Note: Eh, I felt the need for some mush. Kindly indulge me. I suppose this can be called a companion piece to 'All that glitters...' - it is also in a different vein, I think. Not much conversation - and as for not biding by the rules...uh. Um. :). Thanks to Laura of Maychoria (As to your questions about what really happenend on Alum're...ah. that's a different story altogether!), Master Kaym, Amber75 (thanks a bunch!), A.NuEVil, and Jedi Keliam Kenobi (Gracias...you'll have to wait, though, for the thumbs story. Exams and all that, you know :)

In the eyes of the Beholder…

Padawan Lersen Tyree was caught in between two moods—neither of which, he was sure, was indispensable to his Jedi training. One was a faint sense of annoyance, and the other was…envy. The former at their not so effective presence on Alum're, and subsequent happenings—which master Hannica would have immediately identified as wrong, as they had managed to aid in something…—and the latter, much to his chagrin, was directed at Plutlin, and his youth. Youth, which had prompted the boy to indulge in an unself-conscious conversation with senior padawan Kenobi.

Lersen dipped a spoon in his geijke mix, and sighed. The Dining hall was only half-full and the low murmur of Jedi conversing—one could never hear loud voices here—was somewhat soothing to his rather frayed nerves.

It had been more than two weeks since they had returned from Alum're, and to all outwards appearances, all teams had resumed their usual employments. His master had returned to the Nenthe sector to complete pending negotiations, while he himself had been left behind to return to full health; Master Jinn had left, apparently, to Ver'seant, to oversee the smooth transition of Alum're's refuges. What had registered in his mind, however, was the fact that padawan Kenobi had not accompanied him on said mission. This had surprised him considerably, until a few discrete enquiries had elicited the fact Master Jinn's padawan had been retained by one of the Council members…for what purpose, he knew not. But that it was no great matter, he judged, from the frequent appearances Kenobi put in at the training salle.

And therein, he had discovered his cause for chagrin. Padawan Pomkum—the little, bouncy apprentice barely out of his years as an initiate, was apparently taking lessons in sabre techniques from the senior apprentice. The scene had surprised him considerably, when he had first noticed it, a week ago—and the seventeen year-old apprentice had been conscious of a jab of envy. Master Hannica had a good technique; her footwork wasn't faulty, and she could hold her own against an opponent…but there was a difference between being good—and being brilliant. He had observed Kenobi during the mission at Alum're, and ever since their return to Coruscant, had known at once that the apprentice belonged to the latter category. Why he took the trouble of following Kenobi's schedule on an irregular basis he couldn't quite fathom—well, he could, actually. He was apprentice to the great master Jinn. Master Qui-Gon Jinn, one of the Order's best negotiators—certainly its best swordsman, who secured success in nine of the ten missions that he undertook—which meant that he was despatched on all top-priority missions, who had a reputation for telling the Jedi Council—the Council!—exactly what he thought, and had fast acquired a name for acting on his instincts. He called it 'following the Force'…Lersen, himself, had no real idea. All Jedi followed the Force, of course…but master Jinn seemed to have a knack of making it seem—different. As though the rules didn't exist. Force, he wore his hair long! And surely the Rules were the same for all Jedi.

He had questioned Master Hannica discretely about this—and had not really been surprised when she had returned a careful, cautious answer, about 'circumstances allowing for variations during negotiations'…it hadn't convinced him, and she had known it. Nevertheless, he hadn't pursued the thought with her. It would bring him no answers, he knew.

The fact remained that Master Jinn achieved success against seemingly impossible odds, using peculiar tactics…and that his apprentice played a large part on such successful missions. Strange really, for there was nothing in Kenobi's behaviour to suggest the rebel. And Master Jinn was one. In fact, judging by the strict regimen that the apprentice followed in the Temple, all evidence pointed to the fact that he was a stickler for rules—he was unfailingly polite to his elders, studied, trained, and exercised with a whim, assumed a serious, reserved expression at all times, and seemed a model of calm and serenity.

Not fair, when I'm just a bundle of nerves.

He, like many of his age-mates who followed the career of their elders with awe, had known something of Kenobi's turbulent history…and it was supremely difficult to equate the rather hot-headed initiate with this—paragon of virtue. Stranger still, was the fact that this remarkably conventional boy should have been chosen by Master Jinn, the maverick. What could they have had in common?

