Lineage II


Part 7: Gentle Lull


Joyful music floated on the warm noon-day air; banners fluttered in the light breeze, long pennants set atop the circle of pavilions in the capitol's one surviving park. The hubbub of the expectant crowd was a meaningless texture of overlapping sounds, confusing the individual mutterings and exclamations into a harmless tapestry of nonsense.

Obi Wan was glad for this, though he could not say why.

Qui Gon carved a path for them through the milling Phindian guests; the Padawan followed on his heels, feeling the anticipatory shudders in the Force, the vibrant sparks and flares of interest, of happiness, of curiosity. Jedi gatherings were solemn affairs: funeral, Council meeting, life day, Knighting… all had a similar tenor, a deep and thrumming basso continuo underpinning whatever emotion might lurk discreetly beneath. This was, by contrast, intoxicating. Untrammeled. He wasn't sure what to make of its exotic flavor.

"Obi Wan."

He hurried to close the distance between himself and the tall Jedi master, slipping between two gossiping aunts to stand beside his mentor. Guerra had positioned them in a place of honor, among the family gathered at the front of the waiting audience.

In the park's very center, circled by the pale tents full of eager witnesses, Paxxi Derrida stood, arrayed in a fantastic garment of clashing geometrical bands. His chest puffed out with pride, his eyes shone with a pitch of nervous tension similar to a skysailer at the moment of jumping off a cliff. Beside him waited some sort of official or clergyman, an older Phindian sporting a cumbersome conical headdress and a long robe of office.

"Master, where is Kaadi? Is it some kind of test?"

Qui Gon's mouth quirked. "The test, I believe, comes with the passing years. No, the bride is on her way. Watch."

The guests parted, in a murmuring wave, to leave a narrow aisle open between them, a canyon of happy, peering faces and waving hands, leading from outside the circle to its very center. Into this living road entered Kaadi, crowned and veiled, and a bevy of frolicksome younger relatives, purportedly playing the role of handmaidens or escort. Their attempts at dignity were ill-fated; they skipped and cavorted about the young Phindian woman, soiling the hems of their clothing and grinning wildly in delight. Obi Wan frowned: crechelings in the Temple knew better how to hold still and proceed in quiet deference. But there was a certain contagious energy to the spectacle. He found himself fidgeting and instantly quelled the impulse.

"I don't understand the veil. He already knows her."

"It's symbolic. I thought Tahl explained this to you?"

"She said I must ask you about sundering the veil."

The tall man raised an eyebrow. "Think about it, Padawan."

He blushed violently. "Oh."

Paxxi lifted the many layers of fine gauzy material obscuring his bride's face, evoking a mad cheer of approval from the crowd. The elder Phindian in the outlandish hat moved forward and began the formalities, while the guests babbled and whispered among themselves, paying little attention to the ceremony's intricacies.

"Should they not be listening?"

Qui Gon laid a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. They only care that the thing is done properly, not what details it may involve. An ingrained habit of Phindian culture, one which allows them to overlook trivialities such as professional unstealing."

Obi Wan pondered this.

"Padawan, it is rude to entertain weighty thoughts at a wedding."

"I'm sorry, master."

Vows were exchanged; hands tied together; blessings bestowed. Beside them, Guerra Derrida twisted his hands together. "Oh, my poor brother!" he moaned. "Not so! I lie – happy I am, for him, true fact. Kaadi is a treasure, better than anything we have unstolen together."

Duena wept copiously, patting her aged cheeks with a voluminous handkerchief.

"Oh, my heart, ready to break, true fact! Little Paxxi, tiny baby all grown up and having a family of his own. Many grandchildren he better produce for me, so! He is lucky to have found Kaadi, who will tolerate him." The Derida matriarch waved a gnarled finger beneath the young Jedi's nose. "A woman that will not hesitate to whip her man is a blessing, true fact. Much needed." She harrumphed, emphatically.

Obi Wan sent a fleeting wave of droll amusement to Qui Gon, across their bond.

The tall man glanced down at him politely. "How is that saber burn of yours healing?' he inquired, deadpan.

The guests burst into riotous applause and shouting as the wedding solemnities came to their conclusion. Paxxi and Kaadi beamed and waved in the center of their overjoyed families, and the musicians immediately set to work again, adding to the overall chaos. The crowd surged forward, pell-mell, and Qui Gon nudged his apprentice sideways out of the crush before they were trampled by the congratulatory swell.

