What Makes a Jedi

This is my first attempt at fan fiction! I really hope you like it, and it turned out much better than I expected. I'm an aspiring author, and I'm experimenting with different styles to try and find one that fits my preferences. The title has multiple meanings, by the way. Enjoy!



Qui-Gon Jinn lived the ways of the Force.

That didn’t merely imply that he was a Jedi, although he was supremely dedicated to the of the balance of the Force. That didn’t just suggest that he knew what it was to wield a lightsaber, although his own master had regarded him the most skilled swordmaster he had ever trained. That didn’t justly insinuate that he adhered to the Code of the Jedi with his every action, for Qui-Gon Jinn knew no code of direction but his heart.

And he listened to the Force.

The Force was flowing freely within him now. He heard it, felt it, quickening his heart, bringing renewed energy to his tired limbs, whispering softly through his soul.

Qui-Gon nervously paced the hall of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. His mind was troubled, although none of his hidden apprehension was betrayed by his tranquil features, nor by the mild, deliberately neutral aura he projected through the Force. The sounds of his boots resounding through the soft, pale blue of the floor was determined and sure, and his sharp, piercing blue eyes confidently penetrated his surroundings.

Instinctively seeking to quiet his mind, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and slowly permitted the Force to reveal to him his immediate surroundings. Through the multifaceted strands of the Force, he felt the slight, simply elegant tendrils of exotic plant life that surrounded the largest of the fountains, each of their tiniest of molecules both brilliantly effortless and strangely complex. The nourishing sweetness of the water gently begged to purify the harder stems of the Force.

His attention piqued, Qui-Gon allowed his heightened awareness to extend to the quiet confines of the Jedi Temple. The peaceful, dispassionate well of Force energy was sporadically punctuated by excitement, or tension, of dreams unanswered, or of destinies unfolding through themselves. The lively calm of a Jedi Master in deep meditation. The uneasy energies of a padawan about to embark on a mission.

And the Jedi Temple slept.

Qui-Gon remained perfectly still, his broad chest hardly rising and falling, caught in the embrace of the Force. He began to search for familiar presences that the Force chose to reveal to him. There was the sharp, precise presence of Master Yoda, as unbending and as filled with rigid certainty in sleep as he was in verbal debate. There was the sweet presence of his young padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, young and kind, idealistically caring, untouched by the evils of the galaxy. Qui-Gon felt his padawan stir slightly in the Force, his consciousness brushed by his master’s touch, but his aura relaxed completely, and returned a brief, warm reassurance.

A smile slowly played across Master Qui-Gon’s lips as he permitted the Force to guide him further away from the Temple. His eyes fluttered from behind hooded lids as he sensed a small shuttle, which had just touched ground near the edge of the Temple grounds. Three presences exited the shuttle, all brimming with energy and strong in the Force. An older Jedi, probably a master, a younger padawan, his excitement barely concealed by his exhaustion, and a female presence, strong and gentle, yet oddly memorable--

Qui-Gon’s eyes snapped open. Tahl. Of course. He had been so deeply engrossed in meditation that he hadn’t sensed her immediately. But it had to be Tahl. No other presence shone so brightly in the Force. No other presence resonated so deeply in his heart.
She’ll notice immediately. I can’t hide anything from her. Not even a matter of vanity--

I’m not vain. It’s more than that. It’s…

Qui-Gon’s mind clouded as Tahl’s presence grew near. Hesitantly, he sat on a cold, stone bench near one of the smaller fountains, willing his tattered senses to be distracted by the almost physical clamor of rushing water. He breathed in the cloying aroma of the gold Ty’renn flower, its sweetness undimmed in the gray darkness.

“Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon started, his composure suddenly ruffled by Tahl’s entrance. But only briefly.
She danced across the room and into his arms, resting her head on his broad shoulder and stroking his hair. Her soft cheek brushed against the thick fullness of his beard, and he pressed her closer, feeling her fit perfectly against his body. He reached down and took her hand into his. It was calloused from years of lightsaber training, but warm, and he closed his large, war-scarred fist tightly over hers.

