Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Parousia

• Summary: Children of the Force are precious and, according to the ancient code of the Jedi Order, they are to be cherished and protected. Raised away from Coruscant with guards and attendants seeing to his every need, dressed in fine robes and jewelry made out of kyber, Anakin hated every second of it. When the War forces him to relocate to Coruscant, Anakin gets a taste of freedom - and of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

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When Obi-Wan had learned of Anakin's status, he had devoured more scriptures on the Force than he had read before in his entire life. Genuine children of the Force appeared only in times of great distress, but they were not there to aid one side above the other. They could be light, brighter than any sun, but they also could be as dark as the void of space. They simply existed and just by breathing caused a cataclysmic reaction. There was a reason the Jedi Order had since sworn to keep them far away from any battles, all gruesome bloodshed that could give the dark a chance to dig its claws into their consciousness. The Sith on the other hand had sought to weaponize their power, had made warlords out of the strongest Force-sensitives that would ever walk the skies.

The thought had repulsed Obi-Wan then and it still haunted him now, but he could not deny that fighting in synchronicity with Anakin had made the war easier. They won more battles with fewer losses ever since Obi-Wan had stopped denying Anakin the chance to fight.

The blond had traded his fine white robes, veils and kyber jewelry for Jedi robes in darker colors and armor. Anakin had stopped practicing refined Soresu that had always looked a little off on him for a stunning display of the more aggressive forms, Djem So with its harsh strikes being his favorite. He didn't ignite his lightsaber for ceremonies anymore and didn't use it purely in self-defense. He had even gone as far as to modify it, turn it into a three crystal blade with one of the crystals that had originally been part of the golden headpiece he had been wearing. In the two months he had spent traveling with the 212 th , he had turned into a storm, a fighter and a Jedi worthy of achieving the rank of Knight, if not Master.

There were no words to describe Anakin's presence on the battlefield. All innocence and purity had been washed away by the bloodshed, leaving a wrathful champion. When he descended upon a group of enemies, Obi-Wan could easily imagine wings holding Anakin in the sky, a savior come to lead them to glory or death.

But this was not how it was meant to be.

"I fucking hate these," Anakin said, unhappily tugging at the white garments wrapped around his lean frame. "There are too many layers and I can't move in them."

He looked away from the mirror, turning around so that he was facing Obi-Wan. Anakin's expression was torn somewhere between a snarl and a pout as if he hadn't decided yet what to do with his emotions.

He looked almost the same way he had looked when Obi-Wan had come to pick him up from the Temple Anakin had been raised in the last years. He was barefoot now, his hair wasn't braided but hung loose, framing his face, and his head wasn't adorned by the golden headpiece, but he had already put the dark kohl around his eyes, accentuating their electric blue. The white of his robes and their rather strategic cut revealed the tanned skin and some of the golden tattoos that curled around Anakin's arms and torso. He looked beautiful, ethereal, and miserable at the same time. It was almost reminiscent of a story Obi-Wan had heard a long time ago, of runaway gods bound tightly until their lover came to free them.

He banished the thought from his mind.

"I've seen you fight in them just fine," Obi-Wan said, hoping his words would placate Anakin, but they only seemed to do the opposite.