A/N: Whoa—this story is truly almost done! This will be the second to last chapter—yes, just one more left after this one. However, I always did plan on a sequel, but if I actually ever write it is another question. I hope to, for me, but I can't deny that I would be interested in knowing how many of you would like to see a sequel to this. But wait—I'm getting ahead of myself! This isn't the last chapter yet. This one got a bit on the long side—it's all Yoda's fault again. That little guy just fascinates me. Again, excuse any lack of depth or logic in the conversation between Mace and Yoda—I try very hard to make sense and be as profound as a Jedi Master should, but that really isn't an easy thing to do. In that scene I was trying to make some obvious connections to what I meant to be the underlying theme of the piece—harking back to the little opening I wrote contemplating the meaning of a moment. I hope you don't hate Qui-Gon more than most of you seemed to. I still don't dislike him and I can see where he's coming from (but then again I wrote it). I don't know. Hmmm…I'm kind of anxious about finishing this. I didn't get enough feedback to inspire me to change the last chapter so for now it'll stand as is. Thanks to all who have responded—hope you enjoy this part!
Chapter 17
The orange radiance of the setting sun had always moved Qui-Gon to be reflected. Its beauty imparted to him something to try to understand. As the colors danced vibrantly across the skyline, he set himself to the task once again. How could something so beautiful—so awesome, really—grace the skies of a planet so barren?
Juli V was but an hour's trip from Coruscant. The other planets in its system were further from the sun and were much more pleasant to visit. In fact, Juli II was renowned for its scenic mountain hideaways and long, tropic beaches. Most families on Coruscant went there to vacation. But Juli V was the rogue in the system, orbiting closely to the sun, almost too close to have any kind of atmosphere. It was covered in crags that scaled, untamed, toward the sky. Scarce plants grew from the cracks. The only part of the planet that was flat was the vast desert that spanned beneath the cliff he now stood on. It stretched endlessly into the horizon, where it met the vivid colors, contributing its own burst of deadly orange. There was no way to cross the desert unless with a ship stocked with enough provisions. The sun beat dangerously on the golden, coarse grains. Water only slipped through the desert on its fringes, where they trickled along the base of the mountains.
Qui-Gon had visited Juli V several times, all to try and regain his perspective. Desolation was a powerful tool if used correctly, he had found. And no matter how many times he trekked over Juli V's treacherous terrain, it was no less desolate than the last time.
Yet the sunset, Qui-Gon remembered, had always been immense in grandeur. It was entirely unfitting for such a remote and uninviting planet. The hues faded and morphed in fluid but rapid movements, flashing combinations not seen elsewhere in the galaxy. It begged to be immortalized in paint and pleaded to be idolized in verse. But no poet would ever perch upon its jagged seats; no painter would ever place an easel upon the uneven ground. No one in their right mind ever came to Juli V. No one came except those who wanted to discover some truth in themselves.
The very earth and sky around him seemed to be speaking to him. He could feel it. Now he only had to find the message.
There was something familiar about the scene. Not that he had been here before, but something deeper. Something that vibrated within the very heart and soul of the planet. Then suddenly as he watched the kaleidoscope sky shift again, he placed it. Such vibrancy and radiance had only been captured in one other place in the galaxy that Qui-Gon knew of—Anakin. The boy's talent and vitality suddenly put the Julian sky to shame. The boy's gifts constantly fluxed, changing and growing more prominent and remarkable with each passing moment. His presence awed him, very much in the way the Julian sky did.
But then the next realization hit him. The barren landscape that rose and fell around him was also a part of Anakin. He had always known there was uncertainty in the boy's path, but he had never perceived it as dangerous. The truth was so clear suddenly. Where there was great beauty, great danger had to follow.
Maybe the Council was right. Maybe Anakin was too old. Maybe he was too dangerous. Maybe he was just too great a risk.
Was Juli V too great a risk? He had already scaled the mountains and tamed the plant life, for his benefit, to get to this cliff—to see the sunset. Everything had risks—some greater than others—but that doesn't mean the risks can't be controlled. And when they are, the result is more magnificent than can be imagined.
He would train Anakin. He had no choice.
But what of Obi-Wan?
Obi-Wan—the ever faithful apprentice. How could he ever make any of them believe that he still loved the young man more dearly than anything else in the galaxy? That he loved him more than Anakin?
Yet he had broken the bond. He had forsaken Obi-Wan even after Obi-Wan had forsaken everything for Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan would have followed Qui-Gon to the depths of the Dark Side to bring him home. A master could ask for no better than an apprentice like Obi-Wan. The Order would have no better Knight than Obi-Wan.
