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Author's Note: This will probably be a one-shot because the idea came to me, and it wouldn't evacuate my mind until I wrote it down, so I figured I would share it with you guys and see what you think. Anyway, this is the result of my watching Episode I on a Friday night. It's weird, huh? Well, I am a very random person, and I have learned to stop trying to control my errant brain.
The Path to Imperfection
Sunlight dappled through the verdant leaves of the forest on Zelaura, a peaceful planet that was renowned for its untainted natural splendors. Personally, Obi-Wan Kenobi was inclined to suspect that the reason it was so beautiful and tranquil was because it was sparsely populated, which meant that it had about a million gnatflies for ever sentient. This fascinating statistic most likely explained why the bugs were constantly swarming around him no matter where he stepped.
Why exactly his Master had decided it was a brilliant notion to go on a tracking exercise here was beyond his realm of comprehension, as were a majority of Qui-Gon's actions. If he thought it would bridge the rift that had developed between the two of them after their last mission to the civil war ravaged Lesailia in the Mid-Rim, he couldn't be more incorrect if he had started insisting that Mustafar was in peril of freezing over tomorrow.
As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, this training exercise would only serve to widen the breach. Although, strictly speaking, it was not in keeping with Jedi tenets to harbor grudges, he was willing to offer a credit back guarantee that he would never forgive his Master for the five thousand insect bites he had sustained here. After all, he was only sixteen-and-half. Therefore, he was allowed to be petulant and petty, since it was one of the scant perks of adolescence.
As such notions were spiraling around inside his skull, he and Qui-Gon entered a clearing, and he stifled a groan. He loathed this part of the exercise. Now they had to determine the direction in which Wren, the Jedi they were tracking, had traveled.
Glancing around the clearing in the woods, Obi-Wan realized with a mental sigh that Wren hadn't been considerate enough to leave an imprint of a boot heel in a mud puddle or a sliver of gray hair on a branch to aid them. No, they would have to reach out into the web of the Force and hunt down the thin strand that was Wren in that fashion. Wonderful. Yet more Living Force training. It was definitely time to mail out the party holoinvitations.
"Which way do you think we should go?" Qui-Gon asked his apprentice, his keen eyes shifting from the scenery until they were riveted on the teenager he addressed.
"Whichever way you want to, Master," replied Obi-Wan. The last time he had acted on his instincts, defying Qui-Gon, three people had perished. Granted, everyone died on Lesailia, and they snuffed it young and in the goriest fashions devisable by sadists, but that knowledge did nothing to lessen the guilt that shadowed his heart. At least he had learned his lesson, though. Now he knew that it was better if he just obeyed his mentor, even if he was behaving against his feelings, because his instincts could be inaccurate, no matter what he would have preferred to believe on the contrary.
"I asked you which direction you thought we should travel in," repeated Qui-Gon patiently.
"And I answered you, Master," countered Obi-Wan.
"No, you didn't," corrected the older man, shaking his head in negation. "You have yet to tell me what way you want to head, Padawan."
"I want to go whichever way you do, Master," Obi-Wan reiterated, his jaw clenching without him being cognizant of it.
"Once again, that is not an answer." Now, Obi-Wan could discern the trace of vexation in his teacher's tone, and it incited his own aggravation. Honestly, he was trying as best as he could to be a perfect, compliant Padawan, but Qui-Gon seemed to be going out of his way to make it difficult for him, and he couldn't be expected to resist temptation forever.
"What difference does it make?" he demanded irascibly, folding his arms over his chest. Yes, he recognized vaguely in a rear sector of his brain that wasn't in control of his body that he was probably going to be the lucky recipient of a lecture on not surrendering to his anger in the imminent future, but right now he didn't care a whit. Releasing the frustration coiled inside him was cathartic enough to be worth that. Of course, such sentiments were probably what dragged one over to the Dark Side. Well, he had always sensed that he was an agent of evil, although he had always operated under the endearing misconception that his duties were largely ceremonial. "No matter what I say, you'll persist in doing exactly what you choose. Thus, it's of no profit for me to speak."
