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The spaceport tavern outside the Carnelion system was exactly the type of place Obi-Wan turned his nose up at. The inside walls were stone, not steel, the lighting was kind of dim, and the wooden tables and chairs were scuffed and worn. Occasionally, there would be splinters on the dusty floor—from one bargoer breaking a chair over another’s head, if Anakin had to guess.
Sure enough, Obi-Wan took one look around the place and sighed. “This establishment is the only one within any reasonable distance, so there’s no hope of anywhere with more sanitary conditions,” he informed Anakin in a low tone, before striding toward the bar.
Anakin waited until Obi-Wan’s back was turned and then rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Obi-Wan could be an awful snob. So what if this tavern wasn’t strictly “sanitary”? If they could get food and water here, then that was still a luxury. Both had always been in short supply when Anakin was a slave on Tatooine. And besides, the atmosphere of these places couldn’t be beat—all kinds of sentients hung out here, from spacers to smugglers to bounty hunters, and all of them were fascinating to talk to. Obi-Wan never liked it when Anakin spoke with strangers, sitting back in silence with an expression that he probably thought looked patient and contemplative but really just betrayed his true grumpiness. And his impatience always showed through in the Force.
But Anakin couldn’t help it. These people had been to dozens of worlds he hadn’t ever heard of or had only learned about in data files, and most of them were eager to regale him with their exploits. A duo of Zeltron women and their gaggle of admirers had shared with him accounts of their time as swoops racers at the Galactic Championships on Malastare, while a Shistavanen with an eyepatch confided in him stories of the ghosts of a planet called Necropolis.
“Most of those tales don’t contain the slightest shred of truth, Anakin,” Obi-Wan had said dismissively, ushering him up the boarding ramp of their ship as Anakin’s head spun with the conclusion of yet another fascinating escapade. “You’d do best not to listen to another one of them.”
The response had left Anakin’s lips before he’d had the chance to reconsider it. “A Jedi always aspires to knowledge, Master,” he’d shot back, raising his chin defiantly.
Obi-Wan had sent him a dirty look, his lips tightening, and then dropped the subject.
Once, Anakin had even encountered another former slave. A Twi’lek woman, her face and lekku inked with fearsome tattoos, had approached the bar to order just as Obi-Wan and Anakin took their place to eat. Instinctively, Anakin’s eyes had dropped to her right wrist and found another tattoo there: the Japor blossom with three falling petals. Three children, then, that had been ripped away from her, either sold or gambled away, or had simply been killed by their owner.
And without a second thought, Anakin had reached out to her in the Force, sending a powerful light, a blazing blanket of comfort, straight to her.
You’re not alone. Your pain is my pain.
I know what it is to lose someone you love more than anything.
In an instant, she had turned to him, her ferocity melting away as her green eyes met his own blue gaze, and an understanding settled between them. A happy kind of ache washed over Anakin, like those times he could finally eat food again after Watto had refused to allow him any for several days. Finally, finally, after being stuck with so many people who didn’t understand what his past life had been, a person who knew it exactly stood right in front of him.
The Twi’lek had reached back to him then, not with the Force, but with her hand, running it gently through his hair, a light, comforting touch.
For just a moment, it was like Anakin had a mother again.
But then Obi-Wan had said, “Anakin!” in that sharp, stern way of his, grabbing Anakin by the back of his robes and yanking him away.
“You need to be cautious of strangers!” Obi-Wan hissed at him.
“She’s not a stranger!” Anakin had protested.
He’d looked back for the Twi’lek woman to show Obi-Wan her tattoo and explain how he knew he could trust her, but she was already gone.
And Anakin had been alone again.
Now, Anakin hurried after Obi-Wan toward a table on the far side facing the door, worn wooden floorboards creaking beneath his every step, weaving around clouds of tabac smoke the best he could.
But as he passed by the dimmest corner of the room, a strangely familiar voice beseeched him, as if it were half-forgotten he was hearing again after years of silence.
