Master Apprentice
Archive
The Steppe of Memory
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Archive: MA, all others ask first
Category: PV, angst, pre-slash
Rating PG-13
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: Qui-Gon performs his birthday meditations, reliving key moments of his life.
Notes: This story was originally published in "Rituals and Meditations."
My thanks to Jennifer, hostess extrodinaire and most encouraging betatrix--who referred to this story as: " that rarity among fics, a PG-13 story from Master Ruth's keyboard." Also a very special thanks to Jade. We had the art before I wrote this story and I had no idea where I would go when I first started brainstorming. I've wanted to do a Qui-Gon backstory for some time now and this one has seemed to write itself at times (looks over shoulder at QuiMuse). Master Ri-Wan Dann's poem for her Master is part of a longer poem written by Wander Riordin, OGB. The liturgy during the Mastery ritual is very loosely based on a song by Moving Breath. I was also (probably obviously) inspired by the films Proof of Life, Gladiator and Michael Collins, particularly the latter. You do not have to see any of them to read this story, but you should see them anyway simply because they're all good movies. Please forgive the one change I make in the Jedi Code; it is a deliberate change and not a mistake.
For Jude Watson, for the birthday meditation, the stones and the backstory.
Today is my birthday. The anniversary of the day my mother climbed off her mare, went into the Birthing Tent and produced a son promised before birth to the Shamans who ride on the Sprit Plain instead of riding on the Dulomna Steppes. Those strange figures had proclaimed that the Jinn's third child was theirs. Later, hearing of this, I wondered how the Jinn, my mother, felt about this.
My mother. What little I remember of her is limned with a stern light. Time and strength and the steppes had created a lean fierce beauty; the Leader of Clan Jinn was not a soft tender mother, either to her children, or her Clan. Bound to duty and tradition and the rhythm of the seasons, she was the very example of person molded by her environment
My father. Of him I know nothing. My mother rode into the dark on the Longest Night and returned. I was the result of that ride. In the light of all my studies in myth cycles and religions, I know that the man she met that night was thought by my people to be the representative of a god. He was more likely a Clan Leader himself, told by his Shaman to ride into the dark, mate with the woman he met, and return to his Clan, never to see the child begotten that night.
My homeworld. Dulomna is a low tech world with rich veins of Dulomnite, and is thus under the protection of the Republic. The ore is mined, but only by Senate approved combines, and care is taken to preserve the native culture. But the Jedi mine another resource on Dulomna, and so it was that, at the age of two, I was given into the care of a strange, gentle woman who held me close and soothed me with her clear sweet voice and the Force.
I sit here in the quiet of the Garden of Colors to perform the Birthday Meditation. I draw steady even breath until I've found the still, calm center of my Self, and then, wrapped in the Force, I walk onto the steppe of Memory, the personal landscape of my past.
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
The thunder of hooves surrounds me, telling me that I am safe. I am always safe, always guarded by one of three Riders; the Jinn's gods-given child may never be out of sight, never alone for fear that harm might come to him.
The Jinn Shaman is singing to me. Hir voice is husky and harsh, thickly accented. Hir song is of mysteries that no child can understand, but which will tease at my mind for the rest of my life. Sie sings of Light and Dark and fire and the Great Change. They sing to me often, and watch me carefully. Sometimes I can slip away into that place where the grass sings its own song to me, but then wind roughened hands pull me back into my body and husky voices once more fill my mind with a sharper, colder song.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
On the Dolumna Steppes, life is harsh. The Clan Shamans smooth the harshness, preserve all history, teach the children, heal, and ride into the Spirit Plain when needed. They are set apart, and, based on signs and visions, are frequently chosen before their birth. They study under a hard toughening regimen, and then, after their first Quest, they are Changed.
I now know of the knives and the fire and the blood that is shed to be offered up to the gods. I too, would have emerged, neither male nor female, to take my place in a Clan as needed. I would have no lovers, father no children, and would always be distanced from all around me.
And they say the life of a Jedi is hard.
I am reminded once more that my place is here in the Temple of the Jedi. As connected to the Living Force as I am, I would never have survived the intensive, grueling training at the hands of the Shamans. I would have escaped more and more into the song of the grasses and the voice of the wind. Finally, I would have escaped altogether. True, I would have given my life to the great steppes, but not exactly in the way a Shaman should.
Once more, I walk upon the steppe of memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
Coruscant. I feel stifled and frightened. The life here is rich, but feels strange and rigid. To my child eyes, my child mind, the Temple is an oasis. Here there is life that feels more familiar, even if it too is more controlled than what I am accustomed to. I am large for my age and a strong child of the steppes and am able to run from the Jedi who took me from my home to the source of that ordered life.
It is beautiful. Accustomed to the sweeping vista of the grasses, and the few rare flowers that grow on the plains of my home, I am overwhelmed by the color and the light and the murmur of the water in the fountain. All the burgeoning life in the Garden of Colors calls me and I stand lost to the outside world, entranced, enchanted, enraptured....
In the middle of my dream of color a ew life form, burning with a great silver light, approaches me. Distracted and curious, I tear my self away from the colored world and return to the outside world. A small gnome--a grimmie, as my people would say--is looking at me.
"Welcome to the Jedi, Qui-Gon of the Jinn. Beautiful this garden is, hmmmmm? But stay in this world you must. Teach you I will."
He disappears behind a plant and before I can do more than take a step, the Jedi with the clear sweet voice finds me and I am taken away to another world.
The creche. We play and learn and every day is treated like a new game or adventure. I do not miss the harsh voices of the steppes very often, life here is too absorbing. The Temple is a great shining river, and I plunge in ready to be swept away.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
And so I met my Master. For the rest of my life I would--I will--remember the talking grimmie that welcomed me to the Temple. It is my first real, firm memory, and I still find it comforting. Here and now, at the age of 52, I rest easier knowing that that pesky, interfering, troll, that grimmie, will be welcoming new Jedi when I am one with the Force.
The creche? I carry memories of snuggling into the ever-present laps, and even now the sweet-spice smell of the incense used in the creche levels will make me smile wistfully. I met Knights and Masters then, and discovered who my grimmie was. Most importantly, I began to learn the control needed by every Force-sensitive being. The teaching games worked on me as well as they work on others and, like all the children, I was carefully guided and assessed without knowing it.
Once more, I walk upon the steppe of memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
I am at play with my friend Mace. We are throwing soft foam balls, twenty to a side, at one another while keeping our hands behind our backs. It is as simple as breathing. I score a hit and he scores one and still we do not truly keep count. Finally, tired of the game, we rest in the shade of a nearby tree.
"Do you think we'll be Chosen soon?" Mace asks.
