JAOA Webpage: http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/garden/jaoa.html
Category: AU, Drama
Disclaimer: George Lucas is god. I just slip in and play with
the toys when he's not looking.
Notes: [this is telepathy] and these are thoughts.
Pairing: Anakin, Han
Rating: PG
Series: JAOA
Summary: Padawan rituals of passage - formal and informal - bring Master
and Padawan closer.
Han Solo's chamber, where he had lived and studied and slept every day for the last eight years, since he had been old enough to leave the nursery, was empty. Every belonging, every momento, every scrap of anything that he claimed as his own had been neatly boxed up. It shouldn't have taken him long - initiates didn't collect much in the way of belongings - but all the same it had taken him hours to do. Han, who had only that morning been convinced he could walk out of the Temple without anything but the clothes he wore, had found himself on hands and knees fishing forth the pieces of a model from under the sleeping couch and retrieving tools and bits of things, old data pads and reading disks, each one suddenly impossible to leave behind and necessary to look over thoroughly before it could be packed away for the short trip to his new room.
It had left his old room feeling hollow and empty by the time he was done cleaning it - his footsteps had echoed and there hadn't been so much as a scrap of dust to show that he had ever been there. All the years of his admittedly short life, packed up into three crates. He wasn't sure which would have been worse - to have left it all behind, or to have to face the knowledge that his entire life could be summed up in no more than that.
Several of Han's friends had stopped in over the afternoon to see him off. The news had run through the gossip line like wildfire, curious faces lingering outside the open door as he packed or ducking in to say a few quick words and satisfy their curiosity. Kishan had stayed to help Han clean and carry the crates out, the younger boy wishing Han sincere good luck. Other responses had been less cheerful. "Sith's own luck, Solo," Juso swore, sweeping into the room as Han had been finishing packing. "Master Kenobi's Skywalker? How do you rate?"
Han had shrugged. Juso was his yearmate and only a month away from the cut off point herself. They had never been that close and the nearer their final birthdays drew the more ascerbic Juso had become. Whipcord thin and almost all of it muscle, she was more then capable of pummeling Han into the ground and had proved it more than once in practice bouts. Han had found it guiltily gratifying to watch the pale blue of her skin turn a mottled purple with agitation as she glared at him, fists clenched at her side.
"He says I have a lot of potential," Han had replied. He didn't believe the words himself, but it had felt good to brag a little.
"For what?" Juso had demanded. "Cheating?"
"They say Skywalker's married to royalty," Kishan had offered quietly from where the younger boy had been cleaning Han's desk. Pale eyes blinking rapidly, he had shrugged a little when both of the older initiates turned to him. "That's what they say."
"Naboo," Juso had sniffed. "Some elected royalty on Naboo."
Han had shrugged again. "I don't know about that," he had admitted. "I only met him yesterday."
Juso's eyes had been alarmingly wide. "And he picked you? Sith!" Too agitated to continue talking she had run from the room, kicking the doorframe on her way out. Han had sighed.
"I didn't do it to upset her. I didn't even know about it until this morning."
"She's just worried," Kishan had said. The younger boy was perpetually unshakeable. "Do you want help carrying these up?"
Anakin had met them at the higher level of the Knight's quarters. There were several boxes of his own in the main room which the Knight had quickly pushed out of the way towards his own sleeping chamber before showing the boys the door that lead to Han's new room.
Han had been thrilled with the new chamber. Part of Skywalker's suite of rooms, it was larger than an initiate dormitory room by more than half, with a small window that overlooked the north Temple tower. It adjoined the dressing chamber they shared and opened out into the central room with it's table and seating arrangement. The sleeping couch, the work table, the shelves - everything was larger. When Kishan had wished him luck and left Han had turned to unpacking his few things and it had barely changed the look of the room. The only reassurement had been that his Master's belonging barely filled the outer rooms either; except for the boxes which had subsequently disappeared out of sight Han was unsure what, out of the sparsely decorated room, was a personal belonging or only the standard equipment for any Knight's suite.
