NEW FIC: Not Asking to be Saved
title Not Asking to be Saved
author patientalien
rating M
warning(s) Graphic imagery, character death
summary AU - how the battle on Mustafar could have ended. Written for a prompt from citizenjess on tumblr.
“It’s over, Anakin! I have the high ground!” As if his words will change anything. As if by stating the obvious, Darth Vader will surrender. But he knows Vader better than that, and even in his right mind (which he assuredly is NOT), Vader is not a man who surrenders easily. Even when all odds are against him, he perseveres. And, Obi-Wan recalls with some concern, usually succeeds.
But this is a move Vader has never mastered. This is something that, while they have drilled it in the training salles (“What are your options when your opponent has higher ground than you, my Padawan?”), Vader has never successfully completed the task. He has never needed to.
And now that he does have to, now that his very survival hinges on this one moment, his arrogance once again blinds him to the truth. “You underestimate my power!” he calls up at Obi-Wan, eyes flashing lava.
Obi-Wan shakes his head, ‘saber at the ready, not sure what he’s going to do when Vader inevitably comes towards him. “Don’t try it,” he attempts.
There is a surge in the Force, a gathering of power - Vader is drawing it into himself, wrapping it around himself, curling it under like a coiled spring, to give him the needed lift and momentum and… Obi-Wan acts.
He has only heard of mou kei in theory. A “forbidden” tactic, a killing blow, total dismemberment of one’s opponent. Despite having no practical experience, he knows as Vader’s remaining flesh limbs part company with the rest of his body that what he has done could be called mou kei. But it isn’t, not truly, because Vader isn’t dead. His body hits the scorching ash of the lava river’s shore hard enough to break bones and slides down, Vader’s mechanical hand scrabbling to find purchase to keep himself from tumbling all the way into the lava flow.
Obi-Wan winces at the inhuman groaning emanating from Vader’s throat, but it is not his fault this has happened. “You were the Chosen One!” he bellows, imbuing his words with all of the pain and betrayal he has felt since first seeing Anakin kneel before his new Master. “It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not JOIN them!” His breath hitches. “Bring balance to the Force! Not leave it in DARKNESS!”
They stare at each other, Anakin’s eyes pleading for something… release, perhaps? But then - “I HATE YOU!” tears from his cracked lips, fueled by pain and rage. The pleading in his eyes is replaced by blind fury.
Obi-Wan turns to walk away, his foot hitting what he believes is a rock at first, but quickly realizes is Anakin’s lightsaber. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand. This is not Anakin’s first lightsaber, or even his second, but he remembers the pride he felt on Illum when Anakin found his first crystal. The sense of accomplishment when Anakin earned his first merit bead for his ‘saber technique. The upswell of uncharacteristic pleasure when Cin Drallig personally commended Anakin on his abilities with a blade. And, more recently, the sense of safety and absolute trust he felt when he and Anakin were back-to-back in the battlefield, protecting each other, watching over one another. “You were my brother, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, shaking his head. “I loved you.”
Anakin looks up at him, silent now, but then an ember catches his clothes alight and he screams anew, flames licking up what is left of his body, incinerating hair and peeling skin from bone. Obi-Wan nearly gags at both the sight and the smell of it, but finds he cannot look away as Anakin - yes, it is Anakin - howls in agony.
It is not the Jedi way to let another being suffer. It is not the Jedi way to use mou kai against an unstable opponent. It is not the Jedi way to wish pain on one who has caused so much of it himself. And yet Obi-Wan allows the fire to burn out before he skids down the embankment. He can sense Palpatine’s slippery Force-presence, knows he should flee while he still can, but incredibly, Anakin is still breathing.
