Work Text:
Obi-Wan sat alone in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The grooves of a gnarled trunk rasped along his back as he shifted. The trunk’s base was thick as it left the ground, only to thin and spiral as it grew. Spindly branches protruded from the top and twisted in every direction. Meandering branches and moss-like leaves wove together to create a lush green dome.
To the outside observer, it looked like a solid mass of unkempt bush. The kind that the Crechemaster’s warned about. The, Don’t you go getting yourself another rash, Obi-Wan Kenobi, kind of bush.
But really, it was just a tree. And Obi-Wan has never been good at following directions.
Obi-Wan hugged his knees to his chest. He felt younger than thirteen, longing for his Crechemasters’ comfort. He wanted to be small again. It was acceptable back then, to be afraid. He wanted childish fears that could be soothed and a Master Vant to hold him tight. He wanted someone to sing to him, to recite some parable of the Force. Something he could cling to for comfort.
The rooms were all but silent.
A Jedi shouldn’t sulk, he reminded himself. A Jedi shouldn’t live in the past. His heart scoffed.
Blinking away tears, Obi-Wan crumbled a brittle leaf between his fingers. It splintered with a satisfying crunch, soft shards drifting to the dirt. He imagined Bruck felt a similar satisfaction in terrorizing him.
If Bruck were here- if he were still alive- he would surely delight in Obi-Wan’s misfortune. At last, after 13 years, Obi-Wan has finally proven himself a failure! The feast Bruck might have had, what with all the low-hanging fruit before him.
Oh, Bruck. Poor, foolish, cruel, scared Bruck.
As the Force would have it, it was Bruck and his ubiquitous shadow who first led Obi-Wan to this secret spot not three months ago.
_________
“You can’t run forever!” Twin voices jeered. Bruck and Aalto were hot on his trail. Obi-Wan felt their footsteps shaking the ground behind him, felt his lead shrink. The path grew rougher the farther he ran. Sparsely populated and farther from help.
In an act the Initiate would grow to regret, Obi-Wan turned his head to gauge his lead. He saw his pursuers but missed a thick root jutting from the ground. Obi-Wan’s boot caught, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Thankfully, the grassy floor cushioned his fall. He rolled onto his back, only to cry out when a heavy weight landed on his stomach.
“Of course Oafy-Wan tripped,” Bruck laughed, towering over his fellow Initiate. “What else would you expect?”
“I doubt any Knight will take him on,” Aalto said. “He’s useless.”
“I’m not useless,” Obi-Wan hissed. “You’re just jealous I beat you in front of Master Yoda.”
“You think I care?” Bruck pressed his foot down harder. Obi-Wan groaned. “Yoda only favors you because no one else will. He pities you, you know.”
“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said, feeling pressure grow behind his eyes. His lips trembled, but he let no tears fall.
Aalto kicked Obi-Wan just below his ribs. “Why do you stay here? You know no one wants you.” When the boy went for another strike, Obi-Wan caught his foot and sent him toppling into Bruck.
Seizing his chance, Obi-Wan jumped to his feet, narrowly avoiding the hands trying to pull him down. He was out of breath when he arrived back at the Initiate dorms. The Crechemaster gave him a disapproving once over, then left him to his own devices.
No one ever asked about the bruises, and he never said anything.
________
Obi-Wan stared at his bare wrists in the dim light, at the shadowed blemishes. If he looked, he knew he would find more under his robes. They were commonplace at one point, not too long ago. He remembers sleepless nights and ice packs, a shameful hope that Bruck was in a similar state after their fights.
Curious, Obi-Wan pressed down. It’s not like he expected pain, per se, but he expected something. Discomfort, maybe. Something to prove his memories were real, that they happened.
Yet, Obi-Wan felt nothing. His skin would revert to normal once he returned to the Temple’s artificial light.
