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The Faithful and Ferocious	By : HatefulWitch Category: Star Wars (All) > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3332 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the plot, characters, or creation of Star Wars, nor do I make any money off of it.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Author's Note: I wanted to clarify the exchanges between the rebels in first chapter is my hilarious version of Star Wars military lingo- wanted to clarify this so the change in lexicon doesn't seem so half-baked/arbitrary.
Every night, he flailed in a lake of fire. His flesh peeled off in strips. Cadavers sailed amongst the flames, wails and stench permeated the air, smoldering bodies wildly thrashed around him as they tried to swim. This was anguish; this was everlasting fire. Torment and limbo. He belonged here.
"Vile miscreation," danced from his lips as he awoke to the pitch-black bedroom. He sat upright on the soiled, beaten mattress and pressed his clammy palms into his eye sockets, trying to expel the heinous visions from his head. But he knew they would never leave. The fiery bowels of that frightening phantasm were his eternal trial.
Despite his best efforts, he could not soothe the savage cyclone of trepidation, wrath, and agony circling within. As he lost the remaining grip on himself, his ragged breath became heavier and his teeth grinded until his jaw ached. Every muscle in his body constricted and his shoulder blades rose like sprouting wings. Luminescent scarlet orbs radiated like wolf's eyes in the darkness and sweat beaded down his face. His fingers were fisted so tightly his knuckles were white and his blunt nails broke the rough skin of his palm.
He started to feel a wretched pressure across his skin, like the seam of a shirt straining as the sides of the fabric are pulled in different directions. The more acute the pressure became, the more acute his other symptoms became. A wordless scream slipped through his lips as the pressure exacerbated, demanding mitigation. He tugged and twisted at his pantlegs as the mind-bending pain coursed through every available nerve. When it seemed like the pain would never stop, his skin, like a worn seam, ripped.
He bit his tongue hard when the first rupture carved a fissure in the skin on his lower back. He felt the blood leaking down his flesh but couldn't care less. All he could do was wait for the next detonation. The second and third ruptures happened within seconds of each other, eliciting a pain-riddled howl from the suffering man. He knew it wasn't over as more blood and plasma slithered down his thigh and over his ribs. Three more nearly bone-deep fissures cracked open on his body and by the time the last one bust wide, he was doubled over, sobbing.
By the stars, this was a bad episode.
The tension in his body remained as the arresting pain gradually receded. A dull throb came to encompass his entirety as he slowly laid back on his rusty, blood-stained mattress, adding new gore marks as he went. He dry-heaved for some time as he tried not to move and cause more damage.
He touched a hand to his forearm and it was immediately saturated in blood. His hand dropped exhaustedly to the mattress. With each shaky breath and shock of pain, he knew. He knew he belonged here.
::::
"Let's try walking through this again. We don't have to like our prisoners, but we do have to feed them. You see, feeding them ensures they don't die and if they don't die that means you don't die. Simple. Coherent. Reasoning. Right? No, don't just nod your head, say you understand this simple coherent reasoning."
"I understand this simple coherent reasoning."
"My lucky stars, we're back in the saddle. Go get some food for this son of a bantha."
Luke sat with his legs tucked against his chest and his arms around his shins. Head down, he tried to tune out the callous banter taking place outside his force cage. This was the third rotation without food and his stomach was cramping. He was convinced no one would take notice of his dietary habits, especially after three rotations in captivity and not a mention of it, but lo and behold, a strange female with two different-colored eyes, black hair, and almost no body weight of her own came leering around his cage at the end of the third rotation. She appeared to infer by looking at him alone he'd not had food since his arrival and promptly lambasted the prison warden.
After sending the punished warden to retrieve nourishment for their prisoner, the female sauntered back to Luke's cage. Like before, she didn't say a word to the five-year-old. She only prowled around the force field like a tiger, the red stripes against her otherwise deathly pale skin adding to the effect. Her narrowed carmine and azure eyes unashamedly surveyed Luke from head to toe. Her master told her this was Darth Vader's son, but she didn't see how that could be. He was weak in the Force, quite a frightened little thing, and in the few moments she'd been around him he'd shed tears. For the sake of her master's plan, she sure hoped this was Vader's offspring. She didn't care to speak to the child before leaving the prison block, having no need or want to interact with the fragile cretin.
