GOOD LESSON.
— PROLOGUE —
' AN UNFORESEEN RETURN. '
( pamarthe, 20 BBY. )

   IT FELT LIKE OBI-WAN WAS DROWNING. Grief washes over him in tremendous waves, each more powerful than the last. It was as if a thousand storms surged and battered his mind and body with electrifying sorrows filled with loss, heartache, and ruin. A lump forms in his throat, and he can feel his stomach twisting in every direction imaginable. Blood pounds into his head, like an endless drumming that sounded eerily similar to the heavy footsteps of a clone squadron ready for battle.

   Every inch of his body trembles, until it finally gives up on him, and he collapses in a heap at the foot of his bed. The holopad he cradled clatters to the floor, continuing the blueish message even though he hadn't finished it.

   His hands tremor, and calloused fingers try to dig themselves into the soft material of his mattress. Hot tears roll out of his steel-blue eyes and sting rosy cheeks as he tries to silently weep to himself; knowing full well these are tears he shouldn't — no, couldn't cry.

   Obi-Wan had received the holo-transmission three days ago, but had fought himself on actually listening to its contents once he had discovered where it originated from . . . Pamarthe.

   There was nothing in the world that could have prepared himself for anything of this sort, and he never expected to ever hear from Pamarthe again; not after what had happened all those years ago. He had been so young — so naïve, so immature in his ways and thinking. Everything had been so different, and yet, still felt right.

   The Jedi lets out a sharp breath, running a hand through his auburn hair. Minutes seem to flicker by as he stares blankly at the bare walls in his chambers illuminated only by the light from the hologram. Sound continued to flow from its speakers, but Obi-Wan couldn't force himself to actually listen to it, but he couldn't ignore it either. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to deal with it in some way, shape, or form.

   Obi-Wan closes his eyes, steadying his breathing in hopes to slow his racing heartbeat. Gently, he places a hand to pick up the transmitter he wishes he had accidentally broken. His fingers quickly turn the machine off, and then on again to restart the hologram; they start to shake once more. The room darkens for a split second, only to be re-lit by the blue light of three human frames on the holopad.

   Obi-Wan gulps. Force, he thinks, immediately regretting his decision. This was a mistake.

   The blued figures before him are that of the remaining members of the Solari line: Prince Oberon stands to the left, now the oldest of the three original siblings; to his right stands Princess Ondiné, the youngest. In the center, however, stands the third between the Solari siblings — a young girl, with her head downcast and a sullen expression painted across her face. She couldn't have been older than fifteen by the looks of it, but she was unfamiliar to him. Even at his second look, he couldn't gather who she was.

   The prince began with a blank stare, "Master Kenobi — Obi-Wan," he corrected himself, shaking his head. "I know we didn't end on the best of terms. None of us did, but it is vital that you be a part of this. She would have wanted it. We need your help."

   "We need you to come back," Ondiné offers almost as a command, and there's a strain on her voice begging not to crack. "There's been word, opposition and . . . violent action against the Crown. Hara . . . she . . "

   "She's dead," the girl utters breathlessly, almost unheard by the static of the transmission.

   Upon hearing this a second time through, Obi-Wan clenches the pad firmly and refuses to let his knees buckle.

   She was dead. And he wished he was dreaming.

Ondiné's discolored eyes grow wide, and the Solari siblings heads' whip towards their younger counterpart. "Maris!" Ondiné snaps, almost close to tears, immediately exiting the frame of the hologram, and dragging Maris off with her.

   "Yes, Queen Sahara is dead." The prince exhales sharply, closing his eyes before he further explains, "It all happened so quickly, and there was no warning. In short, my friend, I believed that she was murdered. Now, I wouldn't dare make this assumption if I wasn't absolutely sure that it was them, but I believe Separatists are behind this. I — We request your assistance in investigating the death of our sister."

