A/N: Wowzers, it's been a while, and how the world has changed (and yet, not) in the meantime! I had not meant to be away this long. I hope you're coming to this update healthy and safe! If you're not, I hope you get well soon.
A few of you might have noticed I took a quick two-month jaunt to complete a project in another fandom while I let the plot of Reprise ferment. Apologies for the wait. I think I'm almost ready to bottle up the plot and slap the label on, so to speak, so here we go!
Obi-Wan landed on his back and felt the air in his lungs forced out in an involuntary grunt. He rolled through the blow, letting the flinch in his weaker right side bend him so he could find his feet on the other end of the tumble. As he stood back up, he could see his opponent's lightsaber making lazy circles in the air to his left.
"Well?" Said his opponent. "Give up yet?"
"Come now," Obi-Wan sniffed, wondering if his nose was bleeding. "Surely you don't think that's all it will take." Across from him, Anakin Skywalker grinned and continued to twirl his acid-green saber until it was firm in his grip once more.
"Never is."
They fell back into their duel as the runners of a sled into well-worn snow. Everything would progress as a lightning-fast and familiar dance until the icy ruts shattered and the runners had to prove themselves in uncharted territory. A few years ago, this fight would have been shorter and Obi-Wan declared victor within minutes. However, Anakin had recently begun training with Mace Windu in the Vaapad form, and the expanding corners of his repertoire were, much to Obi-Wan's dismay, becoming difficult for the knight to catalog.
Anakin made an unexpected—and entirely unnecessary, in Obi-Wan's private opinion—soaring leap at his opponent, landing an overhead strike forceful enough to pin Obi-Wan down for several heady seconds. In those seconds, Obi-Wan was equally furious to hear how loudly he was breathing and vindicated by the fact that Anakin was breathing heavily, too.
Obi-Wan's own form had undergone its own evolution over the years, incorporating more Makashi and defensive Niman moves in order to compensate for his weaker right-side reflexes. Though his liver was as healthy as it could be, his fighting had never fully recovered from his injuries on Alderaan. Combined with his blind right eye and the fact that he was right-handed, Obi-Wan's fighting style had developed into a highly defensive, calculated form.
"Like a viper who buries itself in the sand," Dooku had described it to him once. "Your trouble will not be whether or not your opponent gives you an opening, but if, when the time comes, you are able to unearth yourself and strike before you are trodden upon."
And therein lay the problem with facing Anakin Skywalker. The boy's style combined all the speed and strength of Djem-So, the sense of Soresu, the acrobatics of Ataru, and now the new bone-creakingly forceful strikes of Vaapad. His execution still showed weaknesses aplenty for Obi-Wan to exploit, but the apprentice moved from one motion to the next so damn fast, it was difficult for the knight to emerge from his defenses fast enough to land a decent hit.
"Come on now, Obi," Anakin taunted, sounding tired but still smiling, "afraid to lose?"
"Hardly. Now hurry up and get on with it, you could test the patience of a boulder."
"What are you waiting for, more chances to embarrass yourself?" Anakin teased, twirling—Force, it was so unnecessary, he must've been studying Qui-Gon's worst habits—in order to land a quick one-two-three riposte against Obi-Wan's flurry of defensive blows. At the last second, Anakin was sluggish to pull back his forward foot while engaged in a full-circle twirl of his saber above his head. It gave Obi-Wan precisely the seconds he needed. Dropping his defense entirely, Obi-Wan leaped forward and hooked his foot around Anakin's forward ankle while his saber arm crossed over to block Anakin's inevitable strike. In a single moment, he pulled with his foot, seized Anakin's blade arm by the wrist, and pushed against Anakin's chest with the pommel of his saber. With an undignified yelp, Anakin twisted and fell, suddenly suspended from Obi-Wan's left hand by his twisted arm. The knight quickly took advantage and twisted the arm further, until Anakin was face down on the ground and forced to let go of his saber. Obi-Wan pressed a knee into Anakin's back and held him there. Still heaving for breath, he plucked up Anakin's saber from the ground and disengaged his own.
"I was waiting," he said, licking sweat from his lip, "for that." Anakin groaned into the floor mats.
"Solah," Anakin said, slapping the ground once in frustration before relaxing. Though the apprentice was clearly exhausted, Obi-Wan knew he'd ask for a rematch within the day. He stepped off the apprentice's back and stood to wipe sweat off his forehead. Anakin soon followed, pushing himself up to his knees to dust himself off.
"Masterful," Cin Drallig commented, and clapped along with the contingent of initiates and junior apprentices who'd been watching the fight from the sidelines of the dojo. "Well fought, both of you." Anakin, who was still a pupil of Master Drallig's, gave the sabermaster a tired smile.
