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Standard procedure: locate the Force-sensitive child, remove them from their home environment, and deliver them to the Jedi Temple. Only it’s not as simple as that.
Children do not want to leave their families and parents do not want to give them up.
The younger they are, the easier it is for the child; they do not understand they are leaving their families, likely forever.
It is never any easier for the parents. Despite what people say, the Jedi are not unfeeling. They allow parents to say goodbye to their children, to take one last look before they are spirited away and brought up in the ways of the Force.
It is no different as Master Morrit Ch’gally watches mother and father tearfully bid farewell to their son. Another young boy plays in a grassy field, unaware his brother is leaving him.
With the boy’s hand in his, Morrit bows and bestows the customary blessing, “May the Force be with you.”
They leave Stewjon and set a course for Coruscant. And as he often does on the return journey, Morrit wonders what the boy’s life might have been. He imagines trials and triumphs, victories and failures of an ordinary life.
But Obi-Wan Kenobi is not destined for common things or the house on the ridge.
The Force claims him as its own and it will guide him throughout his life.
----------
His foot itches.
Really itches.
Obi-Wan wants to unfold his legs and scratch it, but Master Yoda will surely notice he’s not concentrating. He scrunches nose and tries to ignore it.
Somewhere in the room there is a faint buzz. His head involuntarily cocks in its direction, listening.
The sound disappears. Straightening his neck, Obi-Wan redoubles his efforts at meditation.
The itch comes back.
That’s it.
Obi-Wan hazards a peek from behind his closed eyes. Around him, the other younglings meditate peacefully. He wishes he could give it the same level concentration for even half a second, but his mind just won’t focus today – or any other day.
Luckily, the master doesn’t seem to be paying the students any heed, deep in his own mediation.
Daring a little movement, Obi-Wan uncrosses his legs and scratches his foot. It would be easier if his boot wasn’t in the way, but it’s a relief anyway.
There’s a soft chuckle from the front of the room. Master Yoda smirks at him knowingly.
Indignantly, Obi-Wan refolds his legs and closes his eyes.
“All that will be, for today. Like to speak with you, I would, young Obi-Wan.”
Some of the younger students snicker as he passes by; it’s tempting, but he resists the urge to sneer back at them. (Who do they think they’re better than anyway?)
He bows to the little green creature, “Master?”
“Distracted you appear.”
“I was having trouble focusing.”
Master Yoda hums and nods in agreement. The Grand Master has always seemed peculiar to Obi-Wan. A great ally of the Force, no doubt, but he is odd in ways Obi-Wan cannot understand.
“Impatient you are.”
His tone takes on more edge than it should, “No, I’m just having an off day.”
“How old are you, Obi-Wan?”
“Nearly thirteen.” His brow knits in frustration. He’s been stuck in these training rooms for two years. (What good is more mediation going to do him?) If he doesn’t have a master soon, he’ll be dismissed.
Master Yoda considers Obi-Wan keenly, “No patience have you. Too eager you are to begin your padawan training –”
“But, Master Yoda, I only have a few months before it’s too late become a padawan learner!”
“Not yet ready are you, young Obi-Wan.”
His whole body reels. Blood boils and nostrils flare, but eyes water and heart breaks too. (How could he not be ready?)
He can’t have spent his whole life training to be sent away now. But the reality of the last two years is that no master’s considered him. And now the Grand Master’s as good as told him he’ll never be a padawan leaner.
Obi-Wan will never be a Jedi knight.
----------
His performance is poor in the next youngling match. No master picks him, nor does he want them to. He’s had it with the Order, with their absurd rules, and their limiting protocols.
Why should he care anymore? They don’t. Obi-Wan still seethes from the realization they’ll let him go without a second glance. But past the initial shock, all that’s left is bitter resentment.
All his life, he’s been told the Force chooses its followers for a reason; he even considered himself lucky to be chosen, but Obi-Wan doubts the purpose in stranding younglings before they can prove themselves worthy.
