Chapter 2 – age 15
Four years later...
The lanky teenager paused at the entrance to the Library, drew in a deep breath and then sauntered slowly into the vast hall. Casting a furtive glance around the room, his casual demeanor a pretense, the Padawan scanned the huge space, searching but not finding the loathsome creature. He nodded and then briefly smiled. Straightening his shoulders, he strode on, turning neither right nor left, walked straight back into the stacks, found an unused terminal and sat down. The sigh was audible as his body visibly relaxed into the comfortable chair.
Fifteen-year old Anakin thought grimly, Good. The old draigon isn't here. Finally some peace in this place.
The Temple library was quiet that day, hushed as always but without the usual comings and goings of Jedi intent on research. A holiday for most and Anakin knew that the detested hag, Jocasta Nu, was not on Coruscant. The gossips told the tale that the Archivist was finally going on sabbatical on some distant world. Hopefully with lots of biting, nasty bugs, the stench of a garbage pit and climate hotter than Tatooine, he wished with a spiteful smile.
Dismissing his thoughts of that ruthless harridan as unworthy of a Jedi apprentice, Anakin turned his contemplation to more pleasing things. The adolescent gazed upward, admiring the vaulted ceilings which gleamed with mosaic figures and mythological creatures of the ancient past and then lowered his eyes to look at the lines of glowing datapads converging into a single point, a luminescent window in the far distance.
The Temple Library had always held a kind of awe for Anakin Skywalker. The quiet spaces were filled with majesty and knowledge, and the realization that the nearly infinite works of the galaxy were amassed at the Temple and accessible to him was, to the former slave, almost overwhelming. He wanted it all, to slake his thirst delving into the ancient tomes, to feel the weight of the shear bulk of wisdom in this place. He wanted so much to learn everything. And it was here, available to all the Jedi, even him. Or, it would have been, if not for the constant presence of the despised Madam Jocasta Nu.
Over the years, the Archivist had made it a point, her mission really, to seek out and torment Anakin whenever possible. Two years back, after a particularly nasty "discussion" with the old witch, he made the blunder of mentioning it to Master Obi-Wan.
Of course, his Master took the side of the adult, assuring the young Padawan that he must have been mistaken. Obi-Wan had lectured his apprentice for an hour or so, insisting that no Jedi would act in such an unprofessional manner, that compassion was central to a Jedi's life and that he must look beyond the obvious disciplines to see that Madame Nu was merely trying to help Anakin learn the ways of the Temple.
He answered "Yes, Master. Of course, Master." But, all the while, the rage and dismay at the unbelievable injustice choked him, the tears burning behind his eyes as he refused to let them fall. Anakin did not mention it again.
However, he wasn't here to think about that Sith hag, but about his own Master. While Obi-Wan was quite blind to the failings of others in the Order, he seemed to delight in pointing out Anakin's failings as a Padawan.
No...no... the apprentice reflected, That's not quite right. Master doesn't take pleasure in discipline and lecturing. He just doesn't seem to know how to do anything else.
Anakin slowly shook his head, frowning. He just didn't understand his Master; the man was so confusing and contradictory. Obi-Wan was ever considerate and helpful about anything to do with his Jedi instruction, going out of his way to explain things that others, trained in the ways of the Force from early childhood, would have understood almost without thinking. And they both worked hard on the apprentice's lightsaber skills, so much so, that Anakin now surpassed all except the senior padawans in his ability with the blade. This was a major feat in itself, and he could tell that his Master was pleased and proud of his accomplishment.
Yet, in other ways, he continued to disappoint Master Obi-Wan and Anakin was getting frustrated with the lectures and punishments.
The Padawan tried his best. It was almost as if they spoke different languages or perhaps he inhabited an alternate universe from the rest of the Jedi. He could not even begin to comprehend it.
And increasingly, Obi-Wan and Anakin were at odds over the simplest things, from the dark clothes that he wore and the lack of friends, to the way he looked at his Master during sparring. The apprentice slumped in his chair, thinking of the incessant criticism and perceived faults that rocketed his way every day and his own guilt and anger at the overwhelming unfairness of it all.
"I don't understand," he muttered unhappily as he stared at the terminal. "Am I that bad? What have I done that he hates me so much?"
Even as he spoke the words, he knew that they weren't quite true.
Obi-Wan didn't really hate him. He never hurt Anakin, at least not physically and the Padawan wasn't ignored. Rather, he was tolerated, an inconvenience, the result of a dying man's plea, a pledge that could not be broken no matter how much the Master might wish to. No, he was not hated but he was not loved, either.
And he wanted to be loved, so much. Anakin was beginning to think that it would never happen, at least not here and certainly not by Obi-Wan. He had noticed long ago that his Master never hugged him, never ruffled his hair, never showed the slightest need for physical contact, except in training and then it was only the lightest, the briefest touch. At first, he had thought that it was the way of the Jedi. Yet over the years, he noticed that the other Master/Padawan pairs were quite affectionate with quick hugs and warm smiles. It was only his Master that didn't... wouldn't...
Why can't he? Why not? thought Anakin, miserable, tears catching in his throat as his memories spiraled inward, searching for an answer. When did he ever show the slightest regard? At the Battle of Naboo, maybe? Or perhaps, the problems really started there.
That war had claimed many lives, both Gungan and human and, most importantly, that of Obi-Wan's own beloved Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.
