Lineage VI

Chapter 22

Obi-Wan sallied into the mid-level dojo just past dawn, hungry for whatever conflict chance or the Force threw his way. Here, he might well encounter some of the advanced senior Padawans or a younger Knight willing to throw down in a saber contest, a clash of skill and speed intense enough to drown out all other realities, however briefly.

The practice floors were empty. Well, all but empty.

He bowed, startled by the unexpected sight of Master Yoda, apparently waiting for him, in the very center of the junior training rooms. "Master!"

The tiny Jedi shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his stick. His long ears twitched irritably as he grumbled and chuffed his way across the scored floorboards. "Early you come, Obi-Wan. What seek you here?"

"A… a sparring partner, master," he replied, hoping that the ancient one would not offer to fill this role.

But the old master merely snorted. "Looking for fight, you are,"" he corrected tartly. "Feel your anger, I can. Carry it with you, I think." One clawed hand rose, blunt digits extended. The Padawan's saber hilt flew from its place at his belt to land squarely in Yoda's grasp.

"I don't-"

"Yes! Yes, you do!" the Grand master rasped, gimlet eyes narrowing. He brandished the weapon. "A tool for indulgence of feelings, this is not." He placed the 'saber at his own side, "Keep this I will, until better control of yourself you attain."

Scarlet spread across the Padawan's cheeks, and he sank to one knee. "I…forgive me, master. I … I…have no excuse."

The gimer stick poked him lightly in the chest. "Much to talk about we have, hm?"

A sinuous burn mark scarred the floorboard beneath his left knee. It blurred into a double and then triple image as he studied it, its contours smearing into a salty river.

"I am truly sorry, master."

The ancient teacher stumped about, stick clacking on the hard polished terra-wood. "Busy I am. Much to do. Speak now, we will, while time there is, eh? Tea I have ready."

The young Jedi risked an upward glance, steeling himself to meet a harshly censuring gaze, but Yoda merely peeked at him over one hunched shoulder, wispy hair waving softly as he stumped along toward the door.

"Come, youngling," the wizened old troll grunted, leading the way out.

"I've read your addendum to the mission report," Mace rumbled. "It's a disturbing thought."

"But an insightful one," Qui-Gon replied. They walked briskly, long strides evenly matched. "What better way to test the waters than in a relatively untrafficked corner of the Republic?"

The Korun master sighed. "Conditioning centers for troops… secessionist alliances… Trade factions vying for power in their proprietary sectors… and an unknown manipulator behind the whole scene… it's quite the conspiracy theory, Qui-Gon. Unlike you, really."

The tall man's mouth quirked. "My Padawan was the originator of the idea… but I feel there is great truth in what he says. And Mace…"

They halted, facing one another squarely. The dark-complected man studied his companion closely.

"The Council must not ignore these warnings. A great disturbance is brewing on the horizon."

"I feel it too, " Mace growled, nodding his head in solemn acknowledgment of the ominous future. "We will be vigilant."

They walked onward, lost in uncomfortable premonition of things still shrouded by time's dark horizon, their footsteps carrying them from the outdoor gardens into the long morning shadow of the Temple's high ivory walls.

"Drink first, talk later," Yoda commanded.

When the bitter tea had been reduced to murky dregs swirling in the shallow bowls, the ancient one settled comfortably upon his aged meditation pad. Obi-Wan's gaze swept around the dim chamber, taking in each detail of the Grand master's private quarters. The cleaning droids were very clearly never allowed in here… though he did not even dare to think the word "uncivilized" in Yoda's revered presence.

He didn't need to. "Hmmmmph," the ancient Jedi grumbled. "Outward dust and grime far preferable to inward. Keep his heart pure, a Jedi does. This gross matter," he waved a hoary hand at the walls and floor, "a distraction can be."

"Yes, master." The Padawan straightened his tabards, tucking his feet beneath himself on the opposite cushion.

Yoda leaned forward, eyes half-hooded. "Now," he ordered. "Angry you are. Meditated on this have you?"

"Yes, master – I have. All night. But… I .. I did not gain any insight. My meditations were disturbed."

