Here’s A Story About Changelings

here’s a story about changelings

reposted from my old blog, which got deleted: Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage. Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. “Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin. “I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.” “I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.” “Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.” Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine. “We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…” “Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.” Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has. “Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.” Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project. She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still. “Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once. Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.” Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion. They all live happily ever after. * Here’s another story: Gregor grew fast, even for a boy, grew tall and big and healthy and began shoving his older siblings around early. He was blunt and strange and flew into rages over odd things, over the taste of his porridge or the scratch of his shirt, over the sound of rain hammering on the roof, over being touched when he didn’t expect it and sometimes even when he did. He never wore shoes if he could help it and he could tell you the number of nails in the floorboards without looking, and his favorite thing was to sit in the pantry and run his hands through the bags of dry barley and corn and oat. Considering as how he had fists like a young ox by the time he was five, his family left him to it. “He’s a changeling,” his father said to his wife, expecting an argument, but men are often the last to know anything about their children, and his wife only shrugged and nodded, like the matter was already settled, and that was that. They didn’t bind Gregor in iron and leave him in the woods for his own kind to take back. They didn’t dig him a grave and load him into it early. They worked out what made Gregor angry, in much the same way they figured out the personal constellations of emotion for each of their other sons, and when spring came, Gregor’s father taught him about sprouts, and when autumn came, Gregor’s father taught him about sheaves. Meanwhile his mother didn’t mind his quiet company around the house, the way he always knew where she’d left the kettle, or the mending, because she was forgetful and he never missed a detail. “Pity you’re not a girl, you’d never drop a stitch of knitting,” she tells Gregor, in the winter, watching him shell peas. His brothers wrestle and yell before the hearth fire, but her fairy child just works quietly, turning peas by their threes and fours into the bowl. “You know exactly how many you’ve got there, don’t you?” she says. “Six hundred and thirteen,” he says, in his quiet, precise way. His mother says “Very good,” and never says Pity you’re not human. He smiles just like one, if not for quite the same reasons. The next autumn he’s seven, a lucky number that pleases him immensely, and his father takes him along to the mill with the grain. “What you got there?” The miller asks them. “Sixty measures of Prince barley, thirty two measures of Hare’s Ear corn, and eighteen of Abernathy Blue Slate oats,” Gregor says. “Total weight is three hundred fifty pounds, or near enough. Our horse is named Madam. The wagon doesn’t have a name. I’m Gregor.” “My son,” his father says. “The changeling one.” “Bit sharper’n your others, ain’t he?” the miller says, and his father laughs. Gregor feels proud and excited and shy, and it dries up all his words, sticks them in his throat. The mill is overwhelming, but the miller is kind, and tells him the name of each and every part when he points at it, and the names of all the grain in all the bags waiting for him to get to them. “Didn’t know the fair folk were much for machinery,” the miller says. Gregor shrugs. “I like seeds,” he says, each word shelled out with careful concentration. “And names. And numbers.” “Aye, well. Suppose that’d do it. Want t’help me load up the grist?” They leave the grain with the miller, who tells Gregor’s father to bring him back ‘round when he comes to pick up the cornflour and cracked barley and rolled oats. Gregor falls asleep in the nameless wagon on the way back, and when he wakes up he goes right back to the pantry, where the rest of the seeds are left, and he runs his hands through the shifting, soothing textures and thinks about turning wheels, about windspeed and counterweights. When he’s twelve–another lucky number–he goes to live in the mill with the miller, and he never leaves, and he lives happily ever after. * Here’s another: James is a small boy who likes animals much more than people, which doesn’t bother his parents overmuch, as someone needs to watch the sheep and make the sheepdogs mind. James learns the whistles and calls along with the lambs and puppies, and by the time he’s six he’s out all day, tending to the flock. His dad gives him a knife and his mom gives him a knapsack, and the sheepdogs give him doggy kisses and the sheep don’t give him too much trouble, considering. “It’s not right for a boy to have so few complaints,” his mother says, once, when he’s about eight. “Probably ain’t right for his parents to have so few complaints about their boy, neither,” his dad says. That’s about the end of it. James’ parents aren’t very talkative, either. They live the routines of a farm, up at dawn and down by dusk, clucking softly to the chickens and calling harshly to the goats, and James grows up slow but happy. When James is eleven, he’s sent to school, because he’s going to be a man and a man should know his numbers. He gets in fights for the first time in his life, unused to peers with two legs and loud mouths and quick fists. He doesn’t like the feel of slate and chalk against his fingers, or the harsh bite of a wooden bench against his legs. He doesn’t like the rules: rules for math, rules for meals, rules for sitting down and speaking when you’re spoken to and wearing shoes all day and sitting under a low ceiling in a crowded room with no sheep or sheepdogs. Not even a puppy. But his teacher is a good woman, patient and experienced, and James isn’t the first miserable, rocking, kicking, crying lost lamb ever handed into her care. She herds the other boys away from him, when she can, and lets him sit in the corner by the door, and have a soft rag to hold his slate and chalk with, so they don’t gnaw so dryly at his fingers. James learns his numbers well enough, eventually, but he also learns with the abruptness of any lamb taking their first few steps–tottering straight into a gallop–to read. Familiar with the sort of things a strange boy needs to know, his teacher gives him myths and legends and fairytales, and steps back. James reads about Arthur and Morgana, about Hercules and Odysseus, about djinni and banshee and brownies and bargains and quests and how sometimes, something that looks human is left to try and stumble along in the humans’ world, step by uncertain step, as best they can. James never comes to enjoy writing. He learns to talk, instead, full tilt, a leaping joyous gambol, and after a time no one wants to hit him anymore. The other boys sit next to him, instead, with their mouths closed, and their hands quiet on their knees. “Let’s hear from James,” the men at the alehouse say, years later, when he’s become a man who still spends more time with sheep than anyone else, but who always comes back into town with something grand waiting for his friends on his tongue. “What’ve you got for us tonight, eh?” James finishes his pint, and stands up, and says, “Here’s a story about changelings.”

