Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Did you see me do the Mou Kei?” Anakin asked, walking alongside Obi-Wan, bouncing with excitement. “Did you? Did you? Did you?”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice warm but tired. “I was there. It was very impressive.”

Anakin beamed up at him, walking with more of a swing in his step. “Where to next, Master? More lightsaber training? Oh, please, more lightsaber training! Or maybe flight training?” His eyes widened. “I’m a really good pilot, Master.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Obi-Wan said. He smiled down at Anakin. “However, it’s nearly bedtime Anakin. The final pursuits of this evening are going to be more reflective in nature.”

Anakin sighed dramatically. “Does that mean meditation?”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Of a sort. But don’t worry, Anakin, this time you’ll have something to do with your hands.” He smiled down at his Padawan, recalling their last meditation session, when Anakin had started drumming his fingers on the floor, and, when asked to stop, rocking back and forth, and, when asked to stop, shaking his leg uncontrollably. 

Anakin needed more guided meditation, Obi-Wan had realized, at least at first. He had consulted Masters Windu and Yoda, and they had given him this new idea. 

They walked into one of the meditation rooms, a calming rock waterfall splashed continuously in one corner, and a small set of wind chimes hung in another. 

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the floor, and Anakin joined him. Instead of closing his eyes and instructing his Padawan to do the same, however, Obi-Wan pulled out a brand new blue leather bound notebook. He gave it to Anakin, along with a sharpened pencil. 

Anakin looked at the notebook and pencil in his hands, his brow furrowed. When he looked back up at Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan smiled warmly. 

“It’s to write down your thoughts,” he said.

“Gee… Master…” Anakin winced, looking down at the notebook like it was a steaming pile of Bantha poodoo. “You shouldn’t have…”

Obi-Wan laughed. “All Padawans are expected to keep a journal, but we’ve held off until now just because of how full your days have been. I think it might help in meditation, however. How does that sound?”

“It doesn’t sound very good,” Anakin admitted. The look on Anakin’s face was pained, but he was always pained whenever he was asked to meditate. The young Padawan had many skills and was very strong in the Force. Meditation and peace were not his strengths. That was why Obi-Wan had opted for something to guide Anakin, something concrete that he could use in his meditation, even for now.

Obi-Wan chuckled dryly. “You can do this Anakin. I’ll do it with you.” He pulled out his own journal, clicking his pen to turn it on. 

“You have a journal too?” Anakin asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. “All Jedi are expected to keep a record of their days, their emotions, their successes and setbacks. It’s a very positive outlet.” He paused. “Of course, it’s also required for Padawans to keep a record of such things during their training. Think of it as sort of a nightly homework assignment.”

Anakin frowned.

Obi-Wan gave him a smile that he hoped was warm and encouraging. “It’s not so bad. Here, we’ll do the first entry together.” He opened his notebook, a worn, leather thing, and Anakin did the same. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “What is something that you are grateful for?”

Anakin picked up the pencil, wrapping all five of his small fingers around it. He hesitated for a moment, tilting his notebook and looking at Obi-Wan over the top of it. “Are you going to read this?”

“Never without your permission,” Obi-Wan said solemnly. “This is your personal journal, Anakin. You have a right to your privacy.”

Anakin nodded, and then he put his pencil to the paper and started scribbling. 

Obi-Wan did the same, writing his response in the journal. He continued for a while after Anakin, and then looked up with a calm smile. “Ready for the next prompt?”

Anakin nodded, though his face was stony. 

“What is something you did today that you are proud of?”

Again, Anakin put his pencil to the paper, writing back and forth, and again, Obi-Wan did the same. He couldn’t see what Anakin was writing– the boy held it at such an angle that it was completely obscured from Obi-Wan’s vision. If he leaned over or craned his neck, he could’ve gotten a look, but he had no interest in violating his Padawan’s privacy.

They went through a few more prompts (“What is one way in which you struggled today?” “Where did you find the Force today?” “What are you looking forward to tomorrow?”) with the only sounds in the room being the chiming of the hollow windchimes, the constant flow of water from the rock waterfall, and the scratching of ink on paper. When they finished, Obi-Wan closed his notebook, smiling warmly at Anakin. His Padawan also closed his book, but did not return the smile.

“Oh my,” Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “Is everything alright, Anakin?”

“Yep,” Anakin said, a little too quickly to be believable, and his smile was a little too wide to be sincere. He yawned hugely. 

