As an apology for the week-long wait, I present you with a 6000 word chapter. I want to thank you all for the amazing response to the last chapter. I don't remember whether I've replied to everyone who reviewed last chapter, so if I didn't, drop me a PM or tell me in your next review so I can apologise profusely to you. A word about the plot – I've planned it all out, and Xanatos will be dropping in relatively soon. But I've got a mission planned first where he will be appearing, just not integrally yet. It IS a vitally important mission, though, so please bear with me.
And while a lot of you have been asking about when Obi will get his voice, I have planned that out as well so I beg your patience. It is a great device for emotion, so I intend to play around with it throughout the plot.
Replies to guest reviews:
Crazy: Long chapter again! Yay! Thanks for your reviews, by the way. I'm glad you like the humour.
Blue Jedi: Hey, thanks for reviewing! Sorry for the wait.
ErinKenobi2893: I love how you use these emoticons a lot :-P And yes. Voice-recovering will be a continuous thing, aiding Qui and Obi in building their friendship. And of course Obi's an angst-bunny! I'd out-talk him in any case, because he'd fall to decorum after a while, but I don't care. XD
Guest: Chockfull of thanks. XD
Queen Yoda: Avarin's hereeeee. XD And of COURSE I'm not going to kill Obi! Why kill him when there's so much opportunity for character development and angst! *evil laugh* Tahl will appear more later. I've got EVIL plans for Qui and Obi right now.
Fanfic Lurker: Giggles galore. Thanks for continuing to review, by the way. You're one of those reviewers I look for in opinion of each chapter.
Guest: The thing with the pot was spontaneous when I first created it. But yes, I love Tahl, and Tahl+Pot+Qui is the cutest thing.
mouse: Sorry? I don't follow the ants thing. Could you clarify?
Georgina: Oh! I'm sorry to hear about your back! I hope you get better soon, and I'll try to make you laugh with the funny things and the fluffy things. A big virtual hug from me and my beta. We'll both pray for you. XD
SWfanfan: And you WILL have more Mace. He's so enjoyable to write about. He is sassmaster and gloatmaster all at once. XD
Here we go.
(:~:)
Obi-Wan floats on the gentle whispers of the Force, letting the current carry him every which way, cool and warm on his back. Amusement dances across his waking dreams, for the Force has never felt so comfortable. It envelops him in swathes of pure light, muffled and secure. In the strange, twisting paths between slumber and waking, Obi-Wan smiles at the lullaby eddying around him, every note a memory and binding it all together, a solid stream of light flowing out the back of his mind. The Force is positively fluffy.
The stream of light gives a gentle tug on his consciousness, pulling him further up through the many layers of his dreams. Obi-Wan frowns and burrows deeper into the fey music of the Force. It isn't fair of Master Ali-Alann to wake him so; the younger children of the crèche might need such a Force suggestion to wake, but Obi-Wan is too old for this, surely? Why, he is old enough to be a Padawan!
Padawan. A word reverberates loudly in Obi-Wan's groggy mind, the message shaking him awake as effectively as a physical hand in his hair. Awake, Obi-Wan. The path of the Jedi is not that of a sluggard. Qui-Gon's voice is tinged with amused admonishment, dancing across their bond.
Master Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan leaps off his pallet as if it were a bed of searing coals, flinging a glance at his chrono. It is early. Very early. His surroundings freeze him on the spot for a moment; the blank walls covered by a few drawings, his gear piled by the small desk, starship models floating, suspended, from the ceiling. This is not the familiar warmth of the crèche; this is Obi-Wan's new room. Somehow, he had thought he would wake to the simultaneous yawns of his three roommates, to stumble out into the playroom and form up in an orderly line behind Ali-Alann.
The door slides open with a hiss, and a figure appears, of cream tunics, brown cloak, and stubbly grin. Qui-Gon Jinn tilts his head as he says wryly, "Ah, my very young padawan. I thought I would have to resort to actually dragging you out of your blankets by your ankle, but apparently that action is now unnecessary."
Obi-Wan glances at the window, where the slightest rim of scarlet over the reflected horizon in the towers below indicates the first foothold of daybreak. Coruscant is a refection of the indigo arch above, dotted with a few solitary stars, thrumming with a never-ending energy, but the patches of dark durasteel far outshine the lonely lights of those so early arisen.
