Obi-Wan woke slowly, feeling the Force that had slammed into his mind retreating, controlling how fast he woke up. It was irritating, but as no one seemed to be watching him, he took the time to look around.
The room was bare, the furniture simple, wooden and well made. A dresser leaned against the wall across from the window, and a chair sat in the corner near the window. The walls were painted off-white, which meant he wasn't in the Healer's wing, and a large window let in sunlight. It splashed across his bed, illuminating the homespun blanket that covered him. Carefully, he sat up, and then threw the blanket off and stood, wincing a little at the chill of the hard wood floor. He felt a little better, certainly, and wondered how long he'd slept and how long that feeling would last. Then he remembered with a shock he was no longer Master Toman's Padawan, and so he could not be on a mission. His hand reached up automatically, and he had to look - his braid was still there.
An odor hit his nose and his stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been a long time since he'd eaten. Cautiously, he padded barefoot to the door and slipped through, leaving it ajar so that there would be less noise. The short hallway was dim, opening into a cozy room with a pale cream couch, a small dark wood table, and a white rug that seemed to glow with the sunlight that hit it from what must have been a skylight. Beyond the couch, on the same wall as the window, was a solid door that seemed to lead outside. He ventured forward, noting large windows that revealed a groomed lawn bordered by a thick forest, and the fireplace in the wall next to the hallway he'd just left. He stepped onto the rug and smothered a gasp; it was inviting as it looked, thick and soft and warmed by the sun. He hadn't even noticed his feet were cold. He stood there for a minute, letting them warm up again, closing his eyes to enjoy the sunlight even more.
"I was just coming to wake you."
Obi-Wan had backed off the rug, nearly to the hall, almost before he realized he was moving. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. He was just glad it wasn't Master Toman; he wouldn't have been so kind.
"Come on in. It's dinner time."
Obi-Wan watched the man walk away, wondering where he was going. He realized that the man was Jedi from his clothes just as he opened a door Obi-Wan hadn't seen in his initial overview of the room, in the opposite wall from the main door. Still a little hesitant, Obi-Wan followed, pausing in the doorway uncertainly. The kitchen was small, a table shoved against the wall opposite the stove, and another door led outside just beyond it. The table was set for two, and soon a large pot was set between the bowls. Obi-Wan's stomach rumbled again.
"Please. Sit down."
He jumped, startled, and then moved to sit at the table. A full bowl was set before him, a glass of milk at his right hand. The stew was hot and filling, all the better because he did not feel Master Toman's eyes on him, judging, weighing. His bowl was empty almost too soon.
The Jedi laughed. "Theela said you'd be hungry," he said. "I hope there's enough." Obi-Wan's bowl was taken away, but before he could move, before the familiar despair could fill his mind, the bowl was set down again, full.
He glanced up, startled, to see the Jedi he'd caught a glimpse of in the Corner Garden, the one who'd found him after the fiasco with his Master in front of the Council. "Thank you," he said softly.
"You're welcome."
It took a third bowl before he felt comfortably full. The dishes were whisked away to soak, and then he was invited to follow the Jedi to the main room. Obi-Wan settled on the rug; most of the sun was gone, but the warmth wasn't so he buried his chilled feet into the rug again. The Jedi sighed.
"Obi-Wan, look at me."
The request surprised him. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet the other man's. "Thank you." He smiled gently. "I much prefer seeing your face to the top of your head.
"My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. The Council sent you here with me...."
Obi-Wan jerked his eyes away, trying to hide the tears that filled them, unable to hide the despair that filled his mind. That was why he still had his braid, it must be. He recognized the name, if not the man himself. They'd given him yet another Master. Someone else to...
There was a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the Knight move. "Obi-Wan, listen to me." The voice was kind, at least. But Master Toman's had been, too, and Master Sorin's and Master Denk's, at the beginning. The hand on his shoulder tightened, and he braced his mind for the attack that would get past his feeble defenses.
"The Council is worried about you."
"Why?" he asked, still braced, still wary.
"You have lost much of your skill with the Force," Qui-Gon said gently. "I am here to help you find it again. I am not your Master. I am merely a teacher."
