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In all of Obi-Wan’s thirteen years of life, he had never once been to a genuine party, let alone one that was for celebrating a birthday. Jedi typically didn’t celebrate birthdays by having parties. At most, they might share a meal with their closest friends, and then set aside time for quiet solitary meditation. The only birthday where a gift was expected occured when someone turned thirteen, or to such an equivalent age. The only other cause for celebration was during a knighting, or often when the title of Master was bestowed.
Obi-Wan was a long way out from either of those things happening to him. Right now, for instance, he wasn’t even considered a true padawan. He was on probation for his rash decision of staying behind on Melida/Daan to fight alongside the Young. Presently, under an undisclosed amount of time, he would be unable to accompany his master on any missions, and he would remain under the watchful eye of the Council.
Taking all of this into account, Obi-Wan had a very good reason to feel a bit overwhelmed when he and his master were escorted into Lady Bkki’s grand palace by one of the doormen waiting by the entrance.
Lady Bkki was without a doubt one of the wealthiest citizens of Coruscant. She had no problem flaunting this fact either, whether it was by occasionally donating a generous amount of her money to charity, or hosting a grand soirée in honor of her seventy-third birthday. In this particular case, it was the latter of the two situations.
Lady Bkki was the type of magnate who wanted everybody to attend her gatherings, whether they were businessmen, politicians, royalty, or even Jedi. That, of course, was where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan came in this evening.
Obi-Wan was still a little confused as to why he was allowed at this party in the first place, considering his current circumstances. When he had brought up his concerns to Qui-Gon, his master had merely chucked.
“Don’t think of this as a mission,” Qui-Gon had told him. “Think of it as training in diplomacy. The party will be filled with all sorts of interesting characters, many whom you might deal with in the future. Do not fret, Padawan, the Council is aware that you will be accompanying me.”
While Obi-Wan might have felt a little more relieved at the fact that he had permission to be there, he still felt out of place as they entered the large ballroom. He tried to take it all in, observing everything he could while weaving through the crowded room at his master’s side.
The room was filled with two things: food and people. Dozens of tables were lined up against the walls, and servers walked through the crowd holding platters filled with additional fare. There was also a group of musicians playing instrumental music. It was light and cheery, matching the overall atmosphere of the party.
“I hope you’ve brought your appetite with you,” was the first thing that Qui-Gon said to Obi-Wan once they had entered the room.
“There’s so much food,” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but verbalize his astonishment. It looked like enough to feed a small city. Would it really all be eaten tonight?
“There is,” Qui-Gon agreed, amused. Then, his voice lowered: “And I think you’ll find that most of it will be eaten right up. Nobles of the Republic are often bottomless pits of both greed and hunger. Be on the lookout, Padawan.”
Obi-Wan blinked, and then realized that his master was teasing him. This was a new concept, but a promising one. Only a few short weeks ago, Obi-Wan had expected never to see his Master again, let alone be teased by him. But now here they were, guests of a noblewoman’s birthday party in search of something to eat.
“Is there anything here with Hoi-broth?” Qui-Gon asked the server manning one of the entree tables. “My padawan is allergic to it.”
Obi-Wan hadn’t given his allergy the slightest thought this evening. He had never really needed to before; Hoi was rarely served at the temple, and certainly not on Melida/Daan. But there was so much food here, so Obi-Wan realized it made perfect sense that he might have to be wary. He would have to remember that when attending other such parties in the future - if something like this ever happened again.
He was also unaware that his master had even known about his allergy. That meant he must have read Obi-Wan’s medical file at some point. It made Obi-Wan feel oddly touched, knowing he had done so. Obi-Wan still hadn’t been Qui-Gon’s padawan for very long, and the whole beginning had been rather rough.
“Not at this table,” the server replied kindly. “Although there are several seafood hors d’oeuvres on the table closest to the main entrance that I would advise him to avoid.”