Seemingly reading Obi-Wan's thoughts, Qui-Gon levitates a blanket over to him. "Meditation calms the mind and allows you to centre before whatever trials the day might bring." He turns back into the hallway. "You would do well to make it a habit."
Pulling on the blanket over his rumpled sleep clothes, Obi-Wan fights back a yawn and follows his master. He dearly hopes that Qui-Gon is joking; waking every day at the sixth hour seems rather extreme. It is difficult enough keeping his eyes open now; Obi-Wan does not want to imagine continuing this process every morning for the next decade and a half.
But as they face each other in meditation, weariness drops off their limbs, like the many-layered silk of the sable sky peeling back from the dawn flames, diamond stars fading as the woven arch above fades from indigo to cobalt, azure to cerulean.
(:~:)
Having sent Obi-Wan off to his morning classes, Qui-Gon heads towards a single, solitary chamber set on its own separate tower, his strides calm and purposeful. No Jedi visited the inner sanctum of the most respected member of the Order without a careful intent. If Qui-Gon should linger in his footsteps, he is sure to receive a short stick strike across the shins for his lack of focus.
As always, the door opens without need for his touch, and the Force within the chamber is expectant. One could never expect to be able to drop in on this particular room's occupant. The slatted windows throw thin bars of light motes across the dusty air, giving scant illumination to the grimy floor and the green gremlin sat there.
Master Yoda waves him onto the meditation cushion opposite with nary a spoken word, preferring to grunt humorously instead. Qui-Gon folds his tall frame onto the extremely undersized circular pad to wait.
And wait…
Yoda busies himself with tea leaves and two small, uneven clay cups, the earthy scent of Yarba tea crumbling between his gnarled fingers. After an indeterminable amount of time, the ancient Jedi master pours himself a cup of warm tea – pointedly ignoring the dry one in front of Qui-Gon – and growls pleasantly, "Questions you have, Master Jinn?"
Qui-Gon swallows past his dry mouth before he answers. The ridged edge of the too-small meditation cushion has long since pressed numb lines into his shins. "No," he replies. "I came to inform."
A throaty cackle explodes over the scent of Yarba tea. "Come to inform, have you? What of? Lived longer than I, you have?"
Impatience boils just under the surface of Qui-Gon's reserve. He wonders whether Yoda keeps his rooms in semi-darkness and provides such uncomfortable furniture simply for the sake of unbalancing his visitors. Somehow, Qui-Gon is not surprised. But how should I respond? "I apologise, master," he relents. "I meant no insult."
Yoda spears him with a sharp green gaze before harrumphing good-naturedly and reaching for Qui-Gon's empty cup. "Good," he mutters as tea darkens the white clay. "Earned this, you have."
Qui-Gon accepts the tea with a gracious nod and takes a polite sip. He tries not to grimace. Yarba tea is about as far from his favourite, Sapir, as tea varieties get. "I sensed a disturbance on Ilum," he ventures, gagging slightly on the muddy taste of the liquid.
Yoda seems to derive infinite enjoyment from Qui-Gon's suffering, but he waves at him to continue.
In as few words as possible, Qui-Gon relates the events on Ilum, the clues toward sabotage and the shadowed presence he sensed moments before being buried. When he begins to describe the particular Force-signature, though, he pauses, unsure.
"Familiar, this presence was to you." Yoda apparently does not need Qui-Gon to explain further. The aged master displays his usual knack for knowing the other's thoughts. "Thought you recognised him, hmm?"
Him. Xana–
Qui-Gon breaks off the thought violently. "I do not know, master," he says carefully.
Yoda's next words fill Qui-Gon with shock. "Knew about this, I did," he sighs, tracing a pattern in his white cup with a clawed finger. "Ilum had dark secrets, the council knew. And for that reason, send you we did."
It takes two deep, centering breaths for Qui-Gon to bring himself back under control, and unclench his hands from around his tea cup. "Am I to understand," he begins slowly, softly, "That you sent a group of defenceless younglings to Ilum knowing full well that there was a threat on the surface?" His voice hangs taut between them.
Yoda waves Qui-Gon's fury aside as easily as the pale steam from the pot of tea. "Defenceless, they were not. Had you to protect them, they did."
"They were–" Qui-Gon forcibly halts his words, clenching his jaw. Something has just occurred to him. "This was about Obi-Wan, wasn't it." It is not a question.
