AN: You know, I have so much action planned for this story, but here we are, more world building ;D
Thank you, Muffin1
Chapter 3 - Solid Ground
Obi-Wan was bored.
He had been kicked out of the training rooms before curfew and out of the archives at curfew.
He couldn't remember being bored when he was a real Padawan.
Course he couldn't remember everything exactly.
But he did know that he should love peacetime.
His memories were choppy and unreliable.
But he remembered his Master.
His Buir.
He remembered that his Master's visits to the creche had been the happiest moments of his childhood.
The man had loved him with all of his heart and had been proud of him for just being himself.
It had motivated Obi-Wan to become his best self, to be worthy of the man who had his people and responsibilities but spared time to visit Obi-Wan.
He always returned to the Temple sooner than he promised.
Obi-Wan hadn't been a fool. He knew his gentle Master, while competent and filled with Light was approaching the end of his life.
It was clear in the way other Masters treated him.
Usually, it was young Knights and Padawans that brought food and tea to visiting Masters and elders.
But for Master Vizsla, three hundred years old, it was other Masters—with significantly fewer wrinkles—who brought trays of offerings, bowing more deeply than they would have to even the High Council.
It was clear that Master Vizsla hadn't spent much time at the Temple since reaching Knighthood, and it was viewed as an honour that he visited them now.
Now.
Obi-Wan's heart ached, the threads of their bond were not merely cut but shattered. The taste of his Master's misery at the point of his death remained on the back of Obi-Wan's tongue.
When Master Vizsla offered him a Padawanship at eight, the first among his crechemates to be chosen, his Buir had warned him, warned him that they would not be together forever.
The Force had already allowed him to live past his natural life.
But they should have had time to say goodbye.
Obi-Wan curled in on himself on his bunk.
Time.
Years had passed.
Years. And Obi-Wan was afraid to ask how many.
Long enough that he no longer remembered his crechemates nor they him. Long enough that there was no longer a memorial for his Master as there should have been.
Long enough any sympathy his people might have had for him had turned to pity and mistrust.
In the two years Obi-Wan had been away from the Temple, before his coma, he had killed people. Slavers, pirates, and rogue bounty hunters. He had seen his Master kill many more.
But those instances hadn't been the norm, and even when they had been in the thick of the war planetside, Obi-Wan had never been brought to the front lines. But he had spent plenty of time among the injured and dying.
What the Temple didn't seem to understand was that despite being trained by a Mandalorian Jedi, Obi-Wan had spent equal time training as he did helping the baar'ure, the doctors, in medical bays or makeshift tents.
His Master had been a military genius and had taught Obi-Wan so much about strategy and war, but he had never once let Obi-Wan forget the price of war.
Ner ad'ika, this is the result of war. No matter what you do, this will always be the price of war. War is only worth fighting when it is to protect civilians from paying this price.
Meanwhile, his classes at the Temple kept telling him about politics as if war was not a possibility in the bounds of the Republic.
A very big Republic with very corrupt politicians and economic routes that were falling apart.
Meanwhile, Master Che and the Masters kept asking him what he remembered and why he hated the medical wing and the smell of bacta.
What he remembered was a life and future that no longer existed.
What he remembered was his Buir being cut down by a trusted friend in an ambush.
What he remembered was that there was no fixing what had been broken that day.
What he didn't remember was the Temple as it was today. He didn't remember Coruscant being as dark as it was in the Force, or the Force being so suffocatingly clouded, what he didn't remember were the faces or the names of the Masters or the Padawans who surrounded him.
Years.
How many years?
Obi-Wan wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that.
Just like he hadn't been able to bring himself to research what had become of the Mandalore System.
Of his other people.
Master Vizsla had not been the King of Mandalore, no that responsibility had belonged to one of his Master's adopted sons' daughters.
A woman with enough Taung blood in her to scare the bloodlust out of any warrior who dared challenge her.
She had been a good ruler and had relied heavily on Master Vizsla's council.
Obi-Wan didn't want to know what happened to her after they were betrayed from within.
What had become of Clan Vizsla, of House Vizsla?
Had the war spread from the Capital city to the rest of the planet, or to the rest of the system?
Obi-Wan didn't know, and he feared if he did know, he would try to return.
