JAOA: Stage 3
Year of the Republic 25,002
Black Rose, 1999
lenoirrose@softhome.net
Voices in the outer room woke him from a sound slumber. Han
groaned, pulling his pillow over his head in an effort to block
them out. The light from the window penetrated his eyes, making
him wince... and then jerk awake, aware that there was a window
for light to come through, and that the room was not his own.
No... the room was his own. His new room. Han rubbed a hand
over his face and then over his hair, wincing as he felt the
short cropped strands of his brand new haircut, and the tickle
of his padawan braid against his throat. This was his. His
room, his hair, his life...
...His Master's voice in the outer room, talking to someone.
With the morning light streaming in the window and he, Han
Solo, Padawan, late to wake up.
He scrambled up, grabbing for his robe. Habit ran his hands
through his hair in a vain attempt to make it look neat, more
habit making him hesitate by the door, ear pressed to it,
trying to make out the voices beyond. They were muffled,
impossible to catch the individual words. Han bit his lip,
considering the choices possible, and settled for taking the
time to quickly slip on trousers and soft indoor shoes before
he palmed open his door and stepped out into the main room.
He had expected to face Anakin and an unknown visitor.
Presented with an empty room, Han frowned, pausing. The voices
were louder and after a moment he recognized them as coming
from the open door of the Jedi Knight's sleeping chamber.
Worrying at his lip again, he stepped forward, hesitantly
peering around the frame of the door.
"...I've explained the situation to the Council," Anakin was
saying, his voice weary. The Jedi Knight was dressed, back
turned to the door as he spoke to someone out of Han's line of
view. "Allowances have been made, but we really shouldn't keep
putting it off. It's not going to help them any..."
A shiver of sensation skittered across Han's spine. Anakin
turned at the same moment, his gaze falling on the boy. A small
smile curved his lips as he called out, with more energy than
before, "So you're up, Padawan. Come here. There's someone I'd
like you to meet."
Flushing to the roots of his hair, Han tugged at the folds of
his robe and reluctantly stepped into the room. Anakin gestured
him forward; as he came abreast of his Master's side Han could
see the second party of the conversation.
The communicator was a small one, set into the surface of the
Jedi Knight's work table. The image it projected rose a meter
above the table, pale blue and shot through with the
unavoidable static of long range transmissions. The woman in
the image, however, was nothing if not perfect - from the
stately upswept curves of her dark hair to the long, flowing
lines of her layered gown, she was the picture of a tiny,
beautiful doll. She stood with an assured poise, dignified and
regal, her dark eyes peering cooly from beneath arching brows.
Heedless of his Padawan's slightly gape mouthed stare and
furious blush, Anakin pulled Han in front of himself, where the
communicator could pick the boy up. "Love, I'd like you to meet
Han Solo, my Padawan. Han, this is my wife, Amidala."
Han could feel his guts freezing beneath that cool stare.
Anakin's wife, he remembered dimly, was some sort of planetary
nobility - an empress or queen or some such. She looked every
inch of it. Her eyes swept over him, weighing, and Han cringed
at the look, all too aware of his unwashed and half dressed
appearance.
To his surprise, a small smile curved her lips. It peeled the
porcelein mask from her features, revealing a human warmth in
the expression as she turned her gaze towards her husband.
"Ani," she said, and her voice had a low, husky tinge to it,
flavored with a gentle accent. There was soft laughter in that
voice, at odds with her appearance. "There's a reason I try not
to let you cut your own hair. Let Obi-Wan clean the boy up.
You're embarassing him."
Her gaze turned back to Han and she nodded her head gracefully.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Padawan Solo. Anakin has been
telling me about you." Again, the smile, and there was
something subtly impish about it. "I entrust that you'll try to
keep my husband out of trouble."
Amidala's smile called forth an echo of Han's own, embarassment
loosening it's hold on him. "I'll try, your Highness," he told
her, hoping he had picked the right form of address.
She laughed, a warm sound. "I think you'll do fine," she told
him pleasantly. "I'll look forward to meeting you in person."
Her look turned back to her husband, her tone subtly chiding.
