Joma Phrel was miserable. Her scalp hurt. Her ears
throbbed. Her throat itched, and it wasn't helped by
the fact that her stuffed-up head forced her to
breathe through her mouth. Her bones and her
muscles and her very skin ached. She knew in
about eight minutes the chill would subside, and
she'd have to throw off her blanket and go dunk
herself in the bath again. In addition to which,
someone somewhere was having a
carelessly-shielded argument, and the reverberations
only exacerbated the pounding behind her eyes.
Sinus congestion and Adept migraines were two
ailments that should never be experienced
concurrently. She ignored her door when it chimed.
Whoever it was could come back later, when she
didn't feel quite so near death.
The door chimed again. "Joma," she heard. "Joma,
we know you're in there." Kenobi. Joma
considered reaching out to see who was with him,
but her head hurt too much. The idiot chimed
again. "Come on, Phrel, open up."
"Go away, Kenobi," she called, tossing the blanket
off her shoulders and heading to the kitchen to stick
her head in the cooler. The chime rang again.
"Kenobi!"
"Joma, it's important," he said. "Don't make me hit
emergency."
Joma swore into her icebox, then retrieved her
blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and went
to fling open her front door. "I'd file a complaint for
harassment," she said, "but somehow I don't think
that would bother you so much. Skywalker. Nice
to see you again."
"Knight Phrel." Anakin bowed.
"May we come in, Joma?" Obi-Wan asked. "We do
have some important things to discuss with you."
"Oh, fine. You can come in, if you let me huddle in
the corner of my couch and feel wretched. And if
you don't complain when you catch whatever I've
got."
"Fair enough." Both men stepped inside the
apartment, waiting until Joma got as comfortable as
she could before taking their seats. "I know you'd
prefer if we cut right to the chase," Obi-Wan said.
"We're here about Sionnach. Have you seen her
lately?"
Joma yawned and squirmed. "Not recently. Why?"
"It looks to us," Obi-Wan said slowly, "like it's time
for her to leave the creche."
"Really? Congratulate her for me."
"And we can think of no better choice for her
master than you."
Joma bit her tongue when she sneezed. For a
moment she sat, moaning quietly, pressing the heels
of her hands against her temples. When she was
satisfied her aching head was returned to its normal
state of discomfort, she looked back at her visitors.
"I beg your pardon?" she rasped.
"Have you considered taking a padawan, Knight
Phrel?" Anakin asked. "We're sure you and Sion
would be an excellent match. She's so
strong-willed, it'll be tough to find a master who has
the patience to deal with her."
"Your padawan-in-law is too polite, Kenobi," Joma
snorted. "Patience? Nicely done, Skywalker. What
you mean is that I'm stubborn enough myself to take
her on."
"Besides which," Anakin persisted, "you know what
it is to be Adept. You'll understand her far better
than any other master could."
"Normally Adepts aren't trained by Adepts," Joma
began.
"Normally there isn't that option," Obi-Wan
countered. "If you could have had an Adept master,
don't you think that would have been a good choice
for you?"
"Listen," Joma said, sitting up straight and
impatiently shrugging off her blanket, "setting aside
my personal qualifications for a moment, how does
young Sion feel about this? Has she had other
requests to train her? I mean, ultimately, she needs
to make this decision. The Force will guide
her,
not the rest of us."
"That's true," Obi-Wan said. "But children don't
usually recognize when the Force is guiding them
toward apprenticeship. We need to prompt them to
think about it, you see."
"Yes, yes, yes, but even aside from that," Joma said.
"The thing is, Kenobi, that girl really ought to be
apprenticed to a healer. That's where her strength is
greatest. She could heal before she could walk."
"Believe me, Joma, I know that," Obi-Wan replied,
and Joma kicked herself for an insensitive clod. Of
course he knew that, and scarcely needed to be
reminded; it was his master, now his bondmate, that
Sion had healed at the age of five weeks from the
other end of the galaxy. Excellent, Phrel, Joma
thought. Dust off those debating skills. There's
stating the obvious to make a point, and there's
highlighting your own foolishness. "And nobody --
with the possible exception of Qui-Gon -- " he
smiled wryly -- "is more grateful for that strength of
hers than I am."