I grin at him, hardly remembering a time when this boy has not been part of my life. Similar in size, we are often paired for games and training, and have fought many times in saber practice, both side by side and testing our skills against one another.
"We're only ten," I say. "We have plenty of time." I look at him and grin. "We have a lifetime with the Jedi," I add reminding him of our plans to one day pair as a team and roam the galaxy doing good.
"Friends...." he begins.
"... forever," I reply.
We both turn as we feel a presence approaching in the Force. Climbing to our feet, we surreptitiously try to straighten out tunics as Yoda appears. He seems more serious than I have ever seen him, even in the classroom. I hold my breath and I can feel my friend do the same.
Yoda stops until he is standing in front of me. Something in his sleepy gray-blue eyes causes me to kneel in front of him.
"I would be honored to accept you as my Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn," the Councilor's raspy voice says.
I stare at him in stunned silence, which stretches until Mace, standing almost forgotten to the side, mutters, "Say yes, dummy."
"I accept, Master Yoda," I reply, my voice sounding clear and strong, even as inside I am a riot of conflicting emotions. I have known that Yoda would teach me since the day I first saw him and yet, this....
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
Two strands of my life, inescapably bound together--my Master and my best friend--became even more tightly bound that day. It was Mace I chose to stand with me before the Council as Yoda braided a few thin strands of his purely white hair into the dark brown of my shaggy mane. Mace who stood witness as I burned the rest of my hair in the Padawan's Ritual. I saved out a thick lock for him, promising to let it stand in place for his non-existent hair when his own Padawan ceremony came. What was a best friend for?
Oh, it is true, in one way, Yoda is and always will be my best and closest friend, an enduring constant of my life. On the other hand, Mace, at the time, was the brother who filled the place of the barely remembered sons of my mother. Is it possible to have more than one "best" friend? As much as it is possible to love more than one person. To my mind, my way of thinking, and more importantly, to my way of feeling, the heart is capable of infinite love, each love different, each love precious.
This multiplicity of love is something I struggle with even as I undergo this meditation.
Once more, I walk upon the steppe of memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
I want to run through the Temple like a mere Initiate, but I suppress my impatience and pace sedately behind my tiny Master as we head for the transport. My first serious mission!
"Calm yourself, Padawan," Yoda says serenely. "A Jedi faces uncertainty with certainty."
I groan. "Another koan, Master?"
Yoda looks at me, a slightly sharp look. "A koan, Padawan, difficult is."
"Why not just tell me to expect the unexpected, Master?" I ask, willing to tease, after three years as his Padawan.
"Heard that, to often you have, Qui-Gon. Expect it, you do." As usual his face is serene. But his eyes twinkle at having thrown back the word "expect" to me.
I laugh and so we board our transport.
We land in a provincial capitol on the war torn planet of Culvii. I have read my mission briefing like a hawk, and know that we are here to observe a treaty signing and the withdrawal of troops from a highly contested continent on a planet the Senate hopes to bring into the Republic.
I am in pain from the moment we set foot on the ground. I look to my Master in confusion, glad like never before for the deep recesses of my hood. How can Master Yoda, so deeply in touch with the Living Force, not see the pain, anger, mistrust, deviousness, and fear collected in this place? I concentrate on my shields harder than I ever have before and manage to attain a measure of calm. When we finally attain the privacy of our quarters and have ascertained that we are not being listened to, I explode.
"Master! How can they ever manage peace here?! So much death, so much hatred...."
"And your conclusion, Padawan?"
"Civil war in the new government, my Master. Within three months."
"Hmmmm...." He nods agreement and, in spite of my pain, I am pleased.
"Watch the media we should," my Master says, ending the discussion, or so I think.
We sit and flip from one visual broadcast to another, also monitoring the stored print media.
"Master how can they say these things? They are lies. This man, the General of the new Army, he is so much more than this says he is." I toss a printout aside in disgust. "Even I could tell that much after five minutes in his presence."
"And yet here, Padawan?" I look at the screen where the General is giving an interview. I see still a different man than the one in the printout or the one I had met the day before.
"Where is the truth in this place. Master?" I ask.
"What is the truth in any place, Padawan?"
On this disturbing note the mission continues. I watch daily as the war, supposedly over, plays itself out in the media. I do not know which disturbs me more, the reports I know to be purely false or those I know to be true, showing as they do the suffering of the people. Of all of them, I am disturbed most by those that are half-truths. It seems, to my wise mind of thirteen, much harder to discern semi falsehood from the wholesale thing.
Afterwards as the planet recedes from the viewports of our transport, my Master touches my knee with a gentle hand. "Meditate on manipulation you should, my Padawan. Good at it you will be someday."
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
Three things still disturb me about that mission. The first is that I was right about the civil war. I never have had much in the way of precognitive abilities; my ties to the Unifying Force are adequate, but hardly powerful. So my prediction was simply that of an informed observer. And I was not all that informed, not at thirteen as the relatively sheltered Padawan of a Senior Councilor. It still remains a mystery to me that if a thirteen year-old boy could see it, then why was it not prevented?
That sounds naive, and in my own way I remain naive to this day about such things. I still do not understand what leads beings to do the dark things they do. Oh I can quote, chapter and verse, the Jedi philosophies (not to mention those of dozens of other cultures and teachings), that strive to explain the Dark in relation to the Light. I have seen with my own eyes, felt with my own senses, the desperation and fear that creates war and murder and the subtler acts of violence that exist. Still I find in myself a need to truly understand. That I probably never will completely understand until I am one with the Force does not make me cease in my search, nor should it. To strive to understand that which cannot be understood is to be a Jedi.
The second thing that disturbed me was the power of the media. Not just on one small world, but in the vastly larger scheme of Republican politics. After the mission to Culvii, I began what was to become a lifelong habit, that of monitoring the news services. Not all of them, of course, on Coruscant such a thing would be impossible even if one had no other occupation. Instead I made, and still do make, a habit of paying attention to the news media known for its integrity and randomly viewing or reading whatever else catches my attention. My poor Padawans were all scandalized at first, but each came to realize that a source of information, any source of information, even the sleaziest of tabloids, was not to be scorned.
The third thing, and the one thing that still disturbs me the most, was that Yoda was, as he so often is, correct. I am good at manipulation. It is the skill that makes me the negotiator that I am and, were I less hard on myself, I would look on it as a gift I have used to prevent much bloodshed and hard feelings. As it is, this skill of mine can terrify me all too often. It is too easy a path toward the pride and the arrogance that I have battled, not always successfully, all my life. I might even be able to justify the force I can bring to bear with my voice, my physical presence, the mystique of my status as a Jedi, if it were not that I am only a human being in the end. I too can be manipulated. Far worse, I cannot only be manipulated by others, but, with exquisite self-deception, by myself.