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For future reference.

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The more I think about it the more I realise that no ancient civilization would be at all interested in taming dragons.

Dragons are carnivores, so they’re really inefficient and costly to feed. They’re solitary, so its really frigging hard to form any kind of relationship with them. They’re darn right dangerous, so why risk your life taming one when there’s loads of llamas in the world. And worst of all their life spans are insanely long; if you had an opportunity to breed one, you wouldn’t live long enough to see the fruit of your labour mature, so you wouldn’t even bother.

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Another tidbit of Mando lore;

Mandalorians quickly figured out that Jedi mostly view blaster fire as “fun lightsaber practice”.

During the Mando-Jedi wars, they dealt with this in characteristically practical fashion; they used slugthrowers (aka ordinary firearms) instead, because if a Jedi tries to deflect a regular bullet, what happens is “A bunch of bullet shrapnel to the Jedi’s face.”

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darthvoxpo

5 years ago

Listen, I liked Sanders. But the Supreme Court is the only thing I care about right now.

If you vote for anyone that isn't the Democrat nominee, we are looking at a 7-2 right-wing SCOTUS. For how long? 30-40 YEARS.

RBG is 87. Breyer is 81. Chances of them making it to 2024 are not great.

For the record, I think this system is FUCKED and this isn't how SCOTUS composition should be decided, but it is how it is right now.

If you care about the rights of women, of minorities of any kind, you really need to vote for the democrat nominee. No third parties or write ins. No abstaining. And for crying out loud, no assuming that Trump won't win even if you don't vote. VOTE BLUE.

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darthvoxpo

1 year ago

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around Men at Arms.

It's a fantastic book, but it is also so different from Guards! Guards! in tone. And maybe that's where the key is. It's not that the villain of the story is perhaps one of the most proficient killers in all of Discworld (all two and a half of them... D'Eath, Cruces, and The Gonne) and their goal is to actually kill. It's not even that the crimes that the watch are investigating are murder, because even though paid assassinations are legal death and murder are part of the setting. Death is literally a character here, though much more briefly than G!G!. Frankly, I don't even think it's because of the racial allegories.

