Master Apprentice Archive Rites of Passage Quick search:

Rites of Passage

by Merri-Todd Webster (lonchura@yahoo.com)

Archive: Master_apprentice only.

Category: Angst, First-Time, Romance

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None

Spoilers: For at least the first seven or eight of the Jedi Apprentice books.

Summary: Obi-Wan's seventh, fourteenth, and twenty-first birthdays bring important transitions.

Feedback: Welcomed onlist or at lonchura@yahoo.com

Comments & Thanks: I started this on my birthday this year and took two months to finish it. I basically ripped off a story idea from my own story "Distractions", as well as two original characters from my Maul/Obi story that will likely never see the light. They are happy to be allowed to appear here. This is a much darker tale than my usual--about as dark and angsty as I ever get. Thanks to Pumpkin for her usual swift and sensitive beta, and to Alex for general encouragement of my TPM writing.

I. Oblate to Initiate

Obi-Wan walked into the creche and looked around. No one else was there, of course; it was late morning, a brief break between morning study and the midday meal and a free hour for most students of the Temple. All of his crechemates were off playing in the Temple gardens, or visiting the City with Master Morag, or trying to wheedle an early lunch out of the padawans on duty in the refectory.

He climbed up onto the stool in front of the terminal and called up his mail account. His small chubby fingers moved over the console with precocious speed and deftness; then they crept underneath his bottom to grip the rim of the stool as he watched once again the hologram from his family.

His father, Eli-Wan Kenobi. His mother, Talla-Sil Kenobi. His little sister, Beru-Sil Kenobi, born a year after he had left for the Temple. Today he might be sent home to join the family he hadn't lived with for five years. Would they still feel like family, if he had to leave the Temple and go live with them again?

"Hey, Obi."

He turned around, shutting down the hologram with a quick smack of two fingers. It was only Bant.

"Hey, Bant."

The Calamarian girl came up to him, and he slid off the stool to face her. Bant was smaller than he was, and he hated to tower over her too much.

"Happy birthday, Obi. I wanted to give you a present."

She held out a tiny package wrapped in filmy blue-green paper and wound about with what looked like dried seaweed. Obi-Wan took it from her and turned it over in his hands.

"You didn't have to do that, Bant." None of the oblates had a lot of possessions; no one in the Temple did.

"I just wanted you to have something to remember me by... in case...." Bant's wide mouth opened and closed, but she did not say anything more. Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned and ran out of the room.

Head down, Obi-Wan went to his bed and sat there, legs folded underneath him. He wanted to open the present, but his eyes were filling up, too. It was kind of discouraging that even his best friend thought he might not be allowed to stay at the Temple. He and Bant had been friends ever since she came to the Temple; they had always lived in the same creche, and her water tank was right next to his bed....

Sniffling, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and set about unwrapping the present, slowly and mindfully, as a Jedi should. Inside the seaweed binding and filmy paper was a shell, iridescent violet and azure, a delicate piece of Bant's homeworld. Even without a shell, he could never forget Bant, even if he had to go back to ShenJinWarr and be just Obi-Wan Kenobi, teacher or administrator or whatever, and not Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight....

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

It was Master J'wr'r'l, the Skzing Healer. At once Obi-Wan got to his feet and bowed, dropping the shell behind him. Master J'wr'r'l was on the Council--it was time to hear their decision about him.

"Come with me, oblate." The insectoid master spoke through a voicebox that translated her trills and clicks into a warm contralto. "And why don't you put your shell into a pocket so you don't forget it?"

She cocked her head to one side and chittered at him, a funny noise that made him smile. It felt like Master J'wr'r'l was smiling at him, too, so Obi-Wan tucked Bant's shell into his tunic and followed the councillor out of the creche.

It was funny how Master J'wr'r'l didn't scare him. She was over six feet tall, had eight limbs and four wings, and looked like an enormous yellow and blue bug, but she wasn't scary. She was Nice, and that niceness spread through the Force and felt like a good smell to Obi-Wan, like hot muffins and sour pashyk soup. You could tell she was a Healer, just by the way she felt. He did not flinch when she laid a curved claw-like hand on his shoulder to guide him.

The Council chamber was scary, though. Obi-Wan liked the large windows which encircled the room; he liked looking out at the open sky, high up in the atmosphere, where only a few vehicles traveled. But standing in the middle of the room with the Councillors around him, all of them looking at him and maybe looking into his mind, made him feel even smaller and punier than he was.

"Masters, I have brought Oblate Obi-Wan Kenobi to be judged on his first Rite of Passage." Master J'wr'r'l squeezed his shoulder gently and then walked away, taking her place in the ring of Councillors.