A gravelly cough. "Will of the Force, it was."
"You gambled with the lives of five other younglings so I would take him as my padawan." He is hanging precariously off the edge of respect now. His hands are fisted on his knees.
"Enough," Yoda growls. That one word is sufficient to bring the weight of respect and authority down on the air, constricting the Force with its gravity. "Enough. Uncertain, the future is. Your former padawan, this dark presence may be. But clouded your perception is."
Qui-Gon dips his head into a bow. "My apologies, Master Yoda."
A hint of a chuckle. Out of place, but a welcome relief. "Hmmph. When news we have, talk of this, we shall."
Recognising the dismissal, Qui-Gon forces his stiff limbs into movement, standing and bowing deeply to the Grand Master. "Thank you for your counsel."
Qui-Gon is at the door when Yoda's parting words catch him like a strike to the heart. "Train your padawan well, Master Jinn," Yoda rasps. There is no trace of humour in his tone. "Save you, I cannot, if both your padawans Fall."
Words rise in Qui-Gon's throat, clawing for release. But his voice is quiet as the door begins to close. "I will, master," he answers, hoping that his uncertainty will not show in his voice.
(:~:)
By the time he reaches the Healers' Wing, Qui-Gon's aura is terrifying enough to send initates and young padawans alike scurrying out of his way like frightened hatchlings. He finds Avarin bent over an examination of some sort, his mane of silver-tipped sable hair tied back.
"Avarin." Qui-Gon greets him shortly.
The master healer does not reply immediately, his eyes flicking towards his visitor. "A very good morning you too," he mutters, raising an eyebrow at the annoyed tic that beats at the corner of his friend's temple. "You need a headache-reliever? You've paid a visit to the old troll again, haven't you."
"Yes." Qui-Gon is getting quite weary of being read so well. "And no, I do not require treatment. I came for– What are you doing?"
"My job," Avarin returns carelessly, lifting another instrument. "But to appease your sympathy for pathetic life forms, this surgery is performed under sedation."
Qui-Gon stares at him incredulously, then down at the soggy mass of fur on the operating table. "It's a puppy," he states. "You're operating on a puppy."
"I'd have thought you would congratulate me on not being the heartless goblin you always said I was," Avarin retorts genially. "The padawan who brought me this wandering little bundle of joy was extremely serious in his desire to see it looked after."
Qui-Gon shakes his head. "I'm glad to see that I'm not alone in my beliefs."
Avarin straightens and removes his gloves, turning to the sink. "Naturally you wouldn't be, seeing as that padawan was yours."
A pause. "What."
A smirk. "Apparently, Obi-Wan was exempted from this morning's training exercises due to the condition of his feet. While the rest of his group ran laps around the temple perimeter, he was delegated the task of timekeeping by the back entrance. He found this little creature cowering by the gardens, and came immediately to me afterwards."
Qui-Gon returns Avarin's stare coolly. "Testimony to my good teaching."
Avarin snorts. "You've only been his master for a day."
"Proving the speed with which I influence the younger generation."
Unfortunately, Avarin is far too attuned to snark. "I have work to do," he sighs. "Did you cross the Temple simply to annoy me?"
The atmosphere sobers at once. When Qui-Gon speaks, all the jest is gone from his voice. "Obi-Wan."
"Ah. Perhaps you should come with me." Avarin heads towards his office, his dark harlequin tunic vibrant in a sea of healers' white. "Here," he murmurs, sliding his fingers over the surface of a datapad, reversing it and handing it to Qui-Gon. "This is his medical file from when he entered the Temple to present."
Qui-Gon's features are cast in aquiline ridges as the green light of the datapad pours between his fingers. Avarin watches as Qui-Gon's eyes widen, confusion flickering over his usually focused expression. "Avarin," he says slowly, "Does this mean…"
"As unbelievable as it is, yes." Avarin's fiercely intelligent eyes narrow. "There is nothing physically wrong with Obi-Wan. There is no abnormality in his throat, his tongue, his vocal cords, or the nerves from his cortex. And yet he cannot speak. The crèche master in charge of him when he was a toddler first contacted me when he noticed that when Obi-Wan cried, he was silent."
"Then what could possibly cause this?"