“What troubles you, young padawan?”
Obi-Wan flinches violently.
“I’m not a padawan.”
“My mistake,” the approaching Jedi apologizes. His face shows traces of curiosity.
Years of recognizing the authority of knighted Jedi kick in, “That’s the problem. I haven’t found a master.”
“You must give it time; have patience.”
“But I don’t have time to be patient! I turn thirteen in a few months!”
“And so you’ve given up?”
“What’s the point?”
The Jedi raises an eyebrow at him, “The point is you still have a few months. You are too easily discouraged.”
Obi-Wan raises his eyes to meet the man’s; he cannot read them. “Would you teach me?”
“I do not train padawans.”
“Oh.”
“You will find a master,” the Jedi assures him.
He doesn’t say as much, but Obi-Wan doesn’t hold onto hope. Even asking a Jedi knight point blank hadn’t yielded any better results. He doesn’t feel so lucky anymore.
Obi-Wan is left alone to sulk.
----------
Yoda summons him to the youngling matches. Qui-Gon goes, though he is wary. He suspects the Grand Master will attempt to get him to take on a second apprentice, but he will not be responsible for another padawan’s downfall.
“You wished to speak with me, master?”
“What think you do of these younglings?”
“Master Yoda, I have no intention of taking on another apprentice.”
“Suspect me of ulterior motives you do. Hmm? Fear not. Only for your opinion I ask.”
Qui-Gon regards him suspiciously then looks out over the matches.
He observes them with more than his eyes. Boys and girls of all species display their skills in combat, hoping to be chosen by a master. Many are too young, only just out of the training rooms. They may be eager, but they are ill at ease, scared to begin the next phase. Those who do not fear, have little humility.
“They are no Jedi.”
“No. Not yet. Teach them we must, if they are to become emissaries of the Force. Wonder I do, if they have a stronger connection to the Force than we. One which cannot be taught.”
All the philosophizing in the galaxy will not make these children Jedi, untrained connection or not. Training opens them up to the Force, makes them receptive to its will, but it also makes them vulnerable. Best they display as little fear and as much humility as possible before they become padawan learners.
He realizes the Grand Master’s true purpose in summoning him.
Quietly, “Master Yoda, Xanatos was my failing. I could not prevent him from going to the Dark Side because I did not see he wasn’t ready.”
“A tragedy his fall was, your failing it was not.”
“We will have to continue to disagree on that matter.”
He turns to leave, but Yoda bids him to stay and watch, “Much to learn from youth there is.”
So Qui-Gon stays. He walks the perimeter of the room, watching the younglings as they use the fundamentals of the Force. He recalls learning the basics and looking back, he understands how they are the root of all else.
A match in the corner catches his eye. A human boy and a tholothian girl duel, well-matched.
Qui-Gon recognizes the boy. He was angry before; traces still linger. It is buried, but it fuels his action.
“That’s enough.”
His order is too late to stop the boy’s practice blade from hitting the girl in the arm.
“Ow!”
“I’m so sorry, Stass! I didn’t mean to…” His voice trails off catching sight of Qui-Gon. He bows respectfully, but not without some bitterness from when they last spoke.
To the girl, “Are you hurt?”
“No, master. It just stings a little.”
“Go and have it seen to.” To the boy, “I would like a word with you.”
They leave the room together through a side door into an empty chamber, usually reserved for masters who prefer meditation to watching younglings duel.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Stubbornly, “I’m trying to find a master.”
“It does not matter how little time you have left, you do not engage in combat unless you have a clear mind. Is that understood? You could have seriously injured your partner.”
“You’re the one who told me I was too easily discouraged! And what about you?”
Realizing he’s said too much, the boy hides his face from view.
“What about me?”
Regaining some of his impetuousness, the boy looks up at him, unblinking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overhear you and Master Yoda, but your padawan went to the Dark Side and now you won’t take another.”