Qui-Gon thanked him, and together he and Obi-Wan sampled some of the tasty offerings. For the next hour or so, they made their rounds around the large ballroom. It seemed that Jedi were popular guests at parties, as people seemed determined to speak with Qui-Gon whether he knew them or not. Most were high ranking nobles and government officials, all of them decked out in their best attire. Obi-Wan felt lucky to be able to wear his simple robes and tunic. All of their outfits looked terribly uncomfortable; One woman had her hair pinned so tightly that she couldn’t even smile without wincing in pain.
Obi-Wan followed his master diligently, bowing politely to guest after guest, and listening with rapt attention to the conversations taking place, even if a lot of it went over his head. He was signed up for a course centered around diplomacy, though it was a shame that classes didn’t start for another week. He would have been able to put the learned knowledge to good use here.
He tried to remember the names of everyone they had met so far, but it was difficult. There was Fagin Feboose, a renowned fashion designer whose face was flushed bright red from overindulging in photon fizzles. There was Mr. Bri, a Mon Calamari entrepreneur, and his wife Mrs. Bri, who looked very cross whenever her husband eyed - well, anyone. There was the ever so cheerful Senator Greps of Tepasi, and the retired Admiral Jonnte of Alderaan’s defence forces as well.
Observing the way that Qui-Gon interacted with the other guests fascinated Obi-Wan. His master wasn’t exactly the type who seemed to enjoy large gatherings in general, yet he was easily able to win people over with his warm words and rapt attention. It was no wonder why Qui-Gon was considered such a renowned diplomat. It made Obi-Wan even more grateful that he was here with his master, and not hurt, starving, and so very exhausted while fighting for his life on Melida/Daan.
“Ah, Master Jedi! How good to see you!”
Senator Mort of Coruscant had spotted them. On his arm was the party host herself, Lady Bkki, who was adorned in a plethora of ruffles and ribbons. The makeup smeared across her face contrasted severely with her blue Chagrian skin.
Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon’s lead, both of them bowing to her.
“I am simply delighted that the Jedi Temple received my party invitation!” Lady Bkki exclaimed, her eyes fluttering. “It is wonderful to see you again, Qui-Gon, and as a Master! And now you have a darling little student of your own!”
Obi-Wan didn’t appreciate being called ‘darling’ or ‘little,’ but he kept his face composed to an expression of polite interest. His chin did raise a fraction higher, hoping to look more mature.
Meanwhile, Qui-Gon smiled. “Yes, it has been quite a long time, hasn’t it?”
The beginning of the conversation had piqued Obi-Wan’s interest. He didn’t know much about his master’s past. Qui-Gon hadn’t mentioned the fact that he had met Lady Bkki before either.
Unfortunately, Lady Bkki turned the conversation over to other, less interesting topics. Such topics included her attire (and how long the seamstress had worked on it), how this party differed from last year’s, and the various improvements she intended to make on her next party. It seemed to drag on longer than any of their other conversations.
Try as he might, Obi-Wan began to feel distracted. He was finding it difficult, for instance, to ignore the table closest to them, which was laden with an assortment of confectionery. Sweet pies, honey-glazed fruits, triple decker cakes, and candies of all sizes and colors covered every inch of the table. There was even a fountain of melted chocolate acting as a centerpiece.
The padawan watched out of the corner of his eye as two children who looked close to his own age ran to the table and began piling dessert after dessert onto their plates. Not a single person scolded them for taking so much food.
Much to Obi-Wan’s embarrassment, Lady Bkki noticed his attention on the sweets.
“Come now, don’t tell me you’ve been keeping your boy from the dessert table!” She exclaimed to Qui-Gon, her colorful eyes twinkling.
Obi-Wan’s face burned. As a padawan, it was his job to shadow his master and learn all that he could. As boring as this sort of talk may be, engagement was a very important skill for a Jedi to know when it came to diplomacy. He was at this party to learn, not to indulge. He wanted his master to know how serious he was about being a padawan.
Qui-Gon, however, seemed to agree with Lady Bkki.