After leaving the block, the female navigated the labyrinth of the underground fortress and climbed a winding flight of stairs which merged into the quadratic ones of Guido's Tower. She followed the stairs to the top floor where her master's courtroom had been established and found him perched in an extravagant repulsor chair, watching like a gargoyle over the Solleu River and the prosperous capital city of Naboo.
"Master, have you made an election?"
Darth Sidious clasped his hands together in front of his chest as his eyes gleamed with mischief, "Yes, Lord Noxion, I have elected to enroll our young prisoner in a lively execution."
Darth Noxion's black lips curled into an entertained smirk, "Hopefully not too lively, my master?"
The Emperor mirrored his apprentice's temperament, "Entertaining, at the very least."
"What is your desired modus operandi?"
"The boy didn't try to wield the Force when you took him from Tatooine, he didn't try to wield it during transit, and he didn't try to wield it at any point during his imprisonment with us. All he has done is weep and cower like the worthless, frail-minded child he is. Even his signature is pathetic, weaker than a bilge-bug's. It is clear he didn't get a shred of his father's great power and talent. By the conclusion of the ceremony, make sure the little bastard's out of his misery in any way you see fit. Just remember to entertain me."
Noxion gave a slight nod, "It will be done. When do you wish for the execution to be set?"
The Emperor unclasped his hands and gripped the arms of his chair, "Vader is on Naboo. Although he has managed to stay under the radars of our search crews, there is no doubt the commiserative attachment he held for that harpy Amidala drew him back here. Let the whole damn rock know Luke Skywalker is three rotations from his demise. Be loud enough and Father will answer the call."
"Can we be certain he will have the same attachment for the child as he had for the mother?"
"Don't insult my intelligence," he hissed in dismissal.
"Forgive me, Master." She gave another slight bow of the head, "I will commence immediately."
Noxion turned to make her descent back to the underground fortress. She turned the opposite direction from the prison block when she reached the bottom of the last staircase and navigated to the telecommunications unit. With instant clearance, she waltzed into the master control room. The techies fell into a dead silence at the sight of her, but she paid no mind to her inferiors as she went to the octangular console in the middle of the room and forcefully pushed one of the techies out of her way. Her fingers moved at a masterful pace across the holographic letters on the keyboard as she logged into her account and effortlessly composed a bulletin.
Without offering any kind of explanation to the techies, she posted the bulletin to the HoloNet News domestic databoard, adlinking it directly to Pollux Hax's account. The bulletin would soon be processed and featured on the permanent broadcast and public databoard. Anyone having a drink would see the broadcast and anyone with a holopad could access and read the scandalous bulletin. This should be all that was needed to get the word out.
Luke Skywalker was headed to a premature grave and she was going to make sure everyone on Naboo, and beyond, saw the brutal end of Padmé Amidala's bloodline.
::::
Anakin couldn't stop the feeble trembling in his body no matter what he did. Only a rotation passed since the latest episode occurred and the wounds it left on his body still burned and throbbed like someone was scraping needles across them. Bacta was necessitated, but at this point, hard Twi'lek liquor would have been received just as gladly. He'd used up his last canister of bacta around three weeks prior and never got around to getting more. Lake Country wasn't particularly an ideal place to live if you needed frequent trips to a general store. Then again, that was kind of the point. He didn't want to be noticed or recognized and did everything he could to stay underground, even if it meant letting himself run out of bacta despite the constant trauma his body sustained. He wasn't exactly made out of credits either.
Even though bacta was pretty cheap, he was on a limited, nearly-spent income. He'd long blown through the credits he ascertained upon arrival for his stolen starship. Most of them went for hush money and custom-made supplies to tweak his new mechno-limbs to his liking. His diet consisted of water, oxygen, and the occasional scalefish he'd scoop out of the lake next to his hut.
This time around though, with all the fissures littering his body, making him feel like he was about to be cleaved in two, he had to get some bacta.
He was moving at a cripplingly slow pace. With his head bowed and shoulders hunched, while swathed in plastene, sackcloth, and zeyd-cloth, he looked like a deranged, waste-it-addicted beggar hobbling along. Somehow, he couldn't be bothered. The stares he received once he hit town rolled off his back as he tugged the materials further down over his eyes to block out the relentless light of the sun. One foot in front of the other was his only concern.