"Then surely you see that training her as a diplomat
or a pilot or whatever would be a misapplication of
her talents?"
"Quite the opposite, actually." Perhaps it was
Kenobi who had a touch of fever. Joma had never
heard him talk nonsense so calmly. "She's
fantastically strong in the Force -- on that we agree.
And she has a natural, probably inborn, talent for
healing. So the thing is, Joma, no matter
what
she does, she'll be an excellent healer. The question
is whether that's
all she should be."
"That healing skill needs to be disciplined ..."
"Of course, of course, but with a kid like Sion that'll
be a snap. It comes so easily to her, Joma. It would
be a shame to have her spend her life learning and
practicing something she can
literally do in her
sleep."
Joma felt herself chilling again, and wearily pulled
the blanket up around herself, tucking her feet up
underneath her. It was difficult to ache and think at
the same time. "May I make you some tea, Knight
Phrel?" Anakin offered. "If you have any chakka
root, that ought to ease your discomfort a bit."
"Yes, thank you, Skywalker," Joma said
distractedly. "Please make some for yourself and
Knight Kenobi, as well, if you'd like. Now then.
About Sionnach. I think what you're saying is --"
"What I'm saying," Obi-Wan interrupted, "is that
she'll be a healer no matter what she does, so she
might as well train to be something else as well."
"Right." Joma considered this. "That makes sense,
I guess. And she'd wind up being sort of a double
agent. A secret weapon."
"Exactly."
"Which reminds me --" she stopped short,
remembering that Anakin was not in the select
group who was aware of the caliber of disaster
indicated by the greater-than-normal number of
Adepts. Since that dinner meeting, she and Adi
Gallia had kept a careful count of the number of
Adept or even just plain awfully strong children
coming through their doors; it had continued high
for a year or so, but in the past two years had fallen
off sharply and returned to a trickle -- and, in their
travels, they had not chanced to find any others.
The knot of Adepts was therefore assumed to be
tied off, and Mace Windu was pushing hard for the
Council to be made aware of the danger before it
became immediate. But for the moment, they were
all sworn to secrecy, so she couldn't discuss it in
front of Anakin.
"What?"
"Nothing. My mistake. Carry on."
He looked at her curiously for a moment; she
mouthed the words 'I'll tell you later' and glanced
toward Anakin, busy in the kitchen. Obi-Wan
nodded and continued. "Anyway. Just as you say.
Send her out as a negotiator, and they'll be thrown
for a loop when she can heal the wounded as well.
Send her out as a healer, and she'll be able to talk
them out of wounding one another in the first
place."
"You've obviously given this some thought," she
coughed.
"A bit. Now, you're right that she'll need to
consider other masters -- I mean, if she wants to
study agriculture, and there's a master she'd be
happy with in that area, that'll be that. But Anakin
wasn't kidding -- I don't think there are very many
who would consider themselves able to train that
child."
"Or willing."
"Or willing." Obi-Wan looked intently at Joma for
a moment. "Doesn't it feel right, Joma? Can't you
sense that it's meant to be?"
"Oh, stop that." She threw a sofa pillow at him.
"I'll talk to the Council. I'll
ask them to consider
offering me Sion's training. But they'll argue. I'm
sure they won't think I'm a particularly good
influence."
"We'll stand behind you. We'll endorse your
request."
"Will you, now? And whom, exactly, do you mean
by 'we'?" She coughed again as she accepted her
chakka root tea from Anakin, nodding him her
thanks. "It hasn't escaped my notice, Kenobi,
darling, that you're here, and Master Jinn's padawan
is here, but Master Jinn himself is nowhere to be
seen. Why do I think this scheme might not have
his full support?"
Anakin flushed and looked at the floor. Obi-Wan
cocked his head in concession of the point. "Quite
right. He doesn't like the idea that Sion is old
enough to be a padawan. But none of us can deny it
forever, Joma, and when he comes around, he'll take
our part as determinedly as he takes the other now."
