Chapter 32. Operation: Obi-Wan
Anakin woke to find his master sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling at him. "Mornin', Master," he mumbled, rubbing sleepy eyes and getting a faceful of pillow to his surprise.
"Hey!" he yelped. He grabbed the pillow and smacked Qui-Gon right back, getting a faked "oomph" in return. The two tussled for a few minutes, until Anakin tackled the big Jedi with a flying leap from his bed. The man went down in a tangle of limbs and laughter as Anakin giggled triumphantly atop of him, only to be suddenly upended and held upside down by an invisible hand.
"So, you thought you won?" Qui-Gon sat up, his eyes glinting dangerously.
"Let me down, let me down!"
"Okay," the Jedi agreed amiably, eliciting another yelp, this one of protest as Anakin tumbled towards the carpet, only to be caught within strong arms. Qui-Gon set the boy down, tousling his hair affectionately. This one would never – never – have cause to link his master with a lack of affection. His dream had affected him more than he wished to admit. Xan had received plenty of affection even if Obi-Wan had suffered from its lack in the early days. No, he could not blame any action on his part for their failures – but all the same, he could be sure that Anakin received all that he needed from Qui-Gon as both Jedi master and man. The rest was up to Anakin himself – and the Force.
He wrapped an arm around the boy and ushered him to the kitchen. The only thing the boy relished more than affection was food.
He determined to stock up on both.
"A tactical genius you are, Mace Windu," Yoda gently applauded, hearing how Mace had maneuvered Obi-Wan to the crèche with just a few carefully chosen words. The Force had known what it was about, for Yoda was more certain than ever that Mace's stepping forward to take charge of the young man was meant to be. He still didn't understand why Obi-Wan was enduring this trial of body and spirit, this trial on top of the trials he had faced on Naboo.
But trials were meant to strengthen a Jedi, to reveal that which lay underneath. So it had always been and so it would always be.
The purpose of this trial was yet shrouded. More was in store the Force seemed to whisper, and not just for Obi-Wan, but for young Anakin and Qui-Gon. The galaxy was darkening and the Force was no longer as illuminating as it had once been to one who had delved deeply into its mysteries for centuries.
A ghost of a shiver traveled up his spine. A half-forgotten memory, a lost padawan – but the clouds did not part and the memory remained elusive.
"Once we get Obi-Wan to think beyond himself, most of the work is done, eh?" Yoda slyly poked at Mace's ankle. He suddenly sobered. "Key to Obi-Wan's character that is and a wondrous trait it is that the Force has gifted him, but a gift that can harm as much as it uplifts."
"Naboo," Mace tested the word out. "Naboo?"
Yoda's great eyes closed; yes, the Force seemed to agree – and yet, disagree. "Important his actions on Naboo were but how…? On this I must meditate, while you continue in our battle to restore our youngling to full health, but careful you must be."
"What of Qui-Gon and young Anakin?"
"In other hands are they. Their part they have played, but at the Force's will – or another's is not yet clear."
Qui-Gon was right about at least one thing: the dark was gathering strength. Already it wove its first thin tendrils about and through the Force's guardians, the strongest bulwark the Light had. So ephemeral was its touch, so much mist and air and a lessening of the light that it could not be seen and barely sensed.
Its origins could be – anywhere, but it was close. It would have to grow and strengthen before it could be combated, and that thought was what worried Yoda most.
What if he helped to strengthen the very thing – or person – that brought the darkness?
"Master Windu," he called after the departing master. "With Obi-Wan great care you must take. Great care."
Careful, for the dark slunk in his wake and crept at his feet, watching and waiting for the wounded prey to falter and fall. Already shorn of his most potent defense, Obi-Wan was vulnerable.
The Order could protect him, but only the Force could keep him safe.
Best see to it that you do, the aged master whispered. Care to lose him I do not.
The Force gave no reply.
