WHAT UP, BITCHES!
Hey guys, welcome to another freaking thing I'm doing. I was actually going to write this after I finished From Darkness, I Rise, but it has been in the works for a long while, and the other day, I got the bloody inspiration for it. Now, updates on this one are going to be fairly slow, unless you guys are absolutely loving it. Slow for me, BTW, is once every week or so. I think. From Flames, I Soar is my primary work at the moment, which means this baby gets written when I feel stuck, or if I need a mental hug from having to feel sad for Obi-Wan. Which is happening a lot recently.
That being said, this one is going to be significantly lighter in tone from the other things I've done, though that doesn't mean shit wont happen, because it will. Oh, GOD IT WILL. I've got plans for this. Big plans. Evil plans...
This can technically be seen as a prequel to all my other stories, but since From Grace, I Fall is canon-compliant for the first four chapters or so, this baby here can fit super nicely into Star Wars canon on its own. This conflict is a major event in Obi-Wan's life, one that really helps shape him as a person, and we know very, VERY little about it. And I just love filling in blanks.
One last note. I gave Obi-Wan something of an origin story in this here to make it mesh with what we know about his character, and with an aspect from Legends that I LOVE about his journey to becoming Qui-Gon's Padawan, that thing being the fact that literally NOBODY wanted to train him, and the Jedi almost sent him to plow fields for the rest of his life. Friggin' OBI-WAN KENOBI, GUYS. Pushing a plow! In a field! What the ACTUAL HELL!
Yeah, so I incorporated a bit of that, coupled with something I thought fit him very nicely. Imma shut up now. Please, my lovelies, enjoy. I'll see about getting another chapter out next week, or sooner if you guys like it. Let me know!
Chapter 1: The Mission
"Mandalore has requested the aid of the Jedi."
Mace Windu blinked once, twice at Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, the stalwart human calm and composed, though Windu couldn't understand how he could be. It had to be a joke, right? Mandalore. Asking for help. From Jedi. The idea was absolutely insane. He looked about the room at the faces of the other Masters, all solemn, all calm, all very, very serious, and Mace couldn't understand why they didn't find the notion as outrageous as he did. But having just been newly appointed to the Council, and at a very young age at that, he didn't want to say anything to cast himself in a bad light, to make the seniors of the High Council regret choosing such a junior member to add to their ranks. And he did try to keep his silence, but...
"Excuse me?" Windu asked in disbelief, shaking his head and chuckling slightly and earning the glares of several of the Masters. "Mandalore wants the help of the Jedi?" he continued, managing to get a hold of his shock under the stares of the Masters, and he looked toward his peers, the also recently appointed Plo Koon and Saesee Tiin for solidarity. Tiin was having none of it, his usual hard stare on his face, but Plo gave him a reassuring gesture with his three fingered hand. "The Mandalore? The same Mandalore that has hunted Jedi for sport in the past?"
"The one and the same," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, his hands folded before him.
"Things certainly have changed..." Mace said under his breath, but it did not escape the notice of the large eared Lannik Master, Even Piell, beside him.
"Such is the nature of time," he gruffed. "It changes all things. Even the Mandalorians."
"They have been fighting a brutal civil war for some months now, and one of the factions has just reached out for help from the Republic," Sifo-Dyas, continued, and Windu groaned softly.
"Alright, so things don't change that much," Mace grumbled, and beside him, Plo Koon chuckled softly.
"We should be grateful they are divided. The last time the Mandalorians united, they nearly tore the galaxy apart."
"It seems," Sifo-Dyas said, his voice stern and hard as he glared at Windu and Koon, "that the planet's clans have divided over the matter of their leadership and the ideals they embraced. It's a...disagreement on the code they all follow and with it means to be Mandalorian."
"And as so many things with Mandalore, it has erupted in blood," Oppo Rancisis said in his soft wheeze. "The clan warlords have entered into a full-scale civil war, with rival and ally clans alike turning on each other, and their families are caught in the middle. Many of them are torn apart and find themselves fighting on different sides."
"None of this sounds like a good thing for the galaxy," Yarael Poof said. "And neither does it seem to be a thing the Senate would support, since Mandalore is not a part of the Galactic Republic. This is an internal matter."
"It would be, yes," Sifo Dyas said, nodding slightly and touching the controls on the arm of his chair, dimming the room and projecting the image of a tall, middle aged man with pale blond hair. "If not for three factions the clans have loosely formed, though there is infighting there as well. The group that currently sits in the seat of power on Mandalore in Sundari call themselves the New Mandalorians. The ruling clan, House Kryze, belongs to this faction. They believe in a new, peaceful Mandalore and lead the efforts to join the galactic community."
"What, peaceful Mandalorians?" Saesee Tiin gruffed, shaking his head in disbelief, and a small, wry smile from Sifo-Dyas echoed the sentiment.
"Not peaceful, no. Clan Kryze currently sits on the throne of Sundari because their leader is a fearsome warlord, and he had been meeting every challenge to his position with brutality and violence in order to ensure peace on his planet. The difference is in their views of the galaxy at large. One faction, the True Mandalorians, are pushing for their warriors to serve as honorable mercenaries while the rest of the planet maintains their system of warring clans. The New Mandalorians seek a place in the Senate and are, generally speaking, peaceful and amicable to the Republic, and the Death Watch..." He grimaced. "Well, they're the traditionalists. They want a united Mandalore to wage war on the galaxy."
"Is that the New Mandalorian leader?" Michah Giiett asked, pointing at the hologram, and Sifo-Dyas tilted his head back and forth in a gesture of indecision.
"Yes...or he was. Last week, Duke Adonai Kryze denounced the warring clans as disgraces and traitors to Mandalore and their code and called them to submit to his rule as Mand'alor before he was forced to kill more of his kinsmen." The Master sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "In typical Mandalorian custom, the New Mandalorians are meeting their opposition with violence, though they do it in the name of peace, both for Mandalore and for the galaxy at large. Crazy, yes, but not so crazy as the others who glorify war."
"They have been trying to gain entry into the Republic for some years now," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, "but they have been denied at every turn because of their violent history. Clan Kryze sought to move Mandalore forward, though their method now isn't helping their cause."
"Insurgents from other clans in opposition to the New Mandalorians last week captured Duke Kryze, his wife, and his eldest son, and they have all been executed," Sifo-Dyas concluded. "It was his supporters that reached out for help to save the planet from this bloody war. The warring clans are now fighting not only for leadership in the three factions, but for the place as the dominant clan on Mandalore. The outcome will determine whether or not the Mandalore system preserves the violent warrior ways of the past, or embraces the more peaceful ways and moves forward. The peaceful have nowhere to turn but to us."
"The New Mandalorians have a leader?" Mace asked, and Sifo-Dyas nodded.
"A Duchess, from what we understand, and she is in grave danger. If Mandalore is ever to have a chance for peace, this is it. There isn't anyone in the sector more hunted than the sole survivor of House Kryze. So long as the Duchess lives, rule of Mandalore falls to her, which has led the opposing clans to call for her death. So long as she survives, the throne of Sundari will be contested."
