Chapter Text
36 BBY, Tatooine
The slave boy had been promised to Sidious. Extraordinary power - infinitely more than Maul had possessed at that age. And Sidious wanted him - craved to own this power. To mould it into his perfect weapon.
Initially, Maul was going to conform to the will of his Master, as he was taught to. He had torn through the slavers who claimed the boy was theirs – he killed the Jedi who claimed the same, just in other words. He despised them both – liars wearing different creeds.
The first real inconvenience Sidious hadn’t accounted for was that the boy had a mother.
Maul used to have a mother, too.
So here Maul was, crouched in the gloom of a poorly lit dwelling in front of the child his Master had sent him to fetch.
The little human stared at him with big, blue eyes. No fear. No understanding of the gravity of the situation at all. And – bright.
Thrumming with such a light that it made Maul sick. Made him want to destroy something.
The boy tilted his head. “Are you a Jedi?”
“No,” Maul snarled, reminding himself that a little fool knew no better.
“The men you killed, were they bad?”
Maul was silent for a moment. “That depends on your point of view.”
The light brows furrowed, the little face scrunched in incomprehension. “What do you mean?”
Maul stared at him. Such stupidity. Such innocence.
He will break him, Maul thought, rage frantic and cracking inside his chest.
Maul would promise him freedom and would lead him to a destiny worse than being a mere slave. Sidious would erase everything the boy had been, replacing it with suffocating darkness. A life stolen before it had begun.
Maul knelt, or rather, fell on his knees. Words spilt out of him almost against his will.
“It doesn’t matter. Powerful people are coming for you. I can hide you. In a place where you can be safe and free.”
The boy blinked, fingers worrying the hem of his dirty tunic. Turned to look at his mother. “Can Mum go, too?”
“No.”
Disappointment flickered across the boy’s face, and his bottom lip did a strange wobbly thing. For some reason, it made Maul reconsider and add, “...maybe she could visit.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“No. But I will visit, too.”
The boy stared at him a moment longer. Something shifted in him. More light, slithering towards Maul, beneath his skin.
“You promise?”
Maul’s jaw clenched. “I promise,” he vowed, with a solemn nod.
Anakin Skywalker would belong to no one but himself.
31 BBY, Mandalore
Maul had hidden the boy well.
He had cloaked his Force-signature in an old Dathomirian ritual – older than Siths and Jedi, incomprehensible for any of them. To become Dark Lord, Maul would have to kill his Master; to kill his Master, one had to commit to extracurricular studies of one’s legacy .
Maul had taken the boy and buried him beneath that legacy – with intricate lines carved into his fair, thin skin like winding rivers – between his shoulder blades and down his back, engulfing the bow of his ribs and interlocking under his belly button. The ink and the blood.
His skin bled easily, but the boy had proven to be stubborn. Being just five ( and a half – Anakin insisted like it made all the difference), he bore it all without complaint, only asking Maul to hold him.
To this day, he wore his markings with pride.
With the same pride, he wore his armour. Charcoal grey and sapphire blue, fitting him like it had been grown over his skin.
***
Maul stood in the shadow, watching the child engaged in a mock fight with two other children, both noticeably larger than he was. Anakin was smaller than an average human child, after all. It was blamed on malnutrition, but against Maul's hopes, and despite Anakin's healthy appetite, the boy remained… compact.
But he fought viciously – and dirty. Where he lacked the physical power, he implemented subterfuge and cunning, using his head to outmanoeuvre his opponents. A well-placed kick where it would hurt the most. A subtle helping nudge from the Force – not nearly enough to alarm mostly ignorant natives, but enough to unbalance - enough to amuse Maul.
Maul allowed the scuffle to last a little longer before letting his presence be known. Anakin’s head whipped around so fast that Maul winced, worried he might injure his neck that way.
The moment of distraction was enough for his two opponents to seize the opportunity, knock him flat and pin him down. Anakin roared and squirmed beneath his captors like an enraged exogorth. He managed to reach and bite the offender sitting on his chest – the boy above him yelped, but held on. After another minute of wiggling, Anakin went limp.