The young man’s eyes flick open, red and raw, but unmistakably Anakin. His hair has been burnt away, his flesh nothing but char. Obi-Wan knows he must still be in pain, but most of the burns are deep enough to have destroyed nerve endings. It is grotesque, one of the most gruesome sights Obi-Wan has ever seen. And it is his friend. What is left of his friend. “Master…” Anakin rasps out past seared vocal cords, his breath coming in rattling, wheezing gasps. “Please… Help me…”
The heat from the river is almost unbearable, and Obi-Wan would very much like to blame the sulfur fumes for the tears in his eyes. There is no help for Anakin now; that he is still alive, let alone conscious and speaking, is nothing short of a testament to his true power in the Force. Still, even with that incredible power, there is no recovering from this. The Force will not regenerate limbs, or skin, or damaged lung tissue. The Force will not turn back time and bring back the Younglings, or any of the other beings Anakin has slaughtered in the name of the Sith. Obi-Wan almost leaves him to his fate on that basis alone, but Anakin’s mechno-arm has grabbed onto Obi-Wan’s boot, and he is peering up at him beseechingly. “Help.”
He is not asking to be saved, Obi-Wan realizes. For all his rash actions, for all the madness, for all of the gut-wrenching horror that is their current shared reality, Anakin knows the extent of his injuries. He is not asking for Obi-Wan to spare his life.
And this - this small kindness - seems almost out of reach for Obi-Wan. But he is a Jedi. And he is Anakin’s brother. He lowers himself down onto the ashes and gently - so gently, pulls Anakin into his lap. He can no longer run fingers through Anakin’s unruly hair, so he lays a hand on Anakin’s brow. “A long time ago, there was a brave Jedi Knight,” he says softly, “sent to save a beautiful Queen.” He weaves the story deftly, trying to channel the Force to ease Anakin’s pain as he does so.
As the story progresses, Anakin’s breathing evens slightly, but he does not take his eyes from Obi-Wan’s. “It seemed like evil won,” Obi-Wan continues, “But good will always triumph, even for those who have lost all hope.”
Anakin nods slightly. His tear ducts have melted shut, but Obi-Wan’s cheeks are damp enough for the both of them. “I love you, Anakin,” he says, and presses a kiss to Anakin’s forehead as he slides his lightsaber against his brother’s chest. Anakin gasps, the blade leaping out from his heart, and falls back into Obi-Wan’s arms.
It takes many long, agonized moments, for Obi-Wan to stand, to gather Anakin’s body into his arms, for the long journey back to the ship, to safety, and to an empty future.
author patientalien
rating M
warning(s) Graphic imagery, character death
summary AU - how the battle on Mustafar could have ended. Written for a prompt from citizenjess on tumblr.
“It’s over, Anakin! I have the high ground!” As if his words will change anything. As if by stating the obvious, Darth Vader will surrender. But he knows Vader better than that, and even in his right mind (which he assuredly is NOT), Vader is not a man who surrenders easily. Even when all odds are against him, he perseveres. And, Obi-Wan recalls with some concern, usually succeeds.
But this is a move Vader has never mastered. This is something that, while they have drilled it in the training salles (“What are your options when your opponent has higher ground than you, my Padawan?”), Vader has never successfully completed the task. He has never needed to.
And now that he does have to, now that his very survival hinges on this one moment, his arrogance once again blinds him to the truth. “You underestimate my power!” he calls up at Obi-Wan, eyes flashing lava.
Obi-Wan shakes his head, ‘saber at the ready, not sure what he’s going to do when Vader inevitably comes towards him. “Don’t try it,” he attempts.
There is a surge in the Force, a gathering of power - Vader is drawing it into himself, wrapping it around himself, curling it under like a coiled spring, to give him the needed lift and momentum and… Obi-Wan acts.
He has only heard of mou kei in theory. A “forbidden” tactic, a killing blow, total dismemberment of one’s opponent. Despite having no practical experience, he knows as Vader’s remaining flesh limbs part company with the rest of his body that what he has done could be called mou kei. But it isn’t, not truly, because Vader isn’t dead. His body hits the scorching ash of the lava river’s shore hard enough to break bones and slides down, Vader’s mechanical hand scrabbling to find purchase to keep himself from tumbling all the way into the lava flow.
Obi-Wan winces at the inhuman groaning emanating from Vader’s throat, but it is not his fault this has happened. “You were the Chosen One!” he bellows, imbuing his words with all of the pain and betrayal he has felt since first seeing Anakin kneel before his new Master. “It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not JOIN them!” His breath hitches. “Bring balance to the Force! Not leave it in DARKNESS!”