He stood alone in the center of the room, facing Master Yoda. Master Yoda was the head of the Council, so everyone said, though he himself never said so. He had green skin and large greenish-blue eyes and long pointy ears with funny tufts of hair around them, and he was no bigger than Obi-Wan. But he was the oldest person in the Temple, and the wisest. Master Yoda was sometimes scary and sometimes not. When he visited Obi-Wan's creche, he made jokes and called everyone by name and seemed just a kind, funny little person. But here, in his high seat, looking into Obi-Wan's face with those penetrating eyes, he seemed pretty scary.

"Like you the life of the Temple, Obi-Wan?" Master Yoda always talked funny, but no one laughed at him.

"Yes, Master Yoda."

"Have you friends here?"

"Yes, master." He thought of Bant and Reeft and his crechemates.

"Understand the Force, do you?" The old master's voice sharpened. Obi-Wan blinked.

"N-no, master. I feel it sometimes--"

"Know what the life of a Jedi is like, do you?"

"Yes--no--I guess--not, Master Yoda--"

"A Jedi you wish to be?"

"More than anything!"

He was surprised at how loud his voice was in the domed chamber. It echoed and then faded away as the Council members exchanged silent looks with one another. Obi-Wan looked down at his shoes, certain they would send him away just for yelling. He jumped when Master Yoda rapped his stick on the floor.

"Accepted as an Initiate, you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Yoda's ears lifted up, and his lips curved in a tiny smile. "Your first Rite of Passage your crechemaster will oversee." He pointed behind Obi-Wan with his stick.

There by the great doors, silent and unnoticed, stood Master Aluki, the crechemaster who oversaw Obi-Wan's dormitory. He held out his arms, his amber eyes blinking rapidly, and Obi-Wan forgot Jedi dignity and ran to give him a hug. "Master!"

"I am very happy, Obi-Wan." Master Aluki's voice was low and soft, furry like his body, sweet like the cinnamon smell of his fur. "Now come with me."

They stopped before the doors to bow to the seated Councillors, and then went hand-in-hand back to the creche.

Obi-Wan's creche consisted of thirty youngsters all under the age of seven, tended by six masters of four different species. Master Aluki supervised the dormitory where Obi-Wan, Bant, Reeft, Shisheer, and Norgi slept. No one knew Master Aluki's race; there was no one else like him in the Temple. He had been found abandoned on a garbage heap on a world out on the Rim by a knight who noticed the squalling infant's powerful Force-signature and brought him back to the Temple. He had never done anything but tend the creches, but he was acknowledged to be a very powerful master. Obi-Wan loved him as he could remember loving his parents; Master Aluki was the only father or mother he wanted now, a little bipedal being scarcely taller than he was, with hardly any facial features except his large golden eyes, and warm reddish-brown fur all over his body.

The common room of the creche was busy with hungry little oblates bouncing around and asking when they could go to lunch. All the yelling and bouncing stopped instantly, however, when Obi-Wan and Master Aluki came in.

Master Aluki spoke no more loudly than usual. "Children, I ask you all to witness Obi-Wan's first Rite of Passage."

The yelling and bouncing broke out again, accompanied by clapping and cheering of various kinds. Bant grabbed Obi-Wan and hugged him so hard she nearly choked him. Master Aluki merely went into his office and came back with a pair of old-fashioned metal clippers, two slim silver blades joined by a hinge. Bant promptly got a towel and draped it around Obi-Wan's shoulders, and the other children quieted down and settled on the floor, shushing each other as Master Aluki passed amongst them.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and hoped he wouldn't cry as his hair was cut. He was so happy to be allowed to stay and study, but things were changing as of today, as of right now, on his seventh birthday. He would move out of the creche into his own room. In a few days he would start classes with other initiates not from his own creche. He wouldn't see Bant or Reeft or Shisheer so often; he wouldn't have Master Aluki to tuck him in at night. The tears spilled out from under his eyelids and ran down his cheeks, but no one laughed or said anything. Master Aluki worked slowly and methodically, his furry arm now and again brushing Obi-Wan's face, until at last he said, "There."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Bant was taking away the towel, and Master Aluki was putting away the sharp and dangerous clippers. His head felt light and his neck felt chilly. He wiped his face, hoping no one had seen him cry. Master Aluki returned, holding out a hand-mirror. Obi-Wan took it, despite the clenching of his stomach, and looked into it.

He looked much older. No, he looked much younger. He just didn't look like himself at all. His yellow hair was cut to a fine fuzz all over his head; his scalp showed through and looked awfully pale. It made his eyes look bigger, and his head look bigger, too, perched on a long thin neck.

Master Aluki brushed off Obi-Wan's neck with the backs of his fingers, carrying away bits of hair that had gotten under the towel. "Now let us get your belongings together, Obi-Wan. I have already prepared your room, and Bant will help you carry your things, won't you, Bant?" He smiled at the hovering Calamarian.

"Yes, Master Aluki."

