I always feel a little cheesy explaining stories, but this one at least needs some kind of preface. Over on TF.N, there is a wonderful series of vignettes written by an excellent author by the penname of CYNICAL21. The series is called Freeze Frames and deals with stories of Obi-Wan's, and to a lesser degree, Qui-Gon's involvement of, life in the Temple from cradle to purge. CYN put an idea in my head regarding my favorite Master. After writing a few abortive attempts at a story concerning this obnoxious plot bunny, I've found a way to put it into a story. As you can probably guess, this is it. ;) Also, CYNICAL21 has a number of Star Wars fiction works here on FF.N. I highly recommend you check them out.
Of course, this universe isn't mine. George Lucas created it all, and I make no money on these typings. They are merely a kind of cartharsis, for I am a poor college student who can't afford proper therapy, assuming it would be more effective than this. Thanks for the foundations, George.
Feedback is welcome and, in fact, encouraged. Conventions are consistent throughout and will make themselves apparent as they go; I won't insult you by explaining them.
This is for CYNICAL21. Thanks for the idea, but more importantly, thank you for your encouragement.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lose As Much
Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death. - Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey, A Woman of Independent Means
Chapter One - The Dark
From the Private Journal of Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master:
Time, it seems, serves to highlight certain patterns in one's life. It works to bring out the reasons for one's actions and make it obvious how deliberate the path from where you once were to where you are really is.
In my experience, however, there is no truth to the old adage that time heals all wounds.
The Council has sent me away again. I suppose I could pretend that I am as impenetrable as the Temple itself, but self-delusion is a brand of arrogance I've never been fond of. They think they do me a favor by allowing me to quit those halls where I stood with him, where I thought I knew him – where I thought he loved me as much as I loved him.
I bide my time and follow their pointing fingers when they say go – but I'm not so confident that it is any better or worse for me than staying there. Here is just as pleasant as the Temple – which is to say not very – due to the fact that I can see in my memories what I did wrong. You can try to temper the mistakes of your elders with your own life, but it's a shallow promise that you'll do better than this method will keep you from devising your own unique mistakes.
Yoda was actually the one who gave me my orders. It was a simple test-and-fetch, the investigation of a child whose parents believe he might have the makings for a Jedi.
Or, in this case, parent.
It was an odd, although not completely uncommon, situation. The mother held her small son, a boy of about a year and a half, only three months shy of being too old to be taken under the Temple wing. He was wrapped in a blanket, his thin clothes little protection against the chill night air of the Mid-Rim planet Op'cli. She was slender and attractive, if obviously a little malnourished for the benefit of her small burden.
Her eyes were luminous, a deep jade that caught what few light banks lined her street. She glanced around furtively, as though expecting danger to appear at any second and snatch her child away before she could entrust him to my care.
The woman introduced herself as Se'scen Kenobi and ushered me inside her small dwelling, where I could do the testing. As I probed his Force abilities and took a midichlorian count, she told me the story of her son's birth.
There was only one land mass, which isn't very large, on Op'chi. The land is ruled by one family from the five royal houses who attempt to breed their firstborns at the same time, so as to produce five heirs to contend for control when the reigning monarch eventually dies. The families accomplish this by raiding the villages of the most attractive twelve-year-olds when the firstborn turns twelve. One of each is selected by a judge from each of the about 500 villages, which are divided between the houses. These children are then taken back to the palaces of the families to undergo training and grooming for the mate of a potential monarch.
It was at this point I began to see the beauty in her face and form as she spoke. Se'scen's hair was the same burnished color of her son's, and although it was pulled back tightly from her face, it was highlighted in fiery oranges, yellows, and reds whenever the light from the room caught it. She was graceful and fluid in her movements, gesturing delicately as she spoke. My suspicion was, however, that her eyes were the feature that caught the judge's eye. As she looked around, the color almost shifted, making a myriad of hues in the small iris. They seemed to internally shine, lit from the Force itself.
Her son has those eyes, only a rich cerulean to her deep jade.