They stare at each other, Anakin’s eyes pleading for something… release, perhaps? But then - “I HATE YOU!” tears from his cracked lips, fueled by pain and rage. The pleading in his eyes is replaced by blind fury.
Obi-Wan turns to walk away, his foot hitting what he believes is a rock at first, but quickly realizes is Anakin’s lightsaber. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand. This is not Anakin’s first lightsaber, or even his second, but he remembers the pride he felt on Illum when Anakin found his first crystal. The sense of accomplishment when Anakin earned his first merit bead for his ‘saber technique. The upswell of uncharacteristic pleasure when Cin Drallig personally commended Anakin on his abilities with a blade. And, more recently, the sense of safety and absolute trust he felt when he and Anakin were back-to-back in the battlefield, protecting each other, watching over one another. “You were my brother, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, shaking his head. “I loved you.”
Anakin looks up at him, silent now, but then an ember catches his clothes alight and he screams anew, flames licking up what is left of his body, incinerating hair and peeling skin from bone. Obi-Wan nearly gags at both the sight and the smell of it, but finds he cannot look away as Anakin - yes, it is Anakin - howls in agony.
It is not the Jedi way to let another being suffer. It is not the Jedi way to use mou kai against an unstable opponent. It is not the Jedi way to wish pain on one who has caused so much of it himself. And yet Obi-Wan allows the fire to burn out before he skids down the embankment. He can sense Palpatine’s slippery Force-presence, knows he should flee while he still can, but incredibly, Anakin is still breathing.
The young man’s eyes flick open, red and raw, but unmistakably Anakin. His hair has been burnt away, his flesh nothing but char. Obi-Wan knows he must still be in pain, but most of the burns are deep enough to have destroyed nerve endings. It is grotesque, one of the most gruesome sights Obi-Wan has ever seen. And it is his friend. What is left of his friend. “Master…” Anakin rasps out past seared vocal cords, his breath coming in rattling, wheezing gasps. “Please… Help me…”
The heat from the river is almost unbearable, and Obi-Wan would very much like to blame the sulfur fumes for the tears in his eyes. There is no help for Anakin now; that he is still alive, let alone conscious and speaking, is nothing short of a testament to his true power in the Force. Still, even with that incredible power, there is no recovering from this. The Force will not regenerate limbs, or skin, or damaged lung tissue. The Force will not turn back time and bring back the Younglings, or any of the other beings Anakin has slaughtered in the name of the Sith. Obi-Wan almost leaves him to his fate on that basis alone, but Anakin’s mechno-arm has grabbed onto Obi-Wan’s boot, and he is peering up at him beseechingly. “Help.”
He is not asking to be saved, Obi-Wan realizes. For all his rash actions, for all the madness, for all of the gut-wrenching horror that is their current shared reality, Anakin knows the extent of his injuries. He is not asking for Obi-Wan to spare his life.
And this - this small kindness - seems almost out of reach for Obi-Wan. But he is a Jedi. And he is Anakin’s brother. He lowers himself down onto the ashes and gently - so gently, pulls Anakin into his lap. He can no longer run fingers through Anakin’s unruly hair, so he lays a hand on Anakin’s brow. “A long time ago, there was a brave Jedi Knight,” he says softly, “sent to save a beautiful Queen.” He weaves the story deftly, trying to channel the Force to ease Anakin’s pain as he does so.
As the story progresses, Anakin’s breathing evens slightly, but he does not take his eyes from Obi-Wan’s. “It seemed like evil won,” Obi-Wan continues, “But good will always triumph, even for those who have lost all hope.”
Anakin nods slightly. His tear ducts have melted shut, but Obi-Wan’s cheeks are damp enough for the both of them. “I love you, Anakin,” he says, and presses a kiss to Anakin’s forehead as he slides his lightsaber against his brother’s chest. Anakin gasps, the blade leaping out from his heart, and falls back into Obi-Wan’s arms.
It takes many long, agonized moments, for Obi-Wan to stand, to gather Anakin’s body into his arms, for the long journey back to the ship, to safety, and to an empty future.