Archive: yes, to master_apprentice, and to my homepage only.
Rating: PG
Warnings: no explicit sex, but m/m relationship is evident. One
or two intense scenes ahead.
Spoilers: for THP, possible spoilers and personal views
regarding the events of Episodes Two and Three.
Summary: Obi-Wan, now aged and living in the wastelands of
Tatooine, reflects on his life, his choices, and their effects
on the fate of the universe. Set approximately ten years prior
to the events of "A New Hope."
Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome. This is my first
SW story and my first SW slash story, so please bear that in
mind. Notes: This is a belated birthday present for Denise
Messer. Wave to the nice people, Denise. :)
This work, as well as all other rights available under the law,
is owned by the author, and may not be reprinted without the
author's express written permission. The Star Wars franchise is
owned by George Lucas, LucasFilm Ltd., and 20th Century Fox
Film Corporation. No copyright infringement is intended.
Copyright June 1999.
'To prepare for the future, the seeker of truth must live in
the present and understand the past. Unless the Jedi is able to
cope with all three states of being, he cannot function.' I
must have heard this proverb dozens of times while I was at the
Academy, and it remains true to this day. Every word is the
truth. I know, because I haven't been able to function since
the moment my master died.
Oh, I pasted the appropriate expressions on my face and heard
all the right words pouring out of my mouth, but little of my
memories make sense. So much of those first few weeks were a
blur. The completion of my time as a Padawan, my trials and
requisite ceremonies, the beginning of Anakin's training -- all
these events meshed together in a meaningless whirl of sorrow
and rage, meaningless because Qui-Gon was not there to witness
it.
Qui-Gon.
My Master, my teacher, my heart, and a part of my soul.
I'm not sure he knew how much I loved him, how much I cared.
That sounds trite now, but it's the truth. I loved the highly
un-Jedi-like fire that fueled his spirit, setting him apart
from other Jedi, making him as purely unique as I knew him to
be. I loved the way he would look at me with this mischievous
glint in his eye and then give a hint of a wink that never
quite reached fruition. I loved the way he looked at life:
completely understanding of the darker aspects of life, but
eternally optimistic that all things could be overcome. In a
world filled with deception, he believed in the power of truth.
To the last moments of his life, Qui-Gon firmly believed to his
core that Anakin was the child which prophecy foretold, the one
who would bring 'balance to the universe'. The memory of my own
words to him causes me to cringe at my presumption; who was I,
a Padawan, to question my Master's judgement? No doubt, just as
everyone else did, Qui-Gon also recognized the danger the boy
represented but felt the risk was worthwhile. Danger and
promise to a Jedi are, and always will be, opposite and equal;
where there is great danger, there is also great promise.
Qui-Gon knew that and hoped that, with careful instruction,
Anakin would rise to great heights, fighting for justice and
peace and freedom. I often wonder how different everything
might have been had my master lived to train Anakin. Certainly,
everything might have been different -- the Senate, the Jedi,
and the universe in general. How many lives and how many worlds
might have been preserved?
Most importantly, Qui-Gon would be alive and well and safe.
I know that not all the blame is mine, even though I freely
accept it all as my burden. It is just as possible -- however
unlikely I see it -- that Qui-Gon would have also lost Anakin
to the Dark Side. Perhaps the boy was a lost cause from the
beginning.
We will never know.
Perhaps the Force itself demanded these deaths as some perverse
wake-up call, shocking the Jedi out of their
all-is-well-and-Jedi-do-not-worry mindsets. Anakin might well
have been the child of prophecy, birthed from the Force itself
with a mission to wipe out Jedi, because the Force-users
themselves had become too complacent. The Force is, after all,
a part of nature. Does not cruel nature have a reset button?
Does not a wildfire smolder in dead brush only to blaze to
life, racing through old growth, allowing in time for the green
shoots of new life to sprout from the ashes?
Is it not the same? Is it not the way of life?
Regardless, it no longer matters why or when or how. There are
few surviving Jedi left -- myself, Yoda, and perhaps a few
others in hiding.
How the mighty have fallen.
How ironic that Qui-Gon did not live to see his words become
prophecy. How often he fought verbal battles with the Council
on just this matter, that Jedi needed to leave the ivory tower
of academia and see what the world is about. I can still hear
his soft voice, needing no rise in volume to know his
determination -- 'how can Jedi be forces for peace and justice
in the universe when we know nothing of the universe? There is
more to wisdom that what can be found in books. That wisdom can
only be learned by experience.'
I do not claim that Qui-Gon was against book learning; indeed,
he was not and had a reputation as a strict but fair instructor
in the classes he taught. However, he knew that some things
must be experienced to be truly learned. Other things,
unfortunately, must be experienced several times for the lesson
to be fully comprehended.
Love is one of those things, at least, it was for us. Destined
was I to be one of the unfortunate ones, and by the time the
lesson had been learned to perfection, final exams had ended.