Bruck would never return to normal. And that was Obi-Wan’s fault. For not stopping him as an Initiate. For letting things escalate. Allowing Xanatos to sink his claws in and manipulate Bruck’s fear. For not catching him on that ledge.
What would life look like if he had gotten help?
In a better world, there wouldn’t have been a reassignment to the Agricorps.
In a perfect world, Bruck would still be alive. Reformed, even.
The world was not perfect, and Bruck was gone, murdered at Obi-Wan’s hand. Bruck was right about one thing, Obi-Wan decided.
“I don’t belong here,” he whispered, recalling his first day back at the Temple, right after Telos.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes.
________
When he opened them, he was standing in the Refectory. Whispers of foolish optimism echoed around him. He stepped forward, and the hall went quiet. Eyes followed him, whether they belonged to a mistrustful Initiate or a betrayed Padawan.
No one ushered him over, so he sat alone. He couldn’t find Bant, Garen was off-planet, and Reeft was on a mission. Right. He was still Obi-Wan, only worse.
“They’ll get over it,” Obi-Wan told himself. A few bites of oatmeal sated his nonexistent hunger. He discarded the tray, and then headed off to class.
“Why are you here?” He was barely one foot into the lecture room when a creche mate scoffed at him like one would a pest. Her name was Marji, another friend of Bruck’s, though she had never spoken to him much before. What a treat.
Obi-Wan shrugged. “The Masters insist I need Calculus.”
She rolled her eyes. “I thought you left.”
“Well, I’m back,” he tried weakly. Marji’s eyes bore through him, staring right into his soul. He had to look away. The girl nodded as if he had just proven something to her, and she left him alone.
Eventually, he settled in the corner. Padawans slowly shuffled in over the next few minutes, speaking idly amongst themselves as they waited for their Instructor. Siri gave him a curt nod, but no one else acknowledged him. He was relieved; No attention was better than negative attention.
When class finally began, the seats around Obi-Wan were still empty. He tried to spin it positively, telling himself he would have an easier time focusing on the lesson. He watched with rapt attention, writing everything down.
“Who can explain how we arrived at this derivative?” The instructor asked. His was the only hand to shoot up. Finally, he could prove his worth.
“No one?” She made a show of looking around. “I’ll explain it again.”
Shame contorted his muscles and flushed his cheeks.
He didn’t raise his hand again. Even in other classes with other teachers, he stopped himself. A return to Bandomeer sounded better than that stinging rejection.
Every step was one rejection after another. Among the mass of Padawans, Obi-Wan was out of place. He just couldn't meld with them anymore. He was the one puzzle piece that refused to fit. Was he bent? From a different set?
In the quiet empty hallway, Obi-Wan looked at himself in the mirror-like glass. Really looked. He couldn’t recognize the boy he saw. His Jedi robes looked like a costume. As if he was pretending to be a Padawan. They fit him poorly now, too big for his thin frame.
It was strange.
Obi-Wan’s problem had always been that he grew too fast. His gangly limbs burnt through many of his clothes so fast that he irritated the Quartermaster. Yet, this was the same size as when he left. Did he shrink?
The boy knew he had lost some weight on Melidaan, but this... this was shocking.
Shaking his head, he stopped himself. Jedi were supposed to be luminous beings, uncaring about the aesthetics of their appearance. He had to hurry if he was going to make it to training with Master Qui-Gon.
Being late would hurt Obi-Wan more than anyone, squandering more of Qui-Gon’s already wasted time. He had to make the most of this opportunity and prove to his Master that he could learn.
They reserved a private Salle. He was relieved that Qui-Gon was his only audience. If he failed here, only Qui-Gon would see and could chastise him privately.
Obi-Wan glided through the basic cadences, expelling his tension through sweat. It felt good after such a long day.
“Finally!” he thought to himself. He was finally doing something right. He completed one, then turned to Qui-Gon, a shy smile plastered on his face.
Qui-gon stepped closer, reaching his hand forward, and Obi-Wan’s heart exploded with joy. His moment ended before it truly began, tainted with disappointment as Qui-Gon merely corrected his lightsaber grip.
