A/N: Not much else to say except that thanks to those who have responded and that I hope you enjoy this chapter. Now I'm off to do homework! Yay! Riiiight…let me know what you think of this chapter so I can have an excuse to leave my books for awhile. Thanks again!
Chapter 14
Time seemed different on Coruscant. It seemed to mesh together imperceptibly, the nighttime mingling with the day until they seemed to be the same thing almost. His body, well accustomed to the rhythm of Tatooine's suns, floundered slightly away from the strict regiment of day and night the sandy planet had required. Anakin also found himself bursting with energy. While he had always been overflowing with energy, he had always expended it daily, tethered by slavery to Watto's shop. Now, however, in his newfound freedom, he had little to commit himself to physically, and the Jedi did not seem to embrace the idea of giving him free reign of the Temple grounds much less the massive metropolis beyond. Instead, the energy propelled him aimlessly about his small room, desperate for some new adventure. As wrong as slavery was, it had given his life structure and now with an infinite amount of time on his hands and nowhere to go, his youthful body was growing restless.
The Jedi at the Temple had been more than accommodating and cordial to him. Every day, a short, skinny woman named Jeesin Lollin came to take him about the Temple. She didn't seem to be human but Anakin was unfamiliar with her species. He did not feel inclined to ask her, for it somehow seemed inappropriate—Master Lollin carried herself very properly, although with a benevolent air. She told Anakin that she taught science to the Initiates and Anakin presumed that not one student in her classroom ever clamored rudely about her past. If he wanted to be a Jedi, he'd have to start acting like one. The first step—don't be so forward. He had a lot on his mind, and he had always spoken without reservation. But this was not Tatooine and he was not a lowly slave with nothing to lose. Now it was time to learn some restraint.
His was having noticeable success with this goal. While Master Lollin led him to various activities and excursions about the Temple, he had refrained from superfluous talking and questioning. He proudly found a balance between expressing healthy curiosity and exhibiting exorbitant over-eagerness. With a simple use of the Force he could now easily detect when his questioning pushed Master Lollin just a tad too far—not to anger, she would never be angry with his curiosity, but to the beginnings of annoyance. The Council had already shown doubt concerning Anakin. Now he figured he had to make up for that by impressing everyone he met.
This became surprisingly elementary as he learned more and more about the Force to which he was so closely connected. Discovering his relationship with the Force awed and invigorated him. It had always been there, he realized, but now he managed to sort it out from everything else in his hyperactive mind. It flowed through him like his blood, but pulsated even more vitally than the liquid. When he closed his eyes he could see how the Light shone in his head. With that model in his mind's eye, he envisioned the Light streaming through his body. Before he had even comprehended the depth in which the Force worked within his own body, he began to notice how it radiated and moved through those around him. It had started with Qui-Gon—from their first meeting there had been something about the man. Qui-Gon's very nature had reached out to get to know him in a way that Anakin had never experienced before. And, in response, he was surprised to learn that he could reciprocate the relationship by means of the Force. The Force that resided within Qui-Gon had become instantly familiar too him, perhaps because it was so much stronger than anything else he had ever felt before. He was close to his mother and he loved her more dearly than anything in the galaxy, but she had never been able to seep within his very mind, his very essence.
Now that the Force-sensitivity within him had been consciously realized, he keenly kept vigil of it. Suddenly he began to distinguish the Force in others, the way in erupted erratically through the officials back on Naboo, or the way it vibrated decidedly and passionately within Padmé—she even seemed beautiful in the Force—or the steady commitment of Obi-Wan, and most of all the depth and compassion within Qui-Gon. Instead of associating physical characteristics with people, he began to think of them in terms of their Living Force.
Master Lollin had a quiet and inquisitive air about her. Her Force presence seemed quick to be amused but slow to show how amused she was. Her silence suggested what she valued—the ability to listen, which Anakin quickly tried to adapt to, becoming something of a listener himself while in her presence.
It was mildly disheartening that Master Lollin had very little to say. She seldom spoke without provocation and even in the Force she remained quite controlled. He ventured words occasionally, posing mostly benign and unimportant questions that typically elicit just such response. Even though he had only been at the Temple a few days, his time with Master Lollin had fallen into a predictable pattern, keeping Anakin at bay from the Temple activity. He passed students who talked giddily and longed to join them, to see how they lived. He passed Masters and Knights and was intrigued by their expressions and craved to hear stories of their exploits. He also passed Padawans and Masters and tried to see himself training that way. His heart lurched at these opportunities but fell unsatisfied as Master Lollin guided him by these others.