“Listen to our host, Obi-Wan,” he said, tweaking Obi-Wan’s short braid indulgently. “Find yourself something sweet. This is a party, after all.”
“Yes Master,” he said, face still burning. He pretended not to hear the amused chuckles as he turned around and headed toward the desserts. Besides, so long as Qui-Gon didn’t seem to mind, he supposed treating himself to some dessert was better than listening to Lady Bkki prattle on about each piece of party decor and what planet it was imported from.
When he reached the dessert table, all embarrassment faded into the background as his attention shifted focus. After carefully surveying his options, Obi-Wan politely took only one of the small muja sweet pies. The ridges of the crust were sprinkled with sugar, and perfectly cooked muja leaked from the center. It looked positively mouthwatering.
Out of nowhere, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Great stars! Don’t tell me that’s the only dessert you’re going to try.”
It only took a moment for Obi-Wan to recognize who was speaking to him. It was Tie Greps, the human senator from Tepasi who had been conversing with Qui-Gon earlier. He had been praising the Jedi for some negotiations he had aided Tepasi in, which had taken place not long before Obi-Wan had become his apprentice.
“Hello Senator,” Obi-Wan greeted the jovial man. “It’s nice to see you again.”
The senator plucked a glob of light blue from the table and held it out to him. “Might I recommend the Tepasi taffy? It’s from my own homeworld, and very tasty!”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, accepting the offer.
“Tell me, are you enjoying the party?” the senator asked him.
“Yes, Senator,” Obi-Wan replied politely. “I’m learning a lot.”
“That’s good to hear,” Greps smiled fondly at him. Then, he leaned in a bit closer and whispered, “You must agree with me, though, that the party guests are rather dull! There’s hardly any dancing, or laughing.”
“True,” agreed Obi-Wan. “Though I haven’t been to many parties before.”
“We host a ball on Tepasi that is much more fun than this,” Senator Greps said. “It’s put on annually, and all of the profits are donated to charity. It’s to benefit sickly and hungry children. Naturally, many of the guests are on the younger side, and of common ranking, which is undoubtedly what makes it so much fun.”
“That sounds like something I would enjoy,” Obi-Wan said, grinning. The party on Coruscant was mostly full of adults, and the few children in attendance were spoiled and arrogant.
The senator squeezed his shoulder.
“You ought to come to the next one!” He said. “You can stay at my mannor and be my personal guest. Tell me, are the Jedi granted vacation time?”
“Sometimes,” Obi-Wan said, his lips twitching. “But usually not to padawans.”
“Perhaps your master would let you!”
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said, though only to humor the man. He had no plans on asking for a vacation anytime soon, or probably ever. He wanted to live his life actively as a Jedi, and so that was what he would do. Besides, probation wasn’t even close to ‘vacation,’ but it was helping him realize how useless he felt when forced to be inactive.
“Take the air with me?” Senator Greps suddenly asked. “It’s unbearably stuffy in here, and I’d quite like to chat some more with you. You shine like a glowbug compared to the rest of these dried up, snob-heads!”
“Well,” Obi-Wan bit his lip, looking back into the crowd. He couldn’t see Qui-Gon in the nearby crowd anywhere, and felt like he should find him soon. However, he could hardly reject the senator’s request without coming across as rude. “Alright.”
“Excellent, excellent! Come, this way.”
Obi-Wan followed the overexcited senator toward an open hallway behind the dessert table. There were two guards at the entryway, but they allowed them through without protest. The rest of the hallway looked mostly abandoned, save for a droid polishing one of the darkened windows.
He had to admit that it was a little strange for a man such as Senator Greps to actively seek out his company, but seeing how the other guests had been overly interested in speaking to Qui-Gon tonight, Obi-Wan supposed that Greps was probably more interested in his ranking, rather than his personality.
“Tell me, Obi-Wan, how old are you?” Senator Greps asked.
“Thirteen,” Obi-Wan said.
“Thirteen! Why, I would have guessed you were older than that. You seem like such a mature young man. Practically a knight already!”