Tightening her grip on his back, she leaned in and kissed him on his lips, full and sweet as she remembered. His Force aura enflamed, Qui-Gon breathed in the pleasant pureness of her hair, gently stroking it until she slowly pulled away.

“There’s something different about you.”

Oh no. Here it goes.

He forced a laugh. “What could that be, my sweet?”

“You broke it,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Broke it?” he asked, forming a shaky smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She laughed, a soft, melodious sound that warmed his heart. “Oh, Qui-Gon. You needn’t be so embarrassed, you know. It looks…becoming.”

“Becoming?” he asked, willing his face not to flush.

“Yes,” she whispered, pulling closer to him, and kissing him lightly on the nose. “It’s very becoming.”

Tahl stepped back lightly as Qui-Gon rubbed his nose, self-consciously remembering the day he returned from the mission to Yrrrl V with Obi-Wan.


“Master?” Obi-Wan asked, tentatively entering the Med Clinic.

“Come in, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, sitting erect on a blue sleep couch, barely large enough to contain his massive frame. Med droids silently buzzed around the couch and the adjoining bacta tanks, ministering to the needs of the clinic’s various patients.

That, of course, included Qui-Gon.

“Does it hurt, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, his small brow furrowed in concern. Qui-Gon’s padawan was nearly fifteen at the time, and somewhat small for his age. But he was quick, and agile, and extremely intelligent. And his heart contained such kindness that he could hardly suppress it. Nor did he have any desire to hamper this unusual care and sensitivity.

“A little, my young padawan, but it is better than yesterday.”

Obi-Wan struggled to tear his eyes away from the thick bacta patch attached to his master’s permanently misshapen nose. Yrrrl V was very far from Coruscant, and it had taken far too long for Obi-Wan and his master to reach the Jedi Temple, undetected by their attackers, as ordered. There had been numerous opportunities to stop at a nearby system and use a bacta tank, but Qui-Gon had refused to compromise the mission, deciding instead to rely upon Force healing and the Jedi’s standard issue of bacta patches. Obviously, it hadn’t been enough. Qui-Gon’s nose had simply been…smashed. Irrevocably, it seemed.

But as Obi-Wan glanced Qui-Gon’s nose, he couldn’t help but cock a slight smile, remembering his master’s exact words upon realizing that the Gamorrean had succeeded in smashing his meaty elbow into Qui-Gon’s ruggedly handsome features. He hadn’t realized it until after the rush of adrenaline and blinding sight of the Force had washed over him, and he turned to check on his apprentice.

Seeing the blood all over his master’s face, Obi-Wan had asked him what happened, and he had replied, “I boke by node!”

Obi-Wan laughed, forgetting where he was.

“And what is so funny, my young apprentice?” Qui-Gon asked.

Embarrassed, Obi-Wan was forced abruptly into the present.

“Ummm, nothing, Master. I was just thinking how well your nose goes with your…other attributes.”

“Other attributes, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon pressed. “Such as?”

“Your hair, for example, Master. I’m sort of glad you didn’t cut it.”

“I thought you considered it…oh, what was the word you used?…dysfunctional, Obi-Wan?”

“No, Master. I find the streaks of less-than-brown are probably most appealing.”

“Less-than-brown?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and shut it, just as rapidly, wondering why in the name of this Force-forsaken galaxy he had said that.

“Well, what I mean is, err, gray, Master,” Obi-Wan replied bravely.

“Gray?”

“Ummmm, more like silver, I suppose.”

“Silver?” Qui-Gon asked, cocking his head to one side.

Obi-Wan turned red.

“You know, Master, when things start, um, changing--”

“Changing?” Qui-Gon’s voice suddenly deepened as he arched his left eyebrow. “No, I don’t know, Obi-Wan. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“I mean, Master, you know, when things start to slow down--”

“Slow down, Obi-Wan? Perhaps we should take a trip to the training rooms later today, so we can see if this Jedi Master has slowed down.”

“No, Master, I don’t think--”



Qui-Gon grinned as he considered this, thinking suddenly of Tahl.

His eyes brushed over her uncertainly, taking in her slim, muscular form, her gentle beauty. The slightness of her features and thick, fullness of her hair was most attractive, and comfortably familiar.

Most becoming.

She chuckled.

