Summary: A look at Obi-Wan's perspective after TPM
Category: Angst, Drama
Spoilers: TPM
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, amateur effort and does not
intend to infringe upon the rights of The Almighty Lucas
Machine, Inc., 20th Century Fox/Fox 2000, Leslie Chevalier,
Qui-Gon Jinn or any other copyright holders which I may be
unaware of.
Master/Apprentice
by Lisa Hall, (c) July 1999
LadyBD@Hotmail.Com
http://dangerousgames.simplenet.com/ladybd
**********
The bier was surprisingly small for so large a man. Or perhaps,
Obi-Wan thought, he had just seemed that way. Perhaps he was
always this size, and his student was truly seeing him only
now. Or perhaps it was simply that this was just the second
time Qui-Gon Jinn's former Padawan had ever seen his Master
lying down. Sprawled on the ground a few times, yes, that he
had witnessed. But this? In repose, his features tranquil. It
was a parody of peace which Obi-Wan deeply resented. His Master
lay slain before him, and yet he seemed to slumber only.
Once again, against his will, Obi-Wan remembered the first time
he had seen Qui-Gon completely prone. And even as the images
flashed across his mind it was the feel of the man he
remembered most. Not his desperate, pain laden voice or the
pleading expression on his face, but the physical feeling of
him. The weight of the man, as he somehow grew heavier, the
life fading from his body. That feeling had invaded his
thoughts. His dreams. Obi-Wan wondered, not for the first time,
if he might actually be haunted.
Passionate. A Jedi is not this thing!
It was as though Master Yoda spoke beside him. Or perhaps
inside him would be more accurate. It would not be the first
time. A Jedi does not feel fear, or pain, or sorrow, or grief.
Such negativity can only come from the Dark Side. They do not
feel anger either, which he knew could only mean one thing.
Council or no, title or no, Obi-Wan Kenobi could not possibly
be ready to assume the responsibilities of a Jedi. Not yet. Not
when so much heartache and bitterness consumed him. When the
grass and cobblestones beneath his boots seemed to weep
Qui-Gon's name.
There had been a memorial that afternoon - a gathering of the
Jedi a few hours before the funeral. Those who knew him stood
to speak of him, quietly and with reverence. They spoke of the
heroic deeds of Qui-Gon Jinn - of his dedication to the Jedi
cause, of his years of selfless service. No one made mention of
his sense of humor, or his rare but wonderful laugh. The fact
that he was often space sick and disliked almost all forms of
intoxicants. Qui-Gon loved all living things and often defied
conventional wisdom to help a creature in need. No mention was
given of his admiration of the desert, or that he often wished
for an artist's abilities to paint what he saw. He studied the
smallest flowers and found them astonishing. Often he pointed
out the shape of a leaf, the veins running through it, as
though discovering the wonder of life anew. The members who
spoke on his behalf recited Qui-Gon's resume and felt that to
be sufficient. The deeds represented the man.
All the while Obi-Wan Kenobi, the most recent Jedi Knight, the
newest and youngest in a line of ten-thousand strong, remained
silent. He dared not speak his heart, for fear of proving
himself unworthy of the honor bestowed upon him. A single lucky
stroke, born in the heat of passion, the Force singing in his
veins, and for that they made him a Knight. Heart breaking,
utterly still, he stood beside his fallen Master and listened
to them speak of a man he barely recognized.
The charade must continue. For the sake of his final promise,
it had to. Only a full Jedi could train a Padawan. With his
dying breath Qui-Gon had begged his student to train the boy.
Therefore, deserved or no, Obi-Wan retained his rank, his
silence masking the hollow sham his life had suddenly become.
How can one admit to a love which is strictly forbidden?
How can one deny it?
The question plagued the young Jedi as the Naboo sun slowly
set, bathing the Temple of Theed in a fiery glow Qui-Gon would
have quietly delighted in. The memorial over, Obi-Wan elected
to remain by his Master's side, to meditate - that was what he
assured the other Jedi. They had nodded sympathetically and
left him alone. To meditate. If only they understood on what
his meditations dwelled.
To live a lie, to deny his feelings, was surely to invite the
dark path. To admit the truth, the depth of his emotions, would
be to give in to an essential weakness, to confess what many of
the Council already suspected: he wasn't ready. To follow this
path would not only discredit himself, it would dishonor the
memory of his mentor. Perhaps Qui-Gon's unconventional beliefs
had somehow rubbed off on his student, and would now translate
to Anakin.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, lost in the thoughts which plagued
him. It was as though the Sith Lord had somehow contaminated
him. Beaten in battle, the creature had spewed up one final
curse. No matter which way he turned, Obi-Wan saw no other path
than that which led down. To the darkness.
He had never been tempted to the dark path. It simply held no
appeal, he didn't even understand it. Not until he watched his
Master fall. In truth, the slide had begun shortly before that
fateful event. He could remember it with perfect clarity. The
first moment he had felt fear - true fear, was when he was
introduced to Anakin Skywalker. It was not the boy himself that
frightened him. It was Qui-Gon's expression as he watched the
boy. He felt that fear again, though he tried with all he was
to quell it, when Qui-Gon defied the council, demanding to
train the boy himself. Though they said nothing, they knew.