When I became his Padawan, at the age of sixteen, many
suggestions from many people hurriedly flew in my direction. I
had heard of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn; everyone had. He was not
legendary as was Master Yoda, but he was infamous nonetheless.
I had heard the stories that circulated. Despite the popular
image of Jedi, gossip and rumor flew as fast here as it might
anywhere else. I knew that he might have gained a Council
position if not for his unpopular ideas and viewpoints. I knew
that a student of his had turned to the Dark Side and Master
Jinn had since refused a Padawan. Thus, I had been granted the
somewhat dubious honor of becoming Padawan to a Master who
wanted no part of me.
You can understand, I hope, how I eagerly listened to any
advice that was offered me. Some told me not to be concerned
with my new Master's behavior. Others were openly scornful,
believing for reasons known only to them that I had somehow
acted to deserve this appointment, as if it was a punishment
for both of us.
Most -- including some of the other Masters -- warned me of his
unconventionality and that I should be wary, for adopting a
similar attitude would not serve me well in the future. I had
also been told that I should expect to look up to my Master,
but what I felt for him went far beyond mere hero worship.
What I felt for him was also strictly against the Rules of
Conduct.
Masters do not involve themselves in lustful relationships with
their Padawans or with their other students. Knights, when
teaching, do not involve themselves in lustful relationships
with their students, especially one whom has been entrusted to
their care. Such behavior is unwise, unworthy, and
unprofessional. Sexual relationships between Jedi were only
allowed between similar levels of learning, just as in any
other academic institution. Masters and Knights could be in
relationships with each other. However, Padawans were
restricted to other Padawans, as were the younger children
restricted to each other when they reached appropriate ages.
As I found out, Qui-Gon followed his heart much of the time,
and that organ rarely steers one wrong. By committing ourselves
to each other, we not only broke the Rules, but also stomped
them into oblivion only to set fire to the crumbled remains
when we had finished. 'I am already a thorn in the side of the
Council', he would say. 'I dispute the Rules and the Code --
those words that force their actions yet have no real meaning
to the lot of them -- and I remain victorious with logic and
circumstance to save my argument.'
He believed that an emotional relationship could be beneficial
to Master and Padawan, if both were willing and desiring of the
other. Are not we in dangerous situations more frequently than
either of us would care to admit? Qui-Gon would tell me of the
K'Mar'Ay army on the planet Cirra, an army consisting solely of
pairs of lovers, who fought in all manners of war. 'Do not
lovers fight more fiercely when it is their lover at stake,
when the stake in their beloved's heart hurts more than does
the stake in their own?'
Now, I know he spoke the truth, as he always did.
His death drove me to a death of the spirit, as the parts of me
that had learned to sing and dance and run freely over a field
of flowers slowly withered and died. My heart cried for more,
but there was no more to be had, for the supply was gone and
the silken chains binding our hearts had broken.
I missed everything we had used to have together. I wept the
night I dreamt of him beside my bed, holding me close and
decorating my cheek and forehead with feathery kisses,
whispering words I could not hear into my soul. Confused not to
find him there, I awoke searching for his presence, only to
suddenly remember that he was dead and beyond my reach. I
missed how he treated me as I was not only his lover, but as a
sacred artifact, someone to be protected and cherished at all
costs. But I had learned far more from him than that.
I came to see Qui-Gon as the way a Jedi Master should
be, not what a Jedi Master was expected to be.
Expectations can and often do deceive. He was highly ethical,
logical, strong in his opinions, wise beyond his years, and a
believer who yet questioned everything he saw. In addition, he
was charming, funny, unbelievable in bed, sang with perfect
pitch, and had a throwing arm you would not believe.
This is not to say he was perfect. As much as I hate to say it,
he was not. No one is. He could be jealous, contrary and
contradicting, optimistic in the face of total and utter defeat
-- and every time he would say 'where there is life, there is
hope' -- proud, intensely private, occasionally irrational,
filled with rampant insecurity, curious beyond the ability of
mere mortals, and impulsive.
He also tended to hog the covers.
But, even with all those faults, Qui-Gon remained the best
Master I have ever known.
Force-full, in every sense of the word.
The fact that had had been abandoned broke my heart. Knowing it
was he, here in the position in which I find myself, would have
broken my mind. I could not survive, even as part of the Force,
watching him bear the weight of so much suffering. Yet he would
probably do a better job than I will.
I failed once.
I dare not fail again.
There have been a few successes, but those after Anakin are now
dead and joined with the Force. Others whom I taught are
missing, their fates unknown to me, and I can only hope that
their suffering will soon be over.
There was a time I wished my suffering, too, could be over.
I wished I could join him in the Force, treading far more
closely to the Dark Side than even now I want to admit. If a
Sith had beckoned to me at that troubled point in my life, I
daresay I might have fallen without a word of protest, if only
it meant I could be with Qui-Gon again. Dangerous waters,
indeed.
