"I am ready to face the trials."

"I am ready…"

Oh, how little I knew. I, who was trained by Qui-Gon himself. I thought I was speaking of the Jedi Knight trials, but the Force had something different in mind. As always I opened myself to it as I had been taught, and let it lead my actions as it led the actions of those around me. But I was not ready. Not for what was in store.

I can remember. Yes, I can remember it, and I do. Every day. It all began with those words…

"I will train him, then."

Those words, sharp, double-edged, piercing. He did not look at me, but I could not keep my gaze from him. I was shocked, confused, yet Qui-Gon continued.

"I take Anakin as my Padawan learner." His big hands were on the boy's shoulders as they had so often rested on mine.

Yoda's words only turned the knife deeper. "An apprentice you have, Qui-Gon. Impossible to take on a second."

"The code forbids it," put in Mace Windu.

"Obi-Wan is ready."

At the sound of my name, I ripped my gaze away from my master and stepped forward, trying to imbue my words with as much confidence as I could muster. "I am ready to face the trails."

"Our own counsel we will keep on who is ready," Yoda rebuked.

They doubt me.

"He is headstrong and has much to learn of the living Force, but he is capable," Qui-Gon asserted.

He doubts me.

And I doubted myself. How could I win with so many against me?

I cannot see how my master did not feel my eyes on him as he pronounced every word, but he must have known. Qui-Gon is a very discerning man, observant. I have often been reprimanded for not noticing as much of my surroundings as I should, and always tried to live up to his example so that one day he would proudly pronounce me finished with my Padawan training. But this was not how I had imagined it. Not this. He sounded pressed, in a hurry to be rid of me so that he could take on the boy—to replace me. And was I so easily replaceable? None could remove Qui-Gon from my heart, and I had believed that he felt the same for me.

"There is little more he can learn from me," Qui-Gon was saying and I turned again to look at him. There. A movement. He felt my distress through our bond, doubtless all the council did, and looked sidelong at me, though not meeting my eyes. I have been told multiple times by Qui-Gon that I have unusual eyes: the changing colors of the sea, piercing, searching. Much like Qui-Gon's own. But now he was avoiding them, taking no joy in seeing through me by them.

My jaw worked as I struggled to bridle my fear and expel my pain to the Force. I could hardly focus on what the others were saying, but the moment Yoda raised his hand to signal our departure I bowed and exited the chamber.

Later I confronted Qui-Gon about his words. Of course, not directly—times were rare indeed when I would raise my voice to my master to express my disapproval. But I had learned from experience that Qui-Gon would listen to me and my concerns despite his own desires to act quickly, so I pursued the matter. He was calm, as I had expected. I was the one who was roiling inside with unexplainable emotions and longings that I knew had no place in a young man who was to take on the trials. But I knew that I had hit a chord when he turned to face me and said in distinct, clipped words, "The council will decide Anakin's future. That should be enough for you. Now get on board." He indicated the queen's ship and then looked at me with a gravity I only saw in him when he was displeased.

For a moment, one world-shattering moment, I wanted to take Qui-Gon's shoulders and bring him close to meet my eyes and then shout exactly what was wrong with me and how he was making me hurt.

But I didn't.

Yes, I briefly considered telling him that I was not compelled to obey his orders as I was no longer his Padawan learner.

But I didn't.

I was grateful. I was aching. I was Obi-Wan Kenobi, boy practically rescued by this man from a lifetime of working in the Agricorps. I turned and did as he said. I am thankful, now, that I obeyed, because what my eyes would have seen next would have surely broken my faltering heart. The boy was near, I knew, during our exchange. After I left I could hear him approach, his quiet words to Qui-Gon. I could feel Qui-Gon kneel and place a big hand on Anakin's arm, saying as he did so, "I'm not allowed to train you, so I want you to watch me and be mindful. Always remember: Your focus determines your reality. Stay close to me and you'll be safe."

