Chapter 1: J327
Chapter Text
under the tongue root, a fight most dread, and another raging behind in the head.
Part One
Chapter 1 - J327
silver ship slides quietly, not silently, between the dimensions. rocking with the motion of hyperspace; the engines whirr, the occasional whistle and bleep from the remaining Artoo unit. it stands in the centre of the engine room, tinkering with the hyperdrive; Obi-Wan keeps an eye on it.
he takes one look at the readings the hyperdrive gives off. groans.
“you don’t think you can go back out and fix this now?” he asks the astromech.
not a standard day out from Tatooine and they are slowing already. his master figures it isn’t just the generator that took a hit from the Federation ships; hence Obi-Wan checks again. it is the motivator too, running far below capacity, meaning they will be stranded.
Artoo whistles back in reply, somehow indignant. ‘not on your life.’
“i thought not”.
he decides to tell his master before they sleep, so heaves himself to his feet; goes to find Qui-Gon. down a short corridor to the rear-ward hold where the droids are kept, or had been. his master is not there but one of the younger handmaids is. she’s rearranging the blankets over the boy, Anakin.
“eh-hem,” he coughs, starling her. she looks up, glaring, holding a finger to her lips. he realises it is the girl who went with Qui-Gon into Mos Espa.
“shush!” she hisses.
“sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”
“you didn’t,” she says. he is about to speak but she gestures for him to follow her out the door and into the corridor. there’s no one else about.
“don’t wake Anakin,” she warns.
“i won’t.”
“what do you want then?”
“have you seen Master Qui-Gon, sorry?” he asks. “he said he needed the motivator readouts for tonight.”
“in your cabin,” she replies. “meditating, said he didn’t want to be disturbed. give them to Captain Olié instead.”
he ignores her suggestions and continues. “i just thought when we arrive on Coruscant we can take a proper look at it with the Order’s tech droids on hand. we’ve caused you all the trouble – the least we can do is help you repair the ship.”
“no thanks,” she says; begins to walk away but then turns to say something else. “you flatter yourselves.”
“what?”
“placing yourselves always at the centre of everything,” she says. “in thinking that, you expose a perceived self-importance. you and all Jedi.”
“i don’t understand what you mean,” says Obi-Wan.
“what you just told me. that it’s your fault. it’s not – it’s the Federation’s. but you try to make everything revolve around you.”
“we do not,” he objects.
“it’s not very humble,” she insists. “i want any Jedi to have some humility, i thought?”
“the Jedi are sworn to serve all,” he says. “i apologise if mine or Master Qui-Gon’s offers of help are…”
he doesn’t know what they are. caught off-guard by her questions, he doesn’t know what to say at all.
“the Queen seems to appreciate us,” he argues lamely.
“you don’t know her; how can you be sure?”
she doesn’t let him answer. then, airily.
“regardless: we don’t need your help. give the readouts to Captain Olié.”
“shouldn’t it be the Queen who makes that decision?” he asks.
without answering, she turns and goes into the forwards hold. again, it is empty. sits down at the little table and takes out a small flask. swigs and offers it to him immediately. he declines with a wave of his hand. the handmaid shrugs and continues drinking,
“aren’t you a little young for that,” he adds, to the flask.
‘as if you’re any older than me,’ she snorts, and then he realises that without thinking he’s heard it not through the tense air between them but through the Force. it wasn’t deliberate, but he withdraws – she doesn’t seem to have noticed – and he keeps himself open to it.
she looks up at him.
“i have a question,” she says, direct.
“by all means,” he replies, and he doesn’t know what they’re into suddenly, but the conversation has changed.
“have you ever had a drink?” she asks. “or do you stay away from it completely, don’t you?”
and they’re not an apprentice and a handmaid anymore, but a young hot-headed man and a younger, beautiful girl.
(“you oh-so-pure Jedi”)
Obi-Wan avoids the question.
“Naboo,” he says, thinking. “before Master Kim, there wasn’t a registered Force-sensitive in over 3000 years and not a single Jedi in twice that. right?”
she doesn’t answer; they are making a habit of these open-ended questions though. and he wants her to understand.