It seemed like a very long walk from the familiar dormitory room to the Initiates' wing. Master Aluki led the way, and Obi-Wan and Bant trailed along side by side, not speaking, each carrying a small bundle of Obi-Wan's things. Obi-Wan's toy Wookiee was under his arm, and he wondered if a Jedi Initiate ought to have such a thing--a chewed-on, drooled-over, beaten-up plush toy that looked like a sentient person. He wondered if the docent who looked after his corridor would take it away.

"Here we are, children...." Master Aluki stopped before a door like all the other doors in the corridor and palmed it open.

Obi-Wan stepped into the room, hesitantly, looking around. A much bigger bed than the ones back in the dorm, but of course he would grow into it. A workdesk with his very own terminal. Shelves and a chest of drawers, all for him. It was not a large room, but it would be all his. Private. He stepped forward again when Bant bumped into his back. Master Aluki slipped past the two of them. "You will have your own recycler, Obi-Wan." He palmed open another door, and Obi-Wan dumped his armful of stuff on the bed and hurried to look. His own commode, his own sink, all gleaming as if freshly scrubbed--no more waiting when he had to pee!

"There is a lavatory at the end of the corridor, with showers and tubs." Master Aluki patted him on the shoulder. "Come, I will show you."

Bant trooped down the hall with them to peer into the big lavatory, which was conveniently empty at the moment. The shower heads were all so high up on the wall, far over Obi-Wan's head; the bathing tubs looked big enough to float in. Bant gurgled in her throat with envy.

"And just think, Obi-Wan--you'll be able to use the initiates' pool!" Her gills fluttered.

They went back to Obi-Wan's new room, and Master Aluki helped the children sort out Obi-Wan's things and put them away. A droid came bringing initiate's clothes for Obi-Wan, white instead of blue, and Bant insisted he change right away. Then Master Aluki showed him how to use the new terminal, how to access his new schedule of classes, how to file his assignments so his teachers would find them. Obi-Wan was happy to see that he would be studying Elementary Force-Healing Techniques with Master J'wr'r'l.

By the time Obi-Wan had learned all he needed to know about the new terminal and his new room and his new schedule, it was well past mealtime, and Master Aluki invited him back to the creche for the afternoon snack. No one criticized him for lingering through storytime and having the evening meal with his crechemates, as well, but it felt very strange to go back to his solitary room afterward. The room seemed big now, and full of empty spaces. He re-read a favorite book and then worked with the terminal for a while, practicing what Master Aluki had showed him, until he heard the chime for lights-out. He was grateful, as he settled into bed, that something of Master Aluki's cinnamon smell clung to the fur of the stuffed Wookiee.

II. Initiate to Padawan

As he climbed the stairs behind Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan realized that he was about to see his master's quarters for the first time. His master's quarters and now his own, too. He paused for a moment, taken aback, then trotted after Qui-Gon at double speed before he could be summoned. Strange as it seemed, he had been Qui-Gon's padawan for a year now, yet he had never seen his master's rooms. They'd raced from one mission to another, each one more complex than the last. During the short time they had been at the Temple during the past year, he'd been on probation because of his defection on Melida-Daan (he winced at the memory) and had stayed in a spare room in one of the initiates' corridors.

While his official probation had ended some time ago, he was still as it were on probation with his master until he turned fourteen and Qui-Gon granted or refused him his second Rite of Passage. Even had he been chosen padawan much earlier, his second Rite would not have come until his fourteenth birthday. And his fourteenth birthday was tomorrow. He found himself wondering whether Qui-Gon would keep him and if his master would give him another rock as a birthday gift, and what he would do if Qui-Gon sent him away.

The staircase ended, and Obi-Wan followed his master, panting, down a corridor to another flight of stairs. Didn't Qui-Gon ever use the Temple lifts? He focused his breathing so he could climb without complaining. This flight of steps was short, and Qui-Gon turned to the left at the top, saying, "Here we are, padawan." He palmed open the door and Obi-Wan followed him inside.

The first thing Qui-Gon did was to go to the windows. They were covered with dark blue draperies, which he pulled back to let in the wan afternoon sunlight. Draperies were old-fashioned--all the windows of the Temple could be darkened by polarization, of course. They were not the only old-fashioned thing about the sitting room. Obi-Wan shrugged off his cloak and stood holding it, looking around. There was an armchair, not a hoverchair or a conforming chair, which sat squatly on four legs, with a footstool in front of it. A real sword hung on the wall, a finely curved blade set in a black haft shaped like a lightsaber's that had a green gem for a pommel. There were no holos or flatpix, but there was a large trailing plant in a pot on the floor that Obi-Wan recognized as native to Dagobah; many of the same kind grew in Master Yoda's quarters.

He turned around in a circle and then noticed his master looking at him. As he often did, he felt a little guilty for just standing and staring, though he wasn't sure why. Qui-Gon rarely gave away what he was thinking or feeling, and Obi-Wan often felt somewhat guilty for what he was doing or not doing without being sure why he felt that way.