Obi-Wan gave a small smile. “Bedtime, I think.”

“Aww, please Master, can we do one more lightsaber drill?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “We’ll have plenty of lightsaber work tomorrow, don’t you worry Anakin.” He stood up, offering Anakin a hand. “Up you get.”

Anakin took it, following Obi-Wan out of the meditation room and through the halls, carrying his notebook with him. When they got to Anakin’s room, Obi-Wan let go of his Padawan’s hand, pausing at the doorframe.

“I don’t have to do more writing tomorrow, do I?” Anakin asked as he brushed his teeth.

Obi-Wan smiled wanly at him. “Actually, the expectation is that Padawans make one journal entry a day.”

Anakin spit into the sink and then looked at his Master, horrified. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment!”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “It’s just writing, Anakin.” He waited until Anakin was curled up in bed before he used the Force to dim the lights. “Good night, Anakin.” He turned to leave, but a call from his Padawan stopped him.

“Wait, Master!”

Obi-Wan turned around.

“Before you go, could you maybe read me a story?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Of course, Anakin. How could I forget?” As was often the case (though always suggested by Anakin, Obi-Wan didn’t want to keep him up any later than the boy needed to be, they both needed their sleep), Obi-Wan picked up the book of fables from Anakin’s bedside table, settled into the chair beside Anakin’s bed and cleared his throat.

“A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there were two Tauntauns, walking on either side of an ice bridge on Hoth. Beneath that bridge was a deep chasm through which poured a mighty mountain torrent. The ice bridge formed the only means of crossing the chasm, and it was so narrow that not even two Ice Scrabblers could have passed each other safely. The narrow path would have made the bravest tremble, but not these two Tauntauns. Their pride would not permit either to stand aside for the other.”

“I wouldn’t be scared,” Anakin whispered.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said with a kind smile, and then he continued the story. “One Tauntaun stepped onto the bridge, the other did likewise. They meet in the middle, head-to-head, and neither would yield for the other to cross. They stayed like that until the ice beneath their feet cracked. They both fell into the chasm and were swept away.”

Anakin’s eyes were wide. He wrinkled his nose. “You always tell such dark stories.”

“I do not,” Obi-Wan replied, drawing a hand to his heart, offended. 

“Yes you do. Things are always dying in your stories.”

“These are the same stories my Master told me. They all have a lesson.” Obi-Wan smiled slightly. “Do you know what the lesson in this one might be?”

Anakin thought for a second. “Don’t cross an ice bridge with a tauntaun?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Close. The lesson I was taught is that it is better to yield than to come to misfortune through stubbornness.”

Anakin was silent for a moment, thinking. Then, he smiled. “Have you ever been to Hoth, Master?”

“Oh yes, many times. But those are stories for another day,” Obi-Wan said, observing the yawn that Anakin hid behind his sleeve. “Bedtime,” He set the book on the table and stood up, smoothing back Anakin’s hair. “Get some rest, Padawan.”

Chapter Text

The following night, after a long day of training and meditation, Obi-Wan knocked and peeked his head into his Padawan’s room. “Finished with your journal entry, Anakin?”

Anakin, who sat on the floor tinkering with something that looked suspiciously like a Marksman-H Training Remote, looked up. He winced. “Do I have to?”

Obi-Wan gave him a stern look. “Yes, Anakin.”

Anakin groaned and picked up the notebook from his cluttered desk, hiding its pages from Obi-Wan as he sat in the back corner, picking up his pencil. “What do I gotta write?” he grumbled.

Obi-Wan smiled kindly. “Whatever you like. Maybe something from today that you enjoyed? Or something you didn’t enjoy? Where did you sense the Force today?”

Anakin furrowed his brow, gripping his pencil and scribbling across the page. “There,” he closed his notebook. “Done.”

Obi-Wan frowned slightly. “Anakin, the more time you put into this, the more meaning you will get out of it.”

“I’m okay,” Anakin said, pushing the notebook under his bed. “I think it would be better if I put my time into other things,” he grinned. “Like lightsaber training.” He stood up, grinning. “Can we spar?”

Obi-Wan sighed, exhausted. “No, Anakin.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

Obi-Wan looked into his Padawan’s pleading blue eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Anakin, repeatedly asking isn’t going to work.” 

Anakin gave him the biggest eyes Obi-Wan had ever seen, and pouted, whimpering. 

Obi-Wan sighed. “Alright. One spar. Then we’ll go to bed.”

