Lineage V

Chapter 16

"Oh, ho ho," Senior healer Ben To Li chuckled. "If looks could kill." He clasped his own arms across his chest and scowled ferociously, mirroring his patient's posture and expression.

Obi-Wan's beetled further together. "I did refuse medical care," he asserted. "I told the droid, and Bant. And three other people."

The Temple's most experienced healer made a piffling noise and advanced, relentless. "Yes, but you see, my young friend, you are not a senior Padawan and therefore not entitled to complete voluntary disposition of such matters. In short, you are not old enough to tell me where to get off, and therefore at my sole mercy. What do you think of that?"

"I think it's a reeking heap of pizzmah-chizzk, master. With all due respect."

Master Li's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps when I'm done with our other business, I should wash your mouth out as well?"

Obi-Wan met this suggestion with a cold shoulder.

BenTo drew his stool close to the edge of the exam table and gently touched the young Jedi's shoulder, eliciting a visible flinch.

"I said no!" his patient hissed.

"I see," the healer muttered. "You are afraid to receive medical care."

That had the Padawan struggling unsuccessfully to sit, a flush spreading over both cheeks. "That is not the reason," he insisted. "I simply refused."

"Hmm." Ben To stroked his beard dubiously. "Prove it, then."

"What? I'm leaving," Obi Wan announced, making a determined effort to slide his feet down to the floor.

The healer easily thwarted him. "Bant is waiting outside this door," he advised in a low voice. "And she will be terribly mortified when you prance into the outer corridor in nothing but that gown."

"Then I shall disrobe and spare her the pain," Obi-Wan threatened. "And anyone else who doesn't like it can kiss my-" he stopped abruptly, mouth popping open in astonishment, color rising even higher in his face. "…Oh."

"I thought I heard a familiar voice behaving in a most unbecoming manner," Tahl Uvain chided, appearing in the doorframe. Her golden eyes were dull and sightless, but the Force burned steadily about her, radiant and piercing as her wit. "Obi-Wan, why are you shaming yourself and your master in such a fashion?"

The question was clearly not intended to be answered, and it apparently snuffed the vitriolic fire in one go, for the Padawan made no reply but a meek, "I'm sorry, master."

She moved forward, graceful as ever, needing only the Force to guide her steps, and perched upon the edge of the table beside him, laying one hand over his. "Qui-Gon told me what happened," she murmured, caressing his fingers. "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"You need to let Ben To care for you," Tahl ordered. "I don't wish to hear any more nonsense. Fear must be faced."

The young Jedi squirmed a little, but did not contradict her bald-faced statement.

"That's better," Tahl declared, smiling. Her eyes wandered aimlessly over the far wall, but her free hand reached for BenTo's arm. "I'll stay, if it might help," she offered.

The healer harrumphed his consent, as Tahl spread her hands palm to palm with Obi-Wan, a wordless encouragement and comfort. She stayed, and Ben To set to work with great gentleness, and there were no more stubborn edicts proclaimed nor stern reprimands issued.

"He's asleep, Qui – and you should be, too. It's long past midnight."

The tall man quirked a rueful smile. "Says one who is wide awake herself." They made a slow circuit of the indoor garden at the center of the Healing ward, the tiny sanctuary of green boughs and flowing water, pretending that they wandered some wider path.

"I intend to live every moment left to me," Tahl replied, steadily. "Rest can wait until the Force calls me home."

Qui-Gon fell silent.

She stopped him, leaning heavily upon his arm. "Mealncholy does not suit you," she chastised him. "Obi-Wan wears it much better. Leave the brooding to natural talent."

He closed his eyes, his free hand curling about his saber's hilt. The crystal chimed faintly within the Force, clear and true. "I cannot bear the thought of you … dying… slowly over any number of years," he confessed. "My heart is heavy with it."

Tahl Uvain's perfect lips pressed together in disgust. "I'm not dying slowly, as you put it.. I'm living another few years in defiance of fate. You should approve. It's more in your style than mine.":

The words were a bracing slap. Qui-Gon looked at her anew, marveling at what the Force had here wrought. "I am not worthy of you," he said, at last.