The girls were taught many things as befitting their newly acquired stations, including methods of pleasing, both sexually and otherwise, their potential mate. Se'scen, however, fell in love with one of the firstborn's guards when she was nineteen years old. The firstborn was to be married on his twentieth birthday, and by tradition, the woman would not be chosen until the night before. The family and the son had to discuss between the girls which would be the most fitting wife.
Se'scen was announced as one of the top choices the night she discovered she was carrying the guard's child. Such a scandal would instantly be dealt with in a swift but quiet beheading, so the burnished haired woman planned an escape. She disappeared three days later by garbing herself as a servant and slipping out one of the servant entrances. She never told her love that she was leaving.
Travel was not terribly difficult, although Se'scen soon became frequently sick as a combination of a typical human response to pregnancy and her difficulty in finding food. She eventually found her way to a medium-sized village of about 500 people controlled by another royal family.
Se'scen made her living here in mending clothes and cleaning other peoples' dwellings. The village folk were friendly to her and not overly inquisitive. However, the price for their silence was to live on the outskirts, relatively alone. I got the feeling that it was a price she was willing to pay, all things considered, but that she missed the intimacy of her love and the other women she'd left behind.
The young woman bore her son alone and had contacted the Jedi Temple through a series of untraceable contacts, still afraid of being discovered by the royal families, angry at losing one of their women. She was slightly Force-sensitive, having been tested herself as a child and not found strong enough to be taken as an initiate, and could sense that her son was as well.
I handed her son back to her, telling her that he was one of the most Force-sensitive children I had ever encountered. And the child was.
He had a high midichlorian count, although still within the range customary to human children. However, the Force thrummed around him, creating what I can only describe as a kind of halo around him, something that couldn't be explained away simply by the count. Something about this child attracted the Force, like the ertmoths of Coreillia to a flame. He had his mother's beauty, as well as a Force-essence that was breath-taking. I told her as much.
Se'scen smiled faintly, although it was obvious the gesture was not quite genuine. "I suppose that means you'll want to take Ben with you, Master."
I nodded slowly, telling her that it was her decision, in the end.
She sat still for a long time, cradling her child close, murmuring something in his ear that I could neither hear nor completely understand. I believe she was speaking a native tongue to her village. I know it wasn't the Obchi tongue. He sat calmly in her lap, as he had when I had held him, regarding her with those eyes. When she fell silent, he buried his head in her shoulder, clutching at his arms with small, chubby hands. She stood, holding him this way, and told him, "Be brave, my Obi-Wan. You will be a great man and a great Jedi. Remember, I will always love you."
Then she gave him to me. As I held the child, her Obi-Wan, to my chest, she put a small hand behind my head and guided my forehead to her lips. They felt unnaturally warm against my skin, and slightly moist. When she pulled away, she cradled my large chin in her slender fingers. "Watch after my son, Master Jedi," she whispered, searching my eyes frantically with her jade, "guide him and guard him as though he were your own, and the Force will protect you and the Great One bless you." Se'scen then kissed my lips, a gesture to seal the blessing she had given me, should I fulfill the request she had laid upon my shoulders.
Now, he still lies against my chest, snuggled against the tunic, loosely wrapped in my darker outer robe. His eyes have long since closed in sleep, so I could put him to bed in one of the bunks. That seems too cold, though, too impersonal. In a fit of sentimentality I didn't know I was capable of, I'm enjoying the warmth he puts off, and I don't want to put him down just yet.
My mind turns, even though I wish it wouldn't, thinking of another little boy brought, one who was attractive and strong in the Force. Xanatos's icy blue eyes are before me, framed by his dark eyebrows and even darker hair. However, his coming wasn't so sweet or so easy, if such a thing ever is. His father debated for long hours before finally begrudging the Jedi his son. Xanatos was older as well, old enough that he would remember his father as a perfect man, distorted in a child's memory to compensate for the hardships of his upbringing, the failings of his caretakers.
Has it been nine months already since I was Telos? It doesn't seem like it's been that long. I've tried to stay busy in the Temple when I could, and as far away from it when I couldn't. Most of the Masters and Knights don't see the pain any more, it faded with their memory of my former padawan, but I know Yoda still can. I suspect that my Master would be able to as well, if he were still in the Temple, although his response wouldn't be nearly as compassionate as his Master's. Master Dooku always had a profoundly powerful ability to narrow in on that which pained you most deeply. It made him a master in the political arena.
