Even As

By LuvEwan

The duel on Mustafar ends differently. Obi-Wan is taken prisoner by the Sith.

"And I forgive you even

As you choke me that way." -sufjan stevens

There used to be good things. A bed in the Temple, sunlight reflecting on water, people he knew and friends he loved. The memories were all he had. He clung to them, they saved him, when the Darkness came.

Sometimes he didn't want to remember what was good. It made the bad that much worse. In those moments, the smell of grass or taste of warm bread seemed far away, another lifetime, locked in a place he could never go again.

Because there was only this place and the Light was becoming a distant point in his mind's fading horizon.

There used to be good things. When he was a child, and the Universe seemed much bigger, or smaller, and he was oblivious to the true depths of cruelty. He could almost sink into that innocent past, wrap himself in the safety of naïveté, of not knowing. Except he always knew now.

They made him know, in ways he never imagined, although he was a seasoned Jedi and General and had endured his share of suffering. He longed for that kind of uncomplicated pain. It would be a relief, compared to what they did to him—what they did—

He thought of his Master, walking beside him in the Gardens and the cool breeze lifting the strands of hair around his bearded face, laughing—

—they laughed, laughed when he finally screamed—

And his Master's hair was brown, without a streak of grey, because they were both young, and the future was an unknowable path of possibilities ahead of them, and the Force beat in his blood and hope soared in his heart.

There used to be a very good thing, a sacred thing, taken from him and twisted and reshaped into nightmare, and that thing used to be Anakin Skywalker.

Now it was Darth Vader.

Vader wore Anakin's face, but it was a gruesome, taunting mask. Only a mask, because the eyes were wrong, Vader's eyes staring through the holes in the mask, eyes that burned yellow like the horned beast on Naboo, that killed—

No.

He knew they had stuck him with a needle, and his thoughts were too loose and emotional now. He could not...what was the word...neutralize the drug inside him, the collar around his neck made it impossible. The collar was like Vader's mechanical hand, its grip cold and tight, strangling him, as he had been strangled on Mustafar—

No.

He would return to the good things, though they looked smeared now, and the drug stuffed his ears and he heard crackling static, felt vibrations along his teeth and fingertips. When he was a new Padawan he had not been allowed to attend a festival thrown by their hosts on...on...the planet's name escaped him

he would never escape

so he waited in the hotel room and his Master

Qui-Gon Qui-Gon Qui-Gon good good good good

came in when he was almost asleep and touched his forehead in a soft way and pulled a bundle from his tunics, unwrapping the cloth napkin to reveal an iced pastry with red fruit in the center, and he sat up to take a bite, and the taste

blood vomit awful salty acrid taste

was sweet and bright, and his Master smiled at him and he would be content forever if he could only stay there, where he was safe and the lights were low and he could move his arms and when he fell asleep his Master would take off his belt and boots

they took those things and more more more too much

but those days were dead, his Master was dead, and if the Force still existed outside this place, he prayed it would let him die too, at last.