Growing Pains
Worthy of Inclusion
"Archivist Nu desired this to be delivered to Master Jinn," the courier announced, all crisp professionalism.
"Thank you." Obi-Wan Kenobi dismissed the mild-mannered docent with a short bow of thanks and allowed the door to slide shut on quiet pistons.
He was halfway across the room when an elusive fluttering in the Force's currents brought him to a pensive halt. One brow raised, he glanced down at the seemingly innocuous data-pad in his hand. It was a Temple standard issue device, not security coded or imprinted with a personal reader's code. Nothing classified or of a private nature, then.
He hesitated all the same, prurience and innate courtesy at odds with one another. Madame Nu had sent this to Qui-Gon, not the revered Jedi's apprentice; on the other hand, the Force told him it was somehow relevant to himself.
"Blast it."
He flipped the display on and perused the contents, a sharp line appearing between his brows as he read.
Qui-Gon Jinn returned briefly to quarters in the early afternoon, thinking to refresh his spirit with a short meditation. The Temple's serenity seeped into his body as he traversed the hallways, cleansing the superficial irritation of his morning away. A brief communion with the Living Force, and he would be able to forget his brush with political intrigue entirely.
"The Supreme Chancellor sends his regards."
Obi-Wan's respectful bow of greeting ended in a wry smile. "He is very kind. Considering he knows me not at all."
The tall man threw his cloak across the low table. "Ah, but you are apprenticed to me, and so you must be a Person of Significance."
Far be it from a young man of Obi-Wan's circumspection to speak ill of Valorum or any one of the Senate's august members. His eyes slid sideways, sharing his thoughts with the Force alone.
Qui-Gon snorted in amusement and went to prepare tea. "I thought you were attending Master Bondara's practicum today."
A shrug, which he felt rather than saw. He crumbled leaves into the pot, reverently, with mindfulness.
"He won't let me attend the Senior Padawan section any longer. He says I'm to meet the junior Knights tomorrow instead."
That's my boy. "And why do I sense disgruntlement with this arrangement? You cannot learn unless you are suitably challenged."
"Master Yoda showed up to their last practice session. He said arrogance had become a way of life among the temple's junior ranks and then proceeded to bestow marks of wisdom upon all and sundry. Prudence dictates that I keep my head down, lest I incur his wrath for presumption."
"He has been especially cantankerous of late," Qui-Gon observed, dispassionately. "But this has no bearing upon your 'saber training. You can meet with the younger Knights tomorrow. I should like to observe the proceedings, anyhow."
"Yes, Master." How anyone could infuse this simple phrase with such a nuanced and specific spectrum of meanings was a mystery to the older man; in this case, the traditional words suggested I-still-deem-this-a-bad-idea-but-will-take-greater -pleasure-in-proving-it-to-you-later-than-disputin g-the-point-now.
He raised both eyebrows repressively and poured two bowls of amber liquid. "It was I who wasted his morning in the company of politicians. What has you so out of sorts, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan shifted into evasive tactics without missing a beat. "I was looking forward to an afternoon in the salles," he pouted.
"Hm." Qui-Gon was by no means so easily misled, but in this case the thin excuse was happily consonant with his own mood. "I think we can remedy that."
"Yes, Master." In this instance, the meek words implied oh-good-let's thrash-each-other-into-the-floorboards-in-lieu-of- this-conversation-I-don't-wish-to-have.
The tall man smiled dangerously.
It took a good deal longer than anticipated to exorcise their respective demons through the purgative means of unbridled saber-play; by the time they were mutually reduced to soaked and panting disarray, the chime for evening meal had long since sounded.
But even a hefty repast shared in the now nearly empty refectory did not serve to entirely dispel the young Jedi's preoccupation. 'Master," he tentatively began, "I have been wondering about the Annals."
Qui-Gon laid his utensils precisely upon his empty plate and lifted his tea-bowl. "Yes?"
His padawan leaned back, folding his arms across his chest and fixing the older man with an earnest gaze. "Who decides what is worthy of inclusion?"