The flattery felt artificial and out of place, but Obi-Wan managed to smile and thank the man. He wondered why the senator would go to such great lengths to get on his good side. Did he want to use Obi-Wan as a means to get through to his master? Obi-Wan thought that the negotiations for Tepsi had gone well, so it seemed rather strange for the senator to need further favor from the Jedi. Besides, he should know that the Jedi didn’t need favors or bribes; their role was to serve and keep the peace.
By now, they had gone quite a distance down the hallway, far away from the ballroom. The senator tugged on one of the unlocked doors, heading into a room that was void of any light, aside from the dim, artificial flames coming from a candle holder mounted above the door. It was devoid of anything special, save for a few deactivated droids lined up against one wall.
“There,” said the senator. “This ought to give us some breathing room.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, though he had begun to wonder whether or not his master would be looking for him by now. Qui-Gon hadn’t said that Obi-Wan needed to come straight back, but then again, a padawan normally stayed by his master’s side - it was one of those things that went without saying.
“Your hair is such a unique shade of auburn,” Senator Greps said suddenly, curling a lock of it between his fingers. Obi-Wan stiffened, then, because the move had been unexpected and quite frankly made him feel a little uncomfortable.
“Um- thank you.” Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say, suddenly feeling very awkward and even a little anxious. He wanted to step back and make up an excuse to get back to the party, but he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Senator Greps had asked for his company, and he might find it rude for Obi-Wan to leave him already. Obi-Wan was still quite new to the arts of diplomacy, but he knew that offending a senator could cause a great deal of trouble.
A cold hand cupped his cheek.
“Here now, there’s no need to be shy, is there?” The senator chided. “I was only giving you a compliment.”
Obi-Wan swallowed. “Yes Senator,” he said stiffly.
“Very good,” Senator Greps smiled once more. He left Obi-Wan’s hair alone, but he didn’t lower his hand. “You’re well on your way to maturing into a very handsome young man. You’ll make someone very lucky, I’m sure.”
It was here that Obi-Wan realized something was wrong. Greps should have removed his hand by now, but it lingered upon his face, cupping his chin and tracing a thumb over his cheekbone. That wasn’t right; they barely knew one another. Obi-Wan doubted it was a cultural thing, seeing as the senator had kept his hands to himself when chatting with Qui-Gon.
It quickly became too much. The senator was too close, and Obi-Wan was beginning to panic. He tried to imagine what his master might do if he was in a similar situation, but his mind drew a blank. This was an important political figure, but everything about him felt wrong. His words, his touches, his very aura; it was starting to feel very unsettling, and it grew worse with every moment.
By now the Force was bloated with contempt. What could Obi-Wan do, though? If he were to somehow misjudge the situation and offend the senator, he would be in a lot of trouble. Even worse, he might disappoint his master. Qui-Gon was finally starting to trust him again, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing that trust once more.
Obi-Wan had to do something though. He should have tried to use his words and talk his way out of this, but his lips seemed frozen. It hurt to admit it, but he was frightened of the senator and his hands...hands that were now beginning to graze lower, to places where they didn’t belong . It was wrong, and Obi-Wan knew it, yet he was still paralized with fear.
‘Please,’ he called out inside of his mind, to the Force, to Qui-Gon, to anyone. ‘Please help me. I don’t know what I should do.’
“Senator, please…”
“Hush,” Greps said. “There’s no need to make such a fuss. We’ll leave in a minute, go back to the dessert table and get you the biggest piece of cake we can find. Hmm? How does that sound?”
The senator shushed Obi-Wan again when an awful, small noise of distress had escaped his mouth. Amidst his terror, Obi-Wan realized that he didn’t sound anything like the brave, well-trained padawan that he should have been during this situation.
At the next moment, however, Obi-Wan was exempt from having to make any decisions on his own. There was a subtle hiss, and suddenly the dim room was glowing a bright green.
“Get away from him. Now.”