With Yoda's welcome endorsement of his tactical efforts, Mace planned his next move. Obi-Wan seemed to feel most at ease when few took open notice of his presence, yet it was time to ease him back into the greater community, something he had as yet resisted.
How best to accomplish this dual goal – then the beautifully simple answer struck Mace.
The idea was planned and executed by the co-conspirators with precision, grace – and a touch of unintended humor. Timing and execution were key.
It started with the chime of the doorbell.
"Answer that, will you?" Mace called from his room and then quietly moved to a spot to observe the opening salvo.
Two delighted friends barely chorused, "Hi, Obi" before they all but fell upon Obi-Wan. The young Jedi grunted in surprise and adroitly caught Bant as she wrapped him in a hug. He returned it and then in one smooth motion set her on her feet all the while looking pleasantly pleased to be so greeted. Mace heaved a sigh of relief; he had felt certain that Obi-Wan was ready to see his friends but only now had he confirmation of that assumption.
"You're looking much better, Obi." Bant pinched his cheek as Garen clapped his friend on the back; then with an oh-what-the-heck-shrug apparently decided to hug him as well, stepping forward with arms wide.
"Umm, hi, too, and thanks for keeping your assault upon my lowly person relatively gentle," Obi-Wan observed dryly, stepping back and holding up his hands in mock protection, only to grin as Bant huffed at him.
"'Lowly person!' Obi-Wan Kenobi, don't you dare talk like that, you're our fr–" She grunted as Garen clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, "Master Windu is standing right there – you know – member of the Council and all that. Behave."
Wide-eyed, Bant gulped and bowed. "Good evening, Master Windu." Her greeting was echoed a moment later after a non-too-subtle elbow to her companion's side.
Like crechlings trying hard to remember proper etiquette in the presence of their elders; their greetings awkward and painfully formal in execution. Co-conspirators they might be, but still two easily intimidated ones.
"Good evening, Padawan Eerin, Knight Muln," said individual acknowledged mildly. As for Obi-Wan – a quick sideways glance at that young man caught a sparkling gleam of amusement within the blue-gray eyes, not the look of contrition that Mace expected for being the inadvertent cause of his friends' discomfiture. When those eyes were raised to his, the amusement not muted in the slightest, Mace was struck by the realization that the young man felt comfortable enough around the older man to share a joke at his friends' expense.
Obi-Wan was – at ease – in his presence.
Like a padawan with his master. And he welcomed it! The slight shadow that crossed his face faded into wry awareness. His concern for this former padawan of a once close friend had transformed little by little into a deeper personal regard for the man himself, somewhat akin to a master for his own padawan, reminding him of his years with Depa, now some years behind them both. He had neither expected nor wished for such a thing, but he could not truly say he regretted it. This young man had a knack for making himself at home at another's side.
With a nearly imperceptible wink at Obi-Wan, Mace crossed his arms and scowled as the two Jedi nervously shifted stances, drawing together almost unconsciously. Suppressing a twitch that wished to be a grin, he pointed a finger at them as he intoned, "I suppose I should congratulate you on having wisdom enough to release Kenobi from your friendly clutches before I had to intervene."
Bant gulped and Garen swallowed a croak.
Did he – was he – was that a joke? Two pairs of eyes turned to Obi-Wan, who swallowed a cough and gave a slight nod of his head. He wasn't sure they believed him. He wouldn't have believed it, either, if it hadn't been for the past few weeks.
"Ah, okay." Bant nodded uncertainly as Garen's eyes darted between Mace and Obi-Wan. Taking a deep breath, she added, "We came to take you to the dining hall for dinner tonight. C'mon, grab your cloak and let's go – and we're not taking 'no' for an answer."
Oh. Obi-Wan blinked. The invitation was – unexpected.
"Great idea," Mace chimed in.