"Authorized, we are, to intervene," Yoda said softly, every eye in the room focused on the tiny Master. "Slaughtered, the peaceful are. War, or death, the choice is. Stand for this, we cannot. A Jedi, we will send, to secure peace for Mandalore."
"But who?" Plo Koon asked. "This is an extended mission in a war zone against a people that take pride in their ability to kill Jedi. The situation is...tenuous at best."
"We risk making this look like the Republic is waging war against Mandalore," Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "I think we can all agree that is in the best interest of nobody. This mission is about the protection of the Duchess and the establishment of peace on the planet. We cannot arrive in force, or it will be a bigger bloodbath than it already is."
"If that's even possible," Mace grumbled. "We need a skilled swordsman. Someone that can properly protect the Duchess."
"We need a Jedi who can withstand the field of war for a long period of time," Saesee Tiin growled. "We don't know how long this mission could take. It could be years before it reaches its conclusion."
"We need someone unconventional," Plo Koon added. "A Master who will do what must be done. The Mandalorians are Jedi hunters. We need someone who will defy their expectations." The room erupted in soft spoken debate, each Master holding a different opinion of the manner of Jedi to send, and they were silenced only when Yoda tapped his stick on the ground, the sharp clacking drawing everyone's attention to the Master.
"Know who to send, I do," Yoda said softly. " In the morning, summon to us Master Qui-Gon Jinn."
"I find it monstrously unfair that your Padawan isn't giving you the hell you gave me," Master Dooku said, his deep voice light and good natured as he sat across from his former student, Qui-Gon, in the confines of his room. Jinn had just returned from a mission in the Outer Rim, a two week affair that had dragged on when a simple trade dispute led to the discovery of a group of pirates dealing in slaves taken from the local population. The mission should have been simple, an easy task the Council assigned Qui-Gon to take his mind off a very recent personal trauma. It had worked, but only when the slavers got involved. The rest was too boring, too mundane to catch the Master's attention.
"I think you'd be pleased to know, then, that rule abiding does not mean compliant," Qui-Gon grumbled. "Obi-Wan has a streak of defiance in him a parsec wide." Dooku chuckled deeply.
"Only you would find a such a devoted Padawan a difficulty. Poor Obi-Wan Kenobi. The most dedicated Padawan in the Jedi Order, the Code's most obedient follower, stuck with the renegade Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."
"I learned it all from you, Master," Qui-Gon lightly quipped, and both men softly chuckled, relaxing into their seats and easing into the pleasure of each other's company. As former Master and Padawan, the men were terribly close, the bond between them nearly unbreakable, and even after so many years, even after the Knight Qui-Gon became Jedi Master Jinn, the younger man still visited his aging Master for advice. They were of a like mind on many matters, most of which were considered highly controversial and earned them a place among the Jedi so unconventional they were considered defiant on the best of days. On the worst, some wondered how they were Jedi at all, since they seemed to only follow the Code never.
"Your mission went well, I take it?" Dooku asked, and Qui-Gon quickly nodded his head.
"As expected. Until the pirates, of course." He paused. "And the slaves, but we liberated them. One of them guided us for five days to the pirate's base." Qui-Gon shrugged. "Pirates defeated, slaves freed, trade negotiations upheld, and a new leader of the local trade guild instated. Not so bad for a mission in the Outer Rim."
"The Council was very displeased," Dooku said knowingly, and Qui-Gon groaned loudly. "Typically. It wasn't your mission to depose of the planet's corrupt officials."
"They were making the trade negotiations impossible. It had to be done! For the mission."
"Nor was it your job to interfere in ridding them of the pirates."
"They were enslaving the people!"
"Nor were you to relocate the planet's refugees to another system."
"Master Dooku, the Force wouldn't have put me on the planet at that time if I wasn't meant to do such." He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "I was just doing the will of the Force."
"That excuse didn't work when you were a Padawan and it won't work now," Dooku sighed, a smile on his lips. "Does Obi-Wan use that excuse?" Qui-Gon scoffed.
"Hardly, the boy doesn't need to. He doesn't get into trouble. He barely speaks, if it can be avoided. No mischief, no excess, no women." Dooku scoffed indignantly.
"Oh, if I had him as a Padawan instead of you..." the older man bemoaned. "So many nights wasted dragging you by the ear back to the Temple smelling like wine, women and sex..."
"I will reiterate, Master, that I had the very best of teachers."
"You did not learn such from me, my student." Dooku rolled his eyes. "It's the will of the Force, Master..." he said mockingly. "Does any Padawan truly believe that excuse will work?"
"Hope springs eternal, Master."
"So it does." He smiled softly at his former student. "How fortunate for you that you do not need to deal with that humiliation. The burning through your connection. The feel of his arousal...his climax..."
"Even worse is finding out that your Master could feel it all along." Dooku simply grinned, his smile fading when Qui-Gon's face suddenly darkened. "So much the better that Obi-Wan is a better Jedi than I ever was. We know where such a thing can lead." Dooku frowned as he looked at his student. Qui-Gon never adhered to the Code well, felt deeply and often, followed the will of the Force without exception, and lived in the present better than any Jedi alive. But with his deep empathy for all those living came the danger of attachment, and Qui-Gon Jinn found himself falling in love with a fellow Jedi and peer, a thing he accepted as the will of the Force.
And then, a few short months ago, the woman had died, and Qui-Gon Jinn nearly fell to the Dark Side as he attempted to avenge her death. He managed to pull away just in time, but his close brush with darkness had left him changed, his opinion on romantic connections and intimacy changing from indifferent to a fervent opponent, his own personal experience fueling his newfound stance.
Dooku leaned forward in his seat, committed to changing the topic. Nothing good could come of revisiting that particular wound, not now. Qui-Gon had put the matter to rest, in any case, and further discussions only served to rub salt in a wound. "Have you heard of the situation on Mandalore?"
"Briefly, yes," Qui-Gon said softly, his morose mood lightening immediately. "I have been too busy to pay it much mind. I have been sitting in meditation with Obi-Wan most of the day. He was forced to kill a man on our mission. He is still shaken."
"His first?" Qui-Gon nodded solemnly. "A difficult thing."
"Yes, but Obi-Wan is strong. He will recover." He paused. "...why? What's happening with Mandalore?"
"War," Dooku said casually. "It would seem they have reached out to us for aid and we have been asked to take action." Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.
"And the Senate approved this?" Dooku scoffed, the slightest hint of disgust in his voice.
"The Senate still debates, and they will continue to debate the matter. You know they will never reach consensus."
"Typical," Qui-Gon said as he rolled his eyes. "I suppose the Council will do nothing as well."
"You know the Council..." Dooku droned sardonically. "If there is an action to be taken, they will talk about it until the matter has resolved itself."
"Almost makes one wish for the Sith to return, doesn't it?" Dooku chuckled softly.