Yoda simply waits, watching with those wide, all-seeing eyes. Waiting for me to come.
I stay away though. I have my reasons.
[Rustle of fabric and a soft exhalation]
The little one stirs, bringing back to where I am and what I'm doing. I didn't meant to venture so far into such well known territory; I'm fortunate this recorder doesn't mind listening to me, given how much I repeat myself lately.
He's just shifting and will be comfortable again in a moment.
I can't help but wonder what the Temple will give to this young one. Outside of it, we find the Jedi Temple a white tower of perfection, something for every child to point to when they see it, to tug at his parent's arm and cry "I want to be a Jedi." But when we go to test the infants and toddlers , when the Masters who are world-weary and tired in such a way that sleep will never touch them hold the small child in our arms and say "He is worthy," we never speak of the hardships of the life in the Temple. No one says anything about what is ripped away from the child before he has a chance to know what he is missing until it's too late. Until he has nothing to fall back upon.
There is a purity about this Obi-Wan I've never sensed in any of the other children I've tested or encountered. It reminds me of the few times I've shared a bed with another person – the heat rolls off some when they sleep so that you can feel it even without touching it. The Force exudes from this child like that – you can feel it, even from a distance. I'll have to ask Yoda if he knows of any other initiates brought into the Order with this quality.
I'm growing sentimental, an emotion I fear doesn't sit well with me. There's something a little too soothing about holding this small child in my arms, something comforting. I could just take him back to the small bunk room in this ship and leave him until he wakes or we arrive at Coruscant. However, that would be a shock; to be with your mother in the evening and wake up alone in a strange place in the night or morning.
I don't like the dark of space, especially hyperspace, for this reason. It's exactly like night; a point in time where all those dark thoughts and fears assert themselves, demand time and consideration that you don't give them during the better-lit hours. I am a Jedi; I know no fear or emotion.
Hah.
I don't remember a time I ever felt that way. I presume I must have as an initiate, but those pleasant moments faded with Master Dooku's training and lessons.
You would think as a Jedi Master I wouldn't always feel one mistake away from dismissal, from being told that I've failed at the one thing I've lived my entire life for.
Which of course makes me think of Xan.
[Deep sigh; a few minutes pass]
Maybe I've already made that fatal mistake.
Of course, this universe isn't mine. George Lucas created it all, and I make no money on these typings. They are merely a kind of cartharsis, for I am a poor college student who can't afford proper therapy, assuming it would be more effective than this. Thanks for the foundations, George.
Feedback is welcome and, in fact, encouraged. Conventions are consistent throughout and will make themselves apparent as they go; I won't insult you by explaining them.
This is for CYNICAL21. Thanks for the idea, but more importantly, thank you for your encouragement.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lose As Much
Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death. - Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey, A Woman of Independent Means
Chapter One - The Dark
From the Private Journal of Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master:
Time, it seems, serves to highlight certain patterns in one's life. It works to bring out the reasons for one's actions and make it obvious how deliberate the path from where you once were to where you are really is.
In my experience, however, there is no truth to the old adage that time heals all wounds.
The Council has sent me away again. I suppose I could pretend that I am as impenetrable as the Temple itself, but self-delusion is a brand of arrogance I've never been fond of. They think they do me a favor by allowing me to quit those halls where I stood with him, where I thought I knew him – where I thought he loved me as much as I loved him.
I bide my time and follow their pointing fingers when they say go – but I'm not so confident that it is any better or worse for me than staying there. Here is just as pleasant as the Temple – which is to say not very – due to the fact that I can see in my memories what I did wrong. You can try to temper the mistakes of your elders with your own life, but it's a shallow promise that you'll do better than this method will keep you from devising your own unique mistakes.
Yoda was actually the one who gave me my orders. It was a simple test-and-fetch, the investigation of a child whose parents believe he might have the makings for a Jedi.
Or, in this case, parent.
