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Anakin could barely recall his first few appearances in front of the Council, back in that strange in-between time when he had left Tatooine but wasn’t yet a member of the Order. Back when Qui-Gon was still alive. He remembered the weight of his hands on his shoulders, the way he could feel his presence directly behind him, a rock that held him steady among the rapids his life had become. The rest of it was washed away.
Had Obi-Wan been there? Most likely. He was always glued to his master’s side after their reunion on Tatooine. The problem is that he tended to fade into the background, a blur in the periphery. He would have stood behind him, to Qui-Gon’s right, as was tradition in front of the council, perhaps even stepped forward, spoken up, but Anakin could remember none of it.
Countless unfamiliar words and phrases, twelve strangers’ faces, the glittering skyline beyond them, a flood too incomprehensible at the time to commit to memory. At certain split moments, however, the deluge slowed or unmuddied or smoothed out just enough for snapshot images to show through.
“He is the Chosen One,” Qui-Gon had said, and Anakin knew that he wasn’t referring to Obi-Wan. This was about him, the slave boy from Tatooine who fixed droids with hodge-podge parts and built a patchwork podracer, the one who could win a race against all odds but couldn’t help his mother when she had those tired days, and was now no longer there to try. He hadn’t known what Chosen One meant, but he knew it was important, and he knew it meant him.
The Council’s chamber was a blur, but the title was solid. It would remain once the rush had receded, a boulder too heavy to be shifted.
“Chosen One...”
“Chosen One.”
“Chosen One–”
The whispers followed him like ghosts, the words a veneration laid before him like a carpet over cold stone. Padawans, initiates, knights, all filling in the quiet with a ritualistic mantra. He could hear it in every corridor, every classroom, every corner; it was ever present, all-consuming. Silence seemed so far away, stranded in the sands of the Dune Sea.
“Chosen One.”
“What does it feel like–?”
“Chosen One?”
The words might have been for him – for in the sense of ‘caused by’, for in the sense of ‘addressed to’ – but they were not about him. No, that little patch of solidity had remained but he had gradually become aware that he was not standing on it. He was being held onto, balancing on a sandbar in its wake, getting his feet wet in the spray. The hand he clung to was Obi-Wan’s.
“What is it like to be the Chosen One’s padawan?”
“How did you get the Chosen One as your master on your first day?”
“Will he do it? Did he already do it? Bring balance?”
Obi-Wan had solidified from a blur in Anakin’s mind, but he still seemed to have faded edges about his person that Anakin could do nothing to sharpen. Inescapably solid, however, was the bond extending over any given distance between them. On the days Anakin found himself subconsciously doubtful that Obi-Wan was nothing more than a drifting hologram, quiet and unobtrusive, the bond’s gentle pressing on his psyche was enough to reassure him.
If that ever failed, he knew he’d have the whispers to remind him. All of it was Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, although none of them knew him well enough to use his name. Anakin found himself resenting them for that, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because, instead, they used the title that had been given to Anakin on that turbulent day. His title.
...
Obi-Wan had returned to their rooms in Theed’s guest halls with a distant look in his eyes. Granted, he had been noticeably absent since he had emerged from the generator with Qui-Gon’s body in his arms, but now there was a shaken quality to his expression and Anakin didn’t know where he could have got it in the space of fifteen minutes within the walls of Padmé’s own palace. Then again, slaves could get that sort of look within seconds as you stood watching, sometimes from seemingly nothing. It never was nothing, of course, he could always feel the way the air began to twist with dread just before it happened, the flickering sensations of memories not his own weighing down their eyes. Did Jedi get that too? If so, why couldn’t he feel it?
After a few moments of standing in the doorway, Obi-Wan’s attention latched onto Anakin, eying his dry hair critically. “Did you get a shower?”
“Yes,” he lied, “I used the sonic.”
“Then why aren’t you in your new clothes?”
Blast! He hadn’t thought of an excuse for that.
“No matter,” said Obi-Wan, his voice more subdued than it had been at breakfast, “We probably need to wash your hair with water anyway, before we cut it.” He raised the clippers in his hand and then moved further into the room, taking his boots off and ushering Anakin into the fresher. After putting the clippers and the new clothes on the side, he turned to him and asked, “You remember how to use the shower?”