Of course the young man had faults. Everyone has faults. Obi-Wan, in his utter obedience, clung somewhat blindly to rules and regulations. He hesitated to bend the orders to adapt to the mission. That could be a dangerous stagnancy. But then again, it also allowed him to keep a firm grip on reality. When juxtaposed with Qui-Gon's impulsive nature, they had always balanced out.
He also lacked a strong connection to the Living Force. Obi-Wan cared for other beings and he would go great lengths to help someone in need. But he had trouble establishing the deep connection to them that Qui-Gon seemed to make with ease. Regardless, Obi-Wan had proven to call upon it in times of need. He knew of it and he knew enough to know that he was not inherently in touch with it as much as he should be. In time, he would surely overcome this weakness.
For every fault Obi-Wan had, Qui-Gon had excelled. For every fault Qui-Gon had, Obi-Wan excelled. They were a perfect match.
They had been a perfect match.
Qui-Gon turned away from the sunset. He had never questioned the Force, but the Force had never taken him so far out on a limb before. Yet the Force seemed so real to him. Anakin was his destiny—he could not be more confident of anything. He would have to sacrifice everything for that boy—oh Force, he already had.
The past stood firm as it was, a painful reminded to those sacrifices. But in the end, he had to trust the Force. He could not trust himself—his heart was torn between a loyalty to the Chosen One, his new apprentice, and Obi-Wan, his beloved ex-Padawan. His heart would lead him astray. No, he had to trust the Force. He trusted that it would right itself in the end, that it would bring Obi-Wan to where he needed to be, that it would heal him in time. He trusted that it would lead the Council to make the right decision about Anakin, about himself. He trusted that it would cure his guilty conscience and absolve him of his wrong toward Obi-Wan. And he trusted that it would help him overcome the uncertainty in Anakin's future and that in the end it would bring them all to a place where the sky was gleaming with a diverse array of brilliant colors.
***
Night fell slowly through the upper levels of Coruscant's busy streets. The plated glass wall remained free from shading, allowing the fading rays of daylight to streak into the dim room. The movement of the fleeting sunbeams was the only action to disturb the stillness of the room, despite the small Master, again seated in meditation, on one of the small stools.
There had been a time when he had felt some resolution in the situation. Somehow he had felt the broken and ill-formed bonds between the three individuals at stake could be rewoven together, in some makeshift and inexplicable way. Through the Force he could easily construct possible futures, and he had begun to sense that this one might work itself out after all. He had been optimistic, in a very reserved way. The Force had still been contorted in relation to these three, and somehow, from that, the entire galaxy had seemed displaced. There was something not right with the situation—not just in the manner Jinn had betrayed his Padawan, but in a broader sense. Jinn's very presence seemed out of place.
But he had resolved to overlook it for now. Nothing immediate could be done. Something ominous still emanated from the boy, but Yoda could already feel his ability to affect that decision waning. Perhaps even more disconcerting was the idea of granting Jinn permission. Yoda had no desire to banish the Jedi. But there was something—something about the prophecy—which did not resonate with Jinn in any way. It was as if the Force had never intended Jinn's return at all. Skywalker's training could only end in disaster, but it loomed more and more inevitably. Thankfully, amid all that confusion, one decision could be made certainty—Kenobi would be granted his Trials.
Surprise was an emotion he had overcome long ago—for better or for worse. Yet he had been unprepared for Kenobi's decision. And now, meditating yet again, he could not resolve the utter wrongness he noticed in the Force. It was a subtle sensation, but it demanded his attention so completely that now it was the only thing he was attuned to. The Force, on the surface, seemed mostly normal, unbalanced by the Sith and the turmoil within its ranks—but nothing vastly new, for such things had been developing slowly over time. Kenobi's decision was a loss, but losses and gains were made daily in the galaxy. This was something deeper, more significant. The Force was still the Force—and the fate of the galaxy seemed unchanged as before. The prophecy was not affected. But the path—the means in which it was pursued by an unknowing mass of civilization—tripped precariously into a realm not imagined by the prophets, into a place the Force never intended to explore.
The Force's will be done. That mantra ran behind his thoughts and feelings. It was the one truth and hope he clung to when all else seemed to fail him. Even in the chaos and uncertainty which he could feel eminently, the Force would never be lost to him. But could he understand what it was saying?
He wasn't so sure on that point. For all his years as a Jedi and for all the wisdom he had accumulated, he still had to admit to mysteries he could not unravel. Usually, he did not waste his energy on such mysteries. But usually they were utterly frivolous ventures. If such things were not readily exposed by the Force to the querying Jedi mind, then the Force had a reason. But the stakes had never seemed so high. The galaxy had never seemed so at risk.