“Keep yourself centered. You need a strong base, or your opponents will unbalance you.”
Obi-Wan drew his face into a line. He adjusted and repeated the drill until Qui-Gon called for him to stop.
“You’ll eventually learn how to integrate the different fighting styles into one.”
Their conversation felt stilted, but Qui-Gon looked pleased.
“You’re doing well,” Qui-Gon said, an afterthought.
Obi-Wan bristled at the praise.
Qui-Gon invited him to late meal, where they shared a table with Bant and Tahl. The Master’s Refectory was just like the Padawan one, only quieter. He could hear his companions’ voices better without the miscellaneous noise competing for his attention. It was nice.
Obi-Wan appreciated that Qui-Gon was trying to connect with him. Any sane person would have sent him away.
Obi-Wan paid extra attention as Tahl interacted with his childhood friend. Tahl was as compassionate as Bant was sweet. With their chemistry, an apprenticeship wasn’t a matter of if but when. Master Jinn seemed to think so, sharing a knowing look with Obi-Wan. Their partnership was inevitable.
“Have you heard from Reeft lately?” Obi-Wan asked, carving a spoonful of mush from his bowl.
“He’s on a diplomatic mission somewhere in the Mid-rim. He says it’s beautiful.”
“I hope there’s plenty of food, for his sake,” Obi-Wan joked, feeling like himself for once.
Bant giggled. “Most of the pictures he sent are of food. Here, let me show you,” she said. As she pulled out her datapad, Obi-Wan’s eyes wandered to the other end of the table, where Tahl and Qui-gon sat facing each other.
“-for a few weeks. Yoda thinks it’ll be good for me to-”
A flash of blue, and suddenly Obi-Wan had a datapad in his face.“Sorry, I got excited,” Bant said. “ But look!”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes playfully, taking the datapad. They watched together as he swiped through the album. It was mostly food, with the occasional skyline or sunset. He landed on a picture of the planet’s capital.
“I hope I get to see the galaxy one day,” Bant said dreamily.
“I hope so, too,” Obi-Wan whispered.
I hope you find a kinder galaxy, Obi-Wan didn’t say.
On the way out, Obi-Wan strayed as close as he could without upsetting the older man. “That was fun,” Obi-Wan said.
Qui-Gon hummed. “It was indeed. Though I’m afraid this won’t be a regular thing.”
“Oh.”
The two Jedi went silent as they walked back to Qui-Gon’s quarters. Obi-Wan struggled to meet his Master’s faster walking pace. One of Qui-Gon’s broad steps could cover the same distance as three of his.
Obi-Wan hoped his apprenticeship lasted long enough for his strides to grow. Until then, he was content in Qui-Gon’s shadow. Fewer people noticed him there.
The schedule included two more items: Meditation and sleep.
There was only one cushion in Qui-Gon’s quarters, but that was okay. Obi-Wan was fine without one. Qui-Gon never anticipated another Padawan, so why expect him to accommodate one?
The elder Jedi settled down immediately, effortlessly shutting out the world.
“Master?” Obi-Wan ventured.
“Hmm?”
“When will things feel normal?”
“In time, young one. You will soon realize that for a Jedi, there is no normal. You must take things as they happen.” Qui-Gon said sympathetically. “Use this time to reflect, and you’ll emerge stronger than ever.”
“As you say, Master.”
_____
Obi-Wan’s hand trailed to his bicep, wincing as his fingers landed on singed skin. Unlike with his wrist, he felt actual pain. The pain he probably deserved for betraying his fellow Jedi.
The pain in his arm was nothing, merely physical pain. A mere discomfort compared to the pressure within.
Day after day, the tension grew. It constricted around his chest, pinching his nostrils and clamping his mouth. It dragged him beneath murky water, even as he fought for air. He could barely breathe under the weight of it all, desperately kicking his legs to breach the surface.