In reality, he could have healed himself. However, since the end of the Clone Wars, since he lost his wife, his child, his limbs, and his best friend all at once, he refused to access the Force. He didn't fear personal destruction, as such a worry would be too very little too very late. No, he feared destroying everyone and thing around him.
There'd only been one instance when he was close to breaking his restraints, when a shaak ignorantly roamed close to the hut, unknowing of the storm clouds brewing within.
The torment of loss brutalized his soul and memories of his pregnant wife hounded his mind. He smashed his head until ruby red intermingled with the rivulets of tears cascading wildly down his face. He wanted to feel something aside from that blasted ache! He must get away from the horrific memories reeling through his head!
A voice called out to him, it always did. Seek solace in the arms of the abyss.
He knew it was the dark side of the Force beseeching him; he'd fallen prey to it before.
I am still alive and I will never give you my hand for destruction again, he growled back.
Without any intention beyond the action, he flung the door of the hut open. Directly in front of his door stood an innocent little shaak.
The voice compelled, kill it.
The fallen Jedi's fingers coiled in his curly tresses and he barked aloud, no!
The wicked whispers echoed in his ears, you can kill your child but not this shaak?
The subsequent movements blurred, a pain rushed through his head. Even after the fact he still wasn't sure if he bashed it into something or not. He could recall seeing one of his hands outstretched, his fingers curling inwards. The shaak was on its way off the ground, but then he wailed and used all his willpower to yank his hand to his chest. The shaak was on its tiny feet scurrying away soon after.
He tried to drown himself in the lake that night.
Most of the time, Anakin was sure Obi-Wan knew he would end up the way he did- all the lectures, all the warnings- but even now, he didn't know how to stop feeling. His emotions were still as white-hot and overruling as ever. The abandoned hut he'd taken up residence in had been ravaged many times over. It was nestled in one of the innumerable valleys within Lake Country, most likely abandoned due to the constant flooding. Whatever the reason for its owner's leave, they left behind a fair amount of furnishings. Now the only thing left, after all his inconsolable temper tantrums, was a blood-stained mattress.
When he finally reached the general store, he was ready to drop. Yet again disregarding all the inquisitive and repulsed eyes turned his way, he grabbed a canister of bacta and headed towards the checkout. Of course, on the rotation he was about to pass out from pain and exhaustion, he had to wait for the wide-eyed new hire to take their time.
"It's so cruel. Primitive and cruel."
The secretive whispering between the two young women in front of him caught his ear. He didn't intend to listen to their discussion any further, but the next statement was an attention-grabber.
"Why would they snuff a little boy?"
Anakin swallowed harshly and crossed his arms. He tried push all of his focus on the flextile floor as the incredibly hushed conversation continued.
"Because they can do whatever they want and we're powerless to stop them. It's all about putting the shake in our boots."
"At what cost? He's a youngling. Everybody knows there's no underworld play, that he's no slippery eel. It's evil."
"You know why they're doing it, Hyiaw. You saw the bulletin: that little one's a Skywalker." At this, Anakin's eyes snapped towards the red-headed woman unobtrusively whispering. "Even if he really isn't, they at least think he's Anakin Skywalker's son. Safe to say Emperor Black Heart is fit to be tied he lost his precious prize from the War."
His eyes lowered.
"That doesn't mean it's right to take it out on a lily-white little youngling. He shouldn't pay for his scummy father's sins." There was a small pause and then the black-haired woman was speaking at a normal volume, "Hey, you alright there, sir?"
Anakin peered back up at the ladies in front of him and realized they were staring at him. Then he realized through the course of his eavesdropping, his trembling worsened. So bad, in fact, the canister in his hand looked like it was vibrating. The disgraced Jedi weakly cleared his throat as his eyes fell to the floor again, "Fine."
The concerned pair didn't look convinced but didn't bother him any further as the line moved forward. He clenched the canister in his hands until the pads of his fingers turned white while trying to bite back his emotions. He couldn't freak out here. Admittedly, he had always been less than enthusiastic about meditating, but he couldn't remember a time where he wished for the freedom to do it and do it as well as Obi-Wan than at that moment.