Those piercing eyes, creased with age and adventures, looking into the boy's young face as he had so often looked into mine! Already my master was saying things, spouting proverbs, which he had told me time and again. What had I done wrong?

And then…

"Master, sir?"

I paused in my ascent of the ramp and closed my eyes involuntarily, almost groaning with anguish. Pain, grief, anger, suppression swirled before my closed lids as I tried to master myself and not fall to the ground and give my soul up to the Force right there. Why did Qui-Gon suddenly distance himself from me? What burden is this weight for me to bear? How dare the boy have the right to call my master that name? Who was I to lay claim to a man such as Qui-Gon, father though he may be to me?

I remained alone for most of the trip to Naboo. Seeing even the back of Qui-Gon's solid figure was almost too much for me when the queen assembled us before her in the ship to discuss the strategy. I tried to be useful in the cockpit, offering advice on where to land and helping to maneuver the ship. Once we landed, I approached Qui-Gon, relieved to see that Anakin was nowhere near, and offered, "Jar Jar is on his way to the Gungan city, Master." The sentence seemed to come easily enough and my master answered positively in his usual fashion—before we met the boy. "Do you think the queen's idea will work?" I continued, hoping against hope that he might take me back into his graces, perhaps have a talk with me like we used to, him, me, and the Force binding us together. Qui-Gon answered again in his cryptic fashion, looking at me only briefly before turning away again to survey the area. There was no sign of his previous displeasure with me, and I dared to venture an apology.

"I'm—I'm sorry for my behavior, Master." I bowed my head, my hands clenched tightly in the sleeves of my robe. "It's not my place to disagree with you about the boy." Although I kept my head bowed, I could sense that Qui-Gon winced before turning to me. I met his gaze hesitantly and let a hint of my happiness at not being once again rejected rise to my face. "And I am grateful that you think I'm ready to take the trials."

"You've been a good apprentice, Obi-Wan." He smiled and clasped my shoulder. "And you're a much wiser man than I am. I foresee you will become a great Jedi Knight." He tipped his head and surveyed me critically before the captain called us to receive Jar Jar's report of the Gungan city.

I could have sung. All seemed right with us, just as it had been only days ago before we ever went to Tatooine, and I was content to stand beside him while the strange Gungan gave his report, even after he led us to his strange ruler and we knelt before him to receive our judgment. Then, when all went well, I offered up a smile, knowing that it lit my eyes more than my face, and looked up at Qui-Gon, not caring that Anakin did the same. The boy was well with me if I was not replaced by him in my master's affections.

But all did not remain that way.

We flew to the capital to retake the queen's palace. Our first task was to free the pilots in the hangar, which proved to be simple enough. Qui-Gon ordered the boy to stay in one of the ship's cockpits as we continued through the palace. I was satisfied—I would fight alongside my master as I had done so many times before, the boy from Tatooine a memory we would eventually have to return to.

Then the hangar doors slid open. The cloaked and tattooed figure standing ready there: my worst nightmare. I just didn't know it yet.

"We'll handle this," Qui-Gon said and the queen took her people a separate way. The Sith let them go. We were what he wanted.

I sauntered forward, removing my outer robe along with my master and the Sith. For some reason, I was strangely aware of my Padawan braid hanging past my shoulder, part of it yet unbraided. The Sith drew back his hood and I could see that his head was bald, horned, and tattooed with strange designs. I can remember thinking it strange and somehow sad that his kind were not able to have a Padawan braid woven by their masters with brightly colored bands on it so all could see how far they'd come. But then, he was a Sith. Sith do not have the traditions of the Jedi.

The Sith drew his lightsaber, the hilt unusually long, I thought, and from one end flashed the familiar red blade. And then he drew back his hand and from the other end came a matching blade. Never before had we fought against a Sith with this weapon, but that made no difference to Qui-Gon, and so it made no difference to me, save that I was more eager than ever to try my skills against his. I sunk into the ready position much faster than Qui-Gon, who was usually so strong-willed and fast-moving. I also struck first. A flip, a challenge show the Sith I was unafraid and young and strong. He didn't move his focus, even when I tried to strike him from behind. With his double-blade, he was lethal, more than a match for both of us.