"That it does, my apprentice. If for nothing else, to spur the Jedi back into action." Qui-Gon's light smile quickly faded, and he sat up straight in his seat for a moment before rising. Dooku stood as well, his hand grasping the younger Master's shoulder.
"It's Obi-Wan," he muttered quickly. "He should be sleeping, it's far too late for my little early-riser to be awake."
"Restless?" Dooku asked, and Qui-Gon quickly shook his head.
"Disturbed. I need to go." He smiled quickly at the older man. "I'm glad we had a chance to talk," he said softly. "Come by and see my Padawan some time. I think you will be impressed."
"I'm certain I will be." Dooku squeezed Qui-Gon's shoulder. "...are you alright? About Tahl, she-"
"I'm fine, Master," Qui-Gon said swiftly, a small, sad smile on his lips. "Truly, I am. I miss her terribly, but..." He sighed, looked away for a moment before his gaze returned to Dooku's face. "I will be fine. Thank you." With a quick bow and a swift goodbye, Qui-Gon was off, feeling his student through the Force and taking long strides toward the boy's room.
Three years, Qui-Gon had been Master to Obi-Wan Kenobi, a blue eyed, sandy blond boy of sixteen years of age, a thin, lanky youth that had yet to outgrow the gaunt awkwardness of his teenage years, his body's transition to manhood well underway, but far from complete. His soft, accented voice had deepened into a light, rich tenor when he chose to speak, which was not often, and he had grown like a weed in the past year, which had prevented his body from filling out with the thick muscles he would come to possess as a man. Still, he was strong, his body lean and well defined, the result of his tireless training, though the young Kenobi still had no need to shave at all, much to his dismay.
Obi-Wan's path through the Jedi Order to his current position had been a rocky one, to say the least. Like all children in the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan had been discovered at a very young age to be Force sensitive, and he had been taken from his home on Stewjon to live on Coruscant with the others of his kind. As he grew, the powers that had been apparent in him suddenly diminished, and while Obi-Wan was by no means weak in the Force or his potential, he found himself struggling with even the most basic of tasks, having to work twice as hard to become half as good as his peers. It made the young boy almost hopelessly shy with embarrassment, his dedication to his studies and his persistence to see them through to the end leading the already introverted child to be downright reclusive.
His dedication to the Jedi Order was absolute, his skills growing with the fierceness of his studies, but years of struggle to keep up with his two unquestionably talented friends, Quinlan Vos and Luminara Unduli left Kenobi's confidence shattered, which was most certainly part of the problem. By the age of ten, young Obi-Wan took to machines, developing a fascination with all forms of mechanics and flying in the increasingly likely event that becoming a Jedi would not be possible for him. If he couldn't be a Jedi Knight, so help him, he's be a starship pilot. He passed his Initiate trials easily enough, but when it came time to become a Padawan, Obi-Wan found himself faced with Masters that judged him as not worth their time, his potential too small, his lightsaber style too wild and reckless to be tempered, his talent in the Force not great enough, and he was overlooked for those with greater potential.
By the age of twelve, it seemed as though the opportunity to become a Jedi Knight had passed him by, and he remained the last of the Initiates in his group to be without a Master. If not a Knight, Obi-Wan would be transferred to another division of the Temple, relegated to the Archives, or tasked to be a pilot, or any number of remedial things that a Force untalented prospective Jedi could do, since returning to families they never knew was not an option that was often taken. Just before he turned thirteen, Master Yoda himself decided to take another look at the boy, the tremendous potential of his early childhood disappearing entirely as he grew older a mystery that the Master wanted to see solved.
For hours, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood before the Masters of the High Council, the boy trying to remain impassive through the threat of tears and doing his best to answer the questions given to him. He looked through tired, burning eyes at the blank backs of cards as he was told to describe the image that appeared on the face of cards that Master Sifo-Dyas held up. Thousands of images appeared on the cards, making correctly guessing a near impossibility, a task that could only be accomplished through the Force by trusting the first thing that came to mind. Three times, the test was done, and out of nearly one hundred cards, Obi-Wan had gotten none of them correct, leaving the boy shaking with repressed emotion and a desire to leave so strong that the next time he spoke, instead of answering the question posed to him, he begged to be allowed to leave.
It was a painful thing to see, the pain and desperation in the boy apparent, and the Masters nearly let him go without any of the answers they sought, until Ki-Adi-Mundi stopped them and requested that the boy do the test again. After allowing the nearly sobbing boy to compose himself, they began the test again, but this time, the Cerean Master wrote down all of Kenobi's answers. As before, the boy got none of them correct, and again, Ki-Adi-Mundi asked him to repeat the test, taking down all his answers once again, the other Masters looking at Yoda with increasing discomfort as the twelve year old boy grew closer and closer to open tears, and yet never hit that point.
Once again, Ki-Adi-Mundi demanded the boy take the test, but this time, he held up the paper with Kenobi's previous answers before Sifo-Dyas, the Master administering the test. Confused, Sifo-Dyas slowly began holding up cards and prompting the boy for answers, each of his answers incorrect as before, but as they test went on, his eyes began widening in understanding as a smug, satisfied smirk crossed the highly intelligent Cerean's face. None of Kenobi's answers matched the images on the cards.
But his answers from the first test matched the cards perfectly.
All the other Masters suddenly understood, and all of them began taking rapid notes, demanding again and again that the increasingly uncomfortable boy, unused to this level of attention, complete the test. They shuffled the cards between tests, during tests, they added cards in, repeated cards, cheated if they could, but the results were always the same. Obi-Wan's answers were two steps ahead of the test, and they perfectly predicted the cards that would be drawn. A closer examination of the boy found the well of potential that had surrounded him as a youngling hadn't diminished, it had been hidden, the solitary, focused boy involuntarily guarding his mind with Force shielding, something that no youngling should have been able to do. His test results and the unconscious shielding pointed toward a very strong inclination toward the mental powers of the Force, something that would have to be developed and nurtured as soon as possible. There was greatness in Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the Jedi had almost let him go.
The word spread quickly, and by the next day, every available Master in the Order was scrambling to become Master to Obi-Wan Kenobi, but it was Qui-Gon who managed to secure the boy for himself. He had visited Yoda late one evening, disturbing the Master from his meditations and quietly petitioned to be allowed to train the boy. When Yoda sighed tiredly, Qui-Gon explained that the child was so out of step with the present, he was existing always two moments ahead, a great benefit to a tactician, but a fatal flaw if one could not open their eyes to see what lay directly before them. He needed a Master that would teach him how to open his eyes to the present, not simply the future. There was greatness in Obi-Wan, but that potential would never be achieved if he avoided danger in the future, only to walk right into death in the present.
The next day, Obi-Wan had a Master, and they had been inseparable since.
Except for now, Qui-Gon thought as he entered Obi-Wan's room and found the teenager completely absent, the room in such a neat, orderly state that it seemed as though young Kenobi hadn't returned to his room at all after their mission. Of course, Obi-Wan had always been meticulous to the point of obsessive compulsive, so it was possible that he had simply left everything put away in its proper place before he left. Closing his eyes, Qui–Gon felt for his student through the Force and found the boy...anxious. Restless, disturbed and struggling for calm and peace of mind, and in such a state, there was only one place that Obi-Wan turned to go to. With a sigh, Qui-Gon left the room and headed for the training hall.