The ancient one dismissed this with a snort. "No wonder. Angry you are. Blinds us to the Force, makes us deaf: anger these things does, and more."

The Padawan stirred uncomfortably. "What shall I do, then? I cannot release my feelings without the Force.. and now you tell me I cannot touch the Force while I am burdened with these feelings. There is no way out."

"What?" the tiny master feigned amazement. "Surrender, do you? Already?"

"No… but –"

A loud exclamation of disgust silenced him. Yoda poked a claw in his direction. "This word. Forbidden you are to say it again." He waited a moment, daring his interlocutor to object, then plowed onward. "Tell me you will in what your anger is rooted."

Obi-Wan tensed. "Master Qui-Gon," he started. "…But the Council knows what happened! You have even given me the choice to-"

"No!" came the next interruption. "Not a ratification of your feelings was that. Merely a possible solution. Censured Master Jinn is not. Necessary his actions were, if to live you were."

The young Jedi's spine stiffened. "Perhaps he should have left me to die, then. I thought… I thought we were cornered. I expected him to fight by my side. I would have done my duty, master!"

Yoda's implacable gaze softened a trifle. "Doubt it I do not. But your duty, changeable it is. To follow your master's lead, sometimes, it must be. Risky were his actions, but effective in the end."

The Padawan stared, appalled. He ground his teeth, horrified at the upsurge of fury in his gut, terrified that he might shame himself and unleash it here, in the presence of one he honored above almost any other. "I – I – he whipped me, master! I – he said to trust him, and he laughed and he – " The next words were swallowed down in a hard gulp.

"Hm. Pain you suffered," Yoda summed up. "Pain of the flesh we must endure, sometimes. Strong are you. Recovered, yes? Why angry still at healed wounds?"

Obi-Wan squirmed in place. "That's not … I'm sorry. I understand. I didn't then – but I can see the reasons now. And the pain is in the past. But, I still…" He struggled to put words to the elusive poison that seeped beneath his blood, the hurt that would not lessen.

Yoda sighed, deeply. "Attachment," he grumbled.

Qui-Gon had said the same thing. He was so blasted sick of hearing it. "Betrayal," he objected.

"No," Yoda insisted, coldly. "Attachment. A stone there is in your pocket."

Surprised by nothing the ancient one did or said, or perhaps contrariwise equally surprised by all of it, the young Jedi withdrew the smoothed river stone from its customary place inside his inner tunic. He turned it between his fingers for a moment, remembering the occasion of its presentation to him, and then closing one hand gently about one of his only truly private possessions.

"Personal feelings," Yoda rasped. "Like your stone they are. Easy to hold them, when a source of comfort they are." The rock warmed as he spoke, a point of welcome heat radiating outward from its center, suffusing the Padawan's hand. "But a source of suffering also can they be." The stone blazed hot, a burning coal. Obi-Wan dropped it, gasping and rubbing his stinging palm against his knee. It throbbed with the burn.

The river stone rolled on the floor, ending between the two meditation pads.

"Let go, you must. If your attachment you cannot renounce, then remove yourself from its object, you must. Cleared your path, the Council has. Advise you, I can. But your decision must it be."

Obi-Wan held out his aching hand and summoned the cooled stone back into his possession. "I crave your counsel, master," he murmured, bowing his head.

The ancient one closed his eyes, serenely. "Compassion," he said, cryptically. "Stronger than attachment, it is. A better guide than personal feelings, Padawan."

The young Jedi stowed his rock close against his heart. "Yes, master," he answered, feeling the Force-sensitive mineral warming against his skin, a soothing presence. Compassion. Trust. Forbearance. He reached feebly for the Light, understanding that he had been offered the choice of a lesser path as a concession to his youth and weakness, an acknowledgement that he could back away from this struggle without blame.

In the end, he did not feel like surrendering quite yet.

His jaw set itself in a hard line.

"I must decline the Council's offer to transfer apprenticeship," he told the Grand Master. "I will not take the easy way."

Yoda's eyes opened, a limpid fire kindling in their depths. His wrinkled mouth opened in a ghoulish smile, revealing small crooked teeth. "Then climb the steep path, you must." His hand brushed against the Padawans' saber hilt. "Earn right to carry this. Keep it safe for you a little longer, I will."