Even his best fell short of enough.
_______
Grasping for some sort of lifeline, Obi-Wan dedicated himself to his studies. His days melded together. Eat. Sleep. Train. Repeat. The threat of repudiation trailed after him like a hungry loth-wolf.
Obi-Wan knew the stakes, but where was the finish line? He was running, running, running. He had no sense of direction other than to the vague prospect of Knighthood.
Nightmares drove him from his room in the early hours, herding him to the training mats. Or the archives. Whichever was emptier. Shaky and fearful, his first choice was typically the archives.
Arriving earlier than the Chief Librarian herself, Obi-Wan floated through rows upon rows of holobooks, taking his pick and tucking himself into a corner. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, combing through early diplomatic theory.
The glow of the datapad entranced the young Padawan, its eerie glow standing out in the darkness. Obi-Wan was halfway through his second essay when he heard a startled gasp above him.
“What in the galaxy are you doing?” Madame Nu breathed.
Obi-Wan blinked. “Reading, Madame Nu.”
“I can see that,” the older woman replied, placing her hands on her hips. “How long have you been here?”
Obi-Wan checked the time. Almost 5 in the morning. “About 30 standard minutes, Madame.”
Madame Nu raised a quizzical brow. “When is your deadline?”
“What deadline?”
“Most Padawans come in early because they forgot about a deadline. Knights, too.”
“Oh, I’m not working on anything in particular.”
“No?” Jocasta Nu asked.
Obi-Wan shrugged shyly. She stared at him thoughtfully a moment before nodding to herself. “Well, get me if you need help finding anything.”
“Yes, Madame,” he replied, burying himself back in his holobook.
The process repeated, ending with Jocasta Nu thoroughly desensitized to jumpscares. He smiled at her every morning, and then she left him to his holobooks.
First meal typically came as a hastily consumed ration bar. Not too hastily, because otherwise, he might expel it all over Madame Nu’s holobooks as he did once in the salle. Under no circumstances did he want to risk her ire. She was already livid at him for haunting her library.
At least, Obi-Wan thought she was. One can never tell with Madame Nu.
Master Drallig was easier to read, though just as difficult to please. Sometimes Obi-Wan would look at the aging Master and see an Elder, only to hate himself for it. Master Drallig was an honorable Jedi, not some hateful Melida or vindictive Daan.
Obi-Wan knew his skill was nothing compared to the other Padawans. He was behind and could only blame himself. So, he spent his midday meal in the salle, too.
The Padawan was already there when everyone else arrived, warmed up for Master Drallig’s instruction. He sent subtle glances in Master Drallig’s direction as time progressed, cautious of the older man for reasons he couldn’t quite place.
Obi-Wan braced every time the Battlemaster spoke, hoping no one else noticed. It was more challenging when the man addressed him.
“Excellent, Padawan Kenobi,” Master Drallig said. Was Master Drallig complimenting him? He finished the set and looked at the Master questioningly.
Master Drallig called the class to attention, requesting Obi-Wan demonstrate the “correct” way to run the drill.
Padawans sent resentful glances, but Obi-Wan pretended not to notice.
A dread coiled in Obi-Wan’s gut, wrapping his stomach and constricting his throat until he found it hard to breathe. He wasn’t that good. He watched the girl beside him, a young Togruta, perform seamlessly. If he remembered correctly, her name was Kalei.
“You’re very good at this,” Obi-Wan noted softly. She deserved to be an example, not him. “I can hardly get through it without falling.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I wasn’t-” Their Instructor cut her off.
“Alright, everyone. Pair up with the person next to you. We’ll do some open sparring before I dismiss you,” Master Drallig called.
Kalei wasn’t quick enough to pawn him off elsewhere. With irritation emanating from her tense form, she gave Obi-Wan a shallow bow. “Let’s get this over with.”
