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Luke was now finally alone in his clan’s dorms.
At 15, Alid had finally been chosen. Master Beq had chosen xe to be his padawan only a week ago, marking Luke as the last of their clan to be an initiate.
It wasn’t uncommon for padawans not to be chosen until they were 16, but it still stung a bit, Luke thought. Master Windu had taken Leia as his padawan when she was 13 standard. She had been young, but nowhere near as young as their father.
So now Luke was sitting in the empty dorm, brooding. Well maybe not brooding, more sulking than anything else. He had really hoped that Master Kenobi would select him as his padawan, but the Master had recently taken on his second apprentice, a young Jawa girl named Nogak Qaro. She was sweet. Almost never stopped talking and jumped into every lesson with all of her enthusiasm. But it still hurt that Master Obi-Wan hadn’t even considered him.
Luke was so entrenched in his thoughts of his future that he didn’t realize someone else was in the room with him until he was whacked in the shin with a wooden gimer stick.
“Oww!” He yelped, almost kicking Master Yoda in the head by accident. “What was that for?”
The diminutive Master hummed at him. “Sulking you are. No good will that do.” He beckoned for Luke to follow him as he moved from the room with surprising speed given his centuries of age. “Follow me you will.”
Luke jumped out of the bunk he was lounging in, quickly throwing on his robe that had been laying under him. He jogged to keep up with the Grandmaster. “Where are we going tonjaieh ,”
“Patience you must have padib Luke.” Master Yoda said. Luke huffed. He only ever got called Initiate Luke, his sister was always referred to as Initiate Skywalker-Amidala and even though she was now Padawan Skywalker-Amidala, he still was only called Luke.
He walked beside Master Yoda, who was humming to himself under his breath. They walked through the marble halls of the Temple stopping at the huge, wooden doors leading to The Room of a Thousand Fountains. Master Yoda pushed the doors open using the Force, a puff of sweet smelling air escaping the largest greenhouse on Coruscant as the door swung open.
“Mushrooms know where to find them do you?” Master Yoda asked, entering the Room, expecting Luke to follow behind him.
A little confused by the question as Master Yoda had lived in the Temple longer than any living Jedi, Luke answered. “In dark places, near the water?”
Master Yoda raised one of his eyebrows. “A question that is?”
“Mushrooms grow in dark and damp places.” Luke said, more confidently than before.
Yoda nodded and set off into a thicket of trees (Luke thought they were native to Kashyyyk) that was off the gravel path of the gardens.
Luke could barely see in the low light, the Force the only thing stopping him from tripping over the rotting logs of huge trees that must have fallen centuries ago.
Master Yoda stopped him and pointed with his gimer stick at a crop of mushblooms, solidifying Luke’s assumption that the trees around him were from Kashyyyk. “Delicacies mushblooms are considered. But poisonous they are when not mature.”
“Are these mature?” Luke asked hesitantly, watching Yoda sniff at the mushblooms.
“For me they are, for others they are not.” Yoda said, picking a mushbloom and eating it. “Farther we must go to find mature mushblooms.”
Luke trudged farther into the damp clump of tree, feeling as though it went on forever, while Master Yoda seemed to never tire, stopping occasionally to examine a plant or eat a bug that had been crawling on a tree.
They stopped at another cluster of mushrooms, bigger than the last, half of Master Yoda’s height. “Mature these are.” Master Yoda said. “Yes, use these we will.” He pulled out a small burlap sack from his robes and handed it to Luke. He gently cut the mushblooms, leaving two or three inches left and covering it with soft soil and damp leaves. “Rip out the roots of a tree when picking jogan fruit you would not.” He said, not looking back from his task, only turning around to place as mushbloom in the burlap sack in Luke's hands. “Leave them to grow back we must. Selfish it would be to take them all and not allow them to grow back.”
Master Yoda straightened, dusting his hands off on his robes. “Carry me you must.” He said, climbing his way onto Luke’s back. “Tired I have become and old I now am.” Luke rolled his eyes, which got him a swat at the back of his head. “Show respect for your elder you must. Trained Jedi for 8 centuries I have.”
“Yes, Jaieh Yoda.” Luke said, walking out of the clump of trees that had seemed endless only a minute ago. “Where are we going?”
“To the kitchens we must go.” He said, clinging to Luke’s robes.
As they walked through the Temple Halls, no one gave them a second look. Yoda hanging off someone’s back like a Tooka kit wasn’t uncommon. They arrived at the largest kitchen in the Temple, with each Temple apartment for knights and Masters having a small kitchenette and there being several smaller kitchens meant for Jedi whose species had sensitive diets or couldn’t breathe the atmosphere on Coruscant.
The main Temple kitchen was always full of people and droids. Younglings washed the dishes in the huge, industrial sinks, flinging water and soup at each other as their Crechemaster or an older initiate watched on, making sure their mischief never got out of hand. Young padawans and older initiates folded dumplings or stirred soups, sometimes with elderly Masters helping them. The older padawans and some knights made most of the food in the Refectory. While many Masters and knights ate in their rooms, the Refectory was always there. Mission weary knights and sleep deprived padawans studying for their next exam or writing an essay that was due the next day would gather there, sitting at the low tables and laughing with their friends.
