobi may disappear, he may drop off the face of the galaxy and leave no one to know about the sacrifices he’s making or what he’s giving up for the sake of future hope, future peace, future liberation – his people may be destroyed and his culture may have been purged from the record and his faith may be derided, but even with the obliteration of the jedi his memory can’t be erased, because even though there aren’t any jedi left to light his pyre, the people who mourn for obi-wan kenobi aren’t jedi; obi-wan’s living memory are diner owners and pilots and thieves and revolutionaries, slicers and palace servants and miners and farmers – all of them pathetic, meaning pathos, meaning of or relating to emotions.
they never find out what happened to him. but they never forget him, either.
:((((
Luke and Uncle Owen never got to make up to one another after having their dinner table fight
*flies off into the distance*
You won’t get away that easily. *snags you by the hoodie*
At last, the stars he beheld were not the same as those he’d gazed at his entire life. New constellations sprawled across his sight, their siren call beckoning him more strongly than ever. Yet even as he’d lain in the sand staring up at them night after night in silence both wistful and awestruck, content in his brief, peaceful solitude, he’d never thought there would come a day when he would have to watch them alone.
“Looks like I’m going somewhere after all,” Luke whispered, eyes fixed upon the heavens above his cockpit canopy.
But I didn’t know it would be without you. Not like this.
His throat ached sharply and his gloved hand tightened around the control stick. If only he’d known that it was going to be their last meal, their last words. His dreams were coming true and he could not share them, or put them aside just for a day to realize what he already had, and what they had done for him. Medallions and kill markers and effusive praise couldn’t bring back his aunt’s warm smile and gentle encouragement, or his uncle’s sage advice and hard-earned approval that somehow felt so much less hollow.
Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
A concerned warble broke through the cloud of his sudden grief. “What?” Blinking hard, Luke glanced at the translation on his screen. “Oh, I’m…um, I was…just thinking. Sorry. We clear for takeoff?”
Behind him, R2 beeped an affirmative, but wasn’t satisfied. “I’m…” Luke breathed out slowly, letting himself soak in the piercing whine of snubfighter engines idling in the warm night air. An evacuation wasn’t the time to lose himself. “I’m not okay,” he finally admitted to the droid’s persistent questioning. “But I have to be. Maybe I’ll tell you later.” It was going to be a long, lonely flight anyway, his first through hyperspace on his own.
Corralling his mind back to the present, Luke activated the repulsors and eased the fighter forward as Commander Narra’s voice crackled across the comm, reminding their squadron of their flight orders. The night sky grew darker still as he climbed and the stars sharpened to razor-edged diamonds, glittering promise and drawing blood.
Aunt Beru had spoken many times of the bonds between spirit and flesh, woven of love, trust, and wisdom, not forged from the iron of slavery. The veil between the living and the dead, she had said, was far thinner than one would think. If the Force bound all living things, Luke wondered, perhaps there was a way.
If you can hear me, his heart cast out, please forgive me. I love you. And I will fight for you, until my last breath. If I see you again, I hope you’ll receive me with open arms.
With the touch of a lever, the brilliant maw of hyperspace erased the stars and consumed his ship.
“I never claimed to be the Chosen One. That was Qui-Gon. Even the Council doesn’t believe it anymore, so why should you?”
“Because I think you believe it,” Obi-Wan said calmly. “I think you know in your heart that you’re meant for something extraordinary.”
“And you, Master. What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?”
“Infinite sadness,” Obi-Wan said, even while smiling.
→ Labyrinth of Evil – James Luceno
