Note: I am quite appreciative of critiques, for how else can one correct one's weaknesses? But for those who don't know the difference between critique and criticism, let me offer this: a critique points out what works and what does not or an alternate way to present information. It may be a request to "show" not "tell" with a sample of how to accomplish that.
It is not, however, I "don't like" how you write.
I do not write "action" stories; I write character stories. If you dislike such, you will be happier not to continue reading and seek out stories that you do enjoy.
I hope you all enjoy this more light-hearted look "back" before the storm. (And yes, this starts out a rather convoluted time line - my beta wasn't around to kick around the idea of how to approach this story at the time and I was a bit flummoxed on how to approach it.)
Chapter 3. Before the Storm
"I guess it's no rest for the wicked." The dry comment as they exited the Council chamber brought a twitch of amusement to Qui-Gon's lips.
"Wine, women, or song?" The master threw a sideways look at his padawan. "Just what have you been up to while we've been separated?"
"It's in my mission reports, Master," Obi-Wan replied serenely. As Qui-Gon cleared his throat, clearly deciding whether he wished to pursue this line of conversation, Obi-Wan chuckled. "I have behaved quite properly as a Jedi should."
"Of course you have."
After a moment's reflection, Obi-Wan added thoughtfully, "However, once back at the Temple…."
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed and his steps slowed as the words sunk in. Obi-Wan calmly swept past him, hands tucked in his robe sleeves, innocence radiating from him.
"What? Obi-Wan, get back here like a good padawan – even if you've been a bad padawan." Qui-Gon caught up to his waiting apprentice at the lift entrance that would carry them from the Council spire down to the Grand Promenade. "Just how bad?"
"Well…." Obi-Wan looked around and leaned forward to whisper into Qui-Gon's ear, "I fathered six children in one twenty-four time cycle -."
"Oh, Padawan, you didn't." Qui-Gon groaned. "Wait a minute – Obi-Wan!"
Despite the twinkle in his eyes, Obi-Wan continued solemnly on, "And then I asked Master Yaddle to marry me. She accepted, though Master Billaba tried to win my heart away from her. The ceremony is, ah, tomorrow."
Qui-Gon crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And Master Yoda didn't object?"
"Not at all. Master Yoda said he'd cater– yup, stew. I'm thinking of calling the ceremony off just because of that."
"I would, too," Qui-Gon shuddered at the very mention of that vile concoction, even as Obi-Wan had. He shook his head, and asked quite seriously, "Whatever horrible thing did I do in my life to deserve a padawan such as you?"
"Live virtuously? I'm the Force's gift to you."
"I think I'll give you back." Qui-Gon smiled and reached out to tweak his padawan's nose. As Obi-Wan grinned at him, he glanced sideways and asked, "Six kids?"
"Two sets of triplets out of ten partners."
"Quite a feat, considering you've never kissed a female before."
"Even if true, that is not how one fathers children – one does not use the lips, one uses -." Obi-Wan shut up as Qui-Gon put a finger over his lips.
"I am quite aware of the machinations of reproduction, Padawan, and I am most definitely giving you back. After we complete this mission, of course."
Obi-Wan hadn't been kidding about the "no rest," even if had been kidding about the "for the wicked."
After a long spate of tiring, occasionally hazardous, missions, Obi-Wan had hoped for some down time, even just a few days. Since he wasn't to be granted even that, he now looked forward to this relatively straightforward diplomatic mission where the biggest threat would not be physical, only mental. He would rest enroute, for letting his attention wander due to fatigue would be inexcusable for a Jedi.
He knew Qui-Gon felt much the same.
This was their first mission together after three consecutive separate ones for Obi-Wan; two for Qui-Gon. Solitary missions were a test of a senior padawan's capabilities, a chance to put in practice all his training and identify whatever weak spots might remain while at the same giving the master a chance to familiarize him or herself with working alone once more.
He had been on numerous solitary missions over the past four years or so, but never three back to back, let alone followed by this fourth one teamed with Qui-Gon just days after the successful conclusion of his last one.
Now they were on this diplomatic ship the Chancellor had put at their disposal, but at least this mission was allowing them to catch up with each other. Qui-Gon and he had done little more than cross the occasional path in weeks, speak somewhat more often.
The little time they spent together was rare, and thus precious. It had prompted his master's hug when he returned from that last mission, his preparing Qui-Gon's favorite meal upon the master's return the time before that, the stretching out on the couch with feet on the table and having slightly too much to drink together, spurred on by increasingly ribald jokes.
Relaxing and enjoying what time they had.
Just as they did several evenings prior, before they left for Naboo to negotiate this simple end to a trade dispute. They had been talking of nothing in particular, only of whatever caught their fancy.
Suddenly, Qui-Gon had asked with a sly smirk, "So, padawan mine, not counting triplets, what do you count your greatest accomplishment lately?"
His reply had been prompt. "My ability to deliver a mission report without being intimidated by Master Windu's frown. I no longer have your broad back to hide behind."
His grin had been met by Qui-Gon's roar of laughter. "A worthy accomplishment, indeed." When the laughter had died down, Qui-Gon had leaned forward and smoothed the braid over his padawan's chest and left his hand hovering over it for a minute. When he added, "I am proud of you, Padawan," both knew he spoke not of Obi-Wan's newfound bravery before the Council, but of more, far more.