"Anakin, let the boy finish waking up. There wasn't any need to
pull him out of bed. It's terribly early there, isn't it?" Her
eyes flashed to Han, who understood that she was, politely,
excusing both his appearance and any lack in his manners. He
bobbed a quick bow to her in gratitude, stepping out of the
range of the communicator as soon as Anakin let him.
Anakin escorted him to the door, a wry smile on the Knight's
lips. "There's tea and food on the table," he instructed
quietly. "Get dressed and help yourself. I'll be out when we're
done." His hand pressed Han's shoulder briefly, and then the
door hissed shut, dampening the sound of resumed voices to a
low hum.
Han found himself standing at a loss in the main room. Used to
having his entire day scheduled from hour to hour, he wasn't
sure how to manage time when everything seemed to be at the
beck and whim of his Master. Hunger won out over the desire for
a shower or clothes, but to be on the safe side he took a
quickly assembled plate into his room and ate while dressing.
Trousers and tunic and boots, pulled on at the breakneck
haphazard rate he usually managed in the mornings before
classes. A mental note to himself as he slid into the gray
initiate tunic that he would have to see about getting new
clothes - Padawans wore the same cream and tans that Knights
did. Another mental note, as he finished gulping down food,
that either he was going to need to take up cooking, or get his
meals from the main dining hall - Anakin brewed the spice tea
so strong it burned his throat, while the rest of the food was
beyond bland.
A glance in the mirror made him groan - small wonder the
Knight's wife had looked askance. The short crop of his hair
was flattened on one side and stuck out at angles on the other,
testimony to how he had slept. Combing it accomplished nothing,
so at last he resorted to splashing water across it until the
dark strands slicked back against his head.
A last glance in the mirror convinced him he was about as
presentable as anything short of new clothes and a different
haircut would allow. Sighing, Han went back to the main room,
feeling rather as though the tiring contents of an entire day
had already been packing into the short space of one morning.
Anakin had completed his transmission and was in the main room,
a distant frown creasing his brow as he stood at the table with
cup in hand, downing tea like a man dying of thirst. He looked
up when Han entered, the frown smoothing away only to be
replaced by another look which the boy couldn't begin to
interpret. Seeing the dishes in Han's hands, he lifted the pot
of tea. "Would you like any more?"
Han managed to keep from shuddering. "No, thank you."
Anakin nodded, upending the last of the pot into his cup and
tossing it back the way some people did alcohol. Collecting the
dishes, he rinsed them quickly, setting them aside. All the
while Han could feel the knight's eyes on him, watching him. It
made him nervous, shifting from foot to foot in the middle of
the room.
Only when Anakin's smile returned did his nerves unwind
slightly. "Well," the Knight said, cocking his head slightly.
"I can see I'm going to have to be careful. That smile of yours
charms the women. Amidala was quite taken with you."
Han pulled his shoulder back, startled. "Me, sir?"
The smile became a grin, one that warmed Anakin's eyes. "I'm
only teasing, Padawan. Though Amidiala did give you her
approval."
Flustered, Han shrugged slightly. "She seemed nice," he
blurted, then winced. The woman was his Master's wife - he
should be able to find something better than 'nice' to
compliment her with.
Anakin only chuckled, the last of the lingering frown easing
from his expression. "She was on her way to a Council meeting,"
he assured the boy. "When you meet her out of her formal dress
she's not quiet so intimidating. You'll see."
Han nodded, uncomfortable. "How did you meet?" he asked,
curiosity tugging at him. "I mean... Knights don't usually
marry royalty. No offense," he added hastily.
It was the Knight's turn to look startled, pale brows rising.
"You really don't listen to the gossip, do you?" he asked. The
smile had a remeniscent quality to it, his blue eyes half
lidded. "It was the first mission I ever took part in. I wasn't
even a Padawan yet, I was only traveling with Master Obi-Wan
and Master Qui-Gon. Amidala had just been elected Queen of
Naboo."
Recalling other bits of history gleaned about his Master, Han
frowned, squinting incredulously at the man. "You were
nine when you met her?"
Anakin laughed outright, gripping Han's shoulder briefly. "Yes.
