DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Instantly awake, Obi-Wan leapt to his feet and stood poised, ready to defend himself if needed; he didn’t immediately reach for his lightsaber, however. His Master had taught him not to act in haste but rather to wait and see if his weapon were truly needed. “Assumption and misunderstanding,” Master Qui-Gon had told him, “are often harbingers of tragedy, my Padawan. Make certain the perceived threat is a true threat before you do anything that might give you cause for regret.”
Across the room, the creature shuffled out of the darkness, slowly moving into the glow of light offered by Obi-Wan’s small lamps. His every nerve taut with anticipation, Obi-Wan remained outwardly calm as he watched; the creature was roughly Master Yoda’s size, but it lacked that venerable Master’s diginified presence and strength of will that emanated from him like an almost palpable aura.
“It has been a long time since I have entertained guests,” the creature said, a hint of amusement in its voice.
It had moved close enough that Obi-Wan could now see that “it” was in fact a “he,” a short, dumpy man with long white whiskers, a bulbous, red nose and straggly white hair; his clothes were tattered and patched, and he appeared to be unarmed. Obi-Wan relaxed his stance marginally, sending out little probes along the Force and not feeling any danger radiating from the little man.
“Forgive me,” Obi-Wan replied with a courteous bow. “I didn’t know I was your guest. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my boy! I’m pleased to see you!” Without asking permission, the man sat down cross-legged at the edge of Obi-Wan’s bedroll, regarding him speculatively. “I could use some company--but I doubt you’re here to chatter with an old man. What brings you here?”
The young apprentice blinked, startled by the stranger’s bluntness, and before he could even think to censor himself, he found himself blurting out an answer: “My Master brought me here to learn what fear is.”
“Fear?” The stranger nodded, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. “Seems to me you’ve lived a goodly number of years, and yet you know nothing of fear?”
“No, sir.” He shook his head matter-of-factly. “I’ve never been afraid of anything.”
“Oh, come now!” The other scoffed loudly. “Everyone is afraid of something!”
“I’m not. I have neither seen nor experienced anything that I can say truly frightened me.”
The stranger fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was an edge of cunning in his voice. “And what will you give me if I help you learn what fear is?”
Once again finding himself surprised by this turn in the conversation, Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I don’t have much to give. What do you want?”
“Your weapon.”
Without thinking, he took a step back, one hand flying protectively to his lightsaber as if to ward off having it taken from him by force, and the old man cackled, rocking back and forth where he sat.
“What’s the matter, boy? Afraid I’ll use it against you?”
“No.” Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe evenly, calming and grounding himself, but he didn’t take his hand away from his ‘saber, and he didn’t move any closer to the old man.
Why DID he have such a strong reaction to the idea of giving up his weapon? It was just a lightsaber--Jedi lost theirs in battle all the time, and he knew how to build another. But...
This one was special. Not only was it his first lightsaber, the first one he had ever created himself, but also, he knew that it would be the only one his Master ever helped him construct. If he lost this one, then Master Qui-Gon would simply commiserate with him and send him off to construct a replacement--but he wouldn’t help. Not again.
Obi-Wan remembered the day they started working on this one. His Master had assembled the parts they’d needed, picking up each one and handing it to his apprentice, explaining what it was, what it did and where it went. Obi-Wan had turned each new part over and over in his hands, listening intently, trying to absorb every last detail.
When they had begun to work, Master Qui-Gon had talked Obi-Wan through each stage, explaining what needed to be done and why, then allowed Obi-Wan to do it himself. Occasionally, when something refused to fall into place, he had offered assistance, but Obi-Wan had done all the work, which let him look on the final product with a sense of pride.
Pride...a sense of accomplishment...a small triumph on his path to Knighthood...his Master’s quiet, deep voice providing instruction; his strong, capable hands holding the finished ‘saber; declaring it well-done...the closeness he’d felt to his Master while they worked together...All of that was wrapped up in this weapon.
No, Fate might cause it to slip from his grasp one day, but he would never give it up willingly.
“Well, then.” The old man grinned up at him. “We’ll just have to think of something else, then, won’t we.”