By then most of the day had passed. When Han emerged from his new room it was to find Anakin setting dishes out on the table, the smell of them reminding the boy that he hadn't eaten since that morning. Seeing him, Anakin had gestured him to the table. "Go ahead. Unless you want to go to the dining hall."
"This is fine," Han had assured him, sliding quickly into a seat. He had hesitated in the act of grabbing for a dish of stewed meat, hunger warring with some remnant of manners, but Anakin had smiled and waved him ahead, reaching for another dish himself.
The meal had been eaten in silence, Han unsure what, if anything, should be said and the Jedi Knight apparently lost in thought. He ate neatly and quickly, but a frown had hovered on his brow and his gaze hadn't been on Han. Feeling somewhat invisible, the boy had found that nerves had a way of dampening an appetite. When he noticed that Han had stopped shoveling food down and was only picking at it Anakin had focused on him again, the frown growing. "Not to your taste?"
"No," Han said hastily, then rather belatedly added "Master". Wincing at his own clumsiness, he had shrugged. "It's fine. I'm just not as hungry as I thought."
Anakin had nodded. Pushing his own food aside, he rose to his feet and had shown Han what to do with the dishes. The table cleaned, he had sighed slightly and beckoned to the boy. "Come on."
'Where' had been the Knight's own sleeping chamber, a large room that opened opposite Han's own. There were few furnishings but what there were had a more personal feel to them then the ones of the outer room. Pulling the chair from his work table, Anakin had set it beside the sleeping couch and gestured Han to it. Feeling uncomfortable, Han had sat, waiting while the Knight went to collect a few items.
On the small table beside the couch were holos. Most of them were of a woman, dark haired and cooly beautiful. When Anakin had returned Han had, without thinking, jerked his chin towards them. "Your wife?"
The smile had returned to the Knight's face. "Yes. Her name is Amidala." Picking up one holo which showed the woman with two babies, he had pointed to them. "That's Luke, and that's Leia."
Han had felt his eyes widen. "You have children?"
Anakin had laughed, a warm sound of real amusement. "You didn't know? I thought the initiate gossip knew every time a Master sneezed."
Trying to hide his surprise and embarassment, Han has shrugged. "I don't listen to that."
"Good," Anakin had approved. Putting the holo aside, he reached out to turn Han's head forward again and push it gently down. A towel was draped across the boy's shoulders and he felt Anakin unwind the tie from his hair, freeing the loose mass of it. Fingers combed through it, shaking it out. "Well, Padawan," Anakin had said, his voice sounding faintly amused, "this is where you find out why having an experienced Master is preferable. I've never done this to someone else before."
Han had groaned beneath his breath and Anakin had laughed again. The laughter had fallen away, though, as the Knight tilted Han's head up and surprisingly light fingers had singled out a plait of hair behind his right ear, tying it away from the others. Han had found his mouth suddenly dry when he felt the first touch of the shears, heard the slick sound of their slim blades and had watched the first lock of dark hair fall down his shoulder to the floor.
It's just a haircut, he had told himself firmly. But it was more then that, and his trembling hands, clenched hard in his lap, had known it. Sitting in that chair, watching the length of his hair fall away and down, each little clump hitting his shoulders like a small blow, had brought the enormity of the whole day crashing down upon him. It was real. It was really happening. He, Han Solo, was Padawan to a Jedi Knight.
At one point Anakin had paused, his hand dropping to Han's shoulder and squeezing lightly. Han had been immensely grateful for that gesture, though neither of them had said anything. All of it was done in an almost reverent silence, broken only by the quiet sound of the shears. The skin across Han's shoulder blades had shivered, feeling the cool air of the room across the nape of his neck and over his ears.
When it was done Anakin had pulled the towel away, brushing the loose hair from Han's shoulders. Loosening the tie on the lock he had held aside, he quickly braided it, the little tail reaching below Han's ear but not quite to his shoulder. Taking up a new band, one in a soft shade of gold, Anakin had bound off the braid and then stepped back.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Han had reached up to brush a hand across the prickely strands of his cropped hair. His head had felt cold and light. Nodding to himself, Anakin had reached out to lightly tug the small braid. "You're official," he had jested softly, but his expression held a sobriety at odds with his voice and his eyes were dark.