It was an odd, although not completely uncommon, situation. The mother held her small son, a boy of about a year and a half, only three months shy of being too old to be taken under the Temple wing. He was wrapped in a blanket, his thin clothes little protection against the chill night air of the Mid-Rim planet Op'cli. She was slender and attractive, if obviously a little malnourished for the benefit of her small burden.
Her eyes were luminous, a deep jade that caught what few light banks lined her street. She glanced around furtively, as though expecting danger to appear at any second and snatch her child away before she could entrust him to my care.
The woman introduced herself as Se'scen Kenobi and ushered me inside her small dwelling, where I could do the testing. As I probed his Force abilities and took a midichlorian count, she told me the story of her son's birth.
There was only one land mass, which isn't very large, on Op'chi. The land is ruled by one family from the five royal houses who attempt to breed their firstborns at the same time, so as to produce five heirs to contend for control when the reigning monarch eventually dies. The families accomplish this by raiding the villages of the most attractive twelve-year-olds when the firstborn turns twelve. One of each is selected by a judge from each of the about 500 villages, which are divided between the houses. These children are then taken back to the palaces of the families to undergo training and grooming for the mate of a potential monarch.
It was at this point I began to see the beauty in her face and form as she spoke. Se'scen's hair was the same burnished color of her son's, and although it was pulled back tightly from her face, it was highlighted in fiery oranges, yellows, and reds whenever the light from the room caught it. She was graceful and fluid in her movements, gesturing delicately as she spoke. My suspicion was, however, that her eyes were the feature that caught the judge's eye. As she looked around, the color almost shifted, making a myriad of hues in the small iris. They seemed to internally shine, lit from the Force itself.
Her son has those eyes, only a rich cerulean to her deep jade.
The girls were taught many things as befitting their newly acquired stations, including methods of pleasing, both sexually and otherwise, their potential mate. Se'scen, however, fell in love with one of the firstborn's guards when she was nineteen years old. The firstborn was to be married on his twentieth birthday, and by tradition, the woman would not be chosen until the night before. The family and the son had to discuss between the girls which would be the most fitting wife.
Se'scen was announced as one of the top choices the night she discovered she was carrying the guard's child. Such a scandal would instantly be dealt with in a swift but quiet beheading, so the burnished haired woman planned an escape. She disappeared three days later by garbing herself as a servant and slipping out one of the servant entrances. She never told her love that she was leaving.
Travel was not terribly difficult, although Se'scen soon became frequently sick as a combination of a typical human response to pregnancy and her difficulty in finding food. She eventually found her way to a medium-sized village of about 500 people controlled by another royal family.
Se'scen made her living here in mending clothes and cleaning other peoples' dwellings. The village folk were friendly to her and not overly inquisitive. However, the price for their silence was to live on the outskirts, relatively alone. I got the feeling that it was a price she was willing to pay, all things considered, but that she missed the intimacy of her love and the other women she'd left behind.
The young woman bore her son alone and had contacted the Jedi Temple through a series of untraceable contacts, still afraid of being discovered by the royal families, angry at losing one of their women. She was slightly Force-sensitive, having been tested herself as a child and not found strong enough to be taken as an initiate, and could sense that her son was as well.
I handed her son back to her, telling her that he was one of the most Force-sensitive children I had ever encountered. And the child was.
He had a high midichlorian count, although still within the range customary to human children. However, the Force thrummed around him, creating what I can only describe as a kind of halo around him, something that couldn't be explained away simply by the count. Something about this child attracted the Force, like the ertmoths of Coreillia to a flame. He had his mother's beauty, as well as a Force-essence that was breath-taking. I told her as much.
Se'scen smiled faintly, although it was obvious the gesture was not quite genuine. "I suppose that means you'll want to take Ben with you, Master."
I nodded slowly, telling her that it was her decision, in the end.
She sat still for a long time, cradling her child close, murmuring something in his ear that I could neither hear nor completely understand. I believe she was speaking a native tongue to her village. I know it wasn't the Obchi tongue. He sat calmly in her lap, as he had when I had held him, regarding her with those eyes. When she fell silent, he buried his head in her shoulder, clutching at his arms with small, chubby hands. She stood, holding him this way, and told him, "Be brave, my Obi-Wan. You will be a great man and a great Jedi. Remember, I will always love you."