Curiosity had taken root ever since the shuttle journey from Alum're—it had not surprised him that its people would present the padawan with a crystal so valuable that the Council had to relieve them of it—he had been determined to pursue Kenobi, and pick up a few points towards becoming a better padawan.

So far, however, success had eluded him. Had Master Jinn been present now…ah. There had been occasions when both master and apprentice, on their now increasingly rare sojourns in the Temple, would spar with each other—this was generally considered an excuse for other sparring padawans to conclude their exercise swiftly, and to gather around them—presumably to watch, and learn. Their own masters encouraged this—it was akin to watching a superior demonstration of skills. Padawan Tyree had often watched, and sighed. His own skills were nowhere near to what was exhibited—he was realistic enough to acknowledge that they probably never would. But still, it didn't hurt to watch. And savour, for a few brief moments, what it must be like to be one of the best.

One could always hope, after all.

Not that he would ever consider any master other than master Hannica, for himself. She was patient, kind and understanding—he knew that she liked him, and was aware of his efforts. There was some fondness between them, and she took pains to train him well. Yes, Hannica was a good master—unlike Master Jinn, who may personally be an excellent mediator, but earned no points for good humour.

Popular report painted Master Jinn in an unfavourable light in this area, he had noticed. Despite his penchant for going against rules…or rather, because of it, the tall Jedi rarely spoke to others unless the situation required it—he was not exactly rude, but one couldn't gather enough courage to go over and, er…chat with him. Somehow, one felt that Master Jinn would not take kindly to such liberties. That probably explained why his padawan always wore such a serious expression. Years of living with a master like that—regardless of how skilled he may be—would no doubt turn one into a statue of serenity. Yet, young Plutlin seemed to have broken those barriers…

He shook his head. This was getting him nowhere…

At this point in his cogitations, Lersen stopped stirring his food—it was unappetizing, anyway. A sudden hush had fallen in the Hall, and he looked up, surprised. Master Qui-Gon Jinn had arrived.

So the mission's probably concluded. Successfully, if I know him.

Apparently it had, for Master Jinn's expression was not as stern as it usually was. A minute later, Kenobi the Perfect One entered. He stopped at the counter to receive meal trays, and then joined his master at a table reasonably apart from the rest. Conversation resumed at a low hum, again.

From his vantage point, Lersen cast a discrete eye over them. Master Jinn and his padawan seemed intent on their food—which said much for their dedication, since the Temple's food was sadly lacking in either taste or variety, in his own opinion—neither spoke a single word. Master Jinn appeared to follow what was supposed to be his favourite maxim: 'focussing on the present' and his padawan seemed content to emulate his master.

How can they possibly be the best team when they don't take the time to even look at each other? Surely they were not so skilled in telepathy that they could talk through the Force all the time. Such powers were extremely rare, even among the Jedi.

Master Jinn and his apprentice finished their meal and rose; suddenly, it seemed imperative that he too, should follow them. He didn't feel like eating after all…

Ridiculous. They're going to go back to their quarters, and…rest, probably. And they might sense your presence. What would you do if they suddenly turned in their tracks, and asked why you were pursuing them?

Therefore, padawan Lersen Tyree waited until both master and padawan walked through the doorway of the Dining hall, and proceeded to follow in their footsteps. He didn't quite know what was prompting him to do this; reason and intelligence told him to turn away at once. Unlike senior padawan Kenobi, his training schedule was not too flexible, and still followed the pattern favoured by junior padawans—he had not yet been allowed the liberty of altering his schedules to fit his whims, unless approved by his master. Nevertheless, something in the general region of his heart told him to do so—an instinct which he would probably regret, later.

Master Jinn and Kenobi walked along the Temple corridors, and it soon became apparent that they were not going to their quarters. Master Jinn was striding ahead, his tall form easily visible against the others who criss-crossed him on his way, and to whom he replied with a slight bow or greeting—and his apprentice followed him, two steps behind, in a manner typical of all padawans—head bowed, arms folded into cloak, and eyes towards the floor. Lersen felt a slight tingle of relief at that. Master Hannica might not be the best in the Temple…but she certainly did not insist on such ridiculous excesses of discipline. Well, most of the time, anyway.