Anakin threw his arms up in joy. “Yippee!”

After a fight that left Obi-Wan exhausted and Anakin in need of another bath, and after the usual nighttime routine of showering, teeth-brushing, and putting on pajamas, Anakin curled into his bed and asked for a story.

“A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,” Obi-Wan started, “there was a very vain Porgle. Now, Porgles did not always have their beautiful feathers. They used to have very small, functional feathers that were useful for flying and nothing else.” 

“Porgles can’t fly,” Anakin interrupted.

Obi-Wan’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, but they used to. However, this Porgle wanted more than anything to be beautiful. He had his friends attach jewels to his feathers, so that he would be the most beautiful of all the birds. He strutted by all his bird friends–” at this, Obi-Wan put his hands in his armpit to mimic wings, moving his head from side to side. Anakin laughed. “And he was the envy of all. But one day, he saw an Ikopi Hawk flying above. He wanted to fly with him, as he was accustomed to, but found that his feathers were so weighed down by beautiful jewels that he couldn’t get off the ground. The weight of his magnificent train that was the envy of all kept him from flying.”

Anakin grinned slightly. “Hey, no one died in that one.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back slightly with a grin. “I took your advice. Can you think of what the lesson might be?”

Anakin grinned. “Don’t glue jewels onto your skin?”

“Well, that is a good lesson,” Obi-Wan said, smiling, “but I was taught that it was to not sacrifice your freedom for the sake of pomp and show.”

Anakin was silent for a moment, chewing on his lips.

“Good night, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, standing up and smoothing Anakin’s hair. He glanced at the discarded journal, just for a moment, and he wondered…

Chapter Text

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan knocked on his Padawan’s door, peering in. Anakin turned around, startled. He was in his pajamas, mimicking lightsaber movements. “How’s the journal entry coming?”

Anakin huffed, the expression on his face turning from hope into dread. “I’ll do it right now…” he grumbled, picking the journal up from where he had discarded it yesterday and starting to write.

Obi-Wan took a step in, saying mildly. “I wondered if I might read over something you’ve written.”

He watched as Anakin tensed.

“You can choose the passage, and if there’s anything you don’t want me to see, that’s okay, but you should have a week’s worth of entries now, and I’d love some sort of window into the mind of my brilliant and… very enthusiastic young Padawan.”

Anakin swallowed. He gave the smallest, almost imperceptible shake of his head, and closed his notebook.

Obi-Wan paused, giving Anakin the time to speak. When he didn’t, he suggested, “Would you like to read mine first? Would that make you more comfortable?”

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, eyes wide. He seemed to be having a battle inside him: curiosity fighting… something else. In the end, curiosity won, and he nodded.

Obi-Wan smiled, crossing over and handing Anakin his notebook. “Here.” 

It was open to an entry from last week, when he and Anakin had answered the reflective prompts together. Obi-Wan thought the genius of this idea was only for Anakin to get more comfortable with the idea of journaling and sharing his journaling, but also to read the praise that sometimes Obi-Wan was a bit reluctant to share out loud. He read silently over Anakin’s shoulder, cringing slightly at his unfiltered words, but knowing it was an important vulnerability to model for his Padawan. 

What is something that you are grateful for?

I am grateful for my Padawan because he always makes me laugh, and for the opportunity to see him grow into a powerful and wise Jedi.

What is something you did today that you are proud of?

Today Anakin learned the Form V lightsaber techniques. I’m proud of myself for teaching it, as these techniques were the hardest for me to master, but I’m also proud of him for being such an eager student.

What is one way in which you struggled today?

I struggled to keep my patience when Anakin threw an egg at Master Windu. Seriously. Why?

Where did you find the Force today?

Today, as every day for the past month or so, I found the Force in Anakin. He is so strong in the Force, but is also so 

What are you looking forward to tomorrow?

Seeing what shenanigans Anakin gets up to (and tea. And also sleep.)

“What do you think?” Obi-Wan asked quietly after a few minutes.

Anakin pushed the notebook back to him. “Yeah, it’s great,” he said, though his voice was flat.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed slightly. “May I read yours?”

Anakin shook his head, drawing his notebook closer to him. 

“That’s okay,” Obi-Wan said gently. “If you need more time, that’s absolutely okay.”

Anakin nodded silently. He looked up at Obi-Wan with his bright, youthful eyes. “Another story?” he asked hopefully.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Alright, a quick one.”