The tone in Men at Arms is different because the first one to die is a clown. Because Pratchett literally killed the joke (the entire thing and all of its subsets). There's nothing funny about a clown funeral, the dogs are the biggest allegory for racial issues, a gun really is evil, Cuddy literally draws the short straw. It's all literal. Everything is extremely literal. For once, Ankh Morpork isn't a joke. For once, the city feels like a city. And it's the book where Carrot, the most literal character there is, becomes a man (literally and in every sense) and takes his mantle of leadership.

Everything in Men at Arms is literal. Because the villain killed the joke to death and it was the shining moment for Carrot to step up.

There's also an extensive running bit that even the silly construction of the silly, courtesy of Bloody Stupid Johnson, is actually stupid. Within the narrative itself, the book is calling itself out. It is saying that this absurd veneer that we have found ourselves on is just that. This city was built on itself, on its own bones, on the the bones of empires--fueled with the blood of many. The architecture beneath Johnson's flawed works, the aqueducts and sewer systems below the city, are vast and strong and powerful--maybe even beautiful. But they're dangerous. The past is incredibly dangerous. Even Carrot, whose potential is very much rooted in the past of the city, is dangerous. His victory is not one I expected in the moment it came. The line about how you must hope that whoever is looking at you from the other end of their weapon is an evil man... Was harsh and true and honestly a little frightening for a story which also contains a scene where a sentient rock man chucks a dwarf through the skylight of Schrodinger's pork warehouse to save both of their lives.

Perhaps this puts the rest of the book in context as well. Especially the things that made me cringe when I read them. Like everything about Coalface, Angua being included in the story because she was a woman and every book needs at least one (preferably one that can leap over a building or deadlift a draft horse), the high school clique-ificarion of all the guilds, Vimes talkin to the nobles after dinner and almost letting himself believe he could be like that (even though he ends up laying into them with some excellent biting sarcasm), Vetinari not being in control and not realizing it. It's all very real, but real like a real serial killer in real life and not a crime drama. Maybe even real like a normal guy in a costume with their mask off.

Maybe not.

It's not a perfect book (which bites, because G!G! was nearly there), but it remains a very intentional book. I feel like less people have read it than G!G!, and I can see why. It's messier, it's not as funny, there's a lot more allegory and it's a lot more blunt.

But it's still extremely topical (sadly). I retain my opinion that it may be one of the most important books I've ever read. And I'm beginning to understand, finally, why.

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for me discworld

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darthvoxpo

5 years ago

Hi! Oh, you don’t know how badly I froze after reading this because it feels impossible to sum up his character easily and I’m not sure any of the canon SW books really get Obi-Wan to fling at you and he can be an oddly complicated character for someone who is actually fairly direct and consistent. I was trying to figure out how to sum Obi-Wan’s character up, talking with (okay, whining at @lesbiandarthmaul) about his approach to things, and she gave an excellent jumping off point: “The dude is the embodiment of the romantic ideal of a knight in the chivalric sense.“ At the foundation of who he is, Obi-Wan is someone who believes in and loves the Jedi Order very much, he believes in the values they teach and the discipline of looking inwards to understand yourself and thus be able to control yourself. This is someone who survived the genocide of his people and culture, yet still remained kind and compassionate, he remained good, because Obi-Wan Kenobi understands and took to heart the value of getting your shit together as the Jedi taught him.

This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have his moments, of course. He experiences anger and frustration, he can snap at people, his anger can make him lash out at people sometimes, but he thoroughly understands that he cannot embrace that anger in any significant way. Like when Maul kills Qui-Gon in TPM, he’s obviously angry, but he doesn’t seize on that anger. Like when Maul kills Satine in “The Lawless”, he’s obviously angry, but he doesn’t seize on that anger. Like when Anakin turns to the dark side, kills the Jedi younglings, he’s obviously angry, but he doesn’t seize on that anger. He experiences it, acknowledges it, and lets it go again.

