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Jedi Temple, Coruscant, 31 BBY
Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through one of the many halls of the Jedi Temple with an unusual spring in his step. Even as he began to ascend the long staircase leading to the Knights’ wing, a wide smile was still plastered on his face and soft humming of the uplifting melody of his favourite Alderaanian song kept flowing from his lips.
The young Jedi had a very good reason to feel contented on that particular late afternoon. He had been praised for the outcome of his most recent off-planet solo assignment by the entire High Council, the monthly meeting with Master Jocasta Nu concerning his Padawan’s study progress had gone well beyond his expectations, and to his absolute delight, they had kommerken steak with otoowergs gratin in the Temple refectory for dinner – a rare and delicious dish to end a great day with.
As Obi-Wan pictured the upcoming evening in his mind, he let his smile slowly turn into a pleased grin. First, he and Anakin will eat their takeaway dinner and chat about their days, afterwards Obi-Wan can help his Padawan with his homework and then, he can maybe read something from the anthology of avant-garde meditative poetry Kit Fisto had lent him or play a game of dejarik with Anakin before meditating and going to bed.
There will be no chaos tonight, there will be serenity and harmony.
Obi-Wan could not wait. He quickened his pace and before he knew it, he was entering the code to their shared quarters and walking through the door.
“Anakin?” Obi-Wan called out when the only thing he had been greeted by upon his arrival had been unexpected silence of their modestly decorated living area.
Strange…
When Obi-Wan had commed Anakin earlier to ask what he wanted him to bring from the refectory, the boy had already been on his way from the Temple hangars where he liked to spend his free afternoons after the various classroom lessons and training sessions of the day. He should have been home already.
Bemused, Obi-Wan searched the Force for Anakin’s whereabouts. As soon as he felt his Padawan’s lively Force signature curled up right beside his own, almost intertwining with it, he smiled warmly to himself.
Anakin and him had been getting closer and closer in the past fourteen months as a master and an apprentice, and as friends. Their bond was growing stronger and more stable every day. The knowledge was making Obi-Wan’s heart overflow with joy. He was excited for the time when they would begin to be assigned off-world missions together and explore the Galaxy the way Obi-Wan had done with Master Qui-Gon as part of his own Padawan training. It had been those adventurous journeys when Obi-Wan had felt the happiest in his life. He hoped with his whole heart that Anakin would have the same experience with him as his mentor.
A quiet whimper abruptly ended Obi-Wan’s daydreaming. The relaxed smile instantly froze on his face as he caught an undercurrent of distress in Anakin’s usually cheerful Force presence.
What happened? Is my Anakin hurt? Does he need help?
Without delay, Obi-Wan deposited their dinner on the small kitchenette table and let the Force guide him to… the refresher?
Frowning in confusion, the young Jedi gently knocked on the unlocked door so as not to startle his apprentice. “Anakin? Are you there?”
He heard a loud gasp of surprise on the other side, then an uncertain ‘Y-Yes, Master.’
“Is everything all right, Padawan?”
A quieter, panicked sound came from behind the durasteel door this time. “Uhmm… y-yeah. Everything’s f-fine,” Anakin responded somewhat shakily.
Obi-Wan did not think anything was ‘fine’ at all. And although he did not want to intrude on whatever Anakin was doing, he needed to make sure the boy was safe. So far, he had not been given any reason to believe so.
“Can I come in, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked with as much calmness as he could muster given the increasingly stressful nature of the situation. When the only answer he got was a faint shiver of fear running through Anakin’s Force signature, he refused to wait any longer and made the decision himself. “I am coming in.”
The image that welcomed Obi-Wan when the refresher door finally slid open was unbelievably bizarre, yet painfully familiar at the same time. Anakin stood by the washbasin, wearing only his white, long-sleeved undertunic and grey trousers. His utility belt and boots lay discarded nearby on the floor and the rest of his Padawan clothing – Obi-Wan presumed – must have been currently hidden somewhere under the great mass of soap suds that threatened to spill from the washbasin at any moment.
“Master! I- I’m sorry. It was an accident. Please, don’t be mad,” Anakin tried to explain, guiltiness radiating from him like heat from an open oven. His bottom lip was quivering a little as unshed tears started to well in the blue of his eyes that kept glimpsing despairingly from Obi-Wan to the contents of the washbasin and back.