“Taking inventory?” she asked, placing her hand firmly against his chest and shoving lightly.

“Ha, not so thoroughly this time, my love,” he teased. “I was wondering if you were alright. How was the mission?”

“Oh, Qui-Gon,” she said loudly, shoving him, this time more forcefully. “Why do you think of the Order at a time like this?”

“I once thought that the Order was my life,” he said, suddenly all business. His brow furrowed deeply as he began pacing the supple, reflective floor. “But I now know that my duty is to the Force, itself, not to any physical entity.”

“So the Force is your life,” Tahl replied flatly.

“Not tonight, my love,” he moved closer to her once more, and she was instantly in his arms. Tahl reached up, her thin arm lithe against his muscular form, and traced along the edge of his strong jaw. Her smooth finger followed the confines of his face, outlining his high, regal forehead, and resting on the tip of his twisted nose.

“You know, the nose doesn’t make the Jedi,” she laughed, swiftly pulling her hand away from his face. He caught it mechanically, reflexes enhanced by the Force, and kissed her index finger lightly.

“Of course not. The Force does,” he replied, blue eyes twinkling.

“No, you silly. Not the Force!”

His forehead crinkled in mock puzzlement.

“Not the Force?” he asked. “No! Never,” she giggled.

“Then the Temple makes the Jedi. In the sense that it molds them into a being in service to the will of the Force.”

“No, Qui-Gon, not the Temple,” she stepped away from him, her light, golden-bronze hair shimmering in the dim light.

“Alright, then the success of the Jedi’s padawan,” Qui-Gon suggested, now genuinely confused.

“Oh, Qui-Gon,” Tahl said in fake exasperation. “Do you give up?”

“My love, you know very well that I never give up,” he laughed, a touch of sadness in his voice. Qui-Gon’s dedication to justice was unshakable.

“Then can I give you a hint?”

He grinned.

“Of course.”
“Master Fisto has a green one, Queen Breha doesn’t have one, you have a larger one, and Yoda rarely uses his.”

Now Qui-Gon was sincerely confused. His face must have betrayed his surprise, because Tahl laughed.

“Why, you silly, a lightsaber!”

Qui-Gon laughed, long and hard, until tears filled his eyes and brimmed over onto his cheeks. Then, taking Tahl in his arms, the two Jedi strode swiftly from the illuminated confines of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, laughing with carefree ease as they went.


Twenty-three years later, silence had fallen upon the Room of a Thousand Fountains once more. A solitary figure stood near the largest of the fountains, now extinguished, the room unnaturally quiet and filled with a surreal darkness.

The figure was of a slightly shorter-than-average height, his hair sandy and cut short in a practical style, his beard rugged and full. Although he was undoubtedly young, his hair was tinged with patches of gray, and his eyes brimmed with a sense of deep, incurable sorrow, unquestionably haunted by visions invisible to other men.

He sat down heavily on of the benches near one of the smaller fountains, slumped over slightly, as if weighed down by some incredible burden. The bench was cracked and its exquisite, unpolished gray electrum scorched by blaster fire. The fountains were all but destroyed, the ornately decorated, reddish brown pillars fallen and smashed. The ostentatious trim surrounding the rather small entrances to the room, which this young Jedi used to joke that his master would never fit through, were crumbling and lay in pieces on the scorched and decimated floor, dulled and scuffed. Suddenly unable to contain his grief, the young Jedi balled his hands into fists, clutching futilely at his chest, and let out a muffled cry, the pale blue of his eyes blurred by a rapid rush of tears.

“Obi-Wan.”

Abruptly, the Jedi lifted his head, his face stricken in a grimace of pain, wondering if his sorrow had finally driven him to madness. If so, he would welcome it.

But there was something there. His grief suddenly driven into another existence, the Jedi cleared his mind and opened his heart.

What he saw nearly broke it once more.

It was his old master, his face betraying the same sincere, rugged kindness and profound wisdom. Obi-Wan sobbed, this time with joy.

“Master! Oh, Master, I’ve missed you! You left me, Master, and I wasn’t ready, and Anakin,” he stopped, suddenly confused by his own words, “Master, Anakin…he wasn’t the Chosen One.”