”And in that moment, that critical moment, he cannot seize on his anger and his hatred for Maul. Though that’s probably there, deep within, he can’t seize on it or Maul will win, he knows that. I think we learned a lot about Obi-Wan and what it means to be a true Jedi, which is what I see Obi-Wan as.“ –Dave Filoni, on “The Lawless (This is something he’s repeated several times, about how the core themes of Star Wars are letting go of the the anger and hate and fear so that the dark doesn’t win, so that you can’t be controlled.) This is also reflected in his recklessness–which he very much is reckless, but he’s at peace with that recklessness and I’ve always argued that it’s a considered reckless, that he does it when there are no feasibly better options. Hence why he’ll jump out of a window to chase an assassin droid and it’s not because he immediately goes for the reckless option (like he takes his time with Dooku at the end of AOTC, because he knows this needs a measured response), but that he knows there’s not a better option and that he can hang onto it and he’ll be okay, he trusts Anakin to go find a speeder and catch up.

Or he’ll fling himself out of the cockpit on the Invisible Hand and right into the middle of the droids. Or throw himself off a ship or building when he really absolutely needs to get somewhere. It’s not because he doesn’t know it’s dangerous, but that he thinks it’s genuinely the best way. Obi-Wan, I think, is someone who has been taught from a very young age to look within and understand himself, the very earliest scene we have for him in canon is him meditating with his classmates while being taught the lesson of: “Meditation is about more than just forging a deeper connection to the Force… it is about gaining a deeper understanding of ourselves. It is a means of obtaining greater control over our thoughts. Over our emotions. Peace. Serenity. Harmony. We must master ourselves before we can hope to master the Force.”

This is the foundation of Obi-Wan, that sense of how long he’s been understanding himself and that he’ll never stop learning, it’s a lifelong path to walk to understand and master yourself, but he’s pretty damn good at it. James Arnold Taylor (Obi-Wan’s voice actor in TCW) says similar things about him: "Obi-Wan constantly attempts to keep everybody on track, but he also tries to be realistic. You saw that in ‘The Citadel’ episode in Season Three where they’re losing clones left, right, and center. I remember when we were in the studio voicing that stuff, Dave [Filoni] kept telling me that Obi-Wan is the one who says we must move forward and we have to keep going. I had to strike a balance when recording those lines to show he has sympathy and heart for the clones, but at the same time he knows the mission. I think that sort of sums up the character. He’s strong when other characters don’t necessarily know what to do, and he’s a voice of reason.“ The other thing about Obi-Wan is that he prizes helping others above almost anything else. (Well, aside from the whole looking inward and figuring out the path that’s right for you thing.) He doesn’t become a doormat about it, he has boundaries and he gets angry when others pile stuff onto him–like, he’s genuinely angry at Anakin in ROTS, when he yells that their allegiance is to democracy or when he snaps that if the planets they’re fighting for would actually pitch in themselves, we wouldn’t be in this particular mess in TCW.

