Anakin Skywalker bit his lip as he considered his
available options. The evening had started out
quite promising, actually -- Obi-Wan and Master
Jinn had generously vacated the apartment for
dinner, granting him and Amidala a rare chance to
spend time really
alone, and with only a little
assistance from the Force he had prepared (or, more
nearly, avoided ruining) a meal of simple elegance,
calculated to impress a girl who spent her life
surrounded by finery but who preferred, on her own
time, to be able to relax. Now, though, the dinner
was finished, the dishes were soaking, they'd made
a dent in the wine, the candles were guttering, and
Anakin was standing in the doorway facing not one
but two women in tears.
Normally, he wouldn't have answered the door at
all, particularly when Amidala was in this state.
They had been talking earnestly, sipping their
wine; he could tell she was upset about something.
He'd just asked her what was bothering her, and
watched in horror as she dissolved at the very
question, when the chime had rung. Nobody would
answer the door at such a time.
But the chime had rung again. And again.
Irritated, Anakin had glanced up and seen that the
caller had pressed the "emergency" button; the
chime would continue to ring until the door was
opened. He had stalked to the door, intent on
telling whoever was on the other side that this had
damned well
better be an emergency, and a pretty
dire one, too, and flung the door open only to be
struck in the midsection by a weeping ten-year-old.
Before he could even think of anything to say,
Amidala took a deep breath, swiped ineffectually at
her eyes, and tried gamely to flash him a smile.
"Excuse me," she said. "I'll just -- I'll be all
right. Take care of this; I'll just go into the
other room." She rose from the couch, went into
his room, and closed the door, leaving him alone in
the living room with Sionnach.
"Uh ... all right," Anakin said, more to himself
than anyone else, as he reassessed the situation.
Sionnach looked up from his ribs, where she had
buried her face in the front of his shirt, and
sniffled. "I'm sorry, Ani," she whimpered. "I
didn't mean to ruin your date."
"Well, I hope it's not
ruined," he said, cocking
his head sideways. "You want to sit down for a
minute?" She nodded but did not move. "Want me to
come sit with you?" She nodded again. "Okay,
let's have a seat. But if you're going to tell me
what's bothering you, maybe you want to sit a
little further away so I can see you, huh?" Sion
nodded once more, and together they sat sideways on
the couch, facing each other. "So. Why don't you
start by telling me what you're doing away from the
creche?"
"I don't want to live there any more," she said,
her face crumpling as she fought to suppress a new
round of sobs.
"Shh, hey, it's okay. Why not?" He took her hand
in his. It was a lot easier, he mused, to figure
what to do with Sionnach in this state than
Amidala. Maybe because he'd once been a child,
although he'd never been the ruler of a planet.
More likely, he thought ruefully, because he knew
Sionnach's undying devotion was in the bag. He and
Amidala had been friends and -- well,
close
friends for ten years, but he still often felt he
had to prove himself to her.
"They're mean to me. The other kids."
"Mean? How are they mean? Do you want my master
to speak to Master Gallia about it?" Sionnach
shook her head. "Do you want me to come down there
and pick them up by their throats and shake them
around until they stop?" He tickled her neck as he
offered this, and it won him a watery smile. "What
is it, hmm?"
"They -- they s-said I have no mother," she
whispered.
"What? Well, that doesn't make sense," Anakin
said.
"They said I must be some kind of unknown species."
"But Sion, listen, you know I had no father,
right?"
"They said not everyone does. Everyone has to have
a mother, and most people have a mother and a
father, and some people, like Aly, she has
three
parents, but nobody can have nothing -- except me."
Sionnach burst into tears again and flung herself
at Anakin; he caught her full in the chest and
carefully put his arms around her as she cried into
his shoulder. He heard the door unlock, but it did
not open. "Safe to come in?" Obi-Wan's voice asked
with a grin Anakin could hear.
"Uh, yeah, no problem," he called.
Obi-Wan stepped into the apartment and stopped.
"Now, I'm pretty sure that's not Amidala," he said,
only then realizing that his levity was misplaced.
He hurried to sit on the low living-room table
across from the couch. "Sionnach? Sion, firefly,
what are you doing here? And what's wrong?"
"She's, ah, having some trouble with -- where's
Master Qui-Gon?"
