I've been so busy with this and that, I'm not even sure how long since I've updated...so here's an update. I'm far enough ahead on the other board to advise things will start to move more quickly - once we get to that part.

Chapter 50. What Hath Time and Enemies Wrought

"Fear him I do not. Fear for him if it gets out – that I fear."

While Yoda's words had made some things far more clear, they had also complicated and made far less clear other matters.

Fear for him if it gets out…

"Protect him, you said. You mentioned long ago on Naboo I should 'protect' him," Mace finally said. He shook his head. "We both know by his injuries he didn't fall – someone assaulted him. We both know it wasn't an accident, or the person would have spoken up. Why would Qui-Gon…."

"So sure it was him are you?" Yoda's ears curled forward.

"Reasonably sure, but not convinced, not enough to make an accusation. Who else?"

"Irrational in some ways Qui-Gon has become, but hurt another physically he would not. One blow, perhaps, though unlikely. Another it must have been."

Mace blinked, and then shook his head in negation.

"No; no, Yoda. I won't believe we have Jedi in the Temple who would bully a hurt man. Some of the younglings to their age mates, sure, that can and does happen until we find out about it and put a stop to it – but, no." A troubling thought surfaced, niggled into being by his earlier words. He said slowly, feeling his way through the words, "He fell on Naboo. He was weak and dizzy at the time, or so we thought. You mean – you suspect that, too, might not have been an accident, but an assault?"

"Hard it is to say; elusive the answers are. Loves Obi-Wan the Force does but protect him or throw him in the path of evil does it? What lessons are he meant to learn if he survives them?"

Yoda's words hung in the air between them. Taken aback at the implied implication, Mace dazedly shook his head.

"Perhaps - how to survive," Mace finally managed to respond, albeit grimly. "So what do we do now? We can't keep him leashed to us until – if – he is able to protect himself, until he regains the Force – we can't let him be a target, either."

Yoda sighed and scratched an ear. "Worry about the present; the future we shall deal with when it comes."

"Adopting Qui-Gon's philosophy are we now?" Mace sighed. "I suppose you're right. Perhaps the Force will provide an answer if we just let it mull on it for a while and let it get back to us."

A snort greeted that. "Adopting the boy's humor are you?" A long finger pointed at the younger Jedi. "Much alike you are."

"I've been finding that out," Mace agreed. "So if Qui-Gon is not a demented Jedi master running amok in the Temple taking umbrage at any disparaging words spoken of his 'dear Ani' – what in Sith's hells is behind all this?"

"Said it yourself you just did, perhaps." Yoda's eyes held Mace's.

A shiver traveled up Mace's spine. "The Sith."

"Returned they have."

"And Obi-Wan is their target." Mace turned his gaze to the sleeping young man. A man, indeed, yet at the moment looking like a boy more than a trained Jedi, not someone who should have to face a Sith.

He already has, he reminded himself. Defeated him, as well – is that why?

Surprisingly, Yoda shook his head. "Not directly, I sense. Target by happenstance, but still a target and vulnerable he is. The Force tells me – have faith."

"Faith." Mace leaned back and stared at the little Jedi. His words were rather bitter. "You want to leave Obi-Wan the bulls-eye in some Sith target."

"Umph, so it seems." Yoda's ears folded forward and he traced small circles on the floor with his stick. "Plots within plots I sense; young Kenobi is at the heart. The Force tells me only– watch over him but let events play out. Conceals the presence of the 'Chosen One' he does if we do not interfere overly much. Faith, Master Windu. Faith that the Force will protect its own we must have."

"You'd let him be a decoy?" Mace was nearly speechless. "He's in no shape, no shape Yoda to defend himself."

"Defend himself he will not need to do. The Force will see to it; if he needs to defend himself, he will find a way. Always with him, need forces him to find a way. The Force tells me he will be safe."

"And if you're wrong?"

Yoda sighed and dropped his eyes. "If misheard I have…a Jedi he is – his life pledged to the Force. If it asks for his life…die he will."

Mace growled low in his throat and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. The old Jedi was right, of course, yet sometimes the realities and sacrifices of a Jedi's life just up and smacked one in the face when one wasn't quite prepared. This was one of those times.

Was this boy to be one of those sacrifices?

"Yes; yes we have pledged our lives to the Force, have we not? Yet here we speak not of our lives, but another's."

The old Jedi was unmoved. "In pledging our lives we have also pledged our deaths, for one cannot exist without the other. Death is only the ending of this life, not life in the Force."