"True," Tahl decided, pushing forward again. "And you can drop that mournful tone. You make me glad I'll never again see you with my eyes."

He breathed out the pain of this last riposte and trailed after her, as she wandered the narrow pathway with measured and dignified stride, the Force already burning steadily about her, a funeral pyre ablaze with rare Light.

They exchanged no further words.

"Master?"

Qui Gon roused himself from his introspective vigil. "I thought you were asleep."

Obi-Wan's brows rose in amusement. "I was thinking, master. You were the one sleeping."

The tall man smiled, the welcome insouciance lightening the burdens weighing invisibly against his chest. "You must admit you are not the most stimulating company at present, Obi-Wan."

His apprentice brushed the teasing remark aside, determined to press forward with his inquiry. "Why is it that midichlorians cannot be isolated from their host?"

Qui-Gon leaned back, surprised. "I have no idea. Does it matter?"

"It mattered to Zan Arbor," Obi-Wan frowned. "She was trying to transfer them from one organism to another – to induce Force-sensitivity, I suspect. But it didn't work."

The Jedi master exhaled slowly. "The Force is not a tool to be manipulated in such a manner," he mused. "And her first mistake was to suppose that the midichlorians are the cause of Force- awareness. They are the means, the conduits, not the essence of one's connection. She seems to be a very obtuse materialist, for a woman so allegedly brilliant."

The Padawan idly swept one hand through the air, knocking over a row of instruments and containers on the far wall. His eyes twinkled. "I can feel it again – I mean I can use it. I really am getting better."

Qui-Gon righted a few of the toppled objects with a wave of his own hand. "You are getting stronger," he corrected. "Better is another matter entirely. Your moral character seems to be backsliding into childish mischief."

His Padawan promptly sent the restored items crashing to the floor again, without batting an eyelash or betraying a single flicker of emotion.

"Brat," Qui-Gon muttered. The Force warmed between them. He summoned a small holobook form among the scattered casualties. "What's this?"

"Oh. Master Uvain has been making me read to her. She enjoys poetry. Modern free verse," the young Jedi added, with a hint of distaste. "So uncivilized."

Qui-Gon perused the volume's contents. "Oh? Doesn't she have an autoreader?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "She says it has a horrid vocabulator. She prefers my voice, apparently."

"I see." The Jedi master pocketed the tiny holobook. "It has grown to have a soporific tenor; I can imagine you easily lulling some unfortunate future Padawan into slumber with your lectures."

"It will be an honor to pass on your legacy, master."

Qui-Gon chuckled, very softly. "Good night, my wayward brat. Continue to grow stronger, and Ben To might release you soon – then we can get back to work on making you better."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened innocently. "But who will teach me that?" he wondered aloud, sprawling back against the copious pillows with a singularly languid impertinence

"Don't tempt me," his mentor warned, wagging one finger at his Padawan before exiting into the passage beyond.

Somehow, he realized, the future no longer seemed so rigidly circumscribed by grief .

"Tahl. What are you doing here?"

She arched one eyebrow at him. "I'm a free woman. Well, within bounds. I've been restricted to the Temple perimeter, for the remainder of my natural life." Tahl paused, mouth quirking with black humor. "A condition they will live to regret, upon my oath."

Qui-Gon stepped aside, to allow her entry. She was not free; death's chains were already indelibly bound to her flesh. And yet she was, her luminous spirit soaring away already, casting off its earthly shackles.

"I don't need saving," she reminded him, tartly. "Stop moping."

"Forgive me," he said, following her across his quarters and onto the balcony. A carbon laden breeze lifted the hems of their cloaks, played among loose strands of hair. The city's lights cast a faint and motley radiance upon Tahl's uplifted face.

"You don't deserve this view, either," she told him, sightless eyes gazing emptily over the bustle of Coruscant's endless cosmopolis. Her hands rested lightly upon the railing. "None of us do; none of us deserve the Force's blessing. And yet we are so gifted."

