Title: Path of Contention, Path of Resilience
Author: ForceForGood
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku
Genre/rating: Drama, rated K+ for mild violence.
Description: 20-year-old Obi-Wan is taught a harsh lesson by a mysterious Jedi Master, and faces a choice that will affect the way he fights for the rest of his life.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Star Wars, and I don't make a profit from my fanfics. This is a fun hobby, nothing more!
Inspiration: I'm a big fan of Obi-Wan, but even I have to admit that in the prequels he gets whupped pretty badly by Dooku...twice. I wrote this story to explain why that was the case. Many thanks to the authors of Wookieepedia, which was an invaluable resource as I wrote this. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1
The lights automatically switched on as Obi-Wan Kenobi entered the common room of the quarters he shared with his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.
The sudden illumination made Obi-Wan blink a bit as he looked around the room; the lighting in the corridor outside had been dim, since everyone else in the Jedi Temple was asleep. Night had fallen on this side of Coruscant many hours ago, and the dark sky outside the transparisteel window was criss-crossed by the lights from the air traffic still whizzing to and fro between the skyscrapers surrounding the Temple's imposing ziggurat.
Although they'd been gone for nearly three months, the furniture in common room wasn't layered with dust - the cleaning droids had seen to that - but still, the room felt curiously empty, as if it had somehow noticed their absence.
Qui-Gon, entering the room behind Obi-Wan, set down his travel sack without a word and headed straight for the 'fresher. Obi-Wan set his sack down too, and hid a grin. At least some things never changed. His Master always did exactly the same thing as soon as they got home from a mission, no matter whether the mission had consisted of a lot of fighting and slogging through mud, or nothing but endless diplomatic meetings in pristine boardrooms or palaces: Qui-Gon always headed straight for the shower.
After eight years of apprenticeship to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan also knew what was expected of him now. He activated a hot plate tucked into a nook in the common room and started brewing a pot of sapir tea.
It wasn't long before Qui-Gon rejoined him, long hair hanging down loose and dampening the shoulders of his clean tunic. Qui-Gon got to shower first - being Master had its privileges, after all - but at least he had the consideration to be quick. Obi-Wan poured him a cup of tea.
"Feeling better, Master?" he asked.
"Much better. Thank you, Padawan." Qui-Gon sat down and took a sip of tea, then looked placidly at Obi-Wan across the coffee table. "It's perfect."
"What's perfect?" Obi-Wan said blankly.
"The tea, of course."
"I should think it is, after countless lectures on how to brew it to your completely unrealistic standards," Obi-Wan teased. "But why haven't you mentioned it before?"
"It wasn't perfect before. And my standards aren't unrealistic, Padawan, they're just very high."
Obi-Wan took a sip of his own tea and leaned back in his chair. "Perfect," he repeated dreamily. "I don't think you've ever used that word before to describe anything I've done, Master."
"Don't let it go to your head," Qui-Gon advised.
They sat together in companionable silence for several minutes, sipping their tea. Qui-Gon was looking sleepier by the minute. Obi-Wan drained his cup and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair absent-mindedly.
"Well, I'm headed to bed, Padawan," Qui Gon said, rising to his feet smoothly. "I saved plenty of hot water, by the way, and put out a towel for you."
"Oh. Thank you, Master. Actually, I was thinking of going down to the training rooms first."
Qui-Gon paused. "You want to train in the middle of the night?"
"It isn't the middle of the night to me. I'm still on Eeropha time. I just want to run through a few katas and burn some energy, so I can sleep. No one will be there this time of night to spar with me, anyway."
"All right. Nothing too strenuous, please. I intend to work you hard in the morning. We need to work on your Soresu techniques."
Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose in distaste, and instantly regretted it when Qui-Gon fixed him with a dangerous stare.
"Is there a problem, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
"Well?"
"Well, no offense, Master, but of all the combat forms, Soresu is the most... well, boring. Can't we work on Ataru instead? You could teach me the new variant on the jung su ma spin, the one Quinlan keeps using to destroy me every time I spar with him."
"If you think Soresu is boring, Padawan, it's because you don't fully understand the power of its defensive techniques."
Obi-Wan sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands. "I just earned myself another long lecture on the glories of Soresu, didn't I, Master?"
Qui-Gon didn't smile in response, but Obi-Wan knew him well enough by now to know he wasn't truly annoyed, either.
"Yes, you did." Qui-Gon paused. "But it will have to wait. I'm too tired to lecture you properly now."
Obi-Wan smiled wryly. "I have something to look forward to, then. Good night, Master."
"Good night, Obi-Wan."
As Obi-Wan expected, the training rooms were empty and silent. He chose a low-power training saber from the rack on the wall and began to run through a simple warm-up exercise. He liked the solitude, liked the way the only sounds in his ears were the soft thumps of his boots on the smooth floor, the hum and whoosh of the lightsaber, the rustle of his clothes as he moved and his own steady breathing. He moved slowly, forward and back, holding the saber lightly in his hand and focusing on making the weapon an extension of his own arm. On a deeper level, he communed with the Force and let it guide his movements, bringing him more precision and grace than came to him naturally. Within minutes, he was lost in the dance and aware of nothing but himself and the Force flowing through him.
Abruptly, the peace was shattered when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of someone standing in the doorway of the training room, despite the fact that he hadn't sensed any presence. Startled, Obi-Wan faltered mid-swing and ended up grazing his boot with his training saber as he recovered to guard. The smell of burnt leather filled his nostrils as he deactivated the lightsaber and turned to face the interloper.
