XIV
A gust of cool wind swept its way down the corridor, and Obi-Wan pulled the cloak around his shoulders closer, careful not to remove his eyes from Qui-Gon. "Master…?" He probed. "What were the other factors?" To him, it appeared as though a miraculous route of escape had been thrown open—and even if he did harbour some guilt, it was an avenue of release he had not considered hitherto, and found vaguely comforting.
Qui-Gon's eyes were fixed on the murky sky-line. The lines in his forehead seemed to have deepened, as though he were debating something within himself. Finally, he drew a deep breath, as if coming to a conclusion. "I believe there's something you should know, that might throw some light on what has happened. I had thought of telling you, but…" His voice trailed away.
Obi-Wan's heart sank a little, as he turned away. How long will it take for him to trust me?
"…I now think it would be a better idea to show you," the master finished.
Obi-Wan blinked. "Show me?"
Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "Surely you haven't forgotten all the memory-sharing techniques I taught you, padawan?"
It came to him at once, then, and Obi-Wan shook his head, trying not to appear any more of a misguided youngling than he felt. "I do remember," he admitted, smiling ruefully. "I didn't connect—" he paused for a moment, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind. Abruptly, he turned towards Qui-Gon. "Have you been talking to Master Windu?" he asked. The master returned no answer. "Master Yoda, then?"
"Patience, padawan mine."
He fell silent at once, recognizing the slight amusement that laced Qui-Gon's voice; for some reason, the emotion he felt buoyed him—and he felt relieved. "Yes, master."
"Very well, then." Qui-Gon placed a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead; his forefinger exerted a slight pressure on the tiny crease that existed in between the padawan's eye-brows. "We'll begin when you're ready."
Obi-Wan nodded his assent, and proceeded to engage in series of relaxation techniques that had the effect of stilling his mind in a gradual process. He had been coached in them rigorously by Qui-Gon himself; for there had been many occasions in which speech could not be relied upon—the mind, and only the mind could be used. It was not as easy as it usually was—he had to work on relegating his confusion and weariness to other, more secure areas of his mind, as he was sure Qui-Gon was doing. Nevertheless, it had been done before, and it could be done now. He visualized his thoughts departing into the wide world outside, cleared any residual debris, waited to see if his mind was prepared and ready for an increase in the presence of that which already occupied a corner of his mind.
In a rare moment of stillness during which even the rainstorm seemed to have dwindled to an expectant hush, his mind slipped into tranquillity. Physical touch may or may not aid such techniques for others—he had found that his concentration improved if it was used. In time, the need for it would disappear; for now, it was necessary. It chagrined him, of course, that Qui-Gon needed no such nudging from the outside to achieve what he wished. He sat silent for a moment, wondering about when he would achieve such mastery—and then resolutely banished the last, wandering thought.
"I'm ready, master."
"Good. Proceed."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath as he shut out the sounds from outside, felt the warm touch on his forehead; concentrated on the small pin-prick of light that shone in the centre, and reached an 'arm' towards it.
A tendril of light came forward to meet him. One tendril became two, two became four, and four suddenly blossomed into a large, glowing cluster of light. He felt vaguely uneasy, for entering another's mind— regardless of however welcomed he was—had been taught as a violation of the strictest privacy; to indulge in it for no reason whatsoever would bring a heap of retribution on his head. Qui-Gon made the journey easier by flooding his mind with re-assurance. A prickly feeling assailed him—this procedure was slightly more complicated than the usual, plain image transfers that were easier to accomplish. Qui-Gon must have more on his mind, he thought wryly. Exactly what this was, he would know soon.
As always, stepping into Qui-Gon's mind was a peculiar feeling—he ought to be used to it by now, yet, it was something akin to one's first plunge into cool water, after a day's work in the hot sun. The tendrils of light blossomed into a shadowy cavern of soft, muted colours—green, a deep blue, and a pin-point of muted white…but mostly green. Almost at once, he felt his master's presence fill the dimensions.
/Obi-Wan?/
/Here./ He looked around, taking his time to assimilate what was, in essence, the core of his master's being. It was soothing, peaceful…and completely silent. He waited, guiltily chasing an errant thought away.