Rabid thoughts weaved a disastrously tangled web through his head. He never even considered his child may have survived. When Padmé's life ended, he assumed the existence of his unborn child ended as well. If he'd known there'd been a successful delivery, he would have torn the galaxy apart to find that baby. To find his son. Utter elation and gratitude were rapidly eclipsed by utter alarm and choler. His son was in peril. He didn't know what they were planning to do, but he knew in the core of his being he would destroy anything, anyone, that brought harm to his child.
In a matter of seconds, the restraints he slapped on himself over the past half of a decade were inconsequential and void.
If he was to be consumed by irreversible insanity, exterminate every blessed life the Force bestowed to this mortal realm, be impaled by a lightsaber, or hang from the end of a rope he strung himself- whatever took place from this rotation forward, his son's happiness and safety took precedence. He and the rest of entirety could burn if that's what it would take to keep his child happy and safe.
Anakin bit his lip as the tip of a fissure trailing over his wrist caught his attention. I'm in no condition to fight Sidious. I couldn't even handle an apprentice with the mess I call my body. The line moved forward again and his teeth grinded against his bottom lip as he took a step forward. My muscle mass has depleted. I've lost an immense amount of strength in my flesh hand. I haven't trained in the Force in so long. They'd shish kabob me in less than a minute.
He tasted copper as droplets of blood sprang from where he bit his lip. Easy, Anakin, easy. One step at a time. The checkout line moved forward again, bringing the two women in front of him to the store clerk. He finally dislodged his teeth from his lip and cleared the blood away with his tongue. He took a breath and took another painful step forward. First, I have to see what that fucking bulletin says.
::-::
24 BBY, The Year of Justice
The name Skywalker is a stain on our history. Anakin Skywalker was a war criminal that massacred defenseless civilians, including children, and obstructed the desperate quest for peace and lawfulness across this galaxy.
Anakin Skywalker's son was found to have incredibly high levels of midichlorians, meaning he was very Force-sensitive, when tested at birth, but in virtue of his guiltlessness was immediately granted leniency. Unfortunately, despite his young age, he has developed vast ill-will towards the Galactic Empire and its leaders over the demise of his father and the Old Republic's necessary treatment of the Jedi.
Like his murderous father before him, like the traitorous Jedi before him, Luke Skywalker is very dangerous.
The younger Skywalker has been apprehended on Tatooine and transported to a high-security prison on Naboo.
We shall commence three rotations of rapture to celebrate this victory for justice. On the third rotation, at meridiem, Luke Skywalker will be located to the Palace Courtyard in Theed for execution. We must all know what the face of our enemy looks like, know it doesn't come only in the form of wild-eyed men or shadowy figures. It comes under the guise of the innocent and virtuous.
We must take the necessary actions to prevent another Skywalker from staining our history.
Long live the Empire!
::-::
In the store, Anakin was plagued by shame and guilt. After reading the propaganda-saturated bulletin, he simmered with animosity and homicidal rage.
The depiction of him in the bulletin was something he expected. He defied the Sith and they weren't going to treat him nicely. He also knew they must demonize Luke, cast him as some Sithspawn that must be put down to protect the greater good, otherwise there might be some cries of opposition. Every single step, every sentence, every intention, it was obvious to him what they were doing. They were staging Luke's public execution to lure him out of the woodwork.
It was bad enough they were planning to execute a child in public, but this was his child. Realistically, he knew the Sith viewed no boundaries. They owned no moral limitations or conscience and they would do anything- deceive, murder, torture, rape, steal- to get what they wanted. But they'd now turned their unconscionable conduct on his child. Acid was trickling down his spinal cord.
Anakin knew he couldn't take on the Sith, not in his condition. At the same time, he was not going to let Luke die, especially when the boy already braved so many odds. If he couldn't fight Sidious, he would have to make a deal instead. The only bartering chip the Dark Lord would want… "Is me," Anakin whispered to himself before letting his eyes fall from the big-screen television.
He turned and left the folksy, relaxed saloon and slowly started back towards his hut. The venom frothing in his chest didn't dissipate as he hobbled to the valley by the lake. All he could think about was knifing his lightsaber straight into Palpatine's mouth. About screaming, if it didn't hurt the crusting wounds on his body. About slamming his fist into every tree he passed, if he didn't feel like there was a pike digging into his spine every time he moved.
He wasn't even sure if Palpatine would let Luke free if he gave himself up. What if the promise was made then backpedaled? He wouldn't be able to do anything about it and then Luke would die anyway. Regrettably, it was his only option, so he better be damn persuasive after arriving at the Palace Courtyard.
