The first time Anakin decides to fight, he's trembling in a royal starship…

Your motivation is my writing mojo, so if you read, I'd be muchos gratified if you'd also leave some feedback. Hats' off to Mr. Lucas for the characters, but this vein is my own creation.

The boy doesn't understand.

"A - ta - whatsits?" he asks, brushing fine grains of sand from the Jedi Master's robe for the second time in as many minutes. Even on a royal starship heading away from the planet of their origin, those clinging grains have managed to survive. "And what does it have to do with Kitster?"

Attachments, the towering Jedi explains, tone low and even. Like it's a completely innocuous term in Basic. Like it won't sever a part of the precocious boy's all-too-small world the moment it leaves Qui-Gon Jinn's mouth.

"Attachments are people who bind us to a life apart from the Jedi Order, Anakin. Those who may dilute our commitment to the Order and divide our focus of preserving civilization throughout the galaxy."

His tone is patient, soothing, light-years from Watto's churlish garble.

"Oh." The boy's deceptively innocent face brightens. "Kitster's not an attachment; he's just my best friend."

"An attachment, I'm afraid," replies the cerebral Qui-Gon Jinn. The image of himself at age nine, sparring with a fiercely beautiful Noorian in the bowels of the Temple, passes fleetingly through this mind. And, just as quickly, he remembers how his transgression became betrayal – he, of the Code he'd sworn to uphold, however loosely, and she, of his heart, to which she'd pledged her own.

Yes, this bronzed boy from Tatooine, clever yet rebellious beyond his tender age, reminds Qui-Gon of someone.

Anakin's blue eyes crinkle as the information seems to penetrate. Jedi Code or no, he could connect with Kitster again someday; perhaps when he returns in his own stately-billowing robe to unshackle his mother. Until then, though…

He is jarred by how different his daily life will become.

Watto… well, he'll leave the Toydarian and his backhands – both compliments and actual blows – behind without a glance. Though Anakin will genuinely miss tinkering with everything that whistles, clanks and sputters in Watto's shop. But, kriff, he'll get his own lightsaber, and the stars will hold no mystery once he's conquered them all.

Then, someday, when he becomes a true Jedi, he'll rid his home planet of slavers, and freedom won't be just another illusion that scatters like the wayward sands of Mos Espa.

"What about Threepio?" the boy inquires, mindful of the hours he's spent honing the intricacies of the droid he's left behind. "Droids aren't people!" Kitster had scoffed, but Anakin knows he's on the right track. Just a few more tweaks someday… a different arm… definitely putter with the personality chips…

"He is a fine protocol droid, and with such… charm," Qui-Gon remarks with a tinge of mischief. "Perhaps we should have asked Padme to convince the Queen of his usefulness."

Padme.

Unbidden, the boy's mouth curves upward as he curls further into the crimson blanket. He'd been nervous to present her with the scrap of a carving he'd done; a wooden trinket seemed too lowly an offering, though she was a servant, too, wasn't she? But the smile she'd bestowed upon accepting it had alleviated his tremors of cold and uncertainty far better than the snug throw.

He would have to see Padme again to ensure the snippet's promise of good fortune was genuine, wouldn't he?

Since he's figured a bit of how this attachment thing works now, Anakin does not ask about the sable-haired handmaiden who moves with a regal grace. There's something elusive about her, anyway, her too-clean, too smooth hands and naivete regarding certain facts of life on the Outer Rim.

He will see her again. This attachments rule can't be that ingrained.

If it is, well… on this one thing, perhaps Anakin will negotiate with his master.

Fight, if he must, though he doesn't want to defy his saviors.

It won't come to that, he decides.

"What about you?" the youth asks, inquisitive eyes focused on the impassive Jedi Master. "If I am your pad-, pad-a – "

"Padawan," Qui-Gon supplies.

"Padawan." Anakin repeats it slowly, enunciating every syllable. It's more than a simple word to this savvy slave-boy, Qui Gon realizes. It's another tool for this young one who exhibits wizardry in fixing things. This opportunity is a means for him to transform his entire life.

"If I'm your padawan, won't you become an attachment, too? And Obi-Wan? If you train us both, isn't that like being buddies, or brothers, or something?"

Which could make Obi-Wan a bit like Kitster is now, Anakin posits. This is why his head is spinning like a pod racer in a blinding sandstorm. The rules of this Jedi Order seem so… changeable.

What the kriff have I gotten myself into? he scowls, petulantly enough that the Jedi Master grins at the boy's vehement thoughts.

But then, Qui-Gon spies Anakin's bottom lip trembling as he swipes a calloused hand over too-bright eyes and opens his mouth. It seems sluggish, too heavy to form words. Don't ask, the boy tells himself. Then you can say you never knew…

"My mother's an attachment, isn't she?"

Despite his straightforward countenance, the Jedi Master finds that he must avert his gaze from the stricken boy. His attention falls to a trickle of stars, their brilliance streaking outside the porthole of the royal starship. We're giving him the stars, Qui-Gon thinks dully, but taking away his sun.

"Yes, Anakin." There is no gesture of comfort as Qui-Gon's stare remains fixed. Though the master empathizes, surely better than any at the Temple will, he knows this is the first crucial lesson he will impart on the Chosen One. "I'm sorry."

There is no reaction. The boy's quiver has ceased, his shoulders squared resolutely in tandem with the stoic elegance of Qui-Gon's posture. Anakin's crystalline eyes have wandered not into the mesmerizing complexity of space, but to the tattered shoes he will discard the moment he earns a shiny pair of Jedi boots.

If Qui-Gon had ventured a look into the boy's eyes, the defiant blaze of crystalline may have alarmed him.

I will return to Tatooine, the boy vows in a mantra that etches instantly in his consciousness. My mother will be free someday. I will make it so.

On this, he will fight. Even the Jedi.