Chapter 5
Playing Jedi

Vader sat heavily on the bed he'd been assigned and stared blankly at the wall. His bag lay discarded at his feet and a new bundle rested on his lap. Outside of the tiny bare room were he sat, he could sense Knight Kenobi moving around, probably inspecting the modest apartment. Vader's mind was too confused to really care about it that much.

As Knight Kenobi had told him, nothing terrible had happened to him for setting foot in the Jedi Council Chamber. He hadn't been struck down on sight by most powerful of the Jedi. He hadn't immediately burst into flames for violating the stronghold of the Light either. He was alive and just as healthy as he had been when he entered.

But, as he'd known, they weren't at all happy to see him. However, their hostility was far more restrained than what he was used to. Gardulla and his minions hadn't been the least bit hesitant to hit him if they could find, or fabricate, a reason when the Hutt had owned him. Watto had been slightly more kind, but only because an injured slave could not do as much work as a healthy one. And then the Count…well, he wouldn't go into that, it was still too fresh.

The Council members weren't like any of the others. They didn't hit or kick or zap. They just stared…right through you. They read every movement, every twitch, every sound, every word. And they, unlike all but the Count, had the Force at their disposal. So they listened for outright lies, hunted down half-truths, and did their damnedest to put any and every kind of pressure on his mind, but he wouldn't let them in.

They interrogated him for hours and hours. They pressed for details when he was vague and threw him odd questions to keep him off balance. And just when Vader swore he was going to crack and attack one of them (most likely the ancient little green troll that always talked backwards) they sent him away to speak with Knight Kenobi alone.

And then there was nothing to do for a good hour was sit outside the Chamber and wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. The whole time he could feel those apprentices watching him through the Force and from the corner of their eyes. Vader wasn't entirely sure what had been worse, the pressure of the Council, or waiting on them after all the pressure.

Again, just when Vader swore he'd crack, Knight Kenobi had emerged and took him away. Vader naively thought that he was off the hook, free to go. But he wasn't. This was just a lunch break. And down in the Jedi mess hall there were even more stares. They all knew he wasn't a Jedi, a single glance told them that, so what was he doing down in their cafeteria eating their food?

After that, it was a quick bathroom break and back to wait in the ante-chamber. And wait, and wait, and wait. Apparently they were deciding his fate. Knowing this made the wait so much more bearable.

The Council must've consulted the Force to see just when he'd snap, the exact second, so that when they sent for him or sent him away, they could make sure it was just before that breaking point. Or maybe they didn't, but it really, really, felt like it to him. But, when they called, he was a good boy and came to see what they were going to do to him. He personally thought it would be either a quick or a slow death by lightsaber. It wasn't.

They wanted to help him…sort of.

Their offer: they would keep him safe and give him the ultimate hiding place. If he accepted, he wouldn't have to run and hide in the shadows anymore, fearing that the Count, or some other Darkside lackey, would find him and drag him back into slavery. He would even get a bodyguard of sorts…

But, if he accepted, the catch was a nightmare. The hiding place offered was the Jedi Temple and the 'bodyguard' would be a Jedi that he approved of. The only way he could hide in the Temple was to 'be' a Jedi. That's right, he would have to impersonate a real Jedi, and that meant, basically, that he would now have to willingly enslave himself to the Jedi Order.

They would make him a 'Padawan' and his 'bodyguard' would pose as his 'Master'. He would have to follow all their traditions, pretend to have their beliefs, and use the Light Side of the Force. If he failed in his impersonation, there was the very real risk that 'his fellow Jedi' would turn on him, since only the Council and the Jedi chosen to be his 'Master' would know his true nature.

Also, in exchange for this generous offer of protection, he would have to help them out. They wanted him to betray the Count and his side, they wanted information on the Sith Lords. The Council allowed him all the time he needed to tell them all he knew and promised that once he'd told them everything they would still keep him protected, but he didn't really believe them.