With that, she sprang at him, centering her attacks around agility. She was around his age, maybe a year older, and already very proficient in ataru. He had to keep his distance, using her reach against her. It was tricky, especially with her unpredictable leaps and feats of acrobatics.
Obi-Wan grinned, centering his grip. He could appreciate a challenge.
A sweep aimed at his legs, he jumped over it.
A swing at his shoulder, and he stepped back.
Obi-Wan waited until she overextended herself, choosing to redirect the strike and score a winning tap on her shoulder. Panting, Obi-Wan switched off his lightsaber. “Wonderful match.”
He must have said something wrong because she growled and bore her saber down on his arm. It singed his tunics and burnt his skin.
Obi-Wan hissed in pain, grabbing his injured arm. “Why’d you do that?”
In a formal duel, it would have been considered illegal. Worse, Kalei forgot to turn the lightsaber to its lowest setting in her haste. He peeled back his tunics to find angry red skin.
Kalei stared at the training saber in her shaking hand. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I don’t know.”
Kalei stared at him in a daze until her eyes fell on his wound. “Let me walk you to the healers,” she insisted.
“You don’t need to,” Obi-Wan mumbled, waving her off with his good arm. “It’ll be fine.” Obi-Wan left on his own, just as he did every day, with no intention of going to the Halls of Healing.
The hallways were empty, as most Jedi were down in the Refectory enjoying their late meal. Obi-Wan headed to his dorm in the opposite direction. He was in for a riveting evening filled with bacta cream, ration bars, and sleep.
Suddenly, he heard a voice. “Honestly, if I were Jinn, I wouldn’t have taken him back. He’s too unbalanced. He’ll end up killing someone.”
Obi-Wan froze. Knights never insulted him to his face, but the hallways were quiet. Sound carried. His eyes darted around the open room, landing on a pair of approaching Knights. Panicking, he dove behind a pillar.
“He already did. Did you hear what happened to Initiate Chun?”
“You know, I considered taking Kenobi on as my apprentice. I’m glad I dodged that blaster bolt.”
Obi-Wan could hear his heart pounding in his ears like a drum. Did the Knight say that just to hurt him? It felt like it.
“Really?” The other continued. “Why didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” the Knight laughed airily. “Yoda-”
Obi-Wan tried to listen to the answer, but his brain refused to process another word. Master Yoda stopped him? How many other Masters did Yoda scare away? Why would he do this?
The two Knights never saw him. They didn’t see him recoil, tears in his eyes. Tears he never let fall because wouldn't that be giving in to his emotions? The only family he ever had viewed him as a traitor, a mistake.
Worse, he agreed.
Obi-Wan stood in place long after the two Jedi were gone, staring dumbly at the cold marble until an unfamiliar Bothan asked if he was alright.
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan nodded, wondering if he would have gotten the same consideration if the Master knew his identity. He scampered away before the Bothan could find out.
On a whim, Obi-Wan made his way to the Room of a Thousand fountains. He cast out his senses, walking in the direction of the least people. Beautiful flowers and emerald trees surrounded him, but he paid little attention to them.
Hide. Obi-Wan needed to hide, but where? He dove into the thicket without a sense of direction, dragging his boots along the narrow path.
Grief clung to him like a thorn to skin. And prodding the wound only drove the pain deeper. He searched and searched, begged the Force because he deserved some part of his day to go right, but found nothing.
Scrutinizing the past months, Obi-Wan tried to place where he had gone wrong.
There were too many deficits to count.
The last time he was at the Temple-before the attacks-he was sent away as a failed Initiate. And since then, he barely changed. He was the same angry boy, merely adding failures to his name. Why did Qui-Gon take him back? He hardly deserved a third chance. He was too angry, far from Jedi material. Qui-Gon taking him on was a fluke. Not even two months into his apprenticeship, he got swept up by a cause and abandoned the Order.
He should have stayed on Bandomeer. The Jedi clearly didn’t want him. It was only a matter of time before they threw him away again.