First thing's first, Anakin. Bacta.
::::
The third rotation of rapture was a rotation of pandemonium.
Despite the agitprop used to convince the citizens of Naboo the execution of Luke Skywalker was justified, many people did not agree. Protests against the execution popped up not only throughout the city of Theed but all over the planet.
Some voices of protest arose on the rotation the bulletin was released with some unable to fathom the execution of a child. For others, their objections took a little additional knowledge. In the rotations following the release of the bulletin the question of lineage soon came up. Nobody knew Anakin Skywalker could ever possibly have a son due to his former Jedi status. Once that initial shock wore off, the next stumper was: who is the mother of Luke Skywalker?
This was mostly brushed off as inane chatter. However, persistent voices started scattering.
Senator Amidala and Anakin Skywalker were long rumored to be unbelievably close. She never married, as far as anyone knew, and enduringly brushed off men pursuing her. She also become inexplicably pregnant and never revealed who the father was. Such clandestineness would have been needed if she conceived with a Jedi Knight.
With old and renewed gossip spreading like wildfire, a universal deduction was swiftly made: Naboo's beloved Senator Amidala was Luke Skywalker's mother. The inane chatter quickly became very relevant. In almost an overnight sweep, the entire people of Naboo, particularly the citizens of Theed, were outraged at the Empire's verdict. The protests, of course, did not last very long with stormtroopers being called in to restore order, but it didn't quell any of the scandal.
With the disarray of the protests, which began prior to sunrise and lasted until about two hours before noon, Anakin was able to move through the city of Theed without detection or even so much as a glance. After reaching the Palace Courtyard, he took a sharp left and made his way towards the semi-circular structure bordering it. He slipped under its enclosed walkway, which allowed him to look over the entire courtyard. Standing on moderately steady feet, he leaned his shoulder against a colonnade with his arms crossed behind his back and his face shadowed by his hood. He still looked like a glitbiter panhandler, but he thought that worked for his advantage of anonymity.
He didn't know what was going to happen today. There was the distinct and likely chance this was the last rotation he would ever see the sun and hear the birds, but he knew without reservation and without a single trace of repentance he would trade whatever he must in order to save Luke. Though he was ignorant to his immediate future, he was well prepared for it, whether it feature torture, humiliation, death. What he was not prepared for, and never dreamed was within the realm of possibility, was to see Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The meek call was so uncertain, so desperate, so timorous... "Anakin?"
It alarmed him despite its low volume and unaggressive tone. He quite frankly didn't know who he expected to find when he turned around, but the panic he experienced in hearing his own name, of someone knowing him, not to mention approaching him from behind, made him prepared to use the Force if necessary. When he found moist malachite eyes gazing back at him with unvarnished hope and ardent warmth, he lost his breath and instantaneously felt the familiar sting of tears. His guard instinctively dropped and he struggled to formulate a single thought. Ultimately, he remained speechless.
The tips of Obi-Wan's fingers kissed one of the burnished colonnades while he stood unmoving and upright in his usual perfect posture.
As he'd crept around the threshold of the walkway to investigate a shadowy, potentially hostile figure, he noticed a few things. He noticed butterscotch brown curls wafting in the wind. Then he noticed the leather glove over the figure's right hand while the other hand's flesh was in full view. Then he noticed the figure's height and width of shoulders. The nonchalant stance. That's when he stood upright, took his hand off his lightsaber, lowered his hood, and walked without any amount of stealth towards the figure. As soon as he called out Anakin and got a response, he thought his chest was going to cave in. He raised a hand to the colonnade beside him for stabilization and could only find the strength and heart to stare.
He didn't know if the tears came from bliss, from relief, from doubt, from sorrow. For he certainly felt sorrow when taking in Anakin's appearance. The disgraced Jedi was as skinny as a perishing cherry tree, his cheeks hollowed out, his eyes sunken in, his face, neck, and hand littered with scars. There had never been a clearer definition of misery.
It could have been rotations, perhaps hours, perhaps mere minutes that they unrelentingly gaped into each other's tear-brimmed eyes, their crystalline teardrops never quite spilling over. At some point or another though, it did occur to him that the last time they were in contact, Anakin was very much a practitioner in the dark side of the Force. Judging by what he saw before him, he didn't think that was the case anymore, but he couldn't let his emotions override his logic.