And yet I swam in them, and paddled close to the breakwater so
many times. Regret, pain, anger, fear, guilt, grief -- all
these are known elements of mourning, and yet they are negative
emotions, mapping a path to the Dark Side. So is what we were
taught as children in one of the first lessons learned by
first-year students.
How can I blame Anakin for turning to the Dark Side? The boy
had certainly seen enough of mine, by then. I hid my negative
feelings well, or at least, I thought I had, but perhaps I
merely redirected them at the boy. Anakin never had a chance.
As a former slave, he had to overcome feelings of inadequacy
and fear only to find himself with the reins to the world
suddenly within his grasp; of course he would desire to prove
himself and revenge his slights against those who offended him.
Hindsight is, after all, perfect. No doubt the scorching double
suns reduce all things to their clearest.
All the power he possessed and all the extra help he clearly
required, Anakin should have had a proper instructor, a teacher
who could have given him the attention he so desperately
needed. That, I could not do. Anakin instead gained an
instructor who was barely more than a student himself, a
teacher overwhelmed by grief and guilt and pain.
I should have been faster....
If only I'd been there....
I could have....
My self-flagellation knew no bounds, and Anakin fled to the
Dark Side. By the time I realized what was happening, it was
too late.
Anakin had fallen.
I had failed.
The universe paid for my mistakes.
Every death burned me as would a physical torment, and no
amount of tears quenched the fires consuming my spirit. Why, I
would question my shadow. Why had I been spared? Why was my
presence tantamount to a shield from the Death Squads, hunting
my brothers and sisters like wild game to be shot and mounted?
It was many years before I confessed to my conscience the
reasons I had always known but refused to acknowledge on the
altar of my shame. Anakin wanted me to suffer, wanted me to
live knowing I was the cause of all this death.
Yoda had been correct, as always.
Hate indeed led to suffering, but the suffering was mine to
bear.
I dream of it, sometimes still. Anakin was again a small boy,
his golden hair shining in the light, but his bright blue eyes
had been replaced with the black metal in the mask he bears
now. One by one, this demon-child drags body after body from
behind a red curtain, blood and entrails splattering the floor
of the Jedi Council Chamber. Each corpse is laid at my feet, as
if in offering to a false god, before Anakin turns to retrieve
the next victim. Even though there is no breeze, I can see the
black cape billowing out behind him.
All the while, I sit mute and paralyzed in the Chairman's seat,
capable only of watching this horror show before my eyes.
Neither can I turn away, nor can I close my eyes. From
strangers to acquaintances to colleagues to friends, the grisly
parade continues. Ghastly wounds did not disguise their
identity; sometimes their faces had been torn away but I always
knew who they had been and what they had meant to me.
Finally, surrounded by stacks of bodies answering every
description, Anakin reaches over and holds my hands in his. His
flesh is cold and pale, as if he too is dead and yet he
breathes and moves of his own accord. He strokes my hands
gently and smiles, only to drop my hands and move away.
Stricken with terror but suddenly finding myself capable of
limited movement, I look down only to find my hands covered in
thick congealed blood. No matter what actions I took, the red
blood remains. Panicked, I scrub my hands on my face, my arms,
my cloak, the chair, but it remains on my hands as well as
everywhere I wiped them. Now masked and cloaked in dripping
blood, I raise my eyes only to find Anakin standing atop
Qui-Gon's lifeless body.
All these years, dying through that nightmare every night, and
I still awake with my own screams echoing in my ears.
Dream-Anakin's voice stays with me throughout those shaky
moments after waking, asking me the same question again and
again. 'Isn't this what you wanted?'
My nightmares continue, even here in this desolate wasteland of
a planet. Tatooine has not changed, not a whit, in the decades
since Qui-Gon and Jar-Jar Binks found the boy a slave in a
machine shop.
It occurs to me that I have not seen or heard of the Gungan in
years, but that particular example of this long-lived species
struck me as a survivor as no one has since. No doubt he has
hidden himself away somewhere and is waiting out the terror. I
hope so. I doubt I could bear it if one so innocent in the
world, no matter how annoying I found him at times, had died
when his only crime had been to be helpful and hospitable.
What is another worry to the hundreds I have already?
What is another black mark on my soul?
What is another corpse to be added to the piles in my
nightmare?
I might as well count the granules of sand in Tatooine's
deserts or the droplets of water in Calamari's oceans.
The unchanging desert.
The place where the events were set in motion, the stage where
our final acts began, the setting where everything began. We
had no awareness of it, but this was the beginning of the end.
What better place to bring the child Skywalker to hide? The
children whom it is my duty to protect, and I have done my best
to do so. Other children, precious to me, are out of my hands.
Eventually, the same curiosity that whipped Anakin forward will
lead his Luke to me, and I will set him on his path to right
the balance of dark and light.
Until that day, I wait in my temple of stone, watching the
double suns of Arrogance and Ignorance rise and fall over a
shifting planet created from the sands of Time.
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