Archive: Certainly on M&A, Nesting Place, Wayward Inn.
Others please request.
Category: Q/O, O/Bruck; AU
Rating: NC-17 (Are you surprised?)
Warnings: Too late for spoilers. TPM's over. We're into the
uncharted wilds of my imagination now.
Disclaimer: George owns 'em, drat the man. I'm just correcting
his mistakes. If he'd asked us first, we'd have told him that
scene had to go.
Notes: Nearly the end of the Warrior's Heart series; official
order as follows:
"Rightful Owner"
"Rightful Owner"
"Crime and Punishment"
"Ecstasies"
"The Anger Exercises"
"The Geometry of Desire"
"But For Grace"
"Give and Take"
"Meditations"
"Master & Apprentice"
"Nomenclature"
"The Fear Exercises"
"Willing Vessels"
"An Accident Waiting"
"Bruck's Turn" (Fic by Pamela)
"Cold Feet"
"The Sweet Science of Bruising"
"From a High Place"
"Artifacts"
"Silk"
"Birthday Suite"
"Being Obi-Wan" (Fic by Master Ruth)
"A Simple Twist of Fate (Not a Songfic)"
"Ligature"
"Ceremonials"
Many thanks to Christopher McElroy and Michael Potts for
compiling the Time Tales Chronology, without which the Hall of
the Heroes would have no authenticity at all. Find their work
at: http://www.theforce.net/timetales. And thanks to Diana
Williams, for a freakin' brilliant songvid at a crucial moment.
If you haven't seen it, download it now at:
http://www.mindspring.com/~diwillia/hot.htm
The usual deep and sincere thanks to Kath Moonshine for her
consistently brilliant editing, inspiration, criticism of the
best kind, and the occasional flogging when I needed it (Ouch!
Yes, Master--Ow! Thank you, Master!). And did I also mention
that the Hall of the Heroes and Kirtan Eshawa are her
invention?
This series spans about five years of time before, up to, and
slightly after TPM, where it takes a sharp left at a certain
pivotal moment into AU, because I believe George made a
terrible mistake. There are some large gaps, timewise, which
I'll probably fill in now and then. If anybody else wants to
play here, feel free to join Master Ruth and PamelaR. It's a
big sandbox and I'm happy to share my toys, as long as I get to
take 'em home at the end of the day. (I wish!)
Throughout the series, a couple of characters from the YA *Jedi
Apprentice* series appear or are mentioned here: Bruck Chun,
Obi-Wan's tormentor, and Qui-Gon's failed apprentice, Xanatos.
I don't own them, either. I've been begging for home delivery
of Qui-Gon, but nobody's rewarded me yet <sniff>. (Hint,
hint.)
Thoughts in */*; telepathy in //.
Summary: Having opted for the full ceremonials of knighthood,
Obi-Wan gets something other than he bargained for.
Feedback: The more I gets, the more I writes, so if you like
what you read, please feed the writer.E-mail only, please.
1. Votary
Bruck was there to meet them on the landing platform when their
little shuttle from the Arkania Temple touched down. Anakin
bounded down the ramp first, new travel pack in one hand,
excited to be back on Coruscant and that much closer to his
apprenticeship, and stopped short, seeing another brown-robed
figure at the foot of it. He and Bruck exchanged mutually
surprised looks then both laughed.
"Hello!" Bruck said, offering a hand. "You must be Ben's
replacement. Congratulations. I've heard a lot about you. I'm
Bruck Chun."
"Pleased to meet you, Se--er--uh--" Anakin looked him over,
found his braid, grinned, "--Padawan Chun. My name's Anakin
Skywalker."
They shook hands very formally but each wearing the trace of a
smirk, sensing a kindred spirit in the other.
"You two are going to be trouble together," Obi-Wan observed,
carrying his own and Qui-Gon's bags down the ramp. "This is a
friend of mine, Ani. Don't believe anything he tells you about
me."
"Hey! Is that the thanks I get for putting up with you all
these years?"
Anakin, who didn't know quite what to make of Bruck, or who
"Ben" was, watched in confusion as this new padawan wrapped his
arms around Obi-Wan and kissed him soundly, Obi-Wan returning
it with the same spirit in which it was given, dropping the
packs and sliding his arms tightly around Padawan Chun's waist.
Over the past several tens he'd gotten used to Master Qui-Gon
and Obi-Wan kissing and hugging and touching each other, enough
so that it didn't seem strange anymore. Especially not for
Master Qui-Gon, who was as mushy as his mom. But it surprised
him to see Obi-Wan like this with anyone else. Usually he was
so . . . stuck-up with other people. And he'd thought- -
"Congratulations, Oafy," Bruck grinned as they separated.
"When's the ceremony?"
"Thanks, B-Boy. Three days from now. All the forms have been
submitted and approved. I just have to go through the rituals.
I'm still getting used to the idea. . . ." He trailed off,
smiled a little wistfully.
"Yeah, hard to believe. I mean, it isn't and it is. It's not
like you weren't ready for it. But . . ."
"Yes. But," Obi-Wan agreed, stymied to explain any further the
mixture of fear, anticipation, and excitement he felt.
"It's always a somewhat awkward transition," Qui-Gon remarked,
standing at the foot of the ramp with his hands folded calmly
in his sleeves, smiling a little, "for everyone involved. Much
more so than the one from initiate to padawan, if a bit less
fraught. Usually."
Bruck looked around his lover's shoulder, taking the tall Jedi
Master in at a glance. Better than he'd expected, from Ben's
accounts, but . . . changed. A little thinner. A little greyer.
A bit worn around the edges. And yet more solid, somehow; more
there. "I'm glad to hear it. I think I'd rather take the
standard trials than the trial-in-extremis. You're looking
well, Qui-Gon."
The older Jedi inclined his head slightly. "All things
considered. Thank you. It's good to see you again, Bruck. Will
you be here for Obi-Wan's knighting?"
"Oh yeah. Barring anything last-minute from the Council, of
course. Andreth and I were due for some down-time anyway.
Bant's here, and Reeft, too. And Tianna. It'll be a good party.
That is, if Ben makes it back from the Sanctum."
"Those are just stories to scare initiates with," Obi-Wan
snorted. "Once you've passed the trials, there's nothing down
there to scare anyone."
"Only what you bring with you," Qui-Gon said quietly.
"Was it really a Sith, Ben?" Bruck asked sleepily, snuggled up
tightly against his lover, one hand cupping Kenobi's hip, thumb
stroking into the hollow of the ball-and-socket. Obi- Wan
combed through his hair lightly with one hand, the other
interlaced with Bruck's.
"Apparently," he answered with equal languor, stretching under
Bruck's hands, hips arching gently against the padawan's groin.
The other young man's cock stirred with renewed interest.
Obi-Wan felt more relaxed than he'd felt in a quarteryear. He'd
gone off with Bruck after seeing Qui-Gon and Anakin settled in
their quarters, and it still seemed strange to have done so
without asking his master's--his former master's-- permission.
Instead, he had merely told Qui-Gon he would be out that
evening and to expect him back sometime the following day.
"Enjoy yourself," was all Qui-Gon had said, looking up from his
datapad and smilingly mildly.
He and Bruck had had dinner together in the refectory, catching
up as they usually did after a time apart--except that there
was so much more to catch up on this time, and they were
interrupted every few moments by someone new coming up to
congratulate him and inquire after Qui-Gon's health. Bruck sat
through the interruptions very patiently, watching Obi-Wan bask
a bit in all the attention with a small, amused smile.
Afterwards, they'd headed back to Bruck's room. Once inside,
with the door closed and privacy-locked behind them, Bruck had
pushed him against the wall and pinned him with his mouth.