   Obi-Wan makes a fist, running his free hand over his lined brow. What Oberon had revealed was a rather large accusation. Was there another Separatist plot to take over Pamarthe? Not impossible, but not very likely. Not to mention that Separatists were not very adamant on killing an entire planet's leader without fearing they would go running to the Republic; at least, not in Obi-Wan's opinion.

   Unfortunately for Pamarthe, its politics were . . . less traditional, in a word; Pamarthen politics were a story for another time.

   "There's much more to say, but too much to explain over this message, and I'll clarify everything as soon as you arrive," Oberon continues, his words almost dripping with a false eagerness for the Jedi to return. "We are fearful, Ondiné and myself, for our lives, but especially for the child's life — Maris' life. We believe this attack will not be singular, and that they will continue to take us out one by one . . . especially the girl. I believe they intend to eradicate the Solari line."

   The prince straightens his posture. "Technically," he almost seethes through the hologram, "Maris is heir of Pamarthe," his manner shifts, "Now, I've encrypted any information you might need to this datapad. No need to send a response to the palace; I know that you will come. We await your arrival, Obi-Wan."

   The holo-transmission flashes off, only slightly darkening his once blue-lit chambers. Obi-Wan tosses the pad far away from him, turning his back to and from it. Ultimately, he lets out an exasperated groan and puts his head in his hands before he stands up and starts pacing the length of his small chambers.

   Obi-Wan Kenobi was bound to Pamarthe — by his past, and by the Republic. There was no getting out of this summons. No, this demand from Oberon and Ondiné. He wasn't sure if he could find some way to weave his way out of ever visiting the planet again, or if he actually wanted to go. Nothing good could come out of either situation, he was sure of that.

   Standing takes more effort than he had anticipated, especially on his shaky legs that teeter with each breath he takes. The Jedi sighs again, this time it's almost a relief.

   Obi-Wan would go to the Council, maybe against his better judgment, and present his case to his fellow members. Although Pamarthe was in league with the Republic, they were trying to leave it for the Council of Neutral Systems, which made them a prime target for both a Separatist takeover and Republic intervention. He frowns, realizing that the Council will use this summons from the Solaris as a means to convince new Pamarthen leadership to continue their citizenship within the Republic. Additionally, Pamarthen whiskey was hard to come by, and after this trip, Obi-Wan knew he would be in need of some.  

   He nods his head to himself, gesturing his right hand towards the holopad, and it floats obediently into his grip. "Right," Wan says aloud, careful not to forget his caramel colored robe hanging by the magnetic door. "I have a bad feeling about this."

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   IT HADN'T TAKEN MUCH TO CONVINCE the Jedi Council that he was needed on Pamarthe. As soon as he had announced there was believed to be a "Separatist plot" on the planet, it seemed as if Master Windu didn't care about anything else, and Master Yoda and the rest of the Council didn't ask any further questions. For this, Obi-Wan was thankful.

   He had seen Anakin Skywalker and his Togruta Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, on his way to the main hangar of the Jedi Temple. Anakin, as usual, had tried to pry any information out of his former master as possible ( in a joking manner, of course ), but Obi-Wan only gave the pair a weak smile and curt nod before heading on his way. Normally, he wouldn't have acted this way towards his closest confidant, but he was in no headspace to deal with Anakin's childish antics. He hoped they would understand.

   The blurred outline of hyperspace encompasses the Jedi starfighter in a blanket of lapis starlight, casting its luminous brilliance over his stern face. Obi-Wan finds comfort in this as he sits silently in the cockpit, twiddling his fingers nervously as he waits for R4-P17 to signal him to pull out of lightspeed. Obi-Wan loses all sense of time as he stares woefully into hyperspace. A thousand questions race in an endless cycle in his mind. Was he really going back to Pamarthe? Had Oberon forgiven him ( because Obi sure hadn't ) ? Who was Maris? Could Sahara truly be dead? His head hurt again, and he wished he could pilot the ship around and take it straight back to Coruscant.