/Are you ready?/
/Yes./
/Very well./
Without exactly being aware of what it was he should be watching, he focussed his attention all around him, and was aware of a faint picture forming in front of his eyes. The picture coalesced into something more recognizable—the edges grew clearer, the form took shape…and resolved into that of Archivist T'shar.
Almost involuntarily, he let surprise seep into their connection. /T'shar? You were speaking to T'shar?/
/Yes. I had to./
T'shar's image seemed frozen, weaving rather uncertainly in his mind's eye. /When?/
/A few hours ago—while you were sleeping./
Obi-Wan gave the mental equivalent of a nod; abruptly, the vaguely queasy anticipation in his heart spiked. /Please continue./
T'shar's image unfroze, and he could see that she was speaking. She appeared to be looking up at him from her smaller height—and he realized that he was now watching through Qui-Gon's eyes—of course, she's shorter than him.
Muffled sounds reached him—he frowned, sharpening his concentration, and the sounds became clear at once, as the picture completed itself.
T'shar. She was exactly as he had last seen her—stringy hair wound tightly into a modest bun at the back of her head, face drawn and serious, hands folded into the long sleeves of her robe and violet eyes glinting with a strange fervour. In contrast, the other features of her face were completely immobile. Her manner, now that he was seeing her after a brief interval, seemed strangely like an animated droid.
"…I cannot think I erred, here—after all, in the absence of the master, an apprentice can be taught by other knights in the Temple."
"That rule…" Qui-Gon's voice? Yes, he recognized the baritone—it was not a voice that could be ignored; yet, it felt strange, as he heard it within the confines of the master's mind. "That rule, Madame, holds good for other masters in the Temple. You, as far I'm aware of, are still a knight."
"Master Windu wished me to aid Kenobi, as and when the situation required." T'shar paused. "And really, Master Jinn, your padawan required as much assistance as he could get." A subtle shift in her tone indicated what, Obi-Wan realised with a start, was faint contempt. The picture flickered; the colours around Obi-Wan swirled strangely, and he noted that they were now assuming red and orange tones—Qui-Gon himself was still striving to bring his own emotions into control—and was trying to avoid Obi-Wan from being influenced by them. Almost unconsciously he sent out a beam of comfort, and felt the faint amusement radiating from the master as the latter acknowledged it. Obi-Wan felt a gentle nudge towards the picture, and turned to it.
"Your padawan, master Jinn," T'shar's voice was as clear and sharp as he remembered it and she laid particular stress on the first word, "was exhibiting a lack of control that must not exist in one in his position. If he has gone on as many missions with you as his record indicates, and has achieved a level of competence that must accompany such an accomplishment, surely his control must be impeccable?" She paused again. "Under those circumstances, his emotional state would have affected our own mission—I could not risk that." Obi-Wan aligned thoughts that threatened to flutter out of his control, and forced himself into a semblance of calm. She's right.
"You give no weight to the fact that he might have been in a state of apprehension, Madame? Senior padawan he might be, but he is not yet a master—it would not be fair to assume that level of expertise from him." The colours had assumed a greenish tone again—and Obi-Wan banished a streak of guilt that had almost spun out of control.
"Our padawans—" Our padawans? "—are early taught that to feel emotion, particularly while undertaking field-work, as you do, is a grave risk, Master Jinn. That is the foundation of the Code…"
"And you believe that Obi-Wan has transgressed it."
"While I will not go so far as to say that it was a punishable error," Her voice grated on his senses. "It is obvious that he holds certain theories which need…correcting. Surely he cannot be allowed to think that feeling so much would aid in accomplishing mission objectives. I shudder to think of the danger he will be subjecting others to." Obi-Wan watched, aghast.
"Considering your limited experience, Madame, I wonder how you can possibly be a judge of what my padawan is, or isn't capable of."
"While I admit that I have not known him for years, Master Jinn, I have had the opportunity of seeing many like him—I am the Archivist, and I am aware of many missions undertaken, the Jedi who are sent on such missions, and what exactly these missions entail."
"To know about the specifications of a mission is very different from actually going on one."
"I am aware of the practical difficulties, I believe. That does not excuse the fact that Jedi are required to maintain a balance that will guarantee the success of the assignments they undertake."