Their teeth cracked together and Obi- Wan tasted blood for a
moment, and again when Bruck nipped his lip. "Missed you,"
Bruck murmured, pulling back for a moment and kissing him much
more gently. "Yeah, you too," Obi-Wan agreed and pulled Bruck
more tightly against him, bucking against Bruck's superior
weight, grinding their pelvises together until both of them
were hot and hard. Then he turned the tables with a quick
movement that left Bruck pinned in his place, face against the
wall, one arm behind his back, panting.
"Knights-Elect get to be on top," he hissed in Bruck's ear,
reaching inside his leggings and cupping Bruck's genitals,
kneading hard.
"Yes, Master," Bruck whimpered in mock humility, rocking into
Kenobi's hands. "Tell me what you want, Master."
"I want you to suck me," he growled, letting go of his lover,
who turned and sank to his knees, long fingers already reaching
for the fastenings of Obi-Wan's trousers. "Oh gods, Bruck, make
me come. Please. It's been so long. . . ."
His voice broke off into a moan as Bruck freed his cock and,
holding him at the root, closed his hot mouth around Obi-Wan's
shaft. Kenobi's hands fisted in Bruck's hair as he slid down
Obi-Wan's length and back up again, sucking, tongue working
over the throbbing vein on the underside, over the sensitive
spot beneath the crown, pushing his foreskin back to lick over
the head. He'd already begun to shake by the time Bruck began
to repeat the motion and when his cock hit the back of Bruck's
throat again he came, shuddering from head to foot, hands
clenching in the short white hair, hips thrusting hard, head
thrown back in a guttural, tortured cry. Bruck swallowed
hastily and hung on as Obi-Wan emptied himself, bracing himself
against the wall above Bruck's head.
"Oh Little Gods, love, thank you," Obi-Wan sighed, breath
hitching in his chest. "I needed that."
Bruck pulled Obi-Wan down into his arms, hands stroking up and
down his sweaty back. "You've never come that fast before.
Guess it has been a while," he grinned. "Qui-Gon not up to it
yet?"
"No, he wasn't for some time, but he wants to wait, now, until
I'm knighted," Obi-Wan muttered with a trace of annoyance in
his voice. "Apparently I'm neither fish nor fowl as a
knight-elect and he seems to think it would be awkward somehow.
I just couldn't go into the Sanctum so wound up though."
"You've got hands, you know," Bruck smirked, rubbing his back
and slowly divesting both of them of clothing.
"Not the same," Obi-Wan murmured, nuzzling against Bruck's neck
and gently biting his earlobe.
Bruck's arms tightened around him and he shivered. "No, it's
not. I've missed you, Ben. And I've been worried about you.
When I heard what happened to Qui-Gon . . . It must have been
awful. I'm glad he's okay."
"Thanks, love. I'm so glad I've got you," he said fervently,
squeezing. "Tell me what you want." Bruck looked at him for a
moment, holding Obi-Wan's face between his hands, thumbs gently
stroking his cheeks, scanning his features until Obi-Wan
wondered what he was looking for. "I'm not any different now
than I was," he said wryly.
"Yes, you are," Bruck contradicted, thumbs gently rubbing the
crease between his brows then over them to his temples.
"How?" he said, truly puzzled. He didn't feel any different,
not really.
"Just . . . I don't know . . . older, or something. More sure
of yourself, maybe. The way you just waltzed out of your
quarters this afternoon. Even the way you walk is a little
different. Not like you're trying to keep up with your master
any more."
"Is it? I hadn't noticed. Is that so bad?"
"No," Bruck grinned. "I like you this way. Kiss me."
Obi-Wan leaned in and pressed their mouths together, Bruck's
opening willingly under his own. "Tell me what you want," he
murmured, then went back to nibbling Bruck's lower lip. Bruck's
hands slid down Obi-Wan's back and came to rest on his ass,
kneading bruisingly, pulling him tight. "You know what I want,
Ben. You know what I like," he answered when he could free his
mouth. "Let's take this to bed. I spend enough time on my knees
on hard floors."
They moved apart briefly, and Obi-Wan lay back on the soft
cotton mattress, the rush mats beneath rustling under his
weight. Bruck followed, snagging a bottle of oil from the chest
beside the bed. Obi-Wan pulled Bruck down against him, running
hard, calloused hands over the smooth skin of Bruck's shoulders
and back, kissing him slowly and deeply, running his tongue
against Bruck's, along his palate, savoring. By the time they
broke apart again, gasping, long minutes had passed and Bruck
was whining deep in his throat. "Open me up, B-Boy. I want you
inside," Obi-Wan whispered.
"Roll over," Bruck growled, nipping along his neck and
shoulder.
Obi-Wan turned in his arms, onto his side, drawing one leg up.
One of Bruck's arms snaked over his shoulder, down his chest,
caressing, finding one nipple and teasing it to tingling
hardness. The other hand, already slick with oil, ran over one
muscular cheek, fingers sliding into the crevice between and
finding the tight, puckered muscle, stroking over it. Obi-Wan
pushed back into him, wanting. "Don't tease, B-boy. Just do
it," and Bruck pushed two slick fingers into him, stroking
along his prostate. Obi-Wan shuddered, engulfed in a sudden
wash of fire, moaning and arching. Bruck's fingers worked
inside him and he kissed and bit lightly along Obi-Wan's neck
and shoulder, the other hand pinching one nipple.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, panting, feeling Bruck's fingers
inside him and the tension in his body, a tension that had been
accumulating for a quarteryear during Qui-Gon's recovery, one
that had been only briefly dissipated by his recent orgasm. It
wasn't just sexual tension, but a great deal of anxiety he'd
been unable to work off or release into the Force and it was a
relief to channel it into this kind of action and let Bruck
help him burn it off in the heat of sex. His cock filled and
arched again and he felt the urge to move.
"Do it, love, do it. Fuck me now."
"I'll hurt you--"
v "Doesn't matter," Obi-Wan gasped. "You know how I like it.
C'mon, do it! Please, oh gods, Bruck, c'mon c'mon c'mon--"
"Shhhh," Bruck hushed him and then, slicking his cock, pushed
inside, hand on Obi-Wan'sbelly, holding him, and it was so good
to be that full and feel Bruck's skin sliding along his own,
and the heat and tension in his muscles building, building and
Bruck rocking into him, deeper each time, stroking over his
prostate. And now they were both breathing hard, Bruck's hand
stroking his cock, and he knew he was going to come again
quickly. Bruck seemed to know it too, and gently teased his sac
lower and looser, stopping and then holding himself still,
trembling a little.
"Bruck . . ." he whined. "Gods Bruck, please--"
v "Hush, Ben. I'll take care of you. Let's make it last."
"You bastard," Obi-Wan snarled, frantic and trembling. "This is
just payback for all the times I've done this to you." v
"Would I do that to you?" Bruck murmured in amusement, rubbing
his hip.
v "Yes! C'mon! Fuck me!"
v And Bruck obliged, thrusting into him hard, Obi-Wan's cock in
his hot fist and they were moving together in a smooth, fast
counterpoint, Obi-Wan pushing into Bruck's hand, and rocking
back onto the heavy cock inside him, taking in as much as Bruck
could give him. "Let go, Ben," Bruck gasped. "Come for me." And
that was all it took. Obi-Wan arched sharply into Bruck's hand,
coming in a quick jet, the cry torn from him as tortured as his
first.
Something welled up in him then that he couldn't really
identify except that it was wound up in all he'd been through
in the last quarteryear. There was fear in it and pain, and all
the anxiousness for Qui-Gon he'd been feeling, and there was
also a deep sense of relief, as well as one of having been
touched by something he could only call grace in surviving it
all with the people he loved intact. He squeezed his eyes shut
against the tears rising in them, but couldn't stop them. Bruck
was still moving inside him, but he hardly felt it, hardly knew
when Bruck held himself still and tight against him and came
hard, panting and moaning, hardly felt it when Bruckrelaxed
against him with a deep sigh, cock softening inside him. And it
took Bruck a moment to realize his partner was still shaking.