Obi-Wan helped Anakin to his feet and bowed shallowly, a display of sportsmanship aimed at their young audience. Anakin quickly repaid him in kind.
"You nearly had me," Obi-Wan told him in low tones when their heads were close, "if you didn't use all that frilly Ataru finery, you might have."
"Your master taught me that," Anakin defended.
"And now you see why I ignore him." Anakin sputtered. In the meantime, Cin speaking to his students,
"-need not dedicate yourself to learning only one form of lightsaber combat. Combining the forms is essential. Should you come up against an opponent with a synthesized style like Master Kenobi or Padawan Skywalker with only one style as your defense, you'll quickly learn its weaknesses."
"Not quite so quickly, if you're as flighty as this one," Obi-Wan said, jabbing a thumb at Anakin before wiping his face with a tabard. This elicited a few laughs and giggles from the assembled younglings, particularly among the initiates. Anakin fought a smirk and side-eyed Obi-Wan.
"Thank you both for indulging us this morning," Cin Drallig said, smiling. Then, to his students he said, "Now, find a spot and we'll run through the Form IV katas again. This time, concentrate on a new technique you saw today and consider how it might change the kata as you go."
Anakin and Obi-Wan showered and changed, and strode back out into the dojo side by side. Where they expected to find an empty space where Master Drallig's class had been, they instead found a gaggle of initiates standing between them and the door. One of them glanced over at the two elder Jedi and then turned quickly back around, whispering to her agemates.
"Oh, hell," Obi-Wan said under his breath. Anakin didn't hide his smirk this time.
"Gee, I wonder what they're still here for," he deadpanned.
"Don't you start," Obi-Wan snapped.
"Come on, then," Anakin urged, steps floating on invisible humor as he continued on towards the throng. He glanced back at Obi-Wan as if he were a pet who needed coaxing to follow. "Come address your adoring fans."
As the pair approached, a dozen pairs of eyes—and a few eyestalks—turned toward Obi-Wan. So scrutinized, he could feel his face running hot. They were ignoring Anakin completely, and the apprentice accepted this with a smile.
"I'll be going then, I would hate to interrupt-"
"Anakin," Obi-Wan called as Anakin moved away. Anakin circumvented the initiates, who made no move to intercept him even as they gravitated toward Obi-Wan like the tide to shore.
"-surely find a protégé here to your liking-"
"Anakin," Obi-Wan hissed again, attempting to follow.
"Master Kenobi," one clamored for attention, and then five more followed suit. The ensuing questions came in such rapid fire that Obi-Wan did not know who was speaking or when. He heard a laugh and watched Anakin jog out of the dojo in high spirits.
"I'm very sorry," Obi-Wan said to his mob. He was used to teaching initiates and padawans, and had been co-opted as a tutor to Master Drallig's brightest for several years now. However, it'd only been in the last year or so that the initiates had been engaging in such fawning. "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan repeated, shaking his head as if to shake loose the noise of the childrens' questions. "One at a time, I can't answer a question if I cannot hear what's being asked."
The onslaught began afresh—this time in an orderly queue.
"I've always wanted to learn Mikashi—do you teach lessons for initiates?"
"How did you do that?"
"Do you think Soresu is more helpful to learn for future knights than Ataru?"
"I've been practicing Mikashi for a year—Master Laanda says I've gotten really good."
"You should come back and fight Master Drallig next week!"
Obi-Wan kept his answers short and patently non-committal. After a while, his commlink began to chirp, and he practically deflated with relief. He held out a hand to request silence, which the children reluctantly gave him, and answered.
"Kenobi."
"Obi-Wan," it was Mace Windu's voice. All the children recognized it, and began speaking to each other in thrilled whispers. Obi-Wan did his best to ignore them. "We're waiting for you in briefing room five. Master Tarkona has called in to give her report."
"I'll be along shortly," he said, and replaced the link at his belt. Ecstatic to have an excuse, Obi-Wan extricated himself from the pack of now-disappointed initiates and fled for the door, mind running far ahead of his feet, all the way to the sands of Savareen.
Obi-Wan was the last to join, and ducked his head in apology as his arrival doused the darkened briefing room in bright light until the door closed. At the large holotable in the center of the room, a flickering holographic figure of Aola Tarkona stood, stern-faced and battle-worn, reading out a prepared report. Mace Windu, Yoda, and half a dozen other councilors listened in pensive silence. Ben Kenobi was there too, and cast a look over his shoulder as his younger counterpart snuck by. Obi-Wan nodded in silent greeting and found a spot at the back of the room between Anakin Skywalker and Garen Muln.