Anakin nodded.
“Good. Make sure you use the shampoo on your hair. Tell me when you’re done and dressed.”
The shower head was golden and the controls had handles in ceramic, intricately painted with thin blue lines to depict the cityscape of Theed. It was deceiving, as if the experience it offered was at all pleasant or relaxing. His previous experience with this water shower had felt like some twisted torture. So much water, so freely! So much water, wasting itself down the drain! So much water, in his ears, in his eyes, in his mouth, suffocating, and yet freeing him from the cold of non-desert climates. So wonderful and so, so terrible. It was not an emotional whirlwind he wanted to revisit. At least not without support.
He fixed his gaze on the tiling and tried not to fiddle with his sleeves. “Could you stay?”
“Pardon?” He imagined Obi-Wan had turned back into the room but he daren’t check.
“Could you stay in here, while I use the shower? Last time… it wasn’t nice. The water got everywhere. I think I’d like it more if I knew you were here, to make sure nothing happens. Just in case.”
For a while he was unsure if Obi-Wan was conducting an internal debate or had zoned out entirely, but then he felt him move away from the door.
“Fine, but I won’t be looking; I won’t violate your privacy.” He began searching through the cabinet drawers, eyes firmly in front of him. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you.”
Anakin undressed and got in the shower quickly, hand hesitating over the control handle until he decided to get it over with and turning it onto full power. The water hit him in the face and he spluttered before turning away, gasping, “I’m fine!”
He was just in the process of realising that he had used far too much shampoo and trying desperately to keep the foam out of his eyes when a buzzing sound cut over the water. “What’s that?” he asked, poking his head around the screen.
Obi-Wan turned off the clippers and lifted them away from where they were poised behind his right ear. The hair there was longer than the rest, tinged black at the ends and falling strangely.
“That’s where your braid was, right?”
“Right.”
He nodded to himself and then yelped as a wad of foam slid into his eyes, burning.
“Are you okay?” Obi-Wan asked, sounding confused and concerned in equal measure, probably still looking away and missing Anakin’s misfortune.
Cursing, he pawed at his eyes but they too were covered in shampoo and only served to make matters worse. The water was still running somewhere behind his head but he couldn’t find it and was unsure if he was willing to risk accidentally drowning to rid himself of this foamy, foamy hell. What good was privacy doing, anyway?
“Ach,” he spluttered, suds falling into his mouth, “Help. Please. It stings.”
Not much could be heard over the water but after a long moment its splashing was interfered with and Obi-Wan’s voice was near him, saying, “I’ll just get this stuff off your face, stay still.”
Barely managing to keep himself from writhing at the stinging, Anakin felt a wet pair of hands wipe his forehead, before Obi-Wan rinsed them off again and gently removed the worst from his eyes. He tried opening them and immediately screwed them shut again as they stung.
“You’ll need to get your face in the water a bit to completely rinse your eyes out,” said Obi-Wan, running a hand over Anakin’s hair and pushing the foam to the floor with a splat.
“Can’t you do it?”
“It’s not my eyes that need rinsing.”
“Yeah, but…” His fears were hard to articulate and harder to admit to, especially since Jedi weren’t supposed to be afraid. Obi-Wan seemed to understand nonetheless, even as he guided Anakin’s arm into the water by the elbow.
“It only needs to be a second or so. I’m right here, nothing will happen.”
Begrudgingly, “Okay, but you can’t go anywhere. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” Obi-Wan agreed.
The water didn’t get in his eyes as much as it did his mouth, but it at least did something to alleviate the soapy taste on his tongue. Spluttering, he jerked his head back into the air.
“Don’t screw up your eyes so much, or the water can’t do anything.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know, but it’s better than having sore eyes.”
Anakin groaned before shoving his face back under and flinching at the feeling of water hitting his eyelids. Instinctively, he blinked, which just let the water in and he gasped as he removed himself again, “It got in my eyes!”
“Water’s not as bad as shampoo. At least now they won’t sting as much.”
