Author's Notes: Special thanks to Pfyre and Eva for their camping horror story suggestions, most of which will be seen in the parts I haven't written yet. *smile*
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Qui-Gon sighed with quiet satisfaction as he settled a pillow more comfortably behind his back and drew his knees up, lounging on his bed and getting ready to lose himself in a study of ancient lightsaber construction and dueling techniques. He had been fascinated by the elegant weapon ever since the first time he’d been allowed to hold one, and he’d devoured everything he could find on the subject of lightsabers, their history and usage. Perhaps he was still battling his own gracelessness, but that didn’t alter his love of the weapon or his desire to wield it. ‘Saber practice was really one of the only aspects of physical training that he enjoyed. He’d happily spend hours practicing--but otherwise, he’d rather be meditating, reading or simply thinking about things he’d recently learned or read, mulling over the details and implications.
Unfortunately, he thought with a little scowl, his Master appeared to be the physical sort.
She was forever dragging him off to endless hikes through simulated swamps or deserts or some other horrendous landscape. She called it “terrain mobility training.”
He called it pure torture.
If he wasn’t being put through that hellish wringer, then it was a gamut of exercises--scaling walls, shimmying up poles, balancing on thin wires--that were not only tedious but unnecessary. He’d been through the flexibility and agility training long before he’d been chosen; all he really needed now were short, regular sessions to maintain his current level of ability. NOT daily, hours’-long drills that would be an insult even to the seven year old apprentices.
By the time she released him for the day, he was too physically exhausted to read or unwind in one of the meditation gardens as he longed to do. All he could manage was to clean up and collapse in bed only to start all over the next day.
But mercifully, she had a meeting with some of the other Masters that day, giving him a few hours of peace and quiet.
He bit his lip, frowning a little; he hated to think unkindly of her. After all, if it hadn’t been for his Master, he would have been sent away from the Temple by now, his thirteenth birthday being nearly a month gone by. Still, he couldn’t help feeling that they were completely wrong for each other, and he despaired of ever connecting with her the way Mace and Iain had connected with their Masters. His friends had been chosen by Masters who were much like their Padawan in temperament, and they had already begun forging strong mental bonds.
Qui-Gon, on the other hand, found himself shying away from mental contact with his Master; she was so energetic and active, and she tired him out just by being around her. He supposed he harbored an irrational fear of having his mental energies drained away as well if he opened up to her.
The most troublesome thing, however, was he didn’t feel safe in telling her that he was miserable. From what he’d learned from other Padawan, each Master had his own unique way of teaching. Who was he to tell HIS Master that she was doing it all wrong? Apparently her methods had worked for her other apprentices. Her approach simply didn’t suit HIM. Yet he had no choice but to remain with her if he wanted to become a Jedi Knight since no other Master had wanted him. THAT had been made abundantly clear before he had been chosen.
So it was his Master or nothing. And no matter how desperately unhappy he was, he wasn’t about to risk his dream of becoming a Jedi. He would simply have to find a way to face each ordeal as it presented itself and hope that things eventually got better.