Obi-Wan took in the scene in front of him and got a rough idea about what had probably happened. Alas, this was not the first time at all that he had walked in on Anakin trying to clean mysterious stains off his sand-coloured Jedi robes. True, his boy was bright, resourceful, kind-hearted, and gifted with great Force-sensitivity, but also – much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin – incredibly prone to messy accidents that, more often than not, tended to involve non-washable substances.
Nevertheless, the Jedi Knight’s first instinct was to comfort his Padawan, not interrogate him or – Force forbid – scold him for his mistakes. Questions, answers, moral lessons as well as any necessary tidying up could wait. Anakin’s well-being was Obi-Wan’s top priority – always and forever.
Carefully, Obi-Wan came closer and crouched to get to the same eye level as Anakin. Then, he gently put his hands on the boy’s upper arms and spoke to him in a hushed, calm voice.
“I am not mad at you, Ani,” Obi-Wan tried to soothe his young Padawan, then pulled him into a hug when he saw his face twist with even more misery. “There, there.”
“Master…” the little apprentice murmured softly into the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tabards. Their Force bond was brimming with his sadness and shame. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Obi-Wan held Anakin closer. “Shh. I know, dear one. I know.” He waited for a few more moments before pulling away from the embrace. “Now, tell me what exactly happened today. If you can.”
A dejected grimace settled on Anakin’s face. “Well… I was working on R3-A4. You know – the green astromech that reminds me so much of Artoo…”
“I remember her. What happened with Eivor?”
“Uhm… I ran out of hydraulic liquid halfway through my repairs. I found a new canister in the storage room, but it was sealed, and I couldn’t unscrew the cap. So, I… I used the Force – just a tiny little bit of it! But then, the canister… it suddenly burst open and spattered the front of my robes…”
Obi-Wan tried very hard to keep his face expressionless and non-judgmental, even as he was quietly invoking the Force and begging it for a miracle. Please. Not the motor oil again. Not today.
He must have failed rather spectacularly because in the next moment, Anakin let out a loud sob and began to frantically apologise anew. “I’m so sorry, Master Obi-Wan! Really, I am.”
To show that his contrition was genuine, he promptly turned towards the washbasin where a selection of various cleaning products was lined up on the edge – a box of washing powder next to a bar of soap, a tube of Obi-Wan’s shower gel, a bottle of washing-up liquid from the kitchen and… a vial of greel-root acid?!
FORCE, NO!
Obi-Wan yelped loudly and grabbed Anakin by the waist to pull him away from the mess of wet clothes floating in the washbasin – just in time before the boy could dip his hands into the caustic foamy soap water.
It was a very close call and the young Knight had to take a couple of deep centring breaths before he felt able to speak somewhat calmly. “I know you that you meant well, Anakin. But please, do not ever try to use greel-root acid for anything again, okay?”
The Padawan bit his lower lip in embarrassment. “I won’t, Master… Promise,” he assured Obi-Wan in a half-whisper.
“Good. I will have to take these clothes down to the Laundry level to be cleaned. Do you have a spare set of robes to change into?”
Anakin shyly lowered his gaze and shook his head.
Obi-Wan fixed his eyes upon the nearest wall and blocked his end of their Force bond to keep the extent of his growing despair and dwindling patience as private as possible. “Oh. I see,” he said, rather lamely. “Well… then, you can… wrap yourself up in my cloak for now and I am going to get you something from the warehouse after dinner. All right?”
“All right,” Anakin muttered, then glanced apologetically at Obi-Wan. “Thank you, Master.”
Obi-Wan gave Anakin what he hoped was a reassuring smile and watched as the boy padded barefoot out of the refresher. Once he was alone, the Jedi Knight took in the sorry state of the room again and gave out a tired sigh of surrender to his imminent fate – at least an hour of cleaning and getting rid of the acidic pool currently located in their washbasin, followed by a trip to the other end of the Temple to get Anakin something decent to wear.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
Sure.
Much to Obi–Wan’s dismay, the Laundry level was practically deserted when he finally reached it later that evening, save for a few service droids that were finishing ironing the last batch of tunics that had been washed that day. What was more, the door to the warehouse had already been locked and sealed for the night. The whole expedition had been futile.
Obi-Wan would have marvelled at the Force’s wicked sense of humour, he really would – if he had not been so tired and in such dire need of some clean robes for his unlucky apprentice. Under the current circumstances, he just sighed and embarked on the long walk back to his quarters, reconciled to the fact that his evening plans had been ruined beyond salvation.