"In other words, you insist that my padawan must lay aside his instincts, the voice that tells him to proceed every step of the way, ignore my teachings…and assume the attitude of an unemotional battle droid."
"You misunderstand me. That was not my intention—I accept that Jedi must necessarily improvise during situations that require it."
"A fine concession, Madame." Obi-Wan could sense the thread of amused indignation that laced Qui-Gon's voice, and marvelled the master's control. "The more I speak with you, the more is it apparent to me that you have little idea of what it is to truly engage in active combat with opponents, and to meet unforeseen complications half-way through an assignment. If you are as knowledgeable as you say, you are, Madame," T'shar jerked up her head quickly at the hint of sarcasm. "You would know that to achieve success in our tasks, field-operatives such as my padawan require to be completely aware of their emotions…and to feel them. It is essential in our line of work." He paused, his tone one of gentle understanding. "Needless to say, I do not expect you to be aware of this fact."
For the first time in the conversation, T'shar's impeccable self-control appeared to slip. "I am aware of your teachings, Master Jinn, and that you are an exponent of the Living Force, and of your ideas on this subject. Padawan Kenobi's forte is not the Living Force, as you are doubtless aware of." Somehow, the sarcasm she attempted this time did not quite carry the same effect. "The level of emotion he felt on your leaving for Calai was, I felt, unacceptable. Such is not for us, who strive to be in full possession of our faculties at all times."
Qui-Gon's voice seemed to mellow, if anything—Obi-Wan, attuned as he was to the subtleties of the master's voice, perked up his ears. "Indeed, Madame. I have been aware of it for some time now…and the sentiment was gratifying, to say the least." Gratifying? Qui-Gon was gratified? "I would have been disconcerted in the extreme, had he reined in his emotions and become a wooden wall ornament, in my absence. His emotions are what define him—and though I agree with you that they must not go to extremes…I am quite sure that your efforts to aid him produced the opposite effect."
A surprised silence from T'shar was the immediate effect of this statement. Qui-Gon took his time, and then continued. "In fact, Madame, I'm quite sure that your efforts to help him were not productive at all—because you did not wish it to be."
To Obi-Wan's eyes—eyes that now saw her as another sentient being, rather than an intelligent Jedi—the cracks in composure were becoming obvious. "Master Jinn," she protested. "I assure you that I intended nothing of that kind. I sincerely wished to help him…it is not fair on your part to lay such allegations against me."
"Was it fair on your part, then, to imply that my teachings were inadequate? Did Obi-Wan ever give you cause to think my handling of his apprenticeship was not quite up to par, and that he required assistance from you?"
A pause. "No."
"Yet, you proceeded to take matters into your hands. You decided that you could do a better job that one who has been in the way of handling padawans for as many years as your existence." Qui-Gon threw a hand as he saw T'shar open her mouth. "You will not speak to me of Xanatos, Madame." His voice was low, and laced with a warning. "You are not, I am sure, aware of all the circumstances pertaining to his training—and besides, the one I trained before him, and the one I am training after him, should serve as examples of my success with apprentices, should you ever feel a doubt in my skills."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling faintly overwhelmed. T'shar's eyes had left Qui-Gon's, and were glancing at some point above his head. "I…have never implied that your skills were inadequate. I merely wished to render assistance…" Her voice trailed away.
"Did you, now?" Qui-Gon's voice was gentle—too gentle. "Was yours a sincere wish to render assistance…or an intent to hurt one who possessed all that you did not…and could not?"
T'shar's eyes flew up. "Pardon?"
"I have learnt something of your…turbulent history, for want of a better word. It was only fair on my part, I think, in trying to ease my befuddled apprentice, who seemed to have undergone injury, rather than any good, at your hands." Qui-Gon paused. "Tell me…was your training not interrupted a year after you had begun it under Master Shante, and were you not transferred to the Archives…at the request of your then master?"
T'shar returned no answer.
"At that time, it was recorded that it was your own sincere wish, to begin apprenticeship as an Archivist…"
"It was Master Shante's wish that I do so." T'shar's voice was unnaturally sharp. "He was wise beyond his years, and saw that I was much suited for what I am doing now, rather than run around the galaxy..."