“well, it’s not necessarily that black-and-white,” he says answering the wrong question. he pulls up a seat and tries to explain.
think the words through before you say them, Obi-Wan, an old tutor’s advice echoes.
“i don’t drink much,” he says. “my friend, Siri, does. when she can. they don’t like us doing it, it blurs your connection to the Force, but there’s no actual rule against it for Jedi. Master Dooku knew much about wine, fine dining, culture and music and all the rest – he was born Count of Serenno. so he passed on a lot of that to my master, who was his apprentice.
“and of course, you know how it is with the Order –”
“i don’t, actually,” she interrupts. “i’ve never met a Jedi padawan before.”
“well… Master Qui-Gon and others think that the High Council are too strict.”
“they take a lot of the rules too seriously?”
“they have too narrow an interpretation of some parts of the code. actually, a lot of the code.”
“like?” she asks.
he thinks this through too for a while before answering.
“having a full life,” he says finally. “a proper life is a full one, with a real home and a real family. some Jedi flourish as we are. some don’t. some feel the path of the Force leads them to both knighthood and to family. that’s what we all want; isn’t it?”
“well no,” she disagrees. “i thought the whole point of being above us mere citizens is you’re so mystic and celibate.”
bang. she says the word.
“never loving, never losing, never learning.”
“maybe,” he says. then. “no, no. that’s not all true – we do learn, we must always be learning, always moving, because the Force is living. it is a dynamic Force, and to inhabit it, we must be dynamic. alive.”
they sit in silence.
“but to have to feel no emotion at all,” she goes on. “that must be hard.”
“pardon?”
she’s wrong, but he’s wary of her, wary of her tack.
“to never feel any attachment,” she says. suddenly sounds more interested, more caring once again. “it must be hard, isn’t it?”
“well it’s not about feeling emotion, it’s not even about ignoring it,” he corrects. “it’s about overcoming it, not letting it have mastery over you.”
beat.
“who was the last person close to you who passed away?” he asks.
she has an answer ready in her mouth, but can’t get it out. takes a swig from the flask to get her up.
“my grandmother. she died last year.”
“and you miss her?”
he is consciously imitating words Master Yoda has said a thousand times to a hundred-thousand padawans.
“yes.”
“that’s something we can’t do,” he says. “not even for a moment. you; your grandmother. it was sad. and it was sorrowful, but in time, the grief lessens, and numbs, and becomes bearable. it becomes a scar that heals, and one you can live with. and in a few more months’ time, you’ll feel back to normal, because you are, but when you think of her there’s that empty space, like missing the topmost stair, and the catch in your throat turns to sadness again.”
she nods.
“we can’t allow any of that. even for a day. it would impact our connection to the Force; it would hinder us. we have to be above it, have to have no... we can’t miss them, we can’t mourn them. that’s why it’s so important to take younglings whilst they are still infants. i think about my parents, who they would be. but i do not know who they are, what they look like, what their names are. so i can’t miss them, and i can’t mourn them if and when they die. i have no connection to them. and that’s what it’s about – no connection.”
“save only to the Force?”
he nods back at her.
“save only the Force. and through our connection to the Force we are connected to everything. to every living being in existence, everyone. every tree and plant; every animal, every rock. every star, every planet.”
she breathes in.
at the beauty of it.
“so yes,” he smiles. “it is hard.”
he holds out his hand across the table and it takes a second for her to realise what he is reaching for. she places the flask in it; he draws it up to his mouth. she’s shocked, thinking he is going to take a drink, but he just hovers it under his nostrils, smells the liquor.
sweet.
“what is it?” he asks.
“honey whisky,” she says. “and we sweeten it more with sugar.”
he giggles at the thought. rot your teeth.
“it is a hard life,” he says, “Master Qui-Gon made sure Anakin knew that too. harder than the physical training, tougher than the education, the politics, the negotiation. and far harder than training with the Force.”
“go on,” she says, enthralled.
“it’s quite ironic, actually,” he realises. “you’re working with a Force that varies according to emotion. and we – i should say, i mean, some say – that we deny ourselves emotion. Grand Master Yoda always said it was about not letting the emotion master you. but i don’t know.”