"Yes, sir." It was an automatic response, given because it seemed to be expected. The relief he felt was almost overpowering, and now that the panic was gone, he could think again. Of course Master Jinn wasn't his Master, he thought angrily. Everyone in the Temple knew he didn't want another Padawan after he'd returned without his last one. The grip on his shoulder loosened, and Obi-Wan turned to watch the big man settle down on the edge of the rug. He reached into a pocket and pulled out something that drained the blood from Obi-Wan's face. He could only stare at the thin silver bracelet in dismay and shock. "This fell out of your pocket when we were putting you on the transport." The Master held it out, and Obi-Wan reached for it hesitantly, nearly dying inside, waiting for it to be snatched out of reach. To his surprise, his fingers closed around it, and then Qui-Gon let it go. "Was it your mother's?"
Obi-Wan tucked it back into the inner pocket of his tunic without answering, and then folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. Why hadn't he taken it and sold it for credits, like his other Masters had? He would have had no chance of finding it again here, wherever here was.
Qui-Gon's next words interrupted Obi-Wan's thoughts. "Our training schedule will be light for the next two weeks," he said, and it was as if he had never seen the bracelet. "Theela told me you have a knee injury, and that it needed at least two weeks to heal."
Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he rubbed at his knee. It had not ached since he'd woken up. He'd forgotten all about it.
"During that time," Qui-Gon went on, "you will eat as much as you need to. You're frightfully thin, even for a human, Theela told me." He paused and took a deep breath. "She also said you were exhausted. The goal is to bring you back to health first, and we'll worry about the rest later. Don't hesitate to speak up if you need something, whether it's more food, rest, or sleep."
Obi-Wan nodded his agreement, sure that even if he did, his requests would be ignored. Still, the acknowledgment had seemed expected.
"One last thing." Qui-Gon paused, looking steadily at him, and Obi-Wan stiffened slightly, feeling the Jedi's eyes on him, almost afraid of what he was going to say. "Theela said your mind was practically raw."
Obi-Wan was on his feet and heading for his room and the window there when the air around him thickened. It brought him to a halt, much easier than some of the methods Master Toman had used, but that made it no easier to handle. He trembled, sure now that he would once again lose control of his mind and his body. If only he could have gotten out, gotten away so this wouldn't be asked of him.
Qui-Gon moved to stand in front of him. "Your former Master was harsh," he said gently. "It is a misuse of the training bond. That is one of the most important reasons I am your teacher. One more bond before you have healed would destroy you utterly." He reached out and ran a rough, calloused hand over Obi-Wan's head, fingering the Padawan braid he still wore. Obi-Wan couldn't help it; he cringed, fighting the pain that was only in his memory. Master Sorin had nearly ripped his braid out by the roots more than once. More than half of those times, he was unable to move, like now.
Qui-Gon dropped it suddenly, moving back. "I will not initiate any mind contact," he said, still as gentle as before. "Most of what we will be covering you already know. If there is something you don't understand, contact will be limited to what you need to know."
The Force-thickened air around him eased slowly. Obi-Wan had barely heard the Jedi Master's last words, pushing to break free. As soon as he could, he broke from it and fled, through the kitchen and out the back door, afraid that the words the Jedi was speaking were lies, more lies. He just needed to get away. The steps outside the kitchen door surprised him and he fell down them, swallowing a cry as his knee twisted again. He tried to get to his feet, wanting to get into the forest and lose himself there, but his knee wouldn't hold him. Finally, he gave up and relaxed as much as he ever did, looking up at the twilight sky he never expected to see again. At least, not without glass between it and him.
Qui-Gon found him there a few minutes later and wordlessly helped him up. Once inside, the Jedi handed him a cold pack, wrapped in a towel. Obi-Wan took it, hissing at the pressure on his knee, focusing on easing the pain. It was much better than wondering what this Jedi could possibly want from a screw-up Padawan to make him so nice. When he looked at him, Qui-Gon sat in the place he'd taken at dinner, eyes closed, and Obi-Wan guessed he was meditating. Taking a deep breath, he did the same thing.
At least, he tried. His thoughts were scattered, and the fear that had become part of his daily life would not go away. Defeated yet again, he opened his eyes. He was surprised to see Qui-Gon looking at him, and his eyes dropped reflexively.
"Don't look as if there were no hope," the larger man said gently. "There is always hope, always a way back, if you choose to take it." He stood. "It's probably best that you don't walk on that, at least tonight. I can help you to your bed, if you'd like."
It was going to drive him insane. He could deal with curses, the occasional blow, the block between himself and his master, but kindness - extended kindness - was foreign to him. The last two years had nearly blocked out all memory of the years he'd lived before them. Sometimes, he wondered if it were a dream. He looked up at Qui-Gon's patient face and nodded, almost afraid of what new tricks would be played on him this time. But he arrived at his sleep couch without incident, and once the door was closed, he collapsed into it and slept.
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