"I – I'd rather –"
"Enjoy tasting something besides my cooking?" Mace barked. He scowled, grabbed his cloak, draped Obi-Wan's over his shoulders and led the way out, adding over his shoulder, "So would I." After a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan tucked his arms within his sleeves and trailed after, ensconced between his two friends, uncertain of just why he was reluctant to face his fellow Jedi.
His fingertips clutching tightly to the sleeves of his robe as he walked, he tried to analyze his feelings, as a Jedi would do.
He could come to no firm conclusion. He could not even decide if it was them or himself he did not wish to face, let alone the reason. Was it shame? Fear?
Vulnerability? That was a distinct possibility; he'd always felt a bit uncomfortable around those whose presence was invisible in the Force. Now all were. There was a - a flavor missing, like a word at the back of one's tongue, a tickle that could not be scratched that turned even those he knew best into partial-strangers.
Well, you'll just have to adapt, Kenobi.
Then a new, far more unsettling thought struck him, one he wished to deny but could not in conscience.
Could it be vanity – alone or in combination with pride?
He had seen some of the holo footage of his training sessions, his aerial maneuvers and flashy twirls of his lightsaber. The man he was now was a far cry from that confident - too confident? – padawan who knew his trials could not be too far away.
Pride goeth before a fall.
Did the Force wish to humble him?
He quietly sighed. Troubling thoughts, in any case, he admitted, yet it could just be as simple as he did not trust himself to display the equanimity of a Jedi at peace in the Force, the strength in the face of adversity which had instead reduced him all too often to tears.
Why, however, did not matter. Not at this moment. He was here, and Garen and Bant, and Master Windu were with him.
Mace didn't slow down as he strode through the double doors; neither did Garen or Bant though each shifted just a bit closer to him. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Obi-Wan followed, taking a tray and gazing at the array of food without any real interest. He was far more aware of each breath he took, each pulse of his heart beating in his veins, and the sudden, disconcerting realization that his entrance had caused no stir at all – the knights and masters present had merely glanced up at their entrance and then resumed their quiet conversations.
Slightly embarrassed by thinking his entry would be so dramatic as to focus all attention on himself – and why should it?; calmed by the presence of the three who flanked him – Obi-Wan selected a bowl of soup and a small salad from the available items and hesitated, eyes roaming over the tables as he waited for his slower companions.
"You're going to eat yourself into an early grave, Garen," Bant's soft words floated past him, barely registering. Garen's laugh and quick retort escaped his wandering attention; Mace's voice pulled it back to his three companions.
"Why don't you three go eat by yourselves," Mace suggested, turning to face Obi-Wan. "That way you don't have to be on your 'best behavior'– but if you start a food fight you will be before the Council tomorrow explaining your actions."
"The Terrible Trio reunited," Obi-Wan murmured, remembering a rather too accurate name given them many years and many memories ago.
Garen snickered; then colored as Mace gave him a stern look.
"I'm going to join Yoda and Yaddle – I just hope they're not eating that disgusting swamp food. It stinks…." Mace's nose wrinkled in disgust as he headed towards that table.
"Yessir." A smile twitched at Obi-Wan's lips, for he had recognized Mace's scowl for what it was. He turned to his friends. "That's the real Mace Windu you got a glimpse of – he's been so – understanding. Without him…," he shrugged helplessly. Needing to change the subject, he abruptly asked, "Are you really planning to eat all that, Garen?"
His tray was piled high with a variety of food, enough even to make their absent and perennially-hungry friend Reeft full. There was even three – yes, three - helpings of Obi-Wan's weakness – sweetberry tart. He'd been oh-so-tempted but had passed it by, choosing plain and simple fare to satisfy his growing but still meager appetite. Bant had made no comment, but he had glimpsed Garen's raised eyebrow of disbelief.
"Is that all you were planning to eat?" Garen demanded in return, looking at Obi-Wan's rather sparse tray as they sat down. "Soup, salad, beverage. Not even a dessert." He clucked in disapproval.
"He doesn't want to start waddling around as you will soon be doing," Bant commented rather tartly.