"Saving lives. Wielding a sabre. Negotiating, mediating, and bringing peace to those who wish it." This time, Qui-Gon's voice was genuinely gentle. "He did you an ill-turn, did he not? He forced his teachings into you, made you think that your passion for the life of a field operative was a terrible mistake…that your zeal and impatience had to be curbed into other, less effective areas. I have also seen your records under your sabre-master, during your days as an initiate—there was no reason why you could not have continued to train as a field-operative." Another pause. "He made you feel inadequate…and unworthy."
T'shar pressed a white knuckle to her lips, and averted her head. "I am sure that Master Shante was well aware of my true talents."
"I'm sure he was." Something in Qui-Gon's voice made her look up. "What's done has been done…but that was no excuse to infuse your uneasiness into my apprentice. You are of an age and experience, I daresay, to understand the effect of our own unsettled feelings upon those younger to yourself—there was no justification in what you did to Obi-Wan. You forgot your place, in your misguided attempts to teach him."
T'shar's eyes rose with what seemed to be genuine outrage. "I did not injure him…! I did not seek to…" She stopped.
"Perhaps it was not a conscious decision? Neverthless, your theories are extremely distorted, convoluted…and are more likely to be injurious to those who trust you implicitly. It occurs to me, Madame, that it is you who stand in need of…instruction."
"They—I cannot…I cannot think my ideals were wrong, Master Jinn."
"Are they not? Be so kind as to tell me why, if you are so very capable an instructor, the Council has persistently disregarded your requests to take a padawan? You have wished to take one for the past two years…and your petitions have been rejected—yet I, whose theories you disapprove of, have been urged to take an apprentice repeatedly. Why?"
T'shar voice appeared to tremble. "I…do not know. The Council perhaps feels that more time will have to pass."
"The Council is wise, Madame. They have refused you…because they are aware of your disproportionate thoughts and ideals. You are not ready—and you will not be, for a while yet. To allow you to take an apprentice now would end in disaster—larger in extent, for whomever you should choose as padawan. The Jedi Code goes much deeper than mere words, Madame. To presume to understand it fully after a few years within closed walls indicates a mind that is ill-prepared…and incapable of teaching others about it."
The woman in front of him still retained all outwards appearances of dignity—but her eyes indicated the shock she had sustained. "Does…the Council truly think so?" Obi-Wan noticed that she did not oppose Qui-Gon's knowledge of the Council's decision…even she, it seemed, valued the weight his opinions carried, within the Temple.
"You will soon receive a formal request from the Council to hold forth on your opinions…I'm sure they will be interested in knowing what your well-ordered mind has managed to accumulate, in the past years." This time, Qui-Gon's voice was dry in the extreme—and a faint crease appeared between T'shar disconcerted violet eyes. "You see, Archivist T'shar…I may have earned a reputation is one who frequently argues against the Council—but my instincts often prove to be correct, in the long run. My methods may be unorthodox…but they are not likely to injure anyone. Those whose business it is to know such things, do so." T'shar's fists were clenched. "You will find it difficult, I daresay, to continue as you have done once your session with them is ended."
T'shar opened her mouth, and then closed it, as though re-thinking her decision. Qui-Gon looked down at her a long moment. "I have more news for you."
Her voice was so low that it was near impossible to hear it. "Yes?"
"The Seula'anians, you will be happy to know, have agreed to negotiate with the Jedi, on more flexible terms. I may as well tell you that they did so, after witnessing an exhibition of light-sabre duelling between myself and my apprentice, this evening." Qui-Gon's voice seemed to swell with barely concealed contentment. "Premier Akat'ai was kind enough to inform me that they had stalled efforts towards reconciliation for so long…fearing that the Jedi were a group of mere speakers, spouting high-flown ideals, and incapable of defending them, when it came to that. The Seula'anians are a warrior-race, you see. They appreciate valour in others, as they do among themselves. Obi-Wan's superior performance this evening finally…tipped the scales in our favour, so to speak." He paused, eyes taking in the final, and complete defeat in T'shar's eyes. "I may as well add that he is far more able in that art than others his age…and that his obvious delight and pride in his skill impressed them. Such a one, they believe, will do more for them than one who indulges in long speeches. I do not belittle the efforts of those who were in charge of the mission…merely that diplomacy, precision, and a desire to appear as a stone-faced negotiator will not always help. We are Jedi, and we are required to seek solutions in situations where others cannot. We are given skills that are to be appreciated, and which are not to be denied. Those who cannot think and act with presence of mind, Madame, are soon relegated to…closed confines."