Years of perceived inferiority had left Qui-Gon's student with a great deal of emotional anxiety, a thing that had only gone to foster his tremendous perseverance, which seemed to be the way in which the Force manifested in the boy. Where others may display sharp reflexes or tremendous luck, Obi-Wan possessed an indomitable spirit that simply could not be broken, though his near expulsion from the Jedi brought him close. He was crushingly hard on himself, a facet of being a perfectionist, which led him to constantly study and hone his craft. It was no wonder Obi-Wan had never showed an interest in the opposite sex, or the same sex, for that matter, he simply lacked the time.
Already, he was shaping up to be one of the most promising Jedi of the Order. He was modest and reserved, respectful and kind, an introvert that rather be alone with his thoughts, a boy of few words, though when he did speak, chose his words with careful consideration, a teenager that would rather avoid fighting, but was a natural talent with a lightsaber. He was, in many ways, exactly what a Jedi should be, though he still had much to learn before he reached the heights that Qui-Gon knew he would.
Obi-Wan was terribly intelligent and learned things at a distressingly quick speed, and while he may have had a modest opinion of his talent with the Force, in this aspect, he was arrogant and often very impatient. And while he may have followed the Code to the letter, going so far as to quietly whisper the mantra to himself as a means of centering his being, the boy was both stubborn and defiant, a thing that Qui-Gon had difficulty correcting, since he was both of these things as well. Coupled all of this with anxiety that bordered on a disorder, and you had Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan, wellspring of the Force and teenage mess.
Still, it was better than what Qui-Gon had forced Dooku to endure. At least Obi-Wan wasn't coping with his self-doubt by drinking his troubles away and rutting with every creature that vaguely resembled the female form like Tholme's Padawan. Obi-Wan was just...quiet, a product of an introverted nature and a crushing lack of confidence in his abilities. He only ever really spoke when he was alone with his Master, and then, the boy displayed a sharp, dry sense of humor and a sarcastic wit, all of touched with the teen's inerrant cynicism, though his cautious, strategical mind kept this part of him carefully hidden behind his guarded walls.
Qui-Gon found his student in the training hall, as he suspected he would, the Padawan's eyes closed in concentration and lightsaber in hand, the blue blade thrumming through the air as he slowly walked through the steps of one of the Ataru katas, his blade work smooth and even, his steps precise, the weapon twirling slowly and gracefully in his hand, his lips slowly moving as he whispered the Jedi Code. With a smile, Qui-Gon leaned against the wall and watched, chuckling to himself when the edge of Kenobi's foot dragged against the sand, leaving a harsh cut in the otherwise smooth path of his foot.
"Stupid, Obi-Wan..." the teenager hissed to himself, cursing under his breath as he extended his hand and cleared the tracks from the sand, the ring once again even as he assumed the ready position. "Why can't you do anything right, this should be easy for you! Start over. Again."
"Again?" Qui-Gon asked, his quiet tones seeming loud in the empty hall, and the sudden noise caused Obi-Wan to jump and stumble, dropping his lightsaber and hissing in pain when he reached out to catch it and his hand grasped the blade. "How many times have you done this? How long have you been here?" the Master asked as he slowly made his way to stand before the boy, the teen's eyes cast down at the sand and focused on the careless tracks through the sand that Qui-Gon's stride had made.
"A few hours, Master," Obi-Wan muttered, his finger twirling around the Padawan braid that just barely brushed his shoulder. It was a nervous habit, and it made Qui-Gon desperately want to see what the boy would do when he achieved knighthood and no longer had the braid to serve as a clutch, though by then, he hoped that Kenobi would be cured of his anxiety. At some point, he'd shed the awkwardness of his teenage years. It was difficult for everyone. The Force knows he made Dooku suffer through his turbulent adolescence.
"And you have done nothing but this particular Kata?" Obi-Wan's silence stood as his confirmation. "...well, how many times have you done it?"
"None, Master."
"...none." The boy offered no clarification. "I watched you do it once."
"No, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, his hand tightening around his braid the only indication of his distress. "You watched me fail once."
"Ah," Qui-Gon said, drawing up to his considerable height and smiling softly as he looked at his student. "How many times have you failed to complete it?"
Obi-Wan shut his eyes tight and took a deep, shuddering breath. "...one hundred seventeen times, Master." Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. How very like Obi-Wan to push far past the point of diminishing returns.
"Oh, my Padawan..." Qui-Gon sighed as he ran a hand down his face and clapped the boy gently on the shoulder. "Each failure is a lesson, as you well know, but I cannot help but think that perhaps you are not learning from these failures. To fail so many times seems to me like the failure isn't in the work itself, but within you," he said, pointing to the boy's chest. "You are the only thing preventing your success. Be mindful of the present, my student." He reached out and called Obi-Wan's fallen lightsaber to his hand and pressed it into the boy's grasp. "There is only you, your blade, and this moment. Show me what you can do."
Finally, Obi-Wan looked up at his Master, his eyes clear and alight with new resolve, and he nodded tersely, lit the blade, and assumed the ready stance as Qui–Gon stepped away, his hand sweeping out to clear the tracks from the sand as he left the ring. Slowly, he began the form once again, his movements smooth and graceful, the pitch of the blade's thrumming rising and falling in a perfect, melodic harmony with his movements. It was...perfection, each step light, each movement refined, not an elbow out of place, not an arm at a less than ideal angle, the lightsaber's trail through the air deadly efficient. In this, Obi-Wan was beautiful, centered, focused, and it was in moments such as these that Qui-Gon saw the Jedi Master he would grow to be, steadfast, loyal, dedicated, his persistent study allowing him to rise to heights that his peers would not reach. It was not talent, but hard work that forged a great Jedi, and though young Kenobi didn't know it, he had both.
An ever so slight waver of the teen's wrist, a small ripple through the otherwise calm of the Force, and Obi-Wan's focus was shattered, his thoughts leaving the pristine clarity of the moment and drifting, and the tip of his lightsaber just barely touched the sand, leaving a small, thin glowing line of hissing, smoking grains in its wake. With a barely audible growl of frustration, Obi-Wan shut his lightsaber off, clipped it to his belt, and tightly grasped his braid.
"Did you ever consider, Obi-Wan, that perhaps the entire form isn't perfect because you don't finish it?"
"How am I supposed to finish it if it is rife with mistakes?" Kenobi said softly, but the accented voice was tight with frustration.
"Rife?" Qui-Gon repeated. "Padawan, your form is perfection. Even with the mistake, it is the best I have seen." Obi-Wan scoffed and grabbed his arm, his finger twirling the braid around the digit.
"You do it better, Master. I've never seen you make an error in the motions. In any of them."