"Now what happens? Is there a party?"

"What a debaucher you've become, Obi Wan. I can see it will take much harsh discipline to restore your virtue."

The Padawan grimaced. "You haven't even let me sample the fermis."

"But a Jedi does not crave such wanton distractions."

A sigh. "Yes, master."

Guerra Derida, whose happiness on his brother's behalf danced in the Force like the merry flame of a candle, detached himself from the throng and chivvied his Jedi friends along the main promenade leading back to his family home.

"Hurry, hurry," he urged them. "Get away fast – the women are doing their traditions, so! Throwing coins to see what poor fellow is the next victim. Better not to be in plain sight, no lie!"

Obi Wan stayed close to Qui Gon. Weddings were, as his master had said, perilous affairs, and he was still learning the ways of the Force. The Jedi master, as always, seemed implacably calm, even in the face of this alarming pronouncement.

"Also, first come first serve for eating, so!" their host enthused. "And drinking, true fact."

"And dancing?" Qui Gon queried.

"Yes, so! Always much dancing at a Phindian wedding, no lie! I will teach you myself, Obawan, I am a marvel to behold... not so, I lie! But the young people, they will all take part, so! You should join."

"Master, I don't think-"

"Nonsense, Padawan. Dancing is not prohibited by the Code."

"But I don't –"

"Obi Wan. Remember this is an educational experience for you. I want you to partake in the festivities, so you can better understand their cultural implications. Such knowledge will serve you well as a future diplomat."

Obi Wan's mouth thinned mutinously.

"Besides, you are a beautiful dancer."

"I hardly think so, master."

"Just pretend you're sparring with Padawan Tachi."

Qui Gon and Guerra burst into hearty laughter as their young counterpart deliberately lengthened his stride, leaving them a significant distance behind as he stalked toward the house with severe Jedi dignity, neck and ears flushing a brilliant crimson.


Duena had outdone herself in the matter of comestibles. Every available table in the Derida household, and each of several others borrowed from amiable neighbors for the occasion, was laden to breaking-point with every imaginable masterpiece of Phindian cuisine. Obi Wan had no idea what half the enticing dishes were named, nor of what they had been concocted, nor what strange and alluring blend of spices and sauces combined to lay pleasant siege to his senses. But feast, or banquet, seemed insufficient words to describe the lavish cornucopia of offerings laid out for the wedding guests' delectation.

"I hope I need not remind you what Master Seva said regarding moderation in all things," Qui Gon said, raising an eyebrow at the vast complement of foodstuffs piled on his apprentice's plate.

"No, master – and I intend to exercise moderation with regard to each and every one of these things," the Padawan replied, shamelessly balancing another breadroll atop his hecatomb offering to the god of appetite.

They found their seats, and joined the feasting throng. The Phindians were as boisterous as ever, their table manners as broad and undemanding as every other aspect of their culture. There was much banging of utensils and guffawing, and a great many return trips to the buffet, a feat of gluttony which even Obi Wan did not dare attempt. Guerra, seated beside his Jedi guests, and diligently engaged in the business of stuffing himself senseless, beamed and nodded greetings to relatives and friends who passed the head table.

"Paxxi owes his happiness to me, true fact," he confided in Qui Gon. "I introduced him to Kaadi, and he has never paid me the matchmaking fee, so!"

"Matchmaking fee?"

"Yes, Obawan, everybody knows this. Good way to make a fortune, so! Sell your brother into bondage, cash in, no lie. How do Jedi arrange these things? Strict rules, so?"

The Padawan blinked. "No matchmaking for us, Guerra. We don't – that is to say –"

Qui Gon came to his rescue. "There are some things too fraught with difficulty even for Jedi. Marriage is one of them."

The Phindian howled with laughter and upset his drink onto the dining table's cloth. "Oh, Jedi Gon, you will be the death of me someday… not so, I lie! And here is Kaadi, come to meet her new family. Kaadi, you are my sister now, true fact!"

He rose and embraced his new sister-in-law, their two pair of long arms wrapped about each other in mutual, ferocious affection.

"And Jedi Gon! Obawan!" The new bride graced the Jedi with a parsec-wide smile. "So glad I am to see you here! Guests from off-planet, so! Said to bring good luck to the couple, friends in high places, so!"

Qui Gon inclined his head. "May you and Paxxi always be blessed with good friends."

