The benefit of Anakin never truly learning to master his expressions is that even now, all but Force blind and staggering under the differences in his Padawan, the mercurial rage and roil of feelings that cause a sandstorm in the Force he would feel like pressure at the base of his skull is just as evident in the flare of those terrible eyes, the crumpling of his brow and snarl of lip. Something terrible has happened- that goes without question. Something to wound Anakin so deeply and keenly that all he has left in him is to lash out-
Having never been the target of such an attack it doesn't occur to Obi-Wan to try to divert it, not that he could. He's yanked forward, boots dragging in the dirt, hands flying to his own throat to stave off that intangibly tangible crushing pressure, breath wheezing. Dooku did so love to do this- Asaji hadn't quite mastered the skill. But they were sith.
This? This is Anakin.
The boy he all but raised, the boy he trained, the boy he fought to keep, bled for, nearly died for, tended to with patience and tea and pride, with too much care if the Council had their concerns noted. What has he done to earn this? What lesson, what mission failed, what frustrated word earned him this-
This hatred?
"Anakin-" Confusion whirls in his mind more than fear, sharper than sorrow, and he barely manages not to collapse to his knees when he's dropped, rubbing at his throat and coughing- though he does stagger. Toward the boy, not away. Even in the worst of his rages, the depths of his frustration, Anakin never truly wanted to be alone. Sending him away was the worst sort of punishment, one Obi-Wan learned to avoid early on. "What- Stars, what happened? You've- you've just been Knighted, how...how long has it been?"
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Having never been the target of such an attack it doesn't occur to Obi-Wan to try to divert it, not that he could. He's yanked forward, boots dragging in the dirt, hands flying to his own throat to stave off that intangibly tangible crushing pressure, breath wheezing. Dooku did so love to do this- Asaji hadn't quite mastered the skill. But they were sith.
This? This is Anakin.
The boy he all but raised, the boy he trained, the boy he fought to keep, bled for, nearly died for, tended to with patience and tea and pride, with too much care if the Council had their concerns noted. What has he done to earn this? What lesson, what mission failed, what frustrated word earned him this-
This hatred?
"Anakin-" Confusion whirls in his mind more than fear, sharper than sorrow, and he barely manages not to collapse to his knees when he's dropped, rubbing at his throat and coughing- though he does stagger. Toward the boy, not away. Even in the worst of his rages, the depths of his frustration, Anakin never truly wanted to be alone. Sending him away was the worst sort of punishment, one Obi-Wan learned to avoid early on. "What- Stars, what happened? You've- you've just been Knighted, how...how long has it been?"