Fortunately, his second attempt right after a very early breakfast the next morning was much more successful. As soon as Obi-Wan entered the service facilities, he was greeted by a short, purple-skinned male Twi’lek in his fifties — the Head of the Laundry level, Keeper of the Wardrobe warehouse and resident fashion designer of the Jedi Order, Maniona’van Kaa.
“Ah, Obi-Wan!” Maniona’van exclaimed amicably, clearly pleased to welcome the young Jedi in his realm. That is, until he saw him carry a bundle of dirty clothes under his arm. “I would say I am happy to see you again so soon, but I fear you are going to instantly prove me wrong. So… Tell me. What is it this time?”
“Good morning, Mani,” Obi-Wan greeted the Twi’lek before self-consciously depositing what had once been a set of pristine Jedi robes the colour of white sand onto a counter that separated the two of them. “Umm… I am afraid there has been another little… accident.”
“Oh,” Mani said, not a hint of surprise in his voice. “Let me see then.”
Humming thoughtfully, he inspected the small heap of heavily stained cotton garments one by one. A frown that settled on his face got progressively deeper and more desperate with every passing second. Obi-Wan was beginning to think the worry lines had permanently chiselled themselves into his purple skin.
“I wonder…” the Twi’lek mused aloud a long while later. “Is it possible that you Jedi missed an addendum to the Prophecy of the Chosen One? A little ‘P. S. They shall be very messy.’ or something like that? No? That is a pity. It would really help me understand how your boy is able to completely ruin at least three sets of Jedi robes every standard month.”
Obi-Wan grimaced at Mani’s words. He felt deeply conflicted. Rationally, he had to agree with the Twi’lek – Anakin’s tally of ruined robes was getting astonishingly high. In his heart, however, the Jedi Knight felt a strong, persistent urge to defend the honour and intentions of his little Padawan. As usual, his heart’s voice prevailed in the end.
“It is not all Anakin’s fault,” Obi-Wan began, his gaze lowered to the ground. “You must admit that to have sand-coloured robes as the standard attire is rather unfortunate. Also, he is trying so hard, Mani! He means well. And he is so genuinely upset every time these accidents happen to him…”
The frown on Mani’s face slowly morphed into an expression of fondness. “I know,” he sighed shortly. “I know. Deep down, Anakin is a sweet, kind boy. Still though, something needs to be done soon. The situation is starting to get ridiculous.”
Obi-Wan nodded, painfully aware of the fact.
"Have you thought about my offer, Obi-Wan?" Mani asked in a casual tone.
Of course. The Offer.
The thing is, Maniona’van Kaa had not been exaggerating that much when he had self-proclaimed himself the unofficial Jedi Order fashion designer upon his arrival to the Temple nearly three decades ago. Thanks to his vast knowledge of various fabrics and a great eye for colours, patterns and dress cuts, hundreds of Jedi had been able to found their unique style of clothing that was highly functional and comfortable but also managed to reflect their personalities and pay homage to the cultures of their homeworlds. Jedi Masters, Knights, Padawans and even fellow Temple employees – everyone was welcome in Mani’s humble ‘Jedi-couture salon’ where the good-natured Twi’lek gave advice and designed his models. Moreover, the offer of his services was a permanent one, free to take at any time.
It applied to Anakin, too, since he had the rank of a Jedi Padawan, although normally, he would have still been considered a Youngling at the age of ten and a half. However, in spite of this undisputable perk, the boy had never expressed any desire to wear anything else but the standard issue light robes, identical in colour and style to those Obi-Wan himself preferred to wear. Anakin knew well about Mani and his salon; he knew that the Jedi Code did not require anyone to follow a fixed dress code. And yet, he kept politely declining the offer of more personalised clothing and always asked for the same shade of sand-coloured robes over and over again instead.
It was a mystery. One Obi-Wan had yet to solve. One he needed to solve sooner rather than later, if he hoped to preserve at least some of his own sanity and Anakin’s dignity.
“You already know the answer to that, Mani,” Obi-Wan responded, the same way he had done at least a dozen times before.
“I do,” Mani’s lips curled down in slight disappointment. “Well, if either of you ever change your mind, my humble self is at your service,” the Twi’lek winked at Obi-Wan impishly and handed him a bundle of clean robes.