Sometimes this comes out in little ways–like he banters with Anakin to take his mind off Anakin’s boiling panic in the AOTC elevator scene, or he banters with Anakin to give the clones time to get in place to help save Luminara from the Geonosian Queen in TCW. He enjoys the banter for its own sake, but he’s often pulling double duty in how he’s also using it for another purpose, because Obi-Wan doesn’t often do things without focus or purpose. Even if he’s not sure how the hell they’re going to get through something, he’s still acknowledging his feelings on that and looking for a way to be strong when others don’t know how to. He has purpose in nearly everything he does. Like when he’s bantering with Anakin while they watch the Geonosian Queen hold Luminara captive, the banter is funny and “Come now, which do you think [the brain worm] will go for? The ear or the nose?” is one of the funniest moments in SW, but he’s also using it to stall for time so the clones can get into position to help get Luminara back. Like with Luke, he doesn’t lie because it’s easier or because he’s trying to manipulate Luke into killing Vader, but because Luke isn’t ready to hear the truth and he needs this emotional truth as a foundation to understand the bigger picture, he even says that someday Luke will have to know the truth in the From a Certain Point of View anthology. (George Lucas has also said that he didn’t really lie to Luke, as well as that he and Yoda are not trying to get Luke to kill Vader, but to be ready that the possibility may happen.) And that sense of manipulation can sometimes lead people to thinking he’s a jerk (especially if they love him and are kind of mad that they love him) but it’s never done out of cruelty or because it’s easier for him. It serves a purpose, one that he feels will help the other. He’s the “adult in the room” for that, in a lot of ways, that that’s why people look to him for leadership, because he’s looking at a situation and trying to figure out the best way forward for everyone, he’s a natural leader. This is part of his chivalric knight character as well, that he has boundaries for himself personally, but he whole-heartedly believes in a purpose bigger than himself. He believes in being selfless. He believes in reaching out a hand to help others. This is reflected a lot in his relationship with Anakin, where he’s almost always the one offering to talk and opening the conversation up first. (Attack of the Clones, he’s the one who asks how Anakin’s been sleeping lately. Age of the Republic - Obi-Wan Kenobi, he’s the one who talks to Anakin about how he felt he couldn’t protect Qui-Gon, how can he protect Anakin, and works it out with him. Age of the Republic - Anakin Skywalker, he’s the one who approaches Anakin who is getting wound up, even is acting very emotional, and Obi-Wan encourages him and says he’s proud of him. The Clone Wars, when Anakin is starting to lose his shit over Rush Clovis, Obi-Wan approaches him to talk.) He’s also a Knight in the sense that he doesn’t have to vomit his feelings everywhere to show them deeply. He clearly cares very much for Anakin, his feelings are processed just fine, he’s just reserved. That doesn’t mean he’s not kind and praiseful or flirtatious or gentle, but that he’s by and large measured and has had a lifetime of practice of being in control of himself. Even when Obi-Wan is coming face to face with his own death and seeing Anakin again for the first time, he walks this line between understanding how hard this hits him and that he has his shit together–one of the best lines from “Time of Death” in From a Certain Point of View is: ”I cannot use his real name. It would undo me, even after all this time, catching in my throat. The time for talk is at an end. This must be decided once and for all.“ Obi-Wan gets how difficult this is for himself, but he also doesn’t seize on that hurt, because he knows that wouldn’t lead anywhere good and has had a lifetime of working at this. Or when he’s fighting Anakin on Mustafar, the entire fight is written around how he was trying to give Anakin time to come to his senses and calm down. “My take on the whole duel was that Obi-Wan is the central character in that duel. He wouldn’t try and kill Anakin. The way I saw that fight was like having a fight with your girlfriend. That she’s just lost it and that she’s coming at you with everything she’s got. […] So you try to defend her as long as you can until she breaks down. Then you can give her a cuddle.“ –Nick Gillard, fight choreographer His kindness manifests in ways like: “Obi-Wan truly is a Jedi in that he’s like, ‘Okay, I’m not going to murder these creatures [in the Ryloth arc of The Clone Wars]. They’re starving to death. They’ve basically been unleashed against these people as a weapon, but it’s not their fault. They’re just doing what they do. They’re just animals who wanna eat.’” This is also reflected in the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic: “These beasts are nearly mindless, Anakin. I can feel it. They are merely following their nature. They should not die simply because they crossed our path. Use the Force to send them on their way.” So, he’s balanced between a direct sort of kindness and a bantering kindness, depending on the situation (but most especially with Anakin, because Anakin tends to thrive on banter, he clearly enjoys it, even when he’s crabbing about it) and what he thinks would work best for the situation. Obi-Wan has strong beliefs about how things should be handled, like he very much believes in working within the system to help make it better, the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic does a really great job of showing that, but it’s woven into pretty much all of Obi-Wan’s storylines. And, ultimately, I think he was really, really good for Anakin. Obi-Wan, I think, tends to get misunderstood by people (especially Anakin) because he’s almost sort of understated and that, because he works hard on finding his balance, because he’s had a lifetime of devotion to the Jedi ways that are the themes of Star Wars, that he doesn’t struggle or feel anything. That because he’s strong, that it means he feels things less or never experiences doubt, which isn’t true. Obi-Wan’s just really good at finding his feet again, that really the biggest thing he doesn’t have his shit together on is Anakin himself–that he just cannot possibly believe that Anakin would fall and betray them. He can’t believe it in the Story Reels, he can’t believe it in Revenge of the Sith until it’s right in front of him. That’s Obi-Wan’s biggest weakness, that he so strongly believes in the ones he loves that he doesn’t see their flaws sometimes. One of the earliest fics I ever read was Fire and Ice by Yesac and it really set a lot of my views on Obi-Wan (and Anakin, as well), that it’s the best “Anakin won on Mustafar, now suitless Vader is running around the galaxy and Obi-Wan has to deal with this”, that it does an absolutely brilliant job of showing that Obi-Wan is deeply affected by all this, but that he has a kind of strength that Anakin just breaks against, eventually. That it highlights their dynamic so incredibly well–and, okay, for memory there’s some “the Jedi aren’t allowed to love” elements in it, but they’re very minor and we’re shown Obi-Wan being deeply caring and focused, so I tend to gloss over that part and focus instead on how this was a fic that really helped me understand his character. Because Obi-Wan is difficult to sum up in a few things, especially because he’s understated a lot of the time, despite that he feels very genuinely and deeply, that the balance between that he’s a natural leader versus that he struggles just as much as anyone because he’s human and he makes mistakes, but that ultimately Obi-Wan Kenobi is about rising above and guiding others because he has a laser sharp focus and he knows how to get shit done. If you’re in a bad spot, this is the guy you want leading the way out of there, especially if you’re Anakin Skywalker. (Even if you can’t always admit it because you’re mad that he won’t just let you lash out your anger everywhere!) And you really do not want to go into a fight against this guy:

