PG
(Disclaimer) Nothing belongs to me.
Obi-Wan becomes disconcerted by a normal Jedi practice. Another from dianethx's lifesaving list: collecting babies for the Jedi.
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She was still crying.
They had been walking for awhile, and the small cottage was lost in the distance, behind the miles of dirt road and layers of leaves, but the sobs still tore from her as intensely as they had in the first moments. Obi-Wan glanced at the infant, who slept in the arms of Qui-Gon Jinn, and thought of the mother. In truth, he couldn't know for certain if the tears still flooded her paled face, he only knew that the memory of her sorrow throbbed in his eardrums. The strength had drained from the woman, and the youth and vitality had been gutted from her spirit, as she handed her only child to the Jedi representatives.
A content little sigh slipped from the baby's slack lips. Obi-Wan looked at him again, swathed in a hand-woven quilt and clothes, all made from soft, pastel fabric.
The Temple children wore identical uniforms, versions of the standard, earth-toned garb of the Order, crafted by nameless tailors somewhere in the vast Coruscant cityscape. Obi-Wan couldn't remember wearing much else during the twenty-two years of his life.
He studied the elfin face, and could already see the progression, the steps from crècheling to initiate, Padawan to Knight, and then, Master. Scenes of hardship and victory slowly composed, for today the woman had handed them the brush.
It had been a crushing decision for her to make.
The desolation was already carved into her features as she stood at the door, a hand curved along the edge. Her dark hair was piled carelessly in a tie, her nightclothes rumpled and feet bare.
Qui-Gon stood tall, but not imposing, and offered her a small smile before bending in a customary bow. Obi-Wan emulated the man, though he could not dredge up that same, comforting play of his mouth.
"Gil'an Yeria?"
The gleam in her ebony gaze was hard—hesitant. She nodded, her eyes shifting from older to younger man. Her mouth worked to form the words. "You're…you're the Jedi?"
"Yes. I am Qui-Gon Jinn," He rested a hand on his companion's shoulder, " and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
The morning light traced gentle tinges around her visage, and she was smoothed of the distressed lines, looking more like a vulnerable teenager. "I…" She wiped at her cheek, "I didn't think you'd be here so soon."
From her demeanor, Obi-Wan wondered if maybe she had deluded herself into thinking they would never arrive.
"I'm sorry, Miss Yeria. Did you need a bit more time?" Qui-Gon asked her.
She paused, considering, then sealed her eyes and shook her head. "No. No. I can't. I have to do it now or I might not be able to do it at all."
"Of course," The Master replied in a kind, understated voice.
Gil'an stood there a few seconds, as though she had become a protective wall between her child and those that wished to take him from her. Then, the skin at her brow strained, and she bit down on a frown. "Come in."
They followed her inside the humble room, which consisted of a sofa, armchair, and, most noticeably, a crib. She went there immediately, reaching down to whisper an endearment to the baby inside.
When she turned to them again, her smile was pained. "I, um, made some tea. I'll go get it."
They were left alone to survey the space. It was lit by warm amber glow, radiating from a single fixture. Toys were scattered across the floor. Qui-Gon sighed. "It never gets easer," He murmured.
Obi-Wan nodded. Admittedly, he hadn't the extensive experience when dealing with this situation, he was only a Padawan, but every excursion to retrieve a potential member was soul wrenching. It didn't take long to become weathered, in that respect. Every Jedi was required to do it. There was no way out of it. For each new child in the Temple, there was a Knight or Master who brought them there, and so there were faces etched into the memory of that Knight or Master, of the people left behind. So many people…shattered.
For the greater good, Obi-Wan recited to himself, as the trembling mother reentered the room, It's for the greater good.
"Please, have a seat." Gil'an told them softly, carrying two mismatched mugs and a tall glass. She handed them the mugs, which they accepted with voiced gratitude. Then she rested on the chair near the crib. Her teeth clamped on the corner of her lip, and she swallowed. "Okay. How are you…how are we…what's going to happen here?" She looked hopelessly distraught, her eyes bruising as they strayed again to the baby.
Qui-Gon carried the conversation forward with his usual grace. "We must test his blood to ascertain his level of midichlorians. Midichlorians are life forms that exist within every creature, Jedi or otherwise. But a higher concentration of them is what allows Jedi to touch the Force."
She nodded. "And what if…what if there is a high concentration?"
"Then it would become your choice, whether or not he would be admitted into the care and permanent guardianship of the Jedi Order."
A thicker swallow slid down the column of her throat.
'Permanent'. In his few times witnessing this process, Obi-Wan noticed that it was that single word that dug further, that brought the first shard of a tear, that measured the strength of the parent.
She was strong, and she nodded. "Alright."