“You will be the first to know,” Obi-Wan promised Mani with a smile, then quickly set off back home, hoping to arrive in time for Anakin to be able to get properly dressed before his first lesson of the day.
“You must admit, they are very original,” Kit Fisto grinned and casually leaned against the nearby wall. He had crossed Obi-Wan’s path at the entrance to the Temple Archives and the two had stopped for a quick chat.
“Original? Oh, undoubtedly. Meditative? Not so much, I am afraid,” Obi-Wan countered with a frown, lips pursed in slight discomposure.
When he had first heard his Nautolan friend speak so highly about his new poetry anthology some time ago, how it had made him challenge his views and think of new perspectives and possibilities, it had sounded more than interesting. Obi-Wan was a keen reader – especially of meditative, philosophical texts – and he always tried to be open-minded towards various art forms and new schools of thought.
However, nothing could have prepared him for this.
“It was incredibly misleading of you, Kit! I took the book to bed last night, hoping to find some peace and guidance in these poems, to wind down after a long and stressful day and instead, I was forced to think about alien…” Obi-Wan checked his surroundings before lowering his voice to an almost-whisper “... body parts.”
Kit burst out laughing, not at all remorseful about his actions. “So it did manage to get your mind off of your worries. Brilliant! That was the point.”
Obi-Wan tried to look scandalised, though deep inside he was amused by the entire situation as well. “Idiot,” he shook his head in fond disbelief and poked Kit in the ribs. “What if Anakin had found the book and-”
Before Obi-Wan could finish the sentence, the boy in question appeared behind the nearest corner, sprinting straight towards where the two Jedi Knights were standing.
“Master Obi-Wan! I was-… looking-… for you,” Anakin explained when he got to them, a little out of breath. “Good afternoon, Master Fisto,” he added, having realised that Obi-Wan had company.
“Hello Anakin,” Kit smiled back at the boy.
“Is everything all right, Padawan?” Obi-Wan asked, all while visually checking for any rips, tears or stains on Anakin’s robes that would indicate an injury or some other kind of emergency. Having found nothing, he exhaled in relief.
It seems that Anakin’s nine-day-long no-accident streak is still on. Thank the Force.
The flushed Padawan grinned proudly back at him and stood a little taller, as if he was well aware of Obi-Wan’s thoughts. Then, he reached into his pocket and took out a small square of folded durasheet. “Master Yoda asked me to give you this, Master.”
Curious, Obi-Wan opened the message and read a few short lines of text written in an old-fashioned Aurebesh cursive script:
Dear Knight Obi-Wan,
To dine with me tonight at 19:00, I would like to invite you and your Padawan. Great pleasure, it would bring me. Cook myself, I will.
Yoda
Obi-Wan swallowed hard. There it was. An invitation to dine with the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. A rare and immense honour that, alas, everyone in the Temple dreaded like the Candorian plague. Perhaps with the exception of Master Yaddle who – by being of the same species as Master Yoda – was accustomed to his distinctive style of cooking and unorthodox ingredients choices.
There was an ongoing rumour in the Temple that even the ever-stoic Mace Windu had been brought to tears by one of Yoda’s novelty dishes. If it was really true, Obi-Wan greatly sympathised with the Jedi Master. He himself had already been invited for dinner twice before – the first time shortly after he had become Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan and then again when he had reached the age of twenty. To this day, both events ranked among the five worst experiences of his life.
And now, it appeared that Obi-Wan might have another challenging visit ahead of him. Master Yoda seemed eager to showcase his culinary abilities to the newest member of their Master–Padawan lineage. Just when Obi-Wan was starting to think that Anakin would be spared…
“Bad news, Master?” Anakin asked cautiously when Obi-Wan had been silent for a little too long.
The young Knight blinked the residual shock away and attempted to school his features into a more neutral expression. “Umm, no. We are invited to dine with Master Yoda.”
Anakin’s face lit up in awe at the news. “Really?” he marvelled. He loved discovering new things – especially when they were food-related. “When?”
“Tonight at 19:00,” Obi-Wan answered and handed Anakin the invitation, so that he could read it for himself.
“Wait. Master Yoda is gonna cook himself? That’s so wizard!”
Obi-Wan dejectedly glanced at Kit. The Nautolan’s earlier cheerful grin was gone and in its place, a pained frown of sincere commiseration was written all over his green face. Without needing to check in the Force, Obi-Wan was sure they were both thinking the very same thing.
