Assuming that we’re going to get an announcement about the Obi-Wan Kenobi movie soon, I realized that not only will that likely mean an appearance of kidlet Luke at some point to make me cry, but that ALSO THIS WILL PROBABLY BE WHERE OBI-WAN FINDS OUT THAT VADER IS STILL ALIVE. This is probably going to be where Obi-Wan sees the suit for the first time and we’re all going to have to sit our asses down in that theater and be crying wrecks in fucking public because Ewan McGregor’s face as Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to see what has really become of Anakin Skywalker, after he thought he was dead, and I’m going to have to watch that with my own two eyes and try not to full on sob in my seat.
Oh god…
Why?
WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?
You can think that stuff but you don’t say it!
WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??
And what if Obi-Wan has hallucinations or nightmares?
Or even worse, he’s doing whatever it is he’s doing and he hears a familiar…
“That’s not how you fix a vaporator, Master.”
Or the faintest, distant echo of “Did you train the boy, Obi-Wan?”
Or…. Just to REALLY make us all bawl our eyes out…
“I have always loved you, my Obi-Wan.”
And no matter how many times he looks up, they’re always gone.
And Obi-Wan is always alone.
There. My suffering is complete.
I KNOW RIGHT I AM STILL OFFENDED BY THIS POST MINUTES LATER.
PS: YOUR ADDITION WAS ALSO UNCALLED FOR.
There’ve been rumors (but nothing confirmed yet, as far as I know) that Hayden Christensen might return in VIII or IX.
WHAT IF HE ALSO RETURNED FOR THE OBI-WAN MOVIE?
Flashbacks to the Clone Wars with Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen! Or even just:
IMAGINE EWAN AND HAYDEN ACTING THAT OUT ON TATOOINE. Imagine seeing a shot of Hayden!Anakin walking over a sand dune in the blazing sun, only for Obi-Wan to blink away the mirage and there’s nothing there.
I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT.
Lets just imagine that poor Hayden finally gets a chance TO act, okay? That poor boy deserved better. HE. DESERVED. BETTER.
Also, you deserve this pain…
The stars of the Tatooine night sky are breath taking. With no light pollution to hide them and little to no cloud cover to speak of the arms of the galaxy spiral overhead, a diamond studded river in an indigo blue sky. Obi-Wan watches the fire and then sparks carried up into the night, born aloft by a surprisingly chilly wind. He pulls his robe more tightly around his shoulders and tries to ignore the cold.
“You should be inside,” a voice says, painfully familiar. “The desert can kill with cold just as easily as with heat, Master.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and does not look up. If he looks up the owner of the voice will vanish, some how making his exile all the more solitary. “That is why I built this fire. But I do thank you for your concern. I regret that I have nothing to offer you by way of refreshment.”
The voice says nothing and Obi-Wan will not look, cannot look. If I look he’ll vanish and… and… I must not look.
“It’s all right. I’m not hungry,” the voice says, weary and exhausted. “Why are you out here? Aren’t you worried about the Tuskens? Lightsaber or no, if they get the drop on you, you’re as good as dead.”
Obi-Wan exhales and looks up at a distant homestead. He was here because he was concerned about the recent activities of Jabba’s men. They had been causing problems with the homesteaders and he could risk Luke getting caught in the crossfire.
“I’m looking after someone,” Obi-Wan answered turning his head just slightly, not enough to see but enough to indicate… what? That he was listening to his own hallucination, his own mental persecution?
“Are they worth it?” the other person asks and Obi-Wan can almost imagine him stretching backwards on warm sands, his long leg crossed at the ankles and his weight resting his elbows as he leans back and looks up at the sky. Loose dark honey curls would fall back from his face and for a moment, he would be at peace as if the stars above sang a lullabye only he could hear.
“Is he worth it, Obi-Wan?” the voice asks again, interrupting Obi-Wan’s imaginings. “Is that boy worth all of this?”
“Luke?” Obi-Wan confirms even when his heart says another’s name.
Anakin.
“Is that boy worth it?” the memory of his heart’s brother asks. “The heat, the danger, the isolation and the terrible food? To say nothing of the sand.”
“You never did care for it, did you?” Obi-Wan asks softly, not moving and barely breathing, afraid that any harsh movement will scare off the spectre. “Why are you here?”
“Is that really what you want to ask me, Obi-Wan?” comes the soft reply, in a voice higher and softer than that nightmare he glimpsed on the holofeed back in Mos Eisely. That creature of pain, rage and fury trapped under volcanic glass.
I did that to you.
I am so sorry, Anakin.
“No, I suppose that’s not what I want to ask you,” Obi-Wan sighs. “But to answer your question, yes. He is worth it.”
“Who? Luke?” the memory’s voice is closer, there are sounds of a body moving through space, of leather boots and glove creaking and fabric rustling. “Why? Who is he? Why are you out here when you could be in the galaxy, helping people? Isn’t that why you wanted to become a Jedi? Why we both wanted to become Jedi?”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He’s so close, Obi-Wan could almost reach out and touch him, could almost lay one thin hand on a strong natural arm and squeeze a hand that should have been whole and healthy. Not a durasteel prosthetic covered in black synthleather.
Taking a breath, Obi-Wan answers as he opens in eyes. “He is important because he is your son, Anakin.”
And for a moment, Obi-Wan sees him, or thinks he sees him, beautiful and sorrowful under the silver light of the galaxy overhead, his dark curls dancing on the cold breeze. His eyes are so blue it almost erases Obi-Wan’s memories of Mustafar and their last words.
A log collapses in the fire and throws up a storm of sparks and smoke and then he’s gone.
Obi-Wan turns back to the distant homestead and his exile and murmurs to himself, “You were worth all of it. Even now.”
konekorambles 