Admittedly, the water had seemed to soothe the stinging, but the sensation of having water – or anything – on his eyeballs was highly unpleasant. He blinked his vision back into service and saw Obi-Wan watching his soapy hair. He could feel drips working their way down his face already, and he wiped them away miserably.
“This might be easier for everyone if I help you rinse the rest of this out.”
Anakin nodded, not at all wanting to repeat the experience he’d only just recovered from, and decidedly past concern for his dignity.
“Head back.” Obi-Wan nudged his chin up and Anakin could only stare at his face as Obi-Wan moved his back into the water and began rinsing his hair, catching the suds before they fell into his eyes. His sleeves were rolled up but their ends were getting sprayed and one was slipping past his elbow. Anakin folded it back into place, his hands far drier than Obi-Wan’s.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
With one last ruffle, Obi-Wan declared: “I think we’re done. That wasn’t so painful.”
“Speak for yourself,” Anakin grumbled before removing himself from the water entirely. If he never had a water shower again, he’d be happy.
By the time he was dry, Obi-Wan had returned to his own hair, trimming the patch that his braid had grown from. Once he’d finished, he stared at himself in the mirror, expression blank, until he noticed Anakin watching with a towel wrapped around his shoulders.
“Maybe we should do my hair before I get dressed,” Anakin suggested, “so I don’t get hair all over my new clothes.”
Rubbing at his eyes, sighing, Obi-Wan nodded, “Yes. Yes, of course. Good idea, Anakin. Let me… get a chair for you.”
Apparently, the impromptu shower involvement wasn’t enough to help distract him from whatever got him so frazzled. Did that count as Jedi stoicism? Anakin’s idea of Jedi was still rather patchy: Jedi had laser swords, Jedi were brave, Jedi were never fearful, even of Darkness and showers and losing their mothers. Obi-Wan seemed to fit the image of a Jedi at first glance, but Anakin was unsure if some of the details were quite right, or if he wanted them to be.
Five minutes later, Anakin was sitting in front of the mirror, hair not quite dry, a section tied out of the way, with the unnerving sound of the clippers buzzing in one ear. Back home, his mother had used the single blunt pair of scissors that was kept by the slave-quarter-master and lent to them under supervision. The supervision in question was rarely hawk-eyed, but their presence was deterrent enough for any slave considering taking the dull blades to flesh – any flesh, for any reason. He knew this was why sharp objects were kept out of reach, but he couldn’t remember when he learnt – some things in the slave-quarters you just knew.
The scissors weren’t quite sharp enough to cut hair properly; his mother would hold his hair between her fingers and let the blades take several attempts to cut the majority before moving on to the next. It was predictable, slow, and quiet. Controlled. The clippers were not.
Watching Obi-Wan do his own hair had somewhat reassured him; obviously Obi-Wan was used to such tools and could manipulate them safely around his ears where it was hard to see. However, the noise of fast-moving blades so close to Anakin’s head was far from relaxing. He tried not to flinch, but Obi-Wan saw through him.
“I promise it won’t hurt. The blades won’t even get near your skin,” he pulled the clippers into his line of sight and tapped what appeared to be a plastoid comb attached to the end, “This makes sure I don’t cut it too short. I couldn’t cut you if I wanted to.”
Then he held Anakin’s head in place as he gently cut a strip of hair from above Anakin’s left ear. Some of it fell onto his hand, which he brushed off.
“And I don’t want to,” he added, belatedly, “In case you had any doubt.”
Anakin smiled at him, tensely. He had been right, it didn’t hurt. In fact, he had barely felt the vibration. Instead it was the canyon cut through his hair that unnerved him. It looked unnatural surrounded by the rest, which was finger-lengths long.
“Can we just keep going?” he asked, not wanting to linger in this ugly in-between stage long enough for him to psyche himself out. Obi-Wan simply nodded in the mirror and continued.
Compared to the scissors, shaving his hair to a padawan length was remarkably quick. Within five minutes all that remained untouched was the tied-off section behind his right ear, which would be the beginning of his own padawan braid.