Because not only is ^ that shit really hot and incredible, that he did far more damage than he took, but he does this EVERY SINGLE TIME pretty much. Even in fights where he should be at a disadvantage, somehow he keeps coming out on top or finding a way out. He’s like this with Anakin a lot, too, not just on Mustafar, but even hand-to-hand, he pretty much wipes the floor with Anakin as Rako Hardeen:

YOU DO NOT WANT TO CROSS THIS GUY, because he’s deeply compassionate, but when you cross a line, he will ultimately win. It doesn’t define him, the fighting (he’s just really, really good at it), he prefers diplomacy and finding ways for everyone to work together, he’d rather banter or overwhelm someone by flirting with them, but Obi-Wan is also someone who is incredibly focused and will do what he must, when push comes to shove. He’ll fight Anakin, he’ll even kill him–or so he thinks, despite that he cannot bring himself to strike the killing blow, because he just couldn’t, but that’s sort of the motto Obi-Wan lives by, I think. “Acknowledge where you are and make the choice you can live with.” And he himself does his best to live up to that, whether it’s having faith in someone he loves or stopping evil, whether he’s choosing to stay with the Jedi or acknowledging that he’d have left for Satine and for Anakin, he’s self-aware enough to make the choices he genuinely thinks are best, after a lot of thought and care and self-reflection. They’re not always perfect choices (because there aren’t any perfect choices) but Obi-Wan’s strength of character and belief always allow him to keep going.

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darthvoxpo

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darthvoxpo

1 year ago

Personally, I don’t really see anything wrong with giving Luke to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. What else was Obi-Wan gonna do? (He pretty much raised Anakin and look how that turned out, he’s not gonna risk Round 2.) (He could have given both kiddos to Bail and Breha Organa, actually. Luke and Leia Organa is a cool as heck AU.)