He eventually swallowed the lump in his throat, but his voice still rolled out in tremors, "You need to state…" He couldn't carry on with such airs. It was a rare occurrence for such a thing to happen, but his emotions weighed down on him too heavily and he couldn't hold that weight separate from himself, not while peering into those diminished eyes. He could taste the desperation in his voice when he weakly implored, "Are you yourself, Anakin? Please tell me you are yourself."
These pleas caused Anakin to finally speak through a tired, swaggering half-smile, "Something tells me you've missed me."
The mannerisms, the teasing, the natural oceanic eye color and tears. The lack of attacking going on. This was his Anakin. At this recognition, a rush of joy passed through Obi-Wan and he moved forward in an effort to hug his long-absent friend. When it was clear he was attempting to do such a thing, Anakin stepped back, preventing any contact. This caused Obi-Wan to softly assure, "I'm not going to hurt you."
Anakin couldn't sustain eye contact when he gravelly explained, "I didn't think you were trying to. I can't…I don't deserve any kind of clemency or affection or welcome, especially from you. I'm toxic waste and toxic waste has to be quarantined, separated from living beings because it does nothing but pollutes and destroys."
Obi-Wan finally felt prickling tears spill over his lashes. Notwithstanding, his voice lost any wobble and he sternly stated, "Yes, and if someone wants to go splashing around in toxic waste, that's their decision. They can deal with the ramifications." Before Anakin could respond, he wrapped his arms snuggly around the younger man's emaciated waist and back, settling his chin on a bony shoulder, "I delightedly risk any ramification."
Almost immediately, Anakin returned the embrace, defying the screaming protests of pain in his body. His life remained absent of physical contact after the battle on Mustafar with the exception of the installation of his mechno-limbs. Even then, the contact had been with a droid and excruciating. In the long, solitary hours sitting in his hut, he was sure he would never experience the sensation of touch with another living being again. Touching Obi-Wan again never even crossed his mind.
Despite the assuagement his loneliness and self-loathing found in Obi-Wan's arms, he was soon overcome by scraping, throbbing pain. He made a soft noise of discomfort and took a couple steps back, forcibly removing himself from Obi-Wan's grip. The older man was about to interrogate his retreating friend when he realized his right hand, the one that'd been on Anakin's back, was spotted with blood.
"You're hurt," he promptly observed and reached out for the other man again.
"It's an old wound." Anakin feebly played off any concerns as he stepped back, "I couldn't apply bacta to it properly. Hard to reach."
Obi-Wan's bloodied hand clinched into a loose fist when he tenderly rebuked, "Why didn't you use the Force to heal it? Were they to find you, they would kill you in this condition. You're barely standing and wounded, not to mention incontestably oblivious of your surroundings considering how easily I crept up behind you."
Anakin offered no sign of reassurance or solace, "It doesn't matter. They're probably going to kill me anyway when I forfeit myself over to them."
"What? What in Malachor could you possibly think such a maneuver will achieve?"
The brunette wore a face of plenary defeat and despondency as his eyes fell to the concrete below his feet, "They have my son. He's still alive and I willingly forfeit my life for his."
Obi-Wan ran his clean hand through the grey hair along his temple in frustration then crossed his arms in abrupt vexation and contention, not even pausing when the blood on his hand smudged across his beige sleeve, "Do you propose for even an instant they will release Luke if you surrender to them?"
Agitated, bitter eyes turned back to his, "You said it yourself: they would kill me in my condition. I refuse to idly sit by while they execute my son."
"You may not be in the shape to fight them, but I am," the insistent Jedi stressed. "So, go. Take refuge and I'll bring Luke to you. I swear it."
"I won't let you jump headfirst into a snake pit and I especially won't let you do it alone. I will hand myself over."
"I'm not alone. Ahsoka came with me."
A flicker of listlessness flashed through Anakin's eyes, "Ahsoka's here?"
Obi-Wan slightly nodded his head to his right, "She is on the other side of the courtyard."
Anakin stared searchingly at the adjacent walkway in an attempt to locate his former padawan. After a few moments entrenched in silence, he turned his head the opposite way and soundlessly spoke, "You two came here to rescue Luke?"
"Of course we did."
"Why?"