Qui-Gon smiled, that same, caring, lopsided grin that his apprentice remembered, greeting him, admonishing him, praising him, teaching him.

“No, my young padawan.”

By the Force. Even his voice is the same.

“He is the Chosen One.”

“Master, I don’t understand. He slaughtered Jedi! He used the Force to choke his own wife! He--” Obi-Wan broke off, his voice choked with emotion, “He…he killed…younglings--”

“The Force will be brought into balance, Obi-Wan. You must listen to what I will teach you.”

“Teach me?!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, suddenly as exasperated with his master as he had been as a young boy. “Master, the galaxy has been plunged in darkness! Anakin is of the dark side now, and he is not the Chosen One.”

Qui-Gon sighed, turned his head to one side and raised his eyes, just as he had done a lifetime ago.

“I see you are as headstrong as always, my young padawan. And you still have much to learn. But I can help you. I can teach you. And, I promise you, the Force will be brought into balance.”

Obi-Wan prepared to retort once more, but there was something about the manner of his old master that stopped him. He was as stubborn as a bantha, as always, but there was something else, something more, and he could see it but not quite accept it.

Then he felt it. The enveloping currents of the Force rippled around him, and, rather than resisting, he opened himself, closing his eyes, feeling the undercurrents ebb and flow around him. The Force was vibrant, alive, intricate and beautiful in its scope, and it filled him with purpose and being.

Yes, the Force could be brought into balance. For even the tiniest of candles, alone in the darkness, can penetrate the shadows. The Force would be brought into balance. But not after much pain, and much sacrifice, and much sorrow. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was used to that, and he could endure. He would endure.

“I am ready to learn, Master.”

And Obi-Wan listened.

For, even in death, Qui-Gon Jinn lived the ways of the Force.

And he knew how to love.

PART 8 - MISADVENTURES

PART I - PART II - PART III - PART IV - PART V - PART VI - PART VII

ONE YEAR LATER

It was cold and rainy, as it had been almost every day since she arrived, and inside her room the fire had gone out again. She sighed as she relit the ancient gas burner and tossed aside her wet cloak.

Locaria had a strange, ovoid shaped orbit, which gave it a long, wet winter and a short but wonderful summer. But the winter lasted longer than a standard year and Traelyn had barely seen the sun since she arrived.

Pausing at the tiny holoterminal, she checked for messages from Master Jeran, or from anyone, but found nothing. After sending many messages over the last quarter year, she was not even certain that her letters were going anywhere.

For the first half-year of her stay, things had gone as expected. The Locarians were mistrustful of her as a Jedi, but the doctors had promised to teach her and they tried, but after it became evident that she was not able to learn their empathic procedures their attitude towards her changed dramatically.

As quickly as she mentioned asking for reassignment, her flow of communications with Coruscant dwindled to nothing. It was almost as if they wanted to keep her there, even though they didn't want her. It was puzzling, as she could sense their feelings of animosity, and she also got a sense of betrayal from them, as if she'd let them down in some way. It's not my fault my empathy isn't strong enough, she thought. Many of you are not empathic at all, so there's no need to be ashamed of me.

* * *

With the fire warming up her room and changed into sleeping clothes and warm, dry socks, Traelyn curled up in her bed and reached into her night table drawer. Once again she pulled out the handwritten letter she'd received from Obi-Wan, hand delivered to her at the Medcenter by way of a diplomatic pouch.

Obi-Wan must have made a friend in the Senate, she thought. Clever of him, although I hope he isn't waiting for an answer.

A tear ran down her cheek. She wanted to go home. Not just because of Obi-Wan, but because she needed to go home for her own sanity. The Locarians were keeping her there against her will, although covertly, it had become obvious. She closed her eyes and sought the Force. Its soothing touch calmed her, cleared her mind, and made her decision easy.

She slipped from her warm bed and went to the tiny closet, where she rummaged through her travel bag, accessing the hidden compartment in the bottom. Pulling a small device from the pocket, she activated the distress call on her homing beacon.

* * *

Four days later, a sense of urgency from the Force compelled her to go out and head for the spaceport. A brief respite from the rain allowed her to stand near the exit where she could see everyone leaving the building.