Oh, Padawan. If only you knew…
At 18:50, Obi-Wan picked Anakin up from his Astrography class and together they set off for Yoda’s quarters. He had purposefully chosen for them to walk rather than take the turbolift, hoping to use the time to mentally prepare his unsuspecting Padawan for what was inevitably coming.
“Are you excited, Anakin?”
“Yes, Master!” the boy replied. “I’m curious about what Master Yoda prepared for us.”
“Hm. I am sure you are,” Obi-Wan replied neutrally, although he really could not share the sentiment. He took a deep breath, then proceeded to address the varactyl in the room. “You know, Anakin... I think you might be a little… surprised by some of the tastes and smells. Master Yoda’s cooking is known to be very… unusual.”
Obi-Wan tried to word it as diplomatically as he could which was not easy at all. One does not simply say the Grandmaster’s food is disgusting. Even if it is essentially true.
“Oh, that sounds great, Master!” Anakin grinned, his enthusiasm indefeasible. “I can’t wait. I’ve already had a lot of different dishes here in the Temple and at Dex’s, but there’re so many others I know nothing about. When we start going to missions, I want to sample a dish from every place we visit!”
Obi-Wan sighed wistfully. How he wished to have just a grain of Anakin’s innocent excitement!
For a few moments, the young man debated putting what he wanted to express more bluntly, but eventually decided against it. He did not have the heart to spoil Anakin’s obvious joy.
Who knows? Maybe this time, the food will be edible for a change, Obi-Wan tried to reassure himself, although he doubted such a thing was even possible.
A short while later, they reached Master Yoda’s quarters. The little Jedi cordially welcomed them both in his home – three small adjacent rooms with low ceiling that were kept warm, humid and dimly-lit at all times. As usual, Obi-Wan was surprised by how cosy it actually felt to be there.
If Obi-Wan was surprised, Anakin appeared to be nothing short of awestruck. He kept gazing around the quarters with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth – from the old, sturdy bookcase full of ancient paper scrolls and leather-bound books, to the shelves with samples of various rocks and crystals, and… something that might have been either a woodwind musical instrument or a torture device. It was hard to tell.
“Comfortable, make yourselves,” Master Yoda ushered them into the dining area where half a dozen soft pillows lay on the floor around a low, circular table. “Finished in a minute, the dinner will be.”
Obi-Wan and Anakin both sat down and waited. Not even a whole minute passed before Master Yoda emerged from the kitchen with a large steaming stew pot and placed it in the middle of the table. “Delighted to have you here, I am. With all the Council sessions, too little time to talk as friends, there is,” he remarked sadly.
“Thank you for the invitation, Master. We are honoured,” Obi-Wan bowed his head towards the old green Jedi. Deep down, he meant it. Master Yoda was a wise and kind mentor and a witty companion. If only his food was not so bad…
“It smells really nice, Master,” Anakin said and shifted a little closer to the table.
“Ah. Glad to hear it, I am! Very glad. A new recipe, this is. From Dagobah.”
Obi-Wan gulped, fearing for the worst. Dagobah was a swamp planet.
Well, I hope that at least there will be no tentacles involved this time.
“Eat now, we should. While still hot, the stew is. Talk later, we can. Looking forward to hearing all about your training progress, I am, young Skywalker,” Yoda grinned playfully at Anakin and lifted the lid of the stew pot.
All three had been served a portion of a bubbling, reddish brown mixture and a freshly baked rootleaf roll. Obi-Wan had to admit the dish did look rather appetising. It was hard to identify the individual ingredients, but they appeared to be mostly vegetables.
Good. Vegetables are good. Vegetables are safe because they do not move.
The young Jedi took a first, careful bite of the stew and slowly chewed it. It tasted… nice. Bemused, Obi-Wan took another mouthful to check that he was not hallucinating.
He was not. The food was actually good. Tasty. One could even say delicious.
Mhmmm. A surprise, to be sure, but a most welcome one.
Obi-Wan gave out a long exhale of relief and felt a great weight fall off of his shoulders. Perhaps, they were about to have a pleasant evening after all.
Contentedly, Obi-Wan glanced to his right at Anakin, who was smiling as well while cutting a particularly large piece of red kebroot on his plate.