"Hey--" he said, sounding a little alarmed as Obi-Wan folded
his arms across himself and bent over, inhaling sharply as
though he'd been punched. Bruck folded strong arms around him
gently, holding him as though his ribs were glass, rubbing his
cheek against Obi-Wan's. "It's all right, Ben. Let it out. Let
it out." Obi-Wan tried to exhale and found he could only inhale
in short hitching breaths until his lungs were so full they
ached. Bruck squeezed him, whispered, "Breathe, idiot," in his
ear and kissed the back of his neck.
All that captive air came out in a sound he didn't expect,
something keening and high, and Bruck began to rock him. "It's
all right, it's all right. Let it out. Let it out," he murmured
into Obi-Wan's ear.
He calmed gradually, and Bruck's cock slipped from him, leaving
him sore and sated and languorous, wrapped in his lover's arms.
"Sorry," he said, nestling against the warm, sticky body at his
back.
"For what?"
"Losing it like that. I'm not usually--"
"Yeah, yeah, Obi-Wan Always-in-Control Kenobi," Bruck replied,
gently mocking. "I can't call you Perfect Padawan anymore, can
I? Maybe you can stop being it, too. Want to tell me about it?
I've only heard the official version, and you know how much
those leave out. Was it really a Sith, Ben?"
"Apparently. I can't think of anything else it could have
been." He started with the bare physical description of the
thing he'd fought and, as Bruck had known he would, found
himself telling all of it, from the moment they'd arrived on
the Nemoidian flagship, as Bruck pulled up the blankets and ran
his hands gently over Obi-Wan's skin. He listened quietly, for
the most part, only a few events eliciting comments.
"Qui-Gon said that right in front of the Council? Before he'd
told you? I can't believe he'd do that to you," Bruck seemed
more outraged over his master's behavior with Anakin than
Obi-Wan was.
"I couldn't either. Especially when he'd just got done telling
me, 'you have much to learn about the Living Force, Padawan,'"
Obi-Wan intoned in a more than fair imitation of Qui-Gon's
voice. He expected Bruck to laugh and was surprised to see a
wince instead.
"That must have hurt."
He opened his mouth to say one thing and heard another come
out. "Yes, it did," he heard himself say in a subdued voice.
"What got into him?"
"I don't know, it's hard to tell with Qui sometimes. He comes
to the Force from such a different place than I do that
sometimes I think I don't understand him at all. I certainly
don't understand his obsession with this boy. He needs to be
trained, obviously, and better Jedi trained than Sith, but--"
"You don't think he's the Chosen One either."
"I don't know. He's incredibly powerful in the Force. Who's to
say?" Obi-Wan shrugged.
"Still, it's no excuse to treat you like that, Ben, like you're
something he can just throw awaywhen he feels like it. Little
Gods, you're lovers!"
"Look, it's all right--"
"No, it's not. Not unless he's apologized."
"We've worked it out. Drop it."
Bruck had his mouth open to argue and shut it again at Obi-
Wan's tone. But something in his face closed down and he pulled
away, sitting up with his back to Obi-Wan.
"It's not the same, Bruck. It's not like what was done to you.
He was right. I was ready."
"You must have been," he muttered, "you kept the bastard
alive."
Obi-Wan sat up, angry now. "Is that it? Were you thinking you'd
have me all to yourself now? Is that the problem?"
Bruck said nothing, sitting with his shoulders hunched. Obi-Wan
watched him, finding his anger dissipating with each moment.
"Let's not fuck this up, Bruck," he said finally. "Not now.
You're too important to me. I'm sorry. That was cruel and you
didn't deserve it." He laid his hand on Bruck's back, feeling
muscles and spine stiffen beneath it, and gently pushed at
their lover's bond. There was some resistance along it, but
after a moment, Bruck's shields yielded to the wash of love he
sent down it. Obi-Wan drew him back down and held him.
"I did deserve it," he said quietly after a while, lying
against Obi-Wan.
"No, love. I know it's not easy for you, sharing me with Qui.
If it's any consolation, it's not very easy being shared,
either. It's hard not to bring my relationship with Qui here."
"And the other way round?" Bruck asked a little sourly.
"That's easier. I don't have the problems with you that I do
with Qui."
Bruck propped himself up on one elbow and looked and Obi-Wan in
puzzlement. "What problems?"
Obi-Wan stroked a hand down Bruck's chest. "Our relationship is
different. With you, I can say and do anything--be myself. With
Qui . . . no matter what, I'm his padawan. Even if I weren't,
the age difference between us makes it so. With him, I'm always
trying to be older than I am. He's always going to be my
master, no matter what, the same way Yoda's always his master.
You've seen the two of them together."
"Yeah, but Qui doesn't exactly act like the Perfect Padawan you
do. I've heard him call Master Yoda a 'little green troll' to
his face more than once."
Obi-Wan smiled. "No, he's not exactly deference incarnate, is
he? I wonder sometimes if that isn't why he's so irascible with
Yoda and the Council though. Here's his master, older than
dirt, been a Jedi since there were any, sitting on the Council
he's got to report to all the time--how would you ever
establish yourself in his eyes when you've been his padawan,
short of open rebellion?"
Bruck was silent for a moment, considering. "Never thought of
it that way. You might be right. What about you and Qui-Gon?"
"He'll be busy training Anakin now, so I suppose I'll be on my
own anyway. That should help We'll have to see. In the
meanwhile," Obi-Wan murmured, flicking the little gold barbell
piercing Bruck's nipple, "I have a quarteryear of celibacy to
make up for before I start my vigil. Want to help?"
Bruck grinned wickedly and dived in for a kiss.
2. Vigil
Feeling more centered and more at peace than he ever had in his
life, Obi-Wan withdrew slowly from his meditations and opened
his eyes. He was as ready as he would ever be.
He and Bruck had spent his first night home making love into
the early morning hours before dropping into an exhausted and
sated sleep. He'd been truly touched when Bruck had brought him
breakfast in bed the next morning, knowing it was the last he
would eat until after the ceremony. They'd sat together in
Bruck's room in the late morning sun, feeding each other slices
of fruit at a leisurely pace, touching casually, kissing
occasionally, then Bruck had gone on his way to classes and
practice, leaving Obi- Wan to tidy up and take care of his own
last minute affairs.
That had taken very little time. All the forms had been filed
from Arkania, all the required permissions and signatures
received and filed. His last minute chores consisted of picking
up a set of whites from stores and notifying the Kirtan of his
schedule. He had gone then to his favorite spot in the
meditation gardens where he'd settled on his rump, folded his
legs, and opened himself to the Force.
In this place, this garden, Obi-Wan felt his tensions and
anxieties melt away. The Force flowed through him like a gentle
stream, carrying away his fears and uncertainties. He realized,
after a time, that he had known before Qui-Gon had told him so
abruptly in front of the Council that he'd been ready for his
knighting for some time, and wondered now why his master had
not put him forward for his trials earlier. He suspected that
Qui-Gon would only smile mysteriously if asked. Perhaps when he
had a padawan of his own it would make more sense.
Or perhaps Qui-Gon had only been reluctant to let him go. But
no, he discarded that thought as highly improbable and
unworthy. Qui-Gon had never been a selfish man, had never done
anything to hold him back except when he truly wasn't ready,
and occasionally not then, so he could learn patience and
self-knowledge the hard way. While far from perfect,
intentional obstruction was not one of his master's faults. If
anything, Qui-Gon had pushed his latest apprentice hard toward
his knighting. Though he had no gift for prescience, it seemed
as though Qui-Gon had known Obi-Wan's trials lay in their
mission to Naboo, not in the confines of the Temple. Obi-Wan
smiled then. Of course he had. The Council had. Yoda had, just
as he had known that Xanatos's trials had lain in his return to
his homeworld.
