Chapter Text
Obi-Wan has been back home in the temple, and conscious, for a solid week now. Ben has been back home in the temple for the first time in twenty years. They’ve moved into their shared apartment and unsurprisingly – to Ben, that is - their habits aligned well and there hasn’t been any sign of growing pains in their living situation.
After Ben’s long tea with Yoda, he decided that it was time to resume Obi-Wan’s training, his lightsaber training at least. So, in accordance with the Battlemaster’s requirements, Ben blocked out a couple hours a day in one of the training rooms for their practice.
It seemed there was indeed a difference between training in a sewer or in a field on Melida/Daan, and training in a clean organized environment like the Temple Salle. Obi-Wan’s dueling strategy was a lot more restrained, the struggle he put into conforming to temple standard technique made his movements clumsy and hesitant. It was a vast difference to what he’d been growing into on Melida/Daan. Ben was both unsurprised and frustrated with the backslide.
Obi-Wan was at the moment trying to attack him in a strict Ataru method. This would also be the third time Ben had literally smacked Obi-Wan out of an aerial flip sending him slamming into the floor. The boy landed with a whoosh of air escaping his lungs and stayed on his back trying to catch his breath as frustration and embarrassment wafted off him into the Force.
“Alright,” Ben said as he frowned down at his padawan, “I do believe you are better than this, Obi-Wan.”
Biting his lip, Obi-Wan blinked rapidly and sat up, stumbling to his feet he ignited his saber again. “Apologies, Master. I’ll do better. Let’s go again.”
“No.” Ben sheathed his blade and clipped it to his belt in answer.
Shoulders slumping, Obi-Wan’s breath hitched and he furiously worked on sharing his anxiety and insecurity with the Force. “Please, Master. I will do better in the future, I swear.”
“Calm down, young one,” Ben stepped forward and gently tugged on the boy’s padawan braid ribbons. “I’m not angry with you,” he assured him. “I’m just concerned. You were making steady improvement when we trained before. What has changed?”
Eyes pinned on the floor between their feet, Obi-Wan shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean, Master.”
Raising an eyebrow at the blatant deflection, Ben ducked his head till Obi-Wan finally met his gaze. “Padawan, what is going through your mind?”
There was a long moment of reluctant silence then Obi-Wan finally opened his mouth. “We’re not on Melida/Daan anymore, Master. We’re at the temple. Using more than one form in a duel at a time is discouraged. I don’t want the other masters to look down on your training if they see me duel the way we usually do.”
“Ah,” Ben tipped his head in understanding. “I see.” And unfortunately he did see. Obi-Wan had been the subject of disapproval and censure for any perceived short comings or differences. While they were away from the stern eyes of the other Jedi Masters, he felt comfortable giving his ingenuity and adaptability free reign. Now that they were back in the temple, Obi-Wan was afraid he’d bring the masters’ censure down on Ben along with him if he displayed his unorthodox fighting style.
“Let’s sit, Obi-Wan. I think we need to discuss this.” He ushered the boy toward the bench against the far wall of the training room.
They sat and Ben waited for Obi-Wan to take a drink from his water bottle before he began. “First, I want to say that I understand why you would think that way.” He met the boy’s tentative gaze and continued, “You’re absolutely right that the standard lightsaber training for initiates heavily discourages improvisation and adaptation. But what I don’t think you’ve considered is that a padawan’s training is entirely up to the discretion of their master.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in realization and a little bit of hope. “So, the other masters won’t say anything if we spar like we used to?”
“Unless the padawan is being endangered somehow not a single master will protest or scold you for fighting however you wish.” Whether they confront Ben privately or not is a different story, but he wasn’t going to let Obi-Wan worry about that. Seeing the boy’s burgeoning smile, he concluded, “And if any master tries to scold you for it I give you permission to tell them to go kriff themselves.”
The boy burst out in a scandalized laugh and Ben grinned in accomplishment. He stood up and held out a hand for his much happier padawan. “Now, come along, padawan mine. I noticed one of the outdoor sparring rings is free. Let’s go give those stodgy old masters something to cluck about.”
Flushed face creasing in a suddenly eager grin, Obi-Wan grabbed his master’s hand and jumped to his feet following him out of the training room.
They made the short walk to the outdoor sparring field in companionable, grinning silence. The master amused as the padawan practically skipped along next to him, the boy’s perpetual teenage energy and eagerness restored with his master’s reassurance.
When they stepped into the unoccupied ring, there were two other sparring matches happening in the field, and a few beings were meandering by going to and from somewhere. Ben and Obi-Wan took very little notice of them as they each took a side of the chalked-out rectangular sparring ring.
Double checking the settings on their sabers, Ben and Obi-Wan saluted to each other and fell into ready stances. Obi-Wan in a Djem So position and Ben in his favored Soresu. There was a long moment of anticipation then the padawan’s impatience finally won out and he lunged with a backhanded upward swipe of his saber at the master.
Ben blocked and deflected the move with a flick of his wrist. Obi-Wan having expected that was prepared and used the momentum from Ben’s deflection to spin around and come at his master from the other side.