“why not?”
“we feel and process these human emotions – love, anger, sorrow, hate – all like you. yet we are told not use them. we’re not allowed to.”
“and it’s about balancing it?” she asks again.
“yes but to balance it, you have to be contented, to be at peace.”
“and Jedi aren’t allowed contentment?”
“i’m not. and i don’t think it is balanced. Master Qui-Gon says so. instead, all Yoda’s teaching focus on Ashla, the light side of the Force. i don’t think it was meant to be like that, not originally, not before –”
and here he stops and hesitates.
she looks up at him and he realises how desperately pretty the handmaiden is.
“what do you know about the Hundred-Year Darkness?” he asks, turning it to political history.
“of the Jedi?”
he nods. “Ashla meant the whole Force, all emotions, good and evil. a Jedi’s skill lay in his mastery of self so he could use the Force without falling to either side. but some Jedi wanted to use pure emotion to gain control of the Force, to master it, rather than be in balance with it.”
“uh-huh,” she says. interested now.
“these Jedi became more powerful than any before. but as with all power, it corrupted them. they fell to the Dark Side – Boga – and nearly destroyed the Order. since then, those who remained have had to spend all our effort opposing them, them and their teachings.”
“what did they say?”
he hesitates before deciding to tell her. he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know why he trusts her, but he does.
“they became the Sith. we thought they had been wiped out a thousand years ago. but now, that figure, that Force-wielder that pursued Master Qui-Gon… it may be the Sith. he thinks it; he hasn’t said it, but i can feel it.”
she pales. she knows that much then.
“they taught that emotions give you power and should be encouraged.”
“and so the Force is no longer balanced?”
“exactly.”
she understands. she understands everything, he realises.
“have you ever loved anyone?” the girl asks, changing topic again.
“me?” Obi-Wan says. “why?”
“i just want to know.”
“thrice. once when i was 13, when i was 15, and again when i was 18.”
“so that would make you what – 22 in standard years? you can’t be older than that,” she smirks.
the handmaid thinks she has her mind sufficiently shielded, but the energy just coming off her speaks the language all human teenagers the galaxy wide could interpret. something, he picks up, about range.
“i wouldn’t say so,” counters Obi-Wan. “what you said about never loving and never learning, you’re wrong. i learnt my lesson.”
“of course you did,” she says, and got up.
creeps right up to him, eyes fluttering, and even though he is in control, and even though he is a Jedi (tells himself), and even though he is one with the Force and the Force is with me, he can’t help dart tempt no cannot
“and to be honest,” she says.
no cannot not going to work, not going to fall, not going to notice the breathing hot down the collar of his tunic, not because she’s the Queen’s handmaid, not because she’s a teenager for kriff’s sake, not going to turn red (heat or not) not not can not
“i wouldn’t be interested in the slightest,” Padmé Naberrie whispers.
and exits the hold, leaving him alone with a sleeping child.
*
Chapter 2: Triple Zero
Chapter Text
Chapter 2 - Triple Zero
there's one, and there's the other, and the third follows quickly, and he's content with the rest being clouded in the twilight haze of the Republic's ancient capital. the last couple of days through not quite nothing, and he is ready to stand under a real sun, breath real air, no matter how polluted it is. Coruscant glitters, and piercing through the centre of it is the Temple Precinct. he loves it, although love is not attachment, and attachment is not possession. it is not his, almost, he is its. this home owns him.
"meet me tomorrow at midday," Qui-Gon says. "Council Spire atrium. rest well, and read the report i'll send you in the morning."
he obeys, and intends to obey, intends to rest. but when he reaches his cell, there is a seatree frond on his cot. Obi-Wan knows what it means, and counts the feathers.