But of course! Everything dawned on Obi-Wan right then and there.
Red kebroot was the Galaxy’s superfood. Unbelievably pleasant in taste, it had exceptional nutrient density, contained lots of vitamins, minerals and antioxidants. It was edible for more than 85 % of the known species, so throughout history the juicy tubers had been able to sustain entire populations in times of war or during large-scale famines. It was truly a miraculous plant. It could be added to almost any dish, and it always elevated its taste. And what was more, the red kebroot juice was one of the most potent natural dyes which–
Before Obi-Wan was able to finish his line of thought, a piece of the said super amazing delicacy slipped off of Anakin’s plate and landed squarely on the boy’s newly-washed, sandy-white tunic, the dark red juice creating an abstract painting on his tabards, overtunic and the collar of his undertunic, too.
Obi-Wan bit his bottom lip hard to stop the woeful whine that threatened to escape.
There was only one downside to the red kebroot’s many indisputable benefits – its juice was impossible to be washed off of fabrics. All of them. Without exception.
Maniona’van is not going to be happy about this. At all.
Anakin seemed to have realised the same thing, because he gasped and turned his apologetic gaze towards Obi-Wan. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled and frantically tried – in vain – to suck the liquid from the fabric with a napkin.
Obi-Wan felt incredibly sad for him at that moment. Anakin had been so proud of his growing no-accident streak and Obi-Wan, in turn, was very proud of him for doing so well. Now, the streak was broken, another set of robes had been irreparably ruined and his poor boy was once again frustrated and miserable. The fact that it had all happened in front of Grandmaster Yoda, was the proverbial jogan fruit on top of the cake.
Do not worry, Padawan mine, Obi-Wan sent a few comforting words to Anakin through their Force bond. We are going to take care of the stains at home, okay?
“Right, Master Obi-Wan is.” Master Yoda chimed in kindly, as if Obi-Wan had been speaking aloud earlier. “Sad, do not be, little Padawan. Sometimes, happen to all of us, accidents do.” He leaned his wrinkled green head to one side and hummed thoughtfully. “Remember, I do, the first time that here for dinner your Master was. Back then, a full bowl of soup into his lap, he knocked off,” he announced nonchalantly.
The Grandmaster’s unexpected retelling of the unfortunate incident from Obi-Wan’s early years as a Padawan made the man violently cough and ultimately caused him to splutter out the contents of his mouth in a very undignified manner. The half-chewed bites of food landed everywhere around him – on the green striped tablecloth, on the floor, on both of his dinner companions, but especially on Obi-Wan himself.
With embarrassment so great that it easily surpassed Anakin’s, the Jedi Knight looked down at his clothes, newly adorned with a myriad of dark red splotches.
Correction: Maniona’van is going to kill us. Both.
“Is this blood?!” Mani lamented with his greyish-yellow eyes widened in disbelief, and inspected a pair of once perfectly clean Knight and Padawan robes.
“No.” Obi-Wan scrunched his face in remorse. “That is red kebroot,” he admitted reluctantly.
The Twi’lek’s purple face turned a few shades paler. “Oh, great. Even better,” he uttered sarcastically, then scooped the entire heap of laundry into a large basket laconically labelled as ‘Rags’.
“You were supposed to stop Anakin making a mess, not join him,” Mani let out a sharp exhale that brimmed with irritation, then sighed. “This cannot go on, Obi-Wan.”
The young Jedi shrugged helplessly. He knew that the Twi’lek was right. But how was he supposed to make Anakin change his mind?
He could not force the boy to wear dark robes when he clearly liked light ones. It was not the Jedi way to police anyone’s clothing, or in general – to question one’s personal preferences.
Although, the more Obi-Wan thought about it…
Maybe he could suggest for Anakin to try and wear something different. Something new. Just for a day or two. Or twenty. In a completely casual, noncommittal way.
Obi-Wan examined the idea in his mind for a while. “All right,” he nodded eventually. “I will speak with him.”
It was worth a try.
As Obi-Wan had predicted, Anakin was less than thrilled by his suggestion. The boy tried to bargain with him, offering numerous reassurances, promising to ‘try harder’ and ‘never make a mess ever again, Master, really’.
And Obi-Wan… He had meant to be firm this time and stand his ground. He was a fully-fledged Jedi Knight after all. At mere twenty-six years of age, he was considered one of the Order’s most gifted negotiators. Surely he could reach a reasonable agreement with his own ten-year-old apprentice. Right?