"Ah." The tall man stretched his aching legs out beneath the table, eliciting a loud pop from either knee joint. He held up a warning finger at his smirking protégé. "Do not say it." A thoughtful pause in which he reflected that Obi-Wan kept him on his feet on more than one sense. Not only must he meet the physical demands of a surpassingly talented sparring partner, but he was also liable to be bombarded with deep philosophical or ethical conundra at any time of day or night. "The Annals of the Jedi Order is an evolving historical document." He formulated his reply cautiously, wondering what had been the catalyst to this inquiry. "The collective wisdom of generations, or the explicit decree of the Council, might dictate that some event or accomplishment be included – generally feats which are admirable, exceptional in circumstance, or edifying in their consequence, whether for good or ill."
"I know that, Master," Obi-Wan impatiently retorted, shifting restlessly in his seat.
When the Jedi master raised an admonitory brow, his apprentice hastily amended his tart reply.
"Yes, Master." Meaning I-already-know-that-master-and-I-will-continue-to- pester-and-cajole-by-whatever-means-necessary-unti l-I-achieve-my-objective.
Qui-Gon permitted himself a short sigh of resignation. "You are asking who is the final authority in the matter. The best answer is, perhaps, the Force itself."
Now Obi-Wan's mouth thinned into the familiar stubborn line, one echoed by the crease deepening between his brows.
"That does not satisfy you?" The Jedi master's eyes narrowed. "What is this really about?"
A deep breath, as though antecedent to taking a flying leap. "Master… do you think it possible that a particular event might be mistakenly included? I mean, that a historical account may not reflect the truth of what occurred? That is –"
"Obi-Wan."
The padawan caught himself in mid-sentence, a flush of perturbation rising in his cheeks.
Qui-Gon decided to tread carefully until he had divined the true cause of his apprentice's unease. "If there is something you have read in your studies which confounds you, some article of the Annals which offends your sensibilities, then perhaps it would be wiser to attribute the difficulty not to an error on the part of the Council, but to your own inexperience? For instance, perhaps some narrative has been included not because it is worthy of emulation but because it teaches a lesson; or perhaps another is a riddle to be unwound by the reader. Who are you to dictate which parts of the Annals are accurate or useful?"
Generally, such a direct appeal to humility would infallibly clinch any argument; it was surprising, therefore, when the gentle reprimand had no effect but to stir Obi-Wan into a greater state of disturbance.
"I – I did not mean to imply I have superior insight, Master… it's just…" A servitor droid hovered by, whisking their soiled dishes away. The young Jedi stood. "With your permission, Master, I shall return to the salles."
"Sit down a moment, please."
"Yes, Master." You-can-make-me-sit-but-you-cannot-bend-my-mind-to -a-truth-until-I-am-ready-to-see-it.
The tall man studied his companion closely, gently probing with Force. "Is this something I can help you solve or would meditation be a better recourse?"
"Perhaps the latter," Obi-Wan answered, morosely.
Qui-Gon could not help but shake his head quizzically. There was something to be said for the cathartic effect of physical exertion, after all. "Very well. Let us put in a couple more hours' practice. I want you in top form tomorrow – if Master Yoda is to distribute any gifts of wisdom, he should at least have to work for it a little."
This unsophisticated distract and delay gambit earned him a brilliant grin of relief.
Three and a half hours later, they dragged themselves over the threshold of their shared quarters, still damp from the shower rooms and both sporting a few novel bruises.
"I don't need Master Yoda to show up tomorrow," Obi-Wan groaned, gracefully sinking to the floor beside the low common room table. "I've a surfeit of wisdom from tonight's session already."
Qui-Gon grimaced. "The partnership is right when the student teaches his teacher. I , too, walked away a wiser man."
"Yes, Master." Which translated to Ha!-and-you-deserve-it.
Concord settled between them, a blanket of comfortable silence.
The padawan's head nodded. He jerked to attention. "I'm sorry… I do not think I will be able to meditate this evening. I think we overdid it."
The Jedi master ruefully agreed. "And it is unclear who is to be credited with instilling that bad habit into the other."
Another amicable span of quiet. Qui-Gon was about to suggest that they retire, when his apprentice broke the silence again.
"Master? Earlier, when we were discussing the Annals…"
Oh Force. The Archival database definition of 'indefatigable' should be amended to simply read: Kenobi. "Yes?"