"Would you like to see your room, padawan?"

"Yes, master." He hoped that meant Qui-Gon had decided to keep him.

The padawan's room was a little smaller than his initiate's room, but it was meant to be chiefly a bedroom, after all. The bed was bigger than his old bed, though, and so was the workdesk. A door led from his bedroom directly into his own recycler and another door from the recycler into the shared 'fresher, which had the largest tub he had ever seen in the Temple, but no shower head.

"I prefer to bathe when I can," Qui-Gon said, "but you may shower," and he showed Obi-Wan a hose with a nozzle that could fit over the bathtub faucet, and the closet that served as a sonic shower.

"Thank you, master."

Qui-Gon showed Obi-Wan the storage closet in the tiny hall between the sitting room and the kitchen, and then the kitchen itself. "I am not surprised to see that we are out of everything edible, and more besides," Qui-Gon murmured. Going back to the sitting room, he went to the desk and got out a small pad of paper and a pen. Obi-Wan watched in fascination as his master quickly made two lists, writing with swift precision in phonetic Basic. He handed one list to Obi-Wan.

"I want you to go to the cellarer and request these items, Obi-Wan. I will go to the refectory myself, and then we will have something to eat."

It took him a long time to find the cellarer's office, as he had never gone there from the masters' wing. Master Offluk, the cellarer, was not on duty, but the droid taking his place read the list Qui-Gon had made and fetched out the required items without any resistance, as if padawans came every day to request supplies for their masters. Perhaps they did. Obi-Wan felt he still had little notion of what a padawan was supposed to do or supposed to be.

He headed back to his new quarters with an armful of towels, sheets, pillowcases, and sundry other items so high that he could not quite see where he was going--if he could remember the way back to the masters' wing. He did not feel his foot settle on anything but the floor, yet suddenly he went flying, the clean linens fanning out before him.

"Is that you, Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

It was Master J'wr'r'l, thank the Force. "Yes, it's me, master--I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize, Obi-Wan--you had an armful of goods, and I was walking along with my head in the Force instead of looking where I was going. Let me assist." It was typical of the Skzing master that she would pick up the scattered linens, re-fold them, and put some of them in Obi-Wan's arms while taking charge of the rest herself. She had never been one to stand on ceremony, and she had four hands to work with. "Where are you going, padawan?"

"Back to my master's rooms, Master J'wr'r'l--Master Jinn."

"Ah, yes. Qui-Gon Jinn." She made a hundred-eighty-degree turn and headed back the way he had come. "I will show you a shortcut." She walked slowly enough that Obi-Wan could keep up with her. He envied her having four legs to walk on and another four arms to carry things with. "Has he given you your Rite of Passage yet? You are the right age, are you not?"

Obi-Wan flushed. "No--not yet, Master J'wr'r'l. Yes, I am the right age, but no, he hasn't confirmed me yet. We've only just got back from a year of missions--"

She made a noise that translated through her voder as a sniff. "Typical. Just like before. Well, tell your master that I said he should confirm you right now. That is my opinion, whether or not he wishes to hear it."

"Yes, Master J'wr'r'l." There was no way he was going to tell Qui-Gon Jinn any such thing.

"Do you like Master Jinn, Obi-Wan?" The master paused by a lift and pressed its call button.

"Um, yes, I think so, master."

The Skzing gave one of her odd trilling laughs. "Not too sure of that, are you, Obi-Wan? And yet you are defending him to me." The lift came; they stepped into it, and she turned to him, bending low so that her feathery golden antennae brushed his face. "I want you to remember something, padawan: A master and a padawan do not have to like each other to be right for each other. They do not have to like each other to love each other."

The lift door pinged and opened before them. "Right this way," Master J'wr'r'l said, and Qui-Gon's room was just at the end of the corridor.

"Thank you, Master J'wr'r'l." She had always been a help to him when he was an initiate, and he tried to put all his gratitude for that into those words.

"You're welcome, Obi-Wan. Here, I'll take those so you can get the door."

She whisked the rest of the linens out of his arms and still had a hand free to wave him on ahead of her once the door opened.

The smell of something cooking already filled the sitting room. He turned to Master J'wr'r'l and tried to wrest the pile of linens away from her. "I can take care of these, master--"

"Nonsense, Obi-Wan, allow me to help you."

It is difficult to prevail over a being who is more than a foot taller than you are and has eight limbs to your four. Obi-Wan, shamefaced, was watching the Skzing master put away the new linens when Qui-Gon emerged from the kitchen, spatula in hand.

"There you are, Obi-Wan. And I thought I recognized your voice, Master J'wr'r'l."

"I happened to run into your padawan, Qui-Gon, and he looked like he needed a little help." She angled her head toward Qui-Gon, making her sapphire-blue eyes glint suddenly. "He is your padawan, isn't he?"