A new tension strung between them as Qui-Gon moved to the crib, and delicately extracted the sample needed.
For his part, the tiny child was silent and shiny-eyed. The infants in the crèche were the same—calm, encompassed and comforted by the Force. It was as if they knew the road ahead would not allow the perceived weakness of tears.
Gil'an watched with fervent focus, her fingers gripping the sweating glass hard.
Then Qui-Gon stepped back, inserting the strip into his commlink. "I need to transfer this to the Temple lab for analysis. Excuse me."
And then Obi-Wan was with her. She alternated her gaze between her offspring and the Padawan. He had never felt like more of an enemy to anyone. The silence pressed them in, until he thought he would explode, until the walls themselves burst. His mind demanded speech, but his mouth was unwilling.
"You're his apprentice?" She asked.
Obi-Wan was startled by the inquiry, merely because he had already believed that dead quiet had become eternal. "Yes."
Gil'an studied him, with those critical, aching eyes. "Do all Jedi become apprentices?"
A difficult question to answer, considering the entanglements of his own childhood. But for such things, there were responses ready-made by the Jedi. "Most do, yes."
"And the others?"
They feel like nothing inside until someone rescues them. If someone does. "They enter into alternative programs. Piloting, the healing arts, agriculture."
She nodded, boring into his eyes with hers, trying to strip away the niceties, the proper Jedi façade he had to don. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, without a thought. "As a Jedi, I am fulfilled. I will always have a purpose among them."
"What is your purpose?"
It unnerved him a little, the demands of her interrogation, concerning the heavy topics of happiness and purpose. "My purpose is to help others, to relieve suffering where I see it, to stop those who would cause suffering. Within the mandates of the Council and the Republic."
"Peacekeepers," She murmured, "And is any part of your life your own? Or is everything devoted to the Order?"
"A Jedi's life is centered around the Force, not specifically the Order. In the Temple, one learns not only how to wield the Force, but to listen to it, to understand its will."
"Do you have any friends?"
"Of course. I have close friends, both Jedi and non. We're not isolated, I assure you."
"And your Master, is he your friend?"
"He's my best friend." Obi-Wan said with pure conviction.
"That's nice," Gil'an smiled. "Really, you seem very nice. Both of you. It's just…" She shook her head, "I know it would be best for him. I know the Jedi can provide a much better life than I can here, on my own. But there's more than the material things. I don't want him to miss out on having a family. That kind of loss—it would be inconsolable."
"I understand. But if I may say, as a Jedi, I do have family. Not through blood, but through the bond all members of the Order have with one another. It's akin to an enormous extended family. And Master Qui-Gon is my immediate family," A warmth stirred in him; he never spoke of what had existed so long within his heart, especially to a stranger. He wondered if his Master could hear him…but Gil'an deserved the truth, the whole truth, of what it was to be a Jedi. "He's been my father," He told her, quietly.
From her expression, Obi-Wan could see she had not been expecting that. "I'm so glad." Her smile widened, "I'm so glad to hear that. The Jedi have a reputation of being, well…unfeeling."
"Jedi feel as much as anyone else."
She leaned her chin against a slightly shaking finger. "Does your Master feel the way you do?
Obi-Wan hesitated. He had asked himself the same question for nine years, and always, there was conflicting evidence. Most of the time, he existed in a place beyond arm's length of his teacher. There were barricades nothing could overcome, even the trials and torment that uniquely linked them together. But just as there were moments when the distance was huge and painful, there were glimmers of real closeness. Shared laughter, a conversation in the middle of the night, a rare declaration of pride or soft parting word. "I don't presume to know his feelings. I only know my own."
"Fair enough," Gil'an said, just as Qu-Gon rejoined them. Then, she fell silent, going to the crib and taking the baby into her arms. She clasped her palm over his small head, tucking him close against her.
Obi-Wan's heart was racing.
"The report from the lab indicates that your son has a midichlorian count well within range for Temple admittance." Qui-Gon told her.
And then she began to cry.
Obi-Wan's mind went to his own mother, and if she had feared his heart would be neglected among the Jedi. Had she been so utterly devastated when his Force sensitivity was discovered?
Qui-Gon moved from her, giving her the distance needed to choose what would occur next. He sat down beside Obi-Wan and, perhaps sensing his unease, rested his hand on the apprentice's back. Obi-Wan turned to him, looking into ever-tranquil eyes of blue midnight. The elder Jedi said nothing, but sent a tendril of reassurance through the Force.
Sometime later, breaths hitching, Gil'an stood from the armchair, planting kisses on the wispy crown of the child's head.
The Jedi stood in unison.
