JAOA: Stage 5
Year of the Republic 25,002
by BlackRose, 2000
The sabers hissed and crackled as they met, the air thick with
the sharp hot scent. Anakin disengaged, flowing into the next
position of the form with slow grace.
The block came a second too late, low and clumsy. Anakin pulled
the force from the strike easily, letting the blades rest
against each other without pressing. "Next position," he
called, prompting, letting a heartbeat pass before slipping
into the movement.
Swearing did not normally accompany katas but Anakin's padawan
had kept up a breathless litany of phrases in different
languages which had made the Jedi Knight recalculate how much
time the boy had spent in spaceport bars. Now a low, growled
curse in badly pronounced Wookie punctuated the lack of saber
clash as Han moved to block and missed.
Anakin stopped his saber a hairs breadth from the boy's throat,
letting him wince and feel the heat of the blade. "You can do
better than that," he encouraged.
Sweat had spiked the boy's hair into a short sharp bush of
black, the tail of his braid jaunting out at an angle and a
flush riding high on his cheeks. Lips pressed thin, he accepted
the quiet rebuke with a sullen sort of silence. Sighing, Anakin
opened his mouth to correct the boy again. The wave of Force
swelled out without direction. Fueled with embarrassed anger,
it physically pushed the blade of the Knight's saber back.
Startled, Anakin let it.
The boy switched off his lightsaber, apparently oblivious to
what he had done. Raking a hand through his sweat dampened
hair, he sighed. "Are we done?"
Anakin blinked, then stepped back, bringing his own lightsaber
back up. "No. Fourth form again, defense. From the start."
Han groaned, the sound one that only a tired and rebellious
teenage boy might manage. Switching his saber back on, he moved
into the first position, the multilingual stream of curses
beginning again as the saber blades met in a shower of sparks.
Anakin let his attack flow with leisurely speed and the boy met
it - clumsy, too high, overcompensating for the difference in
their heights. "Don't overreach," he instructed, swinging into
the next position. "Let me come to you."
"...Thrice damned... dirt eating... filthy... spawn of a
Hutt..." Each impact of blade against blade engendered the
crackle of sparks and a new curse, gasped into the space of
completion of one motion and the breathless start of another.
"Language, Padawan," Anakin chided gently. Han flinched from
another blow, gamely throwing his own saber up between them in
a move that lacked any finesse but did, somehow, manage to
perform the required block.
"Teesa rod chova nota," was the answering curse amidst the
clash of a glancing deflect that carried the boy through a
mistaken thrust.
Anakin stepped back, letting Han find his feet and get once
again into position before continuing the exercise. "Teesa
rodda choppa nota," he corrected, letting his blow hesitate
until Han found the right counter. More crackles, but his own
voice carried over his Padawan's cursing. "Who did you learn
that dialect from? A Jundland waste Jawa trader?"
"Chuva mad du shagee," was Han's snarled reply as the next
position brought their sabers together again and the boy ducked
back from the resulting crash, expression twisted in a tight
grimace.
"Chuba madda du shag kee," Anakin corrected automatically.
"Don't bother with that one. It's perfectly true."
"What?" The sharp hissing hum of sabers in a near miss, a block
fumbled, and Anakin deactivated his blade as it sizzled past
Han's defense and towards the boy's chest. "Sith!" Silence
descended in the wake of Han's blade powering down, broken by
the clatter as the boy threw it to the ground, lips pressed
tight and rebellious.
"Cheska!" Pulling back from the ready stance, Anakin shook his
head slightly. "Pay attention, Han. You can't let yourself be
distracted."
Han glared, then turned and deliberately spat to one side.
"Doesn't matter," he growled. "I never get it right."
"I didn't say that you were doing the form wrong," Anakin
sighed. Bending to pick up Han's lightsaber, he extended it to
the boy. After a moment Han took it gingerly, looking decidedly
unhappy. "I want to see you do it again." Holding up his hands,
palm outward, he backed away. "Without me." Han hesitated.
"Fourth form, the force of offense, Padawan," Anakin prompted.
Han sighed, switching on his saber and dropping into the first
position.
Alone, running through the motions in a stream without the
interfearance of an opponent, the boy had a certain amount of
skill. He could, individualy, perform each of the positions
accurately. Watching him, Anakin considered. Han's temper for
the exercise was fraying, in no small part due to his continued
failures.
