A/N: On a happy note, I have finally graduated college, after seven long years (I have a learning disorder that has caused me to struggle with school all my life). On an even happier note, I just got engaged to my boyfriend!
Chapter Ten—Part 1
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul
Invictus (stanza 3 & 4) by William Ernest Henley
Obi-Wan is kneeling before rows of plants in the hydrostation his friends had paid to repair. He is picking pallie fruit from a leafy plant and placing it into the crate beside him. The fruit is too delicate to be harvested by droid, unlike the bristlemelons and hubba gourds, and he has spent much of the last few weeks getting the crop into the storage unit in the large hydrostation with Luke's assistance. Later in the year, he will ferment whatever he does not sell into wine.
"It has been awhile," Obi-Wan says as he feels a familiar Force presence materialize behind him.
"You are not the only one I have been instructing in the techniques of the Ancient Order of the Whills," Qui-Gon replies. "And you have been busy with the harvest. I never would have imagined you as a farmer. You were never much interested in gardening, as I recall, when you where my apprentice." His former Master says, voice tinged with amusement.
"O How the mighty have fallen," Obi-Wan retorts drily. "Whom else are you teaching the way of the Whills?"
"I have also been instructing Yoda."
"Where is he hiding these days?" Obi-Wan asks, glad the diminutive Master has survived. He still is on the Empire's most wanted list as is Obi-Wan himself.
"He is living on a planet called Dagobah in the Sluis sector of the Outer Rim Territories," Qui-Gon answers.
"I have never heard of it."
"I am not surprised. It is uninhabited by intelligent life. It is near the Rimma Trade Route."
"How is he?" Obi-Wan asks knowing his old Master will understand what he means.
"Content." Qui-Gon smiles slightly. "Or as content as is possible."
Obi-Wan nods. "You will tell him that I hope he is well?"
"Of course. I have been keeping him informed about you as well as Luke and his sister."
"What about Leia? Is Bail not able to care for her anymore?" Obi-Wan asks, suddenly worried.
"There is no need to get upset. The Organas are doing a fine job raising her. Ferus Olin has taken to watching over her."
"That is good to hear," Obi-Wan says, glancing at his wrist-chrono. "This is not the best time for a lesson. Luke will be home soon." And Obi-Wan needs the boy's help if he is to finish this row before the suns set.
"Perhaps later?" he suggests, hoping to do it in the evening as he has found that studying to retain one's consciousness in the Force upon death was often exhausting.
"Luke is what I wanted to speak to you about," Qui-Gon says. "We can have the lesson another time."
"You want to speak to me about Luke?"
"You ought to tell the boy the truth,"
"The truth? The truth about what? I have never lied to him," Obi-Wan says more sharply than he intended.
"The truth about his father," Qui-Gon states patiently.
Obi-Wan clamps down on the anger and sorrow the statement evokes, though he know his Master will have picked up on it anyway. The man has gotten even more perceptive since his death. He sighs, running a hand through his hair that is sweaty from the humidity of the hydrostation.
"Master, the boy is only ten!" he protests.
"I do not see how that matters."
"What if he tells someone? Vader would tear the galaxy apart searching for him."
"You have been training him as a Jedi for the last eight years. Has he told anyone of that?"
"He is not ready!" Obi-Wan insists.
"Is it Luke who is not ready? Or is it you?" Qui-Gon asks then disappears to Obi-Wan mingled annoyance and gratefulness.
Sighing Obi-Wan starts at his reflection in the water of the hydroponic tank. His sun bleached auburn hair is now fleck with grey and there are new wrinkles in his tanned skin. He is forty-eight years old and has been pretending to be five years older than that since he claimed he was the son of Edern Lars ten year ago. Yet he feels decades older. Luke is so young, how can he burden the boy with the knowledge of whom his father truly is?
Yet, in his heart, he wonders if his Master is right.