The implication in his words was difficult to miss, and T'shar's face bloomed a fiery red, as she averted her face, blinking.
For a long moment they stayed thus; Qui-Gon looking down at her bent head, while T'shar remained passive, her face far too white against the background. The master was waiting, Obi-Wan could tell.
"If I have hurt Padawan Kenobi, then it was inadvertent, and with no intention to do so." She spoke, finally. "I...apologize." She hesitated, pursing her lips. "Assure him—assure him that his destiny is much kinder than mine." She looked right into Qui-Gon's eyes, then. "I did not acknowledge it then…but I think I do, now."
Qui-Gon nodded.
For the first time during the conversation, a smile—a very slight smile edged T'shar's lips. "I have no predilection for indulging in strange whims and fancies, Master Jinn. But I think I may trust the Force when it indicates…" She paused. "…when it indicates a greater destiny for him than what is perceived. And that you will aid him in accomplishing it."
"True." It was far more than what the master had expected, and Qui-Gon knew when he had achieved what he had set out to achieve. His voice was strangely gentle as he signalled the end of the conversation. "May the Force be with you, young one."
She bowed to him, then, and looked up at him through glazed eyes. "And with you, Master."
The picture in front of Obi-Wan's eyes glittered, and disintegrated into nothing—he felt his connection within his master's mind grow fainter. The light within eased him back into the confines of his own mind…and he slid out of the trance, feeling disoriented, and slightly dizzy. He weaved uncertainly as he tried to get his bearings, and felt Qui-Gon's hands steady him against his shoulder.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
Silence enveloped them for long moments, stretching out into a companionable blanket, as master and padawan looked out into the night sky, and the steadily dispersing clouds.
It was Obi-Wan who broke the silence, first. "I'm still having difficulty believing that you managed to accomplish beginning the negotiation process with the Seula'anians," he spoke.
Qui-Gon smiled. "My...instincts told me that they would be amenable to an exhibition of martial arts - since earlier diplomatic sessions had failed; the Senate was speaking about 'cultural differences' - and knowing their own inclinations... " His voice trailed away. "I wondered if this might not be a solution. I acted on a hunch, so to speak. And it paid off." he looked at the padawan. "That was more an after-thought, however. My primary focus, padawan, was on...other issues."
Obi-Wan felt a brief thread of pride course through him, and bent his head. "And..." he spoke up. "T'shar?"
Qui-Gon's voice was even. "I guessed her motivations…and they were confirmed when I spoke to Master Yoda."
"So you have been speaking to him."
He sensed, rather than saw Qui-Gon smile. "Yes."
"She's accomplished, Master. Intelligent, knowledgeable…and in a position of considerable authority." His question was evident.
"She saw you as the possessor of all that she might have had, padawan. To know that one has been taught wrongly, and to finally see the ideal of one's own heart, enjoying his peers' approval….that can be a crushing experience."
How true. "Was that the only reason?"
"T'shar is a walking bundle of contradictions, I imagine. On the one hand, she was forced to interpret the Code word for word, and taught to deny all that she naturally felt—she took those teachings to heart, and managed to make something out of it. And then she met you—you, as she thinks, the embodiment of all the things she had been taught to deny."
Obi-Wan bit his lip. "I should have controlled my feelings."
"That, yes. That was not the only reason, however."
The padawan gazed down at his hands, almost invisible in the gloom. "She sensed my guilt…" he paused. "And through my guilt—"
"And through your guilt, the strength of your affection. Another luxury that she had lacked, and had yearned for, in her youth. The guiding hand of a mentor who truly understood."
Obi-Wan was silent for a few moments. "I never believed the time would come when I would actually…pity her."
