Title: Intaglio
Author: The Musical Jedi
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda
Summary: Obi-Wan's Knighting Ceremony
Notes: Winner of the 2nd challenge in the PT Write/Rewrite Contest on TF.N.
---
Night was beginning to fall over Theed, suffusing the capital city with the remnants of the day's light, scattered between buildings and plants as though it needed to be used up completely before nightfall. The sky is a dusky red near the horizon, and the spectrum of colors saturated the sky as one looked upward, moving through rich ambers and bronzed ochres to deep ceruleans before fading into a heavy wine-colored sky that blended into the sable already dotted with stars. The city itself is still darker than normal; few lights fill the windows of dwellings, as most of the citizens had yet to make their way back after the evacuation.
All of this is easily seen from the small temple the Council had assigned to me, a roughly circular structure made of obsidian with open sides between its low walls and sweeping roof. The temple was built on a hill, overlooking the newly freed city, a short distance away from the other temple, the one where they had laid out my Master.
Candles had been placed in my temple, scattered over the ledge and on some of the benches set into the low walls, perhaps meant to echo the Hall of Remembrance, where Padawans had kept their vigil for time out of mind, since the Order had built the Temple on Coruscant. Of course, that was what happened, when the Trials had been passed as planned and the Knighting Ceremony was something to be anticipated and arranged.
Not hastily thrown together after unconsidered words and an unexpected death.
I step into the Temple, clad only in my leggings, trying to ready myself for the night of meditation and contemplation of the Force, but my thoughts – unsurprisingly – refuse to be so neatly marshaled. I could feel my braid resting gently on my right shoulder, and I can't help but feel a rush of resentfulness – of regret – that the man who had put it there in the first place would not be the one to cut it off and welcome me as Knight into the Order.
I kneel in the center of the circular room, feeling the coolness of the stones seep through the thin fabric. The night would grow cold, I knew; but I am a Jedi, taught to disregard physical comforts – as well as emotions.
Exhaling slowly, I close my eyes, aware of the flickering candlelight beyond, and try to find my center in the turmoil that had, in the last few days, been my connection to the Force. Instead, I see the look on my Master's face as he told the Council I was ready for the trials, the sneer on that tattooed Zabrak's lips as he ignited his lightsaber, my Master, as he fell to the floor. With these images comes the image of the boy, Anakin – his face crumpling in soundless tears when I told him what happened. With a sigh, I try to clear my mind and sweep these pictures and their attendant emotions away.
Within the Force, I can sense the movement of what few people were in the capital, slowly making their way through the city with lingering thoughts of how they had left, the tang of fear almost tangible in the air. I can perceive the whiff of relief within the palace from the Queen and her handmaidens, as well as their security forces. It almost seems as though the Force itself is jubilant, throwing Its greater cares away for an instant, a heartbeat, before resuming the currents of the rest of the Galaxy.
And I can almost convince myself that I can sense the motionless body not too far, placed on a bier in another temple not so unlike my own. In my mind, I recall the visage of Qui-Gon easily – I lived with the man for over a decade - and he seemed as changeless as the Force itself to me, solid in his convictions and unyielding in his pursuit of them. Perhaps, then, that was what had been so painful, both in the Council chamber and in his last words. I dared dream that he loved me more than that, that I would not be swept aside.
This isn't supposed to be what I'm contemplating. The night before the Knighting ceremony is supposed to be a rededication of oneself to the Jedi Order, an echo of the vows taken when one rises to initiate and then again when one is taken on as Padawan. It's a moment of contemplation about what it means to be Jedi, to give up everything in search of something greater. A story told in the crèche is that we reenact the actions of those who came before, knights who kept watch over their arms throughout the night in a Mystery made holy by their beliefs. They, too, walked the lonely road, symbolized by keeping watch alone, and gave up their individual dreams so that others may be safe, upholding justice and peace in their realms, finding answers in the silence between dusk and dawn.
All I have are questions.
I open my eyes again and watch the dim reflection of the candlelight in the dark stone, the flickering dance as a breeze moves through the temple before the air falls still again. Using this as a point of focus, I can feel the over twenty-five years of training steal over me and take control; I give myself to the Force, an act I have performed more times than I can count. It always reminds me of that moment between waking and sleep. The lines of my body, the borders that define me from that which I can sense slip away, blurring the distinction between me and not me, as I ease into the currents eddying around me, making up the Force.