   The droid's beeps almost startle him, shaking him out of his trance. "Go ahead, Arfour," he assures the astromech, running a hand through his beard.

   The Delta-7 whirrs as it drops out of hyperspace, and R4 detaches it from the hyperdrive ring. The obsidian background of space is laced with hundreds of thousands of stars of all colors, and in the center of it all lies the water-world of Pamarthe. The Mid-Rim planet is a sight to be seen — brilliant waters in every shade of blue cover most of the surface, emerald islands dot the water sparingly, save for the mainland of Anapos and the capital city of Brizo, where Obi-Wan was bound. As the interceptor approaches the planet, he feels the knot in his stomach tighten. He never thought he would see this place again.

   Static erupts on the communication link of the ship. "Delta-pilot, what is your course?" the comms administrator asks.

   "This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," he introduces, "I've been given an invitation by Prince Oberon for . . . for the Queen's funeral."

   "Standby." Several moments pass by until the static crackles again and the comms officer replies, "Cleared for entry, Delta-pilot. Your course is set for the palace docking ports. You may approach, and we'll inform Prince Oberon of your arrival."

   Obi-Wan frowns. "Thank you," he almost whispers to the comms. There is no response. "Arfour? If you don't mind, I think I'll take us in." The astromech lets out a series of beeps in agreement.

   From outside the starfighter, he can make out the serene beauty of the city of Brizo, with the Solari palace directly on the coastline. It's not long before he makes his final approach, and lands on the platform instructed.

   "Force be with me," Obi-Wan tells himself, pressing the button to release the cockpit glass. He shrugs to bring his tan cloak closer to his chest and covers his amber hair with the hood. "Stay with the ship, Arfour."

   The wind whips at his robes, and he can taste the strong aura of salt from the ocean in his mouth. White marble structures and towers gleam in the bright sunlight of the cloudless day, almost blinding him. Golden accents are painted on the main dome's gables, and etched in navy tiles onto the outside of the ivory walls are sea creatures native to the depths of the Pamarthen ocean. Obi-Wan remembers this place all too well. He closes his eyes to take in the scents of the planet, and the sun warms his skin. For a second, a thin smile forms on his lips.

   I shouldn't be here, he frowns, immediately opening his eyes and ruining his moment of peace. Controlling his feelings was harder than it looked, and it hurt his heart knowing there was nothing he could have done to help her. I should have been here.

   A door leading off from the docking pad and into the palace opens to reveal a greeting party. Obi-Wan recognizes the familiar faces of Prince Oberon and Princess Ondiné striding towards him in traditional Pamarthen robes of dark blue and white, with hints of golden specks woven into the expensive material. Guards surround either side of them, walking two by two and seemingly on high alert. In the center leads the young girl Wan had seen in the hologram — Maris. The new Queen of Pamarthe as Oberon had explained to him.

   "Obi-Wan Kenobi!" the boisterous voice of Oberon Solari greets. The royal posse approaches the Jedi, who respectfully bows.

   Obi straightens his posture and gives a small smile to Oberon and the rest of his welcome party. "I appreciate the invitation, Prince Oberon, but I can't say that I'm elated to be here on such . . . terms as these."

   The Pamarthen prince lets out a scoff, "Understandably so, but I can assure you, we'll get to the bottom of this with your help and protection. Pamarthe thanks you for your service on such short notice."

   Obi-Wan nods curtly.

   "Given your . . . history with my sister," Oberon wraps his arm around Obi-Wan, turning back towards the palace, and ignoring Ondiné and Maris, "Your presence is welcome here, my friend. Oh, how rude of me!" Prince Oberon laughs to himself, "Ondiné, why don't you greet our guest and introduce him to Princess Maris — I'm sorry. Queen Maris."

   "Uncle," the girl speaks softly, "I'm not the queen. Not yet."

   Uncle? questions Obi-Wan, but his face remains as calm as he could.