Then she gave him to me. As I held the child, her Obi-Wan, to my chest, she put a small hand behind my head and guided my forehead to her lips. They felt unnaturally warm against my skin, and slightly moist. When she pulled away, she cradled my large chin in her slender fingers. "Watch after my son, Master Jedi," she whispered, searching my eyes frantically with her jade, "guide him and guard him as though he were your own, and the Force will protect you and the Great One bless you." Se'scen then kissed my lips, a gesture to seal the blessing she had given me, should I fulfill the request she had laid upon my shoulders.
Now, he still lies against my chest, snuggled against the tunic, loosely wrapped in my darker outer robe. His eyes have long since closed in sleep, so I could put him to bed in one of the bunks. That seems too cold, though, too impersonal. In a fit of sentimentality I didn't know I was capable of, I'm enjoying the warmth he puts off, and I don't want to put him down just yet.
My mind turns, even though I wish it wouldn't, thinking of another little boy brought, one who was attractive and strong in the Force. Xanatos's icy blue eyes are before me, framed by his dark eyebrows and even darker hair. However, his coming wasn't so sweet or so easy, if such a thing ever is. His father debated for long hours before finally begrudging the Jedi his son. Xanatos was older as well, old enough that he would remember his father as a perfect man, distorted in a child's memory to compensate for the hardships of his upbringing, the failings of his caretakers.
Has it been nine months already since I was Telos? It doesn't seem like it's been that long. I've tried to stay busy in the Temple when I could, and as far away from it when I couldn't. Most of the Masters and Knights don't see the pain any more, it faded with their memory of my former padawan, but I know Yoda still can. I suspect that my Master would be able to as well, if he were still in the Temple, although his response wouldn't be nearly as compassionate as his Master's. Master Dooku always had a profoundly powerful ability to narrow in on that which pained you most deeply. It made him a master in the political arena.
Yoda simply waits, watching with those wide, all-seeing eyes. Waiting for me to come.
I stay away though. I have my reasons.
[Rustle of fabric and a soft exhalation]
The little one stirs, bringing back to where I am and what I'm doing. I didn't meant to venture so far into such well known territory; I'm fortunate this recorder doesn't mind listening to me, given how much I repeat myself lately.
He's just shifting and will be comfortable again in a moment.
I can't help but wonder what the Temple will give to this young one. Outside of it, we find the Jedi Temple a white tower of perfection, something for every child to point to when they see it, to tug at his parent's arm and cry "I want to be a Jedi." But when we go to test the infants and toddlers , when the Masters who are world-weary and tired in such a way that sleep will never touch them hold the small child in our arms and say "He is worthy," we never speak of the hardships of the life in the Temple. No one says anything about what is ripped away from the child before he has a chance to know what he is missing until it's too late. Until he has nothing to fall back upon.
There is a purity about this Obi-Wan I've never sensed in any of the other children I've tested or encountered. It reminds me of the few times I've shared a bed with another person – the heat rolls off some when they sleep so that you can feel it even without touching it. The Force exudes from this child like that – you can feel it, even from a distance. I'll have to ask Yoda if he knows of any other initiates brought into the Order with this quality.
I'm growing sentimental, an emotion I fear doesn't sit well with me. There's something a little too soothing about holding this small child in my arms, something comforting. I could just take him back to the small bunk room in this ship and leave him until he wakes or we arrive at Coruscant. However, that would be a shock; to be with your mother in the evening and wake up alone in a strange place in the night or morning.
I don't like the dark of space, especially hyperspace, for this reason. It's exactly like night; a point in time where all those dark thoughts and fears assert themselves, demand time and consideration that you don't give them during the better-lit hours. I am a Jedi; I know no fear or emotion.
Hah.
I don't remember a time I ever felt that way. I presume I must have as an initiate, but those pleasant moments faded with Master Dooku's training and lessons.
You would think as a Jedi Master I wouldn't always feel one mistake away from dismissal, from being told that I've failed at the one thing I've lived my entire life for.
Which of course makes me think of Xan.
[Deep sigh; a few minutes pass]
Maybe I've already made that fatal mistake.