And Amidala was fourteen. Don't look so scandalized! We were
married three years ago."
"Oh," Han said, trying to school his expression into something
neutral, or at least intelligent looking. He wondered, vaguely,
when the barrage of new things and information would become
'normal'. It was far, far too early in the morning for his mind
to be already set on re-enacting the spin it had existed in the
day before. Glancing around at a loss, he shrugged slightly.
"What now, Master?"
Anakin straightened, running a hand through the short strands
of his hair, the mercurial smile falling away. "Now... Now,
young Padawan, I have someone I need to speak to. And you.." He
gazed at Han, eyes narrowing slightly, and to Han's gaze it
looked as though the Knight were at something of a loss. "You
don't have classes to go to, do you?"
"Not any more," Han replied blandly, squelching the urge to
grin. It was ridiculously reassuring to know that Anakin had no
more idea of what to do than he did.
The frown had returned, sneaking across the Knight's brow in
tight, worried little lines. He closed his eyes, the frown
deepening slightly, and Han bit the inside of his lip, frowning
also as he watched the man.
Anakin opened his eyes, gaze turning back to his Padawan. The
look in the blue eyes was clouded, but the frown had eased
somewhat. "You're invited," he said crypticly, a statement
which made no sense to Han. "Come along."
Sighing inaudibly, Han fell into step behind his Master,
following the Knight out into the corridor. The Knight walked
with a ground covering stride that the boy had to stretch his
own legs to match.
They passed other Jedi, Knights, the occasional Master with
Padawan in tow, and to Han's eye none of the other Padawan's
looked nearly as lost as he was certain he did. He hurried his
steps, shadowing Anakin's heels as the man strode through the
corridors of identical quarters.
At one point Anakin slowed, half turning towards Han, another
of the puzzling frowns marking his brow. "You can receive,
can't you?" he asked.
"Receive, sir?" Han frowned himself, perplexed. "I don't know
what you mean."
"Through the Force," Anakin clarified, gesturing from himself
to Han, and back again. "Mind to mind." He tapped a finger
against his head to explain his meaning.
Startled all over again, Han stared at his Master. "You can
do that?"
Anakin stopped dead in the hallway, staring at the boy. "They
don't teach you that," he stated, then sighed as Han nodded
confirmation. Tilting his head back, the Knight addressed the
ceiling overhead. "I'm beginning to think I didn't miss much by
not being an initiate."
Han started to open his mouth to find something to reply, but a
shivering sensation in the back of his skull stopped him. [Can
you hear me?] Anakin's voice asked, but it echoed through Han's
head as though from a distance, small and odd. Han reached up
to press against his ears, shaking his head. "What the...?"
"I'll take that to mean yes," Anakin said wryly, and there was
nothing at all wrong with his voice. "Good. It's a simple
enough skill. With a little practice you shouldn't have any
trouble with it."
"That was you," Han said dubiously, running a hand over his
head which still seemed to vibrate inside somewhere that he
couldn't reach. "In my mind?"
Anakin seemed pleased. "Exactly." He frowned slightly, reaching
out to brush dry fingertips over Han's temples. "It shouldn't
hurt."
"It doesn't," Han assured him, pulling back. "Just... feels
weird."
"It's a skill, like any other," Anakin said. He put a hand
against Han's back, resuming walking as he pushed the boy
gently ahead. "We'll make that one of your first lesson
priorities."
"Why?" Han blurted out. "Why is it so important?"
"It makes training easier," Anakin replied. "And you'll be
needing it shortly." A few doors farther down he stopped, a
hand on Han's shoulder halting the boy. "We're here."
'Here' was a door like any other in the portion of the Temple
devoted to living quarters for the Knights and Masters. Han
tugged at his tunic and made one last sweep at his damp hair as
Anakin palmed the door signal. Seeing the gesture, Anakin
reached out to brush his shoulder briefly. "It will be
alright..."
The Knight broke off, head jerking around towards the door.
Dropping his hand, he squared his shoulders, reaching out to
trigger the controls. Han fidgeted as the door hissed open,
hanging back as Anakin entered the quarters. "Master?" the
Knight called, striding forward and leaving Han with no choice
but to follow.