And so what had he done? What had he chosen? To leave and continue running? Or to stay and become a 'Padawan', a slave, for his own personal safety? He, Vader, being the frightened baby that he was, had chosen to become a 'Padawan'.

And for his 'Master'? His chosen guard who would keep him safe and instruct him on the ways of the Jedi so that he could hide properly among them? Each Council member had their own personal suggestion on who to pick. But in the end, he'd turned them all down and gone with the only Jedi he knew anything of, Knight Kenobi. And Knight Kenobi had, thankfully, agreed to it.

So, from there, it was off to become a Padawan. And the first stop, a haircut. His long blonde hair, normally kept up in a ponytail, was almost entirely shorn off. He got a partial buzz cut, the shortest his hair had ever been since he'd been a newborn infant. And, oddly, they'd left a little ponytail, only slightly longer than the rest, at the back of his head, and a lock of hair had been uncut just behind his right ear. That lonely lock had been braided. Essentially, with this haircut, they hadn't made him a Padawan, they'd made him a pansy.

After the nightmarish haircut, it was off to find new clothes. That wasn't quite as bad as the haircut, but it was still bad. For one thing, Knight Kenobi had refused to let him get a completely black Jedi uniform. He'd managed to get away with the black leather over-strap-thingys, but that was really it. The rest was gray and dark brown. When he'd tried everything on to make sure it fit properly and didn't look ugly, he'd thought it looked nice. Knight Kenobi had just looked kind of annoyed.

And, finally, they had come here to this apartment. It included a small kitchen, a refresher, two bedrooms, and a common room. The whole place was quite bare and it was colored in pale muted tones. Vader imagined that some prisons looked more inviting than this place. But this was apparently home for as long as he enjoyed the protection of the Jedi Order.

Slowly pulling himself free of his thoughts, Vader sighed and got up. He opened the bundle that had rested on his lap and pulled out his first, and primary, set of Jedi robes. He shed his old tattered clothes and cape and donned his new uniform. It took forever. What was it with Jedi and so many layers of fabric anyway? Sure the effect of it all was nice, but it took hours to get it looking right. Scowling with annoyance, he gathered up his old clothes and stuffed them into his new closet.

Now looking the part of a real Jedi Padawan, he slipped out of his room and warily looked about the common room. Knight Kenobi, his 'Master', was just out of sight poking around in the kitchen. Scratching self-consciously at the roots of his ridiculous skinny little braid, he padded over to the standard issue couch and sat down to wait.

Sometime later, the bearded Jedi Knight entered the room with a platter loaded with a steaming teapot and a pair of cups. Wordlessly he set the platter down and began pouring what was obviously tea into the two cups. Kenobi took one for himself and passed the other over to Vader.

Vader reluctantly took his cup and very hesitantly sampled the drink it contained. The smallest taste was enough to make him scowl at the dark tea in disgust. It tasted just as bad as he thought it would. Very tea-like. Why did people like this stuff, or at least claim to like it, anyway?

"Not a supporter of tea, I see." Kenobi murmured.

"No," Vader frowned at the murky stuff.

"Then I apologize in advance. My Master got me in the habit of drinking tea, especially after every mission. So I'll be asking you to make a lot of it." Knight Kenobi shrugged apologetically.

"Oh joy," Vader sighed, deeply sarcastic.

"You don't have to drink it if you really dislike it that much." Kenobi quietly pointed out.

Vader continued to glare at his cup. His mother had always taught him to finish his food and not waste it. They'd been too poor to afford to do otherwise. And fluids were even more valuable on his desert home world, it was practically a crime to waste any drink. So, most unhappily, he gave into habit and slowly worked on his tea.

This sucks. It really, truly sucks. But dying, and suffering a lot before dying, is a million times worse. So…I'll give this a few months. And if I'm not crazy by then, I'll stay. Just a few months. That can't be too bad…

…Can it?