Darth Revan AU part 3
Obi-Wan Kenobi is a traitor.
He's had doubts for months, ever since he heard of the plans for the Mandalorian excision. He knows that there are many Jedi who feel the same, including a fair few on the Council, but they are drowned out by the orders of the Senate, not to mention a vocal faction within the Order, his own former padawan being one of them.
Every Jedi has lost friends to the Mandalorian empire, just as every Jedi has lost friends to the Sith empire. Obi-Wan himself lost his master to the Sith, and his friends Siri and Quinlan to Mandalorian commandos. Such is the nature of a war as old as the Republic itself, unfortunately.
He has killed even more. Every Jedi has. They are stretched to the breaking point, fighting a war on two fronts, with enemies that are allied to each other every few decades before things inevitably fall through yet again, and the Order is losing knights almost faster than they can replace them. The stalemate has lasted centuries, and cost tens of billions of lives. In such a climate, perhaps it's no surprise that the war hawks in the Senate have approved such a drastic strike. Less surprising, but infinitely more disturbing, is that the plans were conceived within the Order itself.
And so, surrounded by expectant faces, a spectacular Coruscanti sunset cutting through the windows and painting the room with fire, Obi-Wan says, "I cannot join the Council."
There is a moment's silence. Only Yoda looks wholly unsurprised. "Why say this, do you, Master Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan lets his eyes slip closed, because he cannot falter now. The Force is ringing in his ears, clearer than he's ever felt it. There is only one path he can take.
"Because I am leaving the Jedi Order."
There is an audible murmur of shock from the council, confusion and affront rippling through the Force, with dawning understanding from a few. Plo Koon. Depa Billaba. Ki-Adi-Mundi. He has spoken to all of them extensively about his objections, and they all feel the same.
Obi-Wan removes his lightsaber from its belt and holds it out to Yoda. The kyber crystal within sings a soft lament, knowing that he will have to leave it.
Yoda meets his gaze steadily, looking older and more tired than Obi-Wan has ever seen him. He takes the saber into his claws, almost cradling it. Obi-Wan wonders if he'd done the same with Dooku's.
"I'm sorry, grandmaster."
It is a mark of how respected he is that no one tries to stop him as he leaves.
-
Obi-Wan has to move fast. He owns nothing, not even the clothes on his back. His entire life belonged to the Order, and now it only belongs to the Force. He has a very small window of time in which to leave Coruscant, before word of his desertion spreads to the Senate and he is indefinitely detained. The Jedi might respect him enough to let him go if he wishes, but the government and the military will not be so understanding. Not of a rogue Jedi master, weaponless or otherwise.
In the end, he steals Anakin's hotrod fighter jet, which was a very expensive anniversary present from Senator Amidala. No one in the hangar looks twice at him. They know that he's part of the Team; Anakin always knows where he is and what he's doing.
Well, until today. Even Obi-Wan hadn't known he was leaving the Order until the Force had told him so in the council room.
He's just cleared the atmosphere when the comm starts beeping. Obi-Wan feels their residual training bond vibrating with anxiety and rage, and sighs.
"What the kriff do you think you're doing?!" his newly-knighted student demands.
"I am following the will of the Force," Obi-Wan says, and lets his lips quirk at the familiar phrase. He knows exactly how Anakin feels right now; how often had Qui-Gon said the same to him, before his death?
"By breaking your precious code?! That's banthakark," Anakin snarls, his hologram seeming to fritz with the force of his anger.
"We both know that, of the two of us, I am not the one who has broken the code," Obi-Wan snaps, a little of his stress bleeding into his voice.
Anakin goes quiet for a second at the accusation. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Spare me, Anakin," Obi-Wan says. "I could no longer do what the Order required of me, and so I renounced my vows. If you had any respect for what I taught you, you would have done the same instead of lying through your teeth as you were knighted."
The tiny holographic figure sways, and he's not sure if it's from shock or distortion. "...How long have you known?"
"Since the beginning," Obi-Wan admits. "I had hoped that you would tell me the truth, one day, but the Force evidently had different plans for us."
"So that's it?" Anakin yells. "You're just leaving me? After everything?!"
"This is not about you," Obi-Wan says, all the fight draining out of him. "I must do as the Force wills, and if I cannot do so as a Jedi, then I am no longer a Jedi."