He moved to stand beside her. "A gift is merited after its bestowal," he replied. "We must strive to be worthy of that which is granted into our keeping."

Tahl smiled, a radiance which shamed the gaudy neon finery of the city below. "I never thought to hear you quote traditional wisdom at me, Qui-Gon."

"You have not yet heard my interpretation," he reminded her.

The warm evening breeze drew close about them, expectant.

"I would know this interpretation of yours, Master Jinn," she said, at last.

And the high white walls of the Temple were silent witnesses to the bestowal of a mutual gift, one undeserved but granted without reserve; and death itself withdrew for a short space of time, in reverence for life's bittersweet, boundless defiance of fate.

"Master Dooku!" With an effort, Obi-Wan hauled himself upright in bed, hoping that his appearance was not too lacking in dignity. He half-heartedly attempted to flatten his hair with one hand – an effort doomed to failure.

The Sentinel raised silver brows at him. "I thought I might find you here," he murmured, his bright eyes flitting about the pale walls of the room in the healers' ward. "You have a certain affinity for this place, I have observed."

The Padawan quashed the urge to make a face, settling for a tiny shrug. "I think it may be the other way around."

Dooku's mouth twitched. "Hm. I find myself called away from Coruscant, possibly for several months. I wished to express my gratitude for your role in this last mission. Your performance was more than satisfactory."

The young Jedi rubbed absently at the healing scar along his sternum, and nodded once.

"As I have said before, you would make an excellent Shadow. An exceptional one, indeed."

"I am content to follow the path on which the Force has set me, Master Dooku," Obi-Wan replied, cautiously. "But I thank you for your attention and words of confidence."

The older man smiled, ironically. "A gracious dismissal."

"I would be honored to spar with you again, master – when you return?."

But Yan Dooku held up a restraining hand. "Alas, I think our study of Makashi must be temporarily suspended," he said, offering no explanation for this sudden withdrawal of his favor.

Obi-Wan bowed his head, startled by his own surge of disappointment. "Of course, master – as you wish. I am grateful for what you have taught me already."

Dooku made him a formal bow – a mark of respect, of equality, even – and withdrew, leaving the Padawan in a state of blank confusion, a condition in which he remained for nearly an hour, until Tahl reappeared with a pile of new holobooks and neatly distracted him from brooding.

"Master Li is going to release me this evening."

Qui Gon tilted his head to one side, squinting at his inverted Padawan. Obi-Wan's balance was not perfect; he wobbled slightly upon his one arm, feet pointing toward the ceiling, bland white sleep pants crumpling comically about his knees. But he did not fall, and that was something.

"I'll be sure to relish my last hours of peace, then," the Jedi master quipped.

His apprentice wavered, and abruptly dropped his other hand to the floor, bracing himself with two arms. His spine straightened and steadied. He exhaled slowly. "Blast it."

"You cannot expect to be entirely recovered at once," Qui-Gon reminded him. "A release from the healers' does not constitute permission to recklessly push your limits. In fact, I think it would be wise to keep you confined to quarters for a few more days, under my watchful eye."

"I shall enjoy my last hours of peace, then," the Padawan promptly responded.

The tall man subtly flicked one finger, sending the impudent wretch toppling over. Obi-Wan managed to flip in midair and land on his feet, casting an accusatory glance at his teacher.

"You are a cruel and whimsical tyrant, master."

Qui-Gon feigned ignorance. "I? I did nothing."

"From a certain point of view," the Padawan snorted, sitting upon the edge of the narrow cot. His eyes dropped and then rose again, silently requesting permission to broach some difficult topic.

"What is it?" Qui-Gon slid the door shut behind them.

Obi Wan's gaze slid sideways. He scowled. "I regret some of my words to you before," he said, carefully, "…about attachment." He looked the older man full in the face before glancing away again, to frown at the polished floor. "But… I do not understand. About – well. I don't understand."

