Homecoming

XXV

Obi-Wan watches the skillful demonstration below with critical eye; he leans forward, weight resting lightly against the balcony rail, expression intent, eyes gleaming with both appreciation and an expert's reflexive assessment. He looks well; though obviously underfed, there is color in his complexion, and fastidiousness to his grooming that bespeaks rapidly returning health. And there can be no doubt that his Force signature is particularly scintillating.

Qui-Gon is content, and doubly content for this morning's leisure, which allows him to be here in company with his former padawan, merely resting in the moment and enjoying the antics of the younger generation below. It is odd to conceive of the man beside him as a member of the elders' circle…. But Jabiim and its aftermath have changed much. A threshold has been crossed.

"You've taught him well," the tall master offers, by way of conversation. Anakin's performance accelerates into a dizzying maelstrom, never missing a beat, a perfection so acute it wavers on the edge of mania.

"Perhaps too well," Obi-Wan snorts. "I'm not sure I can best him anymore."

"Get used to it," the senior Jedi advises.

They smile, and are silent, comfortable in their role as audience.

"The younglings do not require your inspiration today?" Obi-Wan asks, when Ahsoka and her mentor pause to reset the remote training droids.

"A field trip to the legislative district…. I am growing too old for that sort of thing."

Obi-Wan's brows rise, but he makes no comment. Maturity has mellowed his trenchant wit to a dry undertone.

"Speaking of younglings, and teaching…" Qui-Gon ventures.

"No."

The stubborn streak remains firmly ingrained; deepened perhaps by tides of war and trials of spirit. But Qui-Gon is accustomed to pleading the unpopular cause. "It is the duty of every master without a current apprentice to pass on the Order's wisdom. Now more than ever." Their numbers have dwindled; the Jedi will be all but decimated by the end of this conflict, if it continues to rage unchecked. "And there are those among the initiates who deserve the finest guidance."

Obi-Wan's hands tighten about the balcony rail. "You know I cannot," he growls.

The topic is forbidden, the exchange over.

The tall man cedes defeat for the time being. He will not imperil their present harmony. "The Council report went well?"

His companion relaxes, visibly, grateful for the shift in focus. "Yes, indeed. It also occupied the greater part of yesterday. I think even Mace was fidgeting in his seat by the time we were finished."

An amusing image. Interminable Council debriefings are something Qui-Gon will never miss.

Obi-Wan's brows quirk together. He draws in a centering breath. "And…. I spoke at length with Master Yoda afterward. We had tea."

There is a kind of bewilderment in the younger Jedi's voice, a child's wonder at the utterly novel, the unexpected.

"He had insight to offer you?"

A blink, a frown, a soundless breath of astonishment or laughter. "No…well, yes… but he also had a question. An… invitation."

The Force whispers in Qui-Gon's ear, rumor carried on an infallible wind. It is his turn to be taken aback. And yet… why should he be? He saw this coming…. Years ago. More than a decade ago. Probably from the beginning.

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his short hair and looks away. "I accepted, Qui-Gon. "

So. The circle is complete, as it was always destined to be. And he, Qui-Gon, will taste a new kind of humility. It is the Will of the Force. It must be accepted. He almost regrets his life-long history of dispute with the Jedi high Council. Almost.

Humor polishes the edges of Obi-Wan's next words to an ironic sheen. "I will strive to honor your teachings in this new office as in any other, Master. Discipline is essential to the Jedi way, would you not agree?"

"Incorrigible brat," the Order's resident maverick growls, already dreading the next occasion he appears before the Council. He cannot shake the intuitive feeling that the Force itself is chuckling at his expense.

As though the impish grooves accenting his companion's smirk are not provocation enough.

In the salle below, Ahsoka and Anakin stand back-to-back, fending off the concerted attack of a full dozen robotic foes. Red stun bolts ricochet wildly off ceiling and walls. The observers take a precautionary step backward, then retire into the hall beyond by unspoken consent.

The mood shifts from banter into solemnity as they walk, a burbling rivulet widening gradually to the Force's thundering cataract.

"…Master."

"Yes."

Their peregrination has carried them to one of the connecting mezzanines. They halt beneath Chakora Seva's bronzium memorial.

Obi-Wan looks inward for a long moment, then upward at Qui-Gon. Light shafting from the overhead skylight picks out the first fine lines around his eyes, the faint threads of early silver in his beard, at his temples. "…Do you believe that one who has Turned may still be brought back to the Light?"

It is shocking to hear such heresy issue from this quarter, even as a hypothetical. "What does Master Yoda say?" For it is clear that Obi-Wan has posed this query before.

"He says that once we embrace the Dark Side, it will dominate our destiny forever."

Qui-Gon inclines his head. "You have your answer, then."

But his former student – his dyed in the blood traditionalist padawan, his friend, his fellow Jedi, a man who has ripped out his own heart more than once in service and fealty to the Code – this seeming stranger gently shakes his head.

The tall man breathes out. Yes, indeed, a threshold has been crossed and there can be no turning back. "If you do not have your answer, then you must seek it for yourself," he admonishes.

Obi-Wan nods, a familiar glimmering in his eyes, the reflected corona of the winged flame. "I shall," he promises.

Qui-Gon does not need to be told what form this search, this pilgrimage, will take – nor to whom the steps of that journey will lead. Asaaj Ventress in her fury and lust for power thought merely of success or failure, whether or not Light could be Turned to despair and ruin. Neither she nor her master, perhaps, have ever dreamed that their enemy would reply to temptation not with contempt but with a counterattack, the inverted image of seduction. Such impossibles are too obvious, too lowly for great ones to perceive. Such wise folly as this is clear only to the wonderful mind of a child… or a true master.

What if you could Fall them back?

He smiles, and folds his hands into opposite sleeves, keeping pace beside a man who never ceases to amaze him.

And they walk on, into the Temple's heart, deep into the Force's winding mansions, which are their only and truest home.

FINIS