Qui-Gon stares back. Could he be so blinded by his failure? He barely trusts himself – trusts the Force anymore.
“You know nothing about it.”
The boy’s head bows, defiance stripped away, “No, I don’t. And I know you don’t train padawans, but please. I’m not an ideal student, but I’m willing to learn, if you’re willing to teach.”
It is not the desperation in the boy’s voice which moves Qui-Gon. It is his sincerity and his humility, if not in his words, then in his demeanor. Qui-Gon was unaware a boy of his disposition could posses such capacity.
“I made a vow.”
The boy’s shoulders drop.
“But a vow, under the right circumstances, can be renounced. I would like a night to think on the matter.”
His spirit lifts and his face brightens, “Thank you, Master…”
“Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” he bows, formally introducing himself.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the boy bows back.
Qui-Gon nods to Obi-Wan and then settles onto the floor to begin meditation.
“Master Jinn?”
Opening his eyes, “Yes?”
“Would you mind if I joined you?”
Qui-Gon smiles and the youngling takes a seat next to him. He meditates the whole night, Obi-Wan beside him, but he doesn’t need it. In that moment, he decides to take Obi-Wan on as his padawan.
They both have much to learn from each other.
----------
Various objects rise into the air: a bedroll, their lantern, some supplies, a few rocks. Obi-Wan holds them there, completely relaxed.
“Good. Now try one hand.”
Hesitantly, the boy slips one out from beneath him. He wavers; the floating objects do not. His arm stops shaking as it adjusts to the new weight on it, and holds.
Qui-Gon is satisfied, “Well done.”
The items are placed gently on the ground. Obi-Wan comes down from the handstand and unceremoniously leans back against a fallen tree, exhaling in relief.
“You need to practice those breathing techniques. The exercise will be easier when you are able to reach out with the Force and control your breath simultaneously. You have the same trouble when you duel.”
“I know, master. I just can’t get the hang of it. Always breathing in when I should be breathing out. Breathing out when I should be breathing in.”
Qui-Gon gestures for Obi-Wan to take a seat beside him, “I had a similar problem when I was training. My master told me I was thinking about it too hard.”
“I can barely think about it at all, trying to focus on holding things in the air or where my opponent’s next strike is coming from.”
“Exactly. You are thinking about it too hard.”
Obi-Wan cocks his head inquisitively.
“What does the Force feel like when you reach out to it?”
His padawan closes his eyes, feeling its power surround him. Qui-Gon feels it too; stronger than even before Xanatos; more like with Master Dooku, but that too, is not the same as this.
“It feels like a heartbeat.”
Qui-Gon nods, “The Force has a pulse, the same as you and I. It is just as alive. Breathing is a natural part of life; our bodies do not need us to consciously command it to pump air to our lungs or blood through our veins.
“Your body should unconsciously match the heartbeat of the Force.”
“So, I have to stop thinking about it?”
“Not entirely; you must allow yourself to be controlled as much as you control the Force.”
Obi-Wan stares into the lantern; the light casts a strange shadow over his face. For a moment, the profile is not Obi-Wan, but Xanatos. Qui-Gon’s stomach churns.
Despite assurances from the Force, Qui-Gon first and always errs on the side of caution with his padawan. Even with occasional lip, he is a deft learner. He is more at peace with himself under Qui-Gon’s tutelage than when they met or than Xanatos ever was.
The shade of his former apprentice fades and the yellow-orange hues highlight everything which is wholly Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon feels a quiet peace within himself too. He did not realize how much he longed to teach, to share in the wisdom of the Force. It surprises him how much insight Obi-Wan has to offer as well.
Their bond differs so greatly from that of his connection to Xanatos. He is more protective of this boy. It is dangerous, but Qui-Gon has grown fond of his student, allowed himself more than a strict master-apprentice association.
He fears if this one falls, there will be nothing to prevent him from falling just as fast.
----------
Obi-Wan does not consider himself lucky, not anymore, though many people tell him he is.