A wash of images comes over me, some I recognize and others I don't. I see a shadowy figured hazed in the blue of a commlink message. Anakin attacking another child, a Rodian. An infant in my arms, eyes closed as he sleeps. Streaks of laser fire adding color to the star-filled canopy of a starfighter. A young man with wavy, long brown hair, holding a blue lightsaber, a scar over his eye. Padmé, heavily pregnant, with tears in her eyes. Yoda, standing small and alone aboard a white ship. Smoke pouring from the Jedi Temple. Qui-Gon, smiling at me. A dark man watching over a young woman, holding a child. A dusty-haired boy, looking out on a vast desert. The same boy, lighting a funeral pyre for a masked man in black.
Each of these images flickers through my consciousness, seen without my seeing them, and move away before an emotion can be paired to it. I almost feel as though I'm seeing glimpses into someone else's life, filled with people I don't know. Still, a feeling settles over me, and the onslaught of images slows, revealing a river of lava in the background. I can feel despair and the stiffness of dried tears on my cheeks, hoarse words caught in my throat, for an instant, even as this scene also moves away, lost to the tide of the Force.
The feeling expands, taking shape and become a understanding, something I'm told without any understanding of words, knowledge of where this insight has come from beyond the Force Itself.
The boy must be trained.
And even if I had never made the promise to Qui-Gon, reassuring him with his last breath, I apprehend that I must do this one thing, I must perform this task. Like one of the knights from the crèche stories, this is the quest that has been given to me.
I open my eyes, unable to recall when I had closed them. The diffuse light of dawn surrounds me, dimming the black stone to grey, giving the very air a quality of buttery yellows and subtle roses. I sense that I'm no longer alone; behind me stands Master Yoda, and even though I don't turn, I can see him leaning against his gimer stick, regarding me through half-closed, alert eyes.
Then I do turn, kneeling respectfully before him, waiting for the small Jedi Master to break the silence. As I watch his feet, he seems to be shifting his weight. I wonder if he's twitching his ears as well.
"Prepared, are you, to become a Knight of the Jedi Order?" he finally says softly, his tone gentle.
I look up from the floor, regarding him evenly. "I am."
His ears flatten, and he narrows his eyes. "Passed your Trials you have, though debate your standing, the rest of the Council does."
The corner of my mouth twitches in response to this. "Why have you come here then, Master Yoda?" I hope my amusement is evident in my voice.
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Knight you are, regardless of what the Council decides. Sith-slayer – and decided in your path." Yoda opens his eyes a little wider, and I see his understanding – and disapproval – there.
"I want to take Anakin as my Padawan."
"Know this I do. Discuss this, the Council also will."
Yoda studies me for another moment before his expression suddenly softens. "Proud of you, Qui-Gon was. Even prouder now, he would be."
I feel my expression stiffen into impassivity, the sting of the words in the Council Chamber still fresh and raw. I'm sure Yoda sees the change, as amusement appears on his visage. "Single-minded, Qui-Gon was," he said, "but blind, he was not."
His hand strays to his belt, and I watch him produce a small, simple blade. "Know, I do, that prefer to do this himself, he would." Yoda moves forward to stand before me, looking at me with his luminous mossy eyes. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, with the removal of your braid, indicating your status as Padawan Learner, become a Jedi Knight, you will, vowed to uphold peace and justice. To commit your life to this, knowing that it is a difficult road to follow, a hard life to lead, are you willing?"
A hard life. The words bring back my beloved Master to me, and tears blur my eyes.
"You know I am, Master Yoda," I find myself saying softly.
He blinks slowly before reaching out to sever my braid, placing it gently in my hands. I look down, seeing the dark brown hair with a few strands of grey interwoven with my own copper.
"Jedi, you are." Yoda gives a small nod and a corner of his mouth flickers upward. "It is done."
I close my hand slowly, my fingers curling protectively around the last remnant of my apprenticeship, possibly the only thing left unshattered from this mission.
Perhaps I will use some of it to weave into Anakin's braid when I take him as my own Padawan.