Proud

In another nearly utopian universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi writes his own counterpoint against the harmonising discords of life. AU

Implied references to the Jedi Apprentice series. No pairings.

Prelude

It was watery dawn when twenty-eight year old Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped onto a Temple landing platform. His former Master was there to receive him; to hold him by the shoulders and look him up and down.

He runs a hand through slightly longer hair, dyed black for the long mission. It had begun as a short routine assignment meant to ease him into Knighthood, but almost unsurprisingly had quickly boiled over into an interplanetary crisis.

Now that he was safely back, Qui-Gon saw fit to tease him about the unfortunate twists in fate that seemed to plague him and no one else. The weight of his former Master's arm was a soothing presence around his shoulders, and only now did fatigue begin to set in.

Qui-Gon kept up a quiet stream of chatter for his benefit, catching him up on the Temple happenings that he had missed for the full standard year he had been away. His friends were eager to see him, he was told, and Master Yoda had been decidedly disgruntled with how trouble-prone his great-grand Padawan was still proving to be. Young Anakin was doing well in his assorted modules with various Masters, and has calmed greatly since the Jedi has allowed closure between him and Shmi – the last they had heard from Shmi, she was putting a new life together.

They had tea after the Temple Healers pronounced him fit and healthy. He surprised Qui-Gon by requesting tea horribly strong – his taste for tea seemed to run both extremes now, and it amused his former Master greatly.

Then it was a scramble to get ready for the Council report. Qui-Gon handed him extra robes which he was glad to exchange his black operative garments for. The dark circles showed clearly in the Temple's ample lighting, but he could see a healthy pink in his cheeks. A direct contradiction – but that was how life was, he supposed.

He had a quick shower, got rid of ginger stubble and just barely trimmed his hair. Slightly longer hair actually cushioned protective headgear better, he had found; and could throw extra shadows that conveniently hid his eyes from security cams. His light reddish-brown roots were showing, but only time could fix that.

The debriefing would take standard hours. But his job has already been simplified by his fellow Jedi operatives who had returned weeks earlier. After evening meal he would rest, and probably spend the next few days doing so.

He cleared his mind, and walked steadily to the centre of the Council room. He returned the small smiles directed his way; for it was done and – as Qui-Gon said – well-done. He swallowed, and began the report that he himself had spent days understanding and writing.

As Coruscant's sun began to set, his voice faltered. He cleared his throat and began anew, resolved to see this through before paying his migraine any heed. Master Yoda saw right through him, and had the meeting adjourned. Sheepish but very much obliged, he left to find Bant, Reeft and Garen skulking right outside the chambers – deliberately shielding themselves, it seemed – to pounce on him and end up a messy tangle of laughter.

Siri Tachi guarded a table with five plates heaped with food. The sardonic raised eyebrow said it all, though she grinned when Obi-Wan gripped her elbow in greeting. The food and laughter strengthened him after the long Council reports, and it was with cheer that he took Anakin's unexpected bear-hug. Yoda's newest Padawan feels…clearer, calmer and deeper in the Force; it was with genuine affection that he tousled Anakin's hair.

His friends reassure Anakin he would be able to spar with him the day after as they escort him half-asleep back to his quarters. He doesn't remember falling asleep.

He awakes on his own bed to another watery dawn, and the pure light of the Force that rushes into his consciousness leaves him breathless. He belatedly registers the new strength he had unknowingly gained in his limbs, and finds himself blissfully hungry. He senses his friends in the Force; and for a moment he closes his eyes and revels in their presence.

It was typical of Obi-Wan Kenobi, to rejoice in the simple things when in a few hours' time he would be the first in years to become a Master with a single mission.

Fugue

Obi-Wan Kenobi finds himself focusing on the towering white spires in the distance. He could feel the Temple, and now that he was so close the yearning was a palpable ache in his chest. He sees nothing but those stretching columns of white light – he reaches as far as he could into the Force, visualizing the durasteel-smith, elbow-deep in sparking embers of vermillion-gold.

Oh, the Force. So pure, so light and clear here. Its song is a tinkling hum in his mind. He begins to faintly feel Qui-Gon, and the ache in his chest bleeds away. He endures the last minutes by immersing himself in the Force. Then they land –

he opens his eyes, and hops out of the freighter. It seems almost immediately that Qui-Gon's warm, very real arm was around his shoulders. Their smiling eyes meet, and their minds brush. He presses an impatient hand to strangely-moist eyes, and Qui-Gon steps back to inspect his former apprentice.

Qui-Gon delights in his strengthened Force presence, which momentarily confuses him before he recalls himself a standard year ago. He marks the broadened shoulders and lightly teases him about the reddish-blond roots peeking through the dyed black. Obi-Wan takes it all with good humour, but the laughter dies then and Qui-Gon simply beams at him.

Qui-Gon says it then, simply and clearly: the words that after Xanatos just never seemed appropriate to say to one's student. The ones that Qui-Gon had always sought other ways to express, which Obi-Wan had always understood.

"I am so proud," he says quietly. And then for no reason at all both had tears down their cheeks, but nobody seemed to notice they were there.

He is mortified that Master Yoda had to have the meeting adjourned out of concern for his health, but tells himself to be grateful that everything else had gone smoothly in his first solo report. He blinks slowly to try and soothe the raging pain in his temples, unconsciously shoving his hands into his sleeves as he follows the Masters out of the chambers.