"Of course I do the form well, I have been doing it since before you were born. Now," he said, striding into the ring and taking the Padawan by the arm, "you are only awake at this hour when you are engaging in one of your bouts of self-flagellation, and you are going to tell me what brought this on." Under his light grasp, the boy's strong, lean arm tensed, their connection flaring with doubt and shame and desperation that he quickly got control over, though his face remained impassive, expressionless. He was an emotional boy, but Obi-Wan hid it very well. Just not from his Master.
It took a long while before Obi-Wan answered, his hand pulling absently at his braid as he bit his lip and carefully chose his words, the conflict of deciding what to tell his Master flashing in his eyes.
"...Quinlan beat me." Obi-Wan offered no other explanation, and no other words, and slowly, the Master began to chuckle, his laughter increasing when Obi-Wan looked up at him and pouted.
"Not only is Quinlan Vos a year older than you, Obi-Wan, but he's been Padawan to Master Tholme for years. That talent of his had him selected early, you know that."
"That sounds like an excuse," Obi-Wan grumbled. "The Jedi that triumphs is the Jedi most in tune with the Force. Master Yoda said that, though..." He paused, his mouth dropping into a slight frown. "Not in that order."
Qui-Gon shrugged. "Very well, let's accept Master Yoda's words as the truth of the matter. Your thoughts are disturbed, my student, and that is why you lost. Your trouble has nothing to do with Quinlan Vos."
"Yes it does," Obi-Wan insisted, his frown deepening into a long-suffering look so like the one that new Knights got when forced to teach a room full of screaming younglings, hardly the glamorous assignment that young Jedi Knights wanted. "He becomes insufferable when he wins. I told him that it isn't about winning or losing, but..." He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "But he says only losers say that."
"A wonder he bothers spending time with you," Qui-Gon said, a mischievous tone in his voice and a wry smile on his lips. "One would think that Quinlan Vos, the Force's gift to the Jedi, wouldn't choose to spend his time with lowly Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"The cocky, arrogant braggart..." He rolled his eyes again, his hand dropping from his braid as he slowly relaxed, the tension present through their connection easing drastically as he was given a chance to complain about his friend, which was a favorite pastime of young Obi-Wan. Kenobi loved Quinlan Vos, and the feeling was mutual, but their personalities conflicted on every count which left the two friends in a constant struggle, Kenobi trying to correct the Kiffar's terrible, irreverent habits, and Quinlan trying to lead the stuffy Padawan to lighten up by running headlong into trouble and sin, the favorite activities of rough and rowdy Vos.
"It must be so nice to be so uniquely talented in the Force," Obi-Wan continued, unable to keep the faint smile from his lips. "So help me, if I never had to work a day in my life to have his skill...w-well, I'd probably still work..." Obi-Wan muttered, a faint flush coming to his face as Qui-Gon chuckled softly. Despite Kenobi's more relaxed state, a faint buzz still pulsed through their connection, disturbing the Force and keeping it from setting into soothing calm.
"You are a talent, Obi-Wan."
"You have to say that, you're my Master."
"Oh, come now, my student, do you think I'd lie to you?" Qui-Gon gently, jokingly admonished. "It's against the Code for a Jedi to be dishonest."
"Since when have you ever followed the Code, Master?"
"Whenever it does not contradict the will of the Force," the Master said, flashing his student a bright grin and Kenobi sighed heavily and shook his head.
"You should have been Quinlan's Master. It's almost as if you were made for each other."
"I fear I would have made a poor Master for Quinlan," Qui-Gon lightly scoffed. "He needs a Master that can temper him, just as you need a Master that will challenge you. Growth does not come from peace and serenity, my student. That is the goal. The path to it is rife with challenges that must be overcome, and only in our handling them do we find the wisdom to grow and move forward." He smiled softly when he felt Obi-Wan's eyes, wide and focused and attentive upon him. "Remember, my Padawan. For a plant to grow, it must first struggle to push through the soil."
"...I understand, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, his accented clip grave, his face serious as he looked down the hall they were slowly walking. "Master," he thoughtfully gasped, "I-"
"All of this is about the man you killed, is it not?" Qui-Gon softly, kindly interjected, and Obi-Wan bit his lip and stared at the floor, quickly nodding his head. "It was unavoidable, Obi-Wan."
"Was it?"
"It came down to his life, or the lives of the innocent he threatened. You made the right decision."
"It doesn't feel like the right decision..." Obi-Wan muttered, once again reaching for his braid before he stopped himself and let his hand fall to his side, his shoulders slumped as if a great weight sat upon them. "There must have been another way that wouldn't have ended in his death. If I had been stronger or faster or smarter, maybe-"
"Was it your doing that he made the decision to endanger innocent people to avoid his capture?" Obi-Wan started to answer, but quickly silenced himself when he found he had no reply. "Would it have been better to let him go so that he may endanger others elsewhere?"
"...no, Master."
"There will be times, my young student, when you must choose between a bad decision and a worse one. Perhaps some of the time you will discover a better option, one that cannot be seen, but those situations are rare. When called to act, you must act swiftly and decisively."
"I-I just don't think I can get used to killing someone..." Obi-Wan softly muttered, and Qui-Gon nodded his head in approval.
"Good. That isn't something you should ever get used to. As a Jedi, sometimes, you will hold people's lives in your hands, and you aren't always going to have time to sit and think through your options."
"...how will I know what to do?" Obi-Wan asked softly after a moment of silence, and the Master looked down at him and smiled.
"You will trust in the will of the Force, Obi-Wan. The Force moves through you. You will turn yourself over to it, and you will move in accordance with your instincts, you will exist in the moment, just as you did when you killed that man the other day." Kenobi's mouth twitched slightly, the boy's eyes focused straight ahead, but he nodded in understanding. He didn't like it, but he understood. "...you saved a lot of innocent people, my Padawan. You should be pleased, even as you mourn the life you were forced to take."
"...I will, Master." Kenobi looked up at Qui-Gon and smiled, small but genuine. "Thank you. I'm feeling much better." The Master patted the Padawan on the back.
"If you come back to my room, we can meditate on this together."
"I'd like that," Obi-Wan said softly, his previous, light smile growing slightly wider, and Master and Padawan walked together toward Qui-Gon's room, the halls of the Temple almost empty in the dead of night.
Qui-Gon stared bleary-eyed at the elevator doors, his Padawan fidgeting nervously beside him. It was very early, especially considering how late of a night he had, though Obi-Wan seemed fine, and sign of exhaustion he may have been experiencing not apparent on his face or through their bond in the Force. Nothing was apparent in Obi-Wan through the Force. The young Padawan, through nerves or anxiety or whatever, had reenforced his mental walls, allowing nothing to touch him, not even his Master. Perhaps Qui-Gon was just getting too old to pull all-nighters without suffering the consequences. He found himself having a new respect for Master Dooku. He had kept him up all night nearly three times a week during the entirety of his teenage years.
"There is no emotion, there is peace..." Obi-Wan whispered under his breath, barely audible, and Qui-Gon would have thought he was simply hearing things had Kenobi's mouth not been moving and had the boy not clung to the Code like a crutch. He casually bumped into his Padawan, jolting the boy out of his meditations.