"Deep in discussion with Knight Mundi about this
government-subsidized trade thing the senate's
talking about," Obi-Wan answered, reaching over to
smooth Sionnach's hair away from her forehead. "I
couldn't take any more of it tonight. I was glad I
hadn't interrupted anything, but --"
"Right," Anakin agreed. "It's the kids in the
creche. Some unpleasantness. Hey," he said to
Sionnach, gently setting her away from him and
pointing her towards Obi-Wan. "You think Obi-Wan
can help you out for a while? I've got another
emotional crisis in there," he explained to Obi-
Wan, nodding toward his bedroom.
"Amidala? What's her trouble?"
"No idea. I'll tell you when
I know. Good
luck," Anakin said as he retreated.
"And you," Obi-Wan nodded.
When Sionnach had quieted enough to tell Obi-Wan
her story, he sat and listened patiently and
displayed not one outward hint of his rising
choler. "Listen, Sion, nothing those children can
say to you will make that true," he said
soothingly.
"But it
is true. They all have mothers and
fathers and tethers and I don't."
"But it's not true that you're the only one with no
mother. Surely you have crechemates who have only
a father? Or two fathers and no mother?" She
nodded. "So, you see?"
"But it's
parents, at least. You and Qui aren't
my father. And nobody's my mother."
"Sionnach, look at me.
Look at me. I'm here to
tell you that those children in the creche are
talking through the backs of their necks.
Understand? Your parents were two of the best,
bravest knights we've ever had."
"Why'd they leave me?"
"They didn't, firefly, not the way some of these
other kids' parents left them with us. Listen."
Obi-Wan inhaled deeply to steady his nerves. He
and Qui-Gon had always known this day would come,
when they had to tell Sionnach the truth about her
parents. She had been vaguely aware, as a small
child, that her favorite bedtime story had included
her mother and father watching over her as she
healed Qui-Gon's injury, but she had surely never
known what those words meant. When she had gone to
the creche, she had come into the company of many
children whose families visited them as often as
they were able and allowed, just as Qui-Gon and
Obi-Wan visited her. The fact that she had them
while other children had fathers and mothers had
never bothered her before; but then, Obi-Wan
thought, his jaw tightening, it had never been
presented to her as though it should.
"Listen," he said again. "This isn't going to be
easy for you to hear. Qui-Gon and I had planned to
tell you in a couple of years, when you go to be a
padawan, but it looks like I need to tell you now.
I wish Qui-Gon were here to tell you with me -- no,
but who knows how long he'll be, and we've got to
get you back to the creche before they get upset
that you're gone. So. Promise to let me tell it
all the way through?" She nodded. "Right.
"Your father was named Dorim apNorill, and he was a
fine, strong knight. You get your height from him,
you know. He was an old, dear friend of Qui-Gon's;
he helped us realize we loved each other, when I
was still a senior padawan.
"Then Dor met your mother, M'Liskatha Vess, and he
just never had a chance. I was there when he met
her, and within an hour everyone in the room knew
they were meant to be together. I mean, it was
like something out of those stories you used to
read. Like
that." He snapped his fingers. "And
she was wise and witty and I've never known a
happier couple. And Dor and Liskat were a
fantastic team. Negotiators, they were. They
could sell eggs to a hen, Sionnach, I mean they
were
good. So when there was a war in Sobol,
when the protectorate was fighting whether to
become independent or fully under the Republic,
they were one of the teams who went to mediate. It
was very, very dangerous, but they were the best.
And while they were there --" he tugged gently on
her hair -- "you came along.
"But before you were born, the war got much, much
worse. The Council knew your mother was pregnant
with you, but there was no safe way to get her out
of there -- and she wouldn't have come back without
your father, anyway. And they both wanted to get
the treaty signed, get a cease-fire in place,
before they left. But Qui-Gon and I went to
replace them anyway."
"You were just a padawan?" she asked, her eyes
wide.
"That's right. I was only a little older than
Anakin is now. But there was nobody else who could
go, and it was very, very important to get your
mother and father back home so you would be safe."