“Could I trouble you to spare me a moment? I’ve traveled far in search of my query, and I do believe I’ve found it.”
The voice was melodious, like the water of a gentle brook slipping over moss-covered rocks, but it was also strangely familiar.
His heart in his throat, Anakin pivoted to find a humanoid woman sitting at a table. Dressed in simple cream-colored robes, with ivory skin and long, flowing moonlight-pale hair, she was so utterly radiant and brimming with life that he was aghast he hadn’t noticed her right away. If anyone he’d ever met had been an angel, it would be this lady.
Despite his gaping, she only looked at him kindly, her surprisingly dark lips quirking into a smile.
“Sit with me, child,” she invited him, her silvery eyes locking onto his. “And tell me where you come from.”
Again, Anakin couldn’t erase the odd, nagging sense that he knew her and had known her a long time. Eager to resolve this mystery, he wasted no time in joining her.
The lady’s name turned out to be Fay, and she was a Jedi. There were legends about her whispered throughout the Temple, and now Anakin had discovered the truth of them. Just like the stories said, Fay had been alive for hundreds of years and spent the whole time traveling throughout the galaxy to right wrongs and end wars.
“But you don’t look old,” Anakin pointed out skeptically.
“Anakin!” Obi-Wan hissed from where he now sat beside him, embarrassment pouring off of him. Anakin knew he embarrassed Obi-Wan an awful lot.
But Fay only chuckled at him. “The Force sustains me, young one. I serve it faithfully, following where it leads. And because I give my life to the Force, the Force gives me life in return.”
“Oh,” Anakin said. “That makes sense.”
No wonder Fay was so beautiful then, if she had so completely bonded with the Force. The Force was a beautiful and wonderful thing, even as much as it scared him.
Just by looking at Fay, an incredible sensation washed over Anakin, a blend of hope, happiness, courage, and comfort, like he was immersed in every positive emotion he’d ever experienced.
While Anakin wanted to know more about Fay, he decided it would be rude to bombard her with all of his questions at once. Trying to pace himself, he paused to take a sip of his bribb juice, but when he set down his glass again and looked up at Fay, he found her watching him steadily.
“We are the same, Anakin Skywalker,” she told him without preamble. “We are both bonded inseparably with the Force. It is a part of us beyond what it is to any other Jedi. But the difference, I think, is that I myself achieved oneness with the Force, but it is innate to you.”
His stomach twisted at Fay’s words, and Anakin snuck a quick look at Obi-Wan. He knew he was different—he knew he could feel the Force with an intensity that no other Jedi could experience. It was one of the reasons he had trouble meditating; when he tried to push all other thoughts out of his head and focus entirely on the Force, it blazed within him like raging inferno threatening to flare out of his grasp and burn him from the inside out.
But Obi-Wan didn’t like any mention of Anakin being different, whether the difference was the Force, his past as a slave, or that prophecy that Qui-Gon had mentioned. While Anakin had been confused at first, he now knew Obi-Wan was ashamed of his differences, ashamed that Anakin couldn’t be an ideal Jedi.
“I—I don’t really know anything about that,” Anakin mumbled, looking down to avoid the gazes of either Fay and Obi-Wan.
But a voice in his head cheered with victory and excitement, thrilled that he might have finally found a Jedi who understood him, who understood that the power of the Force wasn’t only a gift, but also something that could be terrifying.
When he finally risked glancing up at Fay again, she was watching him steadily.
“Soon I will leave for my next journey,” she said, speaking to him rather than Obi-Wan. “But please know I will always be a friend to you, Anakin. The Force can be a wonder, but also a burden. Please know you are not alone in carrying it.”
“Where are you going?” Anakin asked, eager to hear of a fresh adventure.
“I’m rendezvousing with Nico Diath, a fellow Jedi and an old friend of mine. We have a report of a slave shipment passing through on its way to Nar Shaddaa. We will intercept the ship, ensure justice is served to the slavers, and that the captives be restored to their homes.” Fay spoke with a calm certainty, as if all described were routine to her.