Obi-Wan attempted to brush off the bristles of hair on the towel around Anakin’s shoulders, but they trapped themselves and remained steadfast.
“You should get dressed before we do the braid, don’t want to mess up all our hard work,” he said, rinsing his hands of hair, “I’ll be in the main room; come out when you’re done.”
Anakin’s new clothes were Jedi robes, seemingly standard issue for their near-identicality to Obi-Wan’s. The white undershirt was easy enough to put on, but the darker beige tunic and tabards were more enigmatic.
“Left over right!” called Obi-Wan from behind the door, as if he knew that Anakin was struggling, “Leave the obi and belts, we can do that later.”
He made his best attempt, and his reflection in the mirror was almost mistakable for a real Jedi. Unmade strand of hair brushing one shoulder, loosely wound tunic, a hologram of a hologram of a Jedi, and yet more Jedi than he’d ever looked before. He left the tabards with the belts, suspecting that they would only stay on with support.
Obi-Wan was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, staring into space, looking meditative to the same extent that Anakin looked Jedi.
Anakin stood in front of him and spread his arms. “This look good?”
Raising himself up to his knees, Obi-Wan straightened the robes out at the shoulders, smiling. “Practically a Jedi already.”
He patted the floor in front of him and Anakin sat, mimicking his cross-legged pose as Obi-Wan positioned himself to easily reach his hair.
“Before we start, I want to make sure you understand what you’re agreeing to.”
“Being a Jedi?”
“Yes. It isn’t easy. You’ll be asked to let go of your attachments and dedicate yourself to the preservation of peace and justice throughout the galaxy, no matter what that entails. More immediately,” he said, almost regretfully, “You’ll need to attend lessons in which you may be surrounded by initiates younger than you, and you’ll need to adapt to a new culture and way of living.” Anakin hadn’t thought of the minutiae, hadn’t known what to expect. Realistically, there would be children half his age who knew more about being a Jedi than him. Perhaps it would be humiliating, or perhaps he would be too busy catching up to care. He ran his fingers over the rug as Obi-Wan continued.
“You’re free, Anakin, you don’t have to choose the path of a Jedi Knight if you don’t want to. We won’t send you back into slavery; there are thousands of other places you could go. There’s a Jedi Exploration Corps that could help you further your piloting, and I’m sure the… people of Naboo would be happy to offer you a place to live.
“Knighthood isn’t the only option, and it comes with rules, expectations that you may find yourself at odds with. I need you to know all of this before you make the commitment.”
Freedom, Anakin was coming to realise, was a nebulous concept. There was freedom as the opposite of slavery, then there was freedom to choose, then there was freedom from rules, all different things. His mother had told him many times of his freedom to choose kindness, one of the few freedoms they were afforded and one he tried his best to use for her sake. And now the more he saw, the more he noticed that rules seemed everpresent, even in the free parts of the galaxy. The Jedi weren’t free from rules, but they weren’t slaves either because they could tell the people in charge to take on a boy from Tatooine no matter how fearful he was, and the people in charge would listen.
Becoming a Jedi didn’t feel like a choice. Perhaps that was because a week ago it had been his only way out, and since then he hadn’t known the alternative options, but now, even as Obi-Wan sat next to him, giving him the freedom to choose with such a lack of expectation on his face, offering him any life he could want – and judging by Obi-Wan’s actions so far, he would dedicate himself to helping Anakin find the life he wanted – there was no real question in Anakin’s mind. He would become a Jedi.
Slowly, he said, “I understand, but I think this is where I’m meant to be. It feels right.”
Obi-Wan nodded, carefully keeping his eyes on one corner of the room. “And… you’re happy with having me as your… teacher? I’m sure in time, once the people in the Temple get to know you, there will be others willing to take you on. It doesn’t have to– have to be me.”
Anakin frowned. Was this what had him so out of sorts this morning? The energy of it wasn’t quite right, heavier than the lightheadedness that had buzzed around him upon his return, but quite a lot about Obi-Wan had felt heavy in the air since Qui-Gon had died.
“I think you’re good,” he said, “You’ve helped me a lot, and you know me more than anyone at the Temple. I think you’d be a good teacher.”