"Where have you been?" Garen asked in a whisper.
"I was waylaid," Obi-Wan told him, folding his hands into opposite sleeves and attempting to look serene.
"Waylaid?" Garen caught a whiff of the soap leftover from Obi-Wan's shower. "By what, an herb garden?" Anakin leaned around Obi-Wan to whisper helpfully,
"By a bunch of initiates who want to be his apprentice." Garen tilted his head back and his lips formed an "o" of realization.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan glared.
"Well they do."
"Master Kenobi," Mace Windu's voice spoke up over their furtive gossiping. "How good of you to join us." Mace's stern look was reprimand enough. "As Master Tarkona was just relaying to us, the mission on Savareen has concluded with mixed results. Yesterday's raid successfully retook the Sith outpost there, but it seems as though they cleaned house before our team arrived."
Obi-Wan's spirits fell. Not again. "Were there any trainees recovered this time?" he asked, fighting to not glance at Garen. Everyone looked to Aola.
"No," the Twi'lek reported, disappointment eroding her professional tone. "There is evidence they may have had as many as fourteen here, but none remain. We found three corpses. There was some indication they tried to escape once they were taken out of the thanatosine."
Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan could see Garen close his eyes and bow his head. Obi-Wan bowed his as well. He stared at the darkened floor and gnawed at his lip for a moment before mustering up the energy to ask.
"Were any of them ours?"
"One," Aola reported, clinical. She'd developed the skill better than Obi-Wan had after dozens and dozens of failed extractions like this one. "Her records indicated she'd been a part of the Agricorps for three years before she decided to leave. The Order's trail on her goes cold after that."
"How old was she when she left?" Adi Gallia wanted to know.
"Fifteen." Silence reigned. There was nothing else to say that hadn't been said many times over many months. Mace Windu was the first to recover.
"Were you able to gather any information from the databanks? Any indication of where this coven might move next?" At this, Aola seemed to perk up.
"Not much that we haven't seen already, but we were able to salvage the memories of two droids here. They were sentinel droids, and so may help us better understand the Sith's defensive strategies. I've sent them along to the cryptologists, the transfer should be ready in an hour or two. I'm hopeful R2-D2 will be able cross-reference the information with our existing intel."
The aforementioned droid rolled forward and gave an affirmative trill, which made Aola smile. At least one of their team was optimistic.
"Alert the Sith, this may have, of our other efforts," Master Yoda spoke up. "Careful we must be in Botor."
"The mission to Botor is practically underway," Kit Fisto pointed out. "The Council of Reconciliation has alerted their Orbit Security as well as their senator of the time and date." At the mention of the Council of Reconciliation, Ben Kenobi and Mace Windu shared a look.
"Master Tarkona," Shaak Ti spoke up. "Is there any indication that the two covens may have been in direct contact with one another? Half the galaxy separates them." She glanced down at Master Yoda. "Unless the Sith have more foresight than we feared, how could they possibly connect the two?" Yoda seemed to consider this with a deep frown. He adjusted his cane in front of him and sighed.
"Follow us at every turn, misfortune does. A coincidence, this cannot be. Know not I do of the Sith's ways or means of predicting our movements. Know only that careful we must be."
"We can be as careful as we can, but many more failures will be impossible to explain away," Ben said. Failure. It was not a word that anyone liked using. The mission operatives wanted to take solace in the fact that they were capturing the Sith hideaways and training academies, but the truth was that whenever they chased the Sith off of one planet, unless they killed or captured them, they would soon reappear on another. So it had been for two years of their desperate hunt.
"Unrest in the Senate there is," Yoda agreed.
"Representatives of the planets we've helped are grateful," Ben continued for the grandmaster, "but for every one senator who is grateful, there are ten who dread becoming the Sith's next victim. They know we're not eliminating the threat, only pushing it from one system to another, rearranging the map and giving ourselves and everyone in the Republic more to worry about. Sooner or later that discontent will be impossible to ignore."
"We do not answer to the Senate," Plo Koon protested.
"No," Obi-Wan spoke up from the back, "but we serve the Republic represented by the Senate, and they have more than enough leverage to remind us of the fact."
After a tense, pensive pause, Mace Windu turned back to Aola.
"Master Tarkona, sweep the compound for any holocrons or artifacts, and then leave the cleanup to your team. I'd like you to return to Coruscant for a full debrief in Council." Aola bowed.
"Of course, Master Windu. May the Force be with you."