Satisfied that one more confusing circumstance had been
adequately explained, Obi-Wan released the last of his anxiety
and let the Force fill him completely until he felt luminous
and weightless, immersed in it, outside of time and
physicality, and deeply at peace.
When he opened his eyes again, late afternoon sun filled the
tiny garden and the fountain beside him was burbling gently
rather than shooting high into the air as it did during the day
to catch the sunlight and break it into its brilliant
constituent colors. Obi-Wan felt his own heart echoing that
calm and pleasant sound, filling him with a quiet contentment.
Time to go. Qui-Gon--and the Kirtan--were waiting.
He was met inside the door first by Anakin, who was fairly
vibrating with curiosity and just as obviously holding it in
check, and by a gently smiling Qui-Gon, who took his
sienna-colored robe from him and hung it for the last time from
its peg beside his own darker one. After his knighting it would
be returned to stores for recycling, like the rest of his
padawan clothing, and eventually garb some other padawan;
tomorrow, Obi-Wan would be allowed to choose his own cloak and
tunics as was every knight's and master's right. He toed off
his own boots--those would also be exchanged--and set them
beside his master's.
Eyes sparkling, Qui-Gon ushered him into the fresher, turned
him gently, and began to disrobe him. It was very different
from other times Qui-Gon had stripped him of his clothing.
While there was a sense of anticipation in his touch, there was
nothing sexual at all, just a great tenderness. Obi-Wan
shivered a little anyway, feeling Qui- Gon's hands on him for
the first time in too long.
Qui-Gon quirked his eyebrows. "So little control, My Knight?"
he murmured, unwinding Obi-Wan's braid and loosening his cauda.
"Not your knight yet, My Master. Not soon enough," Obi- Wan
replied, voice gone husky.
"Patience, Padawan," his master said mildly. "It's best to go
to the Sanctum with as little anxiety as possible, regardless
of what kind."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan acknowledged, taking a deep breath and
stilling his mind and heart, if not necessarily his body.
"Into the bath with you. No, stand up." From a shallow copper
basin, Qui-Gon poured warm water over him as he stood in their
bath, and gently began to soap him down. Again it was very
different from any other time they had bathed together or
washed each other. There was something not exactly impersonal
but rather ritualistic about Qui- Gon's motions, as though he
were attending to some kind of votive statue rather than his
lover or padawan.
"I didn't know this was part of the process," Obi-Wan murmured,
letting himself be gently manipulated.
"It isn't, always. But sometimes," Qui-Gon explained, kneeling
to wash his apprentice's feet, looking up at him with such
obvious pride and love that it caught in Obi- Wan's throat, "it
is the master's pleasure to serve as well. It is only a small
thing to make sure that you should go on your way with a clean
body as well as the clean heart and soul and I know you
possess."
Obi-Wan could find nothing to say but, "Thank you, My Master,"
feeling deeply touched at Qui-Gon's desire to do this for him.
He doubted somehow that this was something he had done for his
first padawan, Ayana, and wondered if it would have been done
for Xanatos, had circumstances been different. Fruitless
questions, he supposed, and pushed them aside to concentrate on
the moment, and the gift Qui- Gon offered him.
After Qui-Gon washed his hair and shaved him, he was thoroughly
and gently dried and helped into new underclothes, and then the
white tunics and sash, followed by the white trousers he had
gotten from stores that morning. Like young initiates, he wore
no stola and only a thin belt, barely heavy enough to support
his saber; unlike them, his feet were bare.The clothing had
that slight stiffness new tunics always did and the smell of
starch. The creases were still sharp and the fabric blindingly
white. More than anything, it reminded him that he was leaving
the comfort of his old life and beginning a new one.
Qui-Gon bound up his cauda, folding the end of it under and
securing it so it was a short bob rather than a tail now, and
then reverently began to plait his braid for the last time,
slipping white beads into it and tying it off with white ties.
As a final gesture, he clipped Obi-Wan's saber to his belt.
When he was dressed, Qui-Gon stood back and looked him up and
down, less an inspection than as though committing the image to
memory. He seemed, for once, at a loss for words, and merely
touched Obi-Wan's face, smiling gently in that infuriating way
of his. Obi-Wan found it was something he cherished tonight,
for he would never again see it from this perspective.
Finally, he let his master slide his new white cloak around his
shoulders before he turned to meet Qui-Gon's gaze again. The
older man leaned forward and kissed his forehead tenderly. "May
the Force be with you, My Padawan. As my love will be."
"Thank you, My Master," Obi-Wan replied with quiet dignity,
accepting the chaste kiss but proffering none of his own.
"Until morning."
"Until the morn," Qui-Gon acknowledged, cupping his face for a
moment then letting him go.
Obi-Wan pulled the cloak's hood around him and left their
quarters.
In Coruscant's great Jedi Temple, those who went hooded went
invisibly, neither spoken to nor in any way acknowledged. The
hood was a sign to others that its wearer desired no
interactions with those he might meet in the hallways, for
whatever reasons. Knights wore the cowl in walking meditation,
in mourning, in troubled or unsettled moods, in exhaustion, to
avoid the burden of speaking to all and sundry when returning
from a mission or embarking on one. One also wore the hood on
particular errands during which one could not be disturbed.
Obi-Wan wore it this night as a sign of his impending vigil.
He walked through the long-familiar halls of the Temple, eyes
fixed firmly on the floor in front of him, senses stretching
out just wide enough to avoid walls and other pedestrians.
Those in the lift gave him wide berth in his whites and he was
alone in it when it reached the lowest level but one of the
Temple. He stepped out and made his way down a long and ancient
stone-lined corridor that ran like an axis from the East and
West Gates and led to the heart of the Temple Spire, meeting
where a floor-to-ceiling portal of some dark metal was set in
the north wall.
The doors were buffed to a reflective sheen like black glass in
which was reflected only the image of those who stood before
them. They had no obvious mechanism for opening, but an old man
was waiting beside them, leaning on a cane, regarding Obi-Wan's
approach with a kind smile. This was the Kirtan who kept
the Hall of the Heroes and its Sanctum, a Jedi Master of great
powers and wisdom, whose title had once meant "singer"--a fact
subject to much study and debate regarding its deeper meaning.
The true definition had been long lost in Jedi history, and the
Kirtan was now simply the Hall's guardian, curator, and
acolyte, guide to Knights-Elect and Pilgrim Jedi. Qui-Gon's
padawan lifted back his hood and tucked his hands into his
sleeves again, waiting patiently to be recognized.
"Who comes here?" the old Jedi said at last.
"Ben-Zhao Lars of Dannora, Senior Padawan to Master Qui-Gon
Jinn, the ninetieth son of my House to bear the name of
venerable Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"What business have you here?"
"I wish to enter the Hall of the Heroes for my vigil, Kirtan,"
Obi-Wan said quietly.
"What do you seek, Padawan?" the doorkeeper asked.
"I seek the past that I may learn to serve the present and
shape the future, Kirtan.
"By what authority do you seek entrance, Padawan?"
"By the will of the Force and by sanction of the High Council
of the Mother Temple of the Order of Jedi Knights, Kirtan."
"Only the proven may enter here, Padawan."
"I have passed my Trials, Kirtan."
The keeper regarded him with bright eyes, amusement lurking in
them. "Know it well, I do," he said quietly. "Long has it been
since one such as you passed these doors, Padawan. Enter now
and take only what you need."
Obi-Wan stopped short for a moment, pondering the keeper's
words, wondering what he meant. He remembered Qui-Gon's subtle
warning at the landing pad, and decided to divest himself of
his saber and his cloak, handing them to the Kirtan who smiled
and nodded as though he had made a wise choice--something he
found strangely heartening.