A Jedi helping slaves? No Jedi but Qui-Gon had ever given a damn about slavery. Even Anakin’s instructors at the Temple had complained to each other when they thought he couldn't overhear about what a burden it was to help an “uneducated” former slave like him.
“Could I come with you?” Anakin blurted out. “To help people? To free slaves?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Obi-Wan, but Anakin remained riveted on Fay.
Fay laughed, a lovely luminous sound that had hope blooming in Anakin’s chest. “I don’t think the Council would appreciate me poaching one of the Temple Padawans.”
“They’d be glad to get rid of me,” Anakin said seriously. “If you told them I was staying with you instead of coming back to the Temple, they’d probably throw a parade.”
“Anakin!” Obi-Wan scolded him. “You know that’s not true.”
But Anakin knew it was true. The Council’s actions spoke where their words did not.
So much had changed from that day he’d stood before them in their grand chamber to be tested, quaking in the thin soles of his worn boots, clenching his teeth to prevent them from chattering as he shivered in his threadbare tunic. And yet, nothing had.
The Council plainly didn’t like him. They ignored anything good he did and only ever paid attention when he did something wrong. Just a few days ago, when Anakin had been sparring in front of Master Windu, Obi-Wan, and Chancellor Palpatine. Even though he’d pushed himself to his absolute best, even showing off the training droid he’d modified to look like Darth Maul, none of them had cared about any of his accomplishments. They only said anything to him when he lost his temper.
It was part of why Anakin thought about leaving the Jedi. None of the good things he worked hard on ever seemed to matter. Only the bad things he did in a split second and then instantly regretted. And if only his mistakes mattered, then all the good things Anakin wanted to do, like freeing the slaves and getting rid of the Hutts, would never matter to the Jedi.
Though he felt Obi-Wan’s gaze resting on him, Anakin again could not look at him. He knew Obi-Wan agreed with the Council on everything that they decided—and that he also had agreed when the Council had at first declared him unsuitable for training.
The boy is dangerous. The Council can see it. Why can’t you?
Instead, he looked at Fay, let her light surge through him, bolstering his courage and allowing himself to admit to the painful truth.
“The Council didn’t want me. I was brought to the Temple really late, much later than normal. I was already nine. They tried to reject me. But then the Sith returned and murdered the Jedi who wanted me trained. But me being a Jedi was his dying wish, and I guess the Council felt like they had to let me. But they never wanted me in the first place. They never thought I belonged. They said I had too much fear.”
Fay’s silvery eyes swept over him, and he could sense the ebb and flow of the Force around her, like a caress brushing over him.
“The man who brought you before the Council. Who was he?” Fay asked, instead of responding to Anakin’s plea.
“His name was Qui-Gon Jinn.” A lump swelled in Anakin’s throat as he spoke the name. Even if he wasn’t sure how he felt about Qui-Gon now, he would always be grateful for the sheer amount of belief he’d held in Anakin. “He found me on Tatooine, where my mother and I were slaves. He was looking for parts to repair his ship, but then he got caught in a sandstorm. I took him and his friends home with me, and then we put together a plan for me to enter the Boonta Eve Classic—oh, that’s a podrace—to win him the parts. I won the race, and it turned out he won me in that race, too. So he freed me, and brought me to the Council, because he thought I might be important. But the Council . . .” Anakin trailed off, unsure how to describe how little the Council had cared about him in that first meeting. Or any time after that. “I guess the Council didn’t think I was important,” he finished lamely.
A smile tugged at Fay’s lips again, but this time, there was something melancholy about it. “Courage. Generosity. Compassion. All of those qualities, all essential to the Jedi, shone through as you helped Qui-Gon. And yet the Council still had no desire to train you?”
Anakin shrugged uncomfortably, unsure of how to react to Jedi complimenting him instead of criticizing him, and well aware that Obi-Wan sat beside him, ready to strike him down for any display of ego.
“They said I was too afraid,” he said again, not knowing what else to say.