Time for that painful memory and its lessons later in this meditation.
Once more, I will return. Once more I go into Memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
I am calm now. Earlier I had been a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, hardly the stoic Jedi prepared for the unexpected. As I kneel alone in the posture of meditation in the center of the Council Chamber, I know that the Trials are designed to foster all those emotions, "good" and "bad." Now I am at peace. I have, to use my Master's words, not tried. Now I kneel to find if I have done or done not. It seems like seconds. It seems like forever.
I see it in the set of my Master's ears before I can feel it in the emotions of the other Councilors. I am a Jedi Knight now. All that remains is but ceremony.
And yet I find that I love the ceremony.
My Master, using both his hands and a cunning bit of the Force--"a great tree you have become in my care" he tells me--dresses me in white, but not in full Jedi clothing. Leaving the empty Council room, I walk through the halls of the Temple covered in my Padawan cloak, wearing only the two paired tunics and leggings underneath. My feet are bare.
I reach the Garden of Colors and I am surprised at the turn out. I am even more surprised that so many of my peers, make that former peers, are on hand. It has not been easy, being Yoda's Padawan, and at times I had despaired of ever having any friends beyond Mace, who had been my lover for three years at that point, and Tahl, and M'Bast who put up with me for their own undoubtedly perversely humorous reasons. However, I had worked hard to be accessible and to make it obvious that I would never bank on my Master's status, and only now do I realize how successful my efforts have been.
At the entrance to the garden, I drop the cloak behind me, literally stepping over the threshold wrapped in nothing but the symbolic Light of my whites, and the real light of my Master's Force aura. I hardly see the members of the Council arranged before me in a half circle, Yoda in the center. As I kneel before him, I can see his happiness in his ears although his face is solemn.
"Luminous beings we are, within the circle of Life, and enfolded by the Force," he begins.
"Enfolded by the Force," the response comes from all of us.
"Shrouded we are in the Living Force, our lives mapped by the Unifying Force."
"We walk the way of the Light, eschewing that of the Dark."
"Peace...." Yoda says.
"... over Anger."
"Honor...."
"... over hate."
"Strength...."
"... over Fear."
There is a pause and I rise up from my kneeling position. As a Knight, I am now able to lead the Jedi liturgy. For all that the outside world sees us as a fighting force, we are a religion. We truly believe.
"There is no dark emotion...." I say, my voice strong.
"... there is peace."
"There is no ignorance...."
"... there is knowledge."
"There is no passion...."
"... there is serenity."
"There is no ignorance...."
"... there is knowledge."
I raise my hands and the silver of Yoda's force aura is gently slipped away from me, to be replaced the strong green of my own power in the living force.
As one the assembled company recites with me: "There is no death, there is the Force."
We pause for the traditional moment of silence as we contemplate those who have passed into the Force before us and then I kneel again before the council. Behind me, I see my friends gathering. Yoda lifts a small ceremonial knife, and I lean forward.
Sad and happy I am, Padawan, he says through our bond. You will be a great Jedi and strong Master, but miss your bright presence in my life I shall.
His hands tilt my head just right and the blade flashes in the sunlight. I don't feel a thing, but suddenly he is holding a long chestnut colored braid. I wait for the training bond to be severed but instead, all I feel is a distancing. The bond, though somewhat attenuated, remains.
The bond will only be broken if you wish it. Always a Padawan you will be to me.
And always my master you will be, I reply with happiness. Please leave the bond.
Our eyes meet and I need none of my Jedi skills to see the deep love he feels for me. And I know full well that he sees the same emotions in me.
I blink and with a nod, he returns to the liturgy.
"Do you swear to improve yourself through knowledge and training?" Yoda asks.
"I so swear." As I speak, Tahl comes forward and lays the stola--the remainder of a time when we Jedi were merely a contemplative order-- over my shoulders.
"Do you swear to respect all life, in any form?"
"I so swear." I raise my arms as M'Bast wraps the sash around me, encompassing me as I have sworn to encompass all life.
"Do you swear to serve others rather than rule over them?"
"I so swear." Mace comes forward then, the heavy brown cloak of a knight in his hands, woven out of simple cloth, a tangible reminder that we do not dress ourselves in the raiment of princes.
"Do you swear, as a Jedi, a guardian of peace in the galaxy, that you will ever use your powers, spiritual and temporal, to defend and protect, and never to attack others?"
"I so swear, before this council and you, my Master."
Yoda holds forward my lightsaber in both hands and I lay my hands over the metal, feeling his hands beneath it. Drawing a deep breath, I breathe out and bare my shields to my master, letting him read the depth of my commitment to the oaths I have just sworn. His presence in my mind is like a great light and I bask in that light, knowing I have noting to fear from it.
Smiling, at the same time, we both turn the saber until it is upright before us and then, both of us letting go, we watch as it flares into full light before all assembled. The green burns my eyes; never have I seen my saber blade so bright.
"Take you then this outward symbol of your Jedi Knighthood," my former Master says. "And may the Force always be with you, Knight Qui-Gon Jinn."
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
I can never find anything other than joy in this memory. Seemingly such a simple ritual, the Consecration of a Knight, and yet, it encompasses so much. All the Jedi are, all we strive to be, wrapped up in four oaths.
And yet, of course, those oaths are the work of a lifetime: all the Initiate training, the hard Padawan's life, and the grueling test of the Trials. I generally choose not to remember my trials in my birthday meditation, because they are close to impossible for me to recall with any clarity. I know now that my failure at those Trials would have been my failure to return from that ancient song of grass and wind that so often threatened me as a very small child.
Once more, I walk upon the steppe of memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
I am going--as quietly as possible--insane. If I didn't love Mace so much, if we weren't stuck in space far from any living beings other than the pirates and their captives, if I were the one who had something to do, things might not be so bad.
If I didn't love Mace so much....
I pace the confines of the cargo ship, often too tired--to be truthful, too strung-out--for the release that katas would bring me. I should be the one in charge of the negotiations, I think. I'm the diplomat; Mace is more of a politician. Although I know that my lover is too busy, too tired, to hear me, I guiltily hide the thought. And frankly, the bond between us is growing thin as the shields each of us has been hiding behind more and more as this dreadful mission goes on and on grow stronger.
We are negotiating for the release of diplomatic "hostages." They're not hostages, of course, they are simple kidnap victims being held until we and their captors can come to a proper agreement as to how much these people are worth. We might as well be buying slaves, something I've mentioned to Mace more than once, usually when I'm trying to convince him that we'd achieve more if we didn't treat our opponents with the kid gloves he thinks are necessary.