"You have nothing to worry about, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said lightly, covering his mouth as he yawned. "It's just the Council."
"It never goes well..." the boy muttered, and the Master softly chuckled.
"Oh please, when was the last time it went poorly?"
"Oh, I don't know..." Obi-Wan lightly intoned, his hand grasping his braid as he looked upwards. "How about last time. When you got into the fight with Master Rancisis about how using a lightsaber to intimidate a person into talking isn't aggression."
"And it isn't," Qui-Gon said sagely. "I did bring a potentially violent situation to the table to talk, did I not?"
Obi-Wan drew up as tall as he was able. "If a Jedi ignites his lightsaber, he must be ready to take a life."
"Oh, I was ready, Obi-Wan, I was going to kill that criminal if peace could not be met." Kenobi gawked at his Master as the elevator opened and he strode out, his Padawan following a moment after when the doors nearly closed on him.
"Master," Obi-Wan said softly, stopping Qui-Gon by grabbing the sleeve of his robe. "I just don't want to watch you make a fool of yourself in front of the Council again..."
"That seems an inevitability at this point..." Qui-Gon sighed. "If you want to wait out here, you can, but I will speak my mind, my student." Obi-Wan sighed heavily.
"I'll keep my silence, then."
"Well, I've come to expect that from you. Come on, let's find out whey they summoned us at such an ungodly hour."
"...it's eight thirty, Master."
"Yes, and I was up all night," Qui-Gon said, yawning. "I'm getting old. This whole matter is terribly inconsiderate." Without another word to his increasingly anxious student. Qui-Gon pushed open the large, heavy doors with the Force and strode into the circular room, standing in the center and quickly blowing his head to the Masters, Obi-Wan beside him bowing deep and respectful, his eyes fixed on the floor before him and refusing to meet the twelve judging gazes.
"Master Jinn," Yoda softly rasped, his hands clutching the head of his stick and smiling warmly at the pair. "Padawan Kenobi. Welcome."
"You said the matter was urgent, Master," Qui-Gon said, cutting to the chase in his desire to leave as quickly as possible, if not to help relieve the quickly mounting anxiety of his student, then to go to the dining hall for breakfast. He was hungry. "If this is about my last mission-"
"Well done, that mission was," Yoda said quickly, earning looks of disbelief from not just from Jinn and his Padawan, but from the other Council members as well. "Not the mission assigned to you, you accomplished, Master Qui-Gon. But well done, it was." Yoda shook his head. "A shame, it is, how it ended. Unnecessary, the death may have bene, if followed our Orders, you did."
Qui-Gon drew up tall and held his head high, and beside him, Obi-Wan tried to sink into the ground, the much smaller man seeming diminutive in comparison as his shoulders slumped. "The mission given to me was misleading in its simplicity," Qui-Gon boldly asserted. "The reality of the situation made it much more than a trade dispute. You sent me to solve the problem, and I did. I'm not in the business of treating symptoms when I can find a way to administer a cure. A problem isn't solved if it keeps coming back." At this, a tired, knowing smile crossed Yoda's lips, and all the other Masters relaxed, their usual indignation with the maverick Qui-Gon suspiciously absent. Both Jinn and Kenobi noticed immediately.
"Padawan Kenobi," Yoda said softly, and Obi-Wan tensed, his hands balling into fists in his cloak and his eyes cautiously drifting up to meet the warm, deep brown eyes of the Grandmaster. The Padawan could only hold the gaze for a moment before he looked back down at the ground. "What think you of your Master's claims?" Yoda softly asked. "Right, is he, to interfere beyond the will of the Council? Or right is the Council to expect obedience?"
Obi-Wan shut his eyes tightly. He could feel the eyes of all the Masters of the room on him, burning right through him, seeing everything, judging him for all he had done and all he hadn't, for things that had yet to come to pass that they somehow still knew about. One day, he would walk these halls and feel comfortable around the Masters. One day, he hoped to sit among their ranks, wise and fair and leading the Jedi in peace and understanding, living in harmony with the Force and all around him. But that day was not today. Today, he stood before them far different than he had been the last time he was here. This time, he stood before them as a killer, and the weight of the life he had taken still weighed heavily on him, even though he knew it could not be helped.
He was certain he was going to be sick, and he could feel panic slowly encroaching upon him, just as it had the day he stood before the Masters and was tested, a final, grueling affair to determine if he was even worth keeping. He had been, but he still could not understand why. His task had been to identify the cards being held, not the ones that would be held. Anyone could do that.
"I think..." the boy said softly, finally raising his eyes to meet Yoda's warm gaze, and he felt instantly soothed and reassured by the warmth of his presence. Nothing else mattered. It was just him and Yoda and his Master, just the three of them. "To answer your question, Master, I think..." He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. "I think...there is no answer." The room filled with the soft sound of gentle laughter from the Masters, and Obi-Wan's eyes shot back to the floor, his face flushing a deep red in embarrassment.
"Oh?" Yoda asked, tilting his head to the side and examining the hopelessly shy Padawan, a breath of fresh air when compared to his arrogant, reckless peers. "No answer, is there?" Obi-Wan swiftly shook his head, and Yoda leaned back and gently smiled. "A better answer than this, there is not." Kenobi cautiously looked up at the Grandmaster when the laughter mercifully stopped, and he met Yoda's kind gaze with a small, grateful smile. "The right choice, I have made," Yoda said firmly. "A mission, we have, for you and your Padawan, Qui-Gon."
"A mission?" Qui-Gon repeated. "Already?" He frowned. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Just so," Sifo-Dyas said, his voice laced with laughter as he looked at Qui-Gon, and the renegade Master grinned brightly. This particular Council member was considered a bit of a renegade as well, and they had always gotten along. "Mandalore is engaged in a brutal, inter-clan war, a civil war unlike anything they have seen before in their history. The ruling New Mandalorians push for more peaceful ways for their people so that they may avoid conflict and ruin such as this, but..." He cleared his throat and shrugged. "They are Mandalorians."
Qui-Gon gasped in understanding and drew up tall, his eyes drifting around the room at the Masters who sat in attendance. "You're sending us to Mandalore." He frowned when nobody spoke. "Why. Surely the Senate did not approve of this, Mandalore isn't even a member world of the Republic."
"Do you think we are so bound by the will of the Republic that we cannot make our own decisions?" Mace Windu asked, and Qui-Gon looked at him with a sardonic look on his face.
"Well..."
"Don't answer that, Master Jinn," Sifo-Dyas quickly cut in. "We all know your beliefs. At the heart of us, we are peacekeepers, and Mandalore had reached out to us to help them end a bloody conflict. How could we say no?"
"...am I supposed to answer that question?" Qui-Gon carefully asked, and Sifo-Dyas rolled his eyes.