"The Force." Avarin shakes his head. "I know it seems impossible, but the Force has gagged Obi-Wan, from a certain point of view. A physical limitation would allow him to speak through a Force-connection, but this gag might prevent him from doing even that. Perhaps Obi-Wan must wait until the appointed time to vocalise."
"I think I've heard him speak," Qui-Gon says numbly.
"What?" Avarin's gaze turns sharp. "When?"
"On Ilum, when our bond was forged. I do not think he said it out loud. I heard him all the same." He does not attempt to keep the wonder from his voice. "However, when we returned, he could not replicate this feat."
"I cannot explain that." Avarin settles into his chair and plants his boots on the desk, folding arms. "I like to think that Obi-Wan has such a beautiful voice that it must be kept hidden, revealed only in the most precious moments, like the forging of a bond."
"I can't disagree with that." Obi-Wan's voice was perfect. A short silence, in which Qui-Gon lowers himself on the chair opposite and rubs at his face.
Avarin looks at the tall Jedi master over the tops of his boots, noting the small smile on his face. "What did he say?"
Qui-Gon cannot help giving a slight chuckle. "Yes, Master," he murmurs. "He said 'Yes, Master.'"
Avarin does not say anything more. He respects his friend's privacy, and keeps this to himself.
(:~:)
The morning's classes had been…interesting, for want of a better word. Garen and Reeft had piled onto him in a tackling hug while Bant glowed happily beside them. Garen had then proceeded to crow his jubilation to the heavens, promptly earning him a smack to the ear from the irate Jedi Master leading the group out into the Temple perimeter.
And then Obi-Wan had found a puppy.
Now, as he and his friends pile into one of the packed eating halls for lunch, he wonders after it. Master Avarin had seemed serious enough when he took the pup off his hands.
"Hey, Obi-Wan," Quinlan jests from the other side of the table. "What's eating you?"
Obi-Wan snaps back to the present to find Garen, Reeft, Bant and Quinlan staring at him. He quickly shakes his head and shrugs, placing a goofy grin on his face. Laughter explodes around him, and all five turn back to their food.
"He's worrying over that mutt he found outside," a new voice breaks in. Siri Tachi slides into the space next to Garen, placing her tray on the table. "He probably wants to cuddle it or something. Carry it like Master Jinn carried him, by the scruff of his neck down the hallway like some disobedient hatchling."
By the time she is finished, Obi-Wan's ears are burning. Reeft tries to hide his chuckles, and Bant elbows him in the gut. Garen is already glaring at Siri beside him, who nonchalantly spears at her tuber mash. An awkward silence descends. Obi-Wan picks at his food; his appetite is gone.
Surprisingly, it is Quinlan who breaks the silence. "Hey, did you all hear about Bruck?" he asks quietly.
Obi-Wan's gaze snaps to Quinlan. Perhaps the Kiffar Jedi is helping him because of what happened on the transport to Ilum. Either way, there is no denying Obi-Wan is grateful.
"I heard the Council's keeping him in the Temple for the time being," Bant says eagerly. "Shouldn't he be sent off to the Ag-corps by now, though?"
"I don't know," Reeft mumbles through a mouthful of nerf. "They said something about 'monitoring his progress' or something like that."
"They're keeping him imprisoned," Siri cuts in, flicking her blonde hair out of her eyes. "They can't risk sending him off to the Agri-corps with that temper of his."
"Yeah," Garen mutters darkly. "They're not keeping him here because he can find a master. He can't. They're watching him. His attitude – it's just the thing which would cause him to Turn later on."
"Garen!" Bant hisses, swatting him on the arm.
"It's true!" Garen hisses back. "It's just as well that he couldn't find a master. All the worthless Jedi who turn Dark have–"
A rustle, as Obi-Wan pushes his piece of flimsy to the centre of the table. Five heads turn to him for a moment, and then bend over the writing in unison.
"What do you mean by 'Do not mock those who Turn, but grieve for them and their loved ones'?" Quinlan mutters in confusion. "Where did you get that idea from? Jedi don't have families."
Blushing slightly, Obi-Wan reaches for his flimsy, but a larger, adult hand folds over the piece of acrylic. The six of them snap to attention as Qui-Gon Jinn stares down at them emotionlessly.
"Master Jinn," Siri squeaks.
"Padawan, meet me in the level eight west corner dojo in half an hour," Qui-Gon says. Obi-Wan nods acknowledgement, and notices how his flimsy slips into his master's pocket as he strides away.