'where must the girl be sleeping tonight?' he wonders, but pushes the thought down and away.
regardless, he strips off the dirty tunics and swaps it for a fresh set, lays them out on the cot next to the seatree frond. there's no mirror in the cell, for self is vanity, and vanity is pride, and pride is anger and arrogance and selfishness itself. but he is good, he thinks.
there's a little door at the base of it all, and when he is tired, like now, or unsure, like now, or even afraid, like he must not be, he throws it open and lets the Force flow through him. i'm one with the Force and the Force is with me. it is enough to get him back into uniform and back out the door, on his way to the nearest refectories. Siri says that the young knights have snacks in their common room, or so it's said. but he falls into a familiar tread, and it's good to be home, and the refectory is near. he knows it for too long, spent too long, wants to be raised to knighthood. but want is self, and self is vanity, and either way, he needs caf.
'there is no emotion; there is peace. there is no ignorance; there is knowledge. there is no passion; there is serenity. there is no chaos; there is harmony. there is no death; there is the Force.'
he recites it to himself, over and over, it the oddest of places and the most inappropriate, some would say. but also the most mundane.
"make it a part of you," Master Qui-Gon had said. "in your breathing and your thinking; in your waking and your sleeping, in your eating and your drinking. everything you do is to serve the Living Force, and so everything you do should follow the Code."
and so he does, even now, even sat here sipping caf.
'there is no emotion; there is peace. there is no ignorance; there is knowledge. there is no tiredness; there is caf. there is no exhaustion; there is caf. there is no chance; there is caf.'
he smirks at the irreverence, but feels the movement within him, and the agency, and the urgency, and the *life*. the Force drives life, the Force forms life, the Force connects life, the Force creates life; gives it worth, gives it meaning, gives it matter. we exist as beings in the Force, and it precedes us and proceeds us, predates us and predates upon us, prefigures and transfigures us. i'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me.
later, slips past all manner of service and cleaning droids that prowl the corridors at night. the lights are dimmed; the few Jedi who wander don't see him or choose not to see him. either way, he reaches the outmost west wall undisturbed.
the loose window has been there for millennia, and so all the Jedi know it is there. Bant already waits for him, her large eyes reflecting the Temple's twilight. he can feel her, and she him, the Force extended around him in every direction, but in a comfortable and almost drowsy way.
"Obi-Wan," she whispers in the dark, "welcome back."
he smiles the old, familiar sound of her voice and the friends embrace. she has that same scent of the water and the wild, and it isn't too strong or too sour, it is fresh and thinking of a high cliff on a windy day. she is friendship herself, and he tells himself – love, without attachment.
"how are you Bant?"
"i am well," she says, "just tired, and trying not to be stressed."
he pulls back and looks at her.
"Bant?"
and it drops.
"Master Fisto?"
she nods, barabels moving slightly. "he has said i am ready," she says, voice letting it fill with excitement.
Obi-Wan knows how much this means for her. "i'm pleased for you," he tells her. "do you know when?"
"i don't know yet," she says. "but this is the last time we'll go out before, i've sworn to myself." she giggles, a throaty, gurgling noise that the Mon Cal make.
'where's Siri?' his mind turns to something else, something else to stop him thinking about knighthood, which of course he wants, but also the girl, who he could want. yet if he had her, he could not be a knight. and the piece falls apart. and he's done this with Siri before, and Satine again, and now he can't? some cultures consider the third time lucky.
"she'll meet us there," Bant says, knowing what he is looking around for. but equally he can't stop thinking about the girl, walking off into the desert towards Mos Espa with Master Qui-Gon.
"alright," he says, and gives his friend a leg up to the loose window.
she jumps, Force-assisted and reaches the ledge easily. perches, using It to balance her, adapted for grace within water, not out of it, but nonetheless the grace and skill of a padawan balancing on the cusp of knighthood.
"here," Bant says, holding down an arm to help pull Obi-Wan up.
he kicks off the wall, and then they're both on the inside window ledge, 12 or so feet high. he lets himself grin, because though this is the Temple, and they are both sworn to it all, there is still the thrill of youth that all Jedi must have.
except perhaps Master Yoda? Obi-Wan wonders if Master Yoda was ever young, ever was a initiate or padawan? who was his master? who taught him, who taught him the Code, who had him recite the mantra at waking and eating, drinking and sleeping? who taught him of the Living Force, and how the Living Force fed into the Cosmic Force, and who helped him choose one over the other.
how long ago must have that been?