After the confrontation concluded and goodbyes were said, Anakin, liberally covered in dust and bits of vegetation, jogged to Maul and stood in front of him with his arms crossed. “I was winning!” He proclaimed, like his defeat was Maul’s fault.
“You shouldn’t allow yourself to be distracted. Have only yourself to blame.”
Anakin huffed and raised both hands, fingers splayed - a gesture Maul had learned to recognize as a demand for physical contact.
Maul sighed and crouched down, allowing the child to latch onto him with arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his middle.
“Will you stay for long?” Anakin mumbled into his neck as Maul stood straight once again.
“You know the answer, child,” he growled.
“Yeah,” Anakin agreed and cuddled closer, even though it seemed impossible.
Maul should show a firm hand and stop this undignified display at once . Instead, he tucked his nose into the soft hair, smelling like dust.
24 BBY, Sundari
Obi-Wan slipped into the planet as a stowaway aboard a freighter. His credentials were forged in a hurry. They wouldn’t stand against a closer look, but it didn’t matter. If anyone were to look at him too closely, it wouldn’t be the forgery that failed him.
But he had no time for elaborate planning. Bo-Katan had reached out to him with a plea for help, which meant the situation was grave.
He hadn’t expected to be back. And yet.
He had warned Satine about the inadequacy of her idealistic views. You need to defend peace.
For some reason, the young Dutchess had expected him to understand her point of view. He hadn’t understood why, since he’d fought the long, ugly war to return the place he now considered his home to peace.
She had called him a coward. He had called her a naive child.
Their connection was primarily built on the mix of spite and expectation of being caught and tortured and then killed. It was hardly love . Yet it was the closest to love Kenobi ever got.
It probably said something about him.
***
He slithered along the corridors, blending in with locals, passing the patrols with hunched shoulders and looking at the ground. The atmosphere was sour with fear and ripe with grim triumph, and Obi-Wan raised his shields a little higher. He had no use for all this now.
Yet, out of habit, he continued to note the presences around him, ready to dodge the threat should it come.
Down the corridors, near the clamour of the industrial sector, his attention was snagged unexpectedly on a tall figure moving purposefully towards him. Gleaming armour of grey and blue. No ranks or any insignia. The helmet with a crown of small horns on top of it.
A pressure in the air, like a sandstorm approaching. Tightly wound and bright in a way that inspired both awe and fear.
Their eyes met.
A moment, like a wire about to snap under tension. Like a bird in a cage.
The young man turned and vanished down the alley.
The awareness of the presence, bright and burning, stayed - but all memories of the boy’s face were gone.
Obi-Wan frowned and quickened his pace.
He wasn’t surprised when, merely two intersections later, he was stopped by the patrol.
***
He was too old for street chases.
Still, he was able to overrun several men in heavy armour. He was built to run, so he did, dodging the blaster fire, jumping and ducking until he was sure he dropped the tail.
He folded in half, trying to catch his breath. Yeah. Definitely too old.
Soft footsteps echoed in the empty alley. Obi-Wan didn’t turn in time – and had a hand slammed against his throat, his back meeting a wall with the impact that knocked all the air out of his burning lungs..
Obi-Wan blinked at his captor. Crimson skin, severe features emphasized with black tattoos. Eyes like the lava seas of Mustafar.
“Have you mixed up the planets, Jedi?”
Derision. Amusement. Concern. It was as much as Obi-Wan could gain before Zabrak growled and increased pressure in his windpipe.
“I’m no Jedi,” he struggled to say as the fingers squeezed his airways.
The man tilted his head slightly. The hold on his neck loosened – just enough to allow the tiniest stream of air. “You’re not lying.”
“Indeed,” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.
Something like intrigue sparkled in those coal-burning eyes. “You don’t like to be called a Jedi, ” Zabrak observed.
“You wouldn’t like it either, I assume.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” the man conceded.
Obi-Wan was squeezed between a cold, damp wall and a hot, firm body. He didn’t find being pinned like that entirely uncomfortable, which probably said something about him and his overall sanity.
“What’s your business here, not-Jedi?”
“Just visiting,” Obi-Wan blurted and only held back a wince. He was a terrible liar. That’s why he’d never made it to being a politician.