Kaadi was deliriously happy. "And Obawan, hero to Phindar, so! Save a dance for me, Jedi friend. Paxxi will kill you from jealousy…. Not so, I lie! But if you don't, I will die of a broken heart – not so, I am a terrible liar, Paxxi is my one true love, so!"

The Padawan sorted through this tangled web of statements. "I would by no means occasion Paxxi any grief," he said, wondering whether mind-tricking a newlywed at her own wedding reception would qualify as abuse of power.

"If I am not happy, Paxxi will not be happy, so!" Kaadi declared. "Save us both from woe, Obawan, and promise!"

The young Jedi ground his teeth. Apparently there was no diplomatic solution to this dilemma. "I… I would be honored," he stammered.

Kaadi bestowed a melting smile upon both of them and flounced away to greet her other guests, the flamboyant bustle of her dress shimmying merrily away between the nearby tables.

"I hope you're satisfied, master," Obi Wan groused.

"You'd better enjoy your last meal, Padawan."


"So!" Paxxi grinned, sitting beside his brother and laying into the first of three heaping platefuls, "A moment of peace! Kaadi is with the women for a moment, and I can eat!"

Guerra snatched a stray sweetbun from his sibling's platter. "So, my brother! Better go lightly… not so, I lie! Many ordeals ahead, so! Kaadi, she has told me she will put you on a diet tomorrow!"

"Not so! You lie!" Paxxi choked.

"My brother, when have I ever lied to you?" Guerra's mouth turned down in mock sorrow. "So! You break my heart! But you are needing a trim-down, true fact! And Kaadi, she is unrelenting, so!"

Paxxi sighed and shoveled his vittles in faster. "Many burdens a husband must bear, Jedi Gon, I do not lie," he muttered.

"It sounds to me as though Kaadi wishes to relieve you of your burdens," Obi Wan observed.

The Phindian pounded a fist on the table, uproariously. "So! Obawan, you are a sly one, no lie. She will unburden me until there is nothing left. True fact! But I love her, so! There is no hope for me."

Guerra chortled. "Better you than my, oh my brother."

Paxxi waved a hand at the Jedi. "Lucky, you are, Jedi, that you do not practice marriage. Less work for you with the ladies, so!"

Qui Gon raised a brow. "How so?"

The Phindian leaned forward on both elbows. "Simple, true fact! Women: they are not satisfied with what they have, and they want what they cannot have. No lie! This is how I wooed Kaadi: by pretending I did not care about her."

"Very cunning," the Jedi master remarked blandly.

"So! I must have brains to deal with a wife such as my lovely Kaadi! But you Jedi – off limits, so instantly desirable! So! Do not abuse that power when you are older, Obawan! Not fair to the rest of us, so!"

"So!" Guerra agreed. "Obawan will have queens and duchesses pining for him, nothing left over for attractive fellows like us, … not so, I lie!"

"…Master?"

Qui Gon winked at his bemused student. "I shall be sure to take any unwanted suitors off his hands," he promised.

The Phindians roared, while Obi Wan opted to turn his attention back to eating. Some mysteries were not worth pursuing.


It was nothing like sparring with Siri Tachi, whatever Master Qui Gon might think. Besides being taller and considerably heftier in girth, Kaadi was clearly a believer in power and aggression rather than speed and accuracy. By the time she had dragged her chosen partner around the wide dance floor several times, much as a pair of haywire podracing engines might haul their featherweight burden behind them, she was flushed with exertion and bliss, the artfully arranged flowers in her crown starting to droop.

"So!" She exclaimed. "I would like to keep you forever, Obawan, but Paxxi he will not tolerate it, so! See, here he comes now to kill you - not so, I lie!"

Obi Wan was privately relieved to hand the boisterous Phindian over to her deserving husband. "Paxxi," he bowed, relinquishing all claim to Kaadi's attentions.

"Always coming to the rescue," the Phindian winked at him. "I may call upon you again soon. Too much dancing for me – I must save my strength or my heart will give way before Kaadi is done with me! SO!"

Several others in the vicinity bellowed their loud appreciation of this joke. The young Jedi felt its hidden meaning slide just beyond the scope of his experience.

Paxxi pounded him on the back, the scent of fermis already on his breath. "We do not all possess Jedi stamina, friend, true fact. But Kaadi, my love, I am willing to die trying, just so!"

