Chapter 2

His eyes were steadily fastened on the image before him. How many times had he heard this, how many times had he replayed it? The council sat quietly, once again viewing the disheartened soldier as he retold his tale. When the holocom quieted, Mace reached forward and turned it off aware that Qui-Gon had not moved to stop him.

Silence stretched throughout the chamber. The subtle shifting of a few masters the only sound to be heard. Qui-Gon swallowed, the knot lodged in his throat reluctantly moving aside. When he was sure that his serenity was in place, he said, "I'm going to find him."

"In the right frame of mind to participate in a mission of this type, you are not."

When Qui-Gon's startled gaze met with Yoda's, Mace cleared his throat to draw the Jedi's attention before speaking. "We have a team assembled. They will leave at dawn."

When his friend's questioning gaze met his, Mace continued, "I will be heading the mission; we will find young Kenobi."

Qui-Gon dipped his head in gratitude. Mace was an accomplished Jedi, one of only a few he trusted with this particular assignment. Besides, he knew that if he pushed the issue that he would get nowhere. Not this time.

Sitting on the floor Qui-Gon reclined back against the sofa. Rubbing a hand over weary features, he looked down at the letters strewn about him. He had read and re-read each one trying to find some sort of missing piece that he had overlooked that may have directed his attentions to the outcome of his padawan's mission. But none were to be found. Obi-Wan had spoken little of the assignment itself, instead choosing to tell of the planet, the people, even the weather when it didn't fit his particular mood. Reaching for the first one that he had received, Qui-Gon picked it up and read.

Dear Master,

I can honestly say I've never seen anything like this before. Of all the missions we've been on, the emotions flowing in and around this place are too much at times. We've contacted the opposing force but have yet to set a time or place to meet.

I know this isn't the usual manner in communication but the consoles they have here are limited. I haven't witnessed my own handwriting in quite some time with all the technology we use at the Temple. Typed words are more familiar to me than this, faster too I might add. And yet there's a connection with this that I have not sensed with a comm. link, a data pad, or a comm. unit.

The locals here are friendly enough but are wary of their military. Many don't understand the rationale of why they fight and I have to agree with their assessment. This war seems to have stemmed from a few generations back, but no one can tell me the grounds on which it's based. The lines on either side have continued to follow in their forefather's footsteps with no idea of why they fight.

The soldiers here are welcoming of my presence and have been as hospitable as possible with the situation at hand. They'd like everyone to believe they're a rough bunch, but mostly they just miss their families and long for home.

The militia is meeting; I have to go. More soon.

Obi-Wan

It had been eight months since his padawan's disappearance. Refusing to believe that Obi-Wan was anything less than alive was not an option to a heart that he now wished had stayed closed and frozen in the ice that Xanatos had left it in. At least that way he would have been numb. Picking up another, he let his eyes roam over the elegant script of his padawan's writing.

Master Qui-Gon,

You were right in your assessment of the situation. It's complete chaos here. The military is trying their hardest to keep some semblance of order but the constant fighting resulting in casualties and varying degrees of wounded men aren't helping the matter any. The General is showing signs of exhaustion and extreme stress but refuses to hand over his duties to his second. Each time he sees another enter the base on a stretcher the guilt that washes over him is almost more than I can bear. The troops are being recalled in intervals. They're to regroup while a fresh wave is sent in their stead. There's one squad that hasn't checked in; they lost contact with them several hours ago. The longer they're out there the less chance they have of returning.

This will be the last of the letters for a while, Master. I have volunteered as a member of a small group to find those who are lost, and in doing so hope to bring them all home. I find using this stylus and flimsiplast helps me feel more connected to Coruscant, the Temple, to…you. It's like sending a part of myself home without having a technical feel to it. Concentrate, here and now. It seems I am continually reminding myself of this lesson, Master. I won't say how I feel about this impending assignment because I know what advice you would give. They're ready. I'll contact you soon.

Your Padawan, Obi-Wan

Picking up a piece of flimsiplast, Qui-Gon took hold of the stylus on the table and began to write. This had become his routine before turning in for a restless sleep each evening. He didn't know how many letters he had written since Obi-Wan's disappearance; he had lost count. Smoothing his hand across the paper, he adjusted his grip and began to write.