"Well, that's true. Occasionally wrong, but never in
doubt, Master Jinn. But just how much does he not
like the idea now?"
"Oh, a lot." Joma raised an eyebrow. "He hates it."
She raised the other. "He was more than predictably
upset. Shouted a bit and went to spar."
Joma cursed under her breath. Of all the people
who could be causing her splitting headache, it
would be Kenobi and Jinn. She turned to Anakin.
"Padawan Skywalker," she said, "does your master
know you're here?"
"No, Knight Phrel," he said.
"Would he have ordered you not to come?"
"Yes, Knight Phrel."
"Did he?"
"Yes, Knight Phrel."
"So what you're saying, Kenobi," she resumed
conversationally, "is that you've disobeyed a direct
order from your senior and this boy's master to
come talk to me about this, not to mention
infuriating your lover, a situation which nobody can
help you fix?"
Obi-Wan thought for a moment. "Sounds about
right," he said with a grin.
"Excellent. I'm in."
Qui-Gon Jinn returned to his quarters in a mood
only marginally less foul than the one in which he
had left them. It was bad enough that Mundi had
talked his ear off about the nascent plans to
centralize trade under the authority of the senate, or
that the knight had stubbornly refused to agree to
disagree. Qui-Gon himself was stubborn, but at
least he recognized when an argument was
unwinnable by either party. Didn't recognize it soon
enough to spare himself the frustration of having it
in the first place, but he was willing to walk away
without a resolution if need be. He had returned
home feeling tense about the shoulders and in need
of a little overt affection. He was tired and achy and
therefore cranky, like a child, but he saw no reason
to suppress this. Help was available.
But then Obi-Wan and Anakin had sprung this thing
on him about Sionnach going as a padawan, and
he'd snapped. When he'd thought they were joking,
everything was fine, but when he'd realized they
were serious it had been like a physical blow. His
carefully-controlled fury over the trade issue had
boiled right back up again, and caught his
discomfort at the Sionnach idea and enveloped it.
Before he knew it he was so tense and angry he had
to get out of the apartment and shadow-spar.
He'd left the salle when it seemed that his shadow
was winning.
Now, returning to his home in a sour frame of mind,
he was surprised to find the place empty. It was
well past the hour when most diurnal species were
in for the night, if not asleep, but Obi-Wan and
Anakin had finished cleaning up from Anakin's date
and gone out. Where they had gone, Qui-Gon
couldn't begin to guess; he kicked off his boots,
poured himself a glass of Anakin's leftover wine,
and flopped down on the couch to try to unwind
enough to meditate before going to bed. After a few
moments of deliberately relaxing his muscles and
staring at the ceiling, he rose, left the wine on the
table, and knelt in the middle of the room. He took
a calming breath, consciously relaxed his shoulders,
and set to clearing his mind.
Obi-Wan was the last to leave his thoughts.
Qui-Gon had no trouble setting aside thoughts of
Mundi, of the centralized trade proposal, of
Sionnach and masters and padawans and Anakin
and sparring and wine, but his consciousness was
reluctant to let Obi-Wan go. He smiled slightly to
himself, and focused on Obi-Wan rather than trying
to ignore him. He would meditate not on
nothingness, but on the something he was gladder of
than he'd ever been of anything else. He
concentrated on the nebulous Obi-Wan-ness in his
thoughts, on the red-blond hair, the
puzzling-colored eyes, the smile that left him no
choice but to smile back. He concentrated on the
boy Obi-Wan had been and the man he had become,
and the difference between the boy's habit of
attending on his master and the man's habit of
caring for his lover. He concentrated on the raw
spot in his heart that had been smoothed by the
years of Obi-Wan's presence, washing over it like
the sea over a stone, and he wondered almost out
loud how he, Qui-Gon Jinn, could be so fortunate.
He reached out with his hand for his glass of wine,
and reached out with his mind to find where
Obi-Wan was.
He was coming from Phrel's quarters toward home,
and he was satisfied about something. The wine
suddenly tasted of vinegar on Qui-Gon's tongue.