More raucous applause. Obi Wan frowned, and slipped away, in search of less equivocal and drunken conversation.

"There you are. You cut a very dashing figure. Master Yoda would have been proud."

"Master!" Color drained from the Padawan's face. "You wouldn't!"

"Ah, young one, who is to say I did not maneuver you into such a performance just to garnish blackmail material?"

Obi Wan sat, defeated. "I have much to learn," he sulked.

"And it is a pleasure to teach you," Qui Gon chuckled in reply.


The long-awaited cake was cut and served at last, the enticing aroma of ch'xlatl pervading the entire house, subtle yet irresistible.

Qui Gon waved a magnanimous hand. "Go, Padawan. This is a fitting occasion for some small indulgence. And Duena will truly be offended if you do not rave and compose an encomium upon her skills."

"Yes, master, I shall do my duty."

Duena, who had appointed herself high priestess over the rite, served him a piece of the delicacy that far exceeded the bounds of "small indulgence." Obi Wan was loathe to commit a diplomatic blunder, so he accepted the offering with good grace.

"And here, Obawan, take some for Jedi Gon, too. My recipe is strong enough even for graybeards, so! Know this, I do, from experience. Why else do you think I have so many children, so?"

"Ah… thank you." He was beginning to perceive the manifold perils of a wedding; as usual, Master Qui Gon had been right. One could easily stray into deep waters here – part of him wondered whether the whole occasion were not some kind of test, but Master had also said not to entertain weighty thoughts, so he set this line of speculation aside and wandered back to the table where the tall Jedi sat serenely watching the Phindian revelry erupting all around him.

"Master. Duena sends you this dessert, with her compliments."

'"She is kind. And have you sampled this rare treat?"

The Padawan applied himself to the task, and was rewarded accordingly.

"It's… I …"

"It's rendered you speechless. And here I thought that was impossible," Qui Gon smiled. "Dare I hope the side effect will be permanent?"

It was a vain hope. "I think we ought to take some back to the Temple, master. For cataloguing in the Archives."

"Oh?"

The Padawan smirked. "Yes, master. And perhaps you ought also to bring a small souvenir to Master Tahl."

Qui Gon's eyes narrowed, even as the corners of his mouth twitched involuntarily. "Indeed?"

The smirk translated into the Force as rollicking amusement.. "Since you share so many scholarly interests, master."

Imp. "A fine idea. I shall be sure to tell her that it was your suggestion."

Obi Wan swallowed his next bite with difficulty.

"Was there something you wished to add, Padawan?"

"No, master," the boy choked out, much subdued.


The sun had long ago set; yet the Phindians displayed no inclination to cease their wild disporting.. Most were too engrossed in the celebration of Paxxi and Kaadi's marriage to notice that the principal players had discreetly exited some hours ago, to enjoy their first hours together alone. Libations circulated faster than counterfeit currency in a Huttese gambling den; dancing and shouting and general mayhem shook the Force into a confetti-whirlwind of emotions and half-formed thoughts.

And yet, Qui Gon observed with a dry chuckle, his apprentice was visibly drooping.

"You're tired," he remarked, kindly. "Perhaps it is time for us to take our leave."

The boy's eyelids jerked open. "No, master, I'm perfectly awake.."

The Jedi master's brows rose, but he let the obvious untruth pass without argument.

'Jedi," a wheezing voice accosted them. They looked up into the wizened face of the Phindian minister, or holy man. The comical headdress still teetered precariously atop his bald skull. "It is a rare occasion to meet anyone of your Order, so!"

Qui Gon inclined his head politely, and the elder took this as invitation to join them.

"Is it true," their interlocutor inquired earnestly, leaning forward in a collegial manner, "That you Jedi despise all pleasures of the flesh?"

Qui Gon felt his apprentice's swift flare of alarm, and shot him a humorous glance of encouragement. "Not at all," he replied, enigmatically. "We are simply most discerning."

The Phindian grinned at them. "No lie! And is it true that you steal babies, so? Because you have not children of your own?"

Again Qui Gon quelled his Padawan's rising outrage with a bland expression. He leaned back, contemplatively. "I don't know," he mused. "Do you have one to spare?"

Their new acquaintance shook with mirth. "So! You are a witty one, Jedi! No lie. Here." His hands fumbled for the nearest carafe of fermis, and three small glasses. "Drink with me – no hard feelings, so?"

Qui Gon waved a hand. "There is no need," he suggested lightly.