Eventually, their eyes met, and Obi-Wan gave him a small smile.
Then Anakin had a thought. “You do want to teach me, right? Because if you don’t–”
“No, no, I do want to, I do. I just–”
“Then that’s okay, we can do this together.”
“Together,” repeated Obi-Wan, smiling.
He took Anakin’s hair in his hands, separated it into three strands. “Master, padawan, the Force. The braid is a symbol of the relationship between all three, and, like the relationship, it will grow throughout your training.”
“Wizard,” Anakin breathed. Obi-Wan snickered quietly.
The push and pull of the braiding was an unfamiliar sensation, but he found he quite enjoyed it. Probably just as well, considering he’d have to wear it for the foreseeable future.
His hair wasn’t that long, but Obi-Wan paused halfway down, considering.
“There is… something I’d like to discuss with you, while we’re here.”
“What is it?” Anakin asked, flinching slightly as Obi-Wan’s hands grew heavy and pulled on the braid. Within a second, the tension was relieved and Obi-Wan held it closer to his head than necessary to give it enough slack for Anakin to look at him.
“I don’t know how much you remember of that Council meeting we had, before we left for Naboo.” Already, Anakin’s memory of it was blurred, shaken up by all that had happened since. He let Obi-Wan continue. “Qui-Gon mentioned… a prophecy.”
“‘The Chosen One’,” Anakin recalled.
“Yes. He believed that the Chosen One is you, and that you’re destined for great things: bringing balance to the Force. There’s no way to be sure that he was right, not until the prophecy is fulfilled, by you or anyone else, but it is the sort of rumour that carries people away.”
“Do you believe it?” Anakin asked, in a small voice. The grandeur of destiny was admittedly alluring, but his padawan braid hadn’t even been finished yet. He was under no illusions that, new and uneducated as he was, he was not quite up to being the greatest in the Order, at least not for a few years. He was unsure if he wanted Obi-Wan to hold him to such standards.
“I don’t know. Time will tell, I suppose. My priority is making sure you become the best Jedi you can be regardless.
“My point in bringing this up, however, is that everyone thinking you are the Chosen One could put you in harm’s way. Who knows what people would do to get their hands on that sort of power?”
Anakin gulped. He hadn’t thought of that. What if he became a target like Padmé? Would another dark assassin emerge to kill him? Worse, would someone try to steal him away, throw him back into slavery to do as they bid, some prophesied trophy?
“So the Council suggested,” Obi-Wan continued, slowing as though he didn’t quite want Anakin to hear the end, “That we divert the attention onto me instead.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… If we tell everyone that I’m the Chosen One instead of you, then you won’t be in so much danger and people won’t place such… impossible expectations on you.”
“But what about you?” Anakin yelped, indignantly, pushing his hand into Obi-Wan’s knee as if to shake him to sense, “Then they’ll just go after you instead!”
“Yes, but you forget, my new padawan, that I’m sixteen years older than you; I’ve already grown up in the Order. I should hope that it would be far more difficult to sway me than you, when you’re still finding yourself. And,” his eyes glinted as if it were humorous, “I should hope I’m more difficult to kill.”
Bopping him on the knee, Anakin pouted. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”
“If all things go well, nothing will happen at all. This is simply insurance. Just in case.”
He sighed. “Just in case. I guess.”
Obi-Wan continued braiding, his hands more sure of themselves than before.
“So all I need to do is not tell anyone I’m the Chosen One?”
“Essentially, yes. I know it might be difficult, people will probably make a fuss about me once we get back, but that would probably have been the case anyway, since I…”
“Killed the assassin,” Finished Anakin.
“Yes, the assassin.” For some reason, Obi-Wan was reluctant to talk about what exactly had happened in that generator complex. Qui-Gon had died, so it was understandable that he’d avoid talking about that, but surely killing his master’s murderer wouldn’t be something to be ashamed of? Yes, killing was bad, but that shadowy figure had such an aura of darkness that even the Jedi should count it as a victory. Some things Anakin didn’t think he’d ever understand. “So just… be patient. Most of the hubbub should pass in time, you just need to ride it out without saying anything.”
