"I drew your bath," I said. "While the tub's filling, will you help me get all dolled up for your knighting ceremony?"

"Of course, Master," Obi-Wan said, scrambling to his feet. I couldn't raise my arms enough to slip into my tunic top, so Obi-Wan had helped me undress last night and was helping this morning. I idly wondered if he would find a reason to visit each morning and night as long as I needed assistance.

Once I had my tunic smoothed into place, Obi-Wan slipped behind me and started combing my hair. It surprised me, and I twisted around. "You're not twisting it in a nerf tail to get a laugh out of the Council, are you?" I asked suspiciously.

"What – spoil the ceremony?" he said with a laugh. "Maybe I'll try that when it's Anakin's ceremony, but I wouldn't dream of spoiling mine."

"Your bath!" I suddenly remembered the running water. "Hurry, before the tub overflows." Obi-Wan took off flying, and I heard him slide to a stop and turn the water off before his voice came peeling down the hall, laughing. "In time, master, in time."

"Then in with you," I said serenely, having followed him at a slower pace. "We are doing this right, padawan mine, by the old rituals. I even comm'd ahead for the right scented oil." I waggled my eyebrows. "Good thing you've lost that modesty of yours, for your master must bathe you. In with you."

We were doing this right, and I was going to make sure we followed all the old rituals, even if some of them were rarely followed anymore.

I poured in a few drops of the scented oil. Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled as he sniffed and he looked at me in surprise. I just laughed and told him to get in the tub as I poured the water over him per the ritual, followed by a quick and unexpected dunking of his head in the water.

He spluttered and shook his head, droplets flying everywhere as he looked at me in surprise. I ducked with a "hey, you're getting my finery all wet."

Before I let him out of the tub, I made him sit and let me study the scars on his back. Bacta patches worked wonders. When I carefully touched the lash marks, Obi-Wan didn't even flinch. The marks were fading from his body even as they faded from his consciousness. I was inordinately pleased to see this.

I handed him a towel as he stepped out and told him his clothes would be laid out on his bed once he dried off – once I had shaved him. He rolled his eyes, and I lightly punched his shoulder. I worked the lather up and added more scented oil, and dabbed it over his face.

"Ready?" I asked, a razor in hand and came towards him with a big grin.

"That's a sharp implement, Master," he protested, shrinking back. I looked at it and shook my head in wonder. "So it is, so it is. I'd better be careful, and you very still."

"I'm growing a beard," he threatened me.

"Fine," I said serenely. "But not starting today." I carefully scraped his face and patted his skin dry, adding a light touch of oil as I finished.

"I smell like a perfumed harlot," he muttered under his breath.

My eyebrows went up to my hairline and I asked in astonishment, "since when you have gained knowledge of what a harlot smells like?" I was beginning to wonder how much of the past five years he hadn't told me about.

"One learns a lot as a slave," he said unhappily. "You needn't worry; I didn't consort with any of them though I knew one or two, when my owner had need of them."

I merely laughed and slapped him on the back. "Too bad. Go get dressed," I said fondly.

I waited, and sure enough, in just a second I heard his yelp. "Master!" he barked, laughing uproariously. "Such a color!" He stuck his head out of the room and eyed me suspiciously. "You aren't really going to make me wear this – explosion of fantastic color are you?"

He was holding brightly colored underclothing with one finger, and I could see his eyes begging for me to admit it was a joke. I tried to keep my face solemn, but I just couldn't. Such dismay and laughter burbled through the bond that I fell back laughing in my seat. When I recovered breath enough to speak, I weakly shook my head.

"I promised you a rainbow pack, my padawan. You do want to look fetching today, do you not?"

"No one is going to see me dressed in these, are they?" He was scandalized, or pretending to be. That set me off again. I could just see Obi-Wan standing in the Council chamber, displaying – no, even I couldn't picture that.

With tears streaming down my face, I managed to gasp, "One last joke on you, Obi-Wan. Master's prerogative. No, you don't have to wear them."

Obi-Wan stared at me, shaking his head and mumbling something about senile old masters before he disappeared back into his room to find something more sedate. I just collapsed back into my chair. When I remembered what my own sedate, prim and proper master had done to me for his final "revenge" – I turned bright red. Obi-Wan had it easy. I had never spoken of Master Dooku's prank on me to anyone. I never would.

Even if I had, no one would have believed me. Master Dooku – no.

I was sitting in the common room when Obi-Wan stepped out of his room, smoothing down his new undertunic self-consciously. He was unused to dressing so simply, and to be seen outside in his quarters in the same. In style it was the same garb Obi-Wan usually wore, but of finer though still plain and simply woven cloth, pure white to symbolize his commitment to the light, the Force itself.

The outer tabard was of even finer cloth, unadorned, and awaited us in the Council chamber along with the tunic and new equipment belt I had brought with his new everyday clothes to Tatooine. Obi-Wan would not wear them until he was anointed a knight. He would go simply clothed before the Council, in plain undertunic and leggings, and bare of feet.

It was a symbol of humility and deference to the Force, but for a somewhat prim and correct young man, it seemed almost disrespectful to face such an important ceremony so dressed. The thin undertunic hung loosely from his shoulders, emphasizing his slim yet powerful build.

I slowly stood and walked over to him, placing my hands on his shoulders and felt a burst of incredible pride in my heart.

"I have waited a long time for this," I said, pulling Obi-Wan into my arms. He returned the embrace, before pulling away.

"Hey, you're messing up the look," he protested, half in jest, and smoothed the undertunic down.