The mind influence had no effect. The Phindian squinted at him sharply, shoving the delicate cups across the tabletop. "A toast! To ecumenism."

Obi Wan looked up, expectantly. But Qui Gon merely smiled and nudged the brimming vessel in his direction.

They drained their glasses in unison, satisfying the demands of religious tolerance and universal brotherhood, and the Phindian tottered contentedly on his way, the conical hat wobbling a dizzy path through the rowdy gathering.

"Well, Padawan? You've had your dearest wish granted. Was it all you hoped for and more?"

Obi Wan made a face of disgust, lip curling back. "It's…awful," he complained. "Why is everyone so bent on drinking it?"

The tall man only chuckled. "Let that be a lesson to you."


When the Phindians broke into the resounding chorus of a favorite cheerful folk song, scores of voices raised in dissonant unison, words slurring into incomprehensible smears of sound, Qui Gon decided to stand upon authority.

"Time to go," he told his apprentice..

Obi Wan blearily obeyed, too weary to muster any resistance. They trudged through the back entrance and wandered toward Duena's tiny hovel. Behind them the Phindians belted out the refrain to their song, a jumble of drunken voices yodeling a collective trololololo into the night's blanketing silence. The din, and the sharp night air, slapped a last bit of vitality into the dazed Padawan.

'So. That is a wedding," he declared, philosophically.

"Yes," Qui Gon agreed. "It ought to be enough to last you a lifetime."

"I'm glad we came. Is that … appropriate?"

He stopped, peered at his young charge under the silver light of Phindar's one visible moon. "What makes you say that?"

A shrug. "It's just… very different. Unbalancing."

"That might be the fermis," Qui Gon theorized, brushing two fingers over the boy's temple to confirm this diagnosis, and then giving the dangling learner's braid a light tug. "We will meditate before sleep."

"They seemed very happy. I could feel it. But most of them have no knowledge of the Force."

He sighed. Leave it to Obi Wan to brood in the midst of unrestrained merry-making. "This is their knowledge of the Living Force. Those who cannot see directly sometimes perceive in reflections or echoes. Perhaps they are not so deprived as you think."

The Padawan chewed on that for a short while. The song finally ended, subsiding into chatter and murmuring. A breeze rose and toyed with their cloak hems. "But then…. are we deprived?"

"What do you think?"

The young Jedi stared back at the house. They stood just outside the circle of light cast by its open windows, just beyond the warmth of its interior. "I think," he said at last, with slow deliberation, "That it depends very much on your point of view."

"Very wise," the tall master concurred, leading them onward again.

Obi Wan looked up at the stars, the galaxy's spangled arm draped languidly across the ecliptic. "Do you think you would have been married, master? I mean, were you not a Jedi?"

"There is no if, Obi Wan. I would not be myself were I not a Jedi."

"I know," the Padawan insisted. "But would you have?"

The tall man snorted. "You are very tired, young one."

"But would you, master?"

They paused, mid stride. Qui Gon looked down into a very young and earnest face and decided that it was far too late at night – far too early in the morning – for complete honesty. "Ah. I confess," he smiled. "I should undoubtedly have a large harem. For the good of the galaxy, you understand."

His apprentice frowned repressively. "I think you've had too much cake, master."

A few more silent paces brought them to the cottage door, where a soft light glowed welcome. "And you've had too much time to think and not enough rest. Come."

They left the revels, and the difficult questions, to find their own proper conclusions in due and appropriate time.


An hour later, after their customary ablutions and a short meditation, as the Phindian party wore its way toward a cheerful pre-dawn ending, and the sky gradually lightened with the promise of a new day, Qui Gon watched his apprentice sleep. The boy looked to his inner eye no older than ten, as he had when they had first met, and yet also burdened with cares far in excess of his fourteen standard years. Yoda had often remarked upon this strange paradox: Jedi younglings often retained their core of innocence far longer than their ordinary counterparts, while at the same time aging at an alarming rate. The Force, the ancient master was fond of asserting, was no nursemaid.

The Jedi master reflected that perhaps he had consumed a trifle too much cake and fermis. Sentimentality was a bad sign. He closed his eyes and rested in the Force, gathering its strength, fortifying himself against the storm which he felt gathered over the next day's glowing horizon.

They had wished their friends well…. But he knew, with the surety of deep and unsettling instinct, that Phindar was not yet done with them.