The gardens. That was where they were going. Of course—Master Jinn was strong in the Living Force…another contradiction, if one chose to call it that, and one for which he was not really responsible. Jedi of earlier centuries had been stronger in the Living Force, as opposed to the present generation…this made things rather difficult for those rare Jedi who still retained more connection the Living energy, rather than the Unifying one. Possibly the reason for why Master Jinn behaved in such unaccountable ways—but it meant that his padawan would have to put up with a good deal of …well, whatever it was that padawans strong in the Unifying Force put up with. Pity, really.

Lersen followed their footsteps until they came to the entrance doors, and went in. Once within the secluded greenery of the gardens, however, Lersen saw, with some shock, that the Master was walking into an area forbidden to most Jedi—an area that was reserved for the use of the Jedi Council, when they wished to meditate in the gardens without interruption from others. Even masters were forbidden from entering it, no matter what. How could…?

So. Rules didn't matter even within the Temple. (Had he attempted such a thing, Lersen mused, he would have been subject to a strict talking to, at the very least.).

What was more, the serene and calm Kenobi followed him thither, and—Lersen could just see them, if he concealed himself against a few thestra bushes forming a kind of natural boundary, their small branches pricking his arms. Master Jinn had come to a stop beside an ornamental bench under a particularly large nem tree, and was looking around. Kenobi took a step forward, his arms pulling his cloak even more securely around him. He seemed cold.

Master Jinn took a look at his apprentice, and gestured towards the bench—on which he sat down, himself. Lersen anticipated that the padawan would follow suit. It surprised him when the latter chose to sink to his knees on the grassy ground, pulling his cloak around him. Lersen wondered briefly if he could be quite as graceful even during a sparring session. Probably not.

Master Jinn did not appear surprised at his padawan's opting to sit on the ground, and seemed to accept it. He then spoke something—Lersen was out of ear-shot, so he could hear nothing. Not that it mattered; his intention was not to eavesdrop.

Your intention is not to spy on them, either. Leave, before they sense you and all Sith hells break loose.

A cool breeze ruffled the thestra bushes; he settled himself more comfortable against them, and watched. Kenobi was speaking about something that had occurred during the past week—Lersen realised that they had not seen each other all that time, and the master was probably catching up on events during his absence.

The padawan started serenely enough—as the minutes went by, however, his hands rose up from their rigid clasp in his alp, and started gesticulating. They moved in accordance with the changes in his expression—moving gracefully, the slender fingers often serving to illustrate whatever it was that he was describing. Plutlin's sabre sessions? Perhaps.

Lersen's focus then turned to the master, who was watching his apprentice, elbows resting on his knees. His mouth dropped open slightly as he watched Master Jinn's eyes—they were no longer the serious, withdrawn chips of Hoth that he had encountered previously. Now, the skin around them was beginning to crinkle, and the eyes themselves had taken on a twinkle that could not be missed. His lips were no longer set in a straight, immovable line—they were twitching—twitching?—as though control over their movement was becoming difficult. And then, Lersen got the shock of his life.

Master Jinn laughed.

Lersen blinked. Qui-Gon Jinn. Laughing.

Impossible. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, he of the serious countenance, who never even smiled when addressing initiates…was laughing as though mirth was buffeting him in waves. He had thrown his head back, and Lersen watched as the master's rich chest-nut waves of hair played over his shoulders. Force, he even looked completely different.

He looked…human.

Lersen then glanced at Kenobi, who appeared to share in whatever joke that had been communicated, and was chuckling. He raised his arms and gesticulated something else, upon which Master Jinn stopped laughing, and settled down, hands once more on his knees. His eyes, however, retained their gleam. They watched the figure seated in front, noting every movement, every change in features, and every shift of posture—not that Kenobi actually moved much.