The Sith's lips stretched into a smirk. He prodded at Obi-Wan’s shields. He was – powerful. But Obi-Wan was diligent in his training – he had spent years learning to keep his mind closed. He didn’t need anyone inside his head, thank you very much.
“Intriguing,” Zabrak commented.
Obi-Wan’s second brow joined the first up on his forehead. “Is it normal to choke a random traveller and compliment them in the same breath?”
“Only the ones who stand out too much.”
The Zabrak stepped back half a pace, but didn’t release the grip on Obi-Wan’s neck. “What’s your name?”
“...Obi-Wan,” he said after a slight pause.
Just as expected, the name meant nothing to the Zabrak.
“And you are?...”
“I’m Maul. You will come with me now. You have questions. I might even answer one or two.”
Obi-Wan stared at him, weighing risk and opportunity.
But then again, what alternatives did he have? None. Only to go with the flow.
***
Obi-Wan wasn’t too surprised when he was escorted toward the palace.
Only, he wasn’t sure ‘escorted’ was the right word. Maul’s hand remained on the back of his neck until they emerged from the maze of the narrow pathways of the lower city – a quiet, but firm grip just on the edge of being forceful.
Once they stepped into the street again, the hold disappeared, and Maul fell in step beside him.
He walked the streets of Sundari as somebody who’d taken control and held it with the ease of a person used to casual violence.
The pieces were coming together in Obi-Wan’s mind, and he was torn between the justified urge to flee and a morbid curiosity that had made him follow the man in the first place.
The palace was intact. Nothing out of place, but hollow. Cold and empty, like a folly. Soldiers stood guard at every turn, their helmets on. Obi-Wan could feel the eyes on him anyway.
He couldn’t see anyone else wearing those grey and blue.
***
They reached the room on the top floor. One door. No windows. A single chair.
Maul gestured.
Obi-Wan hesitated, but decided to accept an invitation. His bad knee ached – the coldness of stone, not exactly accommodating travel on the freighted and a good run all contributed to this. He folded his legs, casually, feigning nonchalance. He wasn't in danger yet.
Maul circled the room in a restless prowl. Like an animal pacing in its cage. Every time Maul came into Obi-Wan’s line of sight, Obi-Wan made a point of catching the radiant eyes with his. He’d never seen the real Sith before. He’d read – and had been told – that their eyes meant to be terrifying. Instead, Obi-Wan found himself thinking them quite beautiful. Luminous. Like a wild flame caught in the bottle.
When Obi-Wan kept eye contact for too long, Maul’s upper lip went up in a slight snarl. Obi-Wan made a point of not dropping his eyes.
It went on quite some time. Obi-Wan could feel the prodding around his shields.
“You’re here for the Duchess,” Maul concluded as he came to an abrupt stop in front of Obi-Wan, glancing down at him.
Obi-Wan’s eyes skimmed over tattoos that dipped under the collar of Maul’s armour. He wondered absently if he was covered in them completely. If they were part of being Maul – or the part of being Sith.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed. “I was told she still lives.”
Maul stared at him, silent.
“You have rather proven my point about peace needing an army to guard it. Just here to say my ‘told you so’,” Obi-Wan quipped.
“Don’t play with me.”
“I don’t. It’s called a joke.”
Maul invited himself into his head, then. Brutal and unceremonious. Obi-Wan gasped – he couldn’t do anything against it. It was searing, invasive and intimate in the worst possible way.
Such an attack – it must be painful for the offender, too. But when it was over and Obi-Wan slumped forward with a gasp – his stomach turning dangerously – Maul stood over him, exhibiting no signs of discomfort.
Obi-Wan swallowed against the nausea.
“You have no plan,” Maul said. He sounded almost exasperated – seemingly by Obi-Wan’s stupidity.
But his stupidity was also his salvation.
“She could’ve been dead,” Obi-Wan reasoned.
Maul narrowed his eyes. “You’re not an idiot, Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched. Great. What else had he found in Obi-Wan’s head? Nobody except for the Jedi Order knew him as Obi-Wan Kenobi . He hadn’t used this name since the Melida/Daan conflict. Halfway through the war, he became just Ben – not as mouthful, easy for little ones to babble – and he had been Ben ever since – everywhere that mattered.