In his mediation, certain aspects of the situation echoed within the Force with absolute certainty. Kenobi was to be a great Jedi. Anakin's rise in the Light would be his undoing. The Republic was falling. Jinn was repentant but only naively. All of these were plausible to all the other Masters, but were not so clearly detailed, Yoda knew. Because for all the confidence he possessed, he could not muster any rationale from the Force. For that reason, he felt powerless to combat or deal with any of these issues. In essence, he was impotent, subject to the might of the Force and the will of those around him. If they did not see these dangers and misgivings, he could only defer.
***
The Temple, antiquated as it was, served the Jedi with its plentitude of rooms and chambers. Not only did it provide adequate training and housing facilities, but also an ample space to meditate and converse freely and privately. Mace tended to pass his meditations on the lower levels on the Temple, submersed in the darkness of the rooms there. The dim and the silence helped him shut out the rest of the galaxy and explore his mind. Being still relatively young, he possessed an active nature, which tended to prefer movement to meditation. His connection to the Force was natural—in his early years he had managed to excel without the deep meditation other students needed. His own master had been insistent, however, and Mace had learned to incorporate meditation into his routine, reaping its benefits accordingly. However, there were times when the galaxy loomed beyond the Temple in unrest, that he found meditation more of a struggle for want of immediate action. For that reason, he had learned long ago to dim his distractions, hence finding solace in the lower levels. During his early Knighthood, he had mostly conquered his restlessness, but still preferred the lower levels and often regressed to them during his intense meditations.
Master Yoda, he knew, had different preferences all together. The old Master liked to vary his locations, frequenting the gardens or the fountains. However, in times of the utmost urgency and without sufficient time for a complete seclusion, Yoda retreated to the upper level chambers. These rooms were plainly decorated, with no luxuries save a few small, padded stools. The outside walls were entirely made of glass, providing a rather notable view of the city beyond.
Since Kenobi's decision, the Council had adjourned for means of immediate meditation. Mace had spent some hours in his favorite meditation nook. But now, tired and uncomfortably certain, he longed for another opinion. He had reached some conclusions that seemed rather obvious and beyond question. Yet, in that simplicity, he noticed that something was possibly awry. Yoda encouraged discussion, and over his years as a Master, Mace and Yoda had developed a deep respect and connection with one another.
With these thoughts in mind, Mace sought Yoda out. It was not hard to trace the older Jedi's Force signature to the very upper level. Night had begun to fall, and this section of the Temple had been mostly abandoned for the evening meal. Quietly padding through the empty hallway, he came to Master Yoda's room. Outside the chamber, Mace lingered hesitantly. Without buzzing, he entered, walking inside.
Mace looked about him indecisively, apparently somewhat troubled. Despite the familiarity between himself and Yoda, his uncertainty made him reluctant to disrupt the small Master's meditation.
Yoda, perched on his small stool, eyes closed against the setting sun, had felt his presence immediately, even deep in meditation. To ease the younger Jedi of his anxiety, Yoda opened his eyes and initiated the conversation. "Peace, you cannot find."
His thoughts and feelings exposed openly to the Master, Mace was not surprised that Yoda already knew the reason for his visit. "I have spent much time in meditation," he began.
"What decisions have you made?"
Moving fluidly to the padded stool across from Yoda, Mace sat cross-legged across from the troll-like Jedi. "I always come back to the same decision," Mace continued. "The only reasonable course of actions is that Qui-Gon Jinn be granted permission to train Anakin Skywalker."
Yoda appeared mildly amused. "Explain this rationale, you should."
"It is in the working of the Force," Mace said. "The Force purposefully brought Skywalker to Jinn. Though the Force did not encourage the early separation between Jinn and Kenobi, I cannot deny the certainty that it did foster their relationship."
"Train young Skywalker, another could," Yoda pointed out.
"Yes," Mace agreed. "But I fear it would have little success. Skywalker is too old—that is without question. His training will not by typical methods. It will be hindered by his past and by his exceptional abilities. Another master could doubtlessly be found, but they would inevitably fail. Skywalker has been taken from everything he knows. As we noticed in his examination, he is full of fear. This fear will not be assuaged by another new presence in his life. Skywalker, through powers he does not fully understand or control, reached out to form the bond with Jinn. He trusts Jinn and sees him as a father figure—that much is clear. He obviously respects all Jedi, but there is distance between all other Jedi and him. The foundation of any successful Master/Padawan relationship is trust. I do not see young Skywalker forming an adequate bond with any other master."
"Trust Jinn, Skywalker will," Yoda agreed. "But trust Jinn, do we?"
Mace fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts on the new subject. "Jinn has greatly wronged Kenobi."