Waiting that morning, Anakin perched himself on the small couch in his unembellished room. To entertain himself during his uneventful time at the Temple, he had begun to play a Force-based game with himself. With intense focus, he cleared his mind of everything except Master Lollin's presence. He had only a vague memory of it, but he devoted all his attention to it. Suddenly, the memory came to life, gaining in strength. She was approaching. Squeezing his eyes shut, Anakin tried to develop a mental image of the Master, the way she strode evenly down the hall, approaching his door, extending her pliable hand, touching the buzzer—
He was gratified with a sharp buzz. Smiling at the success of his little game, he stood and let the Master in.
"Good morning, Anakin," she greeting him warmly. "How are you this morning?"
"I'm fine," Anakin replied.
"Very good," Master Lollin said. "Are you ready to begin your day?"
"Yes, ma'am," he affirmed.
"Very well," she said. "Come along then."
He began to follow her, but stopped as she began to the right. "Wait, Master Lollin," he said. "Shouldn't we be going to the left? I thought that was the way to the lounge."
"Yes, it is," she informed him. "But we are not going to the lounge."
"We're not?" Anakin asked. They had dined in the lounge since he arrived, and he expected no difference today. He assessed her to see if she might be joking, but he met the same reserved Master as before.
"I thought you might prefer to eat breakfast among the Initiates this morning," she said. "But if you would rather to go the lounge—"
"No!" Anakin said quickly, his eyes wide. He caught his enthusiasm and tried to harness it. Regrouping his feelings, he continued in a calmer tone. "I would very much like to eat with the Initiates."
"I thought you might," Master Lollin said. "So won't you please follow me?"
Nodding, Anakin fell into step beside her as she guided him through the corridors. His heart pounded excitedly as she stopped in front of a large set of doors. She turned to him, gazing steadily into his eyes, her face quite serious. "Now," she began. "This is the cafeteria. You may enter alone and mingle as you see fit. Breakfast will last for exactly thirty minutes. Then the students are dismissed to classes. At that time you are to exit as well. I will meet you right here. You are not to leave the cafeteria alone. Do you understand?"
Keeping her gaze, he nodded adamantly. "Yes, Master Lollin," he assured her.
A shadow of a smile crossed her face, and she swelled slightly in the Force. "Very good, then," she said. "Enjoy yourself."
Watching as she began away, Anakin couldn't keep from grinning. "I will," he told her with confidence.
Once she had left, Anakin turned back to the doors with anticipation. The Force buzzed beyond these walls and he was anxious to experience it. With a deep breath to slow his fluttering mind and heart, he entered.
The scene lay before him pleasantly, just as he had envisioned. The youthfulness of it throbbed somewhat distinctly in the Force, and Anakin felt both attracted to it and unsure of it. The children around him moved eagerly and contentedly through the room, leaving Anakin feeling slightly out of place. A light cacophony reverberated off the cafeteria walls as the young Initiates arranged themselves at tables, sitting and laughing with friends. Despite the closeness exhibited innately between the students, the room had a friendly atmosphere that certainly didn't put off newcomers.
Forcing himself to move, he followed the flow of students which led to the line. He observed carefully. The behavior seemed simple enough, although somewhat foreign. Mimicking those around him, he picked up a tray and meandered through the line, accepting nearly any food offered to him. Not even the food workers paid him much notice, although Anakin sensed them all through the Force, creating a much richer environment than he had ever been exposed to before.
His tray in hand, he found himself again staring out over the cafeteria. Masking his uncertainty with the Force, he continued onward amid the mass of students. Many of the tables were already full or seemed cliquish so he continued forward. Then he came across a table that was only half full and somewhat casual, perhaps more lax. The students were all conversing, their eyes shining as they ate between their words. He hesitated, lingering above an empty seat next to a quiet but striking young girl. With light blue skin, her golden hair seemed to glow, especially when bathed in the morning sunlight that streamed in from the windows.