But he doesn't agree. To achieve a ransom within the boundaries set by the Senate is our mission; we are Jedi, and we will carry out that mission. As far as my lover is concerned, that is the end of the discussion. In fact, I am actually along for the ride, as Mace is the Council-designated head of the mission.
And so things appear on the surface. The pirates we negotiate with see two Jedi Knights, one wholeheartedly supporting the other, each upholding the Jedi reputation for serenity.
They don't see the sullen silences and the too frequent arguments in our suddenly passionless bed. They don't see Knight Jinn's growing concern over the hostages, or Knight Windu's internal fears that his skills are not up to the task. They don't see the way I fret, and grow weary of the waiting.
Mace wants to compromise too much. When he counters my argument for forthrightness with the idea that one of the victims might be harmed, I try to remind him that these people are no good to their captors dead or even injured.
To make things worse, there are Force sensitives on that other ship; I am growing increasingly sure of it. Mace insists that what I feel is merely due to the absence of the Living Force around me and reminds me that deep space has always presented me with unique problems.
He is right, but what a young Padawan might take from his Master is not the sort of thing a young Knight wants to hear from his lover. More than once I am tempted to pull rank on him, remind him that I am the senior Knight by a year, regardless of who is in charge of the mission. But I will not. Even if such a thing were not beneath a Jedi, it would sever our relationship, and that I could not bear.
Could I? We have grown comfortable together, Mace and I. Lovers for six years now, we have had no reason to think that we could be happier anywhere else. Or more specifically, with anyone else. Mace was my first, and although we each spent time experimenting, we came back to each other, satisfied in the steady companionship and contentment of our situation.
But now, with an enforced period of togetherness under trying circumstances, I find myself wondering if this is what love is. Should I not want more, should I not have more patience with him and be able to give him more support? And, my mind quietly asks in the dark of the night, should I not expect those things of him? He is my lover; I have a right to certain comforts of my own. I'm not getting them.
Another session is over; he finds me in the hold and wants to spar. I want to talk.
"Qui, I've talked all day and I finally got somewhere. I want to do something."
"We could try making love," I suggest mildly.
"No," he replies turning away, shields tight. "I'm too angry; it was hard enough to get even a hint of a concession from them. I had to get tough."
"Well, I'm too angry to spar," I snap back.
He looks at me curiously. "What have you got to be angry about?"
"What, you think you're the only person here impatient with this mission? There are two people over there who are suffering terribly, Mace. I can feel it. They're Force sensitive and they're afraid.""
"That again." He's trying hard not to be sarcastic.
"Yes, that again."
"Qui, if there were angry Force sensitives over there, even untrained ones, don't you think Madgrad and his men would be having more trouble with them?"
"Not if they're children, Mace," I almost plead with him.
"I don't feel them." His face goes stubborn on me and my temper, something Yoda tried so very hard to teach me to rein in, snaps.
"I'm not surprised...."
"What do you mean by that?" he interrupts.
I run right over his question.
"... any more than I'm not surprised that you haven't gotten further with this negotiation."
"And what in the Sith Hells do you mean by that?" he demands, his voice raising.
We are face to face now, breathing hard and glaring at each other.
"I told you you'd have to get tough. The very first day we were here. Just like I'm telling you now that there are Force sensitives over there."
"Getting tough wouldn't have worked the first day," he snaps back.
"You don't know that for certain. Remember that I'm the negotiator here, and I'm the Living Force sensitive, and...." I break off in horror at my words, but he has started to speak over the tail end of my sentence.
"And I'm just the famous Knight Qui-Gon Jinn's good fuck-buddy?" Mace yells.
We stare at each other, both of us appalled, and I have no idea who backs down first.
I know it will not affect our mission, and the days that follow prove me right. Tempers notwithstanding, we are Jedi first. But I shiver, as if hearing the death knell of our relationship.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
Veiw the Past through the lens of the Present.
I am not proud of myself and the way I acted on that mission. Nor, I know now, is Mace. A clear test of each of our weaknesses, we failed. Not in the mission itself; we returned with all of the captives, although some of the diplomats had given up their lives prior to capture.
No, our failure was both professional (we should have gone to each other for help, he for negotiation details and I for help with the debilitating lack of the Living Force), and personal (we should never have let ourselves go so long without realizing how damaged our relationship already was).
Mace and I, as bonded lovers, simply were not meant to be. We are both two extremely opinionated, proud, stubborn men and Jedi training can only erase so much. We spoke of it years ago, when we finally felt enough time had past, and we found that each of us was supremely grateful that we never did go through a bonding ceremony. We would have failed that trial; our bond was never strong enough to withstand the scrutiny of the Council.
And still, that mission, which I remember with so much personal pain, had long reaching, almost identical, consequences for us both. For there were two Force sensitives among the captives, and Mace has admitted that he has never been so glad that he was wrong at his expense, as one of them was Depa, his first padawan.
The other? Tiafet Ereu, who was to become my first padawan.
But before I remember Tia, there is one other consequence of my relationship with Mace to contemplate. Seeing how my ability to function as a Jedi seemed compromised by the needs and distractions of my sexual life, I swore a personal vow of celibacy. This is not uncommon among Jedi, many swear such oaths, choosing to dedicate that source of energy to the Force. For me, it has been very useful at times and yet ... I must wonder how much it cut me off from the Living Force.
Or am I simply indulging in justification, now when there is one whom I would love in all ways so close at hand?
But I am not there yet.
Once more, I walk upon the steppe of memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
Tia is running through a maze in darkness, her Force sense dulled by drugs. She is being chased by three Special Ops personnel, all of whom are better equipped and more rested than she is. She will fail this test, although she has not accepted that yet. She does not know it, but she is supposed to fail.
I am watching from the command post, along with an SO captain. Unlike my Padawan, I am very much in touch with the Force. I can feel the fear she is trying so very hard to contain. For the moment she is succeeding, but I can also feel her exhaustion as the three days of no sleep and little food take their toll on her. I force myself to stillness and damp down the training bond, attempting to distance myself from the burning pain of her sprained wrist and the way each breath comes harder and harder. Her pursuers are very close now. It will not be long.
"She is," the captain says quietly, "the best of your people I've ever seen. I'd be willing to bet a great deal that Kis'p'tea and his men are feeling rather frustrated right now."
I blink at her, pulled out of my one-sided awareness of my Padawan and then extend my senses toward those chasing her. They are indeed frustrated that this gangly Jedi girl who is barely 18 can keep them running for three days.
I am glad my apprentice is currently Force blind. It will not do until after this test for her to know how proud her Master is of her.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
Tia. Tiafet. Tiafet Ereu.