Garen didn't even bother to look offended. A cheeky grin accompanied his ever so magnanimously pronounced proclamation that, "I'm going to feed some of this to Obi; Force knows he needs some fattening up. As his friend I figure it's my duty to put temptation in his way. You know Obi – he won't be able to resist the sweet lure of juicy sweetberry tarts for long if they're sitting in front of him just begging to be devoured, hence three helpings - two for me and one for him."
He leaned back in his seat, looking rather pleased with himself. Bant rolled her eyes and Obi-Wan just shook his head, though a slight smile twitched at his lips.
Undeterred by his friend's lack of apparent enthusiasm, Garen tried a different tack. He motioned to a mound of sauce-draped ribs on his plate. "Okay, food first, dessert later you purist." On a sudden whim, he speared a piece of meat and thrust it towards his friend. "C'mon Obi, try one of these."
Utensils clattered as Obi-Wan evaded the offered bite. "Gar, please – no."
Setting all teasing aside, Garen asked sympathetically, "Not much of an appetite as yet?"
"No." Not for food, not for mingling. It wasn't very Jedi of him, but every since awakening at the Temple he had felt out of step, just as he had at age twelve with an uncertain future ahead of him. He was disoriented within his mind, and hence within his body.
No point on dwelling on that, though. He had to move on and let everything settle into place.
Obi-Wan tasted his soup, made a face, and added a bit of seasoning. Temple food tended to be rather bland, at least that meant for humans; it was left to the individual to season foods to personal taste. Though he had chosen easily digested foods, he still preferred his food to have some flavor.
After another, far more satisfactory swallow, he added ever so casually as his eyes flickered between Garen and Bant, "I assume Reeft and Siri are still away, since Master Windu would have roped them in on your little conspiracy if they were here."
No twitch of a muscle betrayed either one, no look of chagrin crossed either face.
Yet Obi-Wan knew he was right.
Plausible deniability was not possible, not with his two friends, no matter how innocent they looked. It hadn't taken Force abilities to see right through their little charade. He'd grown up with them, after all.
"Why, you little Sith!" Suddenly Garen's eyes widened in delight. "Obi! You've got the Force back," he chortled, playfully punching his friend in the arm.
The glee behind the words was a vibroblade to his heart, a stark reminder of all that he had lost. Obi-Wan had persuaded himself that the Force was merely elusive, beyond his grasp due to his injury. To hear his loss voiced aloud as if it were common knowledge – implied it was perhaps more, perhaps – not just elusive but – perhaps, truly, lost.
Gone.
"You – you know?" His voice was a thin whisper of sound, shaky, just like his hands.
"Obi." Bant took one of his hands within hers, gently caressing it as if the exterior Obi-Wan was as fragile as the interior he tried not to reveal. "It's not common knowledge, no, but it's not a secret, either. Remember what the healers told you: once you're whole, you will reach for the Force again."
"But I may not touch it again, again." To this there was no answer. Only time would tell. That's what the healers promised, and only that.
He scrubbed a hand across his face, scrubbing away doubt and uncertainty or at least the outward illusion of such. This was his burden to work through. Already Bant was trying to console him. Garen looked stricken and sick at heart. There was no one he could truly confide in, no one to force him to speak what was so painful to think of. He'd already put Master Windu through so much, Yoda as well. Qui-Gon, well, that avenue was forever now denied him.
Only the Force could assure him and sooth the unspoken question burning in his soul. Why?
Only the Force…?
No, he did know someone apt to focus on solutions, not sympathy, someone blunt and practical – someone – Siri.
Abruptly, he asked, "Any word on when Reeft or Siri will return?"
A quizzical look met his question, but after a moment Garen seemed satisfied. "Nope." As if aware of a dribble of sauce on his lips, he swiped a hand across his mouth before answering. "It may be a while until Siri and Adi return is about all I hear."