Gil'an sniffed and shook her head. "I didn't get dressed this morning because I didn't want it to be real." She glanced at Obi-Wan, "I didn't hold him when we talked because I didn't want to think it was happening. That I'd have to hold on so I could let go." The woman gulped a sob, "I don't want him to go.
"But I have to do what's right. He was given this opportunity for a reason. He's…he's special."
"Yes, he is." Qui-Gon agreed gently.
She hugged the baby close, and pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. The tears were endless rivers now, descending her flushed cheeks. She closed her eyes. "Take him. Take him now."
Qui-Gon did, cradling the small form in his arms, turning to face Obi-Wan. "Wait outside for me, Padawan."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan obeyed quietly, and accepted the bundle. He tried not to hear the whimpering as he left the cottage.
He stood in the golden brace of morning, gazing down at the new life—and possibly, new Jedi. The eyes were deeply black, like Gil'an's, and looked up at him with bright curiosity. Obi-Wan smiled, deciding it quite ridiculous that in this emotional upheaval, it was the infant who remained untouched by tears while he, Jedi and adult, battled a stinging deluge.
Maybe you'll save a thousand worlds, Obi-Wan thought as he rocked the cooing babe. On this brilliant, dark day, he would not consider any other possibility.
Eventually, his Master came through the door, the definition of serenity in his squared shoulders and unaffected features. If Gil'an's situation had reached him, there was no outward proof.
They began to walk down the dirt path, one that had been carved and re-carved over the years. Neither said a word for a while, minds settling into the result of their mission.
Obi-Wan attempted to redirect his focus to the landscape, to some tenet of the Code, anything other than the grinding heartbreak he had watched. Qui-Gon must have detected his mental discord, for he silently took the baby, and slowed just a little until his gait was identical to Obi-Wan's.
"You're still very young, Obi-Wan. It's harder, at your age, to handle this."
"I know, Master." He conceded, although he was almost certain his reaction would not change in the coming years. How could Gil'an release her only child into the care of strangers, with no guarantee of a safe or successful future for the boy? Obi-Wan blew out a breath. It felt like treason to even think that. The Jedi were home for him, for Force's sake. He was where he wanted to be…
But would he have wanted this as a child, when every turn promised a new experience—even joy? Would he, truthfully, have chosen this for himself?
"Securing the child took a bit longer than usual, after you left the cottage. Did you notice?" Qui-Gon asked.
It struck Obi-Wan as a strange point to bring up, but he nodded. "Yes, I suppose."
Qui-Gon sighed, a callused hand patting the baby's back, keen eyes gazing out at the horizon. "Gil'an wouldn't let me proceed with the paperwork until I answered her question concerning something."
Obi-Wan's brow flattened. "Concerning what?"
He glanced at his Padawan. "She wanted to know if I loved anyone."
"Oh." Obi-Wan wasn't quite brave enough to add anymore.
"I told her that love in of itself was wonderful, natural, and necessary to life. But that if it crossed over into attachment, it could lead to dangerous emotions. That love, if felt too strongly, could force one to compromise their duties as a Jedi."
Obi-Wan nodded. He looked down at his boots, watching their stride.
"And then I told her it was also possible to love someone who was wonderful, and natural and necessary to life, without the accompanying shadows. That you could love another as if they were your brother, or your son…and sacrifice very little in doing so." He studied Obi-Wan's face, "Do you think that was the right thing to tell her?"
Obi-Wan smiled, feeling rejuvenation replace the doubt, if only for the lovely moment stretching out. "I think it was, Master."
"Good," Qui-Gon murmured, "I was afraid it wasn't understood—before."
After they had returned to the ship and jumpstarted the trip back to Coruscant, Obi-Wan stood at the crib, fingers resting on the railing. The baby was sleeping peacefully atop his mother's blanket.
Qui-Gon was suddenly at his side, and Obi-Wan felt comfort in that, as though he could say anything and be met with comprehension. "Isn't it funny that after all this, we'll be the ones to remember her? He's much too small to retain any of the memories."
"Oh, don't be convinced of that, my Padawan. Early life is powerful in determining who we will become."
"Do you remember your parents?" Obi-Wan asked.
Qui-Gon's eyes took on a reflective cast. "A little, yes. Not very well."
"I don't remember them at all."
A hand lain on his shoulder. "I'm sure they remember you. You leave quite the impression, my Padawan."
"Do you think they were as sad as Gil'an was when I left?"
Qui-Gon considered the inquiry, then, "Anyone would be sad to lose a child, to sickness or to the Jedi. But they knew the right thing for you. I, for one, am supremely grateful for their decision."
They admired the slumbering innocence in companionable quiet. Then Obi-Wan glanced up at the familiar profile of his mentor, and said. "I think I was wrong." His smile was tentative, but heartfelt. "I remember one of them perfectly."
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