Han glanced around the quarters briefly. The layout, the
structure of the room, was identical to Anakin's own but the
resemblance stopped there. Where the Knight's quarters were
sparsely bare these had a lived in look, furnished comfortably
and with a personal touch that avoided being cluttered.
Brightly lit, lived in... it was like stepping into someone
else's home and made Han twice as uncomfortable for it. It was
on the tip of his tongue to ask Anakin who's quarters they
were, when the significance of the Knight's choice of words
registered. He suppressed a soft groan. Master - Anakin's own
Master, General Kenobi.
Queens and Generals... could his morning, he wondered, become
any more surreal?
Anakin had gone to the door of the main sleeping chamber,
rapping on it lightly. Han uneasily edged his way back towards
the main door and out of the way. He had never had classes with
General Kenobi, but by all report the man was a demanding but
fair teacher. Han had heard the stories of the man's career in
the Wars, the same as every initiate had - despite what he had
told Anakin, he didn't always ignore gossip. He hadn't ever
wanted to meet the man, though - especially not early in the
morning, with the wet spikes of his hair beginning to bristle
around his head and feeling unwashed and incredibly
conspicuous.
The door to the sleeping chamber opened and a man who could
only be the General stepped out. Dressed as any Master might be
and standing perhaps a hair shorter than Anakin himself, he
wasn't preposing looking - until Han saw his face. Grey of eye
and hair, the lines carved deep around mouth and forehead lent
a hard, tight look to his face, one that eased only slightly as
his gaze fell on his former Padawan.
"Anakin," Kenobi said softly. "What is it?"
"Never mind that," Anakin protested, shaking his head. He
gestured past Kenobi to the darkened sleeping chamber.
"How...?" But Kenobi hushed him, taking his arm and drawing him
away from the door.
It was as they turned that the General's eyes fell on Han,
standing as small as he could beside the main door. He frowned
for a moment and Han clenched his teeth, standing firm against
the Master's gaze, chin jerking up and shoulders painfully
straight. Anakin intervened, stepping forward to beckon Han
closer. "Ah... Master Obi-Wan; my Padawan, Han Solo."
The General straightened, shooting a quick look to Anakin. Han
felt his heart sink - it was the same look the Council had
fixed them with the day before, as they told Anakin that Han
wasn't worth training. Pride stubbornly stiffened his spine and
after a moment Kenobi turned back to him, cold eyes sweeping
over him.
Disapproving look or no, his tone was nothing but proper and
polite. "Padawan Solo."
Han swallowed drly. Anakin's hand slipped out, cupping his
elbow unobtrusively, the pressure of the Knight's fingers
reassuring him. "Master Kenobi," Han managed in return.
Kenobi hesitated slightly, then nodded, turning back to Anakin.
Han knew a dismissal when he saw one, but the relief of not
being under those eyes any more was worth it. Kenobi was
talking to Anakin, jerking his chin roughly back towards the
sleeping chamber. "He's laying down. He was there yesterday and
he'll stay there today if I have to tie him to the couch. Now
what's wrong?"
"It can wait," Anakin demured, but a glance passed between the
two men. Kenobi tightened his lips.
"Padawan," he growled softly. Han jerked, but Kenobi wasn't
looking at him and it was Anakin who flushed and ducked his
head, shrugging slightly.
Another shared glance and Han shifted, realizing belatedly that
there was a great deal more being said then he was party to.
After a moment Kenobi shook his head, glancing back towards the
sleeping chamber with a frown. "The boy can stay," he said
abruptly, and Han felt Anakin's hand clench for a second
against his elbow. Kenobi glanced back at them, still frowning.
"Someone has to. The fool will try to get up if he's not
watched." The words were harsh but the Master's tone was so
flat as to betray nothing of what he actually felt.
"Han?" Anakin inquired. Han blinked, wondering what he was
being asked and what he was supposed to answer.
"Master?"
"Would you mind staying here while Master Obi-Wan and I speak?"
Anakin asked. "I'll introduce you to Master Qui-Gon. We won't
be long."
"Don't let him talk and don't let him get up, Padawan," Kenobi
added sharply. "That's very important, do you understand?"