Obi-Wan's classmates seem to take a collective breath of relief as Qui-Gon slips into the crowd. "Your master's very intimidating, Obi," Garen mutters.
Obi-Wan shakes his head. Master Qui-Gon is many things, but intimidating is not one of them. He doesn't try to explain this, though; he has an inkling that only he understands this.
(:~:)
Qui-Gon meanders his way down to the training salles, fingering the flimsy in his sleeve. He hadn't meant to take his padawan's voice like that; but he had to see what Obi-Wan wrote, for himself. When Qui-Gon heard Vos read out Obi-Wan's words, he nearly did a double take. Do not mock those who Turn, but grieve for them and their loved ones. It spoke of maturity beyond Obi-Wan's years, and a deeper understanding of his master's emotions than Qui-Gon originally thought. A warm sensation uncurls in his stomach; it isn't altogether unpleasant, but very, very confusing.
So confusing that Qui-Gon does not see the threat coming until it is almost upon him.
"Master Dooku," he murmurs respectfully, bowing to his former master. Of all the places to run into him!
"Qui-Gon." Dooku's cultured tones are a slippery and unpredictable as a snake. "May I introduce you to my padawan, Huei Tori? But I believe you've already met."
Qui-Gon hides his surprise behind a mask of decorum and looks past Dooku to the shorter figure of Huei Tori. He had not noticed the padawan at first, as the Nautolan boy had been standing a foot to the left and two steps back from his master's position, in the perfect, humbled place of the Jedi Padawan.
This irks Qui-Gon to no end.
"Master Jinn," Huei states, stepping forward sharply and bowing low. "I am glad to see you well, after the mission to Ilum."
"Padawan Tori." Qui-Gon keeps his voice carefully, delicately neutral. He has to tread cautiously here. "I understand I have to you thank for aiding my padawan and I off-planet."
"Nonsense," Dooku cuts in, his voice a blade of silk. "He merely helped along with the other five younglings."
Huei Tori pauses, glancing at his master, then defers to yet another bow. "My master is right," he says quietly. "But I am grateful for your remembrance, Master Jinn."
"Your padawan is trained well," Qui-Gon comments. So he obeys your every command. Interesting. He allows curiosity to seep into his tone. "But I thought you were not going to take another padawan."
Dooku stares right back at him, raising an eyebrow. And a Makashi strike, right to the heart. "Neither were you."
"I concede your point," Qui-Gon nods, the barest of bows. "If you will excuse me, I have an appointment in the salles." He makes to sweep past.
"You must bring your padawan over to my apartments," Dooku says. "I would very much like the pleasure of meeting him. I have heard much already."
"Perhaps sometime in the future," Qui-Gon replies ambiguously, turning back into his worn path to the dojo. His mind analyses the information not without worry. Padawan Tori is Dooku's pawn – nothing else. Dooku had 'heard much already', meaning that Tori is Dooku's eyes and ears in the temple. Qui-Gon sighs. He would have to warn Obi-Wan against the Nautolan padawan.
(:~:)
Kit Fisto is already warming up when Qui-Gon enters the dojo. The tall Nautolan Knight flickers from movement to movement like a leaf in the eddying currents of a silvered river, his harlequin blade a paradox of control and untamed violence. Unpredictable and yet smooth, his 'saber flows on those invisible rapids of air, seeming to pause needlessly in whorls of iridescent light, only to dart in wild slashes around unseen obstacles, like the river boulders looming randomly out of the rushing tide. Kit Fisto's ever-present smile flashes white through the haze of green, the whispered dance of water over pebbles roaring into a waterfall, the frenzied hum of the lightsaber rising in a crescendo. The solitary leaf turns into an emerald wave, a roiling maelstrom straining against its barriers – but it is controlled. Just.
Shii-Cho is the way of the Sarlacc. Only semi-sentient, but a fearsome predator that only emerges to defend itself. The harlequin 'saber retracts into its hilt, hidden, just as the tentacles of the Sarlacc withdraw under sand, seemingly powerless once more. The flowing water is gone, dried up; but it only takes a drop of rain on the dry desert for Sarlacc to emerge and light to dance forth again from the twin crystals within.
Kit Fisto straightens out of his bow, form and velocity completed. His smile blazes forth like the unrelenting sun.
"Knight Fisto," Qui-Gon calls by way of greeting. "Your Falling Water kata is refined as always."