The senator’s hand snapped back from Obi-Wan as though he had burned himself, and he stumbled two steps backward.
Qui-Gon looked terrifying. His eyes were more fierce than Obi-Wan had ever seen them before; a dark furious blue, cascaded by the light of his ignited saber. Behind him were the two guards from the end of the hallway, and also Senator Mort.
It took only the barest part of a second for Obi-Wan to realize what was happening, and he felt shaky relief wash over him. Qui-Gon had found him. His master was here now.
“Master Jedi!” Senator Greps gasped. “It’s not- not as you think…”
“It is exactly as I think,” Qui-Gon said, his voice as hard as durasteel. His lightsaber was still held firmly in his grip as he looked at Obi-Wan. “Come here, Padawan.”
Obi-Wan felt as though his legs had turned into jelly, but somehow he managed to cross the room and go to his master. Once he reached him, Qui-Gon put a large hand on his shoulder and drew him closer, so that he was tucked against his side.
The move caught Obi-Wan off guard, but he was relieved to be standing so close to his master and not the senator anymore.
As soon as Obi-Wan was out of the way, the guards moved in on Greps. “Don’t move, Senator Greps. In the name of the Republic, you are under arrest for attempted assault on a minor.”
Obi-Wan’s face grew very hot, and his throat felt closed up. He was struggling with a lot of different emotions at once, and it became increasingly hard to maintain his composure as a Jedi should. He still felt large amounts of humiliation and fear, even though he was no longer in any danger.
Senator Greps let out a loud bellow, but he allowed the guards to slide binders onto his wrists.
Qui-Gon led Obi-Wan from the room by his shoulders.
“I am sorry Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured to him, not looking nearly as frightening as he had several moments ago. “I felt that there was something wrong through our bond, but I couldn’t find you right away. To my luck, someone had seen you being led away by that pathetic excuse of a lifeform, and I was able to- well, I am glad that I was not a moment more late than I already was.”
Qui-Gon was rambling, which was something Obi-Wan had never seen him do before. It would have been amusing, had he still not felt so shaken up.
“Yes Master,” he mumbled. He did not say anything else, because several more people were now coming down the hallway, and one of them was Lady Bkki herself.
“What in the galaxy has happened?” She questioned sharply, though her voice was low. No doubt she didn’t want anyone aware that something was interfering with her perfect party.
“Everything is alright, my Lady,” Qui-Gon said smoothly. “There was an incident with one of the visiting senators from Tepasi, but he has been subdued.”
Senator Mort was less diplomatic. “That man is a predator! Senator Greps was preying upon this boy.”
“Senator Greps,” Lady Bkki’s eyes widened in horror. “Why, he’s in charge of Tepasi’s children’s charity benefit each year. He was going to work with me to help organize a similar event on Coruscant. That’s why I invited him!”
There was outrage among the small group at the realization that a predator had been working so closely with children. Naturally, a full investigation of his activities would have to take place, both on his homeworld as well as Coruscant.
“Could you tell us a little more, son?” Senator Mort asked Obi-Wan. “What did he say to lure you away from the party?”
Senator Mort’s question was a reasonable one, so Obi-Wan didn’t understand why his mouth stayed clamped shut. He wasn’t usually shy or uncomfortable around people, but this was different. He was not playing the helpful Jedi right now. Instead, he was the victim, the naive child who had stood there helpless and frozen while Senator Greps almost-
The very thought of it made him swallow heavily again. Obi-Wan had been through many difficult ordeals. The Bandomeer slave mines, Melida/Daan, Telos...things that would reasonably give anyone nightmares. But for some reason, this felt particularly awful, in a way different from everything else.
He shuddered, unable to help himself. Qui-Gon was instantly there to steady him, his lips pursed tight with disapprovement. He was probably confused and irritated as to why Obi-Wan could not speak of what happened right now. A Jedi was supposed to be calm, poised, and level-headed, even in the most troubling of situations. He would probably get a very stern lecture later, when they were alone.
