"It will be a hard life; one without reward, without remorse, without regret. A path will be placed before you. The choice is our alone. Do what you think you cannot do. It will be a hard life, but you will find out who you are." Qui-Gon Jinn
Qui-Gon was trying to not over-react. Over-reacting being running to the nearest ship and launching himself in the direction of Obi-Wan. Trying not to react --- the method he had resorted to --- consisted of pacing down the center of the living room so as to wear a long tread in the carpet. He was also muttering to himself.
Of course, every Padawan had to, at one point, take on a solo mission. It was part of growing up, of becoming independent. The first solo missions were never too dangerous --- they were mostly of a political nature. Obi-Wan's own mission had to do with settling a dispute that was quickly turning violent on a small planet known as Xindi IV. It was a mission similar to many the two had undertaken together, and Qui-Gon had the utmost faith in his apprentice's abilities…
But. There was always that but. But what if the clans were closer to war than the Jedi had thought? What if they were more violent, more angry, more passionate about their separate causes? What if Obi-Wan got lost, or hurt, or sick?
What if his shuttle crashed? That problem was first and foremost in Qui-Gon's mind. Obi-Wan was not the best flier, and piloting was a skill he used as sparingly as possible, letting Qui-Gon or one of the others take the controls. Even with the Force guiding him, and the entity had not let the boy down yet, Qui-Gon did not totally trust Obi-Wan to safely go into hyper space, to come out of it again, to plot the co-ordinates…
He had felt a similar feeling with Xantos, but by the time his old apprentice had gotten his first solo mission, even Qui-Gonw as beginning to feel the stirrings of the dark side within his young protégé. Then, the emotions had been closer to fear, not for Xantos but for others, and hope that the boy wouldn't embarrass the Jedi Council.
Now, he had definite paternal stirrings in his chest; a longing to protect Obi-Wan from the horrors of the Universe. They'd been to many worlds, and seen much of the atrocities that sentient beings managed to inflict on one and other.
Qui-Gon remembered the first time he was sure his Padawan would die, as the young boy leapt into a fray of space pirates. He remembered seeing Obi-Wan, face down in shallow water after a fall broke his leg. Worst of all, he thought of the first time Obi-Wan was tortured in front of him, leaving him, Qui-Gon, powerless to help. Recalling the pain-twisted features of the child, it took all of Qui-Gon's willpower to stop himself from rushing out the door.
At one point, the old master must have sat down. Must have, because his memories began turning, twisting, mutating into things that had never happened. That could never have happened.
He and Obi-Wan were running on that Force-forsaken planet. Obi-Wan was carrying the baby, the alleged Chosen One. The boy had shouted at Qui-Gon to slow down and they both looked down to see the skin peel away from Obi-Wan's feet. But the wounds did not stop there….they continued up Obi-Wan's legs, exposing his calves, his stomach, his rib cage… "Master!"
And Qui-Gon took the boy from Obi-Wan's arms. He kept running, leaving his moaning, begging apprentice behind.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon sat bolt upright, sweat pouring down his face. Mopping his brow with the back of his hand, Qui-Gon moved from the couch and set a kettle down to boil. Tea might help. Tea and meditation never failed to soothe his agitated thoughts.
Yes, Qui-Gon had recently been preoccupied with the prophesies of the Chosen One, but that was only because the Council seemed completely unprepared for the turmoil the scriptures foretold. If Qui-Gon was reading the ancient writings correctly, the Chosen One would be needed to shepherd the Galaxy into a new ear.
A thousand years of peace were promised, but only once a great battle was fought on many planets, killing people in numbers unimaginable, unfathomable. And something deep within Qui-Gon, some long-forgotten, withered portion of the Force, told the man that it was he who must find this child.
Always male, always huminoid. The scriptures were clear on those facts. The Force would be strong with him, and his medichlorian count would be so high new charts would be needed in order to read just how in tune the boy would be with the Living Force. He would be a great leader, would overthrow a powerful, malignant despot. He would be a child of the Force, by the Force, but born of woman.
Somehow, he, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan were related to those scriptures. Somehow they would be a small part of the great plan to reintroduce harmony to the discordance of the Galaxy. Whenever Qui-Gon was feeling hopeless, or insignificant, he remembered that long-ago vision of the Force, of he, Qui-Gon, burning as if laid to rest on a funeral pyre and Obi-Wan, somewhat older, with his arm draped around a small, shadowed boy.
The Force tingled joyously, jerking Qui-Gon out of his meditations a second before a welcome, familiar presence engulfed his mind. I missed you so much, Master. Obi-Wan's voice was murmured and tired, mixed with emotions Qui-Gon rarely saw in the boy and reacted to at once.