I like Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. As much as people like to say Luke really is Padme’s son, he didn’t get those morals from her. (Keeping in mind I have read no comics or novelizations, and not seen the Clone Wars TV show) It’s pretty clear that Luke’s iron spine and goodness and refusal to abandon his friends come from his upbringing. Owen and Beru Lars are kinda the Ma and Pa Kent of the Star Wars universe.

And they are Luke’s family. Owen is Shmi’s stepson. Owen and Beru probably knew Anakin’s mother for years. It’s a neat circle, and in some ways it has the feelings of an apology, for Obi-Wan to bring Luke back to his family on Tatooine in the same way that Qui-Gon took Anakin. Obi-Wan can’t undo what’s been done, and he can’t start over, but he can give Luke what the Jedi denied Anakin: a loving family and normal upbringing.

Tatooine is Darth Vader’s home planet? Yeah, sure, but did Anakin ever go back to Tatooine? (Probably once or twice, I’m guessing, in the comics at least.) Darth Vader hates that place. Bad memories. Damn sand would fuck up his suit. He’d burn it all down and then the Hutts are gonna be pissed. And how many people actually know that Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker? Like, about five? (Bail, Obi-Wan, Yoda, R2-D2, and Ahsoka?) Dude is not exactly getting invites to school reunions and the weddings of childhood friends, is all I’m saying.

Even if Darth Vader ever went back to Tatooine, Tatooine is a big place. The Lars Farm is in the middle of nowhere and Obi-Wan is hanging out left of the funky rock five miles past nowhere. Anakin met his stepbrother once in the entire film trilogy and idk if they even exchanged words, much less space e-mail addresses. I kind of doubt that Uncle Owen and Darth Vader are sending each other Life Day e-cards. (That’s really funny, actually.)

Anyway, the point of this rant is that I want you to imagine new parents Owen and Beru Lars caring for toddler Luke, it’s just after Life Day, and someone rings the doorbell. Owen Lars opens up to Darth Vader holding a fruit basket, because he didn’t know what else to do for Life Day and spontaneously decided to visit distant family rather than mope in his Evil Castle again.

(Everything Obi-Wan hoped would never happen, just… happening.)

Owen, after introductions, panicking, “Uh… the suit is… new.”

He has to invite Vader in, because it’s Life Day and how exactly do you tell Darth Vader to fuck off? Then Owen and Beru have a hushed argument in the kitchen while Darth Vader is sitting awkwardly in their living room with a drink that he can’t actually drink but took to be polite. When they come out, they introduce Luke as Luke Whitesun, Beru’s late brother’s kid, which they guess makes Luke… Darth Vader’s… nephew. (They can’t hide him, Vader’s already seen this 2-3 yr old Luke and the house is COVERED in baby and kid stuff.)

And Darth Vader just… fucking falls for it.

And the Lars family has to spend the holidays with Uncle Darth Vader who is super keen to have a step-nephew-in-law. Beru is showing off her cross-stitching to Darth fucking Vader as Luke plays at their feet. Owen is in the kitchen sending a desperate space text to Obi-Wan, who basically has a heart attack on the spot when Owen sends a shitty stealth-pic of Darth Vader on their couch.

Bonus points if the Lars’ don’t even move after this, because Vader left without issue and Uncle Owen afterwards was like, “It turned out fine. I don’t want to move, that’s too much hassle.” So, every major holiday, Luke gets a visit from his Uncle Darth Vader, which works out fine so long as they instigate a “Don’t Talk About Politics” rule when Luke starts getting excited about Rebellions and starts bad-mouthing the Empire (Vader making small talk at a Star Destroyer water cooler to his terrified staff: “Ugh, I’m going to have to debate my liberal 13-yr-old nephew at the dinner table again.”), and Vader even helps with the dishes and stuff, and every time Obi-Wan ages an extra year from stress.

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darthvoxpo

5 years ago