With her, I discovered that the simple joys of teaching a classroom of students pale when compared to the complex joys of being Master to a Padawan. I loved her for her perceptions, her deeply empathic connection with the Living Force, so like my own, and for any of a million worthwhile other reasons. Above all, she was- and still is for that matter--clever and resourceful, with a mind that matched and even surpassed mine in some areas.
Once more, I walk upon the steppe of memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
I am kneeling in one of the larger meditation rooms. There are large pillows on the floor and a comfortable carpet, but I am kneeling on a broad low stool with a red velvet cushion. I am in the standard mediation posture, but, in spite of both place and position, I am not meditating. Instead, like Taifet, many levels below me in the deep caverns of the lower Temple, I am keeping a vigil. Unlike Tia, I will not keep mine in solitude.
Masters visit me, those I have learned from, those I have worked with and a few I have taught. Each offers me their own perspective on Mastery, sharing everything from amusing stories to profound insights. I struggle with a certain sense of awe and I wonder if I am ready to join this august company. It is strange for, if I am certain that my Padawan is ready to become a Knight, then surely I am ready to be a Master.
"Hmmmm ... ready you are indeed. As Padawan you did not show such humility, Qui-Gon."
"Perhaps I am a late bloomer, Master." We trade a quick smile and I settle in to see what wisdom my old Master has to offer me on the subject of Mastery.
"Long ago you asked me about my first Padawan. Remember that, do you?"
"Yes Master."
"A handful she was, full of energy and deeply in touch with the Living Force. Much like her, you are."
I say nothing, knowing that Yoda will continue at his own pace.
"Gifts for you I have," he says, apparently changing the subject. He reaches into his tunic and retrieves a small silver knife, much like his own ceremonial knife, only obviously made for larger hands. "Ordinary scissors are not good for cutting important things." He tilts his head as I take the knife and waves away my attempts at thanks. "Another thing have I. " He hands me a small scroll. And folds my hands on it as I try to open unroll it.
"Read it you should, after I go. Mastery, my Padawan, is service."
I bow again and watch with fondness as he makes his way out of the room. My grimme.
Heard that I did.
Still smiling, I unroll the scroll. It is a poem, hand-written in an archaic dialect.
O Gen'rous Heart, that feeds the famished children
Upon its very substance, rich and dark
O Open Hands, that gift both king and pilgrim
With silent skill, inscribed with labor's mark
O Kindly Mouth, that close unhap doth fasten
But virtue tells, distilled in slow remark
O Willing Soul, that promise keeps unswerving
Without regard for witness, sere or stark
O Patient Mind, that purpose seeks in serving
& friendship finds, grown great from that small spark.
Upon A Master's Elevation
Padawan Ri-Wan Dann
I stare at the author's name in shock. Master Dann was the first of only a handful of Dulomna Jedi and I had no idea that she'd been Yoda's first Padawan. Still considered to be one of the greatest Jedi poets, I had studied her work not only with an appreciation for her words, but with a feeling of kinship that went beyond our shared homeworld. No poet myself, it seemed to me that she often managed to say the things I felt but could not express.
Once it sinks in that I am holding an original piece, given to Yoda over 700 years ago, I want to run after my former Master and insist that he keep the poem. But no, it is a gift for me and I should accept it in the spirit intended.
I am left undisturbed for the rest of the night and I spend the time lightly meditating on the poem. One of the great Jedi Masters has spoken to me through the medium of paper and pen, and I honor her words with the attention they deserve. Generosity, Openness, Kindliness, Willingness, Patience ... yes, a Master needs all these things. Once again, in this unpublished, private poem, Master Dann has managed to find the words that I need to read. Feeling ready to take my place among the Masters, I leave the meditation room for my Padawan's Consecration.
Tia's very movements tell me that she too has found confidence during the night. Her smile, while happy, reflects a new sureness and I am a little in awe of this poised young woman. Was it really so long ago that she was nothing but knees, elbows and a pair of big brown eyes? I shall miss the child and the adolescent, but I find myself looking forward to the friend I am gaining.
Her ceremony over, Tia backs away backs away and I come to kneel before the council.
"In the Temple of the Light I am one," Tia chants, and we repeat the words.
"In the World of the Mind I am one.
In the Silence of the Stars I am one.
In the Brightness of the Blade I am one.
In the Stillness of the Soul I am one
In the Heart of the Mystery I am one
In the Center of the Force I am one."
In the silence after the last swelling chord of the chant, Yoda's voice is clear.
"In the Chronicles of Ossus, it is written: 'In the earliest days of the Jedi Order, ttere was no Temple save the earth and sky. In those ancient days, Jedi Knights sought to pass on their knowledge to a new generation and so the first Padawans were accepted and the first Masters created. And so, within the Order there is no Mastery without teaching and there is no teaching without students. ' So it is written."
"So it is written."
"In the Works of Odan-Urr, it is written: 'To the Padawan, the Master gives shelter, food, clothing, protection and above all, knowledge. From the Padawan the Master receives loyalty, a willingness to learn and above all, knowledge. When the Padawan teaches the Master in turn the partnership is right.' So it is written."
"So it is written."
"In the Codex of Master Thur, it is written: 'In such time as the first Padawan Learner of a Knight Teacher shall pass their Trials, that Knight Teacher shall be elevated to the rank of Master with all the rights and privileges thereof. Let no being lay claim to the title of Jedi Master in any way save this.' So it is written."
"So it is written."
I feel a familiar presence at my right shoulder, as Tiafet comes to kneel beside me, her arms full of fabric.
"Before us comes Knight Teacher Qui-Gon Jinn. At his side is his first Padawan, now elevated to the rank of Jedi Knight. It is therefore the duty and pleasure of the Jedi High Council to bestow on Knight Jinn the title of Master, with all the rights and privileges thereof."
I shrug my shoulders and felt the mid-brown cloak of a Knight fall off me. Tia is there to pull it away from the ground behind me. I flash a private smile at her and she returned it with a barely concealed amusement.
"Be robed in the garment of your station, Master Jinn," she says, her voice steady as she drapes the dark brown cloak of a Master over my shoulders.
"Bear it with the serenity and authority of the Jedi Order," Yoda adds as I slide my arms through the voluminous sleeves.
I hold out my saber and Yoda takes it and holds it in his hands as he had done during my Knighting. I lay my hands on it and prepared to repeat my oaths as a Jedi.
"Do you swear to improve yourself through knowledge and training?"
"I so swear."
"Do you swear to respect all life, in any form?"
"I so swear."
"Do you swear to serve others rather than rule over them?"
"I so swear."
"Do you swear, as a Jedi, a guardian of peace in the galaxy, that you will ever use your powers, spiritual and temporal, to defend and protect, and never to attack others?"