Before she saw him, she felt his presence in the Force, and the sense of relief and joy that flooded through her brought a smile to her face. Obi-Wan. He strode out of the spaceport, his cloak flowing out behind, his lightsaber gleaming, he had the look of a man on a mission, and indeed he was. He was there to rescue the woman he loved.

She pictured herself standing beneath the trees, and sent a Force touch to brush the left side of his face. He turned towards her and his eyes lit up with happiness and relief. She gave the hand signal that meant they might be observed, and walked slowly towards him, her hands up her sleeves while picturing herself running to him and wrapping him up in a wampa hug.

He nodded, and they began to walk away from the spaceport together. He pulled an electronic jammer from his utility belt, and activated it.

"That's good," she said, "But keep your shields up."

"It's good to see you safe," he said. "Why were you hiding in the trees?"

"I've been barred from the spaceport!"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" He asked with a hint of amusement. "You only sent a level one distress call, so we thought it must be something diplomatic."

"You assumed that based on my record of diplomacy, no doubt," she chuckled. "Let's go to dinner, there's a place we can speak freely."

They walked several blocks before taking a series of detours through shops and alleys, until they came to a seedier part of the city and warm, inviting looking diner called Chez Charlee.

Charlee herself greeted them at the door with a cool, offhand look. "Ah, Doctor Jedi," she said. "And a friend. Take booth twenty." She walked away, and Traelyn led the way to the designated table.

"Is everyone here that unfriendly?" Obi-Wan asked.

"She actually likes me," Traelyn replied. "I delivered her granddaughter. I've been working at that free clinic across the street." He looked at her questioningly. "Since I was barred from the Medcenter," she finished with a grim smile.

"Perhaps you should tell me the whole story!"

"The short version? I don't understand these people, they don't want me here, but they won't let me leave. They won't let me work at the Medcenter, but I still have my room there. My credit chip is good anywhere except for a ticket off the planet, I can go anywhere in the city I like except the spaceport, my holoterminal works as long as I don't try to contact Coruscant."

"How long have you been trying to leave?" He asked.

"A few months. I tried to buy a ticket, I tried to sneak onto a liner, then a freighter, I tried mind tricks on the ticket agents. Finally I was barred from the spaceport. I just want to go home to the Temple."

She sat back and let a breath out. Obi-Wan sent soothing Force touches her way. A young woman with a datapad approached the table. "Charlee said to tell you we have the special tonight, roast duck. She saved you some."

"We'll have that," Traelyn replied, shooting Obi-Wan a look that said trust me. "And some melonberry wine."

The woman nodded and left. "What's a duck?" Obi-Wan asked.

"It's a bird that swims," she replied. "Although it must be taught how."

"Ah, a waterfowl," he said.

"It's a delicacy, don't worry, you'll like it."

Obi-Wan observed the crowd at the dimly lit bar while they waited for their dinner. The spicy wine warmed them and Traelyn began to relax. Obi-Wan looked thoughtful.

"I'll be right back," he said, rising from the table.

Traelyn watched as he approached the bar with a credit coin in his hand. Casually, he placed it on the bar while he spoke with the bartender, who nodded towards Albiee, the groundcab driver.

Obi-Wan and Albiee exchanged a hushed and brief conversation, including glances Traelyn's way, and then Albiee left the restaurant.

Obi-Wan returned to the table just as dinner arrived.

"Oh, this is good," he said, taking a bite of the roast fowl. Traelyn eyed him suspiciously, and waited for him to explain, but he said nothing.

Annoyed, Traelyn decided to wait him out. They finished their dinner while chatting about Temple matters and gossiping about their mutual friends. Traelyn told him of the latest holonovel she'd read, and he told her about his trip to Ryloth.

Traelyn was anxious to leave, anxious to get Obi-Wan back to her room and she wondered why he was stalling. But he ordered some more wine and a dessert, and sat back to savor them.

She sighed. "Be patient," he said with a smile.

Albiee approached the booth and sat down beside Traelyn. "Doc, you should have told me you were in trouble," he said. He placed a packet on the table and Obi-Wan slid its contents into his hand.