The blue girl noticed Anakin hovering above her immediately and bit her lip shyly. Anakin immediately set to analyzing her Force presence. Surprisingly, he found it notably strong and unusually kind. Her blue eyes gazed through the locks of golden hair that fell into her face. With a toss of her small head, her bangs flopped out of her face. Smiling sweetly, she said, "You can sit here if you want."
Anakin glanced around at the bustling cafeteria, then back at the empty seat. The girl was not alone at the table—several other students all looked at him curiously but kindly along with her sincere gaze. Satisfied, Anakin took the seat gratefully, plopping down his tray. "Thanks," he said genially.
The girl merely nodded. The rest of the table seemed to lose their interest and returned to their conversations and food. Anakin had never been a shy boy—shyness didn't seem to be a relevant trait for a slave to have but he also did not feel enough at ease among the Initiates to introduce himself. To avoid any discomfort, Anakin promptly focused on his food, which was easy enough since he was nearly always hungry.
As he shoveled the unknown food into his mouth, he nearly tuned the rest of the room out. But, then airy presence next to him suddenly recaptured his attention. He looked up to find the blue girl looking at him inquisitively. He recognized her tentative advances to search out his Life Force—it was the same technique he used—not quite as subtle as the Masters and far more naïve. "You're not an Initiate, are you?" she finally wondered aloud.
Slowly, Anakin shook his head. "No," he said. "And you are?"
She nodded confidently. "Yes," she replied, contained pride coloring her voice.
"How long have you been at the Temple?" Anakin asked.
"Since I was two," she answered easily, taking another bit of her food.
"Two?" Anakin repeated, baffled. No wonder he was "too old."
She nodded nonchalantly. "Yes, of course," she said.
"Have you all been here since you were that young?" he asked, motioning to the other students in the cafeteria.
Glancing around briefly, she plainly nodded. "Of course."
"But what about your parents?" he prodded.
"They're the ones who chose to send me here," she explained.
"They chose to send you here? Why? Don't they miss you?"
The girl looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I guess they do. But they knew that the Temple would be best for me—it would allow me to learn about the Force. I talk to them every now and then. I've visited a couple of times."
"How do you live without your mother?" Anakin tried to understand. "Don't you miss her?"
"Sometimes," she said pensively. "But I left them when I was very young. I was raised here at the Temple. This is my home. These people are my family."
The Jedi had been cordial, perhaps even friendly, and the Temple was pleasant, but it felt nothing like home. "But it's so…big."
"I guess. I can't imagine being anywhere else."
"But—but," Anakin sputtered. "It's different. It's not like family. It's not like home."
She looked genuinely blank. "It's the only family and home I have."
"Sure, you care for each other. Sure, you're all connected. Sure, you have a bed and a room and a place to call your own. But don't you ever want the simple closeness between a family? Don't you ever want to go home to your mother—or your father—and just curl up with them and tell them about your day and have them tell you about theirs? Don't you want to help out in the kitchen—trying to cut up vegetables or something? Don't you ever want to sit out together under the stars and just know you that they're the most important people in your life, that no matter where you go or what you do, you can always come home to them and expect to find them waiting for you with open arms?"
His words hitched, then fell awkwardly into passionate silence. She studied him peculiarly. "I want to be a Knight someday," she finally said. "And Knights cannot have personal attachments."
The statement dumbfounded Anakin. "Cannot have attachments?"
"Yes," she said seriously. "We are to care and help and form connections but never involve our emotions with others. Empathize and act but always remain detached."
"Do you really believe that?"
"It is the way of the Jedi."
It seemed so cold, so wrong for a girl so young to speak so dispassionately. Anakin had paled quite visibly, trying to reconcile this new information. "I don't understand."
"It's about the Force," she said, almost as if reciting the exact words her teachers had used. "The Force is our guide and our constant companion. It alone is the only thing we need to depend on. Only through it should we form connections with others. And since all are one in the Force, we connect to every being equally, therefore attachments are—well they're all equal too."
"But isn't it unhealthy not to need someone."
"We have the Force," she countered easily. "Besides attachments can be dangerous to the Knight. Peace and justice are the important thing."
"How can you help anyone if you don't care?"
"You always care," she corrected him. "It's about balance, I think—balance between your connection to others and your duty to the greater good."