   "Right, how silly of me to forget," he says quickly, almost ignoring her voice.

   Obi-Wan stares at the girl. Instead of robes like Ondiné and Oberon, she is clothed in white, with navy blue trim circling the rather simple garb. Her dark onyx hair is curled in perfect ringlets around her tanned, freckled face. She was tall for her age, and held her head high as if she were untouchable by anyone — which Obi-Wan gathered she was. A golden tiara is placed tastefully upon her brow, with a single navy gemstone in the center, drawing one's eye toward its simple beauty. Wan notices that it compliments her eyes, which were a dark cobalt only few could miss. Everything about her seems to resemble . . .

   Oh, Wan realizes.

   "Obi-Wan, it's so good to see you again," Ondiné lowers her head and raises her lips to form a lopsided smile. She turns to the young lady beside her, stroking her curls, "May I formally introduce you to Princess Maris, the queen-to-be of Pamarthe, and daughter of Queen Sahara."

   Obi-Wan stiffly bows towards the young woman, careful about his tone and body language, "I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance, Your Excellency." He feels his knees about to buckle. Sahara's daughter? he wants to blurt out.

   "Thank you," she sighs sadly, "I'm pleased to meet a Jedi Master as honorable as you, Master Kenobi."

   Oberon clasps his hands together, "Now that we have exchanged our formalities, let us prepare for refreshments."

   Obi-Wan gulps as he is practically dragged away from the platform and into the Solari palace — into the den of the Pamarthen lions.

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   A SERVANT KNOCKS ON HIS CHAMBER doors after an hour to inform him of a message from the prince. He was supposed to be relaxing, but he paces the dark blue floors of the ornate room as if his life depended on it. He had no possessions to unpack either. Obi-Wan's robes had been the only thing he had brought, save his lightsaber; which stayed dutifully on his hip where he hoped it would remain the entirety of his visit.

   And, to top it all off, he couldn't wrap his head around Maris. A child — her child? Obi-Wan knew that Sahara had married soon after his departure from Pamarthe, but he couldn't ever remember an announcement about the birth of their daughter. He also wasn't blind to the fact that he knew exactly who she had married — Boaz Vulen of Savareen — who hadn't been in the holo-transmission or the welcome party. Obi's thoughts turn to his first meeting of the Savareen noble, who was engaged to be wed ( and, eventually did ) to Sahara before he had ever stepped foot on Pamarthe. He raises the corner of his mouth ever so slightly, almost allowing himself to feel some sort amusing emotion while he was here. Obi-Wan and Boaz never seemed to properly get along . . .

   No, he shakes his head, Focus. Focus on your purpose. Be mindful of your feelings.

   He tries to heed his own advice; advice he is always so quick to call Anakin out on, and he can't even do it himself. Wan knows he should have spent his time meditating; Force knew he needed it. Or he could have been contacting the Council to apprise them of the current situation of Pamarthe's monarchy. He felt like drinking an entire bottle of Pamarthen Port-in-a-Storm whiskey.

   He wraps his cloak tighter around his body before leaving his chambers, and it provides a weak source of security for the Jedi. Oh, how he wanted to go home.

   Oberon, Ondiné, and the future queen are waiting for him in the hallway outside the main gallery, under the dome known as the Oceanic Chalice. Inside, Obi-Wan can see dozens, maybe even a hundred or so people awaiting the royal family's arrival in the Chalice. He assumed he was apart of their party as well, and hoped they hadn't been waiting on him too long.

   All this for refreshments? he tries to make his face look as friendly as possible.

   "Did you get lost, old friend?" japes Oberon, who subsequently is elbowed forcefully in the ribs by Ondiné.

   "Now is not the time or place." She shoots Oberon a dirty look.

   Obi-Wan turns his head towards the dark blue marble that ran from the hallway to the inside of the Chalice. "My apologies, I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting."

   Maris shakes her head. "There is nothing to be forgiven, Master Jedi."