"I so swear, before the High Council of the Jedi Order."
Once more my blade flares and is held between my hands and those of Yoda.
My future seemed assured. I was a relatively young Master, with one Knighted Padawan who promised to be one of the more notable Knights of her generation. I was proud of her and proud of the things I had learned from her. I was extremely honored by my former Master's choice to give me such a deeply meaningful gift, and again proud of the comparison to the great Master Dann. I resolved to take on a new Padawan as soon as possible. After all, I had so thoroughly enjoyed my tenure as Tia's Master.
An excess of pride? It is an emotion that can so easily lead to, if not the Dark side, then to a certain degree of carelessness. With me it lead to both carelessness and blindness. And to my greatest failure. I don't like doing this; I don't like revisiting this time of my life and, as I do every year, I leave the memory to be chosen by my deepest subconscious. I will not deliberately seek out great pain, however I will not ignore it either.
We are fighting on Culvii, caught up in a terrorist attack as we attempt to coordinate a Republic relief mission. Xanatos is at my back, and we move as one, a finely honed and trained defensive team. I know a blaster bolt is coming in too low for my guard, but Xan is there to catch it for me, a move that leaves his left side open for a second. I find my blade flickering instantly in that direction just in time to deflect another bolt, one that surely would have killed him.
Our attackers are thinning ahead of us and I see a way clear to a small alleyway, a much more defensible place than the broad street we fight on. "There, forward and to the right," I murmur as I catch another bolt on my blade. "See it?"
"Yes, Master," comes the quick reply.
I have a second to regret that our training bond does not allow for the close mental communication I had with my Master or with Tiafet, but Xan is grounded heavily in the Unifying Force and we certainly manage to work well enough without the intimacy of telepathy. Perhaps it will come with time, my Padawan is only 17, after all.
Having attained the alleyway, ridding ourselves of our last few attackers seems easy. Both of us finally noticing our fatigue, we pause before setting out on a cautious route back to the city's center.
"Incompetent," Xan mutters under his breath.
"You're complaining, Padawan?" I ask. "If they'd been better killers, we'd have had to kill a few of them rather than simply frightening them off."
He nods, and I shake my head tiredly. "This place has seen enough killing, Xanatos." I am careful to use his full name; he's a formal young man, my Padawan and I rarely call him "Xan" to his face.
"That's right, you were here with Master Yoda right after the Treaty negotiations. Has it changed much?"
"People are still dying," I say shortly. My mood, already shaky, has not been improved by the attack.
Xanatos looks a little hurt, but shrugs and tries to change the subject and lighten the mood. "Minister Mathvey told me about the hot spiced wine they make here and how you and he snuck some when you were here before."
"One's first hangover should never be forgotten," I reply, trying to respond to his attempt at levity, misplaced though I feel it to be. Xan doesn't know that the Minister was once a fun loving young man. In the time since I met him in his father's home, Mathvey has become a sharp and slippery politician. I suspect him of being behind some of the terrorism.
"Was that why you didn't use the Force to heal me last year on Dela IV?"
I manage a laugh, more for his sake than mine, and ruffle his hair in a way I know mildly annoys and yet amuses him. "A Master's revenge," I say and we slowly move through the war torn city.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
Xan. Xanatos. Xanatos na Crion d'Telos.
Nowhere is he listed as a Padawan, or an Initiate, nor as any kind of Jedi at all. As mine was the hand that killed his father, yet could not kill him, mine was the hand that struck him from the record, yet could not strike him from my heart.
He was gone from my mind as soon as he turned, both of us tearing out the training bond in an attempt to cripple each other during our final duel. It gave me, much later, an insight on how our one-time Dark counterparts, the Sith, so completely destroyed each other. There was no graciousness about that fight, just a mind tearing shattering of the Light that had once bound teacher and student, Master and Apprentice, friends, together.
So why have I remembered one of the good times? A time when we fought so well together, a time when he saved my life? We did other things of worth on that mission as well, and Xan (as I still sometimes think of him) was a constant companion, a steady and understanding presence at my side.
Even in Xanatos and in his turning to the Dark, my mind will not believe in absolutes. Particularly in absolute evil. It is a blind spot and one I've argued over in many late night philosophy discussions with M'Bast. My friend, with her knife sharp mind, seems amused at my "sentimentality" and my refusal to accept that, if I am correct and there is no true evil, then there can be no true good as well.
But playing with words is one thing, the mind, soul, and (ultimately) life of a promising Jedi is another (as M, for all her hair splitting, agrees). Xan's turning tore something powerful in me. In a way, I believe that only something that had shone so greatly in my heart could cause so great a pain. Even his death later grieved me horribly, although the man that leapt to his end rather than be killed by me was a mere shell of the youth I knew and trained.
And if I think ill of myself (and I do) for my failure with Xan, I think worse of myself for my reaction to that failure.
Once more I will walk the Steppe of Memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
I am crouching in the gateway to a slave pit on Salsausi Prime. My appearance does not suggest "Jedi" in any way at all. My hair is long, unkempt and scraggly, as is the beard I have cultivated for this mission. My eyes are still black and my nose still heavily taped after a brawl in a faction tavern the night before.
I am here to gain information about the Salsausi Games. The Senate is considering membership for this world and the bloody nature of the gladiatorial games has them worried. Particularly as these games, as on so many worlds, are supposedly religious in nature. If I can prove that the religion is secondary to the profit motive, there may be a way to stop the games. Membership in the Republic does not come easily, nor is it offered often.
I think I have all I need, but I'm not sure. Certainly I have seen little to suggest anything but the merest religious gloss on what is a matter of factionalist wagering among the poor of this world and slave profiteering among the rich.
It is easy to convince the gate guard to let me into the arena compound, and I make my way to the beast fighter's quarters. Getting out may be harder, but I will worry about that when the time comes.
The quarters are nothing more than cells, but once more it is a matter of seconds and a little careful Force application before I am in the place of one of the fighters, a new man to this arena. When "my" fight comes, I am sent out to fight a masttak, a large reptilian creature, as part of the traditional four man team.
Between more Force usage and some very quick footwork on the part of the entire group of us, we are able to send the creature to a relatively harmless and easy death. My fellows revel in the sounds of the cheering masses, but I feel nothing but sickness inside. As I thought, there is nothing spiritual in this place, not even the warped spirituality of a religion gone dark as I have seen on other worlds.
"Were you out of your mind?" the beautiful "matron" who is questioning me with intent to purchase asks me.
"Only way to get the true perspective, M," I reply.
"That's utter crap; I got it from the terrace seats. Why we put up with you...." M'Bast turns her head and calls out, her voice suddenly a low throaty purr. "Guard, I'll take this one."