Every time I could, I tried to move forward; I took every chance to strike first, to draw his attention to me. But I could see that to him I was like an annoying insect, a pest that persisted in returning to fly in his face just as he was able to gain the upper hand. I was the one to be kicked away, head-butted aside as he used his blade on Qui-Gon. At first I was angered that the Sith did not see me as a threat and that I was so easily pushed to one side. He faced Qui-Gon always, I could see, using few skills to move me away and never facing me directly. He saved that for Qui-Gon. I did not understand his obsession with my master, but then I became afraid. And I was too late.

They had fought into a hall with Force field barriers that divided them, thankfully, so my master could rest and attune himself more fully to the Force. But the barriers had also blocked me from them and I could only sheathe my lightsaber as my master had and watch as the Sith paced. Perhaps his impatience was not the only emotion that I could use to my advantage, I thought, but then focused once more as the barriers were removed and Qui-Gon rose up in a flash of green light. I flourished my lightsaber and ran after them, but the Force barriers closed so that I was again separated from my master. Qui-Gon was strong and well-tested, I reasoned. Yet I still questioned angrily why the Force had closed me away from the fighting Sith and Jedi when I ought to be at my master's side. I was so close, one Force field away. Just before the barriers had opened I had activated my lightsaber, listening to the Force's whisperings so that I would be ready to move forward. Now I listened once more, as my master had done, and what I heard disturbed me. Even Qui-Gon, fighting madly as he was, should hear the warnings and the dark voices that surrounded them. Anxiety cut my breath short and tensed my muscles. My hands felt slack and my palms were sweating from an irrational fear that I couldn't name. The spinning blades—red and green—had captured my eyes and I could hardly swallow from the tightness in my chest, the emptiness in the pit of my stomach.

I almost shouted a warning, moved to do so, before Qui-Gon was struck down.

My warning turned into an anguished cry.

And the Sith faced me fully for the first time.

My lip curled in disgust but I could again draw breath, once past that fatal moment when the Force had prepared itself to receive another and pulled me with it. I watched him, pacing before me as he had paced before my master. Again, the Force gave me warning and I lit my lightsaber just before the barriers opened. I was ready, zealous in my eagerness to fight the Sith. I ran forward and let the Force direct me as I watched as through another's eyes the parrying red and blue, clashing and releasing, then parting both in a wide sweep, then coming forward again. I cut his hilt in two and then flipped over his head, just as I had in the beginning. It was a clear message—I was the same Jedi Padawan who had tried to battle him before and I would fight just as fervently now, with or without my master. He paced back and tried to kick me away but I would not be moved. I somersaulted in the air and watched as he mimicked my movement, spreading his hand in a challenging salute. For one moment we locked blades and I bore forward to look into his eyes and let him look into mine.

The Force issued a warning just before I was flung back into a vertical tunnel, clinging to a bolt that projected from the side. The Sith kicked my lightsaber into the hole with me where I could only watch with dismay as it clattered to the fathomless bottom. He had taken everything from me: my weapon, my master. My eyes turned to Qui-Gon's fallen form—and the lightsaber beside him. With the Force, I called it to me and then vaulted over the Sith and slashed him across the belly. The look on his face was one of surprise before he fell into the pit from which I had come.

The Force's whisperings in my ears became sharper and I sheathed Qui-Gon's lightsaber to kneel by the man himself, taking his head in my hands. He claimed it was too late, making an excuse to anyone who had found him to not call for needless help. But when he heard my tear-laced voice, he sighed, "Obi-Wan," because he knew it was me, his Padawan, come for him.

Then the words that I had prayed to the Force I would never, ever hear.

