“I’m not afraid of anything.”
It was that announcement--not intended as a boast but rather as a statement of fact--which had landed Obi-Wan in the position he currently found himself in, namely roaming around the site of the original Jedi Temple in the middle of the night.
Alone.
At the age of fifteen, Obi-Wan was already known as one of the top, if not THE top, apprentices in the Temple. He was quick and clever in his studies; he excelled at physical challenges as well, and while he wasn’t necessarily giving his Master a run for his money yet, there were very few of his fellow Padawan he couldn’t best in a duel. His abilities had taught him that he could do anything he set his mind on doing, and he met each new obstacle with a fierce determination--and a characteristic fearlessness.
Fear was simply a concept he didn’t grasp. Why should he be afraid of anything? He had a good life, doing exactly what he wanted to do: training to be a Jedi Knight. And he was good at it. There was no chance of him being rejected by the Order or his Master, and he knew himself well enough to say that while he might feel the occasional twinge of temptation, he would never turn to the Dark Side.
New situations, new opponants in battle, these were nothing to be feared either. They were simply matters to be dealt with in an appropriate manner. Fearing the unknown made no sense to him. The unknown wouldn’t be unknown any longer if you met it head-on and figured it out, now would it. THAT was his reasoning, and it had served him well.
He had sensed fear in others, of course, so he was familiar with what it felt like. To them, anyway. He couldn’t remember ever feeling it for himself. He had simply never learned what it was to be afraid, to turn pale and cold and tremble with fear.
“Not of anything?” Master Qui-Gon had arched one eyebrow at him, stroking his beard as he always did when he was trying to hide a smile. “I’m sure there must be something.”
“No, Master,” Obi-Wan had replied with a respectful bow. “I cannot recall ever being afraid of anything in my life.”
“Well, then.” His Master had risen to his feet, looming over the slightly built boy. “I think it’s high time you learned.”
To that end, his Master had taken him to one of the oldest sectors on Coruscant, a run-down, ruin of a sector; all around it, technology had grown and flourished, but here it seemed as if nothing could progress...only wither and rot.
“This is the site of the first Temple,” Qui-Gon had explained once they arrived. “Thousands of years ago it was abandoned, and the Temple we have now was built. No one remembers why, and there are no records concerning the move.”
“Was someone trying to hide the truth?” Obi-Wan asked, more curious than apprehensive as he stood outside the crumbling wreck that had once been the center of Jedi learning.
“Perhaps.” Qui-Gon tucked his hands inside his sleeves and regarded his apprentice dispassionately. “Some say the Dark Side took hold here, and the Temple itself was permanently tainted. Maybe this is so, maybe it is not. However, I believe it will be the ideal place for you to learn what fear is.”
Obi-Wan glanced at the ancient Temple, then up at his Master. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” was the calm reply. “Merely spend the night within its walls. Tomorrow morning at dawn, I will come back for you, and you may tell me what you’ve learned.”
“You’re not staying?” His eyebrows shot up into his hairline at this revelation; he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been separated from his Master during his apprenticeship, and normally whenever there was a lesson to be learned, Qui-Gon was right there, watching his progress, offering a gentle nudge in the right direction if needed.
“No.” Qui-Gon shook his head firmly. “This is a lesson you must learn entirely on your own. Or not, as the case may be. Either way, I cannot help you.”
With that, he turned and headed back to the shuttle, his long strides eating up the ground quickly, never once looking back. Obi-Wan stood quietly and watched him go, waiting til the shuttle was out of sight before he faced the entrance to the Temple again, wondering what lay in store for him.
Probably nothing, he thought, yet he found his hand straying to the pommel of his lightsaber as he cautiously edged towards the door--and then silently berated himself for approaching it as if he were going into battle. It was just an old building. The rumors of Dark influence were probably just that: rumors. And even if they weren’t, what did it matter to him? He had faced temptation before and overcome it. This time would be no different.
His boots rang against the marble-lined entry hall, echoes of his footsteps making the dust tremble and fall; it wasn’t long before he was coughing and rubbing grit from his eyes as he prowled around, exploring the long-abandoned rooms and wondering how long it had been since anyone else had been there. Probably not all that long, he surmised, noting the remains of a campsite in what appeared to be the former dining hall. Whatever furnishings it had once had were gone, save for a single long table and a few chairs that were remarkably similar to the ones in the present Temple. Some things, he grimaced, never changed, and the uncomfortable chairs at the dinner tables were apparently one of them.
Someone had been there, and that someone had left in a hurry, not bothering to clear out all their belongings. There were concentrate tubes scattered around, the ragged remains of a bedroll, and a burnt-out lamp. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs, so the visitors had not been recent, however, he felt safe in saying they’d probably been there during his lifetime.