The two walked through the kitchen, Yoda greeting everyone by name. Luke didn’t see any of his old Clanmates. He knew that Leia was on a diplomatic mission on Alderaan, the Senator Bail Organa mentoring her in politics.
The Jedi were much more careful of letting padawans around senators after the Chancellor turned out to be a Sith Lord. Luke’s father had been under the man’s influence since he was nine standard, the Council unable to refuse him.
Luke had heard stories about how little power the Jedi had had prior to the end of the Clone Wars. They still had little power in the Senate, but now they had much more independence over internal affairs and choosing where they would go or what they would do. It had been sixteen standard years and Luke still saw knights and Masters effected by the war they had fought in.
Yoda jumping down to the floor drew him from his thoughts. “Mushblooms we have brought. Show the younglings how to cook with them tomorrow I will.” Master Yoda said, taking the burlap sack from Luke and handing it to one of the older padawans. “Cold these must be kept.” Master Yoda hobbled out of the room with the youngling talking excitedly. The padawan that had been given the mushblooms gave Luke a confused look, but Luke just shrugged and followed Master Yoda out of the kitchen.
“To my quarters we must go.” Master Yoda said, leaning on his gimer stick. Luke was excited. He had been in different Master’s quarters and the older the Master was, the more interesting the rooms were.
When they entered Master Yoda’s quarter, Luke was not disappointed.
Everything was built to accommodate someone of Yoda’s size but could also be used by an average sized sentient. The dining table was low, like that of the ones in the Refectory, with seven stools, all different sizes and materials around it. The table was very old, with a few initials carved into it (MW and YD standing out the most) obviously done by young padawans decades before.
Art covered the walls, some beautiful pieces done by obviously professional artists and some crayon drawings from Temple younglings. He recognized a drawing he had done at five, hanging proudly next to a Wookiee painting of a flower.
Every shelf seemed to be covered in gifts from all over the galaxy. A small clay figurine of a Krayt Dragon, Mandalorian Beskar'gam that seemed to be tailored to Yoda’s size (which surprised Luke, even though the Mandalorians and the Jedi were no longer mortal enemies, many Mando didn’t trust the Jedi and still viewed them, and any Force sensitive for that matter, as dangerous and untrustworthy. Which he thought was unfair since the Mandos were the ones who pillaged the Temple and stole Master Vizla’s saber. He remembered when Mandalore had given the Jedi back the saber when he was seven, and how the kyber inside seemed to scream), ceramic dishes from Cerea, old scrolls written in every language imaginable, and two Clone trooper helmets from the Coruscant guard, gifted to him at the end of the war.
Master Yoda puttered around the room, obviously searching for something, opening drawers and boxes, then shaking his head and putting back whatever he had in his hands. “Sit padawan.”
Luke sat awkwardly, worrying the old Master had finally lost it. “I’m not a Padawan yet, Jaieh .”
“Hmph.” Yoda continued searching, ignoring him. Luke sat at the low table, on a green and yellow low stool, his legs crossed under him in a position similar to that of a meditation pose. He ran his fingers through the longer strand of hair in front of his right ear. It was only an inch longer than the rest of his hair, as was custom for initiates to keep that section of hair, if they were able to grow hair at all, longer so they would be able to put in a Padawan braid when they were selected. After they became padawans, the braid wouldn’t be cut until they became knights, or if they left the order. If a Padawan was expelled from the order, then the braid would be ripped off (if they had silka beads like a Togruta) or cut off with a vibroblade, not a saber. That hadn’t happened in decades though, not since the Clone Wars, where Jedi were falling more than ever since the Sith-Jedi wars.
“Aha!” Yoda exclaimed, making Luke jump slightly. He walked over to Luke, one of his three clawed hands closed in a fist around something small. Luke couldn’t tell what, but Master Yoda carried it with reverence as though it was something holy.
“Master, what is it?” Luke asked.
“A padawan I have not had in many years.” He said, not answering Luke’s question. “A Master my last padawan now is.” He placed his hand over Luke’s eyes, urging him to close them. “Seen I have many of my padawans grow into Masters. Trained Jedi I have for almost eight centuries.” Luke felt the longer hair where his Padawan braid would go be tugged slightly, the strands of hair being gathered at the base of his skull with a band.
A yellow band , he thought, stomach lurching with nervousness and excitement. He wondered if this was how the rest of his Crechemates felt when they were chosen. He remembered how excited Rimia had been when she had been chosen by Knight Offee when she was 11, the first of their clan. He felt a bead being braided into his hair, most likely green, like Leia and Tobee with his black and green silka beads gifted to him by his Master, Knight Suduri. Rinninin was the only one of their clan to be given a black bead, training under Master Vos as a Shadow. Nalah and Claybra both received white beads, training to be healers, Nalah with Master Eerin and Claybra with Knight Khan.
“My Padawan you will be.” His Master said, finishing the Padawan braid, only about two inches long, and tucking it behind Luke’s ear. “My last Padawan you will be.” Luke opened his eyes and tugged on his braid, marveling in its existence. “ Tamah qa brok vaversi, ji enoah qa mikodail orhma bika ,”
“ Qahsreash, Jaieh .” Luke said, bowing to his new Master.
Master Yoda bowed back to him and said, “Proud and a little confused your father would be.”