"Is that really what you believe?" There was an odd expression, one which Obi-Wan had never glimpsed before, shining in Qui-Gon's eyes. His manner, too, was not what the young man was anticipating― it was tender and almost vulnerable.
The instant such an idea presented itself to Obi-Wan, he snorted inwardly. As Qui-Gon was vaunted for his prowess with a lightsaber, nothing a sixteen-year-old did was about to wound him.
"Would I have said so otherwise?" Before Obi-Wan could halt them, the words spilled out of his mutinous mouth. Obviously, after digging his own grave, he was now climbing into it and lying down. Splendid. Yes, there was definitely no one in the galaxy who was sharper than him, except perhaps a dull flimsi knife.
"Watch your attitude, young Padawan." Still, Qui-Gon's rebuke contained only half of his usual sternness, which was still enough to cause his apprentice's heart to pound and his stomach to cringe. "By the way, for your information, there can be a discrepancy between what people say and what they feel."
"I don't lie, Master," Obi-Wan protested. At the moment, his problem was bluntness, not deception. His tone was not much improved, but he hoped the addition of "Master" would compensate for at least some of the insubordination present in his voice as he was already up to his ears in poodoo.
"You may think you feel something, when, in reality you harbor another emotion entirely," his mentor pointed out. "Admit it― you never have been very in tune with your emotions."
Yes, he had better reception on his comlink with local news channels on Tatooine than he did with his feelings. Yet, now that his hackles were up, he couldn't refrain from contending, "But if I think I feel something that's the same as if I felt it."
"If you assume the mind controls the heart and not the other way around, yes," Qui-Gon allowed. For a moment, silence descended between them and Obi-Wan savored his small triumph, even if it was an un-Jedi-like sentiment he would have to meditate on later. Then, the older man sighed, and, resting a strong yet gentle hand on the other's shoulder, resumed, "Obi-Wan, listen to me. You and I have differing perspectives on life. While I favor the Living Force, you have a tendency to focus on the Unifying Force. Where I deal with the universe in a more emotional light, you do so in a more intellectual fashion. On a whole, I think this is a plus, because what one of us doesn't see, the other will perceive. However, there is the drawback of a our different viewpoints colliding and bringing us into disharmony, a fact which is rendered all the worse owing to the fact that we are both very stubborn individuals."
At this juncture, Qui-Gon locked his eyes on his Padawan and did not relinquish his stare as he stipulated, "When that occurs, I reserve the right to make the ultimate decision." Now, he didn't need to continue, for Obi-Wan knew what would follow, because he had incredible foresight, after all. He recognized that it was his duty to take whatever path his Master dictated, and he would fulfill his obligation. Every atom that comprised him was dedicated to being the best Jedi― the best Padawan― he could be.
As such notions whiled around inside his brain, Qui-Gon stated, "You will follow me. Therefore, since I am aware that you are wondering why exactly we have gone on this training exercise, part of it is for your benefit, Obi-Wan, because you must learn to have faith in my judgment."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, whishing fervently that he was less of a skeptic. If he wasn't such a benighted cynic, this whole trusting aspect of being a Jedi would be immeasurably less complicated, and, thus, infinitely less stressful. Of course, if he wasn't such a cynic, then he would probably have some other, possibly worse, shortcoming, so maybe it was better this way, after all. Who could say? The Force's methods of intervening in sentient affairs were mysterious, which was why a Jedi was supposed to have faith in its judgments, even when, as often transpired, the Jedi could not comprehend its actions.
"By the same token, a part of this exercise if for my benefit, as well," announced Qui-Gon, perhaps spotting his apprentice's dejection. "I have to learn to let you test your instincts. After all, discovering when to act and when not to act on one's instincts is a key component of Jedi training, so I must learn how to provide you with the freedom necessary to do so."