“Maybe not,” he muttered. “I’m not always certain.”
“You don’t even like her. Why are you here?” Maul demanded.
Completely illogical behaviour seemed to renew his captor’s paranoid tendencies.
“It’s not about her. You’re an oppressor playing some ominous game in the shadow of a bigger war. If I can help to restore peace, I will.”
“Naive.”
“I assure you, I buried enough children to know what peace costs, Mr. Maul. I’m anything but naive.”
Something in this sentence made Maul stop and consider Obi-Wan – really look at him – for the first time. Some sort of recalibration happened in that horned head, Obi-Wan could see this.
“You’ll stay here. Until I decide what to do with you.”
Obi-Wan inclined his head. It was reasonable. And it gave him time to think.
Maul gave him another long look. “Do I need to put a collar on you?”
“Do I have a choice?” Obi-Wan asked, genuinely surprised.
“I find the practice despicable. I would put one on a Jedi. Since you are not, I spare you, but if you try anything…"
“I won’t,” Obi-Wan promised quickly. “Yet.”
A smirk flickered over the thin lips – there and gone.
“You will hand over your weapons.”
“Of course.”
“Strip.”
Obi-Wan blinked. Then shrugged.
It was a common enough request. He stood and began peeling off the layers. Maul did not look away even once, but Obi-Wan lost the last suggestions of shame long ago.
Once he was naked, Maul knocked on the door and gestured at the pile to the soldier who appeared in the room.
“Bring him something to wear,” he said. “He’s staying.”
And that he left without as much as a goodbye.
Rude.
Maul
***
The door into his quarters hissed shut behind him.
That man – Kenobi – didn’t fit the pattern Maul had carved here since his arrival. Not Mandalorian. Not Jedi. Not even the former Duchess’ little appreciator.
A fool, maybe – but a fool trained to bring the Force to heel.
And a mouth that wouldn’t shut.
On his way back, Maul had taken his pleasure in imagining snapping his neck for that smirk. Choking him until his mouth slackens and becomes wet. The last image was vaguely erotic, which was, in itself, quite unusual for Maul.
And that was unsettling.
***
Anakin had invaded his residence again.
He had his own chambers. He wasn’t a child – a teenager by human metrics, a grown man in Maul’s eyes.
Anakin had been steadily growing into a normal size, after all. By seventeen, he became taller than Maul – which irritated and pleased him in equal measure. He was still too thin, but having grown into a warrior, he didn’t need a bulk to prove himself. He had rage for strength. He had control for an edge. He had wit for a knife.
Maul, for all intents and purposes, was proud.
And kept his eye on the boy all the closer for it.
Sidious, who presently thought Maul dead, would know of his betrayal soon, and once he would send his lackeys, or deign to come himself, he would know the boy from twelve years ago hadn’t died, caught in the skirmish between Maul and the Jedi.
He had thrived and grown into the creature who would not bend to the other’s will. That was the reason his eyes were the colour of steel.
Maul trained him to use all the rage and pain – and boy had a lot – and melt it into raw power. Reign it in, but not fall for it.
Maul was no Master to him. He would accept no Master. Too much defiance. Too many scars from refusing commands.
A beskar-head, his instructors called him. Didn’t even need his helmet.
***
Presently, Anakin sat on the floor, hunched over a piece of his armour, tweaking something with a tiny tool that emitted a high-pitched, irritating sound. Other pieces of armour were scattered all around him while he wore his sleepclothes.
“You are late,” Anakin muttered without looking up.
“I wasn’t aware I reported to you,” Maul said dryly as he walked past, catching the pale nape and giving it a brief squeeze.
Anakin didn’t shift, just growled at the manhandling.
He wasn’t allowed to stay with Maul often. He had a family to live with – the people who raised him - without restricting Maul’s access to the boy, but insisted on stability and discipline. He had siblings, combat training, advanced engineering classes, and hours of language practice. He had days and days of sparring, piloting, and instructors who were secretly awed and terrified by him.
They were supposed to spar today – proper lightsabers, no holding back - but things got derailed, and Anakin performed what Maul had learned to recognize as a teenage sulk.