Would they send him back to Bandomeer? Or to another branch of the AgriCorps?
In retrospect, Obi-Wan felt guilty. How stupid he had been to think going to the Agri-Corps was a disgrace. Their work was crucial, nurturing planets ravaged by disaster and war. They fed millions across the galaxy.
On Melidaan, he would have given anything for a steady food source. Not for himself but for the parentless children living in the sewers. Afraid that at any moment, the Elders might attack them. The bone-deep fear that the next step might be their last.
No, he stopped himself. Circumstances were improving. Cerasi’s dream was coming true. Just too late for her to see it. Sniffling, Obi-Wan scrubbed a stray tear from his face. Everything was fine. He was fine.
What if he went back?
Cerasi was gone. Nield forgave him but only tolerated his presence. So no, Obi-Wan could not and would not go back.
When Obi-Wan returned from Telos, he knew the transition would be difficult. The boy never expected the difficulties would persist for so long. His path narrowed as he trudged on, the plants audacious in their neglect. The jagged wall snaked eerily beside the garden’s trail, biting at those who strayed too close.
Sharp branches bit at his robes, but he didn’t care. He relished the pain, basking in the physical discomfort that distracted him from his anguish. But try as he might, the wall was solid. It wouldn’t budge.
Wetness crept over Obi-Wan’s cheeks. He was still trapped on the outside, rejected by Jedi and plants. Defeat was on the table, and he reached for it. He sprawled out in the worn dirt.
“Why?” Obi-Wan demanded. “Why am I still here?”
The leaves could not answer, flowing in the artificial wind as if to shrug. It was enough to make the boy pause, his meltdown forgotten. Taking a page out of Qui-Gon’s book, he prodded at their presence in the Force. All life had one, regardless of sentience.
“You’re just like me,” Obi-Wan concluded. “Forgotten.”
Obi-Wan lay there idly, the tears drying on his face. He felt a gentle presence, looking up just in time to see a small creature scurry over his legs. He caught glimmery traces of blue before it fled beneath the thicket.
Obi-Wan blinked.
__________
After a short crawl through the tunnel, Obi-Wan found himself in a clearing. It was empty, aside from one solitary beast-of-a-tree. The boy made his way to the center, the grass swishing pleasantly at his feet. He tentatively cast aside a string of hanging leaves, shocked to find a hollow inside.
Slouched against the tree, Obi-Wan finally took a breath, letting his mind wander.
__________
Obi-Wan wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but the next thing he knew, his eyes were open, and his neck felt stiff. He felt no motivation to go anywhere, even though he was probably missing class. He found it hard to care.
What if he stayed there forever?
Obi-Wan wanted to waste away, to join Bruck and Cerasi in the Force. He could slowly wither away, letting his body feed the roots beneath him. He was probably halfway there, dehydrated from crying and half-starved.
The passing of time only cemented his determination. He already missed one class today, so why not the others? It’s not like anyone would miss his presence.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, feeling nothing.
_____________
The next time he opened his eyes, Obi-Wan was sprawled out on the ground, fully embracing his fate.
“Obi-Wan?” A low voice echoed somewhere close by. There was a gentle rustling, and someone rudely opened his wall of leaves. Obi-Wan winced as the light attacked his eyes.
“Thank the Force,” Qui-Gon breathed. “Have you been here this entire time?”
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan deadpanned.
Qui-Gon knelt at his side, staring at him. After a moment, Obi-Wan realized he was checking him over for injuries.
“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan assured him. Qui-Gon finally met his eyes, something akin to pain there.
“Your burn is infected, Padawan.”
“Ah,” Obi-Wan said. “That is unfortunate.” Privately, he hoped it might kill him but wisely kept his mouth shut. He suspected Qui-Gon would get mad if he vocalized that.
“Why haven’t you treated it yet, Obi-Wan? Burns like this can be serious,” Qui-Gon asked severely. He pulled the boy upright, brushing away the dirt from his robes.