The flagstones at this level were worn smooth and were cold
beneath his bare feet, as was the air here. They were hundreds
of meters underground, in some of the oldest levels of
Coruscant, and the oldest regularly used level of the Temple.
Obi-Wan shivered and drew in a deep breath, letting it out
slowly and trying not to anticipate what lay beyond these
doors. All his life would change once he entered here. Live
in the moment, he reminded himself.
The Kirtan closed his eyes and gestured for him to approach the
doors, which remained closed. Obi-Wan watched his own
reflection approaching as he neared the mirror-like portals and
raised his hand to meet it palm to palm. The door thrummed
beneath his touch, as though there were a drum within, and it
took him a moment to realize it matched his heartbeat. At that
instant, the doors swung inward silently on their mechanisms,
yawning wide to show a blackness that slowly resolved itself
into a plasteel landing and stairs sweeping down the inside of
a seemingly bottomless cylinder. Obi-Wan drew another deep
breath, trying to calm his suddenly pounding heart, and stepped
through the portals.
"May the Force be with you, Padawan," the Kirtan Eshawa
murmured and closed the great doors behind him.
There was no light. The blackness lay like velvet around him,
heavy and warm, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket,
blinding but not frightening. Darkness is only the absence
of light, he repeated to himself. There was certainly
nothing of the Dark Side here. Even in the absence of radiation
in wavelengths he could see, this was a place of the Light.
Warmth and goodness and peace flowed around him like a gentle
wind. For a moment he heard the ancient echoes of singing and
laughter.
He could, theoretically, make the entire journey downward in
darkness, not having to walk the handrailless stairs at all.
Some padawans, he supposed, did just that, choosing to see
their way with the Force, or forgoing the stairs entirely and
levitating to the bottom of the stairwell.
Obi-Wan wanted to see the history around him as he descended.
He was going back in time with each turn of the stairs and it
felt important to remind himself of all those who had gone
before him. With his knighting, he was becoming part of a long
and glorious lineage, and would indeed be the ninetieth Jedi of
his own House. Twenty thousand years of history lined the walls
and lay at the foot of this staircase, a history he would
someday be joining himself. It seemed important that he
experience it with all his senses, if for no other reason than
to remember it better and thus find his own place in it.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. When he
opened them again, a soft blue glow surrounded him, faintly
lighting the walls and steps beneath his feet. At this level,
there was little to see, only the prosaic permacrete and
plasteel construction of necessity. He started downward.
"Master Qui-Gon?"
"Yes, Ani?" Qui-Gon looked up from his datapad into his new
almost-apprentice's blue eyes. He sensed the boy's puzzlement
and an ordinary curiosity tinged with worry.
"Where's Obi-Wan going? Will he really be gone all night?"
"Yes, Ani, he will. He's gone to the Sanctum in the Hall of the
Heroes for his vigil. It's what every knight elect does before
he is officially raised to the level of Jedi Knight, if at all
possible."
"What's the Hall of the Heroes? Where is it?"
"Did you look it up?"
Anakin grinned, declining to be embarrassed about his lack of
research. "You've told me to ask questions when I don't
understand something, Master."
"Yes, Padawan, so I have," Qui-Gon acknowledged. Unlike
Obi-Wan, Anakin was not intellectually hungry, though he was a
very bright child. His interests and focus had been practical,
focused on the physical and mechanical and sometimes on sheer
survival, for most of his life and he had little acquaintance
with or use for other types of knowledge. Qui-Gon despaired a
little of changing that at this late date. "But there are other
paths to knowledge than asking questions. It's best to use them
when having the answer is not immediately imperative. Why don't
you do a little research and tell me what you find out?"
"Well, I thought it was worth a try, Master," Anakin grinned.
Qui-Gon ruffled the boy's hair. "So have other apprentices
before you, Ani."
Many turns of the staircase later, the first of the artworks
appeared, and Obi-Wan wondered why the contemporary levels had
nothing to indicate the present era's deeds. He felt the change
in the wall before he saw it, and brought up the intensity of
the Forcelight to see better what his fingers were feeling.
There were reliefs here, and what he'd first felt beneath his
fingers was the rough seam between old levels and new. He
couldn't guess how old it was, though he knew a temple of some
kind had been standing on this spot for nearly as long as there
had been Jedi, long before Coruscant had sprung up around it,
when the world had still been green and half- covered with
oceans. Obi-Wan examined them with fingers first, eyes taking
in what his sense of touch couldn't tell him.
This was some kind of cool stone and something told him it had
been poured and shaped, not carved, but not poured as plascrete
or ferrocrete was. This was true rock, not some amalgam. It had
been heated and poured as lava into some kind of mold and
fitted to the wall. The builders of the next generation of the
temple had seen fit to leave the seams between old and new
chiseled and rough, as though making a break with the past. And
perhaps they had. This age seemed to have no heroes. No names
or likenesses had been added to the Hall of the Heroes in
Obi-Wan's lifetime--nor, he suspected, in Master Yoda's. The
realization saddened him, somehow.
But here were heroes, from more than a millennium past, their
figures in bas relief in the stone, sitting here in the exile
of darkness where they were seen only by Knights- Elect and
Pilgrim Jedi, by the High Council in its annual Procession to
the Sanctum, and far more rarely by all the Temple's
inhabitants when a new name and likeness were added. These
first were heroes of the Kanz conflict in which the Jedi had
freed millions of Lorrdians from slavery. Some of the names
were familiar from Obi-Wan's own studies but it was compelling
to see their likenesses frozen in stone at the moments that
gave their names honor.
He wound his way slowly downward, hand passing over the forms
of every species known in the galaxy, their names and deeds
recorded in stone and metal, fresco and mosaic, in the
permanence of the material as their spirits resided in the
Force. Nomi Sunrider, Arca Jeth, Odan-Urr, so many others. Not
all were warriors, he noted. Some were statesmen, negotiators
like his own master, strategists, engineers, geologists,
healers, explorers, scientists, linguists, philosophers,
pilots, teachers, even librarians. Some were mystics, many were
Adepts, some renowned for their knowledge and wisdom more than
any acts. Not all had paid for their heroism with their lives.
Interspersed among them were musicians and artists, shown with
their instruments or tools, holding books or scrolls or other
works of art. There were heroes of every conflict he had ever
studied, and of some he had never heard of, battles so small
they affected only one planet or even one nation, and yet had
involved a Jedi of extraordinary courage or ability.
He was surprised to find that here too were not just heroes but
villains as well--several turns of the stairs were given over
to fallen Jedi, rogues, times when the Order seemed steeped in
war and bloodshed, and the ever-present Sith, who were so often
regarded as merely the negative image of the Jedi. Only in
treading this path did Obi-Wan come to realize how much of the
Order's history was bound up with the Sith, as though they
measured themselves against one another. He knew the
philosophies regarding the Dark Side had shifted back and forth
a number of times during the Order's history. Some had thought
it just another aspect of the Force, dark only in the way it
was used. Some thought it a separate form of energy most easily
accessed through the darker emotions. Some thought the Jedi and
Sith two sides of the same coin--where there was one, the other
must be as well, in equal numbers. Throughout the history
recorded here, Sith and Jedi waxed and waned togther, one
ascendant or the other, in what could almost be seen as a
cycle. Obi- Wan found that thought disturbing as well. He
wondered if that explained the barrenness of the contemporary
portions of the stairwell.
Heart heavier than it had been, he continued on and was
startled to find his own name on the wall a good way farther
down the stairs. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Scion of House Kenobi,
Dannora, Seer, mystic, scholar, warrior. Master to Sakiri Diros
and Lisanda Redelion. Defender of the Republic and the Jedi
during the Great Schism. Martyred in the Battle of Korriban.