There were flashes of ability that would come through, but for
the most, the boy seemed to be his own worst enemy, ready to
declare a position a failure without even completeing it,
flinching from the clash of blades. Han finished the form,
breath puffing through his lungs as he lowered his saber. Dark
eyes darted to Anakin, the set of the boy's jaw speaking
eloquently of how braced he was to hear whatever correction and
reprimand was forth coming.
Anakin resolved to have a long talk with the primary saber
instructor for Han's year group.
"You have the form down," he said. Han started, drawing himself
up hesitantly. Anakin grinned slightly, walking towards him.
"Practice wouldn't hurt, but it never does, for any of us."
Han switched off his lightsaber again, stretching his shoulders
back. "Are we done?" There was hope in his voice.
"Not quite." Han sagged with the words and Anakin chuckled,
reaching out to briefly brush one slim shoulder. "Soon," he
promised.
Han groaned when Anakin took a training blindfold from his
belt, shaking out the heavy fabric. Anakin smiled wryly at the
spatter of curses as he reached around the boy's head to fasten
the blindfold in place. "Padawan, we're going to have to do
something about your use of language."
"Yes, Master," Han replied, but the heavy tone said as much as
volumes of swearing did. Anakin grinned, assured that his
padawan could not see the expression through the blindfold.
Stepping back, he nodded to himself. "I want you to do the
fourth form again," he said firmly. "Offense only. Four times,
completely through. When you're done we'll call this session
finished."
Han's protesting squawk was cut off by the hiss of the door as
Anakin stepped through it. Reaching back, the Jedi Knight could
feel the waves of irritated defiance rolling off his padawan.
He projected strongly, knowing the boy could hear him through
the Force between them. [Four times, padawan. I suggest you
start.]
The yelled curse did not penetrate the heavy doors, but it did
echo through Anakin's mind. He shook his head, supressing a
smile, and strode to the entrance of the observation level.
Obi-Wan looked up as he entered, one brow aloft in startled
amusement. "What did you tell the boy, Anakin? I haven't heard
language like that in quite awhile."
"Set him to doing the form." Anakin took a position beside
Obi-Wan at the railing, leaning against it as he took in the
view below. "Watch him while he does it, Master. I think he
might surprise you."
Down on the training floor Han was still swearing, a steady
monologue of offenses against Anakin, his immediate family, his
ancestors and descendants. Anakin shook his head, supressing a
smile. [The forms, padawan. The sooner you begin, the sooner
finished.]
Han jumped as though stung, the curses falling silent as the
boy hunched his shoulders slightly. He didn't, Anakin was
pleased to see, reach to remove the blindfold. Instead, the boy
sighed, the blade of his lightsaber springing forth with a deep
hum. Centering himself hesitantly on the floor, he began the
form.
"He does have some skill," Obi-Wan commented quietly. Anakin
nodded, eyes focused on the boy below.
"Just watch."
Through one form, the ending position identical to the
beginning. Han's movements were slightly clumsier than before,
his balance thrown from the lack of sight. Anakin nodded to
himself, leaning his elbows on the rail. The second form was
better, equivalant to what he had done when not blindfolded.
One position flowed into the other, easier with repetition,
gaining assurance. Anakin leaned forward, intent, as Han began
the third repetition.
Slash and whirl, a partial lunge, whirl again and strike. It
was a fluid motion now, without the hesitation of before, the
boy's young face smoothing of emotion as he went through the
positions without pause. The third repetition flowed into the
fourth, quick and easy, a flawless spin. Anakin let the smile
come forth, glancing towards his Master. Obi-Wan nodded slowly,
considering, grey eyes tracking the figure below as Han went
through the final repetition, movements now smooth and easy,
perfect studies of the positions of the form. "He lacks
confidence," the Jedi Master sighed softly. "Even when the
position is done correctly..."
"He flinches," Anakin interjected. "He'll block the blow," he
raised his hands, bringing the palms together to demonstrate
the motion, "but then pull back." One hand jerked away,
allowing the other to continue forward. "It throws the attack
off, but not enough."
"It's careless," Obi-Wan said firmly. "Too much haste, cutting
the follow through short."
Anakin shook his head. "No, Master. Forgive me, but I don't
think it's just haste." He glanced down, where Han, unbidden,
had begun the form again. The boy's face beneath his cropped
brush of dark hair and the fold of the blindfold was relaxed,
the rebellion drained from the set of his mouth and jaw as he
spun and twisted, each movement carried out with a precision
that took nothing away from the grace of it. "It's what you
said - confidence. Look at him. He knows the forms, he knows
them *well*. But put him against an opponent..."
"He expects to loose," Obi-Wan said slowly.