Obi-Wan cleared his throat. It had been an ugly,
ugly few days in his life, that mission to Chenya,
and he liked remembering it almost as little as he
liked remembering Naboo. "But Qui-Gon and I were
too late. When we reached the planet, Liskat was
seriously injured, and Dor was missing. We found
out later that some soldiers had taken him away and
hurt him very badly, and he was dead. And Liskat
knew. We couldn't make her well again, but we
could keep her alive long enough for you to be safe
-- but she knew Dor was gone, and after you were
born she went to join him." He swallowed hastily
against the unexpected lump in his throat, and
reached out to brush a tear from Sionnach's cheek.
"Qui-Gon was with her. Her very last thought was
to make sure we would take care of you.
"So you listen to me. Your parents were
heroes.
The whole group of envoys to Sobol were heroes, and
your parents were heroes among them. And anyone
who tells you differently never met them and has
probably never heard of them. Is that clear?"
Sion nodded. "Good. Come give me a hug." She
climbed into his lap and clung tight around his
neck; he wrapped her up in his arms and held her
until she squirmed away, ready to pull herself
together. "Now then. You ready to face the
masses?" She smiled and nodded. "Ready to hold
your head up and be strong? Ready to encourage
those greenies to do their research before they go
spouting rumors? Tell them to do a search on Vess
and apNorill at the library," he said. "They'll
find all sorts of interesting stuff. And meantime,
you and I will go visit the memorial in the garden,
sometime soon. But
before your curfew." Sion
smiled sheepishly. "Now. You run along back to
the creche, young apVess-Norill, and don't let me
catch you believing people who can't possibly know
what they're talking about again. And don't be
running off after curfew, either. I'll bet the
duty matron is worried crazy about you."
"Can I say good night to Ani before I go?"
"If he's not busy, yes you may. Go knock on the
door -- and wait for an answer."
Sionnach scrubbed at her eyes with her knuckles and
went to knock timidly at Anakin's door. "Half a
second," Anakin called, and a moment later the door
opened. Amidala was twisting back her hair as she
emerged from the room, Obi-Wan noticed, mildly
disappointed with himself for his own prurience,
but both young people's clothing was undisturbed.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Sionnach said, standing
on one foot and then the other, "but I'm going back
now and I wanted to say good night."
"Good night, Sithspawn," Anakin said as he crouched
down to hug her. "You're feeling better now?" She
nodded. "Good. Any time you want to talk to us,
you come on back -- but not after curfew, right?"
"Right."
"I wish you wouldn't call her that," Amidala said
with a frown.
"Sithspawn? Why?" The girl raised an eyebrow.
"What? I've called her that her whole life. It's
a term of endearment, isn't it, Sion?" Sionnach
nodded happily. "There." Anakin stood up. "Come
on, 'Dala, I'll walk you back."
"Actually -- if you don't mind, Ani, I think I'd
like to -- think for a bit. I can walk Sionnach
back to the creche, since I wasn't exactly good
company when she got here," Amidala smiled, "but
I'll get back to my rooms on my own. Need to be by
myself." She laid a hand on his arm. "But I'll
see you tomorrow, won't I?"
"Sure," Anakin said easily. If he was annoyed at
her insistence on being alone, Obi-Wan thought, he
didn't show it. His grin was genuine. "What do
you say, short stuff? Will you permit the queen to
see you home?" He followed them as far as the
door, stopping Amidala with a hand on her shoulder
and suddenly looking at her quite soberly. "See
you tomorrow," he murmured, hooking a lock of hair
behind her ear as he leaned in and pressed a kiss
to her cheekbone. "Don't forget what I said."
"Couldn't," she whispered back, then turned to
Sionnach. "Shall we?" Out of childish habit, Sion
took her hand as they stepped out the door. "Good
night, Jedi Kenobi," Amidala said, looking over her
shoulder back into the apartment. "I hope I will
see you again soon."
"Good night, Your Highness," Obi-Wan said with a
smile and a wave as Anakin closed the door. "So
you straightened out what was getting to her?" he
asked after a moment.
"I think so," Anakin said, blowing out the
remaining candles and clearing away the wine
glasses. "It's not really something I can solve, I
don't think. She's frustrated with herself -- I
think she just wanted to talk about it." He made a
face. "Girls do that, don't they."
Obi-Wan laughed out loud, in spite of himself.
"Yes, they do. But she seemed to be feeling better
for it."