The Force surrounding Fay glowed with a new kindness as she looked at Anakin. “Truth be told, Anakin, I’m very afraid as well. I’m so afraid that I’ve kept away from Coruscant for hundreds of years now.”
“Afraid? You?” Anakin was astonished. “Of what?”
Obi-Wan’s hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. “That’s enough, Anakin.”
“Let him speak,” Fay admonished lightly. “A child’s curiosity is to be encouraged.” She paused briefly, a thoughtful expression crossing her features before continuing.
“I suppose what I fear most is losing my purpose,” she admitted. “It is my firm belief that the Jedi should not serve one group to the exclusion of others, as the Jedi now serve the Republic. From my view, the Jedi are called to give aid to those who need it most, no matter where the divisions of the galaxy fall. But by serving the Senate, my fellow Jedi confine themselves to only acting with the blessing of wealthy and powerful politicians. And if we allow only the elite to direct us, to only lend aid to planets and people the Senators decree to be deserving of it, are we truly acting as Jedi?
“But a nomad’s life is not an easy one. Even after centuries of following the Force, I’m tempted by the thought of a home, a place to rest, a place to be among others like me. And that is why I can never return to Coruscant: I fear that if I set foot in the Temple there, my longing for a refuge would convince me to end my journey. And that I would settle there, among my fellow Jedi, among the politicians we don’t trust but allow to assign us missions, swayed by the idea of stability.” For the first time, Fay broke his gaze as she spoke, her aura dimming with grief and pain.
But it only lasted a moment, and then her full self reemerged, stronger and more full of the Force than ever.
“But I am a Jedi,” she said resolutely. “I live by the Jedi Code, not the Senate’s orders. And so, I will never return to Coruscant. I can never return.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have a home!” Anakin said stoutly. “A home isn’t a place. It can be people. When I miss my home, I don’t miss Tatooine, but I miss my mom and my friends and the other slaves who helped me. That’s home to me—not he planet, not my slave hovel.”
“You are wise for your years, Anakin,” Fay said gently.
A fresh resolve spiked in Anakin at the compliment. Maybe—maybe he could finally free his mother.
“If you don’t like Coruscant that much, then don’t make me go back,” Anakin begged, and even he was caught off-guard by the desperation in his tone. “Don’t make me go back to those people who don’t want me or those sleemo Senators. Let me go with you and help people. I’ve always just wanted to help.”
Beside him, Obi-Wan went as rigid as a statue, but Fay considered him again, and then gave a brief nod.
“A Jedi knows when they are called to serve the Force,” Fay said, reaching across the table to grasp his hand in her own calloused palm. “I understand why Jedi feel compelled to serve the Senate, but it is not a life for all of us. And when the Force entwines with your very lifeblood, as it does for both you and I, it becomes impossible to ignore the beckoning of the greater galaxy. If you believe your place is not on Coruscant but journeying with me, then you should not be denied. I will take you as my Padawan.”
She turned to Obi-Wan. “But I do not expect you to sacrifice your home. You are Temple-born and Temple-raised and know no other life. I release from your duty to Anakin and take your place as his Master and guardian. If I ever would be unable to teach him, Knol or Jon would see him trained to Knighthood. And he would have friends. Nico’s most recent Padawan is his nephew, who’s only a few years older than Anakin. Glaive has just acquired a Padawan as well, a Fallen girl who was almost shipped out to the AgriCorp due to her temper. And of course, Thracia is content to drop by and thoroughly spoil all of our Padawans every now and again,” Fay added, amusement rich in her voice.
Heart pounding, anticipation racing through his veins, Anakin whipped around to look at Obi-Wan. He held his breath, barely daring to hope.
A strange, frozen expression settled on Obi-Wan’s face. “You—you want to leave, Anakin?”
“Yeah,” Anakin said bluntly.
Don’t you want me to leave, too? When he’d talked of leaving the Order just days before, it wasn’t like Obi-Wan had been begging him to stay. Hopefully, that meant he’d be fine with Anakin leaving now.