“I’ll try,” Anakin promised. “So who does know?”
“Well, I think it’s just the council and us, but you’re probably safest keeping up the pretense when you can. In case the council members change around, or someone is listening.”
“So basically just us?”
“Basically.”
Obi-Wan fished a tie out of nowhere and tied off the braid, pulling it over Anakin’s shoulder. “All done,” he declared.
Anakin tackled him into a hug, “Thank you.”
Obi-Wan froze like a droid experiencing an overload, but eventually, his arms came around Anakin and his voice hummed in his ear. “You’re welcome.”
“I mean thank you for everything, not just the braid.”
“Oh,” whispered Obi-Wan, his voice suddenly hoarse, “Well, you’re welcome for that too.”
Anakin pulled his head away to see his face but kept his arms around his neck. “When are we telling people that you’re the Chosen One, then?”
He caught a sheepish look before Obi-Wan tightened his hold, apparently having got over his contact aversion. “Well… I haven’t told Master Windu that I’ve agreed to the plan yet – I needed to think about it – but when I was out looking for the clippers, I ran into Chancellor Palpatine–”
“Padmé’s friend, with the fancy dresses?”
“I’m not sure if they’re friends, but yes. Anyway, he and I had a conversation and he started asking questions about you… and the prophecy… and…” He sighed deeply and Anakin attempted some sympathetic pats on the head, mostly just hitting his nerftail, which was rather in the way. “I didn’t like the way he was prying; I got a bad feeling about it, so I told him that I was the Chosen One instead of you.”
“And he’s the first one you’ve told?”
“Yes.” Obi-Wan’s breathing was shaky. This must have been what had frazzled him so badly. Admittedly, the Chancellor of the Republic was quite an important person to have such a conversation with, especially with everything that had happened recently.
“Well,” said Anakin, not quite sure how to respond, “You don’t exactly do things by halves, do you?”
Obi-Wan huffed and his grip loosened slightly. “I’m sure the same can be said for yourself, from what I’ve heard about podraces.”
“I’m great at podraces,” Anakin insisted, almost instinctively, “And you can’t half do a podrace, either you do it or you don’t.”
“I’m sure.”
Internally, Anakin reviewed what Obi-Wan had told him and then paused. “Wait, why was Chancellor Palpatine asking about the prophecy? He’s not a Jedi.”
“Beyond me,” Obi-Wan said, sounding somewhat pained, “As I say, I didn’t like it. Thought it best to divert his attention away from you.”
“We should keep an eye on him at the parade.” Anakin knew things were easier if he found little things he could do about them, so perhaps Obi-Wan would feel better if he could work out what the Chancellor wanted.
“That,” Obi-Wan announced, gripping Anakin under the arms and standing up with an exaggerated groan, “Is far beyond our pay-grade–”
“–Do Jedi even get paid–?”
“–We are going to the parade to celebrate the peace treaty between the Naboo and the Gungans, and out of respect for those whose lives were lost in the invasion. No more.”
“Don’t you need to tell the Council that you’ve agreed to their plan?”
“Force,” Obi-Wan scrunched up his face for a moment, finally putting Anakin back down from where he’d been dangling from his hands. Obviously, he’d had a long day despite the fact it was still mid-morning. “That too. But first: the rest of your clothes.”
Anakin grinned as Obi-Wan ducked into the fresher to grab his stuff. He’d got more out of him in the last hour than he had since he’d met him, which was a decisive victory by his account. This brief respite from all of the gloom may not last, but at least he got to see a bit of who his new teacher could be once he’d recovered from everything, and he found he liked him.
…
Intellectually, he knew that the whispers shouldn’t affect him as much as they did. On Tatooine he had been part of the sea of sound whenever something of note happened, offering what he knew to any slave with an open ear and interested eyes. Now that he was on the other end, however, it grated on his nerves like sand on bare skin.
If only they knew, if only they knew.