"Hope so. It seems to be a sort of crisis of
conscience. She's up against Chancellor
Palpatine's idea for centralized regulation of
trade -- which I know you didn't want to hear any
more about tonight," he said with a grin. "She's
always been opposed to that sort of thing, to too
much centralized control of anything -- trade,
culture, whatever. But she can't seem to come up
with an argument against it. She finds herself
agreeing with the chancellor, no matter which angle
she takes. So she feels -- and this is just when
she gets going -- she feels like she's becoming the
sort of person she's always tried to avoid being."
He raised an eyebrow. "Or else she feels like
she's losing her drive and she isn't fit to rule
her people any more." He shrugged. "She cried on
my shoulder and I massaged her scalp and it looks
like she's feeling better now."
"That it does. Sometimes that's the best thing,
Ani. Reassurance. You can't fix the problem for
her, but you can stand behind her and hold her up
throughout it. She'll love you even more for
that."
Anakin blushed and looked at the floor. Quickly,
he picked up the bottle of wine and hurried to the
kitchen with it. He began rinsing the pots in the
sink. "So, ah - did you get Sion sorted out with
the thing about her parents?"
"I did," Obi-Wan yawned, stretching out on the
couch. "I wish I knew why kids that age feel the
need to
try to make their friends miserable."
"Weren't you ever a teenager? They want to know
someone else is more miserable than they are. Or
fits in less. That way they seem happier by
comparison, or like they fit in more. They don't
mean to hurt her; they mean to make themselves feel
better." Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbows
and looked at Anakin, still busy in the kitchen.
He was stunned at the casual insight of the boy's
remark. "Of course, a lot of the time hurting
someone else is the only way they know how to feel
better about themselves."
Where had Anakin come to such understanding of the
nature of young people? And when, and how? Obi-
Wan silently berated himself for not paying close
enough attention to Qui-Gon's training of the boy.
Anakin had certainly had friends on Tatooine, and
had evidently been a happy and friendly child in
spite of his life as a slave. When he had become
Qui-Gon's padawan, upon their return to Coruscant
and Obi-Wan's knighting, there had been some
disquiet among the children in the creche, but Obi-
Wan had thought nothing of it. There was always a
rumble of disappointment among those still
unapprenticed when one of their own left the
creche; it wasn't surprising that Anakin should
weather a bit of resentment as well. Of course, he
hadn't grown up in the creche, as all other
padawans did -- and Obi-Wan remembered hearing Qui-
Gon pacify a much younger Anakin with the old
standby, "Pay them no mind; they're just jealous,"
suddenly realizing that Anakin had heard the words
and found the truth in them. Perhaps the other
children
had been jealous of Anakin, being, as he
was, everything they were not. He had come to the
Jedi Order from a life of mystery and adventure,
and to cope with their own jealousy toward him,
they had -- consciously or not -- reassigned
negative attributes to the ways in which Anakin was
not like them. But Anakin, apparently without
discussing it with anyone, had seen through to the
basis of their insecurities, and found what was
real. Obi-Wan recalled that, while the quiet
ostracism had still persisted, Anakin had soon
seemed genuinely unperturbed by it; he had shown no
evidence of struggling not to let it bother him,
and had further refused to turn the tables and dig
at his peers in the same manner. The inevitable
result was that, within a year of his assignment to
Qui-Gon, Anakin was as popular as he had been
outcast when he had arrived.
"I mean," Anakin went on, "isn't that why it's
normally in early adolescence that kids leave the
creche and go as padawans? Get the pubescent mood
swings out of there?"
"Good point," Obi-Wan laughed. "They'd have us
believe it's because it isn't until that age that
an initiate is mature enough to make an informed
choice of specialization, but it certainly can't
hurt to separate the teenagers from one another.
And from the younger children."
"Looks like Sion's about ready," Anakin commented.
"She's a bit young yet," Obi-Wan replied
automatically.
"You think? I think she's in pretty good control
of her skills. And this evening was nothing if not
a demonstration that she's at what I believe Master
Gallia calls 'that age,'" Anakin said, returning to
the living room and handing Obi-Wan a cup of tea.
"Thank you. Yes, I guess there's something in what
you say -- but she's only ten, Ani."
"I was nine when Master Qui-Gon found me. Padawan
Kwahl was only eleven when Master Windu took him as
his apprentice. There's no set age limit, as
you've often told me."