   He looks up softly and nods in thanks to the young princess.

   "If you'll follow me, please," Maris instructs, smoothing her white robes out. "I think we all could use a drink." Obi-Wan chuckles softly to himself, reminding himself of her age; and how her mother would tell him stories of her stealing her parents' liquor at Maris' age. He realizes this is the first real smile that he's had at the mention of Hara.

   Maris leads the party into the Oceanic Chalice, Oberon follows, then Ondiné, and finally, Obi-Wan.

   His boots seem to echo too loudly in the hallway, at least to him. Obi-Wan's feet drag with each step he takes, and he wants to collapse. It's almost as if he can feel the blood racing to his heart, pumping too fast for his aging body to handle; not to mention he can hear his heartbeat in his temples pounding.

   He enters behind the princess into the Chalice. More people than he had expected were under the dome. Most were dressed in navy, while others wore grey garments that made Obi-Wan feel even more depressed.

   Obi-Wan agreed with Maris. He, too, needed a drink.

   In the center of the Chalice, he sees it — the casket — her.

   Pale. Still. Dead.

   The truth washes over him quickly. This was reality, and Sahara Solari was truly dead.

   As Maris approaches her mother, Obi-Wan can better see her from where she lies. Oberon circles around the hovering casket, and Ondiné does the same. He follows suit. Obi-Wan is reminded of the funeral of the Solari children's parents all those years ago, and had forgotten how strange Pamarthen funeral customs were.

   Sahara's obsidian hair has alabaster colored wildflowers laden gracefully around her face. She is dressed in a similar outfit as Maris, white with navy trim, but the fabric is that of silk. Her skin is smooth, but discolored and it takes away from the once lively persona he once knew. He wants to reach out, to brush a finger against her cheek, to have her smile again, to see —

   His thoughts of her in their past are drowned out by Maris, who seems to have been trying to get his attention.

   "Master Kenobi?"

   But Obi-Wan is staring at Hara.

   She had been bright, vivacious once. The center of his attention for a long time — a long time ago in his youth. It had been his duty, no, his privilege to protect her. Protection, however, had turned into something . . . more, something that no Jedi, nor queen such as her should have sought after, especially in the manner they had met, or at all for that matter.

   "Master Kenobi." This time he hears his name, he whips his head away from her to face her daughter. "If you'll follow me."

   He nods curtly, almost like Arfour is guiding him on autopilot, and follows in suit after Maris and the Solari siblings, who seem to be leagues of steps ahead of him. He turns around once more, only when he feels like he can't see her face in the casket.

   Breathing deeply, Obi-Wan lets his feelings rush over him for a brief moment. He allows thoughts of their youth together to wash over him like the waves that hit the castle below. Wan thinks of how they first met, and what drew him and Master Qui-Gon to protect Hara. He remembers her smile, and the lines that were gently carved around her mouth from all the laughter they had shared together. Obi-Wan can remember the first time he felt her lips on his own, and that first night they spent together so many years ago. A sinking feeling forms in the pit of his stomach as he tries to shake away how they had left things after her safety was secured; and how all these years later, he should have been there to protect her — but he wasn't.

   He blinks hard, determined to fight off tears that he wishes that he could cry. Obi-Wan breathes deeply and snaps back to reality, continuing behind the young princess and remaining Solari siblings. He knew what had to be done on Pamarthe — Separatist plot or not — and he would investigate the death of the queen.

   There was a lesson to be learned in Obi-Wan Kenobi's visit to Pamarthe, but he knew that it was nothing compared to the lesson that Sahara Solari had taught him in their time together — a good lesson in love.

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A / N.
welcome back to my horrible star wars obsession!!!!!! enjoy the re-published prologue with a few changes!!! i am very excited for this story and have found lots of time and energy to write again — SO IM PUMPED!!!!! obi & hara are so perfect to me <3

smoochies!! — mar