Obi-Wan shrugged.
Qui-Gon placed a calloused hand across the boy’s forehead, a look of vexation spread across his features. “We should get you to the Halls. Your fever isn’t too high, but it need not get higher. Come,” he offered Obi-Wan a hand. “If we’re lucky, Master Che won’t have our necks for-”
“Are you going to repudiate me?” Obi-Wan interrupted, staring up at the elder Jedi.
“What?”
“Are you going to repudiate me?” Obi-Wan asked again.
A pause.
“Why would I do that?” Qui-Gon asked, his brows creasing.
“You hesitated,” Obi-Wan said pointedly. “Does that mean you’re thinking about it?”
“Do you want me to?” Qui-Gon asked incredulously.
Another pause.
“Why did you hesitate?”
Obi-Wan thought for a moment. “It’s not that I want to be repudiated,” the boy started, “but I’m tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Qui-Gon’s mouth opened and then closed again. What could he say? Nothing could make this better. The world, the galaxy, weighed Obi-Wan down. He was drowning on dry land.
“I’m tired, Master,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Everything hurts, and it just won’t stop!”
“Is this about Kalei?”
“It’s about everything!” Obi-Wan yelled, only to shrink in on himself.“It’s about everything,” he said again, quieter.
“Tell me,” Qui-Gon soothed, cajoling his old joints to kneel at Obi-Wan’s side.
“I can’t,” the boy said softly, the pressure behind his eyes growing. Qui-Gon stared at him with concern he didn’t deserve. What did he see? A Jedi Padawan too incompetent to release his emotions? Obi-Wan cursed himself. He was practically inviting his dismissal.
“I know.” Qui-Gon murmured, “You don’t trust me yet, and that’s my own fault. But please, believe me when I say I care for you. It pains me to see you hurting like this. Let me help.”
The boy surged forward, burying his face in Qui-Gon’s robes. Slowly, almost in a daze, Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around the boy as he shook. He was so small in his arms, so delicate. Qui-Gon ran his hands through russet hair, whispering quiet reassurances to his boy.
“I know, it’s too heavy to carry right now. Do you need help releasing it into the Force?”
“I can’t release it. It’s too much,” Obi-Wan sobbed.
“That’s alright,” Qui-Gon said gently. “I know it’s difficult. You carry such a heavy burden for someone so young. Why don’t you let me carry it for now, okay?”
When Obi-Wan’s sobs tapered down to hiccups, he finally spoke. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be a Jedi. I wanted to help people. As a youngling, I’d imagined being chosen by a Master. I’d impress them with my saberwork or some other skill.”
“And that didn’t happen,” Qui-Gon finished for him. Obi-Wan felt ashamed to admit such a thing, but he nodded.
“Even Master Yoda didn’t believe in me. He stopped Knights from taking me on.”
Qui-Gon made a pained noise. “It’s-” he took a breath. “It’s not that Yoda didn’t believe in you. It’s that he wanted me to apprentice you.”
Obi-Wan sat up. Qui-Gon swiped the tears from his face with his thumbs.“What do you mean?”
“After Xanatos, Master Yoda was very insistent I take another Padawan. He sent so many Initiates to me, but I turned them away out of fear. Not of them, I now realize, but of myself. I wasn’t ready for another student.”
“And you got stuck with me,” Obi-Wan sulked.
“No,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “You got stuck with me. I suspect Yoda arranged for our paths to cross on Bandomeer.”
“He never intended for me to stay there,” Obi-Wan realized, expression pained. “He knew you’d be there.”
Qui-Gon nodded.
“I almost died!” Obi-Wan wheezed. “I was alone for the first time in my life. I’d never even left the Temple alone before! And you’re telling me Master Yoda did this?”
“We can talk to him about this. I’m sure he never intended to hurt you.”
“But he did,” Obi-Wan’s eyes were glossy, and he was two steps away from crying again. Qui-Gon pulled him against his chest.