When Aola's holo disappeared and the lights came on, several pockets of conversation emerged, and Anakin stepped away to join his Master by Mace Windu. Obi-Wan stayed back and glanced over at his lifelong friend
"You alright?" he asked. Garen shrugged.
"Every time, I just hope…" he heaved a sigh, exhausted and sad. "Force, Obi, fifteen. Can you even imagine?" Obi-Wan had been in the Agricorps for a few short months when he was thirteen years old. After spending his entire life in the Temple on Coruscant, the change had been tectonic. He could clearly see his teenage self opting to leave rather than stay in a half-life parody of what he'd hoped for.
"I can, unfortunately," Obi-Wan said.
"She must've been so scared," Garen said quietly, hand going habitually to the kyber crystal pendant he wore around his neck. Garen no longer carried a saber, but the engraved crystal was a source of great comfort. Obi-Wan put a reassuring hand on the other man's back.
"How are the others progressing?" He'd meant it as an on-ramp to discuss better things, but it only made Garen shake his head.
"They're not. Master Che is losing hope, I'm afraid. One of them tried to attack Luna last time he was allowed fully off of his medications." Obi-Wan closed his eyes, regretting having brought up the subject. Out of all the missions they'd run to extract prisoners from the Sith training camps, they'd only recovered three individuals alive. All Force sensitive, two of them former Jedi corps members. So far, none of them had been able to reach the level of recovery that Garen enjoyed. Obi-Wan knew it made Garen feel immeasurably guilty.
"We can't lose hope," Obi-Wan said, even though the words sounded empty. "It's not your fault."
"No, but my being here hasn't been the help everyone was hoping it would be," Garen said tautly, looking down at his feet.
"We'll find a way," Obi-Wan told him softly, "don't give up, old friend." After giving Garen another pat on the back, the knight moved away and approached Master Windu, who remained in discussion with Ben, Anakin, Kit Fisto, and Shaak Ti.
"-enough discontent it could very well lead to intervention," Mace was saying.
"Neither the Senate nor the Chancellor have authority over our affairs," Kit protested. Ben was the next to speak up, the worried wrinkles in his forehead visible as he spoke.
"No, but if there are enough senators who both fear the Sith and do not trust the Jedi to deal with the threat, they could form an unofficial union of worlds that block any Jedi from operating on their worlds."
"Surely, if things had gotten so bad," Shaak Ti said serenely, "the Council of Reconciliation would have alerted us already. Their understanding of the Senate's sentiments are more intimate than ours," she said, meaning the High Council. Obi-Wan chose this moment to enter the conversation. He knew that the Council of Reconciliation was at least partially corrupt; how far the corruption ran, he had no way of knowing, but he did not trust them. Neither, he knew, did Mace.
"The Council of Reconciliation is, for better or worse, entrenched in the same political entanglements as the Senate. If we must trust them to guide life-and-death plans, we must only trust them as much as we trust politicians to do the same." Kit Fisto scoffed at such a claim, obviously reluctant to speak so ill of fellow Jedi, but Mace Windu's expression was stern and uncompromising.
"Master Kenobi makes a valid point. I will continue to work with the Council of Reconciliation to monitor the situation, but the matter of public opinion is out of our control. What senators think and feel is not our jurisdiction."
"For all the Senators who disapprove of our methods," Anakin spoke up, drawing the attention of the circle of masters around him, "there are many more who I know support the Jedi's mission against the Sith, even as the work is difficult. Could we ask them to help soothe the others' fears?"
"We could," Mace said, "but you forget how many political rivalries we would have to overcome to reach all the nervous senators in the Republic, let alone the constituents they support." The Master of the Order sighed. "I know you and your master are close with the Senators of Naboo and Alderaan, Padawan Skywalker, and I appreciate any support you might be able to gather in those corners, but it cannot be our only strategy." He looked around at the other councilors. Even those who were not a part of their conversation circle had begun to listen. He raised his voice slightly to make sure that everyone heard him. "Barring fantastic luck on Botor, we must either drastically rethink our strategy in facing the Sith, or contemplate scaling back our efforts until public opinion improves. We cannot risk destabilizing the Senate or the Chancellor's trust in the Order at such a crucial hour. We must find balance."
"But what of the prisoners they're torturing, even now?" Garen Muln spoke up. "Do we not also have an obligation to help them?"
"Of course we do," Mace turned to look at the prodigal knight with compassionate but uncompromising understanding. "But we cannot help them if the rising number of terrified Senators and all of their worlds deny Jedi access to half of Republic Space." The room went quiet again. Every Jedi learned as a child that their Order enjoyed its privileged existence "at the pleasure of the Republic", but very rarely was this privilege questioned. The last several years of doomed campaigns against the Sith, however, were beginning to drive the Republic's pleasure into the realms of pain.