Incredibly, there were identification papers and travel documents in Traelyn's name, including two tickets to Coruscant. Obi-Wan passed a wad of credit bills to Albiee, who pocketed them discreetly.

Traelyn was stunned. "I had no idea," she said quietly. "Thank you, Albiee."

"I'm sorry to see you go, Doc, my neck has never felt better since you treated me. But I can see you want to go home, and I can't blame you. Take care." He smiled, nodded to Obi-Wan, and disappeared into the dimly lit bar.

* * *

"It's so cold and damp in here, how do you sleep here every night?" Obi-Wan shivered as his bare skin touched the sheets.

"Well, I'm not usually naked," she replied, slipping in beside him.

"And I usually don't pack sleeping clothes when I'm coming to see you," he said with a grin. "Traelyn, what's bothering you?"

She cuddled up closer to him. "I'm just tense," she said. "Distract me!"

* * *

As she lay curled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her hair loose and her skin warm, her sexual tension eased, he still felt a disturbance in her mental presence.

"Traelyn, please tell me, what is it? You're annoyed with me?"

She sighed. "How did you know how to do that?"

He rose up on one elbow. "Excuse me?"

"Oh!" She flushed pinkly. "Not that!" She chuckled. "How did you know how to untangle this travel mess? You certainly didn't go through official channels."

"We tried official channels from Coruscant. Didn't work, so we thought someone on the ground would be more effective."

"But, how did you know..."

"Bartenders and cab drivers are the richest sort of information on almost every planet," he said with a yawn. "And they all appreciate a few extra credits coming their way."

She sighed. "I've known Albiee for months, I had no idea..."

"It's experience, Traelyn. You traveled the galaxy for a year. I spent twelve years with Qui-Gon, we got out of a lot of scrapes and sticky situations much more serious than this one!"

"That's the real reason a Healer needs an escort, isn't it?" She mused. She pulled him close. "I'm glad it was you who came to my rescue!"

"Hmmm, so am I. I'd hate to see you giving a hero's reward to anyone else!"

She laughed. "Oh, Obi-Wan, don't you know you're the only man in galaxy brave enough to take me to bed?"

* * *

The next day they boarded the small passenger liner without incident. Traelyn's forged travel documents zipped through the scanners and no one gave her a second look. She maintained a serene but haughty aura of calm, and strode through the spaceport like the Jedi she was.

Once the starliner left orbit however, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I still have so much to learn, she thought. I couldn't even get myself off a backwater planet!

After depositing their bags in their cabins, they headed for the public holoterminals and reported in. Obi-Wan filed a brief report and received an assignment on Chadrian.

Traelyn spoke directly with Master Jeran. "It's good to see you safe and well," he said with a smile.

"So," she said wryly, "How much trouble am I in?"

He laughed. "It's not you who is in trouble, my dear, it's the folks on Locaria. But that is business for the Council, not us. Take a few days off and go with Obi-Wan to Chadrian. It's lovely there, and you'll find it relaxing."

"Thank you, Master."

With the transmission ended, she turned to Obi-Wan. "He assumed that it's all right with you!"

He chuckled. "I'd never turn down your company, my love. It's just a brief investigation, and it's in the tropics. You can see the sun again."

* * *

"Come with me," Obi-Wan said as he dressed for his meeting with the local governmental council. "It'll be a lesson in diplomacy for you." He grinned.

"Ha! It's too late for that lesson!"

"Come anyway, another set of eyes and ears is always good to have on an investigation."

* * *

The seven council members welcomed them into their meeting chamber, and briefed them on the problem.

A group of off world miners had set up camp in an uninhabited area of the planet, and they were mining valuable resources without permission. Additionally, it was feared that their processes were polluting the air and water.

"We depend on tourism to support ourselves," the council leader said. "Our pristine environment is one of our strongest selling points. Animals in the immediate area are dying, and people may be next!"

Obi-Wan looked at Traelyn. "Is mining waste toxic to living things?"

"Sometimes, but I cannot be sure, not without a sample."

"We will take you to the site tomorrow," the leader said.

Suddenly, the sound of blaster fire erupted in the hallway. In an instant, Obi-Wan and Traelyn were on their feet, their lightsabers drawn and ignited. "Get down!" Obi-Wan ordered the council members, and they ducked behind the furniture.