It seemed as good a place as any to make his own nest for the night, and so he unpacked his satchel, flipping out his bedroll and lighting his own two little lamps to chase away the pervasive gloom. Settling himself in an attiude of meditation, he glanced around, watching his shadow flickering on the wall with his every movement. He didn’t find the place frightening at all, but it was so very quiet and lonely. If his Master had been there, perhaps they might not have nattered incessantly to each other, but at least he could’ve taken comfort in knowing Master Qui-Gon was there to talk to or to be comfortably silent with if he wanted.
Remembering his Master’s wish that he might learn what fear was in this place, Obi-Wan remained alert and watchful for as long as he could, but as the hours crept by and nothing happened, he realized his eyelids were growing heavy, and he found himself nodding off where he sat.
It was then a diminuative figure emerged from the shadows...
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’s been a long time since I 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 silver-grey hair; his clothes were tattered and patched, and he appeared to be unarmed. Obi-Wan relaxed his stance marginally, sending out 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. Why are 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? Jedi lost their lightsabers in battle all the time; he knew how to build another, and if it meant helping him learn this important lesson, perhaps it was a fair deal even though the unspoken rule was that Jedi did not relinquish their ‘sabers to anyone outside the Order. But...
This one was special. Not only was it the first one he had ever created himself, but also, he knew that it would be the only one his Master ever helped him with. If he lost it, 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.”
“I have nothing to offer,” Obi-Wan told him quietly. “I have very little money--”
“I meant something else to frighten you, boy.” The man climbed to his feet and stumped closer, squinting up at him. “Since the threat of losing that precious weapon of yours isn’t enough. You’re an interesting puzzle, and I’ll teach you for free if you’re willing to learn.”
“Yes.” He nodded resolutely. “My Master sent me here to learn what fear was. I don’t want to fail him.”
“Very well.” Pointing one gnarled finger towards a tall set of double doors on the other side of the room--had they been there before? Obi-Wan wondered; he hadn’t noticed them when he first arrived--the old man gestured towards them. “Follow the hall beyond those doors down into the lower levels of the Temple. There you’ll find something to chill your blood and freeze the marrow in your bones right enough.”
Immediately, Obi-Wan set off, sprinting across the room, flinging open the doors and running down the corridor to a marble staircase leading down into darkness. The moss-covered walls glowed with a dim, pale green light, and since he had forgotten to bring a lamp, this alone enabled him to see as he made his way downward, going more slowly and carefully now lest he slip on the slick marble steps.
He heard the threatening roar before he saw the monster that uttered it, instantly going into battle-alert as the echo rang off the stone walls and reverberated all around him. In the darkness, he could barely make out a shadowy hulk on the other side of the large room sprawling out from the foot of the steps; slowly it lumbered towards him, and he waited, his breath caught in his lungs, his heart pounding with anticipation--but not with fright.
The fierce growling continued as the Rancor moved into sight, and Obi-Wan tensed, poised for flight--and sprang clear of the steps as the beast lunged at him, its mighty jaws snapping closed on the spot where he’d just stood. He could feel the heat of its breath steaming the air, feel its spittle spraying him, and he didn’t care to get any closer than that.
Darting around, Obi-Wan searched for an escape since the monster was now between himself and the stairs, staying along the perimeter of the room, hoping to find a door, another staircase--anything that would take him to safety. Meanwhile, the Rancor snuffled and roared, stalking him with deliberate care.
Skimming his fingers along the wall as he moved, Obi-Wan smiled to himself as he finally felt a doorframe; the door itself was wide--but not wide enough for the Rancor to follow him through. If it tried, it would be stuck, so it would be best off remaining where it was; either way, Obi-Wan would be safe--except when he closed his fingers around the handle, he found it locked.
Cursing under his breath, he pulled out his lightsaber, ignited it and hastily melted a hole in the metal door large enough for him to scramble through; once he was safely on the other side, he deactivated his ‘saber and stood, panting, as he listened to the Rancor’s frustrated yowling.
“Frightened?” The old man appeared suddenly out of the shadows, and Obi-Wan whirled around, staring at him.
“How did you get here?” he demanded. “What is that thing doing in the lower levels?”
“There are many secrets here, boy. It’s not up to you to ferret them out, especially in only one night,” the man retorted. “Now answer my question: were you frightened?”
“No.” Obi-Wan shook his head, almost regretfully.
“Why didn’t you kill it? That would’ve been the easiest way out. Kill it and go back up the stairs the way you came in.”