“Yippee!” Anakin cried, hopping into bed, bouncing once, twice, and then falling facefirst onto the pillow. He pulled his covers around him and grinned at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan smiled warmly. He picked up the book of fables, cleared his throat, and started to read. 

“A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a family of Mumoosh who longed to free themselves of their enemy, the Tooka cat. At least they wished to find some way of knowing when the Tooka was coming, so they might have time to run away. Indeed, something had to be done, for they lived in such constant fear of the Tooka’s claws that they hardly dared stir from their dens by night or day. Many plans were discussed amongst the Mumoosh council, but none were accepted, until one little Mumoosh spoke up. 

“‘I have a plan’, he said, ‘it is very simple, but I know it will be successful. All we have to do is hang a bell from the Tooka’s neck, and then we will know when she is coming around. When we hear the bell ringing we will know immediately that our enemy is coming’. All the Mumoosh cheered because this was such a good idea, but while they were rejoicing, an elder Mumoosh arose and said, ‘I will say that the plan of the young Mumoosh is very good. But let me ask one question: Who will bell the Tooka?’”

Anakin’s brow furrowed. “I would do it.”

“But you are not a Mumoosh,” Obi-Wan said kindly. He reached out to ruffle Anakin’s hair. “Although you are certainly quick like one.” 

He laughed and squirmed away. “But why would the Mumoosh suggest it if he didn’t have the courage to follow through?” 

“Well,” Obi-Wan brought a hand to his chin. “I suppose that is the moral of the story. That it is one thing to say something, and quite another to do it.”

Anakin’s brow furrowed slightly, and he kneaded on his lower lip. 

“Good night, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said softly. He set the book on the bedside table and left, closing the door gently behind him.

Chapter Text

“Good, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, impressed. 

Anakin’s brow furrowed. His arm was still outstretched, his muscles tight. Sweat beaded on his forehead. At Obi-Wan’s words, he turned and beamed. The block that he’d been lifting, not with his hand but with the Force, clattered to the ground. Anakin winced. “Oops.”

They were practicing using the Force, and Anakin had moved on from small objects to larger, heavier crates. He was moving miraculously fast through the training modules Obi-Wan had been leading, and definitely was lending credibility to the idea that his young Padawan was indeed the Chosen One. The only assignment that Anakin did not seem to appreciate was his journaling, but Obi-Wan had a plan for that. 

That night, after Anakin had showered off the sweat from the day’s training, brushed his teeth, and put on his pajamas, Obi-Wan knocked and entered his Padawan’s room. 

“How’s the journaling coming along, Anakin?” he asked.

Anakin threw his head back and sighed dramatically. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said calmly, taking a seat in the desk-chair opposite Anakin’s bed. “But don’t worry. I have some specific prompts today that might help.” He cleared his throat, gesturing for Anakin to get his journal and pencil, which the boy did with no shortage of grumbling. 

Anakin curled his knees up tight, shielding the journal from view. 

“Alright, first,” Obi-Wan paused for dramatic effect. “What is your favorite lightsaber form?”

Anakin paused, his little brow furrowed as he looked up at his Master. “That’s not a normal question. Normally they’re all asking about the meaning of life or the Force or… all that stuff.”

“That’s true,” Obi-Wan tilted his head, “but I figured today we would branch out to a new field of questioning. For me,” he clicked his pen, starting to write, narrating as he did so, “my favorite form is Soresu. Now, write yours.”

Anakin hesitated, then scribbled something in his journal. When he finished, Obi-Wan continued.

“Next: describe the fastest podracer ever made.”

Anakin’s lips twitched as he scribbled in his notebook. Obi-Wan smiled. This was good. Any positive relationship he could establish between Anakin and journaling (which the boy seemed to loathe) was good. Were the questions unorthodox? Yes, but in many ways so was his Padawan.

When Anakin stopped scribbling, looking up at Obi-Wan expectantly, Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “And lastly, do you think I should grow a mustache?”

At this, Anakin laughed. Obi-Wan smiled. 

Anakin scribbled his answer. It took far longer than Obi-Wan would’ve expected, and he was intrigued by what the young Padawan was writing. When Anakin finally finished, he grinned up at Obi-Wan. “You should do more prompts like that.”

“Oh, is that so?” Obi-Wan teased.

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. Especially the mustache one.”

“I didn’t know my Padawan had such strong opinions on the state of my facial hair.”

Anakin grinned.