Han blinked. "Who?" he asked helplessly.
Anakin tugged on his arm, drawing him towards the sleeping
chamber. "Master Qui-Gon Jinn," he explained softly, pushing
Han towards the door. He raised his voice slightly as they
entered the softly lit room. "Master Qui-Gon? It's Anakin."
Stiffly, Han let himself be pushed into the room, coming to a
stubborn halt a few steps from the door.
The man who lay on the sleeping couch, half propped against a
pile of pillows, was, to Han's halfgrown eye, simply huge.
Broad shouldered, his long frame, had he been standing, would
easily have topped Anakin's not unimpressive height. Older than
either of the other men, with silvered hair and beard, his name
and face triggered a connection in Han's memory. "You were on
the Council," he blurted out before he could think better of
it.
He thought, for sure, in his next panicked heartbeat that he
had quite thoroughly ruined everything. "Be quiet!"
Kenobi barked from behind them, making the boy jump and nearly
try to swallow his errant tongue, but Anakin's hands closed
warmly on his shoulders. To his surprise, when Kenobi stalked
into his range of view it was not Han that the General was
pointing to, but the reclining Master.
The older man didn't seem at all surprised by the order, though
his silver brows drew down, a grimace marring the expressive
line of his mouth. [I haven't said anything, Obi-Wan.] The
words echoed vibrations through Han's head, a warm deep voice
that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Han winced and
tried not to reach for his head, where the words seemed to set
up itches inside his skull.
Piercing blue eyes, sharp within the lined face, settled on
him. "There, you see?" Jinn said, his voice a hoarse, rasping
whisper that broke the silence. "I didn't mean to startle you,
boy." But the last word dissolved into coughing, a wet heavy
sound drawn from deep in the Jedi Master's lungs. The older man
closed his eyes briefly, lips tightening as he stifled the
cough, hand going to his chest.
Han found himself abruptly abandoned as Anakin stepped around
him, Kenobi already past them both and reaching for Jinn's
shoulder. Hands placed to the larger man's back and chest, the
General's tightened expression betrayed him in the lines of
mouth and eyes - unadulterated worry and the stamp of long
pain. The older master's cough eased after a few moments,
letting him draw a shakey breath. [Don't,] the deeply echoed
words came again. [I'm all right.]
"If you don't talk, don't sit up and don't move, you're all
right," Kenobi corrected tightly. For all the nearly cold
fierceness of his tone there was a bright light of concern in
his eyes and a gentleness in his touch as he pushed the other
Master back to the couch. The glare, Han thought on impulse,
was part of an act - a cover thrown across the man's real
feelings.
[I'll be alright,] the voice repeated firmly. Han winced,
surreptitiously running a hand across the back of his neck and
pressing at the echoes that bounced at the base of his skull.
Sharp blue eyes glanced up, not at all dimmed by the illness
that marked the lines of the face. [Will no one introduce the
boy?]
"I'm sorry, Master Qui-Gon," Anakin said hastily, turning back
to put a hand on Han's shoulder and urge him forward. "I'd like
to present my Padawan, Han Solo."
If one more person regarded him as though he were an item at
the market Han thought he might, justifiably, begin to twitch.
The results of this stare, however, were warmer than Kenobi's -
Master Jinn smiled, holding out a hand to both Anakin and Han,
beckoning them to come closer.
Anakin took the proffered hand, twining their fingers together
with long familiarity. Jinn allowed it, but his attention was
focused on Han, who stopped just beyond arm's reach and
returned the stare frankly. The Master, he decided, was more
sick then he was old. He was still the oldest person in the
room, but it wasn't age that put the shadows beneath his eyes
or the grey tinge to his lips. Even from a distance he could
hear the rasp of the other man's breath, a sound that seemed to
constantly border on coughing.
"They're right," he blurted out abruptly. "You shouldn't talk."
Three sets of adult eyes stared at him. Kenobi broke the
silence with a sharp burst of laughter. "Good," he said, a
smile erasing much of the fierceness of his expression. "Remind
him of that, Padawan. Qui-Gon, listen to the boy. He has more
common sense than you do. Anakin?" Brisk and efficient, in
everything the man did. Anakin nodded, slipping his hand from
Jinn's and following Obi-Wan into the next room. Han watched
them go, only turning back to the Master on the couch after the
door hissed shut.