Something the Force itself buzzed with a warning against.
He was only twelve, and without his Buir, there was nothing he could do.
Padawan Depa had been kind to him today, but in too many ways she reminded him of all he had lost.
His friends.
His family.
His culture.
And enough of his memories that the feeling of wrongness that followed him around each day wasn't something he could explain.
Master Che said it was normal to feel that way after losing a Master and most of your memories.
Years, Depa had said.
But how many?
He was afraid to ask that question aloud.
Even to himself.
It did not help that the Force kept whispering to him that he was not ready.
There was a knock on his door, and Obi-Wan jerked upright. He tried to steady his breath as he approached the door.
He was shocked but pleased by the person in his doorway.
"Master Tahl?"
This was the first time he had seen her out of medical robes, and her hair…
Tahl touched her head subconsciously, "Vanity. I always told myself that my braids were for myself, not anyone else. But the weight of them… I never thought it would matter that I cannot look at myself in the mirror."
Obi-Wan stepped back and said the first thing to come to his mind, "You look scary."
Tahl barked a laugh, stepping forward into the Master-Padawan suite.
The bunk opposite Obi-Wan's was bare but he preferred this instead of moving back to the Initiate wing where there were no kitchenettes for making meals or tea.
Tahl ran a hand over her newly shaved head, "You think monks are scary, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan caught her elbow and helped her sit at the table. He went to the kettle to start some tea. "Monks are terrifying," Obi-Wan affirmed. "As my Master always says, Te shi kebi dush'shya verd, cuyir a verd dala."
He was about to translate when he felt her sadness in the Force.
"Master Tahl, are you alright?" he asked.
She sighed, her gold-striped eyes which were misted a bit from her injuries met his own gaze despite her inability to see him.
Her words struck him deep.
"Obi-Wan, I know your Master has passed on into the Force. I am sorry for your loss."
He turned away from her, busying himself with making tea.
"Obi-Wan?" she questioned.
"I never intended to lie to you. You were just the only one who does not—did not—pity me."
"We spoke of Qui-Gon's losses, yours are no less. Eight years old is young to be chosen, and ten is too young to lose him."
"It has been two years," he said, doing his best to temper his emotions. "I am fine."
"You will be," she agreed.
He poured the water into the teapot, letting the leaves steep.
"Do you know what I thought when you visited me today?" she asked as he brought the tray to the table.
"No," he answered shortly.
"It's what I have been thinking for quite some time now."
He poured the tea for them.
She made no move to lift the cup he placed in front of her.
Obi-Wan sighed, letting his frustration go into the Force and asked more politely, "What do you think, Master Tahl?"
"I often think that if you didn't have a Master, I would break my resolution against taking an apprentice to ask you to be my Padawan."
He gaped at her and was glad she couldn't see his expression.
"I— I— Why? No one else does."
"Oh, I am not the first to think it, nor the first to seek approval from the Council."
"They are supposed to ask me before the Council."
"You are technically still Master Che's ward. In cases of medical observation, be it for physical injury or other circumstances, the Council and the Healers must be asked first."
"So there have been others," Obi-Wan asked, hating how small his voice sounded.
"Many."
"What is so wrong with me that the Council said no to them?"
"No one on the Council has been approved to teach you because they would not be able to give you the time you deserve, nor are they off-world often enough to suit someone of your capabilities and heritage. The latter problem has been the factor that has barred other elder Masters from taking you."
His nose wrinkled, he would rather have an elder Master, as Master Vizsla was, than no Master at all.
"What else?" he pressed, because she was definitely holding something back.
"Have you ever heard of Jetiise oya'karir?" she asked, her accent making the harsh words almost lyrical.
"Jedi Hunting?" he translated, confused. "My Master and I are Mandalorians but the Jedi are not a part of their culture. They often ended up on opposing sides of any war because of their location on the hyperlanes as the Republic expanded. I can't think of an event where Jetiise and Mandalorians would go on a hunt together."
Tahl picked up her cup of tea, "Jedi Hunting is not something we do together, it is something some Mandalorians have taken up doing to us. It's a sport."
"A sport," he echoed before what she was saying finally clicked. He felt the blood drain from his face. "No… no that is not— A sport? Like a game? War is not a game!"