“So, found something interesting to play with?” Anakin drawled, eyes still on the armour.
“Perhaps,” Maul hummed as he slowly changed into his training clothes.
“You look like he’s still breathing.”
Maul perched on the edge of the window ledge and began winding a wrap around his hand.
Having found interrogating Maul amusing enough, Anakin stopped fiddling, set his chin on his knees and looked at Maul, unblinking.
“He’s been held for questioning,” Maul supplied.
“Is he a Jedi?”
“He is not.”
“He’s got nice hair.”
Maul closed his eyes just for a moment.
“I defer to your judgment.”
“Who is he, if not a Jedi?”
“Former Jedi, possibly.”
“You’ve told me there’s no such thing.”
“Apparently, I was wrong,” Maul allowed and fixed the boy with a glare. “Are you going to spar in your pajamas?”
“Are we sparring? It’s late!”
“So?”
Anakin opened his mouth. Clothed it. Shrugged and scrambled to stand, tugging his tunic off in the same breath.
“You said if Jedi showed up here, you’d peel them,” he said as he went to rummage through Maul’s things.
“I still might.”
“No, you won’t. You’re intrigued. So am I, now. What’s his name?”
“Hush, child,” Maul willed. He pointed his index at his problematic charge. “Don’t sneak around him.”
“I won’t.”
“You will. ”
“Yes,” Anakin said easily.
Maul exhaled forcibly. He would have so much satisfaction from wiping the mats with the brat and singeing this ridiculous mop of hair around the edges.
***
Anakin
Sneaking wasn’t hard.
He’d spend most of his life learning how to disappear; together with this, he perfected the skill of reappearing in the places he absolutely wasn’t supposed to be.
It had been easier when he was smaller. Now, nearly six feet tall with ridiculously long limbs he wasn’t quite used to, it took more skill.
Still, he managed quite well. A small power surge to distract the guard, a fast sequence to override the lock, a lock-pick for the backup – and he was slipping into the chamber turned cell, easing the door closed and leaning on it with his back.
“Hi.”
The man was sitting on the edge of the mattress with one leg stretched out, packed into the soft tracksuit. He stared at Anakin for a long moment, baffled.
“Don’t remember me?” Anakin guessed.
It wasn’t new. Nobody was able to remember what he looked like just by passing him on the street. Anakin rarely found it annoying. But he did now. He wanted this man to remember him.
“Should I?” the man frowned and tilted his head like listening to something unseen. Recognition sparked. “Ah. Yes, I do. Apologies. I managed to remember only the armour, and you have changed from it since.”
Anakin could feel the quiet surge of the Force touching his shields. It made him want to recoil or never leave the room. He’d never really been so close to somebody who could use it, except for Maul.
Meanwhile, the man got up and took a careful step toward Anakin, offering his hand.
When Anakin accepted it, the man grasped his wrist.
“Obi-Wan.”
“Anakin.”
“Nice to meet you. Please make yourself at home. Fear I can’t offer you refreshments. They don’t provide tea here.”
Obi-Wan sounded wistful. It was funny, and Anakin snickered, “You are a prisoner, man.”
“The conditions are quite nice. I’ve seen worse,” he agreed and narrowed his blue eyes at Anakin. “Won’t you be in trouble for this?”
“Oh, I will. But it’s alright. He will send me to Kaan or Saxon to receive a punishment. I’ll have to spar with somebody until my arms are noodles, or run laps in full armour. Or go outside with foundlings. Are you a Jedi?”
“No.”
“Were you?”
“...Yes.”
“Knew it! Your shields are as annoying as Maul’s.”
“Is he your teacher?”
Anakin smirked and fiddled with his sleeve. “No.”
“Buir?”
He frowned. That even sounded ridiculous. Were they like father and son? Surely not. Anakin would never be such a brat around his father!
“No, he’s just… Maul. You made him nervous. It's funny to see him thinking so much .”
Obi-Wan raised a brow. “Did I, now?”
“Don’t tell him I told you.”
He chuckled. It was a nice sound. His Basic was nice and smooth and round. Posh. Anakin’s wasn’t that good, but Anakin didn’t speak Basic often.