"you ready?" Bant asks, noticing his mind wander.
he brings himself back and nods, and they push the loose window together, it swinging out and wide enough for a humanoid to slip through. she goes first, out onto the raked wall of the pyramid. holding not herself but her balance with the Force, he follows.
she leads and he lets, silent as they jog lightly down the incline and stop at a gutter. turn, right, and carry on, the hum of traffic overhead and out above the city louder now, but none in the exclusion zone above the Jedi Temple. Bant reaches the edge of the roof and turns to him.
"have you got money?" she realises, patting her cloak.
he smiles. "i have creds," he says. "some left over."
she laughs and gurgles. she'd forgotten.
the edge of the roof juts over a service ladder they can swing down onto and climb down to street level. the Temple Precinct is clean and unlittered, so unlike the streets of stinking flodden Kodai or the white-saltness of Mandalore. Siri, Satine, and this other girl? does it always come in threes? living, physical, unifying? light, dark, balance? ashla, boga, via?
"Obi-Wan," Bant beckons, and he jogs to catch up. "you are distracted."
he hesitates to tell her, but something makes him.
"i am unsettled. what happened on Naboo; what happened on Tatooine. we saw something, something i cannot explain. and we picked something – someone – up. a boy."
they reach the second-nearest maglev station, never the nearest, never the obvious one.
"talk about it," Bant says. "a problem shared and all that? what does your master say?"
"he knows," Obi-Wan says, "he knows, and he is on it. i think it unsettles him as much as me, or at least it has spurred him into something. action, perhaps. i've rarely seen him like this."
"because of this boy?"
he wants to wait for Siri to tell, but Bant finds an empty space at the end of the maglev carriage where they cannot be overheard. the hovertrain pulls out of the station and speeds into the Coruscant night.
so he talks about Naboo and the Trade Federation, the Nemoidians and how they betrayed them, escaping the destroyers and smuggling themselves planetside. about Naboo and the invasion, the swamp and the Gungans, how they rescued Queen Amidala and her retinue and made their escape.
"the Queen's starship was damaged running the blockade," he says. "it's almost encouraging in these times."
"what?" Bant asks.
"the Naboo," he says. "their ships are so lightly armed, they are a peaceful people, that's why the Federation chose them as victims. but the courage, flying straight through a droid blockade like that with no fighter escort and only shields to protect yourself. the nobility of it all."
"you are picking up on Master Qui-Gon's romantic strain," Bant notes. "you said you wouldn't."
"i never," he jokes.
"here," Bant gestures to the station. "this is us."
they pull in and step lightly from the carriage, cloaks brushing against the platform.
"what's our excuse," he asks Bant. for being out at night.
"say we were seeking knowledge," Bant says, not technically a lie.
"knowledge in a cantina?"
"knowledge in a high-end, Senate District cantina," she laughs. "and for our friend."
he nods, because it's no selfishness; it's self-knowledge. it's no attachment; it's friendship. it's no jealousy; it's love.
the moment they step inside the bar he feels self-conscious, wonders if they should have changed into civilian clothes. but despite a look or two from the doorman and a couple of Senate staffers there is no uproar, no questioning, no demands for explanation why two padawans are out, at night in a chic bar like this. they can't hide, and he can't hide his padawan braid – perhaps part of the reason, he thinks. Bant still has her pearl stud in her right ear, but that is why they are here, celebrating. soon she will take the Trials, and because they all know she will pass, be raised to knighthood. and so, this is their jubilee, this is their celebration before the three young padawans go their separate ways.
"what do you want?" Obi-Wan says, reaching into his sleeve for the creds.
"rum and apple," she said, because he knows it's her favourite. he goes up to the bar, thinking he'll either have one himself or just a half, but sees the bottle of tihaar straight afront of him on the middle shelf. kriff it, it all comes back to the same things.
"rum and apple," he asks the Sathari barman. "and a single tihaar."
the barman arches an eye at him, feathers puffing up slightly. "are you sure my young Jedi friend," he trills. "very powerful stuff."
