A/N:

Stranded Stargazer: LOL. That's ok :)
Killer Goldfish: Haven't read the JA books myself – but I know the general outline of events. You might like to know that as per the JA series, Obi-Wan almost didn't make it to apprenticeship – he was shipped out of the Temple when he was four weeks shy of his 13th birthday (Jedi initiates who aren't selected by a master by the time they are 13 are considered 'non-Jedi-Knight' material, and are sent to the Agri-Corps. Qui-Gon chooses Obi as his padawan at almost the last moment…hence the reference.)
ForsakenOn: Thanks for sticking with the story – your curiosity will be assuaged now, I hope. :)
amber75: Poor Obi indeed. And here's your update. :)
Lady Ivy Castillo: (goes pink) Why, thank you. You made my day. :)
YoshimiWolfspaw: You were supposed to be. However, all will be revealed now. :)
Shadow: Updated…now!
Estel Baggins: Certainly. :)
A. NuEvil: Wow. You really want to know what happened, don't you? I shan't keep you in suspense long…can't have Obi so drift for too long. :)
Seven: My padawan! What would I do without your smile :). Thank you, Little One. (And what happened to that 'Gem' of yours?)
szhismine: And more you will have. :)
Mysterious Jedi: Thank you, and welcome.
Pirate Rhi: LOL. I'm very glad you checked in, though. Welcome aboard!

Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed 'Roses, Ruses and Romance'...you guys are the best!

VI

The words were out of his mouth even before he had stopped to think about them—if, in fact, he had been thinking at all. An excellent exhibition of Jedi control, indeed.

What have I done…and what did I just say?

He felt, at once, the twinge of distress that swept across Qui-Gon's mind—for a moment, the calm blue of his mentor's eyes shifted to an intense, midnight hue; a sign of emotion he had learnt to recognise through the years. It was gone the next moment, and his face resumed it usual calm serenity—Qui-Gon was not a Jedi Master for nothing.

The master cleared his throat. "Why do you say that?"

Obi-Wan shook his head; he felt worse now, something he had not thought possible a few moments ago. "Forgive me, I wasn't…" He paused, rubbing his eyes. "I did not mean…I didn't mean that I wanted to be there."

The musical chimes that indicated the presence of the Scaltian Guards rang out again, and Qui-Gon drew in a breath, looking at the door, weighing certain things in his mind. Eventually he flicked his wrist; an elegant snap of the fingers parted the carved door, revealing two Royal Guards, blinking at the sight of the suddenly open doorway, with no one near the control panel.

"Yes?" came a question—sharper in tone than it was intended to be; the master mentally berated himself for allowing it. It should not be thus. "What is it?" he asked, in a much more mellow tone.

The guards threw each other a swift glance, their small eyes communicating wonder, astonishment, and something bordering on awe. One of them finally licked his lips, and spoke. "Master Jedi," he bowed quickly. "Mighty King Zor, he weesh you to come. For fer—fes—fes-teevee-tees," he stammered on the word, obviously not used to the language; yet, he was more at home with it, than the King. "Soon?" he ended on an almost plaintive note. So these were the Jedi. He had heard only vague stories of their success in foiling attempts on the life of his King—it had not taken place in Scaltia, thank the High Priestess—though a small part of him wished he could have seen more of their prowess in battle. On the other hand, perhaps he didn't wish to know. Three minutes ago, they had been little more than honoured guests of His Majesty; now they were uniquely powerful beings who could open doors forty paces away without moving from their seat. Who knew what more they were capable of?

Qui-Gon stroked his beard, wishing ruefully that he hadn't indulged in that small display of the Force. The energy swirling around the Scaltian guards practically threw their thoughts at his mind—Scaltians had little idea of mental shielding, and these two were not even aware, probably, of what Jedi were capable of.

Beside him, Obi-Wan appeared to have tuned himself into his thoughts—his eyes had regained some of their liveliness, and he looked—for want of a better word—indulgent. Were he to open his side of the bond now, he would no doubt be treated to a gentle remark from his apprentice about 'frivolous uses of the Force'…

…which them brought his mind back to the not-so-palatable remark about Agri-corps.

The Force nudged him gently. Not right now...

Long years of complete and total acquiescence to the will of the Force had their effect. Qui-Gon turned to the guards, now markedly more ill at ease than ever. Almost unconsciously, he sent a thread of calmness in their direction and felt them relax at once. "At what hour does His majesty wish us to be present?" he enunciated carefully, making sure they understood his query.

Whatever Scaltians lacked, it was certainly not in understanding. "Oo," spoke the first guard, pursing his lips in a comical display of thoughtfulness. "He weesh master Jeedi to be at ze A'arhena by Shal ower." He saw Qui-Gon raise eye-brows, and quickly clarified. "Eeh…one-half Chorr-rus-kant ower." He finished.

Qui-Gon felt a tiny bubble of amusement spread its warmth inside him—the guard was so very much in earnest, after all. "May I know your name, please?"

The guard's eyes grew rounder, if possible, and he shared a look with his equally surprised, if tongue-tied colleague. "Eeh…eet eez Shabba." He bobbed again. "Master Jeedi."

"Guard Shabba, thank you for informing us—please convey our compliments to His Majesty, and assure him that we shall be there at the Shal hour."

Shabba appeared pleased, and grew pink with the exertion of bowing one too many times. "We come bak at Shal ower?" he enquired politely, throwing a look at Obi-Wan's considerably rumpled state.