Obi-Wan could have sworn his master smiled, just for a moment. Just one twitch of the corner of his bearded mouth. "Yes, he is."

"Good. Now get back to that skillet and make sure whatever it is doesn't burn. Such a bother, cooking, isn't it? Pity you human types must do it so much."

And with another brush of her antennae across Obi-Wan's hair, Master J'wr'r'l departed.

"I'm sorry, master," Obi-Wan said, when Qui-Gon turned to look at him.

"For what, Obi-Wan?"

For everything, he wanted to say. "I should be cooking, not you."

"Not at all." Qui-Gon headed back to the kitchen, and Obi-Wan trailed behind him. "Unlike Master J'wr'r'l, I find cooking no bother. But I'll teach you, if you like."

"Thank you, master."

Qui-Gon went to the range and quickly stirred the skillet that sizzled there. He took the lid off another pot and peered questioningly into the clouds of steam that arose from it.

"Ah." Qui-Gon turned off the range. "There is juice and water in the cooler, Obi-Wan, if you want to drink with your meal."

They ate in silence, but the food was so unexpectedly good that Obi-Wan didn't mind not talking. Qui-Gon had stirfried vegetables with a bit of poultry and a sauce and served it with steamed rice, and it was delicious, much better than the readyfood they had lived on for much of the past year. Afterward Qui-Gon put a bowl of fresh fruit on the table and took a sweetrod for himself, peeling it.

"Your time is your own now, padawan. I should like us to meditate together after dinner."

"Yes, master."

Qui-Gon wasn't around at dinnertime, so Obi-Wan got himself some bread, fruit, and cheese and ate in his room while reading an old favorite novel. He'd spent the afternoon getting his few things out of storage and putting them in his room. At least the latest holo from his family made the place look somewhat like a real person lived there.

He only realized he was falling asleep when Qui-Gon's voice woke him.

"Padawan?"

He stumbled out of the bedroom, yawning. "Yes, master, here I am."

He tried not to flinch at Qui-Gon's slightly disapproving look. "Why don't you take a shower, Obi-Wan? It may wake you up enough to meditate."

He took a fairly quick hot-water shower (he had to fumble a bit with the hose) and then put on a clean tunic before joining his master in the sitting room. Qui-Gon was seated at the terminal, but he logged off as soon as Obi-Wan came in.

"Let us meditate together, padawan." He sank to his knees in the usual meditation posture, and Obi-Wan copied him.

It was not something they'd been able to do a lot of, in the past year. Meditating together was supposed to be one of the things that most fostered bonding between master and padawan, and among Jedi generally, but they had always been so busy.... Sighing, Obi-Wan relaxed his joints and sank deeper into the Force, partly aware that it was easier than it used to be on account of his master's presence. His mind was like a lake which remained still and calm as beings passed by and cast their reflections into its surface.

The mines of Bandomeer, the crushing pressure of the lowest levels, and the freedom he had felt in offering his own life for Qui-Gon's and for all the lives on the planet.

The face of Knight Tahl, her kind, serious face with the beautiful eyes that could no longer see him, the exasperation that was directed only at her attendant droid.

The face of Xanatos, pale skin and long black hair beneath a black hood, the handsome planes marred by more than the scar on his cheek, marred by hatred and envy and an anger that had been cherished like an only child for years and years.

The face of Bruck, his white hair and brown skin and pale blue eyes, angry and defiant as they sparred. Frightened and desperate as he fell. Vacant and void as he lay dead, his back broken by the fall.

The face of Cerasi, the warmth of her mouth in the kiss they had shared one dark night, her courage for peace, the warmth of her heart that had kept him warm in the fight for Melida-Daan, and the cold grief that her death had left behind in him. The face of Cerasi, as dead as Bruck's.

Tears spilled down his cheeks without breaking his meditation. For just a moment he glimpsed how all of this--his own flaws and failures, Xanatos's choices and Bruck's, his desire to serve the Light, his desire to gain his master's approval--how all of it wove together in the Force, how everything in his life was part of one tapestry. Then the glimpse dissolved, and he was a fourteen-year-old boy weeping silently as he knelt, wondering if he would ever deserve to be a Jedi Knight.

"Obi-Wan."

He opened his eyes and looked up. Qui-Gon had risen and was holding out his hand. He accepted the hand and got to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Sit with me, padawan."

They sat together on the couch. Qui-Gon gazed silently at Obi-Wan for what seemed like a long time.

"It has been a difficult year, Obi-Wan."

"Yes, master."

"I have not made it any easier, I think. I have made it all too plain that I did not want another padawan. I have not made it plain enough that that did not mean I did not want you."

Obi-Wan was not sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. He wanted to go and have a good cry and release his emotions to the Force that way, the way ordinary people did.