Jinn was frowning, brows drawn down darkly over his eyes. Han
gulped, but the Master was looking not at him but at the closed
door. Seeing his expression, the Master shook his head, waving
towards the worktable and accompanying chair. [Bring a chair
over, Padawan. I don't bite.]
It was impossible not to jump slightly at that voice that come
from nowhere and everywhere at once. Trying to hide it, Han
went to get a chair, brining it back and seating himself in it
gingerly. Jinn was still frowning and Han, worrying at his lip,
finally ventured to say "Anakin... Master Anakin said he had
something he wanted to tell General Kenobi."
Master Jinn's frown faded and he smiled slightly, reassuring
the boy. [Of course. And Obi-Wan set you to hover over me while
they talk.] There were nuances of emotion in the mental voice
that were deeper than spoken words, a frustration that had
nothing to do with Han and a genuine amusement at their
combined situation. [When did Anakin choose you?]
Han blew out a breath, raking a hand through his hair and
wincing at the feel of it. "Yesterday," he admitted. Jinn
chuckled softly, a sound eerily both mental and physical. Han
grinned slightly, relaxing some. "It doesn't seem real yet."
[It takes getting used to,] Jinn agreed. Settling back against
the pillows, he closed his eyes. [Tell me about it,] he urged.
[Last I knew, Anakin was still insisting it was impossible to
choose an apprentice.]
Brought up short, Han winced. "It's... I mean, there's nothing
to tell, really," he said quickly. "I don't know why. He said
he saw potential in me." The words still felt like the basest
of lies on his tongue, but it was the only answer he could
think to give.
Jinn didn't look up, but Han could almost feel the Master's
gaze on him all the same. [You're late to be chosen,] Jinn
commented, then continued before Han could stammer a reply.
[Obi-Wan was two weeks to his thirteenth birthday before I
chose him.]
Han blinked. "That's close to cutting," he said hesitantly.
[Closer than you might think. He had already been assigned to
AgriCorps. We met at his stationed post.] Jinn was watching him
now, the blue eyes barely slit open, regarding him from beneath
lowered lashes.
Han felt his mouth fall open but couldn't help the reaction.
"General Kenobi was assigned to AgriCorp?" he gasped.
Jinn smiled gently and shook his head slightly. [I would have
thought the story would have made the rounds with each new
class.]
"Well, they don't tell that part of it," Han admitted. "He was
really assigned to AgriCorps? Why?"
[Temper,] Jinn replied. [He was quite a handful as a child. As
we are under orders that I am not to get up, could I trouble
you for a cup of tea?] He gestured back to the worktable and
the pot that rested there.
Han rose at once, going to the table and running his hands over
the sides of the pot. "It's not very warm," he warned, filling
one of the cups.
[That's fine,] Jinn assured him, turning slightly to reach for
the cup as Han returned with it. Han, having seen the color of
the tea and smelled it as he had poured, shook his head as he
watched Jinn drink down half the cup.
"Now I know where Anakin gets it from," he said, dropping back
into his seat.
Jinn glanced askance at him, then smiled, raising the cup in
silent salute. [It is stronger than they serve in the
dining hall... you'll find it an invaluable ally over late
night lessons, Padawan.]
Han refrained from saying that he would rather put his tongue
against the blade of a lightsaber - it would have much the same
effect. Instead, he surveyed the other man critically, noting
the faint tremble in the large hands as they raised the glass.
"Do the healers say you're getting better?" he asked bluntly.
Jinn glanced at him, a smile playing over his lips. [I can see
why Anakin liked you. You're very outspoken. And no, Han, I am
not getting better. Age isn't something the healers can cure.]
"I'm not talking about your age," Han corrected. "I'm talking
about the sound in your lungs. Can't they do something about
that?"
[Lung,] Jinn corrected, finishing the tea. [Singular. They've
done as much as they can.]