Qui-Gon debated rising to see them off, and then decided against it. He nodded, eyes lighting up with a smile. "Thank you. That will be excellent."

Shabba and his colleague quickly excused themselves, and Obi-Wan, who had holding himself in a rigid posture for the duration of the conversation, relaxed, shaking his head. "Ah. I gather you've acquired one more loyal Scaltian into your growing fold of loyal followers."

"Followers, padawan?"

"Let's see, now," Obi-Wan held out his fingers. "There was the Twi'lek who swore to protect your honour with his life on Althia; the Ixian pirate who would present you with his little finger as a sign of gratitude…"

"You exaggerate, padawan mine," Qui-Gon threw the apprentice a mock frown. "Shabba would hardly qualify as one of them."

Obi-Wan's eyes were gleaming. "He already knows you as the one who saved his king—all he needs is an exhibition of your superior talents to lay down his blaster at your feet and swear fealty forever."

"I would rather they were treated to an exhibition of your superior talents, padawan. I was in earnest, you know, about demonstrating the kata to the Scaltians."

Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes darkening with surprise—and something more. "A demonstration? To the Scaltians?..." his voice trailed away. "But we don't indulge in public demonstrations…"

Qui-Gon's voice was neutral. "It is not advocated, certainly—and for very good reasons," he acknowledged. "However, I meant it more as a short, precise demonstration of a few katas for a limited audience. I am your master, after all...and King Zor would be pleased. The Scaltians are fond of martial arts, padawan, and relish the chance of watching a particularly honed display. From what I've seen they are a well-mannered, polite people, and treat all living things with the respect they deserve." He looked at his padawan, who appeared to be concentrating on the darkening skies of Scaltia, outside their window. "And it would be a way of testing how far my lessons have taken root—it's been more than a month since we sparred on a regular basis. Not that that should matter—light-sabres have always been your particular area of expertise, and I'm sure you've been sparring with your duelling partners—"

"I…" Obi-Wan hesitated, gathering his thoughts. "I haven't been sparring much, actually. Archivist T'shar…" he paused again. "She insisted that I spend most of my time on research."

Qui-Gon's senses heightened themselves. Mission upon mission of negotiations and diplomacy had given him, if not a complete map of the psyche of sentient beings, at least certain well-known characteristics to perceive and act on—and Obi-Wan's thought processes were as well-known to him as his own. It was to be hoped so, at least.

Now, insisted the Force. Proceed now.

He rose from the bed, stretching himself slightly, clearly dismissive of the Archivist and all attendant concerns. "I'm sure T'shar had her reasons. A month of irregular sparring sessions has not blunted your skill, surely?"

"Perhaps it isn't something I ought to do, anymore."

On his way towards the refresher, Qui-Gon stopped, mid-stride. He turned slowly towards his apprentice, still seated among crumpled sheets. "What did you say?"

"There is no passion, there is serenity; there is no emotion, there is peace…" Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands.

Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice, puzzlement and a rising sense of wrongness permeating his mind. "I'm well aware of the Code, padawan."

"But it seems I'm not."

Qui-Gon stood still, mind filled with a conflicting set of images, out of which some semblance of order was beginning to take shape. It couldn't be…could it? "Padawan," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "Would you be so kind as to tell me…" the slightest hint of paristeel, "what exactly T'shar said?"

"She taught me the Code all over again." Obi-Wan pulled his face out his hands, and appeared to focus on some point where the rich, mural-filled walls of their room met the brown ceiling. Control and an urge to confess seemed to war for supremacy in his mind…the latter won, in the end, and the words poured out in a rush, as though they had been dammed up for a long time, and were in danger of corroding him completely. "She said that I was a bundle of uncontrolled emotions...imperfect. That I had not learnt my lessons well." His voice rose with his urgency. "That I approached my life with a passion unsuited to that of a Jedi. That I cared too much about my skills, that I felt an unseemly delight in practising my sabre techniques, that I was too focussed on weapons, combat and defence, that I did not care to absorb the lessons of my elders, that I preened myself on my talents, that it was wrong to feel such delight…" he was breathing heavily now, disturbed and unsettled.

Qui-Gon noticed, with some detachment amidst the emotion raging in his mind, that the padawan's eyes were now grey—dark, intense grey, a sure sign of high mental distress and agitation. By contrast, his voice—strangely steady—had sunk lower and lower, until the master could only barely hear him.

Obi-Wan looked up. Qui-Gon was staring at the ground, eye-brows firmly knit in a frown that appeared to have always been there.

"That I was wrong to take pride in my skills," Obi-Wan continued, eyes back on the sheets. "That I was wrong…that my whole life had been wrong. Wrong." He shook his head, an attempt to regain control, but which only served to accentuate his despair. "She…I…" he stopped. "I couldn't look at my sabre after that."

The padawan raised his eyes to see his master draw a deep breath, and put a hand to his brow, in a vain attempt to smooth his forehead. Guilt spread its eager tendrils through him—guilt that he thought he had outgrown; guilt that he felt sure had caused his master great pain; guilt that he had disappointed him—somehow. And he had been so determined to deal with this, himself. Blessed Force, would he never be free of this crushing lack of self-worth?

He would have been considerably surprised if he could have seen, through their now shielded bond, that Qui-Gon was feeling a very distinct, and a most unJedi-like urge to seek out Archivist T'shar, and throttle her into the Force.

tbc...