you may recognize some very familiar scenes here if you read the original. XD anyways, here's the next chapter! Please tell me what you thought...
Chapter 3
The familiar quarters were drenched in both sides of the Force. If he had felt like he belonged in this galaxy, then he would have said that the Force had made it into its own personal home. Soothing, comforting tendrils curled around him, allowing peace of mind and rest that was not often to be found elsewhere.
"Masters." He greeted Revan and Bastilla warmly with a dip of the head. He may be an assassin, but he was not emotionless.
"Obi-Wan. Was your mission successful?" Bastilla rose from the couch and went to make some tea. He followed.
"Yes, master. It was successful." Obi-Wan replied, sitting quietly at the table. His violet eyes followed his master's movements, delving a little deeper into the Force and seeing the utter calm and familiarity in the movements, steadfast and unwavering. It was almost unnerving how well he could sense the Force.
Chai tea was set before him in a chipped, earthenware cup, and he curled his fingers around it, brows furrowing. The slight steam rose to his nose and he breathed it in, allowing it to relax his muscles.
"What troubles you, apprentice?" Revan sat in front of him, wise, grey eyes peering over the rim of the cup.
"What makes them fall?" He asked, lifting the cup up. He knew that the question was complex. And he knew that he would also get no answer- and a cryptic one if at all. It was for him to find out, not to be answered. His masters did not reply.
He lifted the mug to his lips and inhaled it. It was not to be swallowed, it was to be inhaled, barely sipped. Flavors of dried grass, herbs, and flowers mingled and pooled on his tongue, and he swallowed as soon as it had cooled. They sat in silence for a while.
"Your trials have begun. Tomorrow is the end." Piercing eyes studied him, and he set the mug down.
"Yes, master." In truth, he was nervous. His face held no emotion, but he was still nervous. The trials were difficult, and he knew that especially with his skills he would be sorely tested. Tomorrow was to be spent in meditation to prepare. For now, though, he chose to think about his vague memories and converse with his masters as they sipped the tea along with the Force.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
The Force was being mysterious today. Not that it hadn't always been, but to a Jedi the Force was quite clear, and especially to Obi-Wan. Today, though, it was even more so than usual.
It was slick and tepid, like the rains that fell drearily outside- exactly the way it had been when Revan had first found his apprentice.
Obi-Wan cleared his mind. It was almost ridiculously easy to center himself, for he was the center. He was the anchor for the ship of his thoughts in the eddying currents of the Force.
They arrived at the place where his trials were to take place. Bastilla sent him a soothing pulse, and he acknowledged it with a slight nod that was returned.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, are you ready for your trial?" Revan asked formally, as according to tradition.
He bowed in respect. "Yes, master." He replied. Emotionless and expressionless. Centered and focused. Hopefully by the time that this was finished, he could add tried and true to that description.
He breathed. The Force filled his lungs, filling, stretching, searching, and giving life. His mind was empty. His hand rested on his lightsabers. He was calm.
"Then you may begin when ready." Revan spoke up, voice as sharp and to-the-point as his Vaapad katas.
He nodded and walked forwards; not quickly, not excitedly. Quietly, calmly, determinedly. He was ready to face any and all things that he might meet. He knew that his masters were watching. He would not fall. He would not let them down.
The Force whispered to him as he entered a doorway into a room in the hallway of the Star Forge that he had been directed to. He was quiet. He was swift. He melded into the shadows- became a shadow. He was no more than another formless being, watching and knowing all things. Violet eyes were now plum purple, deep and dark in concentration.
He wished there were life-forms here with him. He, as an elf, was connected with living things, plants and trees. But he knew that the absence of them was deliberately arranged as part of the trials. It made it as difficult as possible.
The Force shrieked in his ears in warning. A red snap-hiss and a crackle of plasma alerted him and he sank even deeper into the Force, his own azure blade springing to life like the claws of a Nexu as he sprang out of the shadows to face his opponent.
This was not a sentient being. This was a Sith holocron of his adopted father. His eyes flashed in the sparks that flew from the crackling blades as they met in the deadly dance. But he was not a warrior. He was not a knight. He did not do swordplay.
He went for the kill. He did not parry: he moved. He flowed like the currents of the Force he immersed himself in, snapping out to strike like the head of a serpent or the crack of a well-aimed whip. He did not block: he redirected.
The next instant the red saber was cut in half and spinning on the floor where it had landed with a crack. He slipped back into the shadows and continued on.
Silent; swift; efficient; unknown; hidden: the litany was running through his head like a chant spoken over and over. The Force is silent. Whispered tendrils of muted sound escape its strange oiliness, slick and thick and suffocating like an oil spill in the oceans. It is brooding, holding its breath as though before a deep plunge.
His minute probes into the Force suddenly warn him as an assassin droid leaps into the room from behind the pillar it has been stationed. He can count three spider droids, five assassin droids, and two normal fighter droids. He feels annoyed, but hides it behind his mental shields.
His sudden leap startles the droids that are looking around for their enemy. Before they can register the command to shoot, he has already taken out two spiders. He bounces silently off of the walls, dodging the plasma shots and landing behind an assassin droid. It has been thirty seconds since he has leapt.
The droid crumples to the ground, neatly cut in half with a muted clatter that can barely be heard as Obi-Wan slows its descent with the Force. Another droid lunges, and is met with a saber to the face. One by one they are all dispatched, confused and bewildered as the shadow leaps from nowhere and everywhere, slipping in and out of the dark patches that scatter the floor in the corners of the room.