The weight pressing upon Qui-Gons; chest returned in full measure for a moment, But there was too much at stake, too much to be lost by prevarication. He stepped across the space and sat beside his Padawan.

"I do not understand myself, entirely," he said simply.

The young Jedi turned to him, alarm flaring in the Force between them.

"Obi-Wan. What does Padawan mean? Literally?"

A short hesitance. "Path-seeker," came the dutiful reply.

"We are all path-seekers, young one. I am ahead of you on the path – that is all. I do not have all the answers. But when I have attained understanding, I will share that wisdom with you. I give you my word."

It was no answer at all; and yet it settled between them with a feather-light grace, an easing of tension like the morning light breaking through murky cloudbanks.

Obi-Wan dipped his head. "Oh. Yes, master."

QuiGon raised a hand to tug on his apprentice's braid, and was rewarded with a tiny, fleeting smile.

They would move forward, and seek their path together. That was all that was required, in the end – and it was more than enough for the time being.

"Just one quick detour, Bant. It won't take long."

Bant Eerin was a woman of unyielding principle, and she was all but immune to rhetorical suasion. "What part of no do you not understand?" she demanded, hands splayed upon her hips.

"The whole thing?" Obi-Wan abandoned his initial attempt and resorted to aggressive negotiations, deploying his most winning smile.

The Mon Cal melted. "Fine!" she snorted, throwing her hands in the air. "But only one. You stubborn chosski."

Her friend took the lead, determinedly wending his way through the Temple's sprawling halls and corridors, all the way to a small office situated in one of the classroom wings. "I'll just be a moment," he promised. "It's important."

Master Chopra slid the door open with a short wave of his hand. His three eyes perked up at the sight of his visitor. "Why, Padawan Kenobi!" the gentle Graan exclaimed. "Rumor had it that you were quite ill. It is good to see you looking so hale and hearty, upon my doorstep. Come in, come in."

Obi-Wan allowed the elderly mathematician to usher him in.

"Now," Master Chopra prattled on merrily. "I suppose you've come to tell me what wisdom lies at the heart of my holocron. Did you manage to discover all its secrets, eh?"

"Erm," the young Jedi answered. "To be quite honest, master, the holocron was destroyed. Crushed to smithereens, in point of fact."

Master Chopra was manifestly not pleased. "I am not pleased," he said.

"I'm truly sorry, master."

But the elderly Jedi merely chuckled and waved a hand at him. "Pshaw. It was but a thing, after all. And we must be grateful that it was not you who were, ah, subjected to such an unhappy fate. Hm?"

"Yes, master."

"Do tell me that you gained some insight from my little bauble before it was crushed."

Obi-Wan gathered his thoughts. "It was illumining," he decided. "But I'm afraid I still don't quite grasp the niceties of interstitial matrix integration. I don't think I ever shall."

Master Chopra shook his head, setting his three eyestalks to waving. "Oh dear," he sighed. "I think we must admit that you are simply not cut out to be a theoretical mathematician. Perhaps it would be wiser for you to simply abandon ship at Sullust,so to speak."

"Perhaps so," the Padawan wryly agreed.

The Graan Jedi tapped fingers against his seldom-employed saber hilt. "Still," he mused. "You do seem to have a penchant for beating the odds. That bespeaks a certain degree of mathematical talent, does it not?"

"From a certain point of view, I suppose," Obi-Wan warily agreed.

Master Chopra nodded and folded his gnarled hands together. "It's settled then," he chuffed. "I shall record that you have passed the astronavigation course, thus sparing both of us any further suffering. There is always more than one way to demonstrate competency. Yours is as good as any, and better than some."

Obi-Wan bowed deeply, supremely grateful for the reprieve.

"Now off you go, before I meditate upon the acute improbability of my resolution and change my mind."

The Padawan didn't need further warning. He withdrew with another respectful bow, and a considerably lighter heart.

"I don't mean to sound greedy, but are you going to finish that?" Reeft gazed plaintively at his friend, deepset eyes lingering suggestively on the small unfinished portion upon the other Padawan's plate.