A light dinner and steaming tea, he decides. He is exhausted and there is no denying it. The faster the –

A mass of laughing bodies slam into him, and the Force abruptly flares. He instantly recognizes Bant, Reeft and Garen – blessed, beloved old friends – though it takes seconds for his vision to clear. He is laughing before he even had time to draw breath, and they are halfway to the cafeteria before he finds that his headache has all but subsided.

A moment later he belatedly finds it nothing short of miraculous that they are all here, just to receive him; the tears that thought brings to his eyes mingle with the ones he's already got from laughing at nothing at all.

Garen enthuses about the warm reaction that the Senate has received the success with. The hilarity lulls momentarily as they look him in the eye to tell him quietly that it was a job spectacularly-done, and they couldn't have been prouder even if they had done it themselves.

His protests that it was as far from an one-man job as anyone could imagine died away as they finally reach the table that Siri was guarding for them; her half-exasperated smirk and raised eyebrow say it all.

He was determined that the second meeting would run to completion. He had been prepared for it for weeks, really. A hectic day of loud reunions and crying laughter had rejuvenated him; though it had only been a standard day since his return to the Temple he has already began to feel at home as he always had.

His nerves settled the moment he began to speak, and he returned Master Yoda's smile with more surety than he had managed to do the day before. The discussion was long and complex, and required a short review after every tedious but necessary interruption. Yet he felt that he had not lost anyone, and was fairly confident that the Council would begin the subsequent analyses of the full reports and corresponding Senatorial documents with a competent understanding of the whole affair.

Master Windu nods his approval finally; and he bows, expecting dismissal. Then he senses a charge round the Chamber, and looks up to see Master Yoda wearing a strange expression. He is bid to stay. His mild curiosity turns to blank shock as the Council commended him with even words of high praise, and proclaimed him a Jedi Master.

He blinks and his cheeks heat, but he manages to bow gratitude with some grace. Then, safely outside, he runs a bewildered hand through his hair and realizes how strange it was to see Master Yoda openly beaming his pride.

Though the Fountains were a sparkling haven of serenity, young Anakin's eyes shone with excitement as Obi-Wan recounted his first, and unexpectedly last, mission as a Jedi Knight. They spoke in hushed whispers as befitting the peaceful dawn and Obi-Wan was glad to see Anakin effortlessly sitting still; but there was no denying that he glowed in the Force, and he himself was running his sentences into one another at some points.

But it was no holodrama, and so there are darker parts that are not the most pleasant to recall. Worst are the ones that leave no tangible mark, but which made him avert his eyes when facing his own reflection. He paused, and Anakin's question hung unasked in the morning mist. But he has met his own eyes in the mirror since then, and so he chooses to answer.

"I…I did, I think. For the shortest of moments…yet it felt like one of my longest." He swallowed. "But I came back; came back and made it right. I thought once, what does my own honor matter if it cost lives?" Anakin was listening, mouth slightly parted.

"It is dangerous to go down that path. But it is true that things change with every situation." Anakin frowns, but Obi-Wan smiles reassuringly.

"The best we can do is to…well; ensure that we do indeed give our best. Believe in those who do so in you, and entrust yourself to the Force." He looks up into the first light, and breathed in deep the Force: so pure, so light in the Temple. They sat in companionable silence, and for once the galaxy was alright.

"To never give up. On ourselves, or the Force. Never." The water-song around them nearly drowns out his concluding whisper, but Anakin felt as though he had never heard anything clearer.

"Master Qui-Gon would be so proud of you, Master Obi-Wan. I am." Daybreak settles itself in Obi-Wan's blue-grey eyes, and their laughter rises above it all.

Obi-Wan swings Siri up in a fraternal embrace, and they walk rounds in the Gardens catching up with each other. It seemed that new awe of the other stifled conversation a trifle; but as with many times before, the distance vanished as they regained familiarity. It was almost ironic that simultaneously the legends multiplied in light of the very human conditions that they lived. The more they understood each other as a human being, the less so their achievements and potential seemed.

He – the troublesome Initiate grown into the Padawan who would defeat the first Sith in millennia, be Knighted for it – and to end up a Master after resolving that interplanetary crisis; was the same person she had seen slumped alone in dark corners after lightsaber tutorials, whom she had once gleefully Force-pushed into the pools and received countless hours of meditation for.

She is one of the Temple's best fighters, who blazed her way through the standard classes and never stopped. By her mid-apprenticeship she was heavily-embroiled in a long-term operation affecting several pan-galactic organizations, and was only so recently Knighted because the mission had proven so difficult and complex to resolve. But she did, and would soon start another covert mission in pursuit of the Sith. She is the same person who could always sneak muffins off his plate, who understood him when he said the least and chose to stare into the skies instead when she felt the need for tears.

"I am so proud of us, you know." His eyes sting, and he blinks it away resolutely to meet her blazing eyes. Her eyes flick to their lightsaber hilts, proudly worn as part of their Jedi identity, and to the friendly hold they have on each other's elbows. Their minds brush, the lightest and quickest of touches, but it fills their souls; the Force swirls around them, strengthened and singing in their unselfish unity.

"So very proud of us both." Her reiteration was lost, half in the misty dawn and half to him; and sunrise came.

Coda

A cascade of such singing, watery dawns followed, before Obi-Wan Kenobi noticed that recently his life seemed to be full of golden sunrises and people strangely, exceedingly, proud of him.