The Disciple Stone
A view into Disciple's childhood. Based off of a sketch I made… Featuring little kiddie Disciple. Oneshot.
Rated PG – ONG. Can it be? A PG fic from Nat? Never! Gasp, gasp!
The Disciple Stone
Another warm Dantooine morning broke, casting the plains yet again in their special, golden glow. The sky appeared lilac and cloudless; a herd of mynocks were being led by an elderly shepherd outside his farm, while a pair of young kath hounds bounded over the plains, nipping and yowling. A boy, nameless now that he was prepared for training, knelt down and caressed the soft earth, his wide blue eyes filled with wonder. The other disciples, dressed like him in plain, sky-blue robes, so easily ignored the beauty around them as they chased each other around the single, smooth, flat stone nearby. But Mical – and that was his name, though it had been previously stripped from him – turned his gaze away from their distractions. The earth held some allure to him, some inner, unspoken, breathless power that he felt drawn to discover. It was his passion, and he felt pride in knowing that he was the only one like himself, despite the enfolding loneliness that came with it.
He was oblivious to the Masters striding by in their glorious, thick Jedi robes; he didn't see the Twi'lek Master pause to study him as he silently scrawled 'Mical' in the soft dirt; he more or less ignored the mynock that strayed from its herd and stuck its snout into a nearby bush. The Twi'lek Master that had been hovering behind him knelt down and pressed a hand to Mical's shoulder.
"Child," he said.
Mical cried out, falling backwards. His robes tangled up against his arm; he struggled to sit up again. His eyes, wide, blue, and innocent turned up to the Twi'lek with fright as he finally managed to sit up. He hurriedly swept back his messy blond hair and nodded.
"S-Sorry, M-Master," he mumbled, looking away and hurrying to wipe away his name in the dirt. The Twi'lek smiled at him.
"Why are you not among the others?" the Twi'lek asked kindly.
Mical shrugged. "They are too messy and noisy," he said. "They do not like to do what I do."
The Twi'lek considered him. "And what do you like to do, Disciple?"
Mical thought for a moment before he nodded and smiled. "I like to learn."
Perhaps it was the fact that such a serious statement came from a high-pitched voice and a short, wiry, blue-eyed ten-year-old, or because it was so spot-on despite the other's rambunctious frolicking, but the Twi'lek Master was stunned. He stared down at Mical, silent, his pink face turning a shade darker, then a shade lighter.
"Amazing," he murmured. Mical smiled brightly. The Twi'lek nodded at him and bent down to fix the boy's robes. "Go sit on the disciple stone with the others, child. Dirty hands are not desirable."
Mical nodded, drooping unhappily, and uncertainly turned towards the disciple stone. This stone was long, low, flat, and smooth. The disciples hung around it all day, waiting for word on their progress to apprentice. He did not like being forced to sit on it with the rest, like a mynock, but he said nothing as he sat down and drew his knees to his chest.
Now unable to interact with the world around him, Mical resorted to watching the other Jedi, the majestic and noble creatures that they were. He noted that most of them were old men, rarely women, and those who were women were very young. A small group in particular caught his eye – two Jedi women and two Jedi men, sitting in a line, chatting pleasantly with each other. Another Jedi woman stood nearby – a girl in her mid-teens, small and round-faced.
Bastila.
She was famous, wasn't she? Yes, Mical decided. She was. She had almost already mastered battle meditation, a rare skill indeed. And she was only… thirteen, was it? Somewhere around there. She certainly was pretty, with her dark hair pulled back in a mass of complicated buns and braids and pony tails, her skin like milk, her eyes like little forget-me-nots. And he wouldn't forget; he memorized people's eyes, always. It was how he remembered people, no matter how much they changed, because their eyes would always remain the same to him, a window into someone's soul.
But it wasn't Bastila who caught his attention.
It was that woman, the one to the left, with her blond hair hanging, short and shaggy, around her shoulders, her blue eyes glinting like jewels as she spoke with her companion. Mical found himself breathtaken, unable to look away from those glorious, shining eyes… the way the smoothly slid over the crowd before they snapped back in order to listen to her friend speak… The light caught on them, turning them green and then blue again. Her eyes were pure; her heart throbbed golden behind them. She was intelligent and not innocent, and there was some conflict between her desires, but something about the way her eyes shone told him that she could do no wrong.
She was beautiful.
He remembered to take a breath. A small noise came from the back of his throat, like a squeak. He gasped, clasping his hands over his mouth, his eyes going wide as she glanced at him.
She smiled.
He drew back, shocked, embarrassed, and flustered. She was at least fifteen… much older than him, but he didn't care. She waved at him; her companions turned to look at him as well. The other woman lifted an eyebrow and smiled, too. The man beside her laughed, his handsome face lighting up at the sight of a little ten-year-old boy staring at them all so intently. Mical felt a flush rise in his cheeks; he looked away.
But she was approaching. He shifted uneasily, drawing his knees to his chest and losing his pale fingers in his hair, and she knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his ankle.
"Who are you, little disciple?" she asked sweetly.
He looked up and stared into those eyes; an overwhelming feeling rushed forward and nearly blinded him. Those eyes… those eyes… those eyes… those eyes… He felt like he was drowning; he was lost in a deep blue pitch, with no air… no air…
Her voice…
What…
What was she saying…
Something…
"… disciple…"
"… disciple…"
"… little… disciple…"
The words came before he could stop them. "Master!"
She stared at him. He came to, quickly, and the world snapped into focus. He gasped, clasping his hands to his mouth, staring up at her with worry, and the group of friends behind her roared with laughter. The bald one leaned back against the fence, giggling insanely in an odd, high-pitched voice; the other woman dutifully hid her grinning lips behind her hand.
The woman with the eyes looked back at Mical and shook her head, reaching out to smooth back his hair. "Don't listen to them, little disciple," she said kindly. "Their brains are full of fluff, hmm?"
Mical couldn't suppress a smile, even while an obnoxious heat made his face burn.
"What is your name, little disciple?" she asked again.
"Disciples may not have names," he said, pursing his cherubic, childlike lips for a moment before he swiftly corrected himself with a firmly placed, "ma'am."
She giggled. "You are a precious little one," she said. She lowered her voice, glancing at the Twi'lek master nearby. "Listen. You don't have to tell anyone else, or let anyone know you told me. It'll be our little secret, hmm?"
He searched her eyes uncertainly, but sensed no deception from her. Slowly, he nodded, and muttered, "Mical. My name is Mical."
"Mical?" she said thoughtfully, tasting the flavor of it. He shifted uncomfortably, and finally she grinned and nodded. "I like it."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She brushed his bangs back again and looked sincerely into his eyes. "Listen. You keep that name, understand? Keep it safe, keep it inside. It's important."
He stared, not comprehending. How far into the future may a ten-year-old's mind stretch, if at all?
"Get back here, would you?" called one of the men in the group. "You're too young to have a disciple yet –"
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" the woman called back, and looked back to Mical. She took his hands and pressed his own palms to his heart. "Keep it safe," she repeated.
"Yess'm," he said, though he wasn't sure why.
She nodded. "Good."
"Come on!" the man shouted impatiently.
And she vanished, leaving him alone on the disciple stone.
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Author's Notes: Eh. I coulda dun better. But I didn't. So there. Still liked this, though. I /love/ little kiddie Mical. X3 He is LOVE, darn it.