"If I have learned one thing in my years as a Jedi, Obi-Wan, it is that the Force does not give us what we want, or think we want. It gives us what we need." Qui-Gon put his hand for a moment on Obi-Wan's head. "I trust that you and I need one another, Obi-Wan, because the Force has brought us together. Do you trust the Force, Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, master."

"And do you trust me?"

He did not answer right away. He did trust Qui-Gon Jinn, but not entirely. Yet he did trust the Force, and as Qui-Gon had said, the Force had brought them together. The Force had given him a master when he was in despair, when he thought he would never be a Jedi. Perhaps Qui-Gon was just what he needed.

"Yes, master."

Qui-Gon smiled, a little sadly. "Do you still want to be a Jedi, Obi-Wan? Do you want me to train you as my padawan?"

"Yes, I do." He was surprised by the conviction in his own voice.

"Then I confirm you as my padawan, Obi-Wan, and offer you the Rite of Passage."

"I accept."

Once again Obi-Wan submitted to having his hair cut short, though not as short as he remembered Master Aluki cutting it on his seventh birthday, when he moved out of the creche and became an initiate. Qui-Gon left one lock of it untrimmed and snipped off a bit of his own hair, a lock about as long and as thick as what was left at Obi-Wan's temple.

Both were silent as the master deftly braided the loose hair into a padawan's lock, adding his own hair to it. Obi-Wan felt the slow rush of Qui-Gon's breath over his face, smooth and even, and the shallowness of his own breathing, the racing of his heart.

When Qui-Gon was finished, Obi-Wan slipped to his knees and bowed deeply. "Thank you, master."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

III. Not an End, but a Beginning

"Happy birthday, Obi-Wan!"

It was Bant, of course. She never forgot, and her moist and salty hug always made the day special for him. She kept her arm around his waist and they walked together to the refectory.

"I'm starving," Obi-Wan announced. "I'm going to eat the biggest, sweetest, stickiest dessert on the menu, just because it's my birthday."

"With your luck," said Garen Muln, coming up beside them, "it'll be Hwittarian rice pudding."

Bant laughed, and Obi-Wan made a face. He'd discovered only three years ago that he was allergic to one of the spices in Hwittarian rice pudding. He'd itched for days--all over.

"I hope not. I was hoping for khalla mousse from Naboo, or something like that."

It was good to be among friends, Obi-Wan thought. Life as a Jedi padawan had not gotten easier with the passage of time; he was home at the Temple no more now than he had been in his busy first year as Qui-Gon's apprentice. It meant much to see and be with one's friends during these brief respites, and all the more so on his twenty-first birthday.

He joked during dinner, ate a lot, laughed at his friends' jokes, and had a huge puff-pie for dessert, flavored with rich dark xoqolotl beans. He didn't allow himself to wonder what it meant to turn twenty-one, what his third Rite of Passage would be.

Qui-Gon hadn't said anything to him about it, but then, after seven years, he hadn't expected anything different. Qui-Gon spoke of things in his own time, not when it seemed appropriate to others. He had wished his apprentice a happy birthday before their morning meditation and given him leave to have a free day afterward, merely mentioning that he wished to see Obi-Wan briefly after the evening meal.

Obi-Wan had spent the day running around the Temple and catching up with old friends, opening little gifts, doing some shopping outside the Temple with credits that had come with his family's birthday greeting. And not thinking about that ancient custom he had read about, the formal request which had once graced the third Rite of Passage... no, not thinking about that at all.

Now, feeling delightfully full after the puff-pie, Obi-Wan headed back to his rooms, humming to himself under his breath.

His master was sitting in the old armchair when he came in, reading a book. "Good evening, master."

"Good evening, Obi-Wan. I see you enjoyed your dinner." He dabbed at the corner of his mouth while looking hard at his apprentice.

"Oh, thank you, master." Obi-Wan wiped the telltale brown smear of xoqolotl off his lips and sat down on the couch. "I indulged in some dessert."

Qui-Gon turned the pages of his book. "Even a Jedi is entitled to a little indulgence now and then."

"If you wish to speak with me now, master, I am at your disposal." To his chagrin, the polite formal speech was followed by a loud burp.

Qui-Gon chuckled and put down his book. "I would like to speak with you, padawan, but please, kneeling is not necessary." The master got up and went to his desk, opening up the small drawer which was the only one he kept locked. "I have a small gift for you, Obi-Wan. It's traditional for one's padawan's third Rite of Passage." He took something out of the drawer and crossed the room to hand it to his padawan.

Obi-Wan looked blankly at the small chip in his hand. It was an ID chip, identical to the one he'd had for years. He glanced up at Qui-Gon, who smiled.

"Put it in the reader, Obi-Wan."