"It would appear that she deserves none, at first glance…but she does, yes. T'shar's failing lies in her knowledge, and her image, as she sees herself, as the perfect, ideal Jedi."
"That ideal is now in ruins, I think." He spoke in a low voice. "I imagine that would be the worst punishment she can suffer."
"There is nothing so galling to a 'perfect' being, than the sudden awareness that there is no such thing, after all." Qui-Gon shifted. "Not all of that justifies her attitude towards you, padawan. I suppose she did try to keep her feelings to herself…" The master paused. "The discomfort you felt was doubtless the echo of her own confusion." He turned to look down at the padawan. "A valuable lesson, padawan mine."
Obi-Wan smiled, albeit with difficulty. "To me; to be aware of my surroundings all the time. " He sighed. "I had hoped I would be at ease in the Temple, master."
"Our real enemies, padawan, are not the ones that are obvious—with weapons at our throat, trying to strangle us outright. Sometimes…they are the ones you do not perceive easily. They stand by your side, and you are lulled into thinking that they mean no harm. And then there is the truly dangerous enemy—the one who is certain of his or her own goodness. The road to a sith-hell, as you so wisely said this afternoon, is paved with good intentions."
The master's voice took on a strange note, and his eyes were unfocussed, though he were seeing something far away. "Beware, padawan mine. Beware of those who say that they seek justice, and peace…be very very careful of those who speak without a pause of the 'better things in life'. You will learn that they're invariably the ones who mean the most mischief. The ones who speak of bringing 'justice and peace' to anyone and anything, who are so very certain that they are absolutely right. They are words that will lull anyone into false security…and when the truth is known, it will be too late."
Obi-Wan's voice was equally quiet, and tinged with a certain awe. "Why would they seek me, Master? Why should I be careful, more than anyone else?"
"Because, my young padawan learner, you are skilled in arts that they will wish to covet. And you already possess that which they will always wish to own—but never can."
Obi-Wan frowned slightly, aware of a niggling twinge in the back of his mind that indicated that he held the key to the riddle, but was unable to find the means of using it. "The Force?"
Qui-Gon smiled. "In time, you will know what I speak of."
"You're beginning to sound like Master Yoda."
"I'm now beginning to feel as old as he is." Qui-Gon chuckled, as he placed a hand on the padawan's head, and tweaked the tiny nerf-tail that Obi-Wan had begun to affect, of late—and he was well aware of why exactly that nerf-tail had come into existence. "You are growing too, padawan."
Obi-Wan suddenly felt bone-weary. "No, I'm not. How am I going to accomplish what you say I must? How am I going to feel, yet not allow my feelings to dictate my actions?" he turned to Qui-Gon. "How?"
Qui-Gon stood up, suddenly. "Get up."
Obi-Wan rose obediently. "Why? Are we returning to our quarters?"
"Not yet. I merely wish to show you something."
"Again?" Obi-Wan smiled as he walked with Qui-Gon, who had stepped down the corridor's breadth, and was now ankle deep in the lush grass that lined the corridor.
Above them, the clouds had scudded away, leaving behind a dark-blue velvety sky…with a strange light pervading it.
They walked along the grass, barefoot, and stopped before a large pond—a natural phenomenon at first glance, but whose sculpted edges showed a human touch. Large, pale flowers floated in it, among wide, flat leaves as huge as dining plates. Qui-Gon bent and scooped a large leaf off, shaking it slightly as water dripped from it.
"Look at this leaf, young one. Watch the water droplets on it. They slide along the surface…yet they do not stick to the leaf—they leave no trace of their existence, as they slide off it."
Obi-Wan watched, fascinated. He had come across such leaves before, and had always marvelled at their silky texture, and the beautiful rose-tinted flowers that bloomed with a sweet fragrance.
"The ideal Jedi is supposed to resemble this leaf, padawan. To feel, yet not let his feelings affect his actions. To know what emotions are, yet to able to deflect their onslaught, and do what is required, in any given situation. To feel, experience…and then release it. Completely, as though it had never occurred in the first place."
Qui-Gon had taught him this lesson, before…yet, it seemed that it was now more poignant than other, previous experiences.