Knew of Obi-Wan's failing then, and surely knew that it was in
anger that he slew Qui-Gon's murderer.
Fear and Anger. The path to the Dark Side are they.
Yes. He knew it. And it seemed that, since meeting Anakin, they
had become a constant part of his life. Like an addiction, they
were unwelcome, but impossible to be rid of.
He was unsurprised to find his face wet with tears as he
reviewed that last terrible moment yet again. Without thought
he reached forward, clasping Qui-Gon's hand, feeling the cold
of his flesh seep into his own and, somehow, into his heart.
The regret he felt consumed him suddenly as Qui-Gon's face, the
expression of shocked denial, swam before him again. Eyes
tightly closed he saw once more, for the hundredth time that
day, his Master fall at the hands of the Sith, heard his own
voice screaming as Qui-Gon sank to his knees. The Sith did not
matter. He barely could recall his features though only a few
days had passed. But the face of his Master, his friend, as he
lay dying in Obi-Wan's arms... If he lived to be as old as
Master Yoda and beyond, he would never forget the weight of his
friend as he slumped in death, his hand falling away from
Obi-Wan's face.
He was even denied the ability to communicate his death to the
others. They knew. Of course they knew. A tremor in the Force
had sounded across the universe. Coruscant reverberated with
Qui-Gon's death knell almost before Obi-Wan understood that his
beloved Master was truly gone.
The one moment which brought solace to his aching heart was
when he spoke of Qui-Gon's death to Amidala. She had been
through so much, and had so much more yet to face. Even so she
took the time to express true grief when Obi-Wan finally told
her of the outcome of that lonely battle. He was afraid that
she might insist upon a State funeral, to honor the hero who
had saved her, and through those actions, her people. Obi-Wan
was gratified when she immediately understood his suggestion of
a simpler, more intimate farewell - the type befitting a friend
rather than a Hero. She understood, and she agreed.
"Oh, my Master." His soft words hung in the air, like chilled
fog. "I have never needed you more than now."
He did not expect an answer, nor did he receive one. It was
another indication that he was not ready. That he heard nothing
of Qui-Gon's voice assured him once again - perhaps he would
never truly be a Jedi.
"Master," he began again, his words the barest whisper, "you
knew I wasn't ready. You knew it. You told them I was. Why?"
Twelve years they were together always, never further than a
room apart for most of that time. And yet the thought of Anakin
rendered that into nothing. His final words were of the boy.
Not a farewell, even then. The tears, unwanted and unwelcome,
flowed faster down Obi-Wan's cheeks. "Master... I miss you. I'm
sorry. So sorry. He needs you. Without you Anakin is lost.
Qui-Gon," his voice shook, just slightly, as he finally dared
speak his Master's name, "I would take your place now. If I
could." Not even that invoked a response. The Force was silent
within him.
The sun set into twilight, then finally full dark. It took
time, but he managed to compose himself as the first of the
mourners arrived. To them he thought he must seem calm, if
resigned. He prayed none saw the obvious - that he had wept to
a point beyond tears.
His composure held until he saw the Queen. The others offered
their respect, their sympathy. Amidala offered her naked grief.
It was a brief look, shared only between the two of them, but
it was blistering in its pain. Then it was gone, masked beneath
an expression of careful neutrality. Obi-Wan fought to follow
her example even as he felt a combination of blinding sorrow
and numbing cold sear through his soul. Oh my Master...
When the boy entered he naturally moved to Obi-Wan's side. He
had nowhere else to go. They both knew it, and yet rather than
draw together in grief, their suffering divided them. Obi-Wan
noted it, but knew he could do nothing without fostering a
larger lie. The boy was dangerous. The fact was obvious, basic
to anyone with eyes to see. He was too old to be trained, the
task was impossible. Somehow, in spite of it all, Obi-Wan would
have to train him.
How else could Anakin feel? He had experienced less than a
decade of life, and he had bonded closely with Qui-Gon. He
should have told the boy that the flesh was only a shell, a
borrowed cloak which housed an eternal spirit. A Jedi would not
take such matters as a physical passing of a temporary body to
heart. However, as the pyre was lit Anakin looked as lost as
Obi-Wan felt, and there was nothing Obi-Wan could do to ease
the boy's pain.
Obi-Wan watched as the smoke from the pyre curled toward the
ceiling. Suddenly a dreadful urge overcame him. Jump in. Join
him in death. Be together forever. It should have been you
anyway. Even as the thought stirred in him, sending his heart
pounding, he knew he could not. To do so would be to betray
Qui-Gon's final request. All the other lies, half-truths and
hidden silences all built toward one goal: Anakin. He was the
purpose now, the focus. In the boy, Qui-Gon might be redeemed.
If he was trained well.
"What will happen now?"
The question caught him a little off guard, but Obi-Wan still
managed to force a small smile, which he hoped was reassuring.
"The Council has allowed me to train you," he replied softly.
"You will be a Jedi, Anakin. I promise you that." I promise you
that on the soul of my dead Master, which hovers over us even
now.
Anakin knew. What should have been an assurance was nearly a
threat. He knew, and understood, and in that moment Obi-Wan
knew the boy was lost.
But even so, he would try. He would fail, but he would try.
Such was his devotion to his Master.
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