And I you Little One. Qui-Gon thought back, already sifting through the emotions running through the bond between them. Frustration. Anger. Betrayal. The mission is over so soon? Have you been injured?
A sigh, and Qui-Gon remembered with a wry smile how very young his apprentice truly was. No. Let me explain face to face, before the Council issues their politically correct statement to the Knights.
Not five minutes later, Obi-Wan was seated in front of Qui-Gon, nursing a cup of tea between his hands. For the first time in years Qui-Gon really looked at his apprentice. To him, Obi-Wan's hands told the whole story of his life. Long, pale, and delicately formed, they just as easily cooked a meal as held a light saber. They were calloused and rough but sensitive enough to know the difference between Qui-Gon's skin and Mace Windu's.
The twenty-year-old was short and would most likely not grow past his five foot four height. Light hair was shaven close to the head except for where it was twisted into a long, beautiful braid. Qui-Gon had just re-woven it, adding a more complex knot, in honor of Obi-Wan's first solo mission. The boy's blue-grey eyes were filmy, milky, and never focused on anything. They were usually closed in Qui-Gon's presence, as Obi-Wan rarely remembered to keep them open, especially if he was tired. His body was light, little more than a hundred and ten pounds, but wiry and strong nonetheless.
"The Council has assigned another member to the mission."
Qui-Gon had never heard bitterness in Obi-Wan's voice before. Not when the boy was young, and Qui-Gon's fear and self-pity manifested themselves into impossible commands. Not when his hearing, the sense he most prized, was taken from him in an instant. Not when he had been tortured, beaten, burned, because Qui-Gon was too blinded by a different prize to formulate a plan of action. But here was bitterness, and Qui-Gon was left explaining a galaxy Obi-Wan could never understand.
"Apparently the Prime Minister was…displeased…with my…handicap." The words were said quietly, in a tiny, strangled voice that was so unlike the bright, vibrant student Qui-Gon knew and cared for.
There had been other times when Obi-Wan's disabilities had upset some people on their missions, but Qui-Gon had always been there, and had turned tiger until Obi-Wan made a quick deduction or particularly deep comment to win over the people's affections.
But before this, there had been those who automatically assumed that just because Obi-Wan couldn't see, he couldn't hear their simpering tones, couldn't feel their distaste. There had been people who had talked to Obi-Wan as if he was a child, or, worse, not talked to him at all, but instead addressed only Qui-Gon. People automatically ruled him out of more physical missions when Obi-Wan was perhaps more capable then most of their trained militia.
"So I've been sent back until I'm reassigned." Obi-Wan raised his eyes to meet Qui-Gon's over their steaming mugs. Please say something, master. Are you disappointed in me?
Never.
Then why don't you respond? Obi-Wan was pleading now, sounding suddenly very young. Strange that there were times when Qui-Gon could swear the boy had seen a hundred years, times when even the Master had to admit that the apprentice had outmaneuvered him. But there were times, like now, when Obi-Wan still sought his blessing, his acceptance. Qui-Gon didn't know what he would do if that ever changed.
I don't trust myself to talk of those people in the civil manner that so becomes a Knight. Right now, I want to throttle those people for hurting you.
I'm not injured. But the voice was unsure and so tired, so confused. Obi-Wan could not comprehend prejudice, because he himself was so slow to judge, so quick to forgive. Perhaps Obi-Wan's blindness helped, for he could not, as the saying goes, 'judge a book by its cover'. But it was also Obi-Wan's nature to think the best of every being he encountered.
Not in the body, but your mind has just taken a terrible blow, Little One. And Qui-Gon impressed upon his student his own observations of the boy's character compared to his long history with the rest of the galaxy. You have just encountered bigotry, prejudice. There are planets, you know, where you would have been killed at birth.
The twenty-year-old pressed closer to Qui-Gon and shivered slightly, as though he were cold. I know that, Master, and I am grateful that the Jedi took me in. Sometimes, though… There was a moment's indecision, hesitation. Sometimes, I wish I could see. And sometimes I curse the Force because I can't.
The older man contemplated this for so long that Obi-Wan began to fidget slightly, for he was aware that such thoughts were against the Jedi Code. Sometimes, Padawan. Qui-Gon sent back later, the words laced with warmth, compassion, friendship. I do that, too.
Poor Obi-Wan. His whole perception of the universe has just been turned on its head.
We suddenly can't wait to write Anakin. I hate that kid.
Anyways, review.