Rigid and unyielding as the words sounded, they were spoken with a rare gentleness, an understanding that truly embodied the Jedi ideal of acceptance. Acceptance of what was, and what was to come. Acceptance that even when a Jedi did one's best, sometimes one's best was not enough. A commitment not made lightly. Those words resonated as never before, ancient words, impressed on all initiates seeking to become apprentices, on all apprentices at their knighting.

It had never been about walking away, but walking forward. Committing one's heart, mind and soul to the service of the Force, of giving one's very life in full knowledge of what was being offered and what was being accepted.

"He rededicated himself there on Naboo."

"Affirmed the choice he made years ago, his life he gave into the Force's keeping." Sorrowful pride flashed through ancient eyes that had seen much over the centuries. "The Knight's Pledge came not in ceremony, but while dangling in a pit, his choice between Light or Dark, not Life or Death."

"Jedi he chose there to be." Mace did not consciously mimic Yoda's way of speaking. "Life the Force chose to give him in return."

Mace laid a hand against Obi-Wan's cheek; the young man sighed and nestled into it; the older Jedi's eyes softened fractionally. "I really hate this." His tone was laconic and self-deprecating. "I wouldn't have him anywhere else, though. He'll sleep better in bed, I think – that couch is not that comfortable."

He carefully lifted the sleeping young man and carried him to bed, arranging his limbs neatly and tucking him in.

He hesitated on the way out, hand on the switch. For some reason he couldn't trip it, couldn't plunge Obi-Wan into darkness.

Foolish Jedi master, he chided himself. And left, the light only dimmed.

Yoda's head lifted at his entrance. "A good friend you have been to our young one. Much affection I sense in you; guard him like a mother kitling you do."

"Affection, ah – well, ah, yes." Mace cleared his throat; carefully avoiding looking at Yoda. It wouldn't do his reputation any good should that mistaken impression get banded around. "I suppose I'm a bit fond of him -" Yoda snorted, "– what!'"

Mace threw up his hands. Blast it! "Fine, I admit it. I had no such intentions, let alone act like a protective father. I thought Qui-Gon had over time allowed his padawan to become as much a son as a student. No good can come of it – how will Obi-Wan learn from his teacher if he doesn't respect him – yet those bonds of affection never interfered with his training – with discipline. Now he's wormed his way into my heart as well."

Yoda chuckled at the other Jedi's discomfiture; both knew he had not sounded so aggrieved in years.

Mace scowled – anyone else would have had the sense to keep their amusement to themselves - then finally grinned and shook a finger at the older Jedi. "You sly old troll – you feel no different and I know you would have done the same for him, Yoda, had you the chance. That young man brings out the best in us. I'm not sure just how – or why."

But both knew: Behind that dry wit, behind that quick mind, lay a compassionate heart.

A Jedi master sat silently staring at the night sky. The Force seemed to be knocking at his mind, seeking entrance. Rather strange, considering his mind was always receptive to the Force.

Warmth spread through him – and just as quickly disappeared. He wanted it back – whatever it was, something beautiful and something right. Something – now altered.

He shivered suddenly.

"Master?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan," he answered, turning round to see Anakin standing forlornly before him. Confusion melted into gentleness. He opened his arms and Anakin clambered into his lap and wrapped small arms around his middle. He smiled and leaned his chin on the tousled head of hair. "Couldn't sleep, Ani?"

"The Force was babbling."

"Babbling, huh? I thought it shot off a flare a while ago." No, for a brief second, less, he had thought he had touched his former padawan's mind, and in that second had felt – grief – regret - despair. But what need had he of grief, of regret, or of despair?

The past was behind him, gone forever. This was his present. He held the future within his arms. This time, he would not mess it up.

Inside…

… his heart wept a tear.

Mace Windu had slept uneasy that night. Was it warnings from the Force, or mere worries of a man who knew better?

Unlike him, the young man in his charge had slept in soft slumber as if the prior day's awakening had eased something within him. This, Mace knew, because he had checked, once or twice, the once or twice he'd admit to, restless and unsettled as he had been. Sleep's unease, it seemed, had moved from one man to another.

Would the nightmares have, as well, had Mace slept rather than tossed and turned?

Now here he was again, watching, wondering – worrying the deeper truths behind Yoda's words much as a cananoid worried a bone. So much was now clear, so much was still obscure. Yoda had confided the evening before that even the Force's revelations were, for lack of better words, insufficient and unsatisfactory. Cryptic, he had even grumbled. In another context Mace would have found that admission laughable, considering the old Jedi was one who had long ago mastered the art of cryptic communication.