Anakin's spirits sunk weakly in defeat. Compassionately, she put her fork down, placing a delicate blue hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry," she assured him. "You want to be a Jedi, don't you?"
Perking back up, his eyes flashed. "More than anything."
"What your name?"
"Anakin."
She smiled. "I'm Rinne," she said. "You are strong with the Force. Why aren't you an Initiate already?"
"I was born outside the Republic."
"But you're here now."
"Yes. Master Qui-Gon found me."
"If you're here already, then surely you're meant to be a Jedi. Not just anyone gets to come here, you know."
"Really?" Anakin asked hopefully.
"It'll all make sense someday," she continued wistfully. "At least I hope so. I don't think being a Jedi is about understanding everything."
"Then what is it about?"
"I think it's about learning to not having to understand everything."
"And just accept it without thinking?"
"The Force knows best."
"But I can't just not care about people," Anakin protested.
"But you want to be a Jedi," she verified.
"Yes," Anakin said forlornly. He wanted nothing more to be a Jedi. But as Rinne described it, it seemed so cold and so lonely. It contradicted every ideal and dream he had ever dared to have.
"It's not as lonely as you think it is," she noted, sensing his emotions. "It just a different kind of relationship."
"But I want both."
"Well," she said slowly, picking up her fork again. "I'm sure you'll find a balance somehow."
***
As consciousness returned this time, no confusion accompanied it. In fact, it fell upon him slowly but steadily, without struggle or resistance. His thoughts and memories, too, came back to him methodically and without surprise. He felt neither cold nor warm. He neither hurt nor felt good. The chaos of the past days loosened blandly around the edges of his mind. The new absence within him acted like something of a black hole—it sucked everything else inside of him into oblivion leaving blasé darkness in its wake. Opening his eyes, he simply felt conscious.
"How do you feel?" a voice asked. Turning his head, Obi-Wan could see a healer—one he dimly remembered by appearance and through the Force but did not know directly—standing by his side. The question seemed pointless, perhaps a bit silly.
"Okay," he finally replied, his voice somewhat weak.
"You've been in bacta for two days," the healer told him. "And out cold for another. You were beginning to worry us a little, Obi-Wan."
"Sorry," Obi-Wan said bleakly. He noted he was back at the Temple, lying in the healer's wing, clad in a simple gown. So Anakin had made the jump to hyperspace after all.
The healer looked sympathetic. "The wounds were severe. We've had to do major muscle and organ reconstruction in your abdomen. Your arm will be stiff for awhile—the tendons in your shoulder were pretty badly charred. But, on the whole, you should recover just fine."
"Thank you."
"If you need anything, alert the medical station. I'm Healer Truek, and I can be here quickly."
"Thank you."
The apathetic attitude began to unsettle Truek. "Obi-Wan, I am going to contact the Council and tell them that you are awake."
"Fine," Obi-Wan said distantly, gazing past Truek to the wall behind him. He had never felt so empty. Obi-Wan had always struggled with the Living Force, which continually reminded one of the connection between living beings. This struggle at forming connections made his relationship with Qui-Gon all the more important. Though the Jedi did not embrace attachment, they did not assume to be solitary figures. They spent much time in meditation and often pursued solo missions, but, by using the Force, they always encouraged the idea of communion. The Council members did not even presume to be capable of solitary existence—their joint discussions were pivotal to their decisions and wisdom. On missions, Jedi always strove to form bonds with the natives, understanding their culture and their point of view, which benefited not only the people of the planet, but also enriched the Jedi. This type of relationship did not come naturally to Obi-Wan. He could forge an adequate connection most of the time, but it merely completed the mission, lacking the personal resonance more experienced Jedi usually gained. This weakness made him more dependent on the bond he shared with Qui-Gon. He savored it, cherishing the intimacy between their minds. It was his example to follow when approaching new beings. He had anticipated, nervously but eagerly, how it would come full circle upon his Knighting, allowing him the chance to go off on his own and grapple with the Living Force, the traces of the Master/Padawan bond inspiring and guiding him. But now—now there was very little left. Anything that did remain seemed hollowed by the betrayal. He could not find the no reason for his existence anymore. He struggled vainly to recapture a sense of purpose, but all he could find was a vague will to keep breathing—inhale, exhale.
"I am sure that they will want to speak with you."