"Proceed with care, we will," Master Yoda broke the silence. "Reconvene before Botor, thirdday next, we will. Much to discuss the Council has." And with that, the Grandmaster took his exit, and the room was adjourned. As all the others quietly filtered towards the door, Obi-Wan went immediately to Mace Windu.
"Master, a word?"
Ben Kenobi cast a look back at them, but only ushered Anakin and Garen through the door, leaving Obi-Wan alone with the Master of the Order, who looked none too pleased to have been detained.
"Master," Obi-Wan began, "we both know that these missions have suffered on account of the teams being spread thin, some of them with little training on how to face the Sith. Perhaps if-"
"Obi-Wan, we've done all we can to train them to face the Sith," Mace interrupted him, sounding frustrated. They'd had this conversation numerous times. "I can pit them against myself, or against you, or against any sabermaster in our Order, and it would be no preparation for what they're facing out there. What would you have me do, bring up those tortured souls from the Halls and set them loose in the dojo with training blades, hmm?"
"I," Obi-Wan frowned. "Of course not, master, I would never-" Mace raised his voice:
"Would you have me send knights to meditate amongst Sith holocrons to accustom themselves to the darkness they will find in these hellholes?"
"No, that's not-"
And raised it again, "Then how do you expect me to prepare these knights—our best knights—more than I already have with what time and resources the Force has provided?"
"Master, if I were to-"
"No," Mace's word seems to ring off the walls, and Obi-Wan had to bite his tongue to keep from talking. "Every time you ask, the answer will be the same. You're not going into the field on Botor, or on any other mission. Just because you've survived the Sith so many times, Obi-Wan, does not mean I can spare you for every mission that comes through the Councilroom door." The master's stare into Obi-Wan's eyes was unrelenting, and the knight had to look away. "You are not an army, and you cannot keep acting like one. Your experience and insight is too valuable to risk right now. This isn't your war anymore, Obi-Wan," Mace's voice was quieter, but just as grave. "This is the war of the entire Order."
"An Order I am a part of," Obi-Wan protested, becoming worked up by the caged feeling in his chest. "A war whereI could actually be doing something besides watch from a tower as our success plummets from poor to nonexistent. What do you expect me to accomplish here in the Halls of Serenity while knights are out there dying?"
"I expect you to prepare the knights I'm going to have to send into that hell, and help me find ways to make sure they all make it back alive," Mace spoke firmly. "I know you can kill a Sith and keep your team alive. What I'm asking you to do is to keep your Order alive." Quieter, but no less acridly, Mace added, "Besides, we both know you've not been battle-fit since Alderaan." Obi-Wan had to bite his entire lip to keep from talking back, that time. Though he frequented the Temple dojos, the weakness in his right side had barred him from the roughest of missions for two years now.
"The Force has put you here and now for a reason, Obi-Wan. I see it, Master Yoda sees it. It's time you got with the program." Mace watched his face carefully, even though the knight still refused to meet his eye. "Your time for action is over; it's time for you to put all that you've learned to better use. If we're going to take him down, you need to come to terms with that and get to work."
The bitterest pill for Obi-Wan to swallow was his own speechlessness, because he knew Mace was right.
Ben was lost in thought as he walked alongside Garen, Anakin, and the droid, R2-D2, which had become more or less attached to Anakin's heels so long as he was in the temple. Garen and Anakin were speaking about starfighters, the specifications of which Ben did not care to understand.
The master only came out of his reverie when they reached a main juncture in the halls and Anakin said, "I'm off to the archives, I'll see you later Garen, Master,"
"I didn't think you had any assignments due." Ben frowned at him. "Your next exam isn't for another month, is it?"
"Oh, no, it's not for an assignment," Anakin assured him. "Just a pet project. I'll be back for dinner. Come on, Artoo," he waved the droid along; it blipped and bleeped at him and followed.
"Do you need my access codes?" Ben called after him.
"I already have them!" Anakin reminded him cheerily. Ben shook his head. Garen watched the boy go and shook his head.
"I realize I didn't get to see him grow, but when he was younger, I would have never in my life pegged him as an academic," he said. "That's always been more your forte, Obi—sorry, er, Ben." Ben smiled. Garen was often confused by Ben and Obi-Wan's near-identical Force signatures. Ben found the occasional mix-up endearing. "Has he always been like this?" Garen asked.