Knight Joma Phrel, Obi-Wan's old debate nemesis,
was now on his side in this nonsense about
Sionnach becoming her padawan. Qui-Gon recalled
specifically insisting that neither Obi-Wan nor
Anakin speak to Phrel about the issue, and the first
thing they had done was exactly that. He was
angrier at that than at the suggestion itself.
Qui-Gon had nearly finished the wine, glass and
bottle, and was sitting on the couch replaying
snatches of the evening's conversations in his mind
when Obi-Wan came home. Anakin was not with
him. He heard the door close, felt Obi-Wan sit next
to him and say nothing about the bottle, and did not
look up. "Enjoy your spar?" Obi-Wan asked softly.
Qui-Gon snapped his head in Obi-Wan's direction.
"Did I
enjoy my
spar?" he asked. Does he
think I don't know where he's been? he thought,
incredulous. Does he think he can say nothing?
"Obi-Wan, what did I say before I left here?"
"You said you were going shadow-sparring, love.
Or did you find a partner?"
"No!" Qui-Gon leapt to his feet, passively noting
the surprise on Obi-Wan's face. "I said that
neither of you was to speak to
anyone about the
merest
idea that Sionnach should become a
padawan, much less Knight Phrel's!"
"That's right, you did," Obi-Wan said mildly,
standing slowly.
"And where have you just come from?!" Qui-Gon
didn't wait for an answer. "From Phrel's quarters!
You've
been talking to her about it! Why?"
"It's dangerous to deny the will of the Force,
Qui-Gon. We cannot only accept it when it pleases
us."
"But I gave a
direct order. And you both
disobeyed me."
"I beg your pardon?" Obi-Wan had raised an
eyebrow. "First of all, if there were direct orders
flying earlier, they weren't identified as such.
Secondly, you're only peripherally in my chain of
command, you know. The Council is my immediate
superior; you merely outrank me. And thirdly,
though you do outrank me in the field and in the
Council chamber and in dire situations where you
assume command, you don't outrank me in
our
home."
Qui-Gon had nothing to say to that, which only
upset him more. He tried the other tack. "Anakin is
my padawan."
"Yes, he is. And if you believe he disobeyed your
direct order, you must believe that he did so at my
instigation." Qui-Gon couldn't keep still; Obi-Wan
stood on the spot and regarded him calmly. "But be
honest, Qui-Gon. This isn't really about any
insubordination, is it?"
"It certainly bloody well is!" Qui-Gon flung his
glass aside. The stain it left when it shattered
against the wall trickled to the floor like blood
running in the rain. Obi-Wan jumped and looked
back at Qui-Gon, startled. "I don't like the idea of
Sionnach leaving the creche at this age, but I
hate
that you went behind my back to talk to Phrel about
it! After I
specifically asked you not to,
Obi-Wan! I had hoped that my wishes would be
more important to you than just to be cast aside
when yours don't agree."
"Oh yes?" The young man's calm demeanor was
fading. The suggestion that he had failed to respect
Qui-Gon's wishes had not been well-received. "I
considered your wishes, Qui-Gon, and chose not to
follow them. I am not prepared to stop doing what I
think is right because you disagree with
me, and I
bitterly resent your suggesting that I should." He
had widened his base a little and set his shoulders,
in an unconscious duplication of a battle-ready
stance. His chin was raised the slightest bit, a
minuscule show of defiance.
Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and paced. "I would
never suggest that you abandon your principles for
any reason," he said. "But in this matter I must
exercise the privilege of rank -- Sionnach and her
well-being are my responsibility."
"In what way is she your responsibility that she is
not mine?" Obi-Wan demanded, leaving his rooted
spot and pacing as well, following Qui-Gon as they
circled each other, eye to eye like predatory animals.
"Need I remind you that we've both known her since
before she was born?"
"I was
there when she was born. I watched her
mother die. You were --"
"I was saving the lives of a dozen other children on
a direct order from you, and don't you dare suggest
that
that weakens my relationship with Sionnach.
Honestly, the
gall, thinking your opinion carries
more weight!"