There was no countermanding the ancient one's decision; Obi-Wan stood, and made his formal bow, and was dismissed with a not unkindly grunt.

Tahl rose from the couch upon the Padawan's entrance, her hand sliding out of Qui-Gon's grasp. "I… will be in the Archives," she announced, tactfully sliding past the newcomer and into the hallway. "But feel free to stay."

And she was gone, sealing the door behind her.

Qui-Gon stood. "Obi-Wan. You've made your decision." There was no need to ask; the Force was roiling with a heady resolution, a long-brewing electrical storm finally descending upon the shore. He braced himself for the deserved blow.

The Padawan fixed him with a penetrating blue gaze, his first words tumbling out as though rehearsed. "Master, I wish to apologize for my harsh words to you in the last days. My conduct sprang from inappropriate personal feelings, and I … I regret my rash behavior. I wish to express my deep respect for your teachings, and honor your decisions. I understand the reasons for your actions, now, and I do not … I have no cause for resentment."

The tall man hesitated. This was no beginning at all. But nor did it seem to be the ending he so secretly dreaded. He hooked thumbs through his belt, pensively. "You do not need to apologize to me," he said, simply.

Of course, his apprentice could not resist the invitation to debate.

"I just did," Obi-Wan retorted. "And there is need. My feelings – they ill become a Jedi! They are –were- inappropriate. You said yourself that attachment leads to suffering, that it should be the last lesson-"

"That is not my point," the tall man calmly interrupted. "There is no need to apologize for your feelings, whether or not they were appropriate. I have always taught you to recognize, accept and release such emotion. Perhaps you might have handled your present distress more graciously, but I do not blame you for possessing a generous and therefore vulnerable heart."

The compliment ruffled the Padawan's composure more than the throng of fourscore enemies in the Xolinthi stronghold had. "This is not a matter of the heart," he replied, tightly. "It is a matter of reason. I understand the necessity of your actions… that is all that matters. I see the whole picture, and my place in it. I …I was blinded by emotion before."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "You cannot talk your way out of this, young one. Your mind may be at peace, but much the opposite is still true of your feelings."

The first lightning flashed in the Force's invisible heavens. Obi-Wan's chin came up. "My personal feelings do not matter!" he snarled.

Qui-Gon stood fast in the rising gale, feeling the shifting of the winds. "They matter to me," he persisted.

Thunder rolled between them. The Padawan stepped closer. "Then why did you do it? " More thunder. Another forked tongue of light, splitting the clouds of cold reserve. "I trusted you! I wanted you there, at the end! I would have died right there, by your side!"

"I know."

The placid reply earned him another inaudible, deafening rumble of emotion. The Force was whipped by cold recollection, by storm-tossed confusion, by outrage. "You laughed!" Obi-Wan accused him, the inner maelstrom finally making landfall. "You shielded from me! You – you made me scream!"

Qui-Gon seized him by one shoulder. "That was Merggum," he said, sharply. "Obi-Wan: you were barely cognizant. That last strike was Merggum, not me. And I shielded so that you could not feel my pain.. and perhaps to save myself from yours. Do you think I enjoyed myself, Padawan?" He allowed some of his own recalled horror to seep into the tumultuous Force.

The young Jedi's brows contracted into a pained valley. "I .. I don't know… "

The tall man's gut twisted. Had the boy even heard his repeated reassurances, the heartfelt apologies sent across their bond? Drugged and disoriented as he had been, it was possible that any attempt at solace would have been futile. Or had the subsequent lashing scourged all such feeble comfort from his memory?

"I would never cause you such pain if –"

"You turned on me! I trusted you and you betrayed me!" Hailstones fell in wild torrents, excoriating shrapnel, remembered pain. "You were supposed to fight by my side, not shoot me down! You- you were supposed to teach me… not transform into a monster!"

The tall man closed his eyes, reeling beneath the onslaught. He sank to one knee, humbling himself. "Obi-Wan. I have wronged you, though I intended only your good. I beg your forgiveness – not as my Padawan, but as my friend. As my fellow Jedi."