"No, it's a recent thing. Since about the same time we found you, actually," Ben told him. Since I told him he was the Chosen One, he mused privately. "I could not have predicted it. I raised a gearhead, not a scholar, and his grades in Galactic History surely show it." This made Garen laugh.
"Well," the knight said, tilting his head in a self-deprecating gesture, "I was a gearhead, once, and look at me now." He plucked at his long, fawn-brown robes. "Cassocks, long hair, living for solitude and a good book. I'm practically Jocasta Nu," he said.
"To be fair, I don't believe Master Nu has ever sported a beard," Ben told him, and Garen smiled wider, his thin beard and mustache crinkling with the expression.
"People change," Garen said, making no note of the trauma that had changed him. His fading smile told Ben that he was thinking about it, though, and perhaps wondering what trauma had changed Anakin.
"The more things change, the more things stay the same," Ben said sagely, hoping to draw his old friend out of his mood. "Will you come by for dinner? Despite Anakin's assurances, I doubt he'll be back until late, and I'm no longer accustomed to eating alone." It seemed to do the trick, and the worry lines in Garen's forehead smoothed.
"I'd like that."
Qui-Gon had been kneeling by the window, murmuring soft encouragement to the small and sickly nysha plant potted there, when there was a knock at his door.
"Come in," he spoke up. He winced as he stood, feeling every one of his sixty-nine years. It was not as easy as it used to be. His hair was almost entirely white now, even when grown out to mid-back as he liked it best, and it swished against his robes as he went to the door.
"Anakin," the master said pleasantly when the door hissed open. "It's good to see you." He could not actually see most of Anakin, because he was obstructed by a large stack of holobooks. "Do you need help?"
"I got it," Anakin assured, adjusting the tower in his arms. "Can I come in?"
Qui-Gon stepped aside and let the apprentice pass. Although Anakin still sported the short-cropped haircut that marked him as a learner, he was twenty years old and nearly as tall as Qui-Gon himself, especially as he strained to his full height to keep his stack of books from toppling, holding onto the top with the jut of his chin.
"You've been busy," Qui-Gon watched the padawan carefully crouch down and release his burden onto the coffee table with a thud. The younger man leaned back to stretch, spine popping.
"These are all the books I could find where the 'Chosen One' prophecy is mentioned," Anakin used air quotes around the term. "I was hoping you might've read one or two of them."
"Hmm." Qui-Gon came around to see the spines of the books and plucked up the top one for examination. Struggling with his eyes, he moved it forward and back to bring the title into focus. To distract Anakin from noticing his decrepitness, he waved him toward the kitchen. "Put on the kettle. Tea is in the usual spot."
Anakin hopped to his task with habitual ease. Though Anakin had always been fond of Obi-Wan's old master, in recent years he'd been spending more and more time with him than he ever had as a junior padawan. Master Jinn was the only Jedi Anakin knew besides Ben who gave any real credence to the ancient prophecies, including those surrounding the Chosen One. Qui-Gon's mystic interests had made him a primary advisor in Anakin's quest for understanding himself, and he regularly poked and prodded at the master's knowledge in the hopes of some revelation that mainstream Jedi philosophy had yet to deliver him.
"I've read one or two of them, yes," Qui-Gon mused, scratching absently at his beard as he skimmed the stack. "Some of these are quite old, and quite banned. How did you convince Master Nu to let you take them?"
"I used Master Ben's codes," Anakin said, bringing the tea tray around and pouring Qui-Gon a cup. "And hid them beneath my cloak so she wouldn't spot me on my way out."
"I suppose your master knows you use his codes."
"Yes," Anakin kept his eyes on the tea even as Qui-Gon turned a knowing look on the apprentice.
"Does he know what you use them for?"
"Sometimes."
"Does he approve?" Anakin let the sound of pouring water fill the silence until he set down the tea pot.
"Sometimes," he said. Qui-Gon shook his head.
"I don't suppose he would," the master said, turning over one of the more fringe titles in his hand. "Ben knows better than most that becoming too obsessed with prophecy leads first to madness, and later to ruin. The only type of prophecy a zealot can find,"
"-is a self-fulfilling prophecy," Anakin finished for him. "He's told me before." Qui-Gon smiled, and picked up his tea to sip before setting it back aside.
"I taught him the phrase from my wayward youth. Now this is an interesting title, did you read the whole thing?" Qui-Gon picked up one of the thinnest holobooks in the stack. Anakin craned his head to see the front.
"Not the whole thing, just the important bits, about the 'Chosen One' stuff." Qui-Gon scoffed, a smile peeking through.
"Important may be a matter of perspective, but not with this volume. You should read the whole thing, its parts are inseparable from the whole." He handed it to Anakin, who frowned with renewed interest at the cover.