Qui-Gon knew he was much more at ease in a
debate of any sort, political or domestic, when his
opponent was more agitated than he was. At the
moment, on that front he was winning. "My
opinion
does carry more weight. I was knighted
before you were born, Obi-Wan. Only one of us is
the master here."
"You're a Master of the order, blast it, not of me and
not, I urge you to keep in mind, of Sionnach."
Qui-Gon was losing logical ground, though, and in
his mind he could feel his bondmate's pain at the
persistence of the rank argument. "Fine. We're
both entitled to fret over her and be concerned for
her future.
Someone has to make the final
decision when you and I disagree."
Obi-Wan threw his hands into the air and looked at
Qui-Gon in disbelief. "Are you listening to
yourself?! It doesn't matter if you and I disagree or
sing a damn duet! We don't govern what happens to
her. We haven't since she went into the creche."
"I swore an
oath to her parents!" Love her,
protect her, get between her and danger.
"I was
there, Qui-Gon! I was standing right at
your side -- not behind you, by the way, because it
wasn't as your
padawan that I was at that
ceremony --" it had been a mistake, Qui-Gon
realized, it had hurt Obi-Wan in the heart, to keep
asserting his own higher status -- "-- and I
swore
the same damned oath. I considered it my
responsibility then, and I consider it my
responsibility now."
"You weren't called upon to --"
"No, I wasn't, but what if something had happened
to
you, hmm? None of which is the point -- the
point is, you didn't swear your oath to Dor and
Liskat, you swore it to the bloody Force. And the
same Force compelled me to do the same, and I did.
And the same Force
now is telling
everyone
who will pay attention that it's time for Sion to be
trained and it's Joma who has to do it."
Without thinking, Qui-Gon said the first thing that
came to his mind. "How can two knights and a
padawan know better than a senior master how to
interpret what the Force has to say about --"
That did it. The rank-pulling had finally driven
Obi-Wan to his limit. "A master who's only two for
three in keeping padawans from turning? Neither of
us has ever failed."
Qui-Gon stopped. Stopped yelling, stopped pacing,
damn near stopped breathing. He sat down, glad to
find the couch behind him, and stared at the far wall
for a moment, his head pounding, his stomach
turning, unable to find words to express his
disbelief at Obi-Wan's remark. He looked up, then
bent double and buried his face in his hands.
Obi-Wan, too, had stopped walking, a little
surprised at himself. He sat next to Qui-Gon on the
couch, one leg tucked under him, and turned
sideways to face him. "That was uncalled for. I
apologize."
Qui-Gon shifted so that he was looking at the floor,
elbows on knees, hands on forehead. "Neither of
you has ever tried."
"I know." Obi-Wan spoke softly.
"Neither of you knows what it is to lose the person
you love most in the world."
"I have some idea."
Qui-Gon persistently did not look up. "One hour
you thought I was dead."
"It was the worst hour of my life."
"And losing him to the dark was worse than losing
him to death." Qui-Gon was surprised to find, after
all these years, that he still couldn't bring himself to
speak the name of his lost apprentice. "Would that
hour not have been worse for you if you had spent it
thinking I'd left you on purpose?"
"I can't begin to imagine it." Qui-Gon could feel,
subconsciously, Obi-Wan's distress at having sunk
to such a reprehensible level. It had hurt him to hurt
Qui-Gon, and if Qui-Gon had not still been in
physical pain, he would have pulled Obi-Wan into
his arms. As it was, Obi-Wan was doing his
determined best to reassure Qui-Gon that the cheap
shot had been a lapse -- not groveling, but quietly
admitting that Qui-Gon spoke truth.
"I live with that fear every day. I couldn't bear to
see Sionnach turn as he did. I know Joma is a good
knight --"
"You mustn't let your fear control you. You taught
me that." Obi-Wan reached up to pull a lock of
Qui-Gon's hair behind his ear.
"-- But she is as headstrong and proud as I was, and
I fear Sion will charm her as he charmed me."
"Sion isn't like that. You are, and Dor and Liskat
were, different from him." Obi-Wan never said the
name either. Qui-Gon fought a compelling urge to
lean in to the hand that stroked his hair back from
his temple. "He confused trickery for diplomacy.