"I was struck by a disturbing thought. What if the heroes and sages who inspire our admiration and praise were not truly as their stories present them? What if the noblest Jedi in the Order's history are – well, a fabrication, a legend- I mean, so far as their deeds and character are concerned? While their true persons were as flawed and marked with failure as possible? What if the virtues catalogued in the Annals are merely projected ideals and not true examples, attainable goals? What if… what if it's a pretty lie?"
Impulsively, Qui-Gon covered the boy's hand with his own, seeking to soothe inner anguish. "That," he sadly replied, "Is the beginning of wisdom."
More anguish. Bitter disappointment. The padawan dipped his head.
Obi-Wan did not follow without thinking, and was wont to brood – but corrosive doubt had never before been his modus operandi. "The beginning of wisdom, Padawan," Qui-Gon pressed. "Not its end. Let us take your favorite example."
"Chakora Seva," Obi-Wan intoned, despondent.
"Yes. It is possible all the tales told about his feats and insight are exaggerations and fables, stories to shape the sensibilities of the gullible and young, beautiful lies to inspire passion for things that are above our true mortal condition. He may have been none of the things he is famed for."
A sharp nod.
"But search your feelings. There is the mind and then there is the heart. What does your heart tell you?"
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, new hope dawning where despair had threatened to make conquest. "That he was… full of Light. That at least by the end of his life, all those things were true. And more, more that is not recorded in the Annals."
"Yes. And you know this because beyond mere narrative, the truth of his life shines in his teachings and especially those who followed him, his living annals." The tall man gestured around them, at the walls of the Temple, all those sheltered within. "Trust your feelings in this matter; you are inclined to overthink such things."
He thought for a moment that his padawan might throw himself into his arms in a fierce embrace, a startling flood of gratitude and affection. Instead, the young man merely lowered his eyes and said, "Yes, Master."
Thank you. Thank you. I see now.
"You really ought to get to bed. You're half asleep as it is."
"Yes, Master." Meaning simply: Yes, Master.
It might have been wiser simply to have heeded his own advice, but Qui-Gon remained wakeful long after his apprentice had disappeared into his small bedchamber. A tiny unresolved question niggled at the back of his mind, rendering true relaxation elusive. He tidied the already tidy rooms, tended his small collection of flora, and then noticed the datapad left for him upon a low-set shelf. He flipped the reader into active mode and scanned the initial message.
Master Jinn. The following officially recorded in the Annals of the Jedi Order, per Council decision. For your information. Jocasta Nu.
He opened the attached file and skimmed through the brief entry, one detailing a recent mission to Sundari. The details of the Phylaxi plague crisis – had it already been a year and more?- and the delicate negotiations needful to eventually resolve it were familiar to him. He recognized the names of the planetary leaders, and the ultimatum that held an entire population hostage to the demands of a blood honor pact. The short narrative ended with an account of the Jedi ambassadors' actions, including those of the Padawan who had offered to fulfill the terms of this blood-ritual with his own life rather than countenance the death of millions.
Qui-Gon released his breath in a sudden gust of clarity. Of course.
Of course.
He strode across the apartment and slipped quietly into his apprentice's small room, but Obi-Wan was well and soundly asleep, spread-eagled upon his thin palette, face smoothed into the tranquility of exhausted slumber.
There was no need to disturb him.
The man smiled a little, a bittersweet incense seeming to float upon the Force' s currents as he grasped the root of his student's questions and doubts. There was much, much to learn, and so many ways to learn it. So many lessons, and some of them provided by time and fate, the Force itself. Only Obi-Wan would be mortified and perturbed by the discovery that his actions had been deemed worthy of inclusion in the Annals of the Jedi Order.
Qui-Gon gently fingered the padawan braid, pushing it aside onto the pillow, and tried to imagine what Obi-Wan would look like without it, on the day he was Knighted. Much the same, only older, he supposed. And someday, perhaps, even old. Or revered, like the heroes of ancient days that he so adored and strove to emulate. Like the legendary sages immortalized forever in the Annals of a ten thousand year history.
As though in subconscious response to the thought, Obi-Wan shifted, making a sound like a soft, derisive snort.
"Brat," the tall man fondly murmured, and padded away to claim his own well-deserved repose.
Author's Note: events referred to in the Annals entry are detailed further in "When Words Fail," at this same ff account.