"What are 'whills'?" he asked. "I was going to ask Master Nu, but this is one of the ones I had to hide in my cloak."
"The Whills are an ancient order of Force-worshippers—yes, worshippers—who consider it their sacred duty to chronicle the history of the entire galaxy in a mix of prose, verse, song, and imagery." Anakin's eyebrows rose, and he glanced up at Qui-Gon. Eyes flicking down to the thin book, he hefted it and waffled it in the air.
"The entire galaxy?" he questioned dryly. Qui-Gon chuckled.
"That is not their chronicle. That is the work of an individual, one of their shamans, speculation on prophecy and mysticism." Anakin considered this, opening the holobook and swiping through its contents, blue light dancing across his features as text, artwork, and lines of song passed by.
"They're not Jedi," he said, "so why do they discuss Jedi prophecy?"
"The prophecy is only 'Jedi' because the oldest copy belongs to the Jedi Order and is, so far as anyone knows, without provenance," Qui-Gon shrugged, crossing his hands into opposite sleeves as he watched Anakin peruse the book. "The very real possibility that the Whills have a copy just as ancient, and have speculated on it as long as we have, should not surprise anyone who views our Order in the larger framework of the galaxy."
Anakin considered this, and eventually asked, "Have they ever claimed the prophecy has been fulfilled?" he asked, eyeing Qui-Gon. "In their chronicle?"
"Not to my knowledge, but I admit, I set aside my obsession many years ago, when it was clear I'd let myself go too far." He gave a sad smile. "The Whills may be mystics in comparison to our Order, but the Journal of the Whills is a highly regarded text still. I'm sure Master Nu can show you to our archives' copy—and you won't even have to sneak it out under your clothes," he said, drawing a smile out of his companion. "But as I said, they do chronicle the entire galaxy. I'd recommend starting here." Qui-Gon reached over and tapped the volume, before reaching for his tea cup once more. Absently, Anakin took up his own teacup, which was nearly cold, and drank all of its contents in one large gulp. Where he did not see, Qui-Gon watched this and shook his head. After a while, Anakin flicked the book shut.
"What is the oldest copy of the prophecy?" he asked.
"It's hidden within the Great Holocron," Qui-Gon told him. Anakin's eyebrows rose once more. The Great Holocron was the crown jewel of the Jedi Archives, and was also one of the most accessible features there, allotted an entire spacious room to itself. Anakin remembered sitting to examine the Holocron with the rest of his clan as a youngling, under the watchful gaze of Jocasta Nu as she recited the Holocron's importance to the Jedi Order and the almost sentient, labyrinthine nature of its contents.
"This Holocron holds more information than all of the rest of the Jedi Archives, and yet no single master could tell you what all it contains. The information stored here is open for all to explore, but we must be careful; even the greatest master could become lost in it, its wells are so deep and vast." Anakin remembered shooting up his hand to ask a question.
"Even Master Yoda?" This had made the adults in the room laugh, something which Anakin had found frustrating at the time.
"Yes, even master Yoda."
Anakin looked down at the book once more, wondering about the identity of the mysterious shaman who'd written it centuries ago.
"Do you think the Whills know more about the prophecy than we do?" he asked. Qui-Gon was pouring both of them second cups of tea.
"That is a question for wiser minds than mine," Qui-Gon told him, handing him his tea, "but I suspect they understood it 'differently' rather than 'more'. Mixing orthodoxies is only dangerous to those who do not know the Living Force; you should look into it." Anakin chewed at a lip, considering this idea.
"Do you suppose the Great Holocron might have anything about the Whills?"
"You know how to find the answer to that question—now drink that before it's cold. It doesn't do my old heart any good to see young men wasting fresh tea." Anakin tossed aside his book and sipped at the tea, mumbling inelegantly into the cup,
"Yes, Master Jinn."
Obi-Wan stretched his shoulder, not liking how the bone seemed to catch against the tense muscles in his back. Between the saber demonstration that morning, two hours of meditative practice after lunch, and now these long Makashi lessons in the afternoon, his body was beginning to rebel. He remembered his teenage days when he could fight all day and not feel a thing, and let out a wistful sigh for his younger years.
"Very good," Obi-Wan spoke above the gaggle of padawans. These were true padawans this time, junior, but thank the Force already apprenticed to their own masters so they would not feel the need to preen and fawn for his good graces. "That kata is a simple one to perform alone, deceptively so. Performing the paired version takes a great deal more concentration. To demonstrate, I'll need a volunteer." An eager young Korun boy shot up his hand at lightspeed.