His ashes are interred here.
Obi-Wan--feeling much more like "Ben" suddenly--sat down on the
steps slowly. Martyred. It was not a word the Jedi used
lightly. He knew the story from his own family history, but it
had never been told quite that way. That he had been a hero,
Ben had always known. Why else would each male Jedi in his
House carry his name? He touched the cool metallic relief with
trembling fingers. These were not larger-than-life likenesses
and this Obi- Wan had been only a little taller than he in
life, if this were an accurate portrait. Nearly 10,000 years
separated them, but Ben imagined he could see the familial
similarities, though the man wore a great drooping mustache
tied off like Ben's padawan braid with beads, and his hair was
pulled back in a thick and elaborately folded topknot. There
had been no lightsabers then, and he stood with one hand on a
canted hip--a pose that felt quite familiar--the other holding
not a weapon but a scroll, the words on it in a Basic so old it
was almost unintelligible:
And in the time of greatest despair there shall come a
savior, and he shall be known as: THE SON OF THE SUNS.
The words jolted through Ben like an electric shock. This was
part of the Chosen One prophecy. Why was his ancestor
holding that scroll? Was this what he had been martyred
for? He looked up at the inscription again. Seer, mystic,
scholar . . . Outlining the words was a fine seam and Ben
realized this was where his ancestor's ashes were interred,
right here in this wall, behind the record of his life.
That this Obi-Wan had fought Sith on their own territory he had
already known, but no one had ever mentioned precisely how he
died. It seemed a strange and unlikely omission, suddenly. And
regardless of his place here, this Obi-Wan had not faded into
the Force at his death. That seemed odd, too.
On his home planet, people still venerated their ancestors,
prayed to them, asked them for guidance, left offerings at
little shrines for them. Dannora had more than the usual number
of Force-sensitives in its population, which had probably only
encouraged the practice. Ben felt a touch of that impulse now.
If his ancestor had not immediately joined the Force in death,
perhaps there was still some part of him in his descendant.
He stood up again, feeling a little stunned yet, and looked
around him, stretching out with the Force to the end of the
staircase. He was more than halfway down. And all around him
were other heroes of the Sith Wars, all martyred. This was a
deeply disturbing period in Jedi history. So many lives lost,
so much evil, so many of the Light gone over to the Dark and
then extinguished. And at least one member of his family had
had a great role in it. Obi-Wan would do his best to honor that
sacrifice and greatness.
The rest of the journey was much less dramatic. The earliest
periods of Jedi history had been peaceable, when the Order had
consisted of theologians and philosophers. Musicians and
singers appeared more often in the mosaics and faded frescoes.
Indeed, the final image he encountered--the first of those
honored in the Hall of the Heroes, was a plump young woman with
her head thrown back and mouth open in joyful song, accompanied
on some kind of stringed instrument Obi-Wan had never seen,
played by a Duro. The inscription was brief and unhelpful.
Lenanlli Fastel, First Kirtan. Duramph Molo, Songmaster.
At the bottom of the stairs stood not a door but an archway,
carved to look like two tree trunks, branches intertwining at
the top. Down here there was a soft glow, and Obi-Wan let fade
the light he'd been generating. The new light streamed out of
the archway in a soft wash of illumination, like a gentle
sunlight. Obi-Wan had never been here before--no padawans or
initiates were allowed into the Sanctum, only Knights-Elect and
those of higher rank--and didn't know what to expect. The light
seemed almost warm, and drew him through the archway like a
magnet. Once inside, he stopped and felt his jaw loosen in
amazement.
"Beautiful," he whispered, when he could stop gaping. The echo
reverberated just as softly, then died away.
The ceiling, painted in some indescribable blue almost the
color of Qui-Gon's eyes, was far enough away to feel like the
sky it mimicked. It was supported by six tremendous pillars,
carved, like those of the archway, to resemble trees. Their
branches, heavy with leaves, spread across the ceiling, seeming
to reach into that twilight sky where a few stars winked and
sparkled between them, impossibly. Water trickled somewhere
nearby, and the floor, equally impossibly, was a soft forest
loam. Was he truly down far enough that this could be a remnant
of Coruscant's true surface? Or was it another illusion, like
the sky?
He walked to one gigantic pillar and ran his hand over the
surface. The carving so skillfully resembled rough bark that he
half imagined he'd caught a splinter from it. Big enough around
that it could only be encircled by a two dozen or more people
holding hands, it supported a ceiling that must, he thought,
reach to the lowermost level of the current temple, where the
Kirtan had ushered him through the doors.
It even smelled like outside.
The light was turning a golden red now, as though it were
sunset, as it must be in the world above. Obi-Wan forced
himself to look away from the pillar and examine the rest of
his surroundings. There was not much else to be seen. The walls
were either holograms of more forest, or so skillfully painted
and lighted that they looked like the real thing. In the center
of the "grove" was some kind of circular cairn made of stone,
its outlined blurred with moss and softly worn. Beside it was a
low wooden bench that looked much used, and a large craggy
boulder patched with lichen. He'd never felt such a tremendous
sense of peace and well-being anywhere before. The Force seemed
to fill the whole space as much as the air and light did.
Obi-Wan felt as if he were breathing it in, taking it in
through his skin. He could feel subtle currents passing through
him, sense time moving around him--and flickering just outside
his perceptions, the sense of something deeply important and
profound.
Obviously, this was a place of meditation, much like the other
gardens in the Temple above, but he had never felt so at peace
in any of them. He wondered what the cairn was, if it could be
the source of the tranquility he felt, and walked over to it to
see what might be revealed.
With a radius of less than a meter, it was neither a large nor
tall structure, the top of it hitting him mid-thigh. It was,
however, quite hollow. He leaned over and looked into the
blackness, heard more water trickling, and had the sense of
great depth below him . . . and was suddenly struck by a
nauseating dizziness. He clutched the sides of well, feeling
himself slipping, toppling into that depth . . .
He fell for a long time, and when he stopped falling, it was
not because either water or ground or stone stopped him. He
felt weightless, as though he were hovering. The dizziness and
nausea were gone now, but he was blind. There was no sign of
the opening through which he had fallen, if he truly had, not a
glimmer of light--
--Then, of a sudden, he was walking across a high dune
somewhere, heat everywhere around, sucking the moisture from
his body, and it was a struggle to get through the shifting
sand. His knees and hips were stiff and painful, his balance
off, his body somehow different. At the same time, he seemed to
be outside himself, watching this figure wading clumsily over
the top of the dune, arms waving, robes flapping, an amazing
noise erupting from him, and . . . he was old. White-haired,
creased and weathered, thick around the middle, in robes that
looked vaguely Jedi-like but weren't, lightsaber nowhere to be
seen. And he was alone. He knew this somehow, that Qui-Gon was
long dead, and Bruck too, because it weighed on his heart like
a stone. But there was a more profound sense of loss underneath
it, an older sorrow so deep it was inexpressible. . . . Sitting
in Amidala's apartments on Coruscant in civilian clothing, yet
another ache in his heart. "I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan. I'm so
sorry," she whispered, horrified, tears in her own eyes, her
sympathy and empathy enough to break him. She gathered him in,
held him tightly. Another time he would have felt huge and
clumsy in her embrace, but there was a real strength in her
fine-boned body that he needed now because Qui was unreachable
and Bruck was gone, one with the Force. She kissed him gently,
his forehead, his wet eyelids, his cheek, his mouth . . . He
stood on a listing landing pad high above Coruscant's surface,
barren site of the Temple below him, shaking with rage and
grief. The hole was large and deep enough to conceal one of the
tallest towers, as though the ancient and enormous structure
had been simply vaporized where it stood. It was an almost
surgical excision, very little around it suffering any damage
but carbon scoring, and the result almost too terrible to truly
grasp, though the instantaneous deaths had clutched at him,
rocked, him, impaled him in a microsecond of unbearable agony.