"Oh." Han knew very well that his speech tended to leap out
before he thought about it and was considered brash if not
outright ill mannered - he hoped he hadn't offended the Master.
"Were you injured during the Wars?"
[Before the Wars.] Jinn didn't seem inclined to say more and
Han, though he sometimes didn't seem it, did occasionally know
when not to press. [Tell me about yourself, Han Solo. What
classes do you enjoy?]
Han managed to bite his tongue before blurting out that he
didn't; making a bad impression on the elderly Master was the
last thing he needed. "Lightsaber," he said instead, grabbing
for the first class which had not bored him to numbness. "I
really enjoyed putting it together. And piloting." Now that, at
least, was something he could claim honest pride in. "I'm a
good pilot."
Master Jinn nodded thoughtfully. [Obi-Wan was a fair pilot at
your age. And Anakin... Anakin was a marvel. He raced pods.]
"Human's don't podrace," Han protested before he could reign
the words back.
It earned him a smile. [No, they don't. But Anakin did. I saw
him win the Boonta Race on Tatooine.]
Han shook his head stubbornly. "General Kenobi let his Padawan
enter a podrace?"
[They hadn't even met yet.] By the glint in those blue eyes,
Jinn was enjoying the leaps Han was having to make. [Anakin was
nine. He had lived his entire life on Tatooine, and already
entered in several races.]
Han blew out an inaudible sigh, raking another hand over his
aching head. "Oh," he said, and then left it at that.
A large hand reached out, knuckles brushing his knee lightly.
Han looked up, meeting the Master's understanding gaze. [It
does seem like something of a legacy to live up to, doesn't it?
A member of the Council, a General, the youngest and most
unusual Padawan ever accepted...]
Han couldn't suppress a laugh, though the sound held little
humor. "And me. This has got to be a joke. It really does."
[Why?] Jinn asked simply. [Anakin is rarely wrong. If he saw
potential in you, Padawan, then it is there.]
Han bit his tongue furiously but the words would not be stilled
from spilling forth. "No, it isn't. Anakin found me in a bar
playing sabacc. Cheating at sabacc. I don't have
potential, I'm not whatever he thinks I am." It was insanity,
but it also, he decided breathlessly, felt terribly good to
simply say the words. To admit the truth before this elderly
Master, who surely held enough sway with the other two to force
Anakin to denounce him.
Jinn remained silent for a few moments, considering. [Sabacc is
a difficult game to cheat at,] he said at last, no disapproval
touching his mental tone.
Han stared. When nothing else was offered for several more long
moments he finally swallowed. "That's all you're going to say?"
he asked, incredulous. "I mean... that's all?"
Jinn shrugged slightly. [It's true. I've had occasion to do it
once or twice. To cheat effectively you need to not only hold
your cards still against the randomizer, but make their faces
the best hand while making sure that you do not hold a card
that can be found in the hand of any of your opponents. It
isn't easy.]
Han dropped his head into his hands. "I don't believe this," he
muttered, the laugh rising in his throat. It burst forth
slowly, a trickle at a time that he did his best to swallow
down, chuckling.
[Oh, it's quite true,] Jinn assured him, amusement coloring his
mental tone. [You've fallen in with a terrible lot. Obi-Wan is
the only respectable one among us.]
The laugh burst forth in earnest, making Han gasp for breath.
"More Qui-Gon's apprentice than Obi-Wan's, you are," he quoted
between the laughter, shaking his head. "Master Yoda... Master
Yoda said that to Master Anakin."
A soft chuckle escaped the Master. [Did he? I am...
disappointed. But hardly surprised. I'm afraid it's true.
Obi-Wan did try his best, it's no fault of his.]
Han got the laughter under control, wiping his flushed face.
"You're not what I thought a Master would be," he admitted.
Jinn raised one silver brow. [We all must be what the Force
guides us to. A Master is still an individual.]
The boy nodded slowly. "I thought I was going to be a pilot.
Ship out as help on some cargo runner. Now... I don't know."
[Listen to what the Force tells you,] Jinn said, the mental
voice subdued. [Listen, not with your mind, but with your
heart. The living Force surrounds us, penetrates us. It
is us. We have only to open ourselves to listen to it.]
