Arm's Length
It was early morning as Qui-Gon drifted aimlessly around the Temple. He'd traversed nearly all of one spire since Aislinn had disappeared. Even though that was hours ago, the young man never felt tired, knowing if he went to bed, his thoughts would chase each other in his mind. He would never fall asleep, so it seemed pointless to lie down.
The day progressed slowly with nothing for Qui-Gon to do while passing time. For a while, he had watched some of the classes in the arena, as padawans fought to improve their sparring skills or younger groups learn their katas. After a while, the exercise had become tedious and repetitive. Despite the morning's revelation, Qui-Gon felt himself slipping into a melancholy. He was still alone. His understanding did little to fill the empty space within his life that once had held a person.
He left the arena to continue wandering aimlessly only to end up on the bench in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where Yoda had talked to him a few days earlier. He spread his full length onto the bench, staring up at the faux sapphire sky. The system set up by the Jedi seemed a bit narcissistic. The master chose to take on a student because he wanted one and felt capable of providing what the padawan needed. The padawans clamored for a master because they didn't want to be passed over and sent somewhere else. Were the padawans really well paired, though? Of course the Council surveyed the choices, making suggestions where they saw fit, but the Council wasn't infallible. Whether or not they had known when Riley made his choice about Qui-Gon, the whole affair seemed to have backfired. Somewhere deep in his heart, he had the sad realization that he would probably always tend towards isolation. Something intrinsic within him had been betrayed when his master died. It would take much time for it to be repaired, if it ever recovered.
It seemed a depressing fate to come to, always keeping others at arm's distance. Could he really trust anyone completely? He'd never had close intimate friends like other padawans. When he was younger, he was immersed in his classes, the boy who remained after hours to practice his katas to perfection or work on that difficult assignment from a class. He had acquaintances, but no one to really care about, perhaps to truly love, except for his master.
And he was gone. The emptiness wrapped Qui-Gon in its grasp, and he could feel it pulling him down. Despair held him for a moment, wrenching him away from his precious order, the people he wanted to help – could that be true? How could he help people he didn't become close to for fear of pain? – yanking him from the truths his master had taught him, the understandings of the Force, the belief that there was a point to what he was trying to accomplish. What was all of this, except reaching for something he couldn't grasp? He been here a thousand times, walking this path in expectation and despair, crying out one last time not to be left alone, for Riley not to be taken away. And still he was here alone, his cries unheard.
Love was no victory march. It was the dead of night when Riley was in pain, the enduring of the ineffective treatments, the watching of a large man waning to a feeble one, and the final release of a great spirit who couldn't fight any more. Although he knew his master wouldn't want it this way, Qui-Gon was struggling with that fact. He was now expected to fight against something he didn't understand, perhaps couldn't even win against. Why?
It was early morning as Qui-Gon drifted aimlessly around the Temple. He'd traversed nearly all of one spire since Aislinn had disappeared. Even though that was hours ago, the young man never felt tired, knowing if he went to bed, his thoughts would chase each other in his mind. He would never fall asleep, so it seemed pointless to lie down.
The day progressed slowly with nothing for Qui-Gon to do while passing time. For a while, he had watched some of the classes in the arena, as padawans fought to improve their sparring skills or younger groups learn their katas. After a while, the exercise had become tedious and repetitive. Despite the morning's revelation, Qui-Gon felt himself slipping into a melancholy. He was still alone. His understanding did little to fill the empty space within his life that once had held a person.
He left the arena to continue wandering aimlessly only to end up on the bench in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where Yoda had talked to him a few days earlier. He spread his full length onto the bench, staring up at the faux sapphire sky. The system set up by the Jedi seemed a bit narcissistic. The master chose to take on a student because he wanted one and felt capable of providing what the padawan needed. The padawans clamored for a master because they didn't want to be passed over and sent somewhere else. Were the padawans really well paired, though? Of course the Council surveyed the choices, making suggestions where they saw fit, but the Council wasn't infallible. Whether or not they had known when Riley made his choice about Qui-Gon, the whole affair seemed to have backfired. Somewhere deep in his heart, he had the sad realization that he would probably always tend towards isolation. Something intrinsic within him had been betrayed when his master died. It would take much time for it to be repaired, if it ever recovered.
It seemed a depressing fate to come to, always keeping others at arm's distance. Could he really trust anyone completely? He'd never had close intimate friends like other padawans. When he was younger, he was immersed in his classes, the boy who remained after hours to practice his katas to perfection or work on that difficult assignment from a class. He had acquaintances, but no one to really care about, perhaps to truly love, except for his master.
And he was gone. The emptiness wrapped Qui-Gon in its grasp, and he could feel it pulling him down. Despair held him for a moment, wrenching him away from his precious order, the people he wanted to help – could that be true? How could he help people he didn't become close to for fear of pain? – yanking him from the truths his master had taught him, the understandings of the Force, the belief that there was a point to what he was trying to accomplish. What was all of this, except reaching for something he couldn't grasp? He been here a thousand times, walking this path in expectation and despair, crying out one last time not to be left alone, for Riley not to be taken away. And still he was here alone, his cries unheard.
Love was no victory march. It was the dead of night when Riley was in pain, the enduring of the ineffective treatments, the watching of a large man waning to a feeble one, and the final release of a great spirit who couldn't fight any more. Although he knew his master wouldn't want it this way, Qui-Gon was struggling with that fact. He was now expected to fight against something he didn't understand, perhaps couldn't even win against. Why?