"There is even a kata that signifies the path of a Jedi, travelling along life, using this leaf as an example—and who ultimately achieves his goal," Qui-Gon murmured. "It isn't taught until the padawan reaches the last stage of his apprenticeship—most don't understand the flow of it even then. It is a long, arduous process…many Jedi spend a life-time, trying to learn it. "
"It is…" Obi-Wan bit his lips. "It's a complicated lesson."
"The best lessons are always the hardest."
Above them, the sky began to lighten.
Obi-Wan edged closer to the master, his feet squelching in the grass, and feeling pleasantly ticklish. Strangely, he didn't feel quite so cold anymore. "Master?"
"Yes, padawan?" Qui-Gon was still looking at the leaf, admiring its softness, and watching the water droplets running along it as though he were a child suddenly presented with a new, fascinating toy.
Obi-Wan waited a moment, watching his master's attention focussed intently on the leaf. Warmth spread in his heart—a glow of affection that he had no wish to dispel, at the moment.
Abruptly, he raised a hand to Qui-Gon's brow. It felt cool, though slightly damp. "Are you all right?" he asked. "All this…I can only imagine how tired you must be. " He shook his head. "On top of your mission to Calai…to be aggravated like this…"
The master roused himself, and looked down at the padawan; Obi-Wan saw the eyes twinkling. "Your concern is gratifying, young one." He paused. "Aggravating you might be, but I will bear it with all the strength of a Jedi."
Obi-Wan's lips twitched as he looked into the midnight blue eyes, gleaming with suppressed laughter. "I shall be as aggravating as I can be, then," he answered, smiling. Then, his voice lost its flippant tone. "May I ask you something?"
"Since we've spent the night trading questions, one or two more will hardly matter. Ask away."
Obi-Wan touched the leaf in Qui-Gon's hands gently. "Have you…learnt the lesson of the leaf?"
Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Master Yoda would have plenty to say if he heard my answer…but I can speak only the truth. I too, am still trying, Obi-Wan."
Obi-wan averted his face, staring at the shadowy clumps of bushes and trees that flanked a path-way to his left. His voice was nonchalant. "Tell me, please…why did you leave me behind, when you left for Calai?"
Qui-Gon looked at the top of the ginger-haired head that barely reached his shoulders, an enigmatic expression on his face. "I shall only tell you what I heard from a—from a man I once rescued from an attempt at…taking away his own life. It was on Dentai V, I remember, and I was a newly minted knight. I encountered him on my way off-planet…he had suffered greatly, I could see. I asked him what had driven him to such an extreme step…" The master turned away. "He replied that he had suffered great loss in his family—his father a year ago, his son recently, in an accident. And while he had been able to bear his father's loss fairly well…his only son's death left him with no will to live."
Obi-Wan stood still. Qui-Gon's voice reached him as though from far away. "I believe his exact words were… 'It is difficult for a child to bear the loss of a parent…but it is far, far worse for a parent, to bear the loss of a child.' "
Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat; he turned, to feel his chin tilted up—and smiled. "Still a way from learning the lesson of the leaf, I see," he said, blinking as he spoke.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "It will take a long time," he said, and paused. "I'm rather glad of that."
They stood there for a while, lost in thought, mind pleasantly caught up in each other's words.
"It'll be light in a few minutes," Obi-Wan spoke suddenly, brushing a hand across his face as he did so. "Good Force…how the time's flown. He turned towards Qui-Gon, whose eyes, he saw for the first time, were rather blood-shot. "What do you think we ought to do, now?"
"An early start to a day never hurt anyone—even if said day is going to be spent in relaxation," murmured the master. "I propose we start…now."
He grabbed Obi-Wan's hand, and before the surprised padawan could protest, had flung him into the pool. Water splashed out, almost drenching Qui-Gon in the process. The master stepped back nimbly.
"Master…!" came an agonized shriek as the water was thrashed wildly. "Water's cold…unfair!"
"Life is never fair or unfair, padawan mine," remarked the master tranquilly. "It merely is." He had barely finished when a wall of Force-powered water rose at him, and engulfed him in a smothering wave.
"Lectures when the sun isn't even up I will not tolerate."
"Insolent wretch…!"
Dawn finally broke over the heavens.
THE END