“There’s no need for him to speak of it, if he doesn’t want to,” Lady Bkki said, looking too tenderly at Obi-Wan after a period of uncomfortable silence. “Senator Greps took him into the room where my cleaning droids are stored, and they have built in recorders.”
“What luck! I will have the evidence extracted and stored immediately,” Senator Mort told them. “It will aid us greatly during the trial. My guards are transporting Greps to Coruscant’s closest holding-jail as we speak.”
“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, still gripping Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I would like to bring my padawan back to the temple now.”
“Of course. I will arrange for one of my drivers to fly you back at once.” Lady Bkki said, and then showed Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan into a private room to wait for a driver to come and take them back to the temple.
Finally, it was just Obi-Wan and his master.
Obi-Wan stood anxiously by the window, his arms tightly folded into the sleeves of his cloak. He could feel Qui-Gon’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes right now - not after he had blundered so severely in his lack of action against Greps.
He had given the Jedi a bad reputation tonight, and shuddered at what the Council might do to him once they found out. In fact, Obi-Wan became so caught up in his impending judgement from the Council that he began to breathe too rapidly. His chest pounded, and he felt lightheaded.
“...Breathe,” Qui-Gon instructed, suddenly in front of him. “Obi-Wan, follow my breathing pattern. In...and out.”
They both took deep, measuring breaths for a while, until Obi-Wan’s head wasn’t spinning any longer. Still, the lump had yet to leave his throat.
He bowed his head remorsefully. “I’m sorry, Master.”
Qui-Gon’s hands cupped his face. They were warm, calloused, and good - these hands would never harm him.
“Whatever are you sorry for?” Qui-Gon asked, looking deeply into his eyes. He seemed to be searching for something, though Obi-Wan didn’t know what.
He blinked through wet lashes. “I froze, Master. I knew something was wrong, when I followed him into that room. The Force felt - off. I knew that, but I still didn’t do anything.”
Qui-Gon seemed severely dismayed. “Obi-Wan, this was in no way your fault. Senator Greps is a vile, immoral being. I only wish that you had not been exposed to such darkness so early in your life.”
“But Master, I froze up,” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but repeat. “He was going to- he was- I felt like I couldn’t move.”
“You were not expecting it. Greps abused his position of power over you. It is a lesson that many Jedi learn eventually, but usually never so young, or through such dark intentions. When I conversed with Greps earlier, I did not sense his malicious intentions either.”
“The Council…” Obi-Wan wiped his eyes.
“The Council will be grateful that we’ve apprehended a predator,” Qui-Gon told him. “This was not a mission, Obi-Wan. You will not need to speak to the Council about this. This falls under Coruscant’s law enforcement. As we know, they already have enough evidence.”
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said.
“Come here,” Qui-Gon held out his arms, tucking Obi-Wan closely to his side once more. “There is no need to be ashamed or guilty. You’ve done nothing wrong, Padawan.”
“Master,” Obi-Wan swallowed, burrowing into Qui-Gon’s soft robes. “Thank you for finding me.”
“And thank you for calling me,” Qui-Gon responded.
Obi-Wan pulled away to look at him. “You heard me, Master? Truly?”
“Truly,” said Qui-Gon, smiling. “It’s a testament to how much our bond is strengthening.”
Before Obi-Wan could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Lady Bkki’s driver was here to take them back to the temple now. It was quite relieving to Obi-Wan, who was very much done with parties for the night.
“Let’s go,” Qui-Gon said. “We will meditate together once we get back to our chambers. There is still much to process from this evening, but I want you to understand how very proud I am of you, Padawan. We will get through this together.”
‘This’ being much more than just the party. It included Melida/Daan, Bruck and Xanatos’ deaths, the beginning of a long and distressing probation...
There was indeed much to get through. However, Qui-Gon’s reassurances left Obi-Wan feeling very safe for the time being as he was led out to an awaiting hovercraft, shielded under his master’s warm cloak and guiding hands.
Yes, they would get through this, together as Master and Padawan.