“We’ll talk with him,” Qui-Gon breathed into his hair. “It’ll be alright.”
“No, it won’t,” Obi-Wan said. “Everything’s ruined.”
“Nothing is ruined, it’s alright,” Qui-Gon insisted.
“I can hardly feel the Force anymore, and I never feel safe, and life has been so messed up since I returned to the Temple. I feel like if I make one mistake, the Council will get mad again. They’ll send me off somewhere where I can’t mess anything up. It’s only a matter of time. I’m ruined.”
Qui-Gon held him tighter. “You’re not ruined, shh, don’t say that.”
“It’s true. No one even wants me back.”
“What about me? What about Tahl, or Bant, or your other friends?”
Obi-Wan considered this. “You don’t count.”
Qui-Gon sighed dramatically, “I guess I have to go tell little Bant we don’t count. I must warn you, you don’t want to make her mad. She can be quite intimidating for someone so small.”
Obi-Wan laughed wetly. They sat together for a moment, Qui-Gon rubbing small circles into Obi-Wan’s back as he calmed himself. Qui-Gon spoke after a few moments.
“I think we should find a Mindhealer.”
“A Mindhealer?” No, he was fine. He can’t see a Mindhealer! What would the other Padawans say when they found out? They would take it as another reason to expel him.
“I’m fine, Master.” Obi-Wan insisted.
“Please, young one. I promise this won’t affect your probation or my opinion of you.”
Obi-Wan wasn’t convinced.
Qui-Gon sighed. “I should have gone to one a long time ago. You can’t be expected to mend what Xanatos has broken. And you need someone you can trust to help you.” He cupped Obi-Wan’s face, gently raising his chin so that Obi-Wan could see his eyes.
Staring into another’s eyes was always strange, to say the least. Obi-Wan knew his Master was genuine, his Force signature attested to that. Yet, it felt like a new pathway formed between them in that moment. There were stress-lines on Qui-Gon’s face. Did he cause that? Obi-Wan knew his own face was shiny with tear tracks, eyes probably red from crying so much. He could see into Qui-Gon’s intentions, and Qui-Gon could see him.
“I know you’re struggling. I should have realized this weeks ago, but I was too distracted with my own insecurities to notice yours. I should have been focused on your well-being.”
“You were upset about Xanatos, it’s okay.”
“No,” Qui-Gon said seriously. “It’s not okay. You were injured yesterday, and I didn’t even realize anything happened until Jocasta Nu came to me today, asking where you were. And then, Padawan Kalei’s Master found me, asking after your burn.”
“It’s fine.”
Qui-Gon stared at him for a long time, searching for something. Another failing, maybe? He had many of those. He already found Obi-Wan’s anger and impatience. What else?
“Padawan, it’s infected.”
A minor detail.
“Padawan Kalei told me what happened. I know how the other Padawans have been treating you. This can’t continue, Obi-Wan. I promise, I won’t let it.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Thank you,”he said quietly, the rustling of the leaves louder than him.
“It’s what I should have done from the beginning. Now,” Qui-Gon said, beginning the arduous task of standing up. “Let’s go face Master Che, hmm?”
Obi-Wan followed him up, holding his hand tightly. He felt self-conscious, seeking that kind of comfort. He was 13! Not a youngling. Shouldn’t he be too old for that?
Qui-Gon didn’t seem to mind, giving his hand a small squeeze.
At the edge of Obi-Wan’s hideaway, just as they were about to breach the mossy wall, Obi-Wan stopped. Qui-Gon turned to stare at him, question floating in the air.
“You promise everything will be alright?”
“I promise.”
“Nothing will change?”
“Only for the better,” Qui-Gon assured him.
Obi-Wan nodded. He was ready.
The hanging leaves tugged gently at Obi-Wan’s tunic as he left, as if asking him to stay. He sent his tree a wave of reassurance. He would be back. Neither of them had to be alone anymore.