Obi-Wan smiled back. “Anakin, would you like to read me what you wrote for any of those prompts?”

Slowly, Anakin’s smile faded. “Uh…” He looked down at his notebook and then back up to Obi-Wan. 

“Let’s start with the lightsaber one, hm?”

Anakin chewed on his lip, staring at the page before him, his knees still curled up so Obi-Wan couldn’t see. Then, he spoke. “Well, I like Djem So the best, because it makes me the most powerful.” 

With effort, Obi-Wan resisted the urge to remind his Padawan that power wasn’t everything. In this moment, he didn’t want to say anything that might hinder Anakin’s growth, not when the boy had, for the first time ever, read his writing to Obi-Wan. And yet, something was off. Anakin’s eyes didn’t move from left to right as he read. Instead, he stared directly at the page, his eyes not moving. Obi-Wan leaned forward slightly, keeping his tone light and unsuspecting, as he watched his Padawan curiously.

“And the podracer?”

Anakin beamed. “Blue Lightning, by far. That’s the one I raced on Tatooine when I won my freedom.” He looked down at the page. “It has two big Radon-Ulzer 620C engines, and thick plasma binders. It can go up to 947 kilometers an hour. It’s really fast, and it’s scrappy, so it survived all sorts of stuff.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan tilted his head, “sounds sort of like its pilot.”

Anakin grinned sheepishly.

“And the mustache?”

At that, Anakin smirked. “Absolutely. A big one. With long curls at the end. I think you’d look even sillier than you already do.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “I never knew my own Padawan considered me ‘silly’.”

“Not your personality,” Anakin corrected quickly, “just your hair.”

Obi-Wan touched his hair self-consciously. He had started growing it out since the removal of his Padawan braid, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the longer style. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Anakin sighed. “The fact that you even have to ask that just proves my point.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, flabbergasted. “How old are you?”

“Ten,” Anakin said with a toothy grin. 

“Alright, ten-year-old expert on style,” Obi-Wan said with teasing annoyance. “Time for bed.”

“Can I at least get a story?” Anakin begged. “Please?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Oh, alright.” 

“Yippee!” Anakin cried. He slammed his journal shut, and Obi-Wan realized the boy had been holding it upside down the whole time. Before he could comment, Anakin slid the journal under his mattress, where he had once hidden ration bars, loose teeth, and other trinkets he liked to hide. 

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. He shifted in the chair and pulled over the book of fables from the desk by Anakin’s bed. He considered the table of contents for a moment before flipping to page seventy-four. 

“This story is called the Kowakian Monkey Lizard and the Moappa.” He smiled at Anakin. “And it’s set on a world that you know. This is an ancient fable from Naboo.”

Anakin’s eyes lit up. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin missed Naboo, missed its lakes and oceans and beautiful nature. He knew that a part of him also missed Naboo’s queen, the kind Padme Amidala. He knew that the boy hoped very much to return to Naboo one day, but neither Master nor Apprentice knew if that day would come. 

“Once, there was a ship of Naboo nobles who were traversing the sea. Their ship wrecked off the coast of Varykino, and they would have drowned were it not for the friendly Moappa, who carried them back to shore.”

Obi-Wan remembered his own days on Naboo, in the small underwater vessel that he had shared with Master Qui Gon before meeting with the Gungans. The ocean of that trip was not one he’d describe as friendly. 

“Now, at this time, it was customary for citizens of Naboo to travel with their pets, Voorpak, Tooka Cats, and Kowakian Monkey Lizards. When the ship wrecked and the Moappa helped carry the people back to shore, one Moappa saw a struggling Kowakian Monkey Lizard, and thought it was a man.”

“He thought a Kowakian Monkey Lizard was a man?” Anakin asked, unimpressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, a sardonic smile on his face. “Oh yes. Keep in mind, Anakin, the Moappa live underwater– they rarely see men. So this Moappa told the Monkey Lizard to climb on his back, and then he swam for shore. The Monkey Lizard sat up on the Moappa’s back, grave and dignified. ‘You are human, no?’ the Moappa said. ‘Oh yes,’ replied the Monkey Lizard. ‘And you are a citizen of the illustrious Theed, are you not?’ the Moappa said to the Monkey. ‘Yes’, replied the Monkey proudly. ‘I’m a great Senator from Theed. I come from a long line of noblemen’.”

Anakin wrinkled his nose. “Noblemen Monkey Lizards?”

