Master Apprentice Archive A Failure of Foresight Quick search:

Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/kalyw
Rating: G
Archive: M_A. if i've given you permission, go for it. otherwise, please ask.
Classification: angst, first POV
Warnings: Angst; slight spoilers for JA4 and larger spoilers for JA9
Series: No
Summary: Years after their mission on Kegan, Qui-Gon watches over Obi-Wan and ponders how things might have been different.

Feedback: I never turn it down. ;) love to know what you thought.

Notes: Um, I had a fever when I wrote the first draft of this *g* But I think it holds it's own. It plays directly off of the events in the last two pages of JA9.

Thank Yous: Thanks to Kim and Raven for reading this and giving me the support I was looking for :)

Disclaimer: One would have to wonder what drugs someone would have been doing to think these guys belong to me ;) From this all I get is hopefully a few email LOC's :)

Long ago when Obi-Wan was but a boy I had a vision. An old man, his hair was white with age and his face lined with pain. So easily I forgot that single foretelling instant. Instead it was overrun and misplaced by the missions that followed. It was forgotten in place of the slowly built, but unbreakable bond that Obi-Wan and I grew to share.

A moment's daze in the sun seemed very far away. Under the light of the Jedi and the Republic, that moment of darkness was dimmed.

What an arrogant fool I was.

Years passed with the certainty of the ages and the speed of light. So much was taken for granted then. Warnings and portents were overlooked. Darkness lay in waiting, just beyond our sight, hidden away behind robes and false smiles.

In the end, the face of evil wasn't revealed until it was too late to stop the galaxy from spinning madly out of control.

I did not expect to fall on Naboo. My sporadic foresight failed to grant me any such warnings. And even had it done so, I doubt even still I would have believed in it's warning. Yet I might have done something different -- made an effort to reconcile with Obi-Wan. So that our final days together might not have been spent so bitterly. That they were so is a weight I have yet to lift from my shoulders.

Ah, my Obi-Wan. When he was still so young -- and indeed even naïve -- he would not believe in a darkness such as the one he now lives under. Even amid his disbelief, he vowed as a boy to fight against that dark. And as a man he has done nothing less. How proud he has made me, in these long years, by doing just that.

In the end, he was the strongest of us all.

My heart is given pause -- a feeling not all that familiar to me -- when I recall a promise I made in return, to that boy. Looking into bright, trusting eyes, that fateful date on Kegan I made a vow. I swore to my apprentice that should darkness rise against the light, we would stand together. That we would face it together.

Throughout my life, I considered myself a man of my word. When I gave my oath to something, I did all that was in my power to stand by it. It pains me to know that the one pledge I could not keep -- was possibly the most important I ever gave.

The man before me, worn with age and life, represents so much to me. More than anyone or anything I knew in my life or my death. He is light and love, guilt and regret. Strength and honor, my pride and my joy. I would like to think that if I left a part of me to the universe, it lives and breathes in him.

Once, even before our mission to Kegan, when we had been a team for a mere handful of months I found myself faced with the idea of passing from that life without leaving something behind. I mourned the legacy I feared I would never know. How short sighted I was -- blind.

My legacy was right in front of my eyes all along.

A part of me wishes my vision had been me, as I first thought. To spare him the pains and losses of a world gone mad, I would gladly have traded places with him. But to do so would have been to see him fall on Naboo and I fear my heart would not have survived the tear. I would give my life for him a million times over -- if it were possible I would do so even still.

As the Jedi fell, a hundred upon a thousand, until there were none left but he, my Master and the young twins, I grieved for each. I grieved for my Master, alone on Dagobah; for Ani, so masterfully manipulated; for Amidala, who gave her life so that there might still be hope. Most of all, I grieve for my Padawan, my legacy.

Somehow, it doesn't seem all that strange that one would have regrets after they moved on into the Force. For all our efforts to be at peace -- with ourselves and the world around us -- there is still risk of a misspoken word or forgotten purpose. Until that time when he is also here, one with the Force, I carry each with me.

If only I had not forgotten that day, that sun hazed vision. Might I have changed what was to come? Or is this nothing but the foolish daydreams of an old soul? There is a voice inside me that longs to forget that vision now -- when it never fails to leave the back of my mind. For the first time, some part of me longs for the coward's way out.

Yet, neither can help my Padawan. Alone he must endure the long years on a forgotten planet. There are no thoughts I can examine, no dreams I can long for that will help him. No matter how I long to be there for him. For the loudest voice of all, nearly drowning out the rest, wants nothing more than to be at his side.

To offer him comfort, in a galaxy that's lost any semblance of the word. To assure this brightest spot in my long life that he is all the best in me, and yet still so much more. My legacy has done me proud in ways I would never have dreamed nor imagined years before.

How cruel is regret, that one should feel it so keenly? Especially after death, when there is nothing to be done except to wait. Helpless. I never much cared for being helpless, particularly where Obi-Wan was concerned.

So I do what I must -- and all that I am allowed. For as long as he shall rise under the twin dawn, I am at his side. Silent, but watchful. Supportive, but silent. And when he is once more at my side, I will take him in my arms and hold him close.

Then I will finally be able to offer him comfort -- and welcome him home.