Sion's never been a manipulative child; she wouldn't
know how to deceive."
"Then why train her as a diplomat? Why spoil
her?" All she'll do is learn how to lie, he thought
but didn't say.
"Qui-Gon, a diplomat convinces the subject of the
subject's superior wit and intellect and ability. A
trickster convinces the subject of his own."
It was an excellent point, and should have made
Qui-Gon feel better. But the distinction was so fine,
the danger of slipping over the line so great -- can a
trickster convince his prey that he's a good
diplomat? -- that in a moment of self-loathing he
wished he had never heard of diplomacy. I lie for a
living, he thought. Nothing about me is real. I
promised Dor and Liskat I would -- we would --
care for their child. This is no life.
Calmer now, Obi-Wan seemed to sense his
thoughts. "We swore to watch over her only until
she could watch over herself."
"She's not of age."
"No, but she's of an age where she needs to find a
master and leave the creche. She's not leaving us.
We'll always be here for her."
Qui-Gon sighed, heavily, sensing defeat. He had no
more arguments and, he realized, no more desire to
argue. The will of the Force
was paramount, and
resisting it would only bring -- had only brought --
sorrow. "Knight Phrel, hmm?" Obi-Wan nodded.
"She's a tough one, isn't she?"
"Strong-willed? Just a bit." Obi-Wan smiled
slightly. "But no more so than our Sionnach.
They'll stand up to each other."
"She'll train her as a negotiator?"
"Like every last one of her parents," Obi-Wan
nodded. "Qui-Gon, Sionnach was born of Dorim
apNorill and M'Liskatha Vess, and raised by you.
She's --"
"By both of us."
Obi-Wan ducked his head to acknowledge the
inclusion. "She's got it in her blood and her bones.
What else
could she do?"
"And I seem to recall that Phrel is quite a debater."
"Consistent first-place finisher. I was always
second, remember?"
Qui-Gon nodded, and now he did reach for
Obi-Wan, drew him close. "She'll still keep an eye
on her healing skills?" he asked, his chin on the
other's shoulder, and sighed when he felt Obi-Wan's
nod against his neck.
"Joma's going to go talk to the Council tomorrow,"
Obi-Wan murmured, and Qui-Gon tightened his
embrace. "It's probably a good idea for you to join
her."
"But it doesn't concern me," Qui-Gon said, a stab of
regret piercing him as he finally admitted it to
himself. "It doesn't matter what I think."
"It might matter that you think it." Obi-Wan sat
back and looked at Qui-Gon, forming his next
thought. "Everyone in the order will expect you to
oppose the concept with everything you have.
When they see that even you agree, perhaps they'll
rethink their own opposition."
Qui-Gon knit his brow. "Am I that contrary?"
Obi-Wan grinned and laughed and took Qui-Gon's
face in his hands. "You're that committed, love."
He pressed a soft kiss to his lover's lips. Qui-Gon
closed his eyes and smiled weakly. "When you
believe a thing is right, there's no moving you --
especially if it involves Anakin or Sionnach or me --
and the whole order knows it so there's precious few
who will try. Yoda, Mace, Depa, Mundi. Joma.
Dor used to. And me."
"Indeed. So tomorrow I'll go to the Council and
encourage them to approve Knight Phrel's request to
train Sionnach." He sighed. "And then after that,
what will I do?"
"You'll carry on training your own apprentice,"
Obi-Wan reminded him. "And carry on fighting
about the senate's trade thing. And carry on going
where they send you to further peace and justice in
the galaxy." He smiled, leaned in for one more kiss,
and stood up. "Will you come to bed?"
"Soon," Qui-Gon said, knowing that Obi-Wan
would lie awake until he was there. "I need to think
about all this for a bit." He looked up at Obi-Wan
and reached for his hand. "I love you."
Obi-Wan squeezed. "I love you," he replied.
"Good night."
"Good night," Qui-Gon answered, watching him
disappear into the bedroom. When the door closed,
he turned and looked at the far wall. He sat for a
long time, not moving, staring silently at the stain
that looked so much like blood.
Comments always
welcome!