"The Chosen One, the boy may be," Grand Master Yoda said, the old Jedi's ears and eyes drooping for a moment as he glanced away from the other person in the room. "Nevertheless, grave danger I fear in his training."
It was not the answer the other party wanted to hear. "Master Yoda," Obi-Wan said tonelessly in reply, unmoving. Resolute.
The newly knighted Jedi was kneeling on the floor, his back straight, near the center of the room. As Obi-Wan watched, the Jedi Grand Master began to pace back and forth before him.
Obi-Wan had not yet been divested of his Padawan braid, but already he could feel the weight of its symbolic status lifted from his shoulders in the proclamation of his knighthood, and it gave him the courage to face the Grand Master levelly as he spoke. Obi-Wan Kenobi sat before him, kneeling, bathed in the light of the setting sun from the windows along the room's northern wall. The twilight glow lent an air of finality to Obi-Wan's carefully spoken ultimatum; or perhaps it was merely the conviction that was clear in his declaration.
"I gave Qui-Gon my word," Obi-Wan said, his eyes fixed on Yoda as the Grand Master continued to pace. "I will train Anakin—"
The old Master made an aggrieved grunting sound, perhaps one of muted pain, or frustration. But the younger Knight stubbornly continued to speak over him, determined to finish the point Obi-Wan would see made.
"—without the approval of the Council, if I must."
Yoda turned back to look at Obi-Wan again directly then. But whatever expression was on his face was lost to memory as the vision began to blur and fade away…
—
Obi-Wan felt a presence in the Force tugging him away from his meditative state, and opened his eyes. He was unsurprised to find Anakin standing nearby in the doorway, the boy hand-in-hand with one of the Nabooian royal handmaidens—Eirtaé, if Obi-Wan's memory served.
The young woman cleared her throat politely and smiled at him.
"Good evening, Knight Kenobi," she said. "We've finished Anakin's fittings at the royal tailor. So, I'm here to deliver him back to your care for the evening, if you both so wish to retire."
Obi-Wan let out a deep exhale to clear the remainder of his thoughts, before smiling back at the young woman tiredly. The young Knight was feeling exhausted, and no doubt Anakin was as well. The energetic child would never admit to it openly, but a long day at the palace coupled with recent events had to have him completely and utterly exhausted. Anakin was stubborn and vivacious but Obi-Wan and Padmé's royal guard knew, from bearing witness to the child's recent medical exam, how fragile Anakin's state of health really was. If the boy were to recover his precious health then Anakin needed ample time just to rest and recuperate.
"Thank you," Obi-Wan said, "Eirtaé?" The young woman nodded, and privately Obi-Wan felt some tension loosen in his chest that he'd remembered correctly.
Anakin, seeming a bit reluctant, let go of the young woman's hand and approached his Master where he sat knelt on the floor in meditation near the rightmost bed of their shared quarters. Upon their return to Naboo and over their protests, the two outcast Jedi had been lodged in a room Padmé had graciously gifted them in the queen's personal wing of Theed Royal Palace. Obi-Wan still had no idea how he was going to repay Her Highness's kindness toward himself and Anakin, though Padmé and her handmaidens would insist continuously that it was the least they could do for the pair that had done much to assist in the reclamation of Naboo during the battle with the Trade Federation.
Obi-Wan found himself eternally grateful for their support—truth be told he didn't know where he would have taken Anakin had the queen not offered them a place on her newly liberated planet. He'd meant what he said to Grand Master Yoda about training Anakin with or without the support of the Jedi Council, even if that meant forgoing the framework of the Temple support system set in place for Master and Padawan learners.
But forging his own path ahead would be easier among allies that shared his desire to do right by Anakin; particularly those who, frankly, adored the child that had helped save their planet. Obi-Wan shuddered to think of where he'd be even now, regarding Anakin's well-being, without the aid and resources of the queen. Her Highness had the people and means to help Obi-Wan with the immediate and pressing of Anakin's needs, not even touching the matter of the boy's training.
Caring for a neglected child in as poor health as Anakin was after his recent liberation from slavery was no easy task. Without access to the Halls of Healing at the Jedi Temple Obi-Wan would have floundered on his own, once he understood the dire straits his Padawan had been left in purely in terms of lingering physical and mental impairment through no fault of his own.
All those things had been easy to overlook in the whirlwind of feverish events between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's emergency landing with the royal party on Tatooine, and the liberation of Naboo. But in the days that followed more and more these lingering maladies of the body and mind came to make themselves known in Anakin's countenance, try to hide them as he might. Even now the boy winced as he attempted to mimic his Master's position kneeling on the floor, movements ginger and unconvincing in the hurt they aimed to hide.
Those that had been present at the boy's medical examination with the royal doctor had borne witness to the horrifying visage of the welts and bruises littering Anakin's body; from the middle of his back down to his buttocks and crisscrossing his upper thighs, a grim mosaic of nightmarish abuse and confirmation as to the toll taken by still-recent beatings (and worse) incurred throughout the life of a person that wasn't considered living, but property to be abused or manhandled at will. The injuries lingering on Anakin's person made Obi-Wan's heart ache, at the thought of the stoic boy that hadn't dared to let himself walk with the limp he surely felt or make so much as a peep of complaint throughout his travels at Qui-Gon's side across the surface of Tatooine, Coruscant, and Naboo throughout the preceding days.
However, as Anakin now endeavored to kneel on the floor beside his Master in an imitation of Obi-Wan's meditation pose, the young Knight stopped him gently before Anakin could hurt himself trying to settle on the hard floor.