Obi-Wan gave him a small smile. He continued reading. “The Moappa was impressed. He told the Monkey, ‘Then you must often visit Varykino’. ‘Oh yes,’ the Monkey Lizard replied, ‘Indeed I do. I am with him constantly. Varykino is my best friend.’ This answer took the Moappa by surprise, and he looked up to see the creature on his back.” Obi-Wan paused, staring at the text on the page. 

Without more ado, he dived and left the foolish Monkey Lizard to take care of himself, while he swam off in search of some human being to save.

“Then what happened?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan looked up, and, when he turned back to the book, he gave the story a different ending. “When the Moappa realized it was a Monkey Lizard on his back, he was startled. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘why did you lie to me?’” At this, Obi-Wan paused, looking to Anakin. He kept his voice gentle. “What do you think he said?”

A crease formed between Anakin’s little brows. “Maybe that he was scared? That he thought if the Moappa knew that he was only a Monkey Lizard, he wouldn’t save him?” He looked up at Obi-Wan, desperate for approval, and Obi-Wan’s heart sank. When he didn’t speak for a while, Anakin pushed. “But what does the book say?”

Obi-Wan glanced back to the pages before him. He cleared his throat. “The Monkey Lizard confessed that he had been afraid, and the Moappa told him there was no need. He was a creature of the Force, and would care for all in need, whether humans or Monkey Lizards. He took the Monkey Lizard back to the shore, and left him to think of the lies that had gotten him caught, and the fear that had caused them.”

When Obi-Wan finished, Anakin was quiet for a long moment. Then, he spoke. “What’s the moral on this one?”

Obi-Wan glanced back to the bottom of the page. “One falsehood often leads to another,” he read.

Anakin chewed on his lip, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. As Obi-Wan stood up, and turned off the light, his heart felt heavy. 

Anakin was hiding something, something to do with his journaling assignments. The reluctance to do them, the refusal to let Obi-Wan read, and the holding the notebook entirely upside down today all pointed to something that the boy was lying about. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what falsehood Anakin was perpetuating, but he did have a sinking understanding of his Padawan’s reason for doing so. 

Maybe that he was scared? That he thought if the Moappa knew that he was only a Monkey Lizard, he wouldn’t save him? The boy had said.

Oh, Anakin, Obi-Wan thought, and, as he lay down in his own bed, he made a plan for tomorrow that would help the boy grow not just in the Force or lightsaber techniques, but in confidence and the courage to be kind to himself. 

Chapter Text

The following night, after a full day of training, Obi-Wan did not press about the journaling assignment. Instead, when Anakin asked for a story, he smiled warmly and sat in the chair across from Anakin’s bed. 

“I thought we could do something different tonight,” Obi-Wan said. “Instead of reading from the book of fables, I wonder if you’d be interested in hearing a story from my days as a youngling.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious, Master? YES!” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “Very good. Well, this story requires you to keep a bit of a secret, Anakin, can you do that?”

Anakin nodded solemnly, and Obi-Wan inhaled.

“Excellent. Our story starts one day in the Jedi temple, when one particular youngling was about to partake in his trials to become a Padawan. I had not slept at all the night before, and I stayed up all night practicing with my lightsaber.”

Anakin snorted. “Then how come you’re always telling me I have to go to sleep instead of practicing lightsaber?”

“Because I know firsthand the dangers of sleep deprivation when holding a weapon,” Obi-Wan said sternly. “I failed that test. Tripped over my own robe, almost impaled myself with my lightsaber, and left crying. The other younglings had a new nickname for me after that, ‘Oafy-Wan Kenobi’.”

Anakin snickered.

Obi-Wan frowned. “It’s funny now, but at the time, I was mortified.”

“Well, why did you stay up so late, Master?”

He hesitated. “The truth is, as a youngling, I never thought I was much good with a lightsaber.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Actually, I knew it. When I hit my early teenage years, I was a disaster, completely uncoordinated. But it wasn’t the clumsiness that made me do poorly on that trial. It was my unwillingness to ask for help.”

Anakin’s tiny brow furrowed. “But you’re so good with a lightsaber. You can even do the Soresu deflection.”

“Yes, but it took a lot of practice, and a lot of training. I had to learn how to use a lightsaber, and I needed more help with it than I was willing to admit.” Obi-Wan gave Anakin a meaningful look. “We aren’t born with all the skills we need, Anakin, or even all the skills that we think we should have. Sometimes, we need to be taught. And sometimes it’s okay to ask for help with the things you don’t understand.”