Anakin missed the great man, tall, empathetic, with laughing eyes. He was a wonder to the young former slave, a great spark in the Force, a warrior, a Jedi. That had been long ago and Anakin didn't think of him much anymore, the sad memories ebbing fast. However, Master Obi-Wan's remembrances of that unthinkable day did not fade but festered deep. He never seemed to completely recover from that devastating loss.
Whenever the topic of Naboo surfaced, his Master went utterly quiet, the bright light in his eyes dimming to a lifeless grey, face shuttered, body collapsing inward, going to some distant place where Anakin was not welcome.
Even now, Master sometimes looks at me and sees only pain. Maybe that's why he can't...love me... he mused unhappily. Is he to blame or am I? Is it my fault? Is there something in me that he just can't accept into his heart?
When he had first arrived at the Temple , Anakin had tried to fit in, desperate to be accepted among his age group within the Order. But he had problems making friends here. The odd man, the outsider, the Chosen one with too many midichlorians and too little control over his emotions.
Everyone else had grown up with the others of their creche and there was no room for anyone new, especially for the illustrious Padawan with such lightsaber skills. He had asked his Master about it, hoping for some insight or suggestions on how to break the barriers. Obi-Wan had shrugged it off with the 'concentrate on the here and now' lecture. It had not made much sense. Yet Anakin smiled and nodded at the appropriate moments and his Master went away satisfied. The Padawan did not ask again.
The glowing terminal brought him back to disquieting reality.
"I have to know. Is it my flaw, my failing? What can I do to make him love me as a father should?" he whispered into the echoing spaces. Despairing, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, then looked up with determination and began to search the databases for insight into Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The information on his Master was very complete but not accessible to most Jedi. Still, Anakin was not like most Jedi and he quickly hacked into the files. He started with the earliest entries, thinking that Obi-Wan, as a child, may have had some trauma that damaged his ability to interact with others, especially teenagers. The Bandomeer incident made riveting reading and he was just about to start on the Melida/Daan affair when a fleeting shadow moved across the monitor.
"Is there something I can help you with, Padawan Skywalker?" the detested voice rang out.
Chuuba, thought Anakin grimly, she's not supposed to be here!
"No, Ma'am. I am writing a paper on great Jedi of the Order and have found some resources that are adequate." His voice was ragged with effort, trying and failing miserably to sound calm and controlled.
Madam Jocasta Nu smiled spitefully as she turned to face the young Padawan. "Are you sure that I cannot assist you? I have many resources that are not available to children. Let me see what you have so far." The menace in her words was unmistakable.
Anakin quickly moved to turn off the datapad. Still, the Archivist was faster and she brought up the files within moments.
"Ah, Padawan Skywalker. I see that you have been investigating your Master. You must be aware that you do not have access to these files. They are restricted to mind-healers and historians only.'' Her look was one of grim enjoyment, eyes narrowed with a sly smirk playing across her ancient face. She straightened up fast, folded her spindly arms across her chest and said pointedly, viciously. "Certainly not to snoopy Padawans with no business here in the Library."
The teenager was miserable, shoulders hunching, body curling in, all fight gone. She had done it again, catching him out in an infraction, with punishment certain to follow. And the worst thing is that she would tell Obi-Wan. The thought of the disappointment in his Master's eyes cut like a lightsaber blade through his heart.
"I expected no less from you." she spat out, venom clear in that vindictive voice. "Think you are better than the rest of us, do you? Think you can flaunt the rules here. Think again...Padawan."
Wrapping his arms around his body as though to protect it from harm, Anakin stood up. His head hung down, eyes on the exquisite tile floors, looking everywhere but at his old enemy. Growling low, trying to fight the rising misery and the furious glow of surging anger, he spoke clearly. "I have every right to be here. I am a Jedi Padawan, not some lowly slave. I have a right..."
She cut him off, obviously incensed that a mere apprentice, would talk back to her like this. "You have the rights that your Master and this Order have given you. You have broken into files that are restricted, as you well know." Her relentless eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "I will speak to your Master about this as well as the Council. We shall see about your rights, Chosen One."
Anakin hated to be called Chosen One, detested it with a passion, loathed the words coming from the lips of this evil woman. His head shot up, eyes blazing as he looked at her. He stepped forward, his posture menacing, his enmity clearly seen. Madame Nu retreated slightly, but maintained her pose and spat out, "Are you threatening me, Skywalker?"
He stopped at that, rigid in shock, the anger turning into bottomless guilt as the thought of his loss of control swept his senses. His Master, the man Anakin loved with all his heart, who was as a father to him, would never forgive him if he hurt Jocasta Nu. He stepped back, eyes scanning the floor again, misery clearly etched on his young face. "Never, Ma'am. A Jedi does not threaten."
"Just you remember that...Jedi. Now, go. I will be speaking with your Master today about this unfortunate incident. I will leave out nothing, be sure of that." She pointed towards the huge entryway. "What are you waiting for? GO!"
As he raced away, he could hear her muttering, her voice clear in the echoing halls of the Archives, "He's is going to be the death of his Master if he keeps it up. Deceitful, uncontrollable, angry. Oh, yes, he's going to bring balance all right. Chosen One, what are those fools on the Council thinking? He's going to turn, mark my words."
Anakin Skywalker, stumbled through the stacks, bleary-eyed with tears that remained unshed, head down in defeat. But through it all, he would remember this day and all the others. A Jedi may not threaten; however, a Jedi doesn't forget either.