Swallowing dryly, Han had taken refuge in humor rather than admitting to how his hands shook or the flutters in his stomach. "I'm bald."
Anakin had grinned after a moment, reaching up to ruffle his own pale hair. "You get used to it. It's practicle - easy to take care of."
There was a mirror in the dressing room and Han, when he thought his knees might not betray him, had gotten to his feet and made directly for it. The reflection that had stared back at him was alarmingly strange; the short spikes of his hair fluffed around his head, framing the planes of his face in a severe way. It made his eyes look larger, his forehead too tall, and only added to the perpetually startled look he was sure he had been sporting since that morning. The plait of the braid, too short to drape one way or another, stuck out at a jaunty angle despite all tugs to the contrary.
Running his hands through the cropped spikes didn't seem to make them any more real to his struggling mind. "I look..."
"Like a Padawan," Anakin had finished firmly, entering the dressing chamber behind him with the bundled towel in his hands. Embarassed to be found talking to himself, Han had snapped his mouth shut, dismayed to see that the flush was visible across his cheeks in the betraying mirror.
The Knight mercifully did not comment on it. Tossing the towel into the laundry, he came to stand behind Han, hands resting lightly on the boy's shoulders. His face, above Han's in the mirror, was somber. "Say it."
Caught off guard, Han could only look at him in bewilderment. "What?"
The smile wasn't in amusement so much as sympathetic understanding. "Your name."
More confused than ever, Han had shrugged. "Han Solo."
Anakin shook his head slightly. "No. Again."
Frustrated, Han had half opened his mouth to snap back, Master or no. Understanding came at the last moment and he closed his mouth again, swallowing. Meeting the eyes of his own reflection and that of his Master's, he firmly raised his chin. "Padawan Han Solo."
There were degrees to his Master's enigmatic smile which Han was trying to learn quickly. This one, then, was pleased approval. Rediculous as it was, it still made Han glad to see it. Anakin had given his shoulders a little shake. "Try to remember that." Releasing the boy, he had given Han a gentle push towards the door that lead to the boy's own room. "And try to get some rest, Padawan. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."
"Yes, sir," Han had replied automatically. In the doorway he had paused, glancing back. "Good night, Master Anakin," he had added quietly.
The Knight had met his eyes and nodded. "Good night, Han."
Sleep, once courted, had proven to be a fickle if not impossible conquest. Han had listened to the quiet movements of his Master in the outer rooms for a short time, and then to the silence as the suite was darkened for the night. Laying on a strange sleeping couch, the angles and shapes of the room about him all wrong, the feel of his own head upon the pillow distracting, Han could not fall asleep. It was then, in the dimly lit darkness, that he had remembered he had not yet gone to The Wall.
The wall was old. It had stood there for millenia and would stand for many more without a great deal of trouble. The corridor it upheld would likewise be there, and all the Temple around it. It was only a wall, soft grey in color, exactly the same as any other wall in the dormitory section.
But to every initiate who walked its length daily it was The Wall, a rite of passage they all aspired to. Every Padawan who passed it might reach out to touch one spot and one spot only upon it, smiling with pleased pride. Even the Knights and Masters who had cause to walk the length of The Wall, pretending all the while that they did not see it and had no knowledge of its significance, might find cause to reach out and brush a fingertip across their one, personal, spot. Hundreds of years were measured there, from the height that the tallest might reach down to the very floor, creeping steadily down the corridor with each passing year.
On the night when - if - an initiate left the dormitories to take their place as a Padawan, the final place they would visit would be The Wall. It wasn't meant to be done in front of an audience - it was enough that those who rose the next day would see it, the newest mark out of thousands of marks. When the lights of the corridor had powered down to a dim glow and the dormitory chambers had quieted as students sought their beds, then the new Padawan would go to The Wall. With saber powered no longer or stronger than a utility knife, in their smallest and neatest hand, they would choose a spot from among the leading edge of The Wall and sear into it's grey surface their full name. And for each and every one of them, that name began with the word "Padawan".