"I cling stubbornly to the old ways," Kit chuckles, humour lacing his accented voice. "But it could be argued that Shii-Cho adapts far too much to ever be considered old." He pauses. "And could we dispense with the formalities? Knight Fisto and all that. I was only knighted recently. You knew my master well enough." His head-tresses twist with sorrow.
"Master Ekun-Dayo is thought of often," Qui-Gon says gently. "But the Force welcomed him. Kit it is, then."
"Thank you, Master Jinn." Kit replies, equally as softly. Then a grin lightens his features, and his long head-tresses sway gently as he tilts his head at the entrance. "Ah, and here we have your shadow."
Obi-Wan's head emerges from one side of the entrance, his ears red with embarrassment. He trots quickly to Qui-Gon's side, bowing deeply to Kit, eyes wide with awe above scarlet cheeks.
With a laugh, Kit returns the greeting. "It is good to see your padawan has made me the subject of hero-worship," he jests, one warm, sable eye winking impishly at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan's face takes on the colour of barely-ripe muja.
"Control, padawan," Qui-Gon murmurs blandly, hiding a smirk of his own. "You will learn nothing by gaping. Kit, allow me to introduce my padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi." He winces internally. He had hoped to speak with Kit about Obi-Wan's inability to speak before his padawan's arrival. The encounter with Dooku had thrown off his plans.
Qui-Gon observes as Kit bows jauntily back at Obi-Wan, and sallies on nonetheless. "I asked Knight Fisto to join us today, as he is widely believed to be the forefront prodigy in Shii-Cho." He turns towards Kit, raising a cool eyebrow. There you are, narcissist. "He has very kindly agreed to aid you in refining your basic lightsaber velocities and katas, Obi-Wan."
"Don't bother with calling me Knight and all that." Kit waves an ineffectual hand, his smirk widening impossibly. "It makes me feel old. Your master's the old dodderer – you can be as formal with him as you want. But call me Kit."
Despite the Nautolan Knight's obvious lack of knowledge about his condition, Obi-Wan cannot help a tiny grin from spreading on his lips when he hears Kit's title for Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon's voice drops dangerously. "This old dodderer will later be participating in a example duel of Ataru against Shii-Cho, facing a certain very young Knight," he counters airily.
"Yes, Master Jinn," Kit replies nonchalantly. "As they always say, out with the old and in with the new."
Obi-Wan's gaze has long since changed from embarrassed to merry. It does not escape him that his master shoots Kit a glare as the snap-hiss of the Knight's lightsaber signals the beginning of the lesson.
Qui-Gon settles into a meditative stillness as he watches Kit demonstrate then run Obi-Wan through the ten forms of Shii-Cho, from the most basic to the most advanced. At first, Obi-Wan's movements are precise, smooth, but as they advance to the more difficult katas, his 'saber handle glistens with sweat, his feet slowing in exhaustion. But throughout it all, his lips are pressed into a white line of concentration, fierce focus lending his young eyes a glittering intensity. The Force whirls in a tight vortex around him, cascading off his lightsaber and scattering in bright droplets of liquid sapphire.
When Obi-Wan finally slows to a stop, hands pressed to knees as he bends over, breathing hard, Kit gives him a short word of approval and pushes him into first meditation position, telling him to rest. Obi-Wan curls into a ball on the marked floor, seeking to center and calm his racing heart. He does not notice Kit moving over to Qui-Gon, a serious expression on his usually easy features.
"You've noticed," Qui-Gon murmurs quietly, clamping down on the bond so that his padawan will not hear or sense their conversation. It is unlikely Obi-Wan can hear anything over the roar of his blood and the Force, anyway.
Kit collapses in a gangly heap on the bench beside Qui-Gon, using the Force to summon a water bottle. "He can't speak," Kit says softly. His tone is a strange conglomeration of emotion. It is so unlike his usual voice that Qui-Gon spares the Knight a quick, searching glance.
Knowing that Kit is still waiting for an answer, Qui-Gon nods slowly. "Yes. But he does not let it define him." He turns back to where his padawan has flipped himself into and unsteady and exhausted handstand, stretching the muscles in his back.