"No." He settled in his seat, breathing deeply as he decided how best to present the mission. "Mandalore's ruling family, House Kryze, has been executed, save for one, and the New Mandalorians have named her Duchess. She is their last chance for peace, and as such, she is the biggest target in the system. She's only been Mandalore's ruler for a week, and she has already suffered fourteen attempts on her life by bounty hunters, four bombings, six attempted abductions and one attempted coup. They can't protect her much longer, and if she is executed, House Kryze becomes extinct, and with it, hope for peace. The New Mandalorians have no other viable leaders. Satine Kryze is it."
"Bring her here," Qui-Gon said swiftly. "Remove her from Mandalore, she-"
"She will not leave," Plo Koon said softly. "The Senate has already offered the Duchess sanctuary, but she has declined us." He paused, his masked eyes wrinkling around their shielding. "She has also denied the need of the Jedi, but her people have insisted upon it and left her no choice in the matter. However, they cannot make her leave. Were she to go, the seat of Sundari would be available to anyone who could take it."
"So long as she stays among her people, she has not abandoned them," Sifo-Dyas said firmly. "Don't forget, she is Mandalorian. They're all crazy."
"Protect the Duchess, you must," Yoda softly rasped. "Until end, the war does, remain with her, you will. Peace in Mandalore, there will be, if successful, you are."
Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, his hands pressed together and his fingers on his lips as he looked at the stern Sifo-Dyas, the kind, hopeful Yoda, and the worried, expectant other Masters. He could feel Obi-Wan beside him, the boy's shoulders tense, his mental wall high and tight as they always were when he was uneasy, his face an expressionless mask that simply couldn't hide the reluctance and the fear in those clear blue eyes. They were being sent to war. It may have been to protect Mandalore's hope for peace, but many people were going to die to bring such a thing about, and the Jedi would be forced to be the executioners of dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.
Qui-Gon bowed to the Masters. "The matter seems urgent, and we cannot waste time. Obi-Wan and I will leave for Mandalore this evening. We will not fail in this task, Masters." Qui-Gon tried to ignore the sudden, frantic buzzing in his mind, the fearful anxiety of his young student, reaching though the Force to him for comfort and reassurance, and though Qui-Gon silently reciprocated Obi-Wan's reach and gently touched his presence, there was little he could give in the ways of comfort. Mandalore, it seemed, would be the battlefield on which Obi-Wan Kenobi would become a man.
"May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi," Yoda said somberly, and with a final bow to the Masters, the two left the Council Chamber to prepare for their mission.
"You are so lucky!" Quinlan Vos loudly proclaimed as he slammed a tray of food stacked high with fruits and lean meats between Obi-Wan and Luminara Unduli, and the Kiffar gracelessly muscled his way between the two closely sitting Padawans. Obi-Wan shot the slightly older boy a look of outraged disbelief as he was knocked out of the way, his own plate shoved to the side to accommodate Vos, the neat, arranged order of his food disturbed by the carelessness of his blundering friend. Luminara crossed her thin arms over her chest, giving Vos one of her withering glares that she had perfected in the course of her friendship with him, and Quinlan responded by leaning in close to the girl, a lazy, cocky smile on his self-assured face.
"Well, hey there, baby..." Quinlan drawled in his smoothest, most seductive voice, the tones in his voice low and inviting, a thing that worked on most everyone with the exception of the Mirialan he was currently invading the space of. With an outraged scoff, Luminara pushed the Kiffar backwards, sending him leaning back against Kenobi as he tried to bring order back to his plate, Quinlan's sudden weight only serving to disrupt the plate once again. With a quick glare at the boy, Luminara snatched her mostly empty plate from the table and moved to Obi-Wan's other side, gracefully sitting herself down beside him and laying a gentle hand on his as she began helping him with his task of bringing order to food chaos.
"Well, sorry!" Quinlan said, an apology that sounded almost like an accusation, even as he put his hands in the air. "I didn't mean to disrupt you lovebirds. Honestly, how can I know to keep away from your woman if you don't tell me, Kenobi?"
"She's not my woman..." Obi-Wan muttered through clenched teeth, an assertion that fell on deaf ears as Quinlan roughly patted the boy on the back, causing him to lurch forward and knock into the plate once again. With a sigh, Luminara dragged it before her, away from Quinlan's reach, and she smiled softly at the grateful, faintly blushing Obi-Wan.
"You get all the best missions!" the Kiffar said, returning to his original subject of conversation now that the obligatory attempt to seduce stalwart Luminara was out of the way. "I mean, Mandalore?! Kriffing hell, Obi-Wan, you're going to war! This is going to be just like the Mandalorian Wars! You're going to return a hero like Jedi Knight Revan after vanquishing the enemy!" Quinlan sighed wistfully as his friend looked at him in disdain.
"Quin," Obi-Wan said smoothly, "Revan fell to the Dark Side."
"Well, yeah, but he was great before that." Obi-Wan smacked his forehead and groaned. There was no reasoning with a madman, and there was no talking sense to Quinlan Vos.
"War isn't some glamorous thing, Vos," Luminara firmly said. "Obi-Wan's going to have to kill people while he's there. This is a grave thing. A tragedy. A responsibility." She crossed her arms and closed her eyes sagely, looking far wiser than her seventeen years. "This is the duty of a Jedi Knight. To bring peace to those who are suffering, no matter-"
"Blah, blah, blah," Quinlan said, his voice heavy as if he were being weighed down with the boredom of repetition. "You sound like my Master. Honor this and duty that. Kriff, you make this whole thing seem so somber."
"It is, Vos," Luminara snapped, shooting him another glare which he quickly dismissed, a lazy grin on his face as he draped an arm over Obi-Wan's shoulders and drew him in closer to him.
"Imagine!" the Kiffar said breathlessly, waving his hand before him as if painting a picture for the squirming Obi-Wan. "I see Mandalore, a war ravaged world brought to peace by the grace of the Jedi, and you, their conquering hero, surrounded by women, all so eager to show their gratitude to their savior by begging for you deep inside them," Quinlan said, excited and lusty and emphasized with a few quick thrusts of his hips, and the boy beside him flushed a fierce shade of red, his hands clasped tightly in his lap as he focused on a fork on the opposite side of the table.
There is no passion, there is serenity, there is no passion, there is serenity, there is no passion, there is serenity...
"Oh, please," Luminara said with a roll of her eyes. "I don't think there's a single creature in this galaxy that is more base and animalistic than you, Vos. Not everyone is obsessed with sexual intercourse!"
"No, but the Mandalorians are," he countered, a knowing smile on his lips as he leaned in toward the Mirialan, the gold band tattoo that crossed his face crinkling in his endless amusement. "They're all fire and passion and hot blood. All of them warriors that live each day like they'll be dead tomorrow. They fight like beasts and rut like animals!"
"Please don't tell us how you know this..." the Mirialan sighed, and she was answered by a slow, sly grin.
"I was with two!" Quinlan said triumphantly, holding up two fingers in Luminara's face. "Insane, the both of them, and hopelessly slutty. I have never been ridden so hard in my life!" He patted the severely flushed, nearly hyperventilating Obi-Wan on the chest. "Buckle up, Obi, you're in for a ride."