It had been child's play to throw on his clothes and, taking his lightsaber from its hooks, slip quietly from the suite and make his way through the darkened corridors back to the dormitory level. In the dim night lighting Han tipped back his head to read the tallest markings, rubbing a hand across the short brush of his newly cropped hair. It tickled, and the short tail of his braid rubbed against his neck. Han wound a finger around the thing, tugging slightly. He found himself perpetually reaching up to smooth back the locks of his hair, only to find it all missing.
His heart beat a little more rapidly as he contemplated the leading edge of The Wall, where the inscribed names tapered off into blank corridor. He knew the names there, had been in classes with them. Padawan Kahn Oro, Padawan Ti-Jas Ruhiki, Padawan Madara - he had seen all of them off, seen them leave without a backwards glance, trailing eagerly at their Master's heels.
And now he stood before The Wall, no different then any of them. Trailing his fingers over the names of his yearmates, he couldn't help smiling. "We'll see who makes it to the finish line first," he whispered.
Past the length of his hand the names became less familiar, and a handspan after that he no longer recognized them. Hundreds and thousands of names, stretching down the corridor. Han frowned slightly, considering, searching over the names closest to him. Measuring his steps, Han counted back down the length of The Wall to the point he approximated he would find what he was looking for. Stepping back, he scanned the height of the markings, looking for one in particular. Not seeing it, he checked the span of wall immediately to either side of his estimated point. Nothing. Frowning now, he moved another pace down the corridor and tried again.
"You won't find it."
Han jumped, whirling on the voice that broke the silence of the corridor. His Master, dressed casually in loose tunic and trousers and soft indoor boots that had muffled his footsteps on the smooth floor, smiled with amusement and nodded to the surface of The Wall. "You won't find it," he repeated softly. "I didn't sign it."
Han was startled but tried not to show it. "You didn't?"
"No." Stepping closer, Anakin ran his fingertips across the carved surface of The Wall. "I wasn't ever an initiate. I suppose you'd call me a special case. I came into the Temple when I was nine - Master Obi-Wan took me as his Padawan immediately. I didn't even know about The Wall until I'd been with him over a year. It seemed... wrong to sign it. I hadn't worked for it the way the others did."
Han gave up hiding how startled he was. It was one of the longer speeches Skywalker had made all day. "When you were nine? I didn't know the Council allowed that."
Anakin's smile held a wry edge to it. "They nearly didn't." Shrugging, he beckoned Han further down the length of The Wall. When he stopped his fingers brushed across a point at mid-chest. "Here. Master Obi-Wan. He showed it to me when he explained what The Wall was."
And there, indeed, it was. Written in a square hand, evenly spaced: Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. Han touched it lightly, tracing the letters. Hero of the war - everyone knew his name. And here was that same name, at the same rank as every other name on The Wall, scribed when the Jedi Master had been no older than Han himself.
"Master Qui-Gon's is farther down, of course," Anakin was saying. "And he wrote it almost at the floor. He said he did it because he's tall and everyone expected him to write it in one of the top most spots."
Frowning, Han traced over the name of Anakin's own Master again. "You should sign it," he said suddenly. It gave him some pleasure when Anakin looked as startled as Han himself had felt all that day. Persuing the advantage, he continued on. "So what if you weren't an initiate? This isn't for initiates, it's for Padawans. You made it through being a Padawan. You have as much right to sign it as anyone else here... Or even more. You passed the trials and not all of these can claim that."
Anakin shook his head, amusement in his eyes. "It's a Temple ritual, for Temple initiates, in the middle of the initiate dormitories." He gestured to some of the closed chamber doors around them. "I never had a room here. I never went to the classes or lived in one of these rooms. I barely knew any of the Padawans my own age when I was young. It'd be taking advantage of something I never participated in."
"It's not about being an initiate," Han insisted. "It's not an initiate ritual. It's... it's a writ of intent. It's not marking what you did as an initiate, it's marking what you plan to do as a Padawan. Sure, it's cutting the old ties, but it's also the first thing you do as part of where you're going. You did that, you went through all of that. So what if you didn't spend the years here in the Temple? You spent them somewhere else. Your name should be here."