Smooth black eyes fixed on Obi-Wan as well, Kit takes a long swig of water and places the canteen by boots. When he speaks, it is not with pity, or horror, or even veiled sorrow. It is with the same awe that Obi-Wan offered him before that Kit speaks of him now. "He embodies every value the Jedi strive to become. And more. You are fortunate to have him."
Qui-Gon sighs. "He still has much to learn. But yes. I do not deserve him." The faintest of smiles flits across his face.
Kit grins, flipping his 'saber hilt in his hand. "None would. Even if he were apprenticed to Master Dooku."
The words strike an unexpected chord within Qui-Gon. Kit turns toward him, noticing the sudden change in the Force. Qui-Gon rubs a hand over his face, and considers his options. "Kit," he begins, "Are you familiar with most Nautolan Jedi?"
One webbed finger taps a chin. "Yes," Kit mutters, contemplative. "There are not as many Nautolan Jedi as I would like. But fewer numbers mean I know most, if not all of them."
"What can you tell me of Huei Tori?"
The Nautolan Knight stiffens, his 'saber hilt flipping in mid-air to land solidly in his palm. "He is… different," Kit confides slowly, searching for the right words. "Forgive my forwardness, but I was not pleased when Dooku chose Huei as his padawan. Huei has always been serious, but not in a good way. Let me explain." He gestures at Obi-Wan, who has fallen into some of his newly-learned stances, testing his balance. "Obi-Wan is serious in his own way," Kit says, in that quiet way that Qui-Gon knows means he is troubled. "But Huei… Huei is a void."
"I know what you mean," Qui-Gon says, rubbing at the half-grown bristles on his chin. "I tried to read him, but I sensed… nothing."
"I trained him once when he was still an initiate, and I a padawan," Kit says, and edge to his voice. "In terms of form, he was excellent. But there was no enjoyment, emotion, or… anything."
"As good Sentinel material as I've ever seen," Qui-Gon mutters darkly.
"I had hoped he would find a master who would teach him that the Jedi Code des not forbid emotion, not exactly," Kit growls under his breath. "The Code advocates control of emotion, but not its eradication. Master Dooku will either perfect Huei, or..."
"I understand." Qui-Gon frowns sharply. "This is troubling news. Control of emotion is one thing, but should Huei truly be empty…"
"Huei would be controlled by others. A puppet," Kit narrows his wide eyes, giving his features a fearsome, predatory air. "You see my reasons for concern."
Qui-Gon nods agreement. "We will have to wait and see."
Kit taps his 'saber hilt, lost in thought, and then suddenly brightens. "No matter," he says lightly. "The council will not stand by and watch one of its young members fall like so."
"I'm not inclined to put that much trust in the Council," Qui-Gon growls. Look what they did for Xanatos. "Ataru it is," he calls to his padawan, watching the grin light up Obi-Wan's face. "It is a much more elegant form than Shii-Cho," Qui-Gon jests at the Knight beside him.
"Shall we let your padawan choose?" Kit retorts, sitting back to watch. His grin returns at Obi-Wan's unbridled joy at being taught by his master seeps into the Force around them.
They look like father and son, Kit muses as sapphire blade meets harlequin hum. But he keeps his observation to himself. Jedi do not have families, only bonds. The strength of the bond is another matter entirely.
Obi-Wan dances around his master's lightsaber, his own humming blade a calming arc around his feet. Qui-Gon's focused delight explodes across the bond at him, and Obi-Wan echoes it with his own.
(:~:)
The Council is surprisingly quick about their business, as it is nigh on dusk and although the matter at hand is classified 'Jinn plus padawan', it is still Jinn. So Mace Windu is cutting but brief.
"We're sending you on a mission."
Qui-Gon steadies Obi-Wan, who is swaying imperceptibly from exhaustion and delirium, having been drunk on the Force for two hours straight. "This soon?" he counters.
"Alas, you are indispensible in the field of diplomacy," Mace says, dispensing with his usual stoic mask in favour of sass.
Qui-Gon wonders if his friend has been talking to Avarin. The sarcasm certainly sounds like his. "What," he growls shortly. Concentrate, Obi-Wan, he sends into the bond. Qui-Gon only receives a muted thrum in response.
It is credit to how weary the Korun master must be, after a long day in Council meetings, that he plunges into the mission briefing without any trace of snark. "Naboo is currently undergoing senatorial elections. The Queen has expressed a desire for Jedi presence, as there is some unrest regarding the two senatorial candidates, Governor Palpatine and Governor Naberrie. As this is a simple peacekeeping mission, your expertise should be more than sufficient to cover any situations that might arise."