As we leave the city, I wait for the question. She doesn't ask it.
"Don't nag the poor man," the Queen Mother tells her burly son. "Perhaps Jedi are simply more restrained and don't play the games you do."
"On the contrary, Your Majesty," I reply, bowing to both the woman and her son's court. "We Jedi are not merely a contemplative order. We do participate in the sports of many Republic planets. After all, our members are drawn from very diverse worlds, all with their own ideas of gaming."
I don't need to impress the King; his mother holds the true power here on Bery. But sail-flying sounds like a tough physical challenge, and a round of peaceful trade agreements have left me restless. King Deril begins to explain the sport to me, and I can feel the smile of appreciation tightening my features.
Later, once the King and I are out of the bacta tanks and quit of the fussing of his mother, I call in my report to the Council. My master looks sternly at me, ears at half-mast.
I wait for the question. He doesn't ask it.
Culvii. Again. It still hurts to be here and I still feel my whole body tighten as I step onto the ground. More thousands have died since ... I've been here last.
I find a bar and order a tenner of thick soupy ale. I am in no mood for the smooth, aged spice wine that, regardless of that first hangover, remains one of my favorites. Also ordering that sort of thing here would get me killed.
Once more I am undercover, this time as a man from the western half of the continent, who, fed up with the current government, has come to find a stronger way than the democratic process to fight it. My cover is easy as I have some local money, a native accent similar to that of this world, and I find it quite easy to loathe any government in this place, regardless of my Jedi training.
The talk turns, as it always does on Culvii, to the old War for Independence.
"I knew the General," I say quietly, after taking the measure of the crowd.
One man snorts at me. "He died man, before you'da been born."
"Not so," I reply. "Met him once, back home when I was a boy."
"True, he did come from the west."
"Think he'da stopped this mess?" yet another man asks.
The discussion is off and running and all I have to do is sit back and listen. Soon I know who the rebels in the crowd are, and with very little in the way of "persuasion" I find myself at the local headquarters.
The world goes black the minute I walk into the room.
"You should have left well enough alone, Jedi."
Although the voice is somewhat familiar, I pay no attention, reaching for my lightsaber and the Force. I pull up short on both. I am bound hand and foot, my Force sense is gone and I can clearly see my saber sitting on a nearby table. I sigh and look up to meet the eyes of Minister Mathvey.
"I was right about you," I say calmly. Strangely enough, powerless in the hands of a man I know to be behind horrific acts of violence, I am calm, a sort of weary calm that fills me with mild surprise. What have they used on me?
"No, you only guessed, else your precious Republic would have shut us down." He looks at me with contempt. "Did you really think a beard and long hair would have fooled my people? You idiot!" He gestures to the guards. "Take him to a cell. I'll question him later."
Whatever it is that they have given me to dull my Force sense seems to have weakened my physical strength as well. I am carted off to a small cell and left to sit, contemplating the rebel idea of "questioning." I have nothing they want; they know why I am here. If they had wanted money, I would have never seen Mathvey.
"So, Jinn," I say bitterly, into the quiet of my cell. "You were going to save the galaxy and instead you're about to be tortured to death on Culvii. How ironic."
Shut up, you, a voice whispers over an old bond in my mind.
Please Master, it's hard to rescue a man who's talking to himself, another mental voice adds.
Later, in the safety of a small tramp freighter, two sets of brown eyes glare at me from roughly the same height.
"Qui, you stupid son-of-a-Sith," Mace begins.
"Are you trying to get killed?" Tia finishes.
I look at them, finally hearing the right question at the right time.
"Yes," I say brokenly as a sob rips from my chest.
"Mmmmmmm. Heal you can now, Padawan."
A tiny clawed hand pats at my knee.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
"Heal now you can," Yoda told me then, and heal I did.
Am I truly healed of my failure with Xanatos? I like to think that time, my ability to actually work with the soul healers instead of against them, and a great deal of love from an wide array of sources have all healed me as much as I can be healed.
Perhaps it is good that I am no longer neither so naive nor so cynical as I was at times in my life. I like to think I've struck a balance between the man who refused to see any evil or possibility of darkness in one he loved well, and the man who saw and fell prey to, if not darkness, then at least a very clouded light.
I find that I must still work at that balance, regardless of circumstance. I also find that that struggle defines me as a Jedi and as a sentient being. My answers to M'Bast's philosophical traps are very different now than they once were. And I am, to the dismay of more than one person who cares about me, far more willing to rebel against the authority of the Council and even the Code to follow the Will of the Force.
For I set myself against the Will of the Force one too many times. And in doing so, more than once, almost lost my soul.
Once more I will walk the Steppe of Memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
"Tia!" I call across the training salle. "Make her work for it!"
"Behold the proud Grand-Master," Mace says softly.
"Behold the happy newly-wed," I reply, pulling him into a close embrace. "How was Aldaraan?"
"Stereotypically beautiful, Qui-Gon," Depa said from my other side.
"Not 'Master Jinn' any more, Depa?"
A flash of a sweetly demure smile. "It's Grand-Master Jinn now, isn't it?"
"Who would have thought?" I say as we watch my former Padawan chase her former Padawan across the mat. "Come on Sha-Var, she's wasting energy at this point!"
"Since when have you become such a left seat flyer?" Mace asks.
"Humph!' says the voice of the one person in the Temple who can truly sneak up on me. "Need a Padawan again you do, to keep you from interfering." When I frown down at him, he looks up at me calmly. "Heard you advise your former Padawan. Can I not advise mine?"
"Master..." I began.
"There is a combat match tomorrow. Watch it with me you will."
There is no arguing with my master in this mode and so I simply nod and say, "yes, Master." After all, no one can force me to take a padawan. Not even Yoda.
"Who am I supposed to be watching," I ask the next morning, noticing a group of older Initiates looking at me as if I'm some ogre out of legend.
"All Initiates are worth watching," Yoda reproves me. "Young Calamari girl is quite good, and the small girl over there, although being watched closely by Master Gallia she is."
I look at the young girl with some curiosity; Adi had backed me up during some of my more "undercover," undercover missions and I had a good working relationship with her.
"She must be a sharp little girl," I say.
Then I see them. Two older boys, close to the end of their time as Initiates, are both stretching out. The combat master working with them is watching both of them carefully and I can feel a certain prickliness between them that usually indicates a rivalry.
"Which one?" I ask Yoda.
"Both," he replies, his canny eyes hooded.
"I can't have two at a time, my Master and you didn't drag me up here today specifically to watch a pair of rivals fight it out. You know how I feel about that sort of thing." Xan had had rivals all through his Padawan days.
"Which do you think then?"