"Promise—Promise me you will train the boy."

Oh, my heart! Could he not see my Padawan braid, dangling before him as my head was pressed so close to his? But I was not the one being replaced as a Padawan. I was the one replacing my master.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He lifted his fingers to brush my face.

"He is the Chosen One. He…will bring balance. Train him."

I could only nod, my voice succumbed to my tears, until his eyes drifted close and I pressed my forehead to his and let my grief roll from me in waves.

Him. The last word he ever spoke to me. Him.

If I had known what my trials would be…I would never have declared my readiness for them.

"Confer on you the level of Jedi Knight the council does."

I was kneeling inside the Jedi Council chambers, alone but for the wizened Master who was before me.

"But agree with your taking this boy as your Padawan learner I do not."

"Qui-Gon believed in him," I countered, the words the first that surfaced in my mind.

Yoda sighed, knowing my obstinacy in all things concerning my master. "The chosen one the boy may be. Nevertheless, grave danger I fear in his training."

"Master Yoda," I began firmly, taking a calming breath, "I gave Master Qui-Gon my word. I will train Anakin." Perhaps if I said the name more forcefully, Yoda would not detect the shudder that ran through my body at my first use of the boy's name. "Without the approval of the council, if I must."

"Qui-Gon's defiance I sense in you." Yoda looked away, his tone taking on that of a lecture. "Need that you do not." I could see his small shoulders rise and fall and I felt my own match the subtle signature of a heavy grief weighing on the soul. Finally, he proclaimed, "Agree with you the council does. Your apprentice Skywalker will be."

I bowed my head at the sentence and rose to ready for what I was sure would be one of the most difficult tests of control I would ever face.

Gathered with others who had known Qui-Gon well or who merely had titles and came so their presence would bestow honor on the unknown Jedi, I secretly rebelled and refused to remove my hood. Qui-Gon's body lay on a stone pier and the flames rose high around it to warm the room from the night's open air, but my soul felt cold and empty. I felt incomplete and did not want to be seen in my handicapped state. So I drew my robe around me, thankful for its dull color to not be false to my heart's bareness. I stood between the queen and the boy and turned to look at the latter, surveying his face as though to look with my master's eyes on this boy who was to become my Padawan.

"What will happen to me now?" he asked.

For my master's sake, I hope something other than the brutal ripping that is happeningwithin me.

"The council have granted me permission to train you," I soothed. "You will be a Jedi, I promise."

There, a second time my fatal promise had been spoken. The second half of my heart to break.

I turned away from the boy and faced my master's body. The flames had claimed him and I could only watch stoically, as a Jedi should, as my master was torn away from me again.

The days after are difficult to recall, and I do not doubt that my part in them was small. Yet somehow I survived with a broken heart and sleepless, tear-filled nights to stand beside the queen as the Gungans and those from Naboo made peace. Beside me was the boy, garbed as a Padawan with just the beginnings of a braid which I had woven for him the night before. I wondered how many times my heart could break and whether the pieces could then be sifted through like sand, but I did not betray how difficult it was for him to call me master and for me to call him anything other than "the boy", how horrible it was that Qui-Gon was not here to comb and weave my Padawan braid, or even to receive it when it had been cut as I became a Knight. Hiding my dark, raging, grieving emotions was becoming habitual, automatic, and so much easier now. I could even try a hint of a smile, letting loose something other than tears and raw cries for the first time since Qui-Gon's death. And the boy, Anakin, did cause a smile to tug at my lips from the way he studiously copied me even in his movements. And I watched as the queen turned to Anakin and a smile tipped his face, hesitant like mine had been, but growing wider by the second. I looked away, to the queen, to the Gungan leader and the glowing orb symbolizing peace in his hands, and to all those cheering around us until a real smile grew on my own face though the light to my eyes was still doused with grief. But it would grow. Yes, it would grow as I had grown.

"I am ready to face the trials…"

Oh, how little I knew.