Obi-Wan recognized the discomfort he felt as the
unpleasant realization that he was faced with a
truth he had been trying to avoid. Children grew
up -- there was no denying that. He and Qui-Gon
had been sad and reluctant to hand Sionnach over to
the creche when she was two; from having her about
constantly to seeing her very occasionally was a
long, unhappy step. Now she was close to, if not
actually, ready to become a padawan. Every time he
let his guard down, it seemed, some power --
doubtless the Force, he realized with a grimace --
took her a little more out of their lives. This
must be how masters felt when their padawans were
knighted.
Obi-Wan sighed. "I suppose you're right, and she
is ready," he said, trying to keep the note of
defeat from his voice. "Assuming there's someone
prepared to take her."
"What about you?"
Obi-Wan choked over his tea. "Oh, gods, no," he
said, chuckling and coughing. "What a bad idea
that would be." At Anakin's puzzled expression, he
explained. "We're far too close, Sionnach and I.
We don't have a teaching relationship. I know both
of us well enough to know that as a padawan, she'll
certainly make mistakes -- errors in judgment --
that will call for correction and even discipline,
and that if I were her master, I'd always be
reluctant to exercise it. My job is to comfort and
spoil her -- and that's a great thing from whatever
I am to her, a godfather or an uncle, but not from
a master. In the first place, it would set a bad
example for other padawans who would see that she
rarely got punished, no matter what she did; and in
the second, it would be no great service to her.
She'd never learn a thing; we'd merely be
prolonging her childhood until her knighting."
"Well, there must be someone," Anakin started to
say. They heard the door unlock, but not open,
just as it had when Obi-Wan had come home, and
grinned at each other. "Come on in, Master,"
Anakin called.
Qui-Gon came two steps inside the apartment and
leaned against the door once it closed behind him.
His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders sagged.
"Why do I do that?" he asked. "Why do I persist in
-- in --"
"Picking fights?" Obi-Wan offered.
Qui-Gon made a face by way of ignoring him. "In
taking the bait when someone lays down a challenge
I know I'll never win? All I do is wear myself
out. You can't argue with people like Mundi. I've
never known anyone so unwilling to concede to
superior reasoning -- myself included." He made to
push himself up to a standing position, and
grimaced in pain. "And it just aggravates my
shoulder."
Obi-Wan was immediately at his side. "Here, shall
I --"
"Thank you," Qui-Gon said, balancing himself on
Obi-Wan's arm and straightening up. Together, they
moved toward the couch, where Obi-Wan seated Qui-
Gon comfortably and climbed up on the sofa back
behind him to work the knot out of his shoulder.
"And could you -- ah. Perfect." Qui-Gon hung his
head forward as Obi-Wan dug at the sore muscle.
Over his former master's head, Obi-Wan raised an
eyebrow at Anakin. The discussion with Knight
Mundi had been tiresome but not thoroughly
unpleasant, if Qui-Gon was cranky enough to play
the tired-old-bones card -- Obi-Wan could think of
no one, of any age, in better physical shape -- but
calm enough to sit still for a neck massage rather
than sparring or meditating. 'Follow my lead,'
Obi-Wan mouthed soundlessly. Anakin nodded with a
smile. "Anakin and I saw Sionnach tonight, Qui-
Gon," Obi-Wan said conversationally. "Pity you
missed her."
"Indeed."
Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged puzzled glances. They
had both been stunned that Sion was out so late;
they'd have expected Qui-Gon to be equally
surprised at the very least. "It was only a few
minutes ago that she left," Anakin added. "She was
upset about some things her crechemates have been
saying."
"Mm-hmm."
This was too strange. "But it seems," Obi-Wan went
on, "that what she really needs is to leave the
creche and become a padawan. She's definitely
ready."
"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, still not raising his head.
"I've been thinking the same thing myself lately."
"You have?" Anakin didn't bother trying to mask
his surprise.
"Oh, sure. And you know, I think I know who the
perfect master would be for her."
"Who's that?"
"Isn't it obvious? There's only one choice.
Knight Phrel."
Anakin's jaw dropped. Obi-Wan smiled. Clever,
clever, he thought. Not going to give us the
satisfaction, are you, Qui-Gon? He raised his
eyebrows at Anakin, forming the words 'He thinks
we're joking' slowly and deliberately. Anakin
nodded again. "That's a good point," Obi-Wan said,
glancing at Anakin. "We hadn't even considered
her."