Back and forth they went, trading off blocks and thrusts and parries and the occasional, much more sensibly timed aerial flip. Neither of them realized that they’d acquired an audience until Ben had Obi-Wan stuck with their blades in a lock.
Their first observers were the other sparring pairs having paused in their own matches when they took note that the padawan was using mix of Shii-Cho and Djem So to counter the master’s impenetrable Soresu. Then several knights on their way to the training rooms themselves stopped in their journey as the master performed a dizzying sideways spin parallel to the ground to avoid the padawan’s sharp Makashi attack. A group of younglings, a mix of padawans and initiates, appeared just as the padawan switched on a beat from Shii-Cho to Soresu effectively countering the master’s abrupt Ataru dive.
Many of them had never seen anything so chaotic or frenetic before. The observers watched the spectacle with a mix of awe and disapproval. Many of the knights and younglings were fascinated, while at least half the older masters were scandalized, the other half were watching the spar with deep contemplation.
Though it was a dazzling display, most everyone assumed the master would win the match when he caught the padawan in a standoff with their blue blades locked together. They would be wrong.
Obi-Wan had been so intent on his spar with his master that he didn’t notice all the attention on them. At least not until he got himself out of the blade lock by punching his master in the face.
The audience’s startlingly loud gasp of shock distracted Obi-Wan long enough to realize his master hadn’t been kidding when he suggested they put on a show for the stodgy masters, and for Ben to kick him in the chest sending him tumbling backward. It took him by surprise and he was just able to flip and land in an unsteady crouch. When he came to a stop his blade in a defensive Soresu position, Obi-Wan’s eyes darted around at the unsettlingly large audience gathered along the edges of the outdoor training field.
“Mind on your opponent!” Ben scolded his padawan as he lunged at him in a powerful attack.
Jerking back to focus, Obi-Wan only barely blocked the blows. “Yes, Master.”
“Adapt, Padawan,” Ben ordered as he brutally pushed the teen back with blow after blow. “Use your environment.”
They were in an empty training field, Obi-Wan thought frantically as he was forced to twist his upper body to avoid his master’s blade, but not the elbow to his chin. Just as he was about ready to accept his quick and harsh defeat a shout from the crowd caught his attention.
“Get him, Obes!”
Turning his head a fraction, Obi-Wan keeping a tight Soresu defense against his master’s frightening attacks, he spotted him. There in a group of their friends at the very front of the watching crowd was Quinlan. Grinning widely and cheering him on with his satchel full of class datapads hanging from his shoulder.
There was a startled yelp as Quinlan’s bag was suddenly yanked from his shoulder by the Force. Ben spun away from his attacks on Obi-Wan to slice through the bulky object flying at his back. The pieces of datapads and smoldering satchel hadn’t even hit the ground when Ben continued the spin, his blade completing it’s downward swipe toward Obi-Wan’s side.
The padawan blocked that blow, and the next four, but it was the fifth that finally caught him. Their match ended with Ben slipping through Obi-Wan’s guard, his plasma blade poised under the boy’s armpit ready to take off his arm and sever the artery under it in the process.
There was silence for a long moment before padawan and master switched their blades off, straightened from their fighting stances, and bowed to each other.
Though it wasn’t strictly acceptable, the younglings and younger knights all burst into applause. Obi-Wan’s face went bright red even above the high flush of exertion already present.
“Very good match, Padawan,” Ben praised his shyly blushing student with a proud smile. “You need to improve your unpredictability and your environmental awareness, but it’s clear you’ve been taking my lessons to heart.”
“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan replied with a pleased grin. “I will think about how I can improve for our next training session tomorrow.”
Ben didn’t get a chance to reply because his young padawan was then mobbed by a cluster of other teens.
“That was kriffing awesome, Obi-Wan!” Quinlan shouted as he grabbed Obi-Wan by the shoulders and shook him in excitement. “Where the hell did you learn that!”
“Oh, Obi-Wan, you were amazing!” Bant gushed even as her friend struggled against Quinlan’s enthusiasm.
“I couldn’t keep up with the forms you were using, Obi-Wan,” Luminara cut in looking equal parts impressed and disgruntled. “I’ve never seen anyone switch between so many in such a short match.”
“You’re crazy, Obi-Wan,” Reeft, finally over his stomach flu, was shaking his head in awed disbelief. “Crazy awesome, but still crazy.”
Finally extracting himself from Quinlan’s grasp, Obi-Wan huffed and rolled his eyes. “Thanks, you guys, but it wasn’t that good. My Makashi was sloppy, and my Djem So is not nearly as powerful as it should be.”
His friends stared at him incredulously for a second before Bant punched him in the arm.
“Ow! Hey!” Obi-Wan pouted at her, rubbing his arm.
“Some of us are still working on the basic katas much less effectively using all the forms at once in a sparring match,” she said with a scowl at him. “So I don’t want to hear any of that self-deprecating nonsense.”
Blowing out a breath, Obi-Wan knew there was no arguing with Bant so he conceded. “Okay, Bant, no more nonsense.”