My dear padawan,

How many days has it been? You have yet to answer my last letter so here I sit to write again. Badgering is something I have perfected, as you well know. The bond is silent leaving this outdated method the only form I have to harass you with.

I have watched you grow Obi-Wan from an awkward teen into a talented young man. And so many times I have let my pride keep silent the words that you have longed to hear, replaced by my hand upon your shoulder accompanied by a slight squeeze to let you know what I cannot voice. But do you know? Do you know that so long ago you helped an old man to find life? Do you know that the ice I swore would never be chipped away from my heart melted fraction by fraction each time you smiled? Do you know that I am proud of you, proud of your accomplishments? Do you know that you are more than my apprentice; you are the son of my heart?

Qui-Gon paused. Tilting the pen to hold it at each end with the fingers of each hand, he studied what he had written. If truth were known, he hadn't meant to pour his heart out. Yet, when he began writing it was as if his mind had detached itself and his hand wrote of its own will. Pressing forward, he adjusted the stack of flimsiplast and continued.

Garen and Reeft send their regards as does Bant and Siri. They are of the few who do not see me as a crazed lunatic for writing letters in which I do not even know are being received. But I have to believe that you are reading them, for if I don't, then my hope is gone. I have prayed that the Force would guide you and keep you in this mission and I know that it has heard me. You will come home soon do you hear me? For that is an order.

Adjusting the stylus, he finished with the same words he wrote at the end of each and every letter.

You have grown into a good man Obi-Wan. And your bravery far outweighs mine. In the years to come you will find that your senses will become more and more attuned to the ways of the force; our dependence upon it and our discovery of new things that we only thought we had learned or knew is a continual cycle. Even now I am learning. I have watched you grow in your skills and in each new lesson learned, your wisdom and perception has grown as well. Oh padawan, what a Knight you will someday be, a force to be reckoned with. I only pray that the force allow me to witness each and every day of your walk.

Come home, Padawan. Be safe and return to the Temple…to me.

Your Master,

Qui-Gon Jinn

Having finished, he set the stylus aside and picked up the flimsiplast. He viewed if for several moments before laying it down on the table to fold it. Placing it in a sleeve and sealing it shut, he addressed it to its recipient.

Rising from his seat on the floor, being careful not to disturb the letters lying about, he picked up his cloak and walked out the door. When he arrived at the courier center, the postmaster smiled and reached for the letter he knew was forthcoming. Qui-Gon handed it over and turned to leave when a voice behind him halted his steps.

"Master Jinn?" When the Jedi turned back to him, the dispatcher continued, "You do realize that your padawan may not even be receiving these."

Qui-Gon's gaze lowered to the floor and then just as quickly re-focused on the man in front of him. "I have to believe he is."

X

"Adjust your stance!" Qui-Gon called out over the ruckus of lightsabers in practice. To keep from thinking too much, Master Yoda had assigned him to train the Senior Padawans for the upcoming Tournament. It had done him good to have somewhere in which to place his focus, though his apprentice was never far from his mind. Each time he saw Padawan's Tachi and Muln bicker over something trivial he was reminded of how much they felt the void within their group. Garen had taken over Obi-Wan's place of bantering with Siri to keep her from being sullen, and she played along to make him feel better.

A year and a half and still no word. There had been plenty of leads to follow over the past months but none that panned out and those that had actually gotten them closer were short on time, meaning they always arrived after the encampment had been evacuated. Even with the bond empty like it was, silent and mocking, he still held onto hope by voicing it through the epistles he wrote each evening and dispatched soon after.

Qui-Gon sat down on the bench and gathered his things while the students rushed to the locker rooms to shower and change; however, a few elected to remain behind. Sitting down on the bleacher behind the Jedi master, Garen, Siri, Bant, and Reeft waited patiently while he fastened his bag. Standing, he turned and smiled at the young ones and gestured toward the door.

"Shall we?" He flinched mentally when he heard the saddened tone of his voice. He regarded the four Padawans before him, somewhat relieved that they either hadn't noticed or chose to not mention the grief he was certain they had heard.

The padawans stood and accompanied their training master to the dining hall for lunch, a ritual they had willingly taken up to keep the Jedi from being alone and in some selfish way on their part to be near someone who meant the world to their friend.