For a long moment, Anakin was silent. Then, slowly, he reached under his mattress and pulled out the journal. He handed it to Obi-Wan, not looking his Master in the eye. 

Obi-Wan gently opened the book, and inhaled deeply at what he saw. There were no words on the page. His suspicion of that had been correct, and he wondered how he had not thought of it before. As a slave, when would Anakin have learned how to read? Most owners forbid it entirely, and none would invest the time or energy to teach their slaves. His mother could have taught him, Obi-Wan supposed, but that was assuming she knew how to read, and if she had spent her entire life as a slave, where would she have learned. He felt a great sense of shame that he had failed Anakin as a teacher for assuming that he would have the knowledge of how to read and write; that assumption had probably led Anakin to feel even more ashamed of his lack of abilities. 

But the pages were not blank either. They were covered in drawings– doodles and images that, as Obi-Wan looked at them, he recognized as the answers to the prompts that he had asked all week. On the first page, there were sketches of Mou Kei forms and chocolate ration bars. On the second, drawings of lightsabers and stick figures. Podracers. Different forms drawn next to a smiley face or sad face. Meditative doodles. One page even had a startlingly accurate picture of him with a very long mustache. Obi-Wan laughed in spite of him. 

Anakin looked over at him, hurt, and Obi-Wan quickly corrected. “No, Anakin, look,” he held out the page, and Anakin grinned. 

“I think you’d look good like that, Master.”

“Well, now I’m really considering it,” Obi-Wan said, tracing his beard pensively. He smiled at Anakin, handing the notebook back. “These are very well done. Thank you for sharing.”

Anakin took the notebook and quickly looked away. “I didn’t want to show you before, because… well… I didn’t think I was doing it right.” 

“You are,” Obi-Wan said. He nodded to the notebook. “These pictures perfectly convey your answers to the journaling prompts, with good accuracy.” He paused, thinking of the drawing of him with a mustache. “Perhaps a little too much accuracy sometimes.”

Anakin gave him a small grin. 

Obi-Wan exhaled. “Anakin, I must ask, because the pictures are more than enough, but…” he hesitated, unsure how exactly he wanted to broach the issue, especially given his Padawan’s tendency to snap when confronted with his own insecurities. “Do you know how to write in Basic?”

Anakin crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his shoulders up. “I can fly faster than you,” he muttered. 

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “While I don’t doubt that, Anakin, that was not my question.”

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye, and then quickly looked away. “Well, it’s not fair!” He exclaimed. “All the other Padawans grew up in the temple. They learned when they were young, I…” his voice broke. “I was a slave.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said softly, his heart aching at the pain in Anakin’s voice. He leaned forward. “I know, and Anakin, I should not have assumed that you knew how to–”

“Of course you assumed I know how to read and write, Master, I’m ten years old!”

“You’re nine, Anakin.”

“I’m nine and three-quarters.”

Obi-Wan snorted. He sighed heavily. “Regardless of your age–”

“Nine and three quarters,” Anakin muttered.

“I should not have assumed that you knew–”

“All the other younglings know it,” Anakin said quickly. Once again, he glanced at Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye. “You probably want one of them for a Padawan instead.”

His words hit like a blaster. Silence flooded the space between them as Obi-Wan struggled to register what the boy had just said. “Anakin, why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Anakin’s voice was not anymore. It was wobbly, and wet, and sad, like the boy was holding back tears. “All the other Padawans can read and write, and I can’t, and I’m not good enough, and–”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

Anakin did, his blue eyes shining with tears.

“You are good enough,” Obi-Wan said. “You are. You shouldn’t compare yourself to other Padawans, but for the record, none of them can fly a podracer as fast as you, or repair a droid as well as you can.”

Anakin swallowed what looked to be a sizable lump in his throat. 

“You’re skilled with a lightsaber, extremely strong in the Force, and you are enough. You are kind, and bright, and very funny, and you are my Padawan, and I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, his eyes brimming with silver. “Even if I can’t read?” he asked in a small voice.

“Even if you can’t read,” Obi-Wan confirmed. He sighed. “Although I do want to ask, would you like to learn? Just like learning a lightsaber form, if you want to know it, you have to be taught.”

Anakin swallowed and nodded.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said softly. His heart, still aching from their conversation, started to swell slightly with hope. He ruffled Anakin’s hair and stood. “We’ll start tomorrow.”