"But we should have," Anakin agreed. "I mean.
They're friendly, but they're not close; they're
both Adepts; they're stubborn enough to take each
other on."
"That's true," Obi-Wan rejoined. "If any master
can put up with our Sionnach, Joma's it. And if
any padawan can stand up to Joma Phrel, it's got to
be our girl."
Qui-Gon finally snorted with barely-suppressed
laughter. "Can you imagine?" he said, sitting up
and leaning easily against Obi-Wan's knees. "The
two of them together? Nobody would ever go near
them!"
He thinks the joke's over, Obi-Wan realized. Oh,
poor Qui-Gon. "They'll be a formidable pair in
combat," he said.
"Forget combat. They'll be a formidable pair in
the mess hall," Qui-Gon chuckled.
It wasn't long, though, before he saw that his
bondmate and his padawan weren't laughing. "Come,
now, you two, I don't mean to denigrate anyone," he
said. "Tell me, seriously, now, Ani, how was your
date?"
"Not bad, Master," Anakin said seriously. "But it
was interrupted when Sionnach got here."
"She was upset," Obi-Wan repeated, "about some
things her crechemates have been saying."
"What?" Qui-Gon's smile had disappeared; his eyes
had grown wide.
"But it seems," Obi-Wan went on, "that she's ready
to leave the creche and become a padawan."
"What? No!" Qui-Gon twisted around to look at his
bondmate.
"And now that you mention it, Joma Phrel is the
best suggestion we've heard for someone to be her
master."
Qui-Gon was on his feet. "I WAS KIDDING!"
"I'm sorry, love, but it's true. I didn't see it
at first either, but all the signs are there. It's
time."
"Have either of you spoken to anyone else about
this? To Sion, or to Knight Phrel?" For someone
he professed to like and respect, he bit her name
off quite harshly, Obi-Wan thought.
"No, Master," Anakin assured him.
"Well,
don't. I don't want this idea in any more
heads than it needs to be."
"Qui-Gon --"
"Stop it, Obi-Wan! I'll not have you explaining to
me the fine points of apprenticeship, nor the drama
and intrigue of the creche, nor the mysterious
personality of my own godchild!"
Qui-Gon's eyes were wild, his voice harsh. Obi-Wan
spoke calmly and evenly. "Of course not, love," he
said. "But we believe that --"
"And don't
patronize me!" Qui-Gon howled. This
couldn't all be about Sionnach, Obi-Wan thought.
The trade discussion with Mundi must have gotten to
him more than he'd realized. "I am a Master of
this order and a senior negotiator. You won't best
me with rhetoric."
"Nobody's trying to best you, Master," Anakin
began.
"
Quiet, Padawan!"
"Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan said sharply. "It's true.
Nobody's trying to defeat you at anything here. We
made an observation, and mentioned it to you
because we thought you'd be interested. But none
of us is Sionnach's guardian any longer, and it
isn't for us to make any decisions about her
future. The Force has to guide us -- you know
that. Now stop behaving as though you've been
personally attacked!"
Qui-Gon walked a couple of directionless circles
around the living room, concentrating on some point
just in front of him, tugging at his hair, reaching
back to try again to soften the re-knotted muscle
in his shoulder. "I'm going to find an empty
salle," he said finally. "Unless one of you would
like to
join me, I'll be shadow-sparring. Page
if you need me." He stalked out, the door seeming
to shut a little more forcefully than usual behind
him.
Obi-Wan and Anakin looked at the door, then at each
other, eyebrows raised, shoulders tense. Obi-Wan
glanced back at the door and puffed air through his
cheeks. "I think that went well," he said.
Peripherally, he saw Anakin's eyes widen, and he
chuckled. The boy had known Qui-Gon for ten years,
and was well aware of his temperament -- but Obi
Wan remembered the first time
he'd seen Qui-Gon
in an irrational fury, and it had been worse than
this by far. Still, though, seeing someone you
love become, even for an instant, someone you
barely know -- well, it took a little getting used
to. But once all the ruffled feathers were
smoothed down, everything would return to normal.
It always did.
Comments always
welcome!