All he ever heard was Chosen One, all anyone ever asked him was Chosen One, all he was was the apprentice to the Chosen One, that man whom they had known for years but never paid attention to, not until he had the title. It struck him as ironic that the prophecy had come to define his existence in the Temple despite the Council’s effort to spare him of it.
Obi-Wan had receded somewhat since their arrival at the Temple. Most likely the familiar setting reminded him of his loss, since Anakin occasionally saw him staring at plants or holos or his own bed, which had once been Qui-Gon’s. Perhaps he heard the whispers, perhaps they were simply static.
He had sorted out Anakin’s timetable, ensured that they ate three times a day, and taken teaching the very basics upon himself to save Anakin the embarrassment of being in a class of four-year-olds. Despite all this, he still seemed absent. Anakin wasn’t convinced that he did anything but stare into space while he wasn’t there to occupy him.
The Temple’s grand hallways with intricate murals and carvings still hadn’t lost their lustre, even on his twentieth journey back to their rooms from lessons. Occasionally Obi-Wan was awake enough to locate him and walk him back, but today seemed not to be one of those days and Anakin was subject to the whispers instead. He tried not to hold it against him, but he was tired and his grip on his emotions was slippery.
A pinprick of movement in the bond was all the warning he had as Obi-Wan rounded the corner in front of him, datapads in hand, his mere presence silencing the tittering of a nearby group of padawans. His hair was still as short as it had been on Naboo; Anakin didn’t think he’d realised that he could grow it out yet.
“Anakin,” he said, sounding at least alive. “Did I miss– Nevermind, you’re here now.”
“Where are we going?” Anakin asked as Obi-Wan directed him down a corridor he’d never been on.
“Wait and see,” replied Obi-Wan. Then, when he saw Anakin’s irritation, he added with a glint in his eye, “Patience is a virtue, you know.”
Anakin sighed. He couldn’t quite bring himself to maintain his foul mood when Obi-Wan was well enough to attempt humour.
After a few minutes, they came to a large set of doors.
“I’m disappointed in myself for not showing you this sooner, Anakin, but, as I’ve been often told, there’s no time like the present.”
The doors swished open, revealing a room larger than any Anakin had ever seen, one so large he didn’t know where it ended. Allowing Obi-Wan to guide him in, he gaped at the landscape that stretched out as if it were the fields of Naboo, peppered with trees and thickets. Even the ceiling convincingly looked like the outside, shining gently on the multitude of plants. Most noticeable, however, was the omnipresent sound of running water.
There were brooks and streams running into every copse, between every rock formation, and tumbling over the edges with a rush. Anakin had seen water in Theed, but none of it babbled like this, cheerfully filling the room with a calming and yet exhilarating noise that could block out the whispers.
“Woah,” was all he could say.
“Quite,” smiled Obi-Wan, seemingly content to watch Anakin’s reaction rather than the scene before him. “Come, let me show you the best spot in all of the Temple.”
There were a variety of paths, some smooth, others rocky, but Obi-Wan cut across the grass, double-timing his steps down the small hill. Anakin was caught between gawking at his surroundings and watching his step. They followed a brook upstream into a thicket, skirting along its shallow banks to navigate around the bushes. Soon they were entirely in tree cover, the rest of the world entirely invisible, and the bushes thinned until they met a short rockface with–
“Is that a waterfall?”
“Indeed it is.”
Anakin couldn’t stop the grin that overtook his face. The small clearing was definitely the best place in the Temple, not least because it was out of the way enough that it was likely no one else ever noticed it.
Obi-Wan sat down, leaning against the wall. “Do you like it?”
“It’s amazing!”
Eventually, once Anakin had explored their little hideout and Obi-Wan had flicked water at him, he laid out the datapads he’d been carrying and began their daily lesson in reading Galactic Basic. Anakin’s attention was only slightly taken up by the sight of the water flowing past the bigger rocks and tumbling over the small ones. It took him a few minutes to realise that Obi-Wan had noticed his distraction but, instead of reprimanding, joined him in simply taking in the peace, a smile gracing his face more gently than ever.
Everything around Anakin was moving, rushing around without him, but Obi-Wan held on tight, stopped him from getting washed away, and showed him his little places of stability amongst the flood.