The boy heaved in a shaking breath, once again stunned. He slowly dropped down to his knees, until they were level. "I …. Master, I …don't-"

"I have failed you, young one. I betrayed you, indeed. It was attachment that drove me… perhaps we were meant to die on that asteroid. But I have wrested fate into a different course, and now we both face the consequences. I beg your pardon for my folly, and for the pain I inflicted. I only ask that you do not nurture this anger any further."

And with his plea for clemency, the hot passion brewing in the Force melted gracefully into shame, and then sorrow, and finally a tender grief, empathy for a perceived oppressor, bone-deep intuitive understanding of the reciprocal horrors they had faced.

He looked up, and saw only compassion welling where fury had squalled but a moment earlier. Forgiveness fell, spattering lightly at first and then pouring in clear rivulets from hidden recesses of being, unsullied springs. In flagrant defiance of the Code, Qui-Gon gathered the young man in his arms, pledging to the Living Force a nameless oath, one outside the trammels of tradition, of rubric and ossified wisdom. He held on fast, defying the cruel wheel of fate to break that which outstripped mere attachment as compassion outshone the pale greed of possession.

Eventually, the rains ceased, and the shuddering of his apprentice's shoulders quivered to a standstill. "Master," Obi-Wan muttered, "I wish to remain under your guidance."

A tiny smile lifted one corner of the Jedi master's mouth. "So I assumed." He did not lessen his protective grip.

"I never want to accept an undercover assignment again," Obi-Wan told him, earnestly. "Can you petition the Council?"

A bittersweet sigh. "That is not ours to choose, Padawan."

"Oh…. But can't you-"

"No." He held on, buffering the harsh truth with his steady embrace. "I am sorry."

He had known it from the start, from the day he had told Plo Koon the boy was too young, for there was too much at stake in such missions. Obi-Wan was recklessly brave, and would sacrifice his life without fear or regret; however, the capacity to sacrifice some measure of integrity for the greater good, to accept the nauseating amoral realms into which necessary deception might lead one… that was something he might never fully master, though he would try. Qui-Gon wasn't sure he wanted to ever see the lesson driven home, either. "We will discuss it later. Now is not the time."

A stifled hiccup. Qui-Gon rested his chin on top of the boy's head. "We both have much to learn," he sighed. It was true. They were now shackled by attachment and by the open confession of the same – both of them together, bound by more than honor, mutually wounded by their damaged trust. It would be a long road ahead, steep and treacherous – and perhaps more difficult than either had ever dreamed - but aspiring to a rarely attained summit.

"I am ready," Obi-Wan assured him in a muffled voice, addressing the unvoiced sentiment..

Qui Gon stroked his back, fingers skimming over the fiery scars of a cruel whip, marks muted by bacta and time, but lingering on as livid echoes in the Force. "It will never happen again, " he said gravely. "I promise you. We have nothing more to learn from betrayal."

To accept this first pledge was itself an act of trust, an unmerited grace. Obi-Wan sucked in a deep breath. "Yes, master."

And they began anew.

After another minute, Qui-Gon grimaced. "My old joints are stiffening," he lied. "And if Master Tahl returns to this maudlin spectacle, she will never let me hear the end of it."

"And I in turn shall then never hear the end of it," Obi-Wan quipped, dashing a hand over his moist face and yet still managing somehow to convey a droll resignation.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, covering a chuckle. "Brat."

They stood, cloaking themselves in the humorous excuse, in the thin but sufficient disguise of wit, and turned to face the future together.

They left Tahl's quarters an hour past midnight, Obi-Wan half-stumbling as he yawned his way down the hushed concourse to their own apartment.

The familiar clack of a gimer stick brought them up short, bowing in unison to the shriveled green master who seemed both to know all things and to be everywhere at once, like the Force he so devotedly served.

"Asleep on your feet like a bantha, Obi-Wan?" the ancient Jedi inquired, eyes traveling perceptively over the pair of them, sifting the grains of possibility and finding himself pleased with the outcome. "To bed with you." He waved his stick imperiously, sending the exhausted Padawan on his bleary way.

They lingered in the passage until the boy's dark cloak was out of sight.