"A good place to learn, Naboo is, for your padawan," Yoda interjects, staring at Obi-Wan perceptively. Qui-Gon is somewhat relieved when his apprentice proves awake enough to bow to the aged master in acknowledgment.
"You will find transport waiting for you in the South Hangar tomorrow morning," Plo Koon says, his eyes wrinkling with a smile behind his goggled visual gear. "And Master Jinn… perhaps you should not work your padawan so hard in the first week of his apprenticeship." One clawed hand motions at where Obi-Wan sways on a happy daze, excitement for his first mission and exhaustion from training warring within him.
"Of course," Qui-Gon murmurs. "Masters." He nudges Obi-Wan to bow with him, and turns to leave. His padawan appears to stride normally, but only Qui-Gon's hand on his shoulder prevents him from stooping in weariness.
As the turbolift plunges down towards the residential levels, Qui-Gon breathes a sigh and turns to the boy grinning in stupor. "Obi-Wan," he chides gently, "A Jedi should never overwork himself until he cannot form a semblance of attention."
Obi-Wan nods, mouth opening wide in a yawn. Qui-Gon resorts to searching the bond for an answer, and finds nervous excitement for tomorrow, not just for the new mission, but something else, something more personal. Qui-Gon starts as he counts the days; he had nearly forgotten. Tomorrow is Obi-Wan's thirteenth birthday. Instinctively, he clamps down on the emotions running through his mind. It would not do for his padawan to be overly hyperactive tomorrow.
Back at their apartments, Obi-Wan barely manages to bolt down dinner before stumbling messily into the 'fresher and then into bed. In the heavy, calming silence before slumber, he pauses, supposing he should work on an assignment or two. But a small smile flicks over his lips. Tomorrow is his first mission, and his birthday to boot. He should reward himself some, should he not? Obi-Wan giggles within his own mind, wondering at how he can imagine his voice clearly now, instead of the hazy impressions he had before Ilum. Today had been awesome! Kit's Shii-Cho was so much better than his and his grin so electrifying, and Ataru so releasing. Master Qui-Gon's praise had made his stomach glow from within. Not literally, of course, but he had felt really warm after that. He wonders what Master Qui-Gon would get him for his birthday…
Qui-Gon quietly slides open the door to his padawan's bedroom, to find Obi-Wan sprawled happily over his pallet, a wild smile gracing his young features. Qui-Gon can only guess the reason behind his apprentice's grin, and laughing silently to himself, he closes the door. Crossing to his own room, he reaches deep into a drawer and brings out something smooth, dark, and solid. He has not felt the worn texture of this trinket for a long time; but as he brings it into the light of a nearby lamp, the glowing rays of luminance strike the scarlet-banded stone crosswise, and warmth flares where his fingers touch its surface.
A stray thought wonders why he did not give the stone to Feemor or Xanatos; and another inkling muses that perhaps he was selfish, in a sense. The stone holds a treasured memory of his childhood; he had found it while on a training mission with Tahl.
So why am I giving it to Obi-Wan?
But as the Force whirls in a vergence around the river stone in his hand, Qui-Gon smiles and laughs at his own confusion. The Force reverberates in the stone, singing faintly, thrumming though his bones. And if Qui-Gon can hear a whispered song, then Obi-Wan would hear a symphony.
Qui-Gon finds himself ironically expectant of what tomorrow would bring. If he isn't careful, he would be the one kept awake in excitement. It almost makes him feel young again.
As Qui-Gon settles into a light slumber, the silvered rays of starlight cascade through the crystalline window in a waterfall of liquid white, and the river stone scatters the rays in fetters of iridescent colours over the chamber walls, each mote of light a note in a symphony that only one can hear.
(:~:)
Ekundayo means sorrow to joy. I thought it was an appropriate name for Kit Fisto's master. I've started university now, and considering the workload for Medicine (that's what I'm studying) I won't be able to update as regularly as I used to. I had a LOT more time in secondary school, despite doing IB. But I will still try to get chapters to you as quickly as possible. See, I love you so much that I'm going to continue writing in MEDICAL SCHOOL. Next chapter – Palpatine. Palpy and his long term plans… merhehehehehe. And TWO very special birthday presents, integral to the future.