"It feels like it's about me when you're stealing my kriffing ship!"
Obi-Wan laughs like it's been ripped out of him. He can't help it. Leave it to Anakin to make him smile, even in a situation like this. He gathers all his affection, his pride, and his gratitude, and sends it flooding through their bond. "Goodbye, Anakin. I love you."
Anakin's facade of righteous rage cracks, and he sounds very young when he begs, "Don't go, master, please--"
Obi-Wan makes the jump to hyperspace, and the cockpit goes silent. All he can hear are his own shuddering breaths.
-
The Mandalorians are predictably wary about being hailed by a Republic ship. He cooperates with all their instructions, and steers into the landing bay of one of the Kandosii-type dreadnaughts they use to patrol contested space. He opens the cockpit of his own accord, lets half a dozen commandos in full armor pull him out and put him on his knees, hands behind his bed.
"Kriff, is that Paklalat?" a flight technician hisses to an astromech droid they're fiddling with, eyes caught on his distinctive copper hair. Obi-Wan isn't fluent in Mando'a, but he recognizes the term; it's their nickname for him, what they call him during battlefield negotiations and POW exchanges that go his way more often than not. Silvertongue. It's catchier than Negotiator, he'll give them that.
"I am former Jedi master Obi-Wan Kenobi," he announces, and it seems the entire ship loses its breath. Even the commandos patting him down go still. "I've just defected from the Republic, and I have a warning for the Mand'alor."
-
They don't let him speak to the Mand'alor, or anyone else important, right away. Having a silver tongue unfortunately means that his word is far from golden. He's lied and misled and implied a great number of untrue things to a great many people, and he doesn't regret any of it. All of it was to save lives.
Obi-Wan gets tossed into the brig after a very thorough strip-search that half the crew must have been present for. No one believed him when he told them that he didn't have a lightsaber, though he's dropped it in battle against them often enough. He's just grateful that he was allowed to put his clothes back on before being frogmarched through increasingly crowded hallways to his cell.
The cell itself is surprisingly nice. Nothing so luxurious as a bed, but there's a toilet and even a working sink. Perhaps he's getting the VIP treatment.
He has no idea how long he spends in captivity. They aren't feeding him, and they have a Basilisk war droid stationed outside instead of guards. Perhaps they've heard of his proficiency with both mind tricks and daring escapes. Even meditation doesn't settle him, when the Force feels as unsettled as he does.
And then, at last, he hears footsteps outside his cell.
"You said you want to speak to the Mand'alor," says the newcomer. "Badly enough that you defected from the Republic, and chatter from the holonet says you might not be lying about that."
Obi-Wan doesn't look up from his handstand push ups. With the Force proving spectacularly unhelpful in calming him, he's turned to pastimes other than meditation, and this is about all he can manage in his matchbox accommodations. Voice strained with exertion, he says, "Yes, that's what I told your compatriots."
"Well, why don't you tell me this time?" the Mandalorian says, and the command in their voice makes him pause. He completes his final rep and rolls to his feet, shaking out his sore arms.
This commando's armor doesn't look any more ornate than the others. It's almost entirely bare, except for blue lining the T-visor, which makes it harder to judge how weathered it is--no paint to crack or flake off. They aren't wearing a cape or a sigil. Even so, the Force is urging him to speak--this must be someone who can make a difference, if only he can persuade them to listen.
"The Republic are planning an attack on Mandalorian space."
The commando snorts. "Let them come. They're always planning an attack on Mandalorian space."
"Not like this," Obi-Wan says. "Never like this."
Their helmet tilts just slightly, and Obi-Wan feels their scrutiny sharpen. "You claim to have defected. Why?"
"Because I need to stop it. No one back home was listening to me," Obi-Wan says, temper flaring. "I refused to join the Council. I gave up my lightsaber, my entire life. I left my friends and my lineage and my people behind and deserted the Republic to stop this attack. And still, no one is listening." He turns away, the Force agitated and frenetic around him, and puts a hand over his eyes. "I cannot let this happen to your people. Please, at least let me try to save them from what is coming."
There was a long moment where Obi-Wan thought he would be ignored yet again, and went back to contemplating breaking out and taking someone hostage just to get anyone to hear him.
"All right, Paklalat." The voice, when it finally comes, is free from the distortion of a vocoder. "I'm listening now."