“There was no need,” he replied calmly. “Why should I take its life? Until I knew for certain that I had no other choice, I saw no reason to kill.”
“Fair enough.” With a curt nod, the other turned and stalked away, waving for the young apprentice to follow him back to the dilapidated dining hall from which they’d come.
Although Obi-Wan tried to pay attention to his surroundings, there was something disorienting about all the twisting and turning hallways the old man led him along, and despite his own skill, despite his training, he soon realized he was lost. They could be headed back for the dining hall, or they could be headed straight to a dungeon, and he wouldn’t know the difference.
At last, his guide rounded a corner, opened a small door--and there lay Obi-Wan’s camp site just as he’d left it, his lamps still glowing bright. Feeling a wave of relief sweep over him, he stepped into the room, planning to thank his erstwhile teacher for the attempt and then politely indicate he wanted to go sleep.
The blaster pressed against his temple altered his plans.
“Don’t move, little Jedi,” a gravelly voice snarled in his ear, “or you’ll die.”
Without even thinking twice, Obi-Wan ducked and tumbled away from his assailant, grabbing and activating his ‘saber as he rolled to his feet in one fluid motion, ready to defend himself.
His attacker whirled to face him, and Obi-Wan saw a tall, grizzled man with burning hatred in his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked softly, holding his lightsaber steady in his hands. “I have nothing of value.”
“Except your life!” The man raised his blaster once more, aiming at Obi-Wan’s heart. “You Jedi--you’re scum, the lot of you! I want to see you all dead, and when you are, I’ll dance on your graves!”
Obi-Wan briefly wondered what had happened to him to consume him with so great a loathing for Jedi, but he didn’t care to ask even if he’d had the time, but the madman was firing at him, and it took all his concentration to block the deadly beams before they could reach him.
After trying to hit Obi-Wan with no success, the man gave an outraged yell and charged--a blind, furious lunge that the Padawan side-stepped easily. With one swift motion of his hand, he landed a blow on the back of the lunatic’s neck, knocking him unconscious. For a moment, he stood quietly, gazing down at the man, considering how wasted his mind, soul and life were, consumed as they were by wrathful fires. This, no doubt, was one of the many possible consequences his Master had warned him about if he ever became tempted to give in to anger.
“He will kill you when he wakes.” The old man, who had merely stood by and watched the battle with something akin to interest, now moved forward and spoke. “Why don’t you kill him first?”
“There is no need.” Obi-Wan deactivated his ‘saber and reattached it to his belt. “He is unconscious, and if I am here when he wakes, I will simply knock him out again. He can’t help himself, and it isn’t my place to punish him.”
“Even though he would gladly rip out your beating heart and show it to you while you die?” The old man was positively gleeful, but Obi-Wan refused to rise to his baiting.
“I can defeat him without killing him. My Master told me that is almost always the better option if one can choose it.”
“Very well.” Once more, the old man nodded and--to Obi-Wan’s surprise--he bent over, hooked his hands under the madman’s arms and began dragging him away.
“Where are you taking him?”
“Back where he belongs,” came the terse reply. “Never you mind. It’s enough for you to know he shan’t be killed.”
He hesitated, indecisive. Should he follow just to make sure the assailant wasn’t put to death? His instincts, however, urged him to stay put; the madman’s fate was not his concern, and he felt a strange sort of awareness. Something was hovering just around the edges of his perception, making him restless, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep now no matter what.
Instead, he sat down on his bedroll again and waited.
Long hours or only minutes could have passed as Obi-Wan sat in a light trance state, stretching himself outward to see if he could pinpoint the source of his discomfort, but he found nothing. This annoyed him more than anything else--he hated being uncertain--but he was powerless. He had no choice but to wait and see what presented itself.
When the distraction finally came, it was the last thing he expected: his Master’s voice.
His blue-green eyes flew open, and before he was consciously aware of his own actions, he was scrambling to his feet, running for the door that lead to the main hall of the Temple. In the distance, he could hear Master Qui-Gon calling for him, his voice echoing through the empty ruin, and he followed back to the entrance where a familiar, tall figure stood in the middle of the entry hall.
Despite the fact that he knew he would have to tell his Master that he’d failed to learn what fear was, Obi-Wan’s lips curved in a welcoming smile, and he ran even faster to greet Qui-Gon, eager to tell him of his adventures and more pleased than he could possibly say to see his Master again.
--Suddenly movement in the darkness.
To his left, Obi-Wan saw a strange creature leap into view, moving too fast for him to process anything more than fleeting images: something roughly humanoid, billowing black robes, red blotches on its face.
With a low growl, the creature whirled to face Master Qui-Gon, whose hand had strayed to his lightsaber--
--but the creature drew a weapon of its own.