"Very well." Inhale, exhale.
Sighing, Truek saw that eliciting any response was a lost cause. He watched for a moment longer as Obi-Wan breathed evenly—inhale, exhale—and stare blankly at the wall. It seemed like a crime to Truek—one so full of life and vitality condemned by no fault of his own except perhaps trusting too much. And the master didn't even have enough of a backbone to come see the man—the boy, really. He looked so young in the bed. It made him think of Sek, his own Padawan. Sek was just as much a man as Obi-Wan was, but, both being apprentices, they both teetered precariously on the edge of independence. Sek himself at times seemed ready to venture out on his own, working on patients without his supervision, making decisions on the fly—Sek was a talented healer. But as long as Sek called him master, he could not shed the essence of dependence. Nothing could ever sever that dependence until the Council deemed Sek ready and the bond was completed. Usually, the younger the Padawan, the more vulnerable they seem. But, as he watched Sek reach adulthood, he realized it was just the opposite. The older Sek became, the more he began to depend and incorporate the Master/Apprentice bond into his life. In a sense, the closer he drew to becoming a full healer, the more dependent he came. If Sek were to lose Truek in some capacity, he had no doubt the young man would be devastated, reclusive for months while he tried to sort out the remnants of the loss. But to be abandoned—that could only be so much worse.
Truek had seen Padawans lose their masters before. He'd seen their crushed faces and their broken sobs when they felt only emptiness in that part that had been so pivotal only moments before. He held some while they trembled with grief. He'd even sedated several who became too disconsolate for rationality. Many doubted themselves, blaming their own inadequacies for their masters' death. Most came to a point where they questioned the Force and the righteousness of the Jedi way. Some had even left the Order as a result, their training unfinished. The loss of the bond for these Padawans baffled and hurt. But, in the end, while the bond was broken, it did not echo back upon them with cruelty. When they reached out for their masters' presences they were greeted by the silence of the unity of the Force. Obi-Wan, faced with the betrayal of a master, found the silence of a mind closed off. This made the wound deeper and more encompassing. In fact, the wound, in Truek's mind, was likely fatal.
He had no means to heal this young man any further. The only man who did had left him here.
"Do you feel up to speaking to them?" Truek asked.
The gaze did not change. Inhale, exhale. "I suppose."
It was wrong. It was beyond wrong. It was the greatest atrocity Healer Truek had ever witnessed. From planets ravaged by disease and worlds scourged with self-inflicted war filled with children dying, slowly and painfully, and senseless murder and genocide—the things that brought the galaxy down. Somehow Qui-Gon Jinn's simple breaking of the bond seemed far more unforgivable. The trust between Master and Padawan was ultimate. As Jedi, they were held to a higher truth. Qui-Gon had defied it and ruined Obi-Wan Kenobi in the process. It nearly incensed Truek at the audacity. "I'll let you rest a bit before I let someone come in," Truek finally said.
"Okay." Inhale, exhale.
Truek wanted to throttle Jinn. Nonviolence drove the healer's pursuits in life, but how anyone could just leave their injured Padawan—even their injured ex-Padawan without a word was beyond belief. The man didn't deserve to be called a Jedi.
Truek stopped himself. This was not the attitude of a Jedi. Neutrality, he reminded himself forcefully. He did not know the full story. He had no right to judge. Jinn, too, had a side to the story, and his perspective could not be so flippantly dismissed in emotion. He doubted Jinn would ever purposefully do such a thing—he had seen him with Obi-Wan before and the two had always seemed to be the textbook example of Master and Apprentice. And what he knew of Jinn did not suggest that heartlessness and coldness was his nature. The Knight, rather, functioned in passion, drawn deeply by the Living Force. And even in the brief glimpses Truek had seen of Jinn while treating Kenobi initially, the grief was clear. Even though Kenobi deserved so much from his master, he knew there was so little that could actually be offered. An apology would fall hopelessly short. His presence would hang awkwardly. An explanation would defy all reason. Taking a breath to stabilize his thoughts, Truek finally added, "Rest well."
As he headed toward the door, he watched Obi-Wan inhale, then exhale, inhale, then exhale. Clenching his teeth he exited to the hallway. Neutrality, he scoffed—he had every right to judge. It only took one look at the lost face of the abandoned Padawan to assure him of that.