However, the young man had severely underestimated the power Anakin had over him. The boy only had to do as little as to bore his big blue eyes into Obi-Wan’s and pout – his face the perfect mix of sadness and cuteness at that moment – and Obi-Wan instantly caved. He just could not help himself. He loathed to see his young apprentice unhappy.
And so, in the end, the two of them agreed on a compromise. One more standard week – to see if things will get any better – and then, they will talk again and sort the problem once and for all. As Obi-Wan hoped, with Anakin finally agreeing to stop wearing anything remotely white.
The first day passed surprisingly smoothly and left Obi-Wan with a feeling of hopefulness for the week to come. The second day was… not accident-free exactly, but still fairly good. Alas, on the third day, all Sith Hell broke loose.
Messy accidents seemed to be happening to Anakin wherever he went. One day, it was a large splutter of dark green paint the boy used to varnish his R3-A4 with, the next a constellation of little stains acquired during his midday meal in the refectory, then a large burnt hole caused by a miscalculated swipe of a training saber, and most recently, a great splash of greasy dirty water from when Anakin fell face first into a puddle during his Political science class excursion to the Galactic Senate.
The matters were getting worse with every passing day. The more accidents were happening to Anakin, the harder he was trying to keep his robes clean and pristine, which – unsurprisingly – was only making him anxious and therefore clumsier. Despite all of his valiant effort, his clothes were more of a mess than before, not less.
By the end of the week, it was clear that the situation had reached an all-time low.
With a heavy heart, Obi-Wan approached their shared living quarters. He could already feel the weight of Anakin’s dejection and disappointment in the Force. He took a deep breath, then pressed the door button, not delaying the inevitable talk any longer.
Just as Obi-Wan had thought, he found his unlucky Padawan sitting on a couch in what was left of his sand-coloured robes – which was not much, to be honest. He was crying, streams of tears racing down his flushed cheeks like podracers. When he caught a glimpse of Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, he grimaced as if in terrible pain, then lowered his face back towards his lap and kept crying.
Obi-Wan’s heart was breaking at the sight. Anakin was not a whiny or weepy child, so the fact that he seemed inconsolable was worrying Obi-Wan considerably.
Why is he so upset about this? he wondered. It is only robes…
Carefully, the Jedi Knight sat on the couch beside his apprentice and put an arm around his shaking shoulders. “Anakin. Dear one,” he started calmly, striving to ease the fear and sorrow he sensed pulsing in the boy’s Force signature. “Everything will be all right, you will see. Maniona’van will tailor some nice and comfortable robes for you, in any style and colour that you choose. Except for shades of white, of course – those proved to be rather unsuitable.”
For some reason, the last sentence must have been absolutely devastating for Anakin to hear, because he began sobbing even louder and turned his scared, snot-covered face towards Obi-Wan.
“NO! No, Master, please! It will not happen again,” he gripped the young Knight by his tabards in despair. “I promise! I’ll do anything. Please! Just don’t make me leave you...”
Obi-Wan blinked at the boy in utter bewilderment, taken aback by not just the highly emotional but unexpected reaction as well.
Leave? Why would I want Anakin to leave? Leave where? He frowned, trying to make some sense of the boy’s ambiguous words.
Clearly mistaking Obi-Wan’s confusion for displeasure, Anakin let out a tearful whine and begged in a quiet, defeated voice. “P-please… I don’t want to be reassigned to another Master…”
That did not help clear things up for Obi-Wan, not one bit. On the contrary, it made him wonder how in the name of the Force his apprentice had got such an absurd idea in his mind.
Reassign my Anakin?! Out of question! Mustafar will have to freeze over twice before I allow that!
“Padawan, by the Force, what made you think that I would want you to be reassigned? And what does it have to do with you getting your new robes done?” Obi-Wan finally found his voice again, just in time to pose the most important questions.
Now it seemed to be Anakin’s turn to be confused. He looked at Obi-Wan, pained bemusement and frustration hanging over his tear-stained face like a dark cloud. “Well… Everything! If I wear dark colours and you wear light ones, we won’t be matching anymore. And Jedi teams always match. The Masters and their Padawans always look like they belong together. And- And I…” Anakin kept lowering his voice until it was a mere insecure whisper, “I want to belong with you, Master…”
A spark of understanding ignited in Obi-Wan’s mind – at long last. “Oh, Ani…” the young Jedi muttered, internally cursing himself for his woeful lack of ingenuity in handling this matter. “I am so sorry. Come here, little one.”