Obediently he rose and went to the computer, slipping the chip into the reading groove. The information it gave astonished him. Beside a very recent holo of himself were his name, his birth date, his place of residence, and his citizenship--Coruscant.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon sat down again in his armchair. "Your old ID identified you as a Jedi apprentice and a citizen of your homeworld. This ID identifies you as a Jedi, unqualified, and a citizen of Coruscant. You are now officially a senior padawan of the Temple and a legal adult by the laws of the Republic." Again the slightly crooked smile. "No more being left behind with the children in age-segregated societies. No more reporting to the proctor when you leave the Temple unescorted or return. No more living with your master, if you wish to move out."

A strange tone had crept into Qui-Gon's voice. Obi-Wan felt a tiny spike of panic and breathed it out. "Do you want me to move out, master?" He looked down at the other man, who returned his gaze intently.

"I do not wish to be deprived of your company, Obi-Wan. And I certainly will not drive you out. But it has occurred to me that you might want more... privacy than I can provide you, now that you are an adult. You are, after all, entitled to form a liaison with any other adult... whatever their rank."

Obi-Wan knelt and dared to put a hand on his master's arm. "Master, I don't need any more privacy than I already have. I never feel that you're intruding in my life. On the contrary, I sometimes feel you could be half the galaxy away--" He got up and turned away, tucking his hands into his sleeves. He had said too much, but now the words could not be taken back.

He tensed up still further when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Obi-Wan, if I am to speak further, I need to speak with you face to face."

Obi-Wan turned around. His master's hand did not leave his shoulder.

"Obi-Wan, I know I have deserved that judgement." Obi-Wan would have spoken, would have apologized, but a warm finger laid across his lips held him still, mesmerized him. "I have never been a demonstrative man, padawan. Even before my... failure with my second apprentice, it was not easy for me to speak of my feelings to others or to show them by deed. And more than that, until this day, I was forbidden to speak of certain feelings I had toward you. Until you were a legal adult." Obi-Wan suddenly noticed that his master could no longer meet his eyes. "And now that I am allowed to speak, I am not sure that I know how."

Qui-Gon fell silent, and Obi-Wan knew that his master could not help him in this--this was a rite of passage that he must make himself. He alone could step across the threshold and meet the other man halfway, in the midst of new and unknown territory. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Master. Qui-Gon." He so rarely called his master by name that he had to stop and take another deep breath. His heart was pounding, but he did not try to calm himself. "I have read, in the Temple archives, of an ancient custom proper to this day. To a padawan's third Rite of Passage, when he or she becomes an adult." He held the older man's gaze. "It is my right and my privilege to ask you to be my First."

Qui-Gon's eyes widened, and Obi-Wan saw the pupils expand and fill the deep blue irises like water welling up out of darkness to fill a hollow in the rock. "Your First, Obi-Wan?" The older man's voice was painfully husky.

"Yes, master. I have not taken another lover, man nor woman nor any other." He smiled and half-shrugged. "I have not had the time. And I find, now, now that I have the time, the opportunity, that it is you I want."

Qui-Gon bowed his head, formally. "Obi-Wan, I would be honored." He reached out, took hold of his padawan's trailing braid, and lifted it to his lips, and at the sight of that tender gesture, Obi-Wan knew he had done the right thing.

He had always imagined that he would be initiated into sexual pleasure in a rush of passion, a heady moment between himself and a lover, each intoxicated with the other, unable to wait any longer. This first time was not like that. Qui-Gon acceded calmly to Obi-Wan's request for time to take a shower; when he emerged, having cleansed himself inside and out, he found his master carrying a pair of lighted candles into his bedroom.

"I thought you might want to join me in the larger of our beds, Obi-Wan."

"Certainly, Qui-Gon."

It was obvious that his master had just changed the bedlinens and re-made the bed, and the room was filled with burning candles, every candle in their apartment, sweet-smelling in their purity of wax and nothing else. A pitcher of water stood on one nightstand, gleaming with condensation, and a basin of steaming water on the other, with a cloth and a towel nearby.

Obi-Wan, wrapped in his bathrobe, looked around the room at the preparations, and then looked at Qui-Gon, who stood looking back at him from the other side of the bed. He smiled, and his master's solemn, frightened face shivered into a tentative smile. "I should like you to undress now, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon did so, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan watched as the layers and layers of cream and white came off, baring a body he had seen many times before, but never like this. Never with a license to dwell on its height and breadth, to admire the planes of shoulder, chest, and belly, to long for the feel of arms and thighs and skin raspy with hair, to look right at the swelling sex and want to touch it with fingers and cheek and lips. Right there. To lie beside the man right there, in his bed.

Qui-Gon reached up, pulled out the tie from his hair, and combed his fingers through the mane, spreading it around his shoulders. He held out the tie to Obi-Wan.

"You're entitled to wear a padawan's knot now, Obi-Wan."

He smiled. "I'll do that later."

"Then will you undress for me, now?"

Obi-Wan unwrapped his robe and dropped it--from covered to bare in a single breath. Heat rose in his face and chest and groin because Qui-Gon was looking at him--looking like he wanted to look at him. He knew he was well-proportioned and well put together, stocky build honed to grace by years of training, fine-skinned and with nothing to be ashamed of, but it had never mattered before. He had never had the time to see himself through a lover's eyes.