Was separation soon and inevitable?
They had not spoken of it as yet – the possibility that it might soon be time to start the intensive work towards Obi-Wan's trials.
Sometimes the young Jedi wondered if there was even the slightest possibility he might be considered ready, yet Qui-Gon would often study him – and sigh. Was that a sigh of regret that their time together might be slowly drawing to an end – or a sigh that Obi-Wan had not yet progressed that far?
It was not up to a Jedi padawan to wonder nor to indulge in wishful thinking, but he was just as much a man as a Jedi. Curiosity, many said, was both the blessing and the curse of humankind. Many of Obi-Wan's age mates were knighted already. He did not deny their readiness, only doubted theirs exceeded his.
In what aspect of his training might he be deficient? His connection to the Living Force?
If that were the issue, he'd be a padawan forever, were it up to Qui-Gon. Most Jedi favored one side of the Force over the other; he was paired with a master whose affinity was most decidedly not his own and one who might never be satisfied with his padawan's erratic adherence to the same.
It might well take a Council edict, in that case, before Obi-Wan ever had the chance to lose his braid. Was it possible for the Council to force a master to let his padawan take the trials against the master's wishes?
Part of him yearned for that culmination of all his years of training, and part of him quailed at the thought of putting part of his life forever behind him.
Patience, Kenobi, he counseled himself, standing at the cruiser's view port, Naboo still some hours away. You must learn to control your impatience, still. And focus – you're on a mission, even if we haven't officially arrived. You know what Qui-Gon will say if he catches you daydreaming.
"Obi-Wan." A firm hand dropped onto his shoulder as Qui-Gon moved beside him, to stare out the transparisteel port beside him. "The easier the mission in theory, often the harder it is in actuality. Remember to mind your focus."
Had there been a hint of a chuckle in his master's voice? He faced outwards, his eyes in shadow so that any betraying sparkle of amusement in them was not visible.
"Yes, Master." There was little point in voicing his unease, Obi-Wan decided. It had not yet arisen to the point of a "bad feeling" which Qui-Gon would dismiss anyway. When – and if – it did, he would voice it. When – and if – he did, he would be admonished once more to turn his attention to the here and now.
He nearly sighed at the futility of it all.
Why did the Force call things to his attention if he was not to pay them mind? The Force should call them to Qui-Gon's attention, for the Jedi master was the sole arbitrator of what had meaning or what was merely the fancies of a worry-prone padawan.
"Master." He laced his fingers together and then turned to fully look at Qui-Gon, who still stood in profile. Reassuring in his very solidness, yet the padawan's keen eyes had not failed to pick up traces of weariness far more visible than previously. "Are you well, Master?"
"I'm quite well, Padawan. I shall seek my rest shortly."
Somewhat reassured, Obi-Wan nodded. "As I shall now, with your permission, Master."
"Of course, Padawan." A warm smile accompanied the words, which Obi-Wan returned.
Despite their differing relationships with the Force which occasionally infused their partnership with minor bouts of conflict, he considered himself fortunate in his master. Obi-Wan knew quite well of the sterile personal relationship between Qui-Gon and his master, Dooku. It in some ways mirrored the early years of their own partnership.
Over time the two Jedi had crafted their master/padawan relationship into something unique and satisfying. Hierarchy of rank still existed, but genuine friendship flourished as well. It allowed them to weather the occasional disagreements and disgruntlements of close association. It mended the hurt of hastily spoken words.
It would keep them close after Obi-Wan's knighting, forever linked by affection.
Qui-Gon turned and watched his padawan take his leave. The boy was tired, he knew, betrayed by the softness of his speech as much as by the slightest of slumps to his shoulders.
So was he, far more than he should be.
The Council had been sending his padawan on difficult back-to-back missions; their intent obviously to push Obi-Wan's limits. It was a sign they were considering speaking to Qui-Gon, if he did not speak to them first, of allowing Obi-Wan a chance at his trials.
It could just as easily be interpreted, he conceded, as a sign of their displeasure that Obi-Wan was not yet at that point in his training.
Is he ready? Am I?
It was why he didn't speak to Obi-Wan about a day that must someday come.
A knight should not be, as Obi-Wan occasionally was, impulsive and quick to judgment. In his own estimation, if not the Council's, neither was he as attuned to the Living Force as Qui-Gon would like.
On the other hand he was smart, levelheaded, and skilled - all the attributes the Order wished in its knights.
He rubbed his temple with a finger. Such thoughts needed to be set aside, for soon they would arrive at Naboo.
He would enjoy introducing Obi-Wan to the pleasure of dealing with Neimoidians – a joy that ranked on par with sitting down to a stew dinner with Yoda – that was to say, no joy at all!
At least the negotiations would be relatively quick and easy. Those of the Trade Federation were easily cowed by those of strong will and mind. It did rather beg the question of just why they would so quickly jump to blockade a planet, a rather minor mid-rim planet, with regard to the Senate debate on taxing trade routes.
There had to be some good reason Naboo had been targeted.