"Alright, come stand in front of me. Like this. Leading foot out, further, there. Back foot slanted, like we're going to duel, but our feet cross. Now. We will complete the kata just as we did earlier, but this time, we must do it around each other without touching."
As he danced slowly through the movements of the kata, the students let out small gasps and baffled noises as they tried to imagine how they would keep their balance and avoid falling into their partner or scalding each other with their training sabers. With some fumbling on the apprentice's part and further instruction from Obi-Wan, the kata came to a close, and the knight turned to his class.
"Find a clear spot, pair up and try it yourselves. If you or your blade touches your partner or their blade, begin again." This elicited some groans, but the padawans dutifully dispersed to find a partner. Slowly the dojo filled with the buzz and hum of low-level training sabers. However, there was an outlier at the back corner of the room.
"Master Kenobi," the apprentice raised her hand, "we're an odd number. I don't have a partner."
"Oh," Obi-Wan frowned, realizing he must've miscounted when he'd planned this exercise. "Very well, you can practice with me, then." He went over to her, stopping to correct the stances of a few of her classmates on his way. When he finally reached her, she wore the most impatient expression he'd ever seen on someone her age. He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Ready?"
"Yes," she said, taking up the stance and looking annoyed—or embarrassed, Obi-Wan could not tell—at having to practice with her teacher. They fell into the kata once, and almost immediately had to begin again when the girl's arm smacked Obi-Wan's side as she turned.
"Start again," he said. They did. The second time, she hit his pant leg with her saber and continued, obviously hoping he hadn't felt it.
"Start again." The third time, they got considerably further along before her elbow bumped his.
"Again." She heaved a frustrated sigh, but silently followed instructions. This time, in the middle of the kata, her eyes flickered up to his face and she asked,
"How did you get that scar?" Surprised by the question, Obi-Wan almost faltered—almost.
"I fell in poorly with a gang of bounty hunters some years ago," he lied. "Careful of your left foot. Follow a wider arc on the next pass."
"It doesn't look like something from a bounty hunter."
"Well it was. Left foot."
"Was it a vibroblade, or…?"
"Do you always interrogate your saber instructors?" Obi-Wan asked, his shoulder tweaking uncomfortably as he turned his saber overhead as the kata demanded. He was soon facing her once more, and was annoyed by the cavalier tilt of her shrug.
"Do you always lie to padawans?" She countered. Obi-Wan was gobsmacked.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not a vibroblade wound, or a blaster wound, my friend Tsolte is in medcorps and she said those look way different." The implication that this girl and her friend had been inspecting Obi-Wan closely enough to come to such a conclusion was disconcerting for a multitude of reasons.
"I didn't realize Coruscant was hiring junior padawans as detectives," Obi-Wan scoffed, stepping past the padawan and flicking his saber centimeters past her just as she flicked hers past him.
"So it wasn't bounty hunters," she said. Obi-Wan was beginning to grow truly annoyed, and he grit his teeth to continue on with the kata.
"You seem to know what happened to me better than I do myself, so why don't you tell me how I got this scar."
"I think it looks like a lightsaber wound," she said haughtily. "A really bad one. But you've had it longer than the Sith have been back, so I want to know how you got it." They'd managed to reach the end of the kata without knocking each other over, so Obi-Wan turned to face his partner with the incredulous anger he felt he was entitled to.
"And how do you know how long I've had it?"
"Because I've seen it," she said as if this were a stupid question. "I've seen you. Everyone has." Obi-Wan had never seen this girl in his life before she showed up in his classes. "And when I was a kid, you told me a different story." Many of the other students had completed their exercise and were doing a horrible job pretending they weren't eavesdropping.
You still are a kid, Obi-Wan did not say. Instead, he crossed his arms and said, "Oh really?" Some of the other students were stopping early just to watch the confrontation happening at the back of the room.
"Yeah, you said that your master was knighting you, and missed." A soft snort of laughter erupted somewhere in the crowd of learners, and Obi-Wan glared in its direction before turning his ire back to his unruly practice partner.
"I never said any such thing."
"You did, you said it to me."
"I didn't."
"You're lying."
Aghast and bordering on furious, Obi-Wan stared down the padawan, biting the inside of his lip and breathing hard through his nose to keep himself from saying something pithy and immature. She stared right back, firm in her convictions.
Your master will be hearing about your lip and your accusations, Obi-Wan thought privately, if you were my apprentice, you'd be running laps around the temple all weekend.
"What," he demanded, "is your name, padawan?" The girl adjusted her stance and crossed her arms, clearly ready for another fight.
"Ahsoka Tano."