Whatever the reason, Qui-Gon didn't have it in him to deny their company. He too had a selfish motive…these were his padawan's closest friends.

X

The shuttle exited hyperspace and took its place within the traffic lanes above Coruscant waiting its turn to enter the atmosphere. A loan figure stood quietly by the viewport staring out over the city planet. He swallowed a lump in his throat, taking control of the emotion that wished to take hold. Pushing it aside, he clutched the bundles within his grasp. Shifting his hold on them, he leaned down to pick up a piece that had come loose and fallen from the stack. When his fingers brushed the edges, he grasped the tip pulling it up, the flimsiplast falling open to reveal the words strewn across it. His eyes inadvertently took in the characters and as he stood back up, his attention was riveted to the paper.

Dear Padawan,

I've received your letters and thought I'd send a few of my own. I understand your thoughts on this less used method, but I would still like a comm. call if possible. I know you're all right, but seeing you would help too.

I knew this day would come and yet I tried to hold it off as long as possible. Yes, you read that right. You would have been sent out a year ago, and I am the reason that it was delayed. This is just another step in your journey for Knighthood. And yes, I am anxious and all that implies. They grounded me here thinking I might follow you on your first solo mission; the gall of them to think that. I would not jeopardize this learning experience for you…at least I don't think I would.

He grinned at this, shaking his head and backing up slowly to the seat behind him. He had just read these yesterday. He had them memorized from the months he had spent in the infirmary with nothing else to do but read the letters that had been saved for a day when he would be able to take possession of them. A task he had taken to with great delight and longing.

You've been a constant presence in both my mind and at my side for the past ten years. Walking these halls, watching your friends pass by without you with them, returning to empty quarters…well, it's more difficult than I imagined. I guess I've broken that one, Padawan, and you know to which I refer. Brat. You managed to take up residence against my wishes and now you're taking the next step to independence.

Remember, stay in the here and now. The emotional overload the people are broadcasting can become crippling if you aren't on guard. Feel it, and then let it go. The populace may not understand the reasons for this war, but they're the ones still carrying it forth. Until they decide to take a stand and be who they are today there will be no peace. They must realize that just because their ancestors fought for a cause they believed in does not justify what they are doing now; unless, that cause still holds true.

And as for the faction holding up the proceedings, that is to be expected. They want to show that they still hold some ground over the others and that they are still in control of the situation. It sounds as though the group you are with is ready to humble themselves and sign a truce. Encourage them to practice this humility in their interactions with the others. It will show their intentions to be done with this war.

I am not actually allowed to offer advice nor am I allowed to state my feelings on this matter. However, what the Council doesn't know will not hurt them. Besides, Master Dooku did the same for me and Yoda for him. Speaking of the wise one, he told me to tell you that you'll do fine. Although, why he would think that I'd be in contact with you is beyond my understanding.

You will do fine, my Padawan. You're braver than you think. And one day, when I am able to let go, you'll be a great Jedi Knight. But until then, make it home safe, Obi-Wan.

Master Qui-Gon

A small laugh piggybacked on a silent sob escaped as he folded the letter back and placed it in its sleeve. He briskly wiped a hand across his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. Once he was sure he had control of his emotions, he stood and walked over to his satchel to place the four bundles inside. When he looked up, Commander Swyer was leaning against the doorframe silently watching.

X

He walked to the mailbox
On that bright summers day
Found a letter from his son
In a war far away

He spoke of the weather
And good friends that he'd made
...It was the first of his letters from war

...

Late in December
A day he'll not forget
Oh his tears stained the paper
With every word that he read

...

And he prayed he was living
Kept on believing
And wrote every night just to say

You are good
And you're brave
What a Jedi that you'll be someday
Make it home
Make it safe

He kept writing each day

- Mark Schultz (Letters from War)

To be continued…


Note: The song in its entirety will not be posted, only the parts that pertain to the chapters themselves. This song is based on a mother and her son; I took the liberty of replacing a few words (i.e. she to he, her to his, and father to Jedi) to fit the Galaxy Far, Far Away. I thought a father/son - master/padawan relationship would work well also.

Hope you enjoyed it!