The azure blade and the purple shoto disappear with a muted thrum, like a satisfied sigh. It has been fifteen minutes since he has started. He is halfway there.
The next room is filled with darkness. It is quiet, and the force swirls in disquiet and unease. The blackness is thick and wrong. He sinks into the force. Azure, golden, scarlet, emerald, and lavender spring into color like pinpoints of starlight in a black sky; and he looks around with his elvish eyesight, awed at the amount of crystals that stud the walls in this room.
They are catalysts for the Force, focusing the Force through them and making clear the notes of the song that the Force always sings. But they are warning him. Suddenly, darkness begins slamming against his shields. It is trying to break through, to break him, to harm him, to hurt him, to control him- he grits his teeth and dives into the light, defensive side Force.
He is like a diver, swimming deeper and sinking into the Force, melding himself into its currents and wrapping it around him like a shield. That is what the bright side of the Force is. A shield. The darkness slams against the Force, unable to reach him through the shield.
He walked along the hallways, hiding himself in the Force and making his silent footsteps change from being a drumbeat in the Force to nothing more than a muted thud; like a pair of socks on a carpeted floor.
The darkness retreats. He walks into an open room that is filled with light that streams in from the high windows, lighting up the white statues that line the sides of the stark-white room.
The air here is starch and clean, and in acknowledgement the Force stays put, opting to stay in its place and not move, becoming like the statues and playing their silent flutes that ring in his ears as the music of the Force.
Here everything is the center. Here it is an anchor, a place of rigid peace from the continuous waves of the Force.
He walks through, listening to the silent conversation of the statues through their poses. The thoughtful gaze pinned on the other statue that is in the stance of a kata, eyes closed. Meditation through movement. A dull background of tuned-out music, to serve as an anchor for thoughts.
The statue in the basic, offensive, battle-ready Shii-cho stance, lightsaber pointed to another figure who is dancing. Strength through weakness. He must be strong, but also flexible. A strong wind may fell a mighty oak tree and leave the reed beside it still standing, because the reed has bent compliantly to the wind, easing the wind's wrath.
The last and most seemingly starkly contrasting pair there is. A figure draped in robes, books in hand and mouth open in a rousing speech- and judgmental finger pointing at the woman whose tears are mingling with the dew on the rose petals that she bears, devotion and sorrow etched into her features. Power through gentleness. He can sway a crowd with a speech, but with gentleness he can sway the hard world to tears.
As he exits that final room, the Force still echoing in his ears with fading notes of a haunting melody, he thinks about the lessons he has learned through the trials. He will apply them to his life. He looks up to see his masters there, small smiles on some of their faces, and allows relief and joy to show through his eyes, the emotions leaking through his impeccable shields and blooming in the Force like grass and flowers.
"Well done, apprentice Kenobi. You have passed the trials. The last room was the most important, for not only will you use these lessons in life, but you must also learn to find them in seemingly meaningless things. Congratulations." Bastilla spoke up, giving him a smile at the end.
His master Revan clapped his shoulder- his father-figure in all things, and the congratulations that he received from them both faded to just another cacophony of muted, background sounds as he thanked his masters through his eyes and the Force.
No words were needed. It was already spoken through the music of the spheres that surrounded them in its light.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
Obi-Wan gave a slight, unnoticeable shudder as a lightsaber hummed next to his ear where he knelt on the stone floor of the meditation chamber. With the smell of burnt hair in his nose, he looked down at the severed apprentice braid that lay in his hand, and tied the open end of it with a blue band.
His Masters nodded in satisfaction as he stood, newly knighted. He was no longer a learner, but now a master, free to take on an apprentice of his own. He is an assassin, a dangerous enemy and yet the greatest friend. But trust does not come easily with Kenobi.
He stood and walked over to his former master Revan and bowed. "Master, will you accept this braid as thanks for your training?" The words were spoken as formally as the braid was offered, but the remnants of their training bond echoed with the true sentiment behind the words.
His master bowed in return. "It is an honor." He replied, misty grey eyes glinting in knowing humor. A smile quirked Obi-Wan's lips for a moment before turning back to the Bastilla.
He opened his mouth to speak when the Force suddenly railed. It burst into action, like a shark breaking the surface of the ocean to snatch his kill out of the air. Masters and former apprentice fell to their knees, overwhelmed with the sudden power that filled the air, tangible and strong, demanding attention.
It roared like a thundering waterfall over a cliff, and broke upon them like they were the rocks and pebbles on the bottom of the riverbed, forcing them down. Obi-Wan's eyes peeled open from where they had shut, and he vaguely heard a voice ring through his ears.
"Come back to Arda, Duvainor. Remember who you are. Return, for help is required-" the command was broken off by the rushing of air through his hair and into his ears, and something in his mind broke. He clutched his head with a shout that was lost in the sound of the wailing Force, memory after memory rushing through his head, fleet and fast, slipping through his mental fingers like water.
Then everything went black, and the Force cradled him like a child, the feeling of a soothing, black cloak that wrapped him in peace and calm.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
Masters rose to their feet, shaken and pale by the power that had been just released by the Force. They looked at each other, confused and bewildered.
"What was that?" Revan rasped, shocked at the hoarseness in his own voice.
Bastilla, though, was staring at the braid that was cradled in her palm. "He's gone. He is where he belongs." She replied, voice flat in private grief.
He suddenly realized the absence of Obi-Wan and slowly the puzzle pieces clicked into his mind.
"He was brought here by the Force, and now that he is trained it has reclaimed its own." He nodded, and was left to comfort his distraught wife.