"i know what it is," Obi-Wan boasts. "i served on Mandalore; i can handle it."
the Sathari nods, bobbing its neck. "as you say."
pours the drinks; Bant's first, then his; both in short glasses over ice. Obi-Wan pays and takes them back to the table.
"she's on her way," Bant says, putting her comm back. "just a moment."
he nods, passes Bant her drink, and smells his own. it's sweet and resinous and the scorching sun comes back to him.
"what's that?"
"tihaar on ice," he says. "i'm only having it because it's meant to be drank slowly," he lies.
Bant nods. "one each," she says, setting a limit. "no more."
Siri barrels in and threatens to blow that to the winds. throws Bant into a hug, smiling, runs a finger and thumb over the ear-stud.
"how do you think they're meant to cut this off?" she asks by way of a greeting to Obi-Wan, distinctly not looking him in the eye.
"i suppose maybe take it out kinetically?" he suggests, and half-hugs her too, just with one arm, keep the body open.
she is the same age as Bant more or less in standard years, and now tall. unlike him and Bant, she is dressed in civilian clothes; a red tunic and sash, with her jacket slung over her shoulder, ever so cool. her blonde hair was shorter again, cut into a kind of bob; she gets more than a few looks from other drinkers, some that linger too long and eager for Obi-Wan's liking.
"where've you been?" he asks, trying to be nonchalant.
"in town," she says, as if that's an answer. "Master Gallia wanted something picked up, and then i needed to look normal."
he doesn't push the issue, and Bant ends up buying Siri a drink (with his money). it's long and brightly coloured, with some tropical fruit perched jauntily on the rim of the fluted glass.
"okay," he begins. "you're not going to kriffing believe what we saw."
*
Chapter 3: Intolerable Burden
Chapter Text
Chapter 3 - Intolerable Burden
the comfort of the dark envelops him, and Obi-Wan tosses and turns, sunk so low into what feels like warmth and softness and security. he feels like he should want to climb out, like he should at least make an effort, and paws at the air above him, but cannot get ahold. his legs seem deadened and unable to move.
the scene cuts on, and the handmaid girl walks across the front of his eyelids, carrying a pendant of some kind in one hand and the flask of honey whisky in the other. she turns to look at him but becomes a different girl instead.
long red hair, not the dappled ginger or golden of his father’s, but actual red. coarse and dyed and dieing, her teeth flash at him and fur stands on end. the girl is Alcedian, with sharp fangs and down up her bare arms and neck. flash back and black; they are on Eriadu, before, below, whyfore. the slums on the factory planet are almost worse than Coruscant’s undercity. something, doing something, they were trying to help, they were only –
“i was only trying to help,” he says, voice worrying.
“then don’t,” the Alcedian snarls.
“but you –”
“why do you do it?”
“what?”
“you oh-so-pure Jedi; you think you’re above us,” she spits. “don’t you?”
“come, Obi-Wan,” his master says afterwards. “cast it away and let it trouble you not. live in the moment, and yes, learn from the mistake. but learning is not the same as binding.”
“trust in the Force,” he echoes.
“i’m one with the Force,” says Qui-Gon, “and the Force is with me.”
later on, further up and further in, they sit in the Radiant ’s salon in deep thought together.
“when you come to take the Trials,” Qui-Gon says, “you will be tested in all manner of ways. but it is your connection to the Force, your submersion in it, that will decide whether you pass or not. each or any aspect of the Force may come up, or all of them altogether.”
“for which Trial?” he asks.
Qui-Gon shakes his head. “i do not know.”
disappointment.
“there are four aspects,” Qui-Gon says. “name them.”
“the Living Force,” he begins, “which lives in all living beings, which flows through all of us; the Cosmic Force, which is greater than all of us, which we feed into and are subsumed into; it’s the lake into which the Living Force flows. there is the Unifying Force, that which brings all together, one in the Force, equal in the Force; in which there is no past or future, there is no yes or no, there is no day or night, there is no life or death.”
he hesitates, aware at how he sounds.
“and…” he cannot articulate the fourth.
“the Physical Force,” Qui-Gon says. “the Force in relation and connection to our physical surroundings; it is the simplest and most complex of the three – Living, Unifying, Physical – each of which compliment each other, and all of which serve the greater, Cosmic Force.”