"Master." Qui-Gon waited patiently for the eccentric elder to speak his mind, as he so clearly intended.

"Hhmph," Yoda snorted, after a long pause. "Disappointed, Master Dooku will be, I think. Keeping the boy for yourself, you are."

"Until my duty to train him is fulfilled," Qui-Gon affirmed. "I intend no disrespect to my former master."

The old one grunted sardonically. "Good for him, is a little disappointment now and then. None of us too old to learn, is. Even eight hundred fifty some is young, in the Force, hm?"

The tall man smiled. "We are all infants in the Force," he agreed. At the moment, heart singing within him, he felt like a newborn looking upon the wondrous galaxy for the first time.

Yoda's gaze followed his, down the stretch of corridor the Padawan had just traversed. "Something for you to return to proper owner," he chuffed, reaching beneath his tattered outer robe to produce Obi-Wan's gleaming saber hilt. "In your keeping, I think this is safe, yes?"

Qui-Gon accepted the weapon gravely, inclining his head. "I heed your words, my master," he murmured, the message not lost on him.

"Good," the tiny master harrumphed. "Keep you from your rest, I do. Go. Need it you do, if keep up with that boy you must."

Dark tresses fluttered down, coiling and piling upon the smooth floor, the last vestiges of Prince Beju shed like gentle rain. Qui-Gon Jinn set down the grooming tool, releasing a soundless, satisfied breath as he surveyed his handiwork. "Much better," he murmured.

Kneeling amid a silky drift of discarded mahogany, Obi-Wan ran a hand curiously over his scalp, feeling the close-cropped hair – a scant centimeter of auburn roots that had survived the trim. "It's… short," the Padawan agreed, brows rising. "Master Windu will approve of your extremism."

The tall man smiled placidly. "You resemble a freshly shorn Chandrilan lamb. Even Master Tahl might be moved to maternal tenderness by the piteous spectacle."

The young Jedi snorted. "As long as I never have to see Beju again – at least in a mirror."

Qui-Gon combed through the dangling strands of the unbound Padawan braid, sole survivors of his ruthless purge. "I think we may safely anticipate the granting of that wish, although –"

"We come to serve," his apprentice dutifully finished. He fingered the downy locks piled about his knees, quietly pondering some private source of dubiety.

Qui-Gon divided the long hair into three thin sections: teacher, student, the Force.

"Master?"

"Hm."

"I know it is of no importance," the Padawan hesitantly began. "That is, there is no such thing as chance. But Prince Beju and I share certain physical traits. Do you suppose…?"

Qui-Gon smoothed the hair between his fingers. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "No. There is no traceable relationship."

Obi-Wan's shoulders relaxed, a minute slackening of tense muscles. "Are you quite certain, master?"

"Yes. I, ah, checked the genetic records before we departed. The notion had crossed my mind, as well."

"Not that it matters," his apprentice assured him.

The Jedi master twisted the separate strands together, deftly, the pattern of the woven thread as familiar as breathing. Markers were replaced, tiny milestones on the path, colored threads and here or there a miniscule bead signifying a trial overcome, a wisdom gained.

"But then," the Padawan insisted, frowning slightly, "what accounts for the resemblance?"

Qui-Gon carefully twisted the braid one last time - another step forward, another knot of shared experience binding them together - and tied off its end, smoothing the plait over his student's right shoulder. "Appearances can be deceiving, young one."

"But –"

The master held up a silencing finger. "You must trust me in this, Padawan."

A troubled nod. "Yes, master."

"And no brooding."

"Yes, master."

He placed his hands upon Obi-Wan's shoulders, holding him at arm's length. "Good."

Their eyes met in perfect understanding, a mutual commitment to heal the scars of recent memory, to rebuild the sacked citadel of trust from ruins into renewed strength. Slowly, surely, yoked together by tradition, by discipline… and by something more, they would move forward side by side. The Force resonated with the pure note of another beginning, a present moment mellowed and deepened by the past, not yet overshadowed by the ever-moving future.

Qui-Gon leaned closer. "There is no resemblance, my Prince." He brushed a gentle kiss across the boy's softly furrowed brow, a formal benediction smoothing away the last residue of doubt. "…None at all."

FINIS