"Ani," Obi-Wan said, standing up instead and carefully reaching out to take the boy under the arms so he didn't lower himself further—onto aching bruises and newly bandaged welts from the lash of a whip, whose reminder made Obi-Wan's heart race with anger he had to release into the Force.
"Not now, Padawan," he said, keeping his voice soothing and unaccusatory. "I'll teach you meditation in the Force soon, I promise. But it won't do to hurt yourself trying to follow what I do before your body's healed."
Behind them in the doorway, Eirtaé bowed and took her leave, the door clicking quietly shut behind her. Apparently the handmaiden was reassured Obi-Wan wouldn't let Anakin come to harm in the time it took between her leaving and when they retired to bed.
The thought would have offended if Obi-Wan didn't know the protective swell of emotion that manifested itself around thoughts of this boy and his condition, and knowledge of what had already transpired to make Anakin so ill in health, so unsound.
Malnourished, beset with old breaks and fractures wrongly set, anxious. Prone to exhaustion and weakness instinctively covered and hidden from purview, littered with bruises and blisters and welts and suffering infections. Fearful of touch and yet desperate for it under a kind hand.
His Padawan. His Anakin. Obi-Wan's heart ached for him. The young Knight had promised Qui-Gon to train the boy, and that meant now promising himself that he'd do what it took to train the boy. To care for him as a guardian ought, because what could be trained that first wasn't whole?
Under the gentle gaze and hands of his new Master, Anakin shifted uncomfortably as he was maneuvered back to his feet.
"Oh…" he said, not resisting as Obi-Wan gently guided him standing upright. "Sorry, Master."
Anakin's voice was little more than a whisper. The boy fidgeted, but didn't try to pull away from Obi-Wan's gentle hands, though whether this was out of trust, some craving for touch in the absence of his mother, or fear or retribution it was impossible for Obi-Wan to tell.
That thought hurt Obi-Wan to think of. But he had to take it slowly, try to address his new Padawan's myriad issues as they arose simply as best as Obi-Wan could, or frankly he would go insane.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Obi-Wan said gently. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just know you're in pain and don't want to make it worse by having you kneel as I do—the doctor recommended bedrest or soft surfaces when you aren't up and about."
Anakin nodded, not meeting his eyes. Obi-Wan took him by the hand, and Anakin didn't resist. The small hand slipped into Obi-Wan's own, too calloused for someone so young, and squeezed.
So did Obi-Wan's heart. He'd do anything, anything to do right by this boy. Qui-Gon Jinn was counting on him, and besides, was it not the right thing to do? Hadn't Anakin earned some respite from the misery of his former life for his selfless actions of the past few days, doing everything in his power to save the lives and livelihoods of so many strangers whom he'd never met?
Obi-Wan tugged the boy's hand. "Why don't we retire for the evening, Padawan," he said, leading Anakin over to the bed nearest the window. It was large enough for two people easily, maybe three, but there was a second bed that Obi-Wan planned to sleep in directly beside it. "Come on."
Obligingly Anakin crawled under the covers, movements slow and ginger to avoid exacerbating his injuries, and Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh as he smoothed the boy's hair once Anakin had settled onto his pillow. Obi-Wan pulled the covers up around Anakin and tucked him in securely, dropping a kiss on his forehead as his crèche masters had once done for him when it was time to sleep.
The boy would be in Obi-Wan's bed within the hour, perhaps less. Obi-Wan knew this but didn't lecture Anakin to stay in his own bed this time, knowing the child desperately needed comfort, which, truthfully, Obi-Wan hadn't the heart to deny him—in fact rather honestly needed himself. Qui-Gon's absence left his (former) Padawan a mess of tears in the night, as soon as the lights were dimmed, and he would cry silently until he felt the familiar rustle of blankets to let him know Anakin was there at the side of the bed requesting wordless allowance to crawl under the sheets with his new Master instead of fending off his nightmares alone.
Sure enough, it wasn't long after Obi-Wan had retreated to his own bed, and was biting down on his knuckles to stifle sobs of misery—thinking of Qui-Gon, thinking of the funeral pyre, of the Sith he'd killed—that Obi-Wan felt in the Force the familiar twang of fear and uneasiness and desperation that warned him before Anakin's weight dipped in the mattress, asking permission more forwardly than previous nights without a word to be allowed to sleep there.
Obi-Wan (perhaps gratefully) took a deep and shuddering breath before reaching out clumsily to scoop the child in closer to him on the bed.
Obi-Wan's Padawan. His responsibility. The last remnant of his Master, and the last tie Obi-Wan had to the Jedi Order that had forsaken them both.
Anakin wept into Obi-Wan's chest. One thumb was tucked into the boy's mouth as he sucked it for comfort, whimpering, and Obi-Wan stroked his hair. Feeling desperately grateful for Anakin, that Qui-Gon hadn't left Obi-Wan here alone with nothing and no one to fill the void of his memory. Grateful to have this last piece of his Master that Obi-Wan would hold and keep and cherish and never let go, even if the back of his mind warned him that this was dangerous talk bordering on attachment. The wound was too raw, now, Obi-Wan did not have it in himself to care.
He was grateful for the softness of the bed they lay on, and the kind young queen—Padmé, who had swept Anakin into her own arms on the steps of the royal palace after the celebratory parade with tears in her eyes. Padmé, who had given them this large and quiet partition of her own paradise to grieve.
To find and sort themselves to a new plan. Moving forward through life, somehow, by the will of the Force, as a Master and a Padawan without an Order.
To carry on with the love and support of the Naboo.
To pick themselves up after the end of everything either boy had ever known.