He had a lover now. His master. Qui-Gon. His lover.

They lay down on the bed together, facing each other, not yet touching. Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan's cheek, holding the slim braid between Obi-Wan's skin and his own and rubbing his thumb over it. "Tell me what you desire, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"For you to make love to me, Qui-Gon Jinn."

Obi-Wan leaned forward and then they were kissing, shyly. His hand came to rest on Qui-Gon's chest as Qui-Gon's remained on his cheek. Their noses bumped and Qui-Gon chuckled.

"You are so beautiful, padawan."

"Come closer, master."

Obi-Wan shuddered all over at the full-body contact, skin against skin from chest to toes. What astonished him was that Qui-Gon shuddered, too, as if he also had first felt and satisfied a great longing in a single moment.

"Feels so good."

"Yes...."

Qui-Gon's arms came around him, Qui-Gon's lips nestled against his skin where his neck joined his shoulder, and Obi-Wan slid one arm under the older man's heavy body and held on, his mind full of the scent of his lover's hair. The nestling of lips turned into kisses, slow and heavy, traveling up his throat and over his jaw toward his mouth.

When Qui-Gon's tongue flicked into the kiss, Obi-Wan was ready for it. He attended patiently to what his master had to teach him about this sort of kissing and to the taste of his master, the strange sweetness of his mouth. He wound his fingers into Qui-Gon's hair. The hand that cupped his buttock did not surprise him, but the sudden dizziness did, the overwhelming heat and demanding rhythm of the blood in his cock. He pulled his mouth away.

"Easy, Obi-Wan, what's wrong, are you all right?"

He looked down between their bodies at his master's erection and his own. Aroused, they were not as different in size as when flaccid. He felt as if he'd never seen an erection before, least of all his own.

"I don't think I've ever been this hard."

Qui-Gon laughed. "I don't think I have, either."

"I... I'm dizzy." He laughed shakily. Qui-Gon passed a hand over his forehead, smoothed back his hair, toyed with his braid.

"Are you sure you want this, Obi-Wan?"

"Very sure." He raised his mouth and claimed another kiss, a kiss that caused Qui-Gon's erection to press hot into his belly. The tip of it was moist, and the skin soft like the very finest silk. Qui-Gon drew back, lips and cock, with a sigh.

"What do you want from me tonight, Obi-Wan? Making love is like a great feast--it's not necessary to try all the dishes at a single meal."

Obi-Wan licked his lips, licked the side of his master's neck, licked his lips again. "Touch me, Qui-Gon, and I'll tell you what I want, I'll tell you what it makes me want."

"Fair enough."

Qui-Gon pushed gently at Obi-Wan's shoulder, and the younger man lay back, sprawling nearly in the center of the bed, his limbs loose and spread out. Qui-Gon lay down beside him, tucking himself up against Obi-Wan's side, propped on one hand and leaving the other free to explore.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes as Qui-Gon bent closer. A kiss to his mouth and then to his cheek. Bristles of beard tickled his skin. Warm lips against the pulse in his throat, while a large hand trailed down his body, a firm and gentling touch. He arched up, surprised, when hand and lips each claimed a nipple and caressed it. He'd never thought of his nipples as a sensitive place, never imagined someone toying with them, sucking them. Least of all Qui-Gon.

The hand moved and planted itself on the mattress between his thighs. The tongue swirled around the other nipple, the one that was not yet wet. The nipple Qui-Gon had left behind cooled sharply in the air. Obi-Wan arched up so that his cock brushed Qui-Gon's arm. The bed shifted under the older man's weight, and that large, warm hand wrapped around Obi-Wan's cock, covered it.

"Master!"

A quick kiss on the mouth. "Not here. Not now."

"Qui-Gon...."

"Tell me what you want."

Breathing was painful. "More."

The steady stroking on his cock, which was what he wanted, was counterpointed by a random pattern of kisses. It was maddening--he never knew where, or when, a kiss would fall. His cock was slicking in Qui-Gon's hand with its own fluid. He didn't know what he wanted. He only wanted to feel more.

"More," he rasped, his muscles tight with wanting.

The cry he made when Qui-Gon's mouth closed around his cock didn't sound like himself. He sobbed when his lover withdrew, chanted out "yes yes yes" when the heat and wetness and closeness came back, twined his fingers in the long hair that seemed to be everywhere like the Force. Qui-Gon's head moved up and down, and Obi-Wan thrust, once, his lover's name shattering in his throat, his whole body shattering as he came, as he filled Qui-Gon's mouth with his come.

A long time later, it seemed, he could see warm blue eyes that sought his eyes, taste himself in a hesitant kiss. "You love me," he said, certain.

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

"Good."

end