“But—what about Quinlan and Aayla?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice weird and choked. “What about your friends at the Temple?”
“I’ll miss Aayla,” Anakin admitted.
He wouldn’t miss Quinlan. Not too long ago, he’d overheard Obi-Wan complaining to Quinlan about him not being able to meditate properly, but Quinlan hadn’t defended him. Instead, he’d called Anakin “high-maintenance”.
Knowing Quinlan wouldn’t stand up for him stung like snakebite. Before then, Anakin had thought Quin was his friend. Now, he knew that he wasn’t, that Quin was just like all of the other Jedi who didn’t like him, who thought he was less because he’d been a slave.
As for Anakin’s other classmates, well—
“Do you know what the other Padawans my age talk about?” Anakin asked abruptly, and then didn’t wait for an answer. “They worry that dinner at the main refectory won’t be one they like, so they’ll have to walk all the way to one of the smaller refectories. Or that there’ll be dessert on the menu, but it won’t be their favorite dessert. Back on Tatooine, during the slow season, sometimes Mom and me only had one portion to share per day. But at the Temple, my agemates worry that their meals won’t be the meals they like the best.”
Obi-Wan said nothing, only stared at him like he’d never seen him before in his life.
“Those Padawans will never understand what it’s like to be me,” Anakin said. “But more important than that, I’ll never understand what it’s like to be them. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? Me to fit in and be like the Padawans raised at the Temple?”
“That’s not—” Obi-Wan started, but he cut himself off and didn’t finish.
“I know you never wanted me,” Anakin told him. He’d never said it out loud before, out of fear of losing the one Jedi who was determined to have him trained, but now he might as well speak the truth.
Now he had Master Fay, who did want him.
“I know you’d rather have one of the other Padawans who was raised at the Temple. That’s why you worship the ground Ferus walks on, even though Ferus is bossy. It’s why you say nice things about Tru and Darra after we go on missions together, but then you only ever talk about my mistakes. You’re proud of them, but you’re never proud of me. You’re embarrassed to have a Padawan who used to be a slave, and it doesn’t matter how hard I work, because you’re just never proud of anything I do. And if I can’t do anything to make you want me as a Padawan, then you shouldn’t have to be stuck with me.”
There was no reply from Obi-Wan. He was just gazing at Anakin, speechless and open-mouthed. Maybe he didn’t think Anakin had been smart enough to figure out how he really felt.
Reaching into the pocket of his inner tunic, Anakin withdrew the river stone Obi-Wan had given to him when he’d officially accepted him as his Padawan, the one he always kept as close to his heart as possible. Though Anakin treasured it because it was the same stone Qui-Gon had given to Obi-Wan as his Padawan gift, he knew he had no right to it if he wasn’t going to be Obi-Wan’s Padawan any longer.
With a sharp pang of longing, Anakin ran a thumb across its smooth black surface one final time, noting with regret that the tavern glow lamps were too dim to discern the stone’s wavering red lines that were only visible beneath direct light.
Then, swallowing his sorrow, he reached out and placed the last remaining piece he had of Qui-Gon Jinn into Obi-Wan’s limp palm, closing Obi-Wan’s fingers around it when he didn’t react.
“I shouldn’t have this anymore if I’m not your Padawan,” Anakin said simply. Maybe Obi-Wan could give the river stone to his next Padawan, one he actually liked.
He turned to Fay. “I’m ready now,” he said, determinedly pushing aside the question of if he was truly ready. “I want to help people who need it.”
Fay nodded, inclining her head to Obi-Wan. “Farewell, Knight Kenobi. Maybe the Force be with you.”
“Um . . . bye,” Anakin said to Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan didn’t respond to either of them, instead turning away to rest his head in his hands.
A part of Anakin wanted to stay to try to cheer him up, but a larger part of him knew that people’s lives were depending on Fay arriving as quickly as possible. So he followed her outside the tavern and toward the rows of docking bays, basking in the serene glow of her Force presence.