For one such as he, who preferred the direct and straightforward, it was well nigh intolerable.

Despite his misgivings, Mace was pleased to see Obi-Wan sprawled on his stomach with his face buried into the pillow, a position so unlike the tightly coiled position of the distressed young man that he had grown used to seeing; so pleased, that he all but smiled. It was a good sign, a very good sign, indeed.

Flush with returning health, the boy practically glowed in the - Mace's eyes narrowed. Glowed? In the dark? And then he understood. It was something he had always known – and yet never before noticed: Obi-Wan Kenobi attracted whatever light was near, however meager, to his side –always it skipped, it slipped, or it danced to his side. In some way, some form, somehow, light always sought this Jedi.

As it did now.

Soft illumination had tumbled from the open door to caress the sleeping visage as if to outwardly illuminate the too oft-hidden gentle soul, tucked away beneath the carefully constructed Jedi shell of stoicism and practicality that Obi-Wan too often girded himself within - a Jedi's armor for the soul, meant to shield hearts from harm. Armor too many Jedi encased themselves within, for a heart too buried was a heart too removed from a Jedi's true compassion.

Within Obi-Wan – armor and vulnerability seemed in rough equilibrium.

The Force stirred, and so did a memory.

"Qui-Gon will need you."

Battered but not broken, this boy before him – rooted in generosity of spirit – had refused to close his aching heart, but had instead taken his despair and molded it into compassion for another. For Qui-Gon Jinn, the master who had abandoned him and who as a consequence had found himself all but exiled from his colleagues within the Order. Deservedly so and yet, and yet -

"Qui-Gon will need you."

And an older and more experienced – more jaded – Jedi master had been humbled, by one yet deemed a Padawan Learner.

"Are you an instrument of the Force, Obi-Wan; one meant to open our eyes to our greatest strength?" Mace whispered, a suddenly troubled look creasing his brow. "If so, it is a harsh lesson for the teacher, for you have suffered much. Yet I sense your trials are not of the Force but of ill-intentioned contrivance, perhaps even Sithly connivance."

It was a small consolation, if one nevertheless: that the Force had wrested something positive out of this entire ordeal. In Obi-Wan it had forged a gem from the crucible of adversity. It had not found it a difficult task, Mace thought, not when one considered whom it worked through.

Obi-Wan's trial of the spirit had been twisted to a means both noble and enlightening and, with Obi-Wan the example, shown that it was better to risk a broken heart than to live with a heart that could not be broken.

It was a revelation unexpected and not a bit disconcerting. It was a revelation exhilarating and terrifying, all at once.

Mace vowed then and there that he would chip and pry any excess layers away, from Obi-Wan or any other Jedi that saw too much or felt too much and sought solace in layer upon layer of detachment and distance. Better to risk a broken heart than to live with a heart that could not be broken.

It was the lesson the Force wished to impart, for warm approval filled his senses.

There were lessons indeed to be learnt, lessons to be heeded. Through Obi-Wan, the Force had already impacted Mace Windu. The stern, grim Master had rediscovered his own capacity for personal warmth in caring for Obi-Wan. Master Softie he would never be and had no wish to be. Perhaps he was – and in fact would choose to remain - less a man than a Jedi, but he would now be a better Jedi for the reminder that underneath still lay the man.

His moment of self revelation was interrupted by a soft whimper.

Obi-Wan had shifted; an arm now lay across his eyes and what could be seen of his face was now scrunched in silent discomfort - or pain. Pain? The young man had seemed so at peace earlier, slumbering in the sheltering comfort of the Force.

What had intruded on that peace? Another nightmare as his mind stirred to wakefulness?

A quick step forward brought Mace forward. "Find peace yet awhile longer," the Jedi master murmured. It was a wish as much as a command. With a soft exhalation of breath, Obi-Wan quieted under the sleep suggestion.

Mace stepped back and crossed his arms, frowning slightly as he leaned against the door jamb. He had hoped that what had transpired earlier had been the beginning of true healing for the young man he had taken under his care. He was no longer sure.

Perhaps it was a sign of the uncertain path that stretched forward, a path that might yet take the young Jedi away from them. He now knew much he had not before, still less than Yoda, and both still less than the Force in which each chose to place their trust.

It was that trust that had kept each from interfering overly much with the complicated issues between master and former padawan, between master and Chosen One. The Force had plans for them all, and no matter how hard to stomach, how difficult to watch, they had not pushed overly hard for answers at the Force's own behest. They were little more than mere spectators in this drama.

As a man he was ashamed. As a Jedi he was content to wait.