Qui-Gon levitates a datapad in his hand.
“it is the most obvious aspect of the Force, so obvious that you forget it exists – don’t worry, many do, even knights of much more experience. you have been using it since before you could read, since before you understood what the different aspects where.”
“would that not be the Living Force, Master?” he asks.
“no,” Qui-Gon says. “the Living Force is purely in life, the living beings that exist in the Force. all plants, all creatures, all living beings, we exist in the Living Force because we are alive. a rock, a stone, a ship, this pad, will not. reach out, feel for it, see if you can sense it.”
Obi-Wan does so, and cannot, can feel the tactile shape of the pad in his master’s hand, but no warmth, no energy, no allness. unlike the times he sat on the forest floor and felt the hundreds of thousands of lifeforms around him.
they squirm and crawl and scuttle down deep in the earth, each bacilia and spore drifting upwards, carried with water in the roots of plants, in their stems and stalks and trunks, build up and on, further up and further in, brown below down growing green, growing blue to some alien sky, growing light and bright and yellow in the sunlight, and the warmth of the dark is replaced with warmth of standing on a hill in summer wind, and
Obi-Wan comes awake.
lies on his back breathing heavily, his spine arching in motion and heart leaping within him. he feels it going, so breathes in and out, control it, control yourself. every exercise Master Yoda and Master Drallig and Master Qui-Gon taught him. in through the nose, out through the mouth, ten seconds each. hush and hold and hish, breathe out.
he has no reason to hide what it is, so tells his master as soon as they convene in the refectory. he knows Qui-Gon prefers to eat alone in his chambers, solitary as he is. but in the days since they returned from Naboo and presented the boy, Anakin, to the Council, they eat breakfast together in one of the central refectories, right next to the main knights billet.
“the Trials?” Qui-Gon says. “are you anxious? that can drive all dreams.”
Obi-Wan shrugs. “a little. maybe more apprehensive. i want to get them over and done with.”
“and are these visions?” his master asks.
“no,” he shakes his head. “more reflections of the past. of Eriadu, of Mandalore.”
of Siri and Satine, of Cirrus and its golden seas. but he does not say that part out loud.
“we may have little time for reflection going forwards,” Qui-Gon says, sorrowful. “and for that i am sorry. but take what opportunities you can. submerse yourself in it, immerse yourself, and write down what you think. i may not always be here for your advice, certainly not after you pass the Trials.”
“if i pass the Trials,” he smirks.
“you will,” insists Qui-Gon. “have faith, Obi-Wan.”
“and trust in the Force.”
Qui-Gon nods.
“you fear that –” and he stops, and corrects himself. “you think there will be less and little time?” he asks.
“this crisis may escalate out of all control,” Qui-Gon says. “the Supreme Chancellor has lost the vote of no confidence. we will have a new Chancellor, but that is no guarantee they will bring any more order. Queen Amidala is quite insistent that the blockade will be resolved by force of arms if the Republic cannot resolve it for her.”
“is she really a war-monger?” he asks in disbelief.
“no,” Qui-Gon says, taking a sip of caf. “she is protecting her people, or she believes she is, as she is sworn to do. we will return with her to Naboo as the Council orders.”
“and the boy?”
“he will come with us,” declares Qui-Gon. “he may not be my padawan yet, but i have a duty of care, to him and to his mother. the Force put him in our path for a reason.”
“and –” here, Obi-Wan drops his voice, so as not to be overheard at the next bench. “is he the Chosen One? is the Prophecy true?”
“truth and reality are not always the same, Obi-Wan,” says Qui-Gon. “but i believe so. you must determine what you think is the truth, and then see if it matches the evidence of the world around you.”
“and is there one truth?” he counters.
Qui-Gon shrugs. “there is the Force. and there is the world. what Anakin is?; well, we shall see. what does the Prophecy say?”
“a being born of pure Force. one chosen by Ashla who will bring the Force into balance. how or when or why, no one knows.”
“people have supposed,” Qui-Gon says, “throughout many millennia. but no one can know for certain – i doubt anyone one being is able of knowing alone.