Anakin slapped his hand against the railing, frown twisting his
expression. "Visualize your victory," he snapped quietly, the
words drawn from lessons. "The Force will guide your hand if
you know the outcome."
Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You certainly
don't have an easy task."
The younger man hesitated, then let the tension drain away from
his shoulders. The smile slipped back into place, a little wry
as he glanced at his former master. "And training up an
insecure boy who didn't even know the basics was any better?"
Obi-Wan just shook his head, turning back to watch the training
floor as Han slid through the motions of the form. He watched
for a time, eyes narrowed, a thoughtful frown marring his brow.
"Anakin," he said at last, "what is the boy wearing?"
Blinking slightly, Anakin glanced down. When he looked up
again, it was with a confused glance at the older man. "His
clothes. What do you mean?"
Sighing, Obi-Wan reached up, rubbing at the line between his
brows. "Amidala's right," he commented. "You *do* need a
keeper. Let me have the boy tomorrow. I'll see he gets
outfitted from stores, clean him up a bit. If he's going to be
a Padawan he ought to look like one."
"But..." Anakin swallowed the words at Obi-Wan's glance,
flushing. "Yes, Master," he responded by reflex. "But really...
I can take care of my own Padawan..."
Obi-Wan clapped a hand to the younger man's shoulder, a sly
smile breaking through to hover around his lips. "Don't worry,"
he said, laughter tinging the words. "We'll see your Padawan is
trained to take care of *you*." At Anakin's sputter the
laughter broke free, echoing softly. "Enough, Ani. Go break the
boy out of trance. And give him the rest of the day - better
yet, take it yourself. Spend some time with him, find out what
he likes to do besides cheat at sabacc."
"Yes, Master," Anakin repeated, sighing, but he reached up to
cover Obi-Wan's hand with his own, squeezing. "Thank you," he
added, softer. The older man's answer was given in the pressure
of his fingers, a brief shake, and then the hand was withdrawn.
Anakin nodded, almost to himself, and turned to desend back to
the training floor.
The hiss of the saber met his ears as he entered but the sound
of the door did not startle his Padawan, nor keep Han from
moving into the next position, nor the next. Standing against
the door, Anakin watched the boy's movements. Finally, as Han
moved into the start of the form once again, he reached out
with a tendril of Force, gently deactivating the boy's blade.
The silence rang against the ear after the hiss and hum of the
saber's movements through the air. Han faltered momentarily but
Anakin was there, silent reassurance in the threads of the
training bond urging the boy on. The first position, silent
saber held in hand, was awkward, the second less so. Anakin
nodded to himself, satisfied. Unclipping his own saber, he
stepped forward, falling into position before the boy.
Strike, feint, block and lunge, done in silent pantomime with
deadened sabers. The Force vibrated softly between them, each
move performed in quiet ernest, as though blade rang against
blade. Han slid through the positions as though unknowing of
his silent partner but Anakin could track the awareness in the
change of his movements, the variation of position to counter a
variance in Anakin's own. What had been the sterile performance
of one, a rote learned form, became something alive in the mix
of motion between two.Only as the last position fell into place
did Anakin break the form entirely, shifting his saber to one
hand as he reached out, brushing the boy's shoulder with the
other. "Han?"
Air exploded in a rush from the boy's lungs as he jerked,
nearly falling. Hands scrambled at the blindfold, peeling it
away, eyes blinking blearily at Anakin as they struggled to
focus. "M... Master?"
Anakin smiled, reaching to steady the boy. "It's alright, Han.
You dropped into trance."
"Oh." Han rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I
didn't... I mean... what?"
"It's alright," Anakin repeated, smiling. Putting his hands on
the boy's shoulders, he shook him slightly. "You did fine. Very
well, in fact."
"I did?" Incredulous, Han glanced up at him, frowning as he
tried to determine if the older man was jesting or not.
"Really?"
"Yes," Anakin assured him. Grinning, he ruffled the boy's sweat
dampened hair. "And that's all we'll do, today. Go change."
Han gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Yes sir!" He started
to pull away, then paused, glancing back. "What then?" he
asked, his expression plainly expecting a schedule of lessons.
Anakin chuckled. "Then I thought we might go into the city. I
need to find a few things for Amidala, and you're welcome to
come along. Would you like that?"
"Outside the temple?" Han stared at him for a moment,
incredulous, then grinned. Anakin answered the expression, then
reached to push the boy towards the door.
"Go on, Padawan," he urged. "The sooner washed and changed, the
sooner we can go."
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