"Broken the Code, he has," Yoda readily added.
"I believe he knows his wrong," Mace finally said. "His actions with Kenobi were inexcusable. But none of us are free from mistakes. We accept them then release them. Jinn will learn from this. His dedication to Skywalker will be unfaltering."
"Where does this leave Kenobi?"
"He has done no wrong," Mace said.
"But suffered, he has."
"His decision is unfortunate, but there is little we can to do."
"A Knight, Kenobi should be."
"He does have great potential," Mace agreed. "But if he cannot overcome these emotions then surely he is better off away from the Order."
"Blinded by grief, he is."
"Such blindness would be a hazard to his duties."
"Wills this, the Force does not."
"We cannot control the destiny of others."
Yoda sighed, his tiny figure falling in defeat. "Greatly troubled, I am," he admitted finally to his colleague. "Greatly unsettled, the Force is."
Mace's brow creased. "It is perhaps the return of the Sith that throws the balance into such disarray," he conjectured.
"Influential the Sith are, and grows their presence does," Yoda acknowledged. "But this disturbance is…closer."
"I am not sure I understand," Mace confessed, leaning forward to listen more intently.
"In each instant, the moment collides with the future," Yoda explained. "The way of the Force, this is. Undecided, the future is. But forecasted, it is as well."
"You are referring to the prophecy of the Chosen One," Mace concluded.
"Yes, yes," Yoda murmured. "The prophecy."
"What is your conclusion of young Skywalker's fate?" Mace prompted, anxious to hear what the small, wise Master would say.
Yoda sighed, hobbling down off his small chair. "Train him, Jinn will," he said finally.
"Do you think that is wise? The boy is too old. I sense great uncertainty in his future."
"Agree with you, I do," Yoda continued. "Much passion, he has. Dangerous, he is."
"Then can we really risk his training?"
"We can."
"But should we?"
"Control the future, we cannot," Yoda said, plodding toward the door.
"But we can use the Force to make the best decisions for the galaxy."
Yoda stopped abruptly to look at the taller Master. "Approve of Skywalker's training, you do," the little Master said, eyeing Windu with certainty.
Mace was not surprised by Yoda's observation. "Yes," he said readily. "He is the Chosen One."
"Believe he will bring balance, do you?"
"The timing is beyond coincidence," Mace continued. "I have spent much time in meditation. Surely you also know that this boy will fulfill the prophecy."
Moving slowly forward again, Yoda nodded. "Yes, the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker is."
"Then do we not have the responsibility of training him as a Jedi?" Mace presumed.
"Fate befalls those who act," Yoda explained. "Change it, we cannot. But to avoid it, perhaps is a defense."
"But the will of the Force will be done, regardless of our choices, will it not?"
"True, this is," Yoda agreed. "But control, we do, our own choices. And affect the means in which the Force acts, our choices do."
"What are you saying? The prophecy says that the Chosen One will bring balance."
"Yes, yes," Yoda readily said. "But achieved in many ways, balance is."
"The Chosen One is to be a Jedi."
"The foreknowledge of our choices, prophecy is," Yoda said. "The will of the Force, it is not."
"Anakin's potential is too great to be squandered," Mace disagreed. "If we deny him training, we may deny ourselves the balance of the Force."
"Balance, the Force will. Needs us, it does not."
"To reject him would be putting him at risk to fall to the Dark side."
"Those who know nothing of the Force do not become Dark Lords. It is those who have been trained of the Light who are susceptible to the Dark."
Mace shook his head. "I understand your concerns. But the rest of the Council is ready to grant Anakin training."
Yoda paused, gathering a deep breath as he faced the inevitable. "Then trained, Anakin Skywalker shall be."
"But you do not agree."
"One being has no more say than any other," Yoda said. "Made up your minds, you have. Settled, it already is."
"It distresses me that you do not consent to this decision."
"Consent, I will," Yoda assured him.
"But not with confidence."
"Defer to you, I do," Yoda bristled. The door opened and he plodded out the door, Mace watching him, futilely. The intricacy of the small Master's mind and logic baffled them all and earned him the utmost reverence. But, despite all the wisdom Mace attributed to Master Yoda, he still could not see the rationale behind his reluctance. The smaller Master seemed to know more—to sense more—but what he could not describe. Mace wondered briefly if it were possible that Yoda truly incorrectly assessed the situation, or if there was something greater that Mace could not sense. He wanted to call the Master back, to discuss it with him and to meditate with him, but the crutch supported creature was already out of the room. Without turning around, Yoda said in a simple and grave voice, just loud enough for Mace to hear in all of its mysticism, "Fulfilled the prophecy is."