Lersen felt a brief tug from somewhere in the region of his heart. For some reason, a picture suddenly flashed in his mind—one that he had seen months ago, during a mission on some Mid-Rim planet. A child, barely four cycles old, turning cartwheels—and the mother watching, with a look of mingled pride, affection and humour…

Lersen shook his head and re-directed his attention towards those he was watching, and received another jolt—for at the end of the recital the padawan stopped, and simply looked up at his master. The apprentice's face had softened, and his blue-green eyes shone with…what, Lersen couldn't guess. Whatever it was, it made Master Qui-Gon suddenly stoop down, run a finger through his apprentice's spiky hair, and press a swift kiss on his forehead. The padawan smiled, closed his eyes and looked down for a brief moment. Then, as Lersen watched in growing amazement, he abandoned all efforts at rigid discipline, moved forward, and rested his arms on Master's Jinn's knees.

Well.

So much for authority, order, and fear of punishment. Lersen felt sadly deceived in Master Jinn's character. He seemed to have taken no offence at his padawan's impertinence—it would certainly be viewed as such, even by Master Hannica, if he ever dared to attempt it—but rather, appeared to welcome this sudden deviation from the rules.

Deviation. From the Rules. There it was again. Words that seemed to define Master Jinn. Had he ever seen Master Hannica's eyes soften in the same way Jinn's had? He didn't remember. Probably because it had never happened. True, she was kind—but there, it ended.

Lersen found the image of a strict and stoic Master fast vanishing—together with that of an equally serious padawan. Suddenly, he felt a wave of embarrassment—well, that certainly took some time coming—and detached himself from the bushes.

Trying to keep himself from intruding into the notice of the master—who, now leaning back on the bench, had begun to talk in his turn—and the apprentice who seemed oblivious to his surroundings, anyway—Lersen pushed himself to his feet, and began to walk away.

"Padawan Tyree?"

Oh, blast. Why did he even bother?

I'm going to get skinned. At the very least.

Lersen turned, skilfully concealing the tremble that seemed to have abruptly enveloped him. Walking towards Master Jinn slowly, he noticed that Kenobi had resumed his normal posture of demure padawanship. Lersen, however, could not ignore the light that shone in his eyes.

Now he knew why Padawan Kenobi worked so hard and strove to be the best; why he was one of the best duellists, took the most advanced classes, and managed to accomplish what seemed to his age-mates the impossible. He had felt like taking on all the worlds in the galaxy, and leaping over Mount Ecclus—if he could but win that look from Master Jinn. And he had seen it only for a moment. Padawan Kenobi had been his apprentice for more than seven years…turbulent history notwithstanding.

"Master Jinn; Padawan Kenobi." He bowed low. Kenobi rose, bowed in turn, and resumed his posture on the ground, while Master Jinn nodded. Lersen risked a look at the latter, and was somehow, irrationally comforted by the expression in his eyes.

"I hope you've recovered from the infection. And Master Hannica? Is she well?" came the enquiry in smooth, rich tones. Lersen wondered how he could ever have thought the man intimidating. Then he remembered the natives of Alum're. Definitely intimidating. Then, at least. Unlike Master Zherde, who had remained forbidding throughout. There's a moral here, somewhere. He nodded and made suitable answers—later, he would wonder at his own ability to do so. Oh Force, let them not have not known—get me away, quick, quick…

He wondered briefly if they would ask him if he were trespassing—not that they would, since, technically, he was not the one doing so. But Master Jinn spoke kindly, and dismissed him crisply enough.

"We've obtained permission to be here, but I doubt if the Council would take kindly to unauthorised use," explained Master Jinn, and Lersen felt strangely relieved. Master Qui-Gon did follow rules, after all. He bowed again and left swiftly, mind burgeoning with newly gained impressions, and a reversal of opinions. Had Master Jinn but known it, he had acquired another willing follower among the ranks of aspiring Jedi knights.

Obi-Wan sighed as he watched the departing Lersen. "He needs to work on cloaking his Force presence," he remarked.

"So it would appear. Whatever his reasons - I hope he won't continue to indulge in this...pastime."

Obi-Wan looked at his master quizzically. "Have you obtained permission to meditate in the Council Gardens, master?"

"No, padawan. But I shall inform them of our having—er—done so, when the appropriate time comes. I didn't think, however, that Padawan Tyree needed to know this. "

Obi-Wan nodded. "I thought so," he murmured. He settled himself once again, hands folded in his lap. "So—the Vere's have agreed?"

"How could they not? The Ambassador was relieved enough…"

THE END.