“nor should they know?”
“the Force works in mysterious ways.”
“so Anakin –?”
“his mother told me he was born without reason. she carried him, she bore him, she raised him. the boy has no father. he is born of pure Force.”
“so we know that?”
“she was entirely truthful,” Qui-Gon nods.
“and the midi-chlorians,” Obi-Wan thinks.
“if he is not chosen by the Force itself, then why is he so powerful?” Qui-Gon says. “give me an alternative explanation, and i will consider it. but if there is none, then the simplest explanation often proves to be the correct one.”
Obi-Wan nods.
“just see the boy, feel his presence; it weighs in the room, and it bends all others around it, like mass and gravity. he is a vergence, a node-point in the Force.”
“and dangerous?”
“why wouldn’t he be,” Qui-Gon shrugs. “he is capable of changing the fate of the galaxy.”
“the Council think so.”
“fear is a lie,” whispers Qui-Gon. “what is dangerous is dangerous. it is not for us to save ourselves, it is for us to live. fear not the danger. hurry up, hurry up, run towards the danger.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to say, to respond to any of that. he just looks to his empty cup instead.
“he’s just a boy,” Qui-Gon says. “a boy, who is out of place, and missing his mother. we must not forget that. now i must confer with Queen Amidala and Senator Palpatine.”
Qui-Gon sighs and stands. Obi-Wan clears away the trays and caf cups.
“do your exercises, eat well at lunch, spend time with your fellow padawans, make the most of these days Obi-Wan, for they may not come again. i hear Bant has been chosen to take the Trials?”
“yes Master,” he says. “she is more than ready.”
“as are you all,” Qui-Gon says, almost as if he didn’t mean to, almost as if it meant to remain a thought but became a word.
Obi-Wan pretends to ignore this slip as well. Qui-Gon takes out his pad instead.
“give her my best. i will see you this evening.”
“yes Master,” he bows, dismissed, and leaves. the caf has finally worked its way into his system and he walks with a spring in his step, eager to get the day over with. so he can see Siri again, or so he can be one day closer to seeing the handmaid, he does not know, but by the time he reaches the mezzanine that leads into Master Drallig’s training rooms he is almost jogging.
his cloak flung over a strainer in the small round chamber, he stretches and warms and lifts himself and squats and the whole of himself is just buzzing. thinks to find a remote or swing-bag to practise with, but as he steps from the chamber into the larger central one, he collides with Garen Muln coming from the opposite way.
“Garen!” he says, smiling.
“Obi-Wan,” Garen greets his clan-mate.
“looking for a sparring partner?” Obi-Wan asks with hope.
“looking for the Troll,” Garen says, more morose.
Obi-Wan sees the fingers restlessly tapping on a lightsaber hilt, the downcast eyes, the padawan braid hanging long and low over the smaller man’s shoulder. Muln is stocky, with dark hair, a broad nose and tan skin. an excellent pilot and a firm friend from childhood of his and Siri’s. but like Obi-Wan, he realises, still a padawan.
“fight me,” Obi-Wan says, raising his fists. “help me help you.”
and because it’s more an order than a request, and because Muln is looking for something, anything, from keeping to truly have to go to the Troll, he does so. throws his cloak a different strainer, places his lightsaber beyond the bounds of the circle – Obi-Wan does the same – and raises both arms for hand-to-hand combat, the way they have been taught.
“the weapon of a Jedi is the saber,” he hears one instructor, Master Xan, echo. “but there are times when you will need to not be Jedi, to disssemble, to appear as common citizens or travellers or mercenaries. or perhaps it will be risky to be a Jedi, it would draw attention or prejudice or danger. whilst externally you must appear to be free, internally, you are still bound by our vows, to defend the defenceless, to uphold the righteous, to follow the Code and to serve the will of the Force. so you must be able to fight, and fight well, without. place your sabers aside. the Force springs not from some piece of steel or crystal; it comes from beyond, and through you.”
i am one with the Force and the Force is with me.
“now fight.”
and they do so.
*
ravenclaw_scorpio on Chapter 1 Mon 09 Sep 2024 01:44PM UTC
Comment Actions