"No, it is not. But the Mandalorian culture and history are hostile toward the Order. There are fraction clans that view defeating a Jedi in battle as an act of valour, while others view us as kidnappers of younglings and amoral in our cultural practices. Killing us is like killing vermin."
Obi-Wan flinched, "I— the Mandalorians I knew would never… that is barbaric."
She nodded, "The day you woke from your coma, coincides with one of the most horrific encounters between a Mandalorian and Jedi in recent centuries."
He swallowed, "What happened?"
"A ship was sent on autopilot into Coruscant's orbit. The severed body parts of three younglings and a Seeker were found on the ship with a warning to stay out of Mandalorian space."
Obi-Wan felt sick, "That is— they killed younglings? That is against every law and value they—"
She inclined her head, "It was the first time Jedi younglings were knowingly targeted by a Mandalorian. Regrettably, it was not the first instance of a Knight or Master to be murdered straying too close to an unknown Mandalorian."
Obi-Wan hugged himself, "No wonder everyone hates me."
"No one hates you," Tahl assured. "However, Padawans are allowed to know their homeworld cultures, and in the current climate, they worry about their ability to provide that for you."
He shook his head, "I want nothing to do with dar'manda who would even tolerate that."
"I know that," Tahl said. "They know that, but many of the Masters most interested in teaching you are the least likely to forgive any perceived threat from a Mandalorian."
"Um, Mandalorians wear armour all of the time. Being threatening is one of their best abilities. It is one of the things that keep people from killing them to harvest the Beskar. Just like the Jedi are trained to keep their powers mysterious to discourage people from picking fights with them to sell them into slavery and steal our kyber."
"They are aware of that, too," Tahl said. "Which is why they bowed out of walking that minefield."
"But not you."
"No, not me."
"Why not?"
"I am not a shadow," she said. "However, I am often sent on long-term missions that have spanned years, and I rarely return to the Temple even when off mission. The path I walk is a dangerous one. I have often feared that it is a path too dangerous for the young to handle."
Warmth filled Obi-Wan's chest, "You think I can handle it?"
"I know that you could," she answered. "But not just that. Normally, even that wouldn't be enough, because it is not my place to offer any Initiate such a path when they couldn't comprehend all that would entail. But you have seen the galaxy."
So he could consent to follow a life away from the Temple.
A life where he might only ever return home a handful of times over a decade. He did understand, because that was a life he had chosen when he left with Master Vizsla.
He frowned, "Your condition…"
She sipped her tea before saying, "I will not be handicapped forever, the Force will guide me. I will be grounded at the Temple for a year or so, then I will be allowed to return to active duty. Although, I have been told that it is inadvisable for me to be alone on future missions."
"I would agree, though I guess you could get a droid."
She shook her head, "You could not be replaced by a droid, Obi-Wan."
"You truly want me as your Padawan?"
She smiled at him, her dark skin contrasting against her white teeth.
Tahl had told him that she had always been a wanderer, always pushing past limits and testing boundaries.
Her family had loved her dearly, but by the time she turned six years old her powers had begun to develop.
If one had a child who was hard to contain, then them having a magical power that could unlock doors, lift objects placed out of reach, and sometimes glean bits of the future…
Well, the Temple had accepted her without question after her Noorian parents described an event where Tahl had gotten an entire classroom of children lost in the woods, the teacher unable to find them.
Tahl had been terribly amused as she retold the story, because of course, she hadn't been lost, their adventure simply hadn't been completed yet.
Her guardians, Noorian and Jedi alike agreed that a few clicks into the woods was too much of an adventure.
In Obi-Wan's view, she hadn't changed.
"Junior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, would you do me the greatest honour and allow me to walk with you to Knighthood?"
Obi-Wan's emotions caught in his throat, and he found that he couldn't speak. So instead, he went to her side to wrap her in a hug.
Tahl was not a small woman and she dwarfed him as she returned the hug fiercely.
Finally, he managed to say, "Yes."
She squeezed him tight and her joy at his acceptance released him from a burden he had not known he had been clinging to.
His memories were uncertain.
His past was shrouded in darkness.
But his future? His present?
It was as if he had been lost at sea and Master Tahl had guided him to solid ground.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, brahminy blind snakes, feedback, pretty please?