Half their number gone in less time than it took to draw a
breath. Council members, friends, strangers, family. Ti, Reeft,
Bant. Unthinkable. Unimaginable. But there was no time even to
grieve. He had to go before they found him and added his name
to the list of martyrs. . . . Anakin, grown now, a tall, lithe
young man, handsome, with the same ready smile, Qui-Gon
standing with one hand on his shoulder, looking at him with
pride and fondness. A shadowy, insubstantial figure beside him,
taller than both, in black armor and a flowing cape, shielded
eyes glowing red, a--no. No. Qui-Gon's lightsaber at its belt.
. . . He knelt beside a young man, unconscious in the sand.
So few of us left, he heard himself think and this
one our only hope. The boy was blond, very young--barely a
man--with a disturbing familiarity to his features. Obi-Wan
stared at the cleft chin, the sandy hair, the compact, rangy
body on the boy and thought he could be my son. . . . A
battle raged around his small assault ship, blossoms of light
expanding around him and silently marking the deaths of friends
and enemies, distractions for the mission he and the two people
with him were carrying out. In the installation below were
cloning labs and--something else that made his skin crawl. . .
. He stood in the sterile hallway of some military
installation, an old man again, the black-armored figure
stalking him, lightsaber raised. When I left you, I was but
the learner; now I am the master. said the creature that
had been Anakin. Their blades engaged, red on blue and it was
indeed all he could do to hold the Sith Lord off. He was sadly
out of practice, and old and tired. It was only a matter of
time. From the corner of his eye he saw Solo, the Princess, and
young Luke approaching the Corellian's ship, and felt a sudden
peace and rightness fill him. . . . Two figures in
semi-darkness, a small stone room, one holding the other
against his chest so gently, urging him to drink, the other,
body taut with pain, waving it away. Long silver hair caught
what little light there was, gleamed a moment, faded into
shadow. Tell him, Bruck, in a thick, wet gasp.
--didn't, last . . . time. The other, short white hair
shining in the gloom, nodding, face set in a mask of grief,
I will. I promise, Qui-Gon. I promise. Don't worry about the
Temple. I'll--. A sigh, --left in--good--hands,
leaving behind in Bruck's grasp nothing but an old cloak and
bloodied clothing.
3. Vocation
Obi-Wan came to on his face beside the well, in light much like
early dawn, literally prostrate with grief. Qui, Bruck, Ti,
Bant, Reeft, everyone he loved, his fellow Jedi. Was he
destined to lose everyone? Would they leave him behind, exiled
and alone in that waste he knew was Tatooine? Was that what the
Force had in store for him? Could he bear it? He remembered the
face of the man walking over the dune, the expression he wore
confronting Anakin's ghoul: serene, at peace, eyes sparkling
with a not-so-subtle joy, and not a little mischief. Did he
really have that in him?
He had fought and killed a Sith Lord. He had brought Qui- Gon
back from the dead, and kept him alive. He was 25--a child. And
he was the 90th son to bear the name of Obi- Wan Kenobi, seer,
mystic, scholar, warrior, Jedi martyr, hero.
Obi-Wan sat up and wiped sweat and tears from his face. Bits of
forest litter, fragments of leaves, tiny clumps of moss,and
ancient, sleeping seeds clung to his whites-- reminders that
this had been a living place under open air in the distant
past. Everything changes, he thought. Forests grow and die,
rivers change their courses and dry up, civilizations rise and
fall. The age he lived in was decadent and corrupt. Everyone
knew it. You could see it in the selfish bickering and
machinations in the Senate. You could see it in the hidebound
nature of the Council. You could see it in the unchecked spread
of crime and corruption and slavery through the Rim Worlds. The
Republic was old and doddering, the Jedi stultifying under
their own Code. Perhaps it was time for a burn-off, and part of
his duty was to make sure the Jedi survived it. It still seemed
unbearable.
He thought again of the blond young man--our only
hope--in Tatooine's wastes.Luke. His name is Luke. He
looks like me.
He remembered the new vision of Qui's death--not the burning
pyre that had haunted him until recently, but the cold stone
room, where Bruck held him. His master had been old,
Bruck at least middle-aged, and yet he had been young himself,
mourning Bruck in Padme Naberry's arms.
Idiot. Moron.
Possibilities. It was all possibilities. Qui had told him he
need only fear what he brought with him. He hadn't brought a
weapon, but his deepest fears and talent for prescience--which
seemed to run in the family--had been impossible to leave
behind. There was no way to know what was true, what was merely
one of many permutations of the future. It was a slim hope, but
one he clung to fiercely. Nothing was certain, but all could be
taken as a warning.
Or a gift.
When his talent had first started to manifest itself, Qui-Gon
had sent him to Yoda for more training. The first thing the
powerful little Jedi master had taught him was not to try to
control the future, but to accept each vision for what it was-
-a glimpse through a window. Using it as anything more would
change the very nature of what had been seen, an endless and
chaotic process with no end to it, once begun. The only change
he could effect with any certainty was on himself. So, if there
was fire coming, he would face it, and he would do is best to
save the ones he loved--and the Order he served.
A soft hissing behind him distracted Obi-Wan and he turned to
see his master stepping from the lift concealed in one of the
pillars, looking somber.I must have been broadcasting,
he thought. Probably to the whole Temple. It seemed far
too short a time had passed for Qui- Gon to be coming for him.
Surely it couldn't be dawn already. A moment of panic struck
him that he had failed some obscure and secret test, and would
not be knighted after all.
Qui-Gon stopped a little way from him, searching his face, then
reached out to cup his cheek. "It was hard, I see. I thought it
might be," he said gently. Obi-Wan only felt more confused, and
it must have showed on his face, because Qui-Gon smiled a
little sadly and stroked his cheek. "You carry so much with
you, Obi-Wan. . . . It's a terrible burden, to see the future
as you do. I thought it might make your vigil something more
than the peaceful contemplation it usually is. I see I was
right. I--" he began and then stopped abruptly.
"My Master?" Obi-Wan prompted after a moment of Qui- Gon's
silence and somber looks.
Qui-Gon shook his head ruefully. "It's not my place to wish
anything but what is, even for you." His thumb softly stroked
Obi-Wan's cheekbone, then he stepped back and tenderly brushed
the debris from his former padawan's whites before holding open
the white cloak. "Come break your fast and rest a little, love.
It's several hours yet until the ceremony."
Half the day later, dressed in his best blacks and the white
cloak, Obi-Wan took the ceremonial knife from Master Koon and
turned from the Council to his old master with a poise that
wavered momentarily as they met each other's gaze. It lasted
only a moment, but the outside world narrowed to encompass only
his master's gaze.
They had ridden the lift from the Sanctum in silence, Obi- Wan
still reeling with all he'd experienced in his vigil. He
absent-mindedly gathered his cloak and lightsaber from the
Kirtan at the top, but before he could turn to go, the old man
touched his sleeve and Obi-Wan stopped in the act of turning
away.
"When you are ready to ask the questions, I am here," was all
the man said, eyes twinkling.
"How--I--Thank you," he stammered, wondering how much he knew
of what had gone on in his realm. Everything, Obi- Wan
suspected. The old man bowed stiffly over his cane, as though
to an equal, Obi-Wan returning it like a subordinate, and he
and Qui-Gon walked silently toward the bank of lifts near the
East Gate. He was tempted to pull his hood around him again,
but Qui had come with no cloak at all, so it would have been
rude. But finally, when they were nearly to the lifts that
would take them home, Obi-Wan stopped.
"What was it like for you?" he said, not sure he wanted to
know.
"Different enough that it would do little to illuminate your
own, were I to describe it."