Han had heard the words a hundred times in lessons but they
seemed to gather new meaning spoken within his mind in that
deep, resonating voice. He found himself nodding reluctantly.
"I'll try," he agreed. "I don't..." But no, the words died in
his throat. It seemed wrong to continually point out the flaw
in Skywalker's reasoning, when the man was trying to give Han a
chance. "I'll try," he repeated, firmly.
Jinn nodded, the touch of his pleased emotion warming Han from
the inside out. When the door hissed open Han nearly flinched,
jarred by the sudden sound. Kenobi entered first, Anakin on his
heels. The expression on the Master's face told Han that he
firmly expected to find his orders disobeyed and was pleasantly
startled to find Jinn where he had left him.
[Well?] Jinn's mental voice had a touch of impatient bite to it
but Kenobi didn't immediately answer, crossing to sit on the
edge of the couch and reaching to take the older Master's face
between his hands. The General brushed a kiss across Jinn's
forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture for the man, before
sitting back. They exchanged a look and Han half heard the echo
of a soft rushing sound, as though something had passed by
distantly that he had not quite caught. Jinn's brows rose and
he glanced at Anakin, but nothing was voiced.
Han glanced at his Master as well, half rising from his seat.
Anakin nodded, beckoning him, and Han rose to join him.
"Tomorrow, then?" Anakin said aloud, as though continuing a
conversation that Han had not been partial to.
Kenobi nodded. "Of course." Jinn made a half articulate sound
aloud and the General fixed him with another stern look.
"You... I might allow you up tomorrow. If you rest today."
With a stubborn look, the older Master sunk back into the
pillows of the couch. [I am resting. Good day, Anakin. Good
day, Han.]
Anakin smiled, nodding. "Good day, Master Qui-Gon, Master
Obi-Wan. Until later." Han hastily mumbled a farewell also,
bowing and trailing after his Master. It was at the door that
he paused, glancing back. Jinn's gaze caught his and Han
swallowed. He didn't have the ability, he knew it, but he
couldn't help thinking the words, hoping that his expression
alone could convey them. /...thank you, master jinn.../
Jinn smiled, nodding slightly. Han returned the smile, then
ducked out of the door, hurrying to catch up with Anakin, who
was waiting for him by the main door of the suite. "Well?" the
Knight inquired, looking amused.
Han thought over the responses he could give. Jinn was right,
Skywalker did seem to like his brasher statements. Whatever he
had talked to the General about had relaxed the Knight some,
but the shadow of a frown still touched his brow. It had, Han
was fairly certain, nothing to do with himself. Taking a
chance, Han let himself grin slightly. "Yoda was right," he
said. "You're Qui-Gon's apprentice, not Obi-Wan's." He jerked
his head back towards the room they had come from. "Did you
know he cheats at sabacc?"
Anakin stared for a moment before the grin swept across his
expression, accompanied by a laugh. Han smiled as well,
pleased. Skywalker laughing was a much better thing then
Skywalker with the pensive frown. Gesturing him out the door,
Anakin lead them down the corridor, still chuckling. "He told
you that, did he?" the Knight asked. "Well, where do you think
I learned it from?"
Han nodded. There were, he decided, quite a few worse
situations to be in than Padawan to Knight Skywalker. "You'll
have to teach me," he prompted, grinning.
Anakin shook his head, his hand reassuringly warm on Han's
shoulder. "Oh no, Padawan. Not until you're much older. Right
now..." He paused, considering. "Right now, there are several
hours until mid-day. And I would like to see how much of the
forms you know. Can you find your way back to our quarters?" At
Han's hesitant nod, Anakin smiled. "Alright, then. Go get your
lightsaber. Meet me down at the training halls."
Hours of collecting new bruises on top of old and having what
was left of his hair singed. Han groaned, but went obediently
to try to backtrack their steps to the Knight's quarters and
collect his lightsaber. At least, if they were practicing, then
Anakin couldn't very well find anyone else to introduce him to.
And compared to lessons on the Code and history, it wasn't a
bad way to spend a morning. No, there were definitely worse
things then being Master Anakin's Padawan.
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