He looked even younger and almost innocent dressed so simply, though innocence should have long since fled those luminous jeweled eyes over the years. Yet, somehow, that innocence was still there, deep within him, and I marveled at his ability to retain it.

I studied him with a fond master's eyes as I held him at arms length. Standing before me was calm and competent Obi-Wan. His face was as smooth as the day I had first seen him, and a smile tickled my heart as I remembered.

It was shortly before Xanatos had turned; before my heart turned to stone. I had stopped in to watch the very young initiates as they sparred with soft padded sticks, not having even having graduated to training lightsabers yet.

One sandy-haired boy caught my attention. He was a bit smaller than his sparring partners, and a lock of sandy hair seemed to keep falling in his eyes. He had a look of joy and confidence even then; while the others seemed to chew their lips or look uncertain, he seemed comfortable.

He had won his match, at that age still considered play, and after the customary bow in salute to his partner, he had looked at the sparring master with a contagious giggle, as if he had been given a great gift. He wasn't reveling in his victory; he was reveling in his actions and I had to grin with the young boy whose name I didn't know.

He had happened to glance my way, and those eyes – had seemed to see right through me. He had grinned at me before turning away. I would remember that boy.

I knew nothing of him for several more years, until fate threw us together. I didn't at first recognize the serious and unhappy boy of nearly thirteen as that happy, giggling child. His time to be chosen as a padawan was nearly up, and none wanted him, including me, to my everlasting shame. None of us had looked deep enough to see the heart of a Jedi that beat underneath the exterior.

I remembered the look of – peace – on his face when I asked him to be my padawan. It was like he knew what was meant to be, had now become so. He knew, well before me, that we were meant to be partnered, and from the beginning his trust and his love were in my hands – and I had squandered that gift.

I sighed, for I had not been worthy of his devotion in those early years. How much more he would have been, for not for my mentoring. How much less he could have been, because of it. His need to earn my hard won approval had made him into more of a rigid rule-follower than he was by nature. As a natural rule-breaker myself, it was both pitiful and amusing that he became more rigid over the years.

I again saw in my mind that young boy throwing one last look over his shoulder before advancing into the ice caves on Ilum to build his first lightsaber. No Jedi ever knew the horrors and fears another Jedi faced breaching that cavern; I had never asked. But the mark of his journey was still apparent even after his triumphant return, in the silence of his soul.

He had never spoken of it to me, but he had shivered once, just as our small ship left the planet. He had quietly disappeared, and when I tracked him down, I found him in deep meditation, again shivering. He had looked up at me and said unhappily, "I don't want to be alone and so sad. I'm so lonely." I had sat down beside him and pulled him against my side.

"You'll never be alone, young one," I assured him. He just looked at me with pained eyes, full of shadows, and swallowed hard.

"I'll try not to fail. I want to make sure that never happens," he said, and never spoke of it again. As I wrapped my own cloak around him and held his shivering body within my arms, I had wondered what he thought he might fail at. Obi-Wan failed at nothing, though he wouldn't agree with me. In my opinion, one never failed, if one gave his best, as Obi-Wan did.

I counted failure as doing less than one's best or what one knew was wrong, and Obi-Wan as making an error in judgment. Failure to complete a mission was somewhere in between, for such failure could not always be avoided.

Because of my aloof care and rarely expressed approval, Obi-Wan saw potential failure all around him, and held himself to an impossible standard of success. I deeply regretted that, and had never been able to do more than temper his fears and assure him that perfection was neither desirable nor attainable.

My mind skipped ahead and I remembered my last sight of him some five years before. Just before we parted, he had turned to me and smiled. It hadn't been his usual grin but his full smile, that one that brightened a cloudy day. I had not seen him again for five long years. When I had, just weeks ago, he had been grubby and exhausted, but he had turned that same smile on me when I spoke his name.

I remembered so many times facing his eager, young face – questioning, smiling, and sometimes crying. Now that boy, later a young man, stood before me a grown man, and that quizzical look was back on his face.

"We've seen a lot, and we've been through a lot together, Obi-Wan," I said. "Now it's time to let you go. I am so very proud of you, my padawan."

"My master," he said mournfully, though his eyes sparkled at me.

"Let me have your lightsaber," I said gently. He nodded and handed to me. I clipped it next to my own.

"It's time," I said. "Padawan Kenobi leaves for the last time. Knight Kenobi takes his place. Come, padawan mine."

We walked the long hallways silently. I snuck a look at his face and he looked peaceful and a hint of a delighted smile graced his lips. Since a broad smile was on my face, I said nothing. If Obi-Wan felt the cold floor against his feet, or the slight morning chill through his thin top, he showed no sign of it.

My cloak swished around my ankles in the hushed morning silence and we ascended the steps that led to the lift that would take us into the highest spire of the Temple where the Council met.

"Follow me and say nothing unless asked a question, at which time you may answer," I instructed. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready," he whispered, and squared his shoulders.

"Yes, you are indeed, my padawan." I said warmly.

When the lift doors opened into the Council tower antechamber, the dark room was filled with the glow of lightsabers. Those masters and knights not on the Council, present in the Temple, had gathered there in a simple salute, forming a path to the Council chamber doors.

"The Force throws light onto the dark, guiding your path," I said, drawing and igniting my own blade and leading the way forward. Sheathing their lightsabers, the other Jedi silently followed us into the Council chamber and stood in a ring against the outer walls.

Nothing shone brighter in that room than my pride.