I look closer at the boys. They are roughly the same height, although the white-haired one has a bit of bulk and reach on his yearmate. That yearmate....
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Yoda says quietly. "Strong in the Unifying Force is he, but quick to anger."
Judging by the match, both boys have tempers and young Kenobi matches his temper with an aggressiveness that makes me feel uncomfortable. He throws himself into it with abandon, seemingly almost desperate to win this match.
"A Jedi should never attack in such a manner," I murmur under my breath.
"Mmmm yes. Speak like a Master you do."
"Wish to be a Master again I do not." I say almost curtly, and watch the fight end. Kenobi defeats his rival and a good number of the watching Initiates cheer him soundly. A temper, I think. And a following. It is too familiar and I suddenly need to leave the practice room.
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
Obi. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Once, during the difficult days after Melida/Daan while Obi-Wan and I worked on our Master-Padawan bond, I asked Yoda about Obi-Wan's possible fate. I was seeing, yet again, how worthy the young man truly was, and I told my old Master that Obi-Wan would have been wasted as a farmer, had I not taken him as a padawan on Bandomeer.
"And what makes you think that a farmer he would have been?" came the reply. But when I pressed him, the interfering old grimmie just smiled that smug smile of his and hobbled off.
I believe that he would have taken Obi-Wan as his own Padawan if I had continued in my folly. Every day gives me more reason to thank the Force that I finally realized folly for what it was.
Once more I will walk the Steppe of Memory....
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Memory welcome me
Let me sink like the stone into water
Let me drift like the wind above fire
Memory welcome me and return me safely home....
"Is it really so different, Master?" Obi-Wan asks. He looks at me a little doubtfully. "I was prepared for things to be much worse. Or is it just my difficulty accessing the Living Force?"
"No, Padawan, I believe that things have changed here, and for the better." Although Culvii still feels harsh to my inner senses, I no longer feel the need to shield myself quite so firmly just to step onto the planet.
"The mission briefing mentioned that the recent truce had a better chance of holding." My Padawan looks at me and then glances away. "Master, why did you specifically ask to be sent here as a mediator?"
"Partially because the truce is holding."
We are standing on the balcony of the guest rooms assigned to us. The view is heartening; although the city shows many signs of decades of war, new buildings are being constructed. Also, the people on the street do not have the haunted look that comes with living in a society plagued with terrorists.
"I wanted to see what it looked like at peace," I add, turning back to Obi-Wan. "I want to be a part of the process and try to help this place keep it's peace. So many have died here, and now, just maybe, they can start living again."
He smiles and ruefully shaking his head. "A whole planet of lifeforms you feel sorry for?"
"You might say." Obi-Wan has been with me for four years and feels comfortable teasing me.
"But, that is not why I wanted to talk to you, Padawan."
"You wanted to warn me about the dangers of too much spiced wine?"
"What day is it Obi-Wan?"
His brow furrows in concentration, and then he laughs a little. "Stars, we've been so busy in the last few months, I'd forgotten. Time for me to go into Memory after yet another year."
"And time for this, Padawan."
I withdraw my hand from my sleeve and hold out a rock.
"Four years and now, four rocks," he says grinning. "Thank you Master, I will treasure it." He turns it over in his hands, examining it carefully, and then looks at me again.
"It...resonates, somehow, with this world. And with you."
"Perhaps you are becoming more aware of the Living Force, my young apprentice. I picked this piece of granite up when I was here with Master Yoda." I reach out and fold his hands around it carefully. "There were hopes for peace then and there are hopes for peace now. I'm giving you my hope for peace."
"One as lasting as granite?"
"Yes, Padawan."
Come back from the Steppe of Memory....
View the Past through the lens of the Present.
Obi-Wan has two more rocks now, but I've noticed that his favorites are still the Force sensitive stone that saved his life, and the Culvii granite. He has picked up my habit of keeping as informed as possible and will often ask if I know that the truce that we helped negotiate on that visit still stands. And I always tell him that, yes, I know, and, if possible, we drink hot spice wine in honor of the planet. It is one of our many little rituals.
Tia remains as pragmatic now as she was the day I took her as my padawan. Xanatos always looked at Jedi ritual as outdated and a bit silly. Obi-Wan, however, shares my love of the meaningful rituals that mark a Jedi's life. I have only once had to remind him to perform the birthday meditation and he often spends as much time in his memories as I do.
I found myself wondering something this year. Does he deliberately avoid certain memories, or are those memories even there to avoid?
This year I have spent the whole year avoiding an uncomfortable fact about my relationship with Obi-Wan. I have avoided thinking about my vow of celibacy and how it might be a mistake. I have avoided remembering the glowing beauty of both his physical and spiritual self. Tonight I could have thought about when I knew how I truly feel about my Padawan.
Perhaps it is where we are that makes me dwell on other things.
Yes, I'm sure that's what it is. After all....
"Master?" Obi-Wan's voice is soft, but he obviously knows through our ever strengthening bond that I am out of memory now. "How was the walk this year, Master?"
"The Steppe is another meter longer, Padawan," I reply, and we share our old joke with a smile.
"I have something for you." He is standing in the doorway of my room and he beckons me into the small living area of our guest suite. His eyes seem very bright tonight and I pretend not to notice how attractive they are, and how they seem to hold a smile just for me.
"I will join you as soon as I've stretched out a bit.'
I smell the wine before I enter the room.
He has set the distinctive bottle on the low table and is now kneeling, ready to pour the wine into one of the traditional drinking bowls. The low light and the blue of his robe make his eyes as blue as mine. Vulnerable from my extended introspection, I cling to my self-control.
"Thank you Padawan. A most appropriate birthday present."
"I think, Master, that the wine is just the shine on the gem. We've always toasted the peace on Culvii, now, here we are, able to toast Culvii's entry into the Republic."
And so we do. I close my eyes at the first sip of wine, savoring its hot smoothness as I swallow. I can't remember when I've had spiced wine this good.
"It's the same age you are Master," Obi-Wan says, obviously reading my expression. "I'm told it was a very good year. For wine and Masters."
"A very ancient year."
He shakes his head and lifts his glass as if to toast again. "May we have many more such birthday celebrations, Master."
As we drink, I see something new in his eyes. I am not imagining things; and a hundred little clues drop into place. His recent hints of what I'd call shyness in anyone else, his body language, the way he watches me when I'm not looking at him, this thoroughly adult gift--a gift from one man to another and a traditional Culvii courting gesture at that--yes, it all adds up to something.
He does not ask tonight, but I know he will ask, and soon.
I will say yes.
Next year, there will be a new reason to come back into the present, and someone with whom to share the ancient songs of the grasses and the wind of my steppe of memory.
The End