"I was wrong on Lesailia when I trusted my instincts," mumbled Obi-Wan, his cheeks crimson as he gazed at the muddy ground, hoping irrationally that it would abruptly transform into quicksand. Then, it would be able to gobble him up, thereby saving him from this disconcerting exchange.
"I agree, and you'll be wrong again, too," Qui-Gon remarked, clasping his pupil's shoulders firmly until the young man centered his eyes on him once more. "Knowing you as I do, though, my young Padawan, I'll wager that your instincts will be correct far more often than not, and you'll learn from every mistake you make, instead of repeating them."
"Not everyone learns from their miscalculations, Master," Obi-Wan reminded him, envisioning how none of the inhabitants of Lesailia had absorbed any of the lessons that their century-old feud could have imparted on them. Instead, they persisted in burning their villages to cinders, shelling and demolishing their cities, wrecking their infrastructure, destroying their cultural monuments and schools, and slaughtering each other. Every one of these atrocities was committed in the name of a hundred-year-old grievance that was so heinous that nobody on either side of the great divide could recollect precisely what it was, although not only were they ready to die for it, they were prepared to kill for it.
Just spending a day on that war-torn world with its carnage everywhere one turned was enough to blast the complacent theory of every generation progressing toward enlightenment that was currently popular among many galactic historians to smithereens and replace it with the considerably less idyllic hypothesis that sentients never changed, and only their weaponry improved. Beings had always massacred each other, and they would carry on doing so until there was nobody left to murder. Blood would persist on meeting blood until the galaxy was a gargantuan splotch of it, and there was no one alive to shed it any longer.
"Some individuals refuse to learn from the past, but you are not among those ranks," Qui-Gon reassured him, glimpsing the haunted expression in his apprentice's eyes. After a moment's pause, he pressed mildly, "Now, which way do you think we should go, Padawan?"
This time when he was faced with this inquiry, Obi-Wan shut his eyes. Calming his mind and erasing eerily vivid portraits of the bloodbaths on Lesailia from his brain, he drew on his connection to the Force, picturing it as a gorgeous tapestry in which all life was interwoven. Then, he narrowed his attention to the beautiful planet he was currently upon and felt for Wren's aura. There it was― in the northeast.
"I think we should go northeast, Master," he supplied, his eyes shooting open.
"Then let's head in that direction," the older man determined, striding toward the northeastern edge of the clearing.
They had been hiking through the woodland terrain in silence that was occasionally intruded upon when an animal scurried about in the undergrowth or a bird chirped for a quarter of a kilometer before Obi-Wan remarked jerkily, "Master, I'm sorry― I'm sorry I can't be a perfect Padawan."
To his alarm, Qui-Gon chuckled at his earnest apology. "Force, Obi-Wan, there is no such thing as this mythical perfect Padawn of Jedi lore, just as there is no such thing as a perfect Master. Individuals cannot be perfect, which is just as well really."
"Why?" Obi-Wan's forehead furrowed in bafflement. Call him an idiot, but he failed to comprehend how imperfection was preferable to perfection. It was a cosmic non sequitur. Sure, he understood that perfection might not be attainable, but if it could be acquired, how would imperfection be favorable to it?
"Because I enjoy my imperfect, headstrong Padawan, even if I sometimes forget that fact." Leaving his astounded apprentice gawking after him as if he had just contended that banthas were cleverer than humans, Qui-Gon strode on through the trees.
It was a couple of seconds before Obi-Wan could recover from his shock enough to trail after his Master, a state which he suspected summed up much of his relationship with Qui-Gon Jinn. That was of no consequence, however, since he liked his position in the background. After all, he hadn't been lying when he had informed Qui-Gon that he was content to go down any path his mentor chose, because Obi-Wan Kenobi preferred to slug down a trail another had blazed. He might grumble under his breath the whole journey, but he would complete it, even if it was rough and rocky.