“Of course not. We wouldn’t want you to get in even more trouble.”
***
Obi-Wan
The boy grinned, wide and giddy.
Obi-Wan quietly wondered at the ambiguity of him. A combat-ready child. Not just Force-aware, but Force-sensitive and, if Obi-Wan had to speculate, he had been deliberately hidden from detection. Casually calling Obi-Wan’s captor – the de-facto ruler of Mandalore, a Zabrak, a Sith, a big-time crime lord – just Maul. Familiar.
Sith did not raise children or exhibit great parental qualities. And yet.
“You look better clean-shaven,” the next thing Anakin offered.
Obi-Wan nearly choked on his own spit. “Excuse me?”
He got it - he loathed the beard. It was itchy and scraggy. But the razors weren’t included in prison amenities, and Obi-Wan couldn’t argue that it was a reasonable restriction.
When Anakin saw him for the first time, he’d had a sneaky shave just before disembarkment – and by now, he was looking slightly uncivilized.
Still, the comment was… strange.
“Oh, no. I’m not flirting with you. Though I’m sure you’re good-looking by humanoid standards. I’m not really into guys.”
“Good to know?” Obi-Wan said, even more befuddled but also helplessly amused by this case of social awkwardness.
“Are you?” Anakin blurted and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops, inappropriate thing to ask. Don’t answer that! What I meant is, I can sneak you shaving stuff next time.”
“That’s very stupid, Anakin,” Obi-Wan asserted, scratching at his awful stubble.
“You can ask Maul. He hates too much hair on humans. Keeps threatening to shave mine off in my sleep.”
Obi-Wan had no idea how to react to that.
Anakin, blissfully unaware of Obi-Wan’s confusion, went on.
“You know some cool tricks? Do Jedi even have cool tricks?”
“Define ‘cool’.”
“Something Maul couldn’t show me.”
Interesting. Obi-Wan smirked and tilted his head. “What does Maul show you?”
Anakin realized his misstep here. Looked at Obi-Wan, immediately on alert.
“Inappropriate thing to ask for me, perhaps,” Obi-Wan conceded with a wave of his hand. “I’ll assume Maul’s strong side is to manipulate chaos. So, something from the other side of the spectrum, instead.”
Obi-Wan thought for a moment.
The idea came to him. He doubted Anakin was well-travelled. And the room was a perfect fit, with the lack of windows and its quiet stillness that could be quite oppressive in solitude.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and searched for a memory – something free and peaceful. Something that evoked that painful pull in his chest, the longing to be back home. Pure.
They had planted a forest on Melidaan. After the government had been finally established and the first villages had been rebuilt from the rubble, the AgriCorp came. Many were Obi-Wan’s crechemates, his friends, eager to see him, to know he lived. They brought edible crops to plant, but they also brought the trees.
They planted those trees in the fields where the Young had been buried. To let it be not the place of grief, but the place of hope and life.
The trees grew well. Birds nested and bugs returned. Small animals settled into the safety of the roots. It was never quiet, but always peaceful. The air was fresh. Obi-Wan loved to hide there. Climb the tree or just sit beneath it on the ground, leaning on the trunk. Just be.
He projected that memory into the room around them. Not an illusion – just the feeling. The light filtering through the foliage like a shimmering veil. The smell of soil and old leaves. The hushed sounds of life.
When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he was met with a stunned expression on Anakin’s face.
“What is it?”
“Something from my memory. The place that makes me feel settled.”
“What is the place?”
“A forest. On my home planet. Close your eyes. I will describe it to you.”
Because Anakin didn’t need an illusion. Like any child, he had an imagination.
So Anakin closed his eyes with the sweet eagerness of someone who still wanted stories, and Obi-Wan narrated what his forest looked like in the hour of lazy evening sun.
“You shared a good memory with me,” Anakin told him when he stopped. He looked both awed and baffled.
“Did you like it?”
“It has no use. But it felt good.”
“Then it has at least one use,” Obi-Wan smiled.
“Can you teach me?” Anakin inclined his head. “Next time. I’m about to get caught.”
“Next time,” Obi-Wan promised. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Anakin.”
“Likewise,” Anakin grinned and saluted the guard who opened the door.