She sniffed at him, but he could see the mirth glinting in her large eyes. “You’re forgiven.”
“Man, your master doesn’t mess around,” Quinlan’s voice caught Obi-Wan’s attention and looked over to see his friend whistling at the state of his belongings, no longer smoldering but still very much destroyed.
Guilt rising up in him, Obi-Wan grimaced. “I’m really sorry about your stuff, Quin. I wasn’t really thinking past needing a distraction for Master Ben.” He crouched down and began helping Quinlan collect the bits and pieces of his things. “I’ll replace your stuff.”
“Don’t sweat it, Obi,” Quinlan waved a hand dismissively. “The destruction was totally worth it for seeing that epic sparring match.”
“Still,” Obi-Wan persisted standing up and handing off the last chunks of the datapads so his friend could dump them in the large pockets on his outer robe. “You’re going to need those for class.”
“What? You don’t think Master Tholme will let it slide if I tell him they were sacrificed in the noble pursuit of my best friend’s lightsaber training?”
Luminara gave him a flat look. “I doubt it.”
“Worth a shot though, no?” Quinlan flashed a wide toothy grin and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head at his friends.
Ben having decided to give Obi-Wan time with his friends, easily spotted Yoda and Mace Windu as they stepped out of the dispersing spectators and made their way toward him.
“Good afternoon, Masters,” he greeted easily, not bothering to bow since they were out under the sun and not in the formal Council Chambers.
“That was an interesting display,” Mace Windu commented with an unreadable look on his face.
“Chaotic, it was,” Yoda observed, though he didn’t sound disapproving. “Confusing and unpredictable.”
“That was the point,” Ben replied plainly.
Mace studied the time traveler before voicing the realization he’d come to by the end of the match. “You’ve fought many different lightsaber wielders before. And I mean life or death fighting, not just sparring.”
Ben didn’t bother denying it. “I fought a double-bladed lightstaff wielding Sith Apprentice when I was twenty-five. Then in the last five or so years before the Republic fell I fought a four armed cyborg, a dual wielding Sith Acolyte, a lightstaff wielding Nightbrother, a Sith with mechanical claw-footed legs, a Jedi Master turned Sith Apprentice, and a jet-pack wearing Mandalorian wielding the Darksaber.”
He turned to meet Mace’s incredulously stare. “I learned to adapt and improvise real quick. I outlived all of them by at least a decade and still had possession of all my original limbs when I died.”
There was a pebbly chuckle in the vicinity of his knees. Glancing down he saw Yoda was looking up at him with a twinkle in his eyes. “Greatest teacher, experience is. Perhaps, overabundance of experience, you have. Forget, did you, that your life, Obi-Wan will not lead?”
Ben raised a pointed eyebrow. “I was always told that the point of being a teacher was to impart your wisdom upon your student so that they could make their own mistakes and not repeat yours.”
“But isn’t training a fourteen year old in such an unorthodox method of fighting a little overkill,” Mace argued, mostly curious to hear Ben’s response. “You said it yourself, you were much older when you faced these threats.”
Meeting his old friend’s challenging gaze with a dark sort of amusement, Ben shrugged. “There’s an old saying on Tatooine,” he responded. “A slave of many skills is perfect in none, but often more valuable than a slave of one1.”
Scowling at that, Mace retorted, “So you don’t see the value in training Obi-Wan to master one form?”
“I didn’t say that,” Ben contradicted lightly. “There is great value in mastering a single form. But the ability to be adaptable is what kept me and numerous other Jedi alive in those last few years.”
“See the value, you do.” Yoda hummed, a prompting sound. “But allow Obi-Wan to specialize, you will?”
“There’s another saying from Tatooine I’ve heard, mainly from the indomitable moisture farmers,” Ben said by way of answer, a smirk curling at his lips. “Never half-ass two things, whole-ass one thing2.”
Mace stared at the man with a deadpan unimpressed expression. “And what exactly does that mean for Obi-Wan’s training.”
“It means, Mace, that I don’t intend to half-ass Obi-Wan’s training by neglecting his ability to improvise by solely focusing on a single form. Or half-ass it by neglecting the stability having the solid foundation of mastering a single form would give him. I fully intend to whole-ass his training and teach him both.”
Yoda broke out into a round of high pitched giggles while Mace just let out the most long-suffering, done-with-this-shit sigh.
Ben grinned, pleased with himself. Around the training field, passing masters and knights were eyeing them curiously, bewildered by the sight of the Master of the Order pinching the bridge of his nose seemingly in defeat while the Grand Master of the Order leaned heavily on his gimer stick cackling like a giddy youngling.
“Eager to see, I am,” Yoda exclaimed between hehehes and hohohos, “how you will whole-ass this.”
Smiling widely, Ben bowed to the still giggling master. “You’re more than welcome to observe whenever you like, Master Yoda.”
Mace threw up his hands and stomped off. He knew the time traveler would be a pain the ass and a headache and a half. Though, he had to admit, he was no longer sure it wouldn’t all be worth it in the end or at least interesting along the way.
*
END... TBC...