A lightsaber.
Obi-Wan caught the barest flash of a crimson blade before the creature lunged forward--Qui-Gon doubled over, his expression registering pure shock--the creature snarled its satisfaction as the Jedi Master sprawled at its feet.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Tendons stood out on Obi-Wan’s neck with the force of the cry, and he found himself reeling backwards as if staggering under the shock of the death-blow.
And then the creature turned to Obi-Wan.
Somehow, his lightsaber was in his hand and activated. Somehow, he made himself push aside the pain and horror to deal with this enemy.
With a hoarse scream, the Padawan ran full-tilt towards the creature with only one thought in his mind: revenge
The creature made a taunting little “come on” gesture to him, gloating over its victory, succeeding in infuriating Obi-Wan even more. He knew anger was of the Dark Side, but there was no time to calm himself, and so he redirected it, tempering his rising fury with memories of lessons with Qui-Gon. He could almost hear his Master’s voice in his head, directing him: “Breathe, Padawan. Study your opponant, and let the Force guide your movements.”
Gathering his strength, he opened himself to the Force, letting it flow through him--and as the creature mocked him, he struck.
Now it was the creature’s turn to look stunned, but that’s all it had time to do before it staggered backwards, then collapsed, sliced open from shoulder to waist.
His chest hitched with sobs as Obi-Wan let his ‘saber drop from suddenly nerveless fingers; it was the first time he had ever killed another living creature, but even that wasn’t the tragedy weighing most on his mind. Stumbling over to his fallen Master, he fell to his knees, groping frantically for the pulsepoints at the wrist and neck, but he felt no spark of life fluttering weakly under his fingertips. Qui-Gon’s eyes were open, but dull and faded, already clouding over.
His Master was dead.
“No...No...” Obi-Wan moaned over and over, unable to comprehend what had just occured. It had happened so quickly--it couldn’t be true--it just couldn’t!
But the evidence lay before him. He caught Qui-Gon’s hand in both his own and pressed it against his cheek, feeling it growing cool to his touch.
“My Master...” Tears stung his eyes, streaked his face as he wept freely and without shame. “My father...”
He hadn’t been fast enough...If only he’d gotten there sooner...if only he’d shouted a warning...
“Obi-Wan?”
The words, softly spoken in a voice that it should have been impossible for him to hear, made him snap his head up; the doors leading out of the Temple stood open, and pale morning light streamed in, illuminating the entry hall. His eyes blurred by tears, he couldn’t see details, only a large, dark figure standing backlit by the sun; dashing the salty drops away with the back of his hand, he stared harder, the figure stepped into the entrance hall--and there stood Master Qui-Gon, apparently alive and well.
Gasping, Obi-Wan glanced down at the body--only to see it shimmer and disappear. Across the room, the creature’s body faded away as well, leaving only the two living humans in the room.
“M-master?” Obi-Wan gazed up, is breath caught in his throat, scarcely able to believe what--or rather whom--he was seeing.
“Yes.” Master Qui-Gon knelt down next to him, peering at him with growing concern. “It’s dawn, my Padawan. I’ve come to take you home.”
With a wordless cry of joy, Obi-Wan did something he couldn’t remember ever doing before: he threw his arms around Qui-Gon and hugged him tight; Qui-Gon went still, momentarily stunned by this unexpected show of affection, then he returned the embrace.
“Obi-Wan, what is wrong?” He grasped his apprentice’s shoulders and held him at a slight distance, peering at the young man with alarm visible in his eyes. “You’re trembling.”
Obi-Wan laughed shakily, uncertain where to begin. “I...learned what you sent me here to learn, my Master. I know what fear is; I’ve felt it ice over my heart. It smells of blood and tastes of bright metal. I understand now.”
His Master smiled slightly and touched his cheek. “A harsh lesson, I think. What happened here that frightened you so badly?”
Obi-Wan slanted a questioning look at him. “Did you see nothing when you came in?”
“No, only you huddled on the floor, weeping.”
Nodding, Obi-Wan gazed thoughtfully at Master Qui-Gon,
mulling over the events of the night and wondering if
he should reveal what had happened; in the end, he
said nothing and rose to his feet, bowing respectfully
before turning away to retrieve his lightsaber. His
Master asked no more questions, respecting the young
man’s silent request for privacy in the matter, and if
his apprentice was more attentive and affectionate in
the days that followed than ever before, he let the
behavior pass unremarked on, perhaps attributing it to
Obi-Wan reaching a new level of maturity rather than
anything that might have occurred on that long, dark
night of the soul in the ruined Temple.
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