It was a man, Obi-Wan saw in a glance, a Human man with impeccably tailored tunics and robe, and boots polished to a high shine. A silver lightsaber dangled from his belt, and something about it looked off. The hilt was curved, Obi-Wan realized after a moment; an unusual variation for a Jedi's weapon.
And the man had a gray beard and graying hair, so he was old; older than Qui-Gon, at least, which meant he was probably a Master. And he'd just seen Obi-Wan hit himself with his weapon, as if he were a 5-year-old initiate and not a senior Padawan! Obi-Wan could feel his cheeks burning as he lowered his head in a respectful bow to the newcomer.
"You shouldn't let your guard down like that, boy," the man said in an unexpectedly deep and resonant voice. "Always be aware of your surroundings. Just because you're in the Temple doesn't mean you're safe."
"I'm sorry. I will try to do better, Master."
"What is your name, Padawan?"
"Obi-Wan Kenobi."
The man raised an eyebrow. "So. Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice."
"That's right, Master...?"
The man didn't catch the gentle hint. "You did reasonably well with the blade positions, young Kenobi, but your footwork is atrocious."
"I know," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I am working on it."
"I could give you a proper demonstration, if you like. Footwork is my forte." The man shed his robe and began scanning the rack of training sabers. "No curved hilts, of course," he murmured in dissatisfaction.
"That's very kind of you, Master... Master... uh, Master." Obi-Wan said quickly, "but my Master said I wasn't to exert myself..."
Turning to face Obi-Wan, the gray-bearded man activated the blade of his chosen training saber and held it vertically in front of his face, then swung it to a downward guard position with a flourish. It was the classic Makashi salute, something Obi-Wan had not seen since he had learned the basics of all the lightsaber combat forms as an initiate. Not many Jedi used the Makashi form these days, though it had been in widespread use during the New Sith War a thousand years ago.
"Come, boy," the man prompted impatiently. "En garde."
Confused and at a loss for what else to do without seeming disrespectful, Obi-Wan reluctantly activated his training saber and held the weapon vertically in front of him in the two-handed Ataru opening stance; like Qui-Gon, he favored the fourth lightsaber form, which featured plenty of leaps, spins and other high-speed acrobatics. There was nothing boring about Ataru, and Obi-Wan suspected the older man would not be able to counter the quick and agile moves he excelled at, at least not for long.
"Your move," the master said.
The hour that followed was one of the most humiliating of Obi-Wan's life.
The man did not leap and spin. He did not slash or chop. His strikes were not particularly quick or forceful, but they didn't need to be. Whenever Obi-Wan thought he knew which direction his opponent's blade was going to strike from, suddenly it was coming from an entirely different direction. The hot blade flicked at his arms and legs again and again, until he was covered in light burns that made it increasingly painful to contort his body into Ataru acrobatics in an attempt to make a few hits of his own. Obi-Wan grew increasingly frustrated. The man began to bark instructions at him.
"Stop moving around so much. Confine your movements to forward and backward, charge and retreat, always keeping the feet balanced."
"Don't make it so obvious what you're about to do to me, Padawan. Use feints; keep your opponent on his toes. Destroy his confidence."
"Stop wasting your energy on those enormous swings. You're wielding a weightless blade, boy, not a vibroaxe. A jab or light cut is sufficient to incapacitate your enemy."
Obi-Wan tried to follow his advice, but he was unaccustomed to fighting this way, and he was nearing exhaustion, which made him clumsy. His opponent, on the other hand, had hardly broken a sweat and exuded cool confidence.
"Surely you can do better," he chided Obi-Wan more than once.
The comment was infuriating, because Obi-Wan felt he was fighting as well as he could, given the circumstances. But he knew he needed to end the fight quickly; he was too tired to last much longer. As the man aimed a series of thrusts at his legs, Obi-Wan saw his chance. To protect his legs from more stinging blows, he leaped into a high flip over the man's head, intent on landing the death blow by using a tight spinning slash through the man's midsection the moment he landed.
He never got the chance.
Mid-air, Obi-Wan felt a hot slash across his back, and the next thing he knew, he landed in a crumpled head on the floor with a scorching burn across his back.
As he lay there gasping for breath, the gray-bearded man walked over to look down at him coolly. "If it had been a real fight, boy, I would have sliced through your spine from kidney to shoulder blades."
Stunned, Obi-Wan could only lay there at a loss for words; he had no idea what he had done wrong. The older man reached down and helped him up.
"I concede, Master," Obi-Wan said, bowing low not only to show respect but also to hide his embarrassment at having been so thoroughly defeated by a man who was nearly elderly. He hesitated, then grudgingly admitted: "That was a killer move."
The man's lips curved upwards for the first time since his arrival, though on his lined face the expression looked more like a grimace than a smile. "I know every weakness of Ataru, boy, with all its ridiculous acrobatics," he said. "On the other hand, not many Jedi bother to advance in Makashi far enough to truly reap its benefits."
The older man deactivated his training saber, and Obi-Wan gratefully did the same.
"However, you do have a certain aptitude for strategy, young Kenobi, which is the very heart of Makashi," the master continued. "If you were taught properly, perhaps one day you could master it."
"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan said. "And thank you for the lesson."
"It was my pleasure, young Kenobi. I trust you will remember it."
Oh, don't worry, Obi-Wan thought sourly as he limped back to his quarters. I will never forget it as long as I live.
TO BE CONTINUED