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.
Qui-Gon knelt next to his narrow cot in an attitude of meditation, but his mind whirled, racing this way and that, mostly taunting him with memories of his humiliation at the Battle Arena that day. He tried to figure out exactly what he did wrong, but it all boiled down to his lack of control over his rapidly changing body--and by the time he stopped growing and mastered his new form, it would be far too late for him to be chosen as a padawan!
If only he weren’t so tall and lanky. If only he weren’t so clumsy. If only...
A hand dropping on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie, and he glanced up, scowling in irritation at whoever had interrupted him only to see the concerned faces of his two closest friends.
“We heard what happened,” Mace told him, his voice laden with sympathy.
“Yeah, we’re real sorry, Qui-Gon,” Iain chimed in. “But there’re other Masters who’ll be at the Arena tomorrow, and you’ll do better then!”
“I doubt it,” Qui-Gon replied morosely, feeling despair closing around his heart. “I’ll probably just make a fool of myself again.” He released a long, resigned breath, letting his shoulders slump in dejection. “Maybe I shouldn’t even bother. I’m just humiliating myself. Maybe I should just give up and join the Agri-Corp or the Medics--”
“No!” Mace cried, gripping Qui-Gon’s shoulder more tightly. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Qui-Gon snarled, shrugging off his friend’s hand impatiently. “You know what’ll happen if I go out there tomorrow! I’ll fall or trip or do something stupid and lose the fight--just like I did today.”
“Qui-Gon...” Mace knelt down next to him, not touching him, just peering at him anxiously. “You can’t talk like this. You’ve wanted to be a Jedi for years. You can’t give up now.”
“Wanting something and being able to have it are two different things,” Qui-Gon sighed, feeling his anger drain away; he was too heart-weary to sustain any strong emotion at the moment. “I haven’t been able to win a fight in months. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a Jedi.”
“Of course you do!” Iain protested. “Mace and I don’t win every time either, but we still got chosen.”
“Maybe we could practice with you tonight,” Mace suggested, scrambling to his feet and extending his hand to Qui-Gon, who regarded it warily. “C’mon--we’ll help you. Maybe with all three of us working together, we can find a way to compensate for your clu--um--your problems.”
Qui-Gon looked up at Mace, who was gazing down at him with a typically serious, intense expression, and then over at Iain who was smiling hopefully and nodding encouragement. As much as he felt the inherent futility in wasting any time practicing--if he hadn’t managed to work out his “problems” before this, what difference was one night going to make?--he found himself sliding his hand into Mace’s and standing up, reaching for his lightsaber, which was on his bed where he’d thrown it. It might not do any good, but it couldn’t hurt either, and he didn’t have the heart to reject his friends when they were only trying to help him.
“All right,” he said, mustering a smile. “Let’s give this a try.”
Hours later, Qui-Gon collapsed backwards on the practice mat, panting. Mace stood over him, frowning slightly as he deactivated his lightsaber.
“Well, that didn’t work.” Mace stated matter-of-factly.
“No.” Qui-Gon reached up and brushed back a strand of light brown hair that had escaped from his ponytail and was now clinging to his sweat-covered face. “It didn’t.”
Iain had suggested on concentrating on trying to formulate offensive and defensive maneuvers that consisted of as little movement as possible, but that wasn’t practical, and even when they tried it, Qui-Gon had lost--again and again and again.
Deactivating his lightsaber, he lay back and closed his eyes, feeling a burning resentment deep inside. It wasn’t fair. There was more to being a Jedi than fighting. It wasn’t fair that most of the emphasis of being chosen was placed on a tournament rather than the apprentice’s other qualifications...
Opening his eyes, he peered up at his two friends. There was Mace, whose dark-skinned face was calm, but whose eyes betrayed the pain he felt on Qui-Gon’s behalf. And there was Iain, whose normally cheerful features were scrunched with worry, and he kept running his hands over his newly-shorn hair, obviously still not comfortable with the padawan cut since his jet black hair had once been as long as Qui-Gon’s own.
Both of them were also wearing the light colored tunic and leggings that made up the basis of the padawan uniform. And Qui-Gon envied them for it. Their place in the Temple was assured unless they turned to the Dark side, and he couldn’t foresee either of them doing that. Mace possessed too much self-control, and Iain was--well, Iain was just too blasted good-natured.
All three of them had wanted nothing more than to be chosen as padawans; they had visions of themselves as Jedi knights, roaming the galaxy together, fighting evil, defending the weak, administering justice and keeping the peace. Now it seemed only Mace and Iain would fulfill their dream. Well, two out of three wasn’t bad...
Extending both hands, Qui-gon let them pull him upright, and then he began methodically gathering up his things, ready to head back to the apprentice dormitory.
“Don’t you want to practice some more?” Iain asked hesitantly.
“No.” Qui-Gon stood up straight, a grimly determined look on his face. “It’d just be a waste of time. I know what I’m going to do tomorrow.”
Yaniko meandered aimlessly along the carefully tended paths of her favorite meditation garden--the irony that it was the one closest to the apprentices’ dormitory was not lost on her--and let her mind wander, hoping some train of thought would come along to help her decide what to do.
That she had stepped down from the Council was not something she could regret for many reasons, but it meant she was now adrift with no set task or goal to focus on. She wasn’t certain whether she wanted to return to accepting missions on her own or whether she wanted to take on a padawan learner. Both options had their bonuses and drawbacks, and they were almost equal. So far, nothing had tipped the balance on either side in her mind.
If she resumed accepting missions, she would have purpose, and she would be accomplishing things--as long as she was successful, she thought with a wry smile. But she would also be alone. Every mission would take her to new and different worlds where she would meet new people...and then leave them again. Her closest friends at the Temple were gone most of the time. Or dead.
If she chose a padawan, she would be able to resume teaching, which she enjoyed, but it also meant nurturing a young one through the troublesome adolescent years, and sometimes young girls could be so flighty--
Approaching footsteps jostled her out of her reverie, and without thinking, she slipped back into the shadows of the tall bushes lining the walkway, not only getting out of the way of whoever was approaching but also out of their sight. Multiple footsteps--perhaps three people, she thought, her old scouting habits kicking in without her realizing it.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” one of them was saying, his tone laden with concern. “What do you mean, you know what you’re going to do tomorrow?”
“Just what I said,” came the calm reply. “I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to fight in the Battle Arena tomorrow.”
“But Qui-Gon--” A third voice, higher pitched than the other two but still distinctly belonging to a young male, piped up. “If you don’t fight, you won’t be chosen!”
“Those are THEIR rules,” the one who was apparently named Qui-Gon growled. “I choose to play a different game.”
Yaniko’s eyebrows nearly climbed into her hairline at that. An apprentice with enough gumption to challenge the system of choosing padawans? Well, well, well...
Just then the three young men came into view; two of them she saw were already padawans, probably just chosen in the last day or two. The one whom they flanked was still dressed in an apprentice’s uniform, his long hair flowing around his shoulders. Briefly she wondered if he were one of the apprentices Yoda had mentioned--one of those who might lose their chance to be a Jedi if they weren’t chosen.
Silently, she watched them go, and their back-and-forth debating slowly faded as they moved out of earshot. Narrowing her eyes speculatively, Yaniko tapped her chin with her forefinger.
Perhaps she would pay a visit to the Battle Arena the next day if only to see what the cheeky upstart planned to do. It ought to proved most interesting--if he had the courage to follow through with his bold words.
Yes, it should prove VERY interesting indeed...