"That is definitely against the Code..." Obi-Wan muttered, swallowing hard as he slowly regained his composure, and the Kiffar groaned loudly as he rolled his eyes.
"Kriff, Kenobi, you need to get laid. I have never met a man so uptight as you. Honestly, what do you think's going to happen? It's not like you're going to go Sith or something because you spill inside a few girls."
"Shhh!" Obi-Wan swiftly hushed, clamping his hand over the Kiffar's mouth. "Just...don't say that." Obi-Wan's eyes widened in shock, then with disgust, and with a cry, he pulled his hand away and frantically wiped his hand on a napkin, looking at outrage at Quinlan as his tongue slowly ran along his lips. The Kiffar had licked him.
"Talking about the Sith won't summon them, Kenobi, they are gone, and have been for a thousand years. It's not like they're hiding in the shadows and waiting for unsuspecting Padawans to get their rocks off so they can corrupt them." He rolled his eyes. "It's just sex. We all do it." His eyes roved over Kenobi's handsome face, and he shrugged. "Except for you. Even Master Mundi does it! He's got a family, and nobody's calling him a Sith Lord."
"Master Mundi," Luminara explained between grit teeth, "has permission from the Council to help propagate his species because of their low birthrate. He maintains no attachments to his wives or his children, as is expected of a Jedi Master."
"...wait, wives?!" Quinlan gasped, his eyes wide as his fork fell unceremoniously out of his hands. "Let me get this straight. He has wives, and all the no strings attached sex he could ever want?" With a coy smile on her face, Luminara nodded, and the Kiffar sat back, dumbfounded. "Kriff, I was born the wrong species. Hey, do you think if I went to the Jedi Council and told them that I'm a Cerean in my heart, they'd let me in on that deal?"
"I find that highly unlikely, but by all means, Quinlan, do try it," Obi-Wan drawled in a dry voice. "It's been too long since you've been relegated to library duty."
"Well," Quinlan scoffed, carelessly nudging Kenobi, "the Council clearly has no problem with sex so long as you don't get attached."
"Y-yeah, maybe..." Obi-Wan hesitantly agreed, only to have his hand admonishingly smacked by Luminara.
"Look, the point is," Quinlan growled, "that you're so lucky! You know what my last mission was? To Bardotta to serve as the Jedi representative at some ceremony to swear in the new leader of the Dagoyan Order. I thought there would be food and wine and women, but no. Four hours of sitting and listening to some creepy reptile bird thing warble, and that was just the introduction! I thought I was going to crawl out of my skin! Be grateful you're going to war instead of that. You might be getting shot at, but if you wanted, you'd have some girl sucking you off every night." He paused and looked at his two deadpan friends, the both of them having given up on finishing their food a long time ago. "Uh...you are going to be fighting, right?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Our mission is to protect Mandalore's Duchess. She's an assassination target."
"...she hot?" the Kiffar asked hopefully, and Kenobi shrugged.
"I didn't read the mission briefing yet."
"When are you leaving?" Quinlan asked.
"Tonight."
"Tonight!" Quinlan cried, throwing his hands up in the air in his outrage and knocking his own plate over, spilling food clear across the table. "Obi, I'm going to be so bored without you! Luminara just doesn't fill me the way you do, my beautiful lover!" The Mirialan's retribution was swift, and the two began a vicious back and forth while Obi-Wan laid his head on the table, face deeply flushed as he softly laughed. He was going to be gone a long while, from the sound of it, and he missed his friends already. With any luck, his Master would find a way to end the war quickly so he could return home. There was nothing for him on Mandalore.
Meditation.
Master Qui-Gon suggested that I attempt to look on the bright side of this awful mission, though I fail to see how there could be something good to be gained from a viciously violent conflict. I spent the afternoon in the library researching Mandalore so I may be better prepared when I meet them, and I have downloaded a language program to my datapad so that I may study their language on the trip there. So far, it appears that the majority of their language consists of curses, followed by threats, and then descriptions of war and battle, in exactly that order. I am unsurprised.
Right, positive thoughts, Obi-Wan! Master Qui-Gon says I may get a chance to pilot the ship to Mandalore. I stopped by to see it on my way to the Archives. It's a Consular-Class Cruiser, and it is absolutely stunning., though I suspect he just said that to make me feel better about this mess. A ship of that size almost certainly has a pilot already, and were she my ship, I'd never let anyone near the helm.
I have yet to understand why the Council would even contemplate a mission like this. It seems...unwise. This is an internal conflict among the Mandalorians. We will be unwelcome strangers there. Invaders to some, I am certain. Not even the Duchess we are being sent to protect wants us there, so I don't understand why we are getting involved. Mandalore isn't even part of the Republic, and I know the Jedi are supposed to be peacekeepers, but...can we call ourselves keepers of the peace if we impose peace upon them? They do not want our aid, so what does that make us? At what point does a Jedi interfere against the will of the people? Should we even interfere at all? We are sworn to uphold and guard civilization, but if they are determined toward self-destruction, are we obligated to interfere, or do we allow them to stay to their chosen course?
It seems as though these questions have no answers, and if they do, they are lost to me. I shall have to meditate on them on the way to Mandalore.
I suppose, in the end, it's the will of the Force, but I don't claim to know what that will is. The Masters must, and they must sense that we are meant to go, but I cannot fathom why. I suppose I will see when we get there. Perhaps I'll know what I'm meant to do when I look at the situation with my own eyes. I'm staring now at the mission briefing, though I have yet to read it. I confess I'm a bit reluctant to view it. It feels like once I do, the mission becomes real, and there is no chance of me waking up from this. I don't want to kill again. The last time, my first time...I can still feel it now. How it felt to be so close to someone as the life fled from them. How sick it made me to feel the way the Force trembled. How very cold I felt to know that I did it. It's not a thing I ever thought I'd experience, and I had hoped I never would again, but it seems the Force has other plans for me.
I suppose I just don't take well to lightsaber diplomacy, as the other Padawans call it. It would be so much easier if they could just be persuaded to sit down and talk it out. They're going to end up at a table in the end anyway, so all the lives lost in the interim is just...wasteful. Pointless. But, I suppose that is what the Jedi are for. To facilitate the talks that will bring about peace. I just hope the Mandalorians can find a way to be agreeable. Their culture seems to indicate otherwise, but at some point, the fighting must end. With any luck, the Duchess will be able to bring about the peace they think she can. I certainly hope we can aid her in that. If she doesn't throw us out first. Or execute us.
Quinlan should have gone on this mission in my place. He was far more excited than I was, though I suspect his motivations were less than pure. A Duchess wouldn't be safe in his care for...well, for many reasons. It would be something of a scandal if Mandalore's ruler was found to have a Jedi lover. After all, they have a long, proud history of murdering Jedi, so I doubt that taking one to bed is looked on favorably. Hopefully simply helping her will not damage her position. It may be wise to keep a low profile, if possible.
I don't want to go.
Perhaps it will be over soon.