He had suspected as much, but was still disappointed somehow.
He nodded, turning away, and called the lift.
Only to find Qui-Gon moving up behind him, sliding his arms
around his waist, and pulling him back against his chest.
"Always in motion is the future, my love," Qui-Gon murmured in
his ear. "Live in the moment. That is all we ever have. The
future will take care of itself."
Obi-Wan leaned against him, feeling very tired suddenly and
grateful for what could have been trite aphorisms if Qui-Gon
didn't so deeply believe them himself. "Don't let me forget
that," he whispered.
They'd returned to their quarters, where breakfast was already
waiting--and Anakin, bouncing in his seat. It was impossible,
now, not to look at him and see that black- armored
monster--but it was also deeply unfair, and Obi- Wan did his
best to banish the image. It would take some doing, and more
fortitude than he had at the moment. But he would do it, at
least enough to give Anakin a fair, fighting chance to prove
him wrong. After eating, Obi-Wan took a short, very hot shower
and crawled into their bed for a few hours rest, feeling leaden
and a little sick. For some time, he could not shut his
thoughts off, no matter what relaxation techniques he used, and
it was some time before he dozed off again. Qui-Gon let him
sleep until there was only an hour before the final early
evening ceremony, and he was grateful for it. He woke feeling
more refreshed than sleeping most of the day away should have
left him, if not yet entirely reconciled to his experiences.
Now, Obi-Wan knelt before Qui-Gon on both knees--the last time
his status as an apprentice required him to do so-- and held
the small, sickle-shaped blade out to him on both palms. "My
Master," he began, voice clear and strong and full of
reverence, love, and a solemn happiness, "With the Council's
approval and by the will of the Force, I ask you to release me
from my padawan oaths to you that I may take my place as Jedi
Knight."
Qui-Gon took the knife from his apprentice's hands and waited
for Obi-Wan to lower his head before reaching down to his braid
and running it through his fingers with obvious fondness,
before twining it one last time around them and cutting it next
to his former padawan's skull. "Your padawan oaths to me are
fulfilled, Ben-Zhao Lars of House Kenobi. I release you." He
touched the young knight's shoulder and Obi-Wan raised his head
again. "You have proven yourself in a trial none has undergone
in centuries. Rise, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi."
It was a moment Obi-Wan had been looking forward to all his
life and yet he felt strangely empty as he got to his feet.
After his night in the Sanctum, the ceremony itself felt
terribly anticlimactic, the ritual banal, the words nearly
meaningless, as though he had already passed through the real
ceremony and all this was merely formality. But Qui- Gon's eyes
were shining with pride and love and he pushed the feeling
away, forcing a smile. He stepped back and made a deep bow,
first to the Council and then to Qui-Gon. "Thank you, My
Masters," he said solemnly.
Characteristically, it was Bruck who precipitated the change in
mood by whooping loudly from somewhere in the middle of the
small crowd. As though that had been a prearranged signal,
Obi-Wan found himself suddenly swarmed by his friends, who
pounded him on the back, shook his hand, hugged him, ruffled
his hair, and babbled congratulations at him from all sides. In
their joy, he found some of his own, enough to fill some of the
hollowness, if not entirely dispel it. He let their excitement
and pleasure fill him, basking there as though it were
sunlight, and allowed them to drag him off to the site of the
party they had been planning since the news had first broken.
4. Valedictory
Later, he had to admit that it was a good party. An excellent
party, in fact. A party to be crashed by every senior padawan
in the Temple, it seemed, with a surfeit of food, music,
intoxicants, and a guest list consisting of everyone he knew
who was actually in temple, from his closest friends to the
vaguest of acquaintances. The exception to this was Garen, who
had distanced himself from Obi-Wan when it became clear his
relationship with Bruck was a permanent one. The absence of one
of his oldest friends and yearmates lent a slight sour note to
the proceedings, but Obi-Wan had accepted it as Garen's choice
and let it go some time ago, so it was a muted and fleeting
pang.
Qui-Gon and his friends made a brief showing, staying long
enough to sample the fare and congratulate Obi-Wan, then
leaving the business of serious celebration to the young knight
and his friends. Qui-Gon leaned down and kissed him before
departing, not lingering, but with a new casual openness he
found thrilling. "Enjoy yourself, love. I won't wait up, but
I'll be . . . waiting."
"Oh gods, yes," Obi-Wan breathed, kissing him back soundly.
Qui-Gon smiled, reached to tug Obi-Wan's missing braid, and
laughing at himself, ruffled his brushcut instead, making them
both grin, and left, Anakin trailing behind him like a good--if
slightly mystified--padawan.
The party, which had begun in the early evening, stretched on
into the small hours. Obi-Wan saw people he hadn't seen in
years; every padawan--and people from his university
classes--that he'd ever known seem to appear at some point, and
after a while, the things he'd seen in his vigil began to
recede somewhat and at least some part of him began to enjoy
the party. He danced, with Bruck and Isa Kassir and others,
nearly everyone in the room, it seemed afterwards; sampled the
finger food, much of it his favorites, letting Ti and Bant,
who'd arranged for it and in some cases made it, feed him
choice tidbits by hand, Reeft looking on longingly; let himself
get giddy on the haze of inhalants; let someone, anyone,
everyone refill his glass endlessly as they swapped stories,
danced, laughed, joked, teased, talked of their masters and
missions, classes, exams, what it would be like when they were
knights themselves.
No one spoke of either trials or vigils, and Obi-Wan said
nothing of his. But he found himself watching Bruck through the
evening, the memory of that grief in his heart. He'd catch
himself laughing with someone, thinking he'll be dead when
the Temple goes, and when it was Bant or Siri, having to
excuse himself for a moment to swallow heavily and blink back
the pain. More than once, someone asked him if he were all
right. "Yes, of course. Just too much at once," he'd mumble,
waving whatever was in his hand at the time.
Finally, he took himself out on the balcony and leaned against
the wall, watching the traffic thinning as the night did,
trying to hold on to the pleasure and satisfaction he was
feeling, trying not to think of what he'd seen, to shut it out
of his mind until the time came to deal with it. What else
could he do? There was no context for any of it, no way to know
specifically when any of it would happen, or even if it would,
no way to know if something he might or might do now or in the
next minute or the next day or year might precipitate it all.
Better to let it go. Let the future look after itself, as Qui
said. He wasn't wise enough to cope with it except as it
happened, and it frightened him. Let it go.
After some minutes of fruitless effort, he heard a blast of
noise and music as the balcony door opened, suddenly muted as
it shut again.
"Hey, Kenobi. There's a party for you in there," Bruck said,
bumping him gently with one hip.
"I just needed some air," he said quietly, without turning
around.
"What's with the long face?"
"I wasn't aware I had one. Sorry. It's been a great party," he
replied, mustering a genuine grin.
"It's your vigil, isn't it?" Bruck frowned. "Qui-Gon said he
thought it might be hard. What happened? You see something?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, chagrined. This was a consequence of
having two lovers that he hadn't anticipated: that they would
share information about him, warn each other, conspire against
him for his own good.
"What was it? You've been too damn quiet, even for you."
"A lot of things," he said softly. "None of them may ever
happen. I hope they don't. And I wish I hadn't seen any of it."
"I don't know," Bruck grinned, half flippant, half serious,
"Sometimes it's better to be prepared for the shock, don't you
think?"
He hadn't thought of that. He'd only thought of changing
what he'd seen. He nudged Bruck, settled against him
companionably. "You're smarter than you act, you know that?"
"Than I look, too." One of Bruck's arms slid around him, the
tips of his fingers resting inside the waistband of his blacks.
"Was I somewhere in that future?"
"Yes. Oh yes," Obi-Wan said quietly, turning in Bruck's arms
and holding him tightly. "And that's one thing I'm going to try
to keep that way."
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