"Oh." Obi-Wan toyed with a bite of food. His hopes were dashed almost at inception; his disappointment acute. His friendship with Siri shifted like the sands, she of a mercurial temperament only blunted by Jedi training, he of a focused discipline that sometimes made him seem aloof and detached, indifferent to others. Fire and Ice some had called them. They were often at odds but often in complementary symmetry, for they were more alike than either wished to admit.
Blunt and forthright, always teetering on the edge of tactlessness, Siri was also loyal and compassionate. She would fight him and for him if she thought he wasn't fighting hard enough for himself. Loyal almost to a fault, Bant and Garen would support him, but they would not challenge him to face reality in the way that Siri would.
It would do him good to have that challenge thrown at his feet – or stuffed down his throat, more than likely.
Mace had wisely chosen a later hour when the dining hall was traditionally less crowded for this so-far successful reintegration of Obi-Wan into Temple life. Initiates and young padawans alike tended to eat early, their appetites those of growing children, so few would be present to unwittingly make Obi-Wan uncomfortable with their curiosity and attention.
Just as he had counted on, any Jedi present was mature enough to take their cues on behavior from body posture; they had not nor would they approach Obi-Wan unless he himself initiated contact.
It had been Mace's suggestion that Bant and Garen offer the "spontaneous" invitation to late meal, knowing full well that the presence of his friends would help ease any potential unease on Obi-Wan's part. So delighted had the two been that they had barely stopped to consider the implications: venturing to the senior Jedi's quarters had proven more difficult in actuality than in theory.
It seemed the only Jedi he didn't intimidate were his fellow Council members – and now Obi-Wan Kenobi. He supposed it was only expected; after all, the young man had faced a Sith – and survived. The Sith had not.
"Laughing he is, good to see it is," Yoda declared with a meaningful glance to the side where the three friends sat. "If ever a war we find ourselves in, in charge of strategy I will place you."
"We are always in a war against the dark," Mace retorted.
"Not like we can now expect. The reemergence of the Sith…harsh times lie ahead." Yaddle's gentle face was harsh with foreboding. She nodded to the three friends across the room, her gaze lingering on Obi-Wan. "Believe I do that the first blow has been struck in the ongoing fight as well as the second. Wonder I do if the third as well."
The words hung in the air between them. Mentally, Mace ticked off the points: a Sith emerged from the darkness, a Sith slain and – he glanced again at young Kenobi, now looking pensive in the wake of laughter – raised his eyes to Yaddle's and breathed, "Obi-Wan? Are you intimating that Obi-Wan -"
"Saying THAT I am not, saying I am that what has befallen Padawan Kenobi may well be another blow by the Sith against the Jedi, against one who has dealt the Sith a mighty blow of his own."
Mace liked the implications of this statement even less. He let out a little huff of frustrated air, checked to make sure his voice didn't rise with his incredulous disbelief because despite everything, he was friends with the man even if right now he wanted nothing to do with him. "Qui-Gon? He's many things, but -"
In deference to the public nature of the dining hall, Yoda's gimer stick merely rose and pointed at Mace, immediately shutting up the Korun master. "No! Of actions we speak, not of people. As much a victim as young Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon may be. How or why I do not begin to know, even know if I am on the right track I do not but one thing I do know: the Force is struggling to be heard and when we hear its voice - prepared we must be to follow who or where it leads, regardless of the cost."
The one part of the speech that silenced Mace was the simple acknowledgement that Yoda – the revered grandmaster with the deepest attunement to the Force known in centuries – even he no longer heard the Force as clearly as before.
When we hear its voice….
It couldn't be a coincidence that the Force was growing murky and tainted just as the Sith had proven to be no myth from the past. There were no such things in the Force, only unseen connections.
The Sith emerged from darkness, one slain - and one remained in the shadows. Two – always two. A master and an apprentice. Two. No more, no less.
And now there was but one.
Suddenly, Mace shivered. For there were always two – and the one would now be on the prowl.