Anakin hesitated and Han pressed his advantage. "If you're a Knight then people expect to see your name here." He gestured expansively to The Wall. "It's history. A list of who the Jedi are - not the Code but the people. Every Master and Knight and Padawan." He looked at Anakin, who was watching him intently. Embarassed again, Han shrugged slightly. "We spent hours looking for the names of our teachers," he admitted. "Or the names of the Council - anybody important." He tapped his knuckle against Master Kenobi's name. "I knew where this one was. Master Gallia is five steps down, at the height of my hip. Master Koth and Master Billaba were yearmates, they signed right next to each other. Master Yoda..."
"Is three steps from the beginning, at knee level," Anakin finished for him. "His handwriting was terrible."
Han grinned. "You see? That's what it's for. History. So initiates can find the names of their teachers and Padawans the names of their Masters. No matter who they are now they were all once Padawans and this proves it." He ducked his head, wishing his hair could still fall forward into his eyes. "It's hope. Because if they did it, then so can we."
Anakin nodded slowly. "Quite a speech from the boy who was ready to walk out of here this morning," he said. Han flushed, knowing he was being teased.
"It's got nothing to do with how I feel," he objected. "It's how all the initiates feel."
His Master smiled. "But you're not an initiate any more," he reminded Han. "So go add your name... and when you train your first Padawan they'll find it there, right where it should be."
Swallowing, Han unclipped his lightsaber and returned to the leading edge of The Wall. Activating the saber, he dialed down the length and power to bare minimum, the ghostly blue blade barely humming as it sprang into existance. Choosing a point at his own eye level, in the top most part of the marked portion of The Wall, he held the small blade to the surface and steadied his wrist with his other hand. The grey surface hissed slightly at the touch of the beam, charring black with each carved stroke. One line at a time, he carefully carved out the full mark, the title alone as long as his given name.
Padawan Han Solo.
Stepping back, he surveyed his work. It was a little crooked and the first line of the "P" in Padawan was scored too deep at the top and curved off towards the bottom as he had gotten the feel for the carving, but it hardly mattered. He was grinning like a fool and he didn't care. His mark on The Wall, to last there forever, an indelible piece of himself where every other initiate in the future would look at it and know that he had been there first. That he, Han Solo, had won the rank of Padawan and been on the path to becoming a Knight.
Anakin was behind him, watching. "It's well done," he said softly, approving, and Han grinned all the more. Turning, he thrust the lightsaber out, extending it to Anakin. The Knight hesitated, meeting Han's eyes, then slowly reached out to take it. He touched The Wall before him, then walked back the paces to where Han had first stood to search for his name. Running his hands across the marks, he shook his head and laughed softly. There were gaps between one mark and the next and, kneeling, Anakin choose one at the level of his waist and set the saber blade to the surface of The Wall.
In short work it was done. Anakin stepped back and switched off the lightsaber, surveying the results even as Han had done. His writing was better but the mark curved where he had needed to avoid another name. "Why so low?" Han asked.
Absently, Anakin handed the lightsaber back to him. "I wouldn't have been able to reach much higher back then," he answered. Han grinned, trying to picture the man as the short, tow headed child he must have been.
Stooping, Anakin brushed his fingertips across the carved lines. "Padawan Anakin Skywalker," he said softly, then grinned. When he did Han could see even more clearly the boy he must have been, the youth he had left behind not long ago. "I like it," Anakin admitted, straightening. Sweeping a hand across the surface of The Wall, he nodded. "Silly, but... it gives all of this a different perspective."
"High time you did it, then," Han told him bluntly.
Anakin looked at him sharply, then slowly nodded again. "Master Qui-Gon once said that if the Padawan teaches the Master something then you know the bond is true." He reached out, lightly brushing the fringe of Han's cropped hair.
Han ducked the gesture, then shrugged, embarassed. "Maybe," he muttered. Anakin just smiled, an expression that said nothing specific but warmed his blue eyes. Taking one last glance at The Wall, he nodded, satisfied.
"Back to bed, now," he instructed. "For both of us. I wasn't jesting about tomorrow."
Han sighed, but with one last glance of his own for the lines of names and the two new marks, he fell into step behind his Master.