"Why? Aside from the fact he is an innocent child snatched up by the Sith… he is your son, Anakin. He is our family."
"Is that what you consider me? You consider me your family? After all I did, how…" The potency in the rebuke was lost, "… how could you ever still consider me your family?"
"You were under the influence of the dark side, y-"
"Don't you dare make excuses like that for me, Obi-Wan!" Anakin hotly commanded as he took a step back.
"It's not an excuse. It's the truth. You had a moment of weakness and fell under its influence," Obi-Wan evenly returned and took a step forward to counteract the step back he'd taken.
"The truth is: I'm a demon," he sorrowfully bellowed with another step back. "Even the Frangawl Cult would flee in terror of me. I'm not going to put you or Ahsoka at extraordinary risk when what Sidious really wants is me." He took a third step back but maintained eye contact with his old friend, "This public exhibition is bait. It's painfully conspicuous I am the end in view."
Obi-Wan tentatively took another step forward, his arms still crossed to try to convey composure, "Then it should be painfully conspicuous once you are in their possession, they will kill Luke. Or corrupt him if he is at all attuned to the Force."
The Tatooinian's gloved hand cupped over his eyes, "I can persuade them-"
"You know better," the Jedi Master vehemently interrupted, stepping closer. "I am here, Anakin. I am already here with Ahsoka. We came of our own volition and were planning a marvelously heroic rescue before we even saw the bulletin on the Net. Please, go somewhere safe and out of sight. Let us handle this."
Anakin's hand dropped from his face and his fierce, furious eyes burned into his former master's. The brunette analyzed everything from Obi-Wan's sincere stare to the concern and consideration knitted into his brow to his battle-worn hands now stretched forward in openness. If there was an ulterior motive, it was very well hidden. Despite the seemingly genuine want to help, the disgraced Jedi couldn't force himself to resign. This was his battle.
Without another word, he turned and began to slowly shuffle towards the summit of the walkway. This disregard was not well received by the disregarded. Obi-Wan quickly pursued, determined to talk some sense into his rag-clad friend. He gently clasped onto a thin arm to stop the headstrong man.
Once their eyes found each other's again, he quietly and promptly deliberated, "I didn't know if you were alive or not, Anakin. If you were, there was never any question whether or not you were still overcome. Now… now here you stand, breathing and back to yourself, yet you are doing everything within your power to needlessly surrender your life."
"I am doing this for Luke."
"What makes you think Luke would wish to lose you, his father, only minutes after meeting you?" the Stewjonian grimly rationalized. When Anakin tried to slip out of his grip, he spouted off without thinking, "You have more than one child to take into consideration."
The younger Forceful visibly flinched, his eyes fluttering and his mouth falling agape. The breath was stolen from his lungs and the strength stolen from his resolve. He strenuously inspected, "More than one child?"
As soon as he uttered the words, Obi-Wan recognized he should not have revealed Leia's existence so recklessly. It was apparent Anakin only learned of Luke within the last three rotations, otherwise the fallen Jedi would have been spotted in search of his offspring all throughout the wild starry yonder over the last five years. Obi-Wan didn't have to be telepathic to read the guilt in anguished eyes. There could never be absolute forgiveness. The twins had been fatherless, parentless, since birth and it was something Anakin would never be able to forgive himself for. Obi-Wan cast an iron grip onto bony shoulders and bent down to angle his head upwards to lock eyes with downcast cerulean ones, "I didn't mean for it to come out like that, as some kind of leverage in an argument. I know this is tearing you apart."
It was the understanding Anakin didn't even know he needed to hear. Somehow, his old master was still able to read him like an elementary book. He exhaled deeply then took a step back, "Another boy?"
The blonde stood upright again and crossed his arms, "A girl."
A mist shrouded over distressed eyes and cybernetic fingers distractedly raced through twisted tresses, "What's her name?"
"Leia," the Jedi responded with a small smile. "Senator Amidala named both her and Luke."
Anakin's eyes tightly closed and it seemed like his entire body began to tilt, "Where's Padmé? If she named Luke and Leia..."
"She's...she only survived a couple minutes after the second delivery."
He simply buried his face in his hands to shield his tears.
With the volatile man in this state of unguardedness, Obi-Wan took the chance to shift closer and grip his returned friend's elbows, "You're not alone, Anakin. Let me help."
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The Faithful and Ferocious