Obi-Wan's brows rose. "Yes," he answered, flatly. "I am."

"Reeft!" This shocked admonishment was delivered by Bant Eerin, her globular Mon Cal eyes narrowing in disapproval. "He's trying to regain his strength! He needs his food."

"You see?" the subject of this proclamation drawled. "Healers' orders. I am sorry, Reeft." With a slow-spreading grin, he made a deliberate show of demolishing the remaining morsels, setting down his utensil with a smug exactitude.

The Dresssalian Padawan's melancholy features rumpled further. "You would mock a starving man?"

Bant sighed and shoved her own half-finished dinner across the table, where it was promptly put to good use by the perpetually ravenous Reeft.

"You see, Obi," he said around a generous mouthful, "Bant is compassionate.; I don't know what she sees in you as a friend."

The other young Jedi smirked. "Nor do I; but it is clear that she has a fatal weakness for pathetic life forms, Reeft."

Bant slapped her webbed hands down upon the tabletop. "That's it – if you gentlemen are done, I do need to get back to the healers' ward."

"Don't let us stop you," Obi-Wan replied, holding out a hand gallantly in the direction of the exit. "It has been a pleasure."

Her round silver eyes narrowed. "I intend to execute Master Li's orders to the letter. And that means seeing that you proceed from here directly back to quarters. No more detours, and no loitering."

Reeft caught his companion's eye. "I thought they released you?"

"It's a conditional release," the Mon Cal Padawan explained curtly. "Ready?'

Obi-Wan stood, bowing to Reeft and muttering something about inhumane terms of treaty and coercive negotiating tactics under his breath. Both his friends ignored the grumbling protests.

"Good night," Reeft cheerfully wished him. "I would accompany you, but…" He ambled away toward the serving area, empty tray in hands.

"Come on, then." Bant brusquely ordered, and led the way out, her unwilling charge striding vexedly beside her. "I'm sure Master Jinn is eager to welcome his favorite stray back home."

Bant Eerin delivered the aforesaid stray directly to the master's doorstep, and discreetly took her leave.

No sooner had the door slid open than the scent of spicy djo wafted, robust and glorious, into the corridor.

"Master!" the young Jedi exclaimed, his delight at escaping the healers' rivaled only by the anticipation of a second dinner.

Qui-Gon shepherded him into the common room with a hand on his shoulder. "I was under the impression you had already eaten."

"When would that pose an obstacle?" Tahl Uvain asked. "Come sit, Padawan. You can have thirds and fourths, too. I am in a generous mood."

Obi-Wan gladly folded himself down at the low table, across from her. "Have I missed anything else?" he enquired, as Tahl heaped an indisputably generous portion into a shallow bowl.

Tahls' mouth curved upward at the corners. "You've missed Master Jinn's poetry recitation. But I doubt he'll give an encore, so it's your loss."

"He doesn't approve of free verse, anyway," the Jedi master informed her. "And he has been known to nod off during edifying speeches."

"Once! And the Parthusi minister carried on for three standard hours. That doesn't count," the Padawan objected, digging in to his favorite dish with evident delight.

"Three hours," Tahl murmured. "You should have excused yourself to the 'fresher and never returned."

"Master did that," Obi-Wan grumbled. "I was the one stuck listening to the minister's speech on Parthisian cultural heritage." He laid his utensil down. "For three hours, master. Even if I did, ah, snooze through the last bits."

Qui Gon merely smiled paternalistically. "A fine training exercise for you. Next time, you will follow my example and beat a dignified retreat."

His student chose to refrain from making any answer, applying himself instead to the food. Tahl gazed fondly at the Padawan, her blind eyes perhaps seeing what was only obscured and veiled by visible appearances; and Qui-Gon looked upon the two of them, and the simple, sheltering roof above them all, and rested in the moment.

Above that roof the endless stars burned onward; and beyond that circle of light gathered here in amity, the future darkly beckoned; but for now, in this delicate present, the Force shone clearly, a vestal fire kindling on its mortal hearth. And all was well.

FINIS