But they hadn’t gone far when a voice called out to him.
“Wait! Anakin, wait!”
It was Obi-Wan. Anakin halted, whirling around; he would have stopped for Obi-Wan no matter what, but the sheer desperation in his voice had his heart leaping.
“What is it?” he asked his former Master, hand already on his lightsaber. “Are we in danger?”
Obi-Wan shook his head. His green eyes glistened, and he clamped a hand down on Anakin’s shoulder, like he were drowning and Anakin was the only one who could pull him to safety.
“No danger,” he said, his voice thick and clogged. “But I’m coming with you two.” He looked at Fay. “Anakin will learn from you and the other nomad Jedi just as you said, but he’ll remain as my Padawan. The both of us will join you on your journeys.”
There was no surprise on Fay’s face, only a hint of a smile. “Then I welcome you. And I’m sure Tae and Zule will have much to learn from you as well.”
Anakin blinked. He wanted to speak, but he was so stunned he could barely string together a response. Obi-Wan, leaving the Temple on Coruscant, simply to still be Anakin’s Master? It didn’t seem possible.
“But . . . but you didn’t choose me,” was all he could manage.
Because he knew, he knew Obi-Wan didn’t want him, after all.
The boy is dangerous, Obi-Wan had said to Qui-Gon back when he was still alive, not caring that Anakin stood right beside him, still talking about him like he wasn’t there. They all sense it. Why can’t you?
Obi-Wan’s face twisted, and his grip on Anakin’s shoulder tightened. “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t choose you as other Masters choose their students. But you aren’t less because of it, Anakin. You—you mean so much to me, I can’t even describe it. I—I—” he laughed slightly, and with a start, Anakin realized tears were sliding down his face. “I’m a better Jedi for having you to teach and for you to teach me. Your curiosity, your compassion, your sense of justice—you are so valuable, so precious, no matter where you come from or what you were before the Temple. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I can’t imagine recovering from losing Qui-Gon without you being the reason I got up in the mornings. I’m proud of you, so proud, and I don’t want any Padawan but you. So—”
For a moment, he fumbled with something in his pocket, but then he drew out the river stone once more, offering it to Anakin.
“You said I didn’t choose you, and you were right,” he said, his voice rough, his breathing ragged through his tears. “I didn’t choose you then, but I’m choosing you now. If you would permit it, Anakin, I want you as my Padawan.”
The hope on Obi-Wan’s face was so raw and anguished that Anakin couldn’t have refused if he wanted to. But he did have one condition.
“My mom,” he said, raising his chin defiantly. “You have to let me rescue my mom.”
The declaration was directed to Obi-Wan, but it was Fay who answered, gently touching his shoulder.
“Nico and I would be grateful to lend you our aid,” she replied, still calm, still certain. “We will see your mother freed, Anakin.”
“I as well,” Obi-Wan agreed, managing to smile slightly.
Anakin offered him a tentative smile in return, accepting the river stone and rubbing his thumb over it once again before securing it in his tunic. “Good. You’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will.” Obi-Wan tried to discreetly wipe at his eyes, and when he lowered his hand again, Anakin grasped his palm and latched onto it.
Though Obi-Wan looked at him inquiringly, Anakin just shrugged. He always liked touch when he was sad, like a hug or being held, and he wanted Obi-Wan to feel better. Holding hands would have to do for now, but maybe he could hug him once they boarded.
Fay gestured toward an awaiting ship, a Hapan battle dragon. “Shall we?”
“This is yours?” Anakin gasped, blinking in disbelief. The ship was clearly older, but it was still a model Anakin had never so much as glimpsed outside of data files. “How’d you manage to get your hands on one? Hapans don’t share their tech with anybody, not ever.”
“It’s quite the tale,” Fay admitted. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Anakin grinned at her, and then at Obi-Wan. “A Jedi always aspires to knowledge,” he said, and squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand.
Obi-Wan laughed and said nothing, but as three of them walked toward the ship, he squeezed back.