It was not luck which brought him to Qui-Gon or Qui-Gon to him. It was not luck which convinced Qui-Gon to make him his apprentice. And it is not luck which binds them together.
It is the Force (and always will be).
Whatever is not the work of the Force is the work of people; the more he sees of the galaxy, the more encouraging a sentiment it becomes.
When they go to Galidraan there is ruin: the work of people. But there is also hope: the work and strength of people. Now that he and Qui-Gon are here the Force will help shield them.
They are here to deal with pirates; the destruction happened long ago. The locals tell of a great war in their system. The Jedi saved and protected them then too. One name in particular, lives in everyone’s memory: Dooku.
If Obi-Wan knew Master Qui-Gon any less, he might have missed the tension in the air when the name was first mentioned. It does not happen again.
Later, Obi-Wan cannot contain his curiosity, “Who is Master Dooku? Do you know him?”
His master does not respond immediately. Obi-Wan worries he may have overstepped some unspoken boundary between them, like any mention of Master Qui-Gon’s previous student.
But he does answer, “I was his padawan learner.”
Surprise registers; Master Qui-Gon has only mentioned training with his own master once or twice. It occurs to Obi-Wan there may be a reason for his muteness on the subject.
“What happened to him?”
“He left the Jedi Order.” It seems as if that will be the end of it, but then Master Qui-Gon continues, “I was his last student. He left the Order after I was made master, but his faith must have been waning long before. It is not a decision anyone makes lightly.”
Obi-Wan can’t imagine ever leaving. He was so afraid of it when he was younger; it still frightens him some.
“What did he do after he left?”
“He serves in the senate, having reclaimed his family title.”
From the experience he has, Obi-Wan knows the severance must have hurt his master more than he lets on. The devastation would be too great for Obi-Wan to bear if Master Qui-Gon did the same to him, though he knows it never will.
His master is sometimes shaken, but is never thrown by anything. Obi-Wan relies on his stability and his serene exterior. He admires and aspires to it. In its own way, it’s also a comfort to him.
When no one else would look twice at him as a youngling, there was Qui-Gon. Luck did not – could not have – brought them together. It was the Force and nothing will ever convince Obi-Wan otherwise.
----------
“The duchess is not keen on your coming, nor does the system look kindly on the Jedi Order, but Mandalore’s ruling council has deemed it a necessary precaution.”
Master Mundi has been prepping them for hours. While Obi-Wan feels like he’s curbed his proclivity for impatience, there’s only so many times they need to be reminded the duchess is a pacifist.
It’s a tricky situation, but they will be there to protect her. Surely she can’t object to that.
He doesn’t immediately notice when they are released from their meeting.
Outside, Master Qui-Gon asks, “Are you alright, Obi-Wan? You seem unfocused – distracted.”
“I’m fine. I was lost in my head for just a moment.”
“You’re sure you’re ready for this mission? A year is a long time to be on an assignment, even for someone of my standing and rank.”
“I’m ready.”
Master Qui-Gon smiles and nods, “I trust you are.”
They board a transport not directly bound for Mandalore; it is difficult to gain access to the war-torn system. But it affords Obi-Wan the time he needs to concentrate on the task at hand.
He’s been on guard duty before, it is a simple matter of adjusting to the subject’s routine and learning how best not to interfere or get in the way of their work. Only this mission isn’t exactly like standard guard duty; they’ll be on the run and in hiding. They’ll be expected to keep pace (more like waiting for others to catch up) and stay inconspicuous.
It may be a long mission, it may be a difficult mission, there may be limited contact with the outside, but it is a mission, same as any other.
The landing on Mandalore is turbulent. Obi-Wan tries to steady himself, as the shuttle docks in the nondescript hangar bay of their agreed-upon rendezvous point.
He raises his arm to shield eyes from the sun when the hatch opens. As he lowers it, the figures before them are shadows in the daylight.
He doesn’t know which of them is the duchess.