Anakin shifted closer and let himself be buried in the warmth and comfort of Obi-Wan’s affectionate embrace.
It was all such a terrible misunderstanding.
Yes, generally speaking, the Padawans tended to imitate their Masters’ style – out of respect and admiration they had for them, or simply because it was more practical to do so. Obi-Wan himself had gone through a similar ‘phase’ as Qui-Gon’s Padawan more than a decade ago. It had taken him several years to realise that the two of them did not need to be completely identical to make a good Jedi team – to be able to work and live together in peace and harmony. It had taken him even longer to find out that their differences actually were what made their Force bond so strong.
In brief, outer appearances had never been a measure for anything in the Jedi Order. Definitely not for the complementarity of Master–Padawan teams. Obi-Wan deeply regretted that he had failed to communicate this crucial fact to Anakin when he had first come to the Temple. He could have saved them both an awful lot of worrying, Anakin a small lake of tears, and Mani a few dozens of ruined Padawan robes.
How could I be so oblivious and ignorant?! Obi-Wan berated himself, hoping it was not too late yet to make amends.
“Listen to me, Padawan,” Obi-Wan began, looking right into Anakin’s eyes, choosing every word with utmost care. “There is nothing in this Galaxy or the next that could make me leave you. You are my friend and, by the will of the Force, my apprentice as well. I am deeply thankful for having you in my life, and for the fact that we make a team. What our robes look like will never ever change that. Here–” Obi-Wan lightly touched Anakin’s left temple, “and here–” he put his palm over Anakin’s heart, “we match. And that is the most important thing.”
The answering grin that slowly blossomed on the boy’s face shined brighter than a supernova. “Obi-Wan…” Anakin said with happiness glistening in his eyes, then went in for another hug. “Thank you, Master,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s soft robes.
Obi-Wan held his dear little Padawan close, sharing consolation, care and gentle affection with him in the Force. His lips curled up in relief when he felt a wave of Anakin’s own fondness and boundless gratitude resonate within their bond.
There will be no other misunderstandings, Obi-Wan reassured his apprentice. I promise.
After breakfast the next morning, Obi-Wan and Anakin visited the Laundry level again – this time together – ready to take up on Mani’s kind offer of advice and assistance.
The Twi’lek was ecstatic to have a new fashion project. Beaming with excitement, he immediately started to ask questions and present Anakin with tens of different colour schemes, fabric swatches as well as his original robe designs.
Anakin seemed to be overwhelmed by such variety of options. He did not have any clear idea in mind. He only wished for his new robes to be similar to Obi-Wan’s and in a colour on which the occasional stains would not be easily spotted.
Mani hummed, deep in thought, and squinted his eyes a little at Anakin and then Obi-Wan, assessing their appearance with his experienced, artistic eye. Then, he delved into his personal “Ultimate Jedi Fashion Handbook” and energetically leafed through its many pages for several minutes.
“Ah! There it is!” He exclaimed all of a sudden and beckoned his visitors to come have a look with a wave of his hand.
“What do you think of this, Anakin?” Mani showed the boy a page in his book with a full body design of traditional Jedi robes in shades of dark brown and black.
Judging by the dreamy sigh that Anakin let out, it seemed that Mani had found just what the Padawan was unwittingly looking for. “It’s beautiful,” Anakin whispered in awe.
“I thought you might like it,” the Twi’lek grinned self-contentedly, then proceeded to explain the details of the design. “You see, in the Pantoran colour theory, there are a few very special colours that always go together. Their hues, tints, tones, and shades are all ideally compatible with each other. So,… if Obi-Wan keeps to his cream and sandy whites that he prefers, and you, Anakin, go for – wait, let me check… ah, yes – Corellian grey undertunic, Endor forest brown overtunic and Galactic black tabards and boots, you two will be a perfect match.”
Anakin’s eyes widened, his face the image of utter elation. He nodded enthusiastically and when Mani went to check the warehouse for the fabrics, he turned to face Obi-Wan.
A pleasant warmth spread through the Force bond as the two Jedi silently communicated their thoughts and feelings – a joyful Padawan to his equally happy Master.
We will always be a perfect match.