The doors burst open, and a group of men armed with blasters rushed in, firing.

Their lightsabers were a whir of light and motion, as they deflected away the blaster bolts. Back to back they stood, fighting as a team.

"Just like practice," Obi-Wan remarked casually.

"Only easier," Traelyn replied as she deflected a blaster bolt into the hand of the man who had fired it. He dropped the blaster with a cry of pain. She sent two other men crashing into the wall with a Force push, and they went down, unconscious.

Obi-Wan knocked two of the others together, and pulled their weapons away. But the man Traelyn had disarmed pulled a vibroblade out of pocket and lunged towards her. She sliced through his hand, but he kept coming at her and with a quick jab she impaled him on her blade.

A brief shock came over her, and in that moment of distraction a blaster shot hit her in the upper arm. Yelping in pain, she turned on the man and relieved him of his shooting arm.

It was over in a matter of seconds, it seemed. Four were dead, and the rest unconscious or disabled. Local security arrived, and the councilmen came out of their hiding places.

"It's the miner's group," one of the councilmen said. "They've been terrorizing the city!"

Across the room, Traelyn was allowing one of the local medics to bandage her arm, and refusing transport to the MedCenter. "I'm a healer," she said, "I can handle this." In spite of her pain, she could sense Obi-Wan's anger.

"You should have told us about that," he said, keeping a lid on his temper. "This requires a deeper investigation than you led us to believe. I will have to consult with the Jedi Council."

* * *

Obi-Wan sent his transmission, and they returned to the hotel to await a response. They lunched on the patio of Traelyn's room, but she picked at her food without much appetite.

"Are you in pain, love?" He asked with concern.

She shook her head. "No, that's not it. I just.... well, I've never killed anyone before."

"Ah," he replied, knowingly. "They didn't give us much choice, you know that. But regret is a natural reaction, we all face it."

His commlink beeped, and went inside to answer it.

"There will be four Jedi here tomorrow," he commented as he returned to find her deep in thought. "Let's take a walk."

She nodded. "Obi-Wan? Tell me that it doesn't get easier!"

"No, it never does. And it shouldn't."

* * *

They left their Jedi clothes in the closet, and dressed like the locals. Simple clothes in light colors, perfect for the climate and very comfortable. They walked barefoot along the water's edge, and the soothing sounds of the waves and the birds overhead did much to ease their tension.

Back at the hotel, they shared a platter of shellfish and fresh fruit for dinner. "Where is Anakin?" Traelyn asked, as if she'd just noticed his absence. "You haven't had to check up on him once!"

"He's on survival training," Obi-Wan replied.

"Oh, the weekend on Hoth?"

He chuckled. "No, two weeks in the jungles of Yavin Four."

"Ah, another one of my favorites."

"Traelyn... what I said in my letter, about regretting my decision to train him, I was just frustrated when I said that."

She sighed. "Obi-Wan, you made a promise in the heat of a very emotional moment. No one would blame you for not wanting this responsibility for the next ten or twelve years of your life. As long as the boy is trained, I see no reason you have to do it personally."

"I gave Master Qui-Gon my word," he said firmly.

She looked at him thoughtfully. "You think I'm jealous!"

"Are you?"

"Possibly. But it's more than that, and you know it. I'm concerned for your welfare. And the truth is.... he annoys me."

"Well, that's a first, someone annoying you," he said with a laugh. She snickered as she popped a piece of starfruit into her mouth.

Music began to play, and he led her by the hand to the dance floor. Her long yellow dress trailed out behind her as her bare feet glided across the polished wood floor, her hair loose from its usual braids and falling down her back.

Dancing was very much like a lightsaber duel, only slower, and more sensual. It was easy to be graceful when one knew a moment beforehand what the other was about to do, and they waltzed about as if they'd done it everyday of their lives, no one knowing what a rare joy it was for them.

He pulled her into a shadowy doorway, and kissed her deeply. "We have until midday tomorrow to be alone," he whispered.

"Let's not waste a minute of it, then," she said breathlessly, taking him by the hand and leading him to the stairs.