God Save the Queen Book 2: Chapter 7 (Patreon)

This Chapter is brought to you by Anakin Turning off his lightsaber.

Chapter 7: A Day in the Life of Qui-Gon Jinn

He rose with the sun.

A habit formed somewhere ages and ages past, when Qui-Gon used to break his fast in the temple before joining his own master in meditation in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

The roughspun mattress was a far cry from the opulence that surrounded the Jedi Temple, but Qui-Gon considered himself more fortunate for having experienced it. Here, deep below the surface of Sullust, one could hear the voice of stone. It rumbled deep within the world’s throat, roaring to the surface as lava spitting steam into the boiling oceans.

Even the voices of a thousand fountains could not compare.

He rose smoothly to his feet, drawing a deep breath. A lumi-strip turned on overhead, casting thin blue light across the unadorned stone walls. The small chamber accorded to master and apprentice was more in line with a knight’s rooms in the Temple, and in that at least, it felt familiar.

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon said.

A few feet away, against the far wall, the padawan’s eyes snapped open.

Still a light sleeper.

Anakin yawned, sitting upright and stretching massively. The boy loved taking space, and his force presence reached out with him flaring out into the world to shout ‘I’m here!’

Nothing unusual, even for a padawan.

But Qui-Gon could only close his eyes when the world answered back.

It spoke softly, so softly beneath the roar of lava and the hiss of steam, echoing back so quietly that one less attuned with the Living Force would have missed it entirely. Even Anakin did not notice the way the world shifted to regard him, the way the force swaddled him like a cloak.

Qui-Gon smiled, but how could he?

“Are you ready for our morning meditation?”

A fish discovers water last.

Anakin pouted. “Do we have to, master?” He threw his arms back, sprawling out on the mattress. “We just took out the trafficking ring yesterday, isn’t that worth at least one day off?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” he said. “If you are so exhausted, then after meditation, we shall skip saber practice.”

Anakin jackknifed to his feet, lightsaber snapping into his hand from the small alcove carved in the wall.

“Nope! I’m not exhausted at all, Master!” He gave a laugh. “Ready for mediation when you are!”

Qui-Gon smiled, thumbing his beard. “Let us be off then.”

Both master and apprentice left their thick outer robes folded in the room’s alcoves.

The rebreathers, on the other hand, never left their belts.

The capital city of Pinyumb was buried deep beneath the earth. The living quarters accorded to the Jedi, therefore, were hewn directly from the rock, and connected by a staircase that led from dormitories, to hab tunnels, and back to the city proper.

One would think a subterranean city would be dark, and dank, but Pinyumb instead was a monument to the creative ingenuity of the Sullustans. The main concourse of the city opened into a massive cave system, with a ceiling twenty stories high, held up by arching ‘sky’ scrapers. Sweeping bridges decorated with colorful hanging moss connected the closest buildings, while higher up, they grew together into another level built above the first.

Most Sullustans took massive elevators to and from the surface for work, where the atmosphere was harsh and often deadly, but today, Qui-Gon avoided the lifts, leading Anakin to a bustling park nestled between two buildings that rose organically from the earth, shaped like massive tree trunks.

There, he knelt next to a large mushroom on a carpet of thick lichen, and gestured for Anakin to do the same.

Qui-Gon preferred the simple solitude of meditation; as a padawan, he had needed to learn to feel the force, to reach into it and have it reach back into him, so that is what Master Dooku had taught him. Anakin needed a different lesson.

Mindfulness.

Anakin huffed as he crossed his legs beneath him. Still, long practice allowed the boy to calm his incandescent force aura.

“Let us begin with breath,” Qui-Gon said.

Anakin straightened, folding his hands in his lap. Despite his protests, the boy enjoyed this part of their daily training. He was a physical child, in body and in the Force, and the act of filling his lungs with long, slow breaths, visibly relaxed him.

Qui-Gon spoke before Anakin could begin to fidget.

“What did we learn from our mission?”

Anakin hummed, eyes shut. “Can’t always charge in, sabers drawn.” His right thumb flicked against the back of his left. “Lotta times even the worst criminals have ties to the community, which I knew! It’s just…” He shifted. “‘S weird to be on the other side.”

“And how did it affect you, to see people in the same situation you often found yourself in as a child?”

Anakin shrugged. “I—I got it. I understood why they were helping those slavers, even if I…”

“Speak freely, padawan.” Qui-Gon pushed his calm out into the force. “Here is not a place of judgment, but of reflection.”

Anakin frowned, no doubt thinking about their raid yesterday. The two Jedi had stormed a warehouse full of trafficking victims and had run afoul of the armed guards. Many of the guards were slavers, but some had been forced into service. Some had been slaves themselves.

Even that large group was no match for Anakin and Qui-Gon, but one sullustan had perished on Qui-Gon’s blade. He’d been able to shelter Anakin from that burden for a bit longer, but the impact of fighting against the people they were supposed to protect had left its mark on the boy all the same.

“I hated it.” The padawan cringed into himself, voice cracking. “I, I think I might have hated them during it; why did they have to fight us, master? Surely, they know that they’re no match against a Jedi, let alone two!”

Qui-Gon sighed. “For the same reason you raced in the Boonta Eve Classic.”

Anakin jerked, discontent radiating out from him. “That’s not the same!”

“No two things are the same,” Qui-Gon replied. “In the galaxy, there are sentients beyond number, each leading a unique existence as rich and multifaceted as your own.” He smiled. “Though perhaps not so exciting.”

Anakin huffed. “That doesn’t answer my question, master.”

“Desperation is the answer.” Qui-Gon closed his eyes. “Desperation drove them to throw themselves at us, just as desperation drove you to wager lives and means not your own against your freedom.”

Anakin looked down, brow furrowing. “It’s still not the same, I wouldn’t…I never would have done it if Padme hadn’t asked me to.”

Qui-Gon reached out with the force. “Do you think yourself better than them because you would have made a different choice?”

Anakin took a deep breath. “…No.” He looked up, meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze. “I just…wasn’t as desperate as them. I still had hope.” He clenched his hands. “The slaves…didn’t anymore, I could feel it. They did what they were told because they had nothing else left inside.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “We cannot know the full extent of their experiences, but it seems likely that they were even less fortunate than you.”

Anakin bit his lip. “So, what, master?” he asked. “Am I supposed to feel grateful that Watto didn’t beat me? That he didn’t sell me to a gang because I was smart and useful?”

“How do you think you should feel, Anakin?”

The boy gave no response.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes again, radiating assurance through the force while his padawan wrangled with his feelings.

“Less,” Anakin said. “I wish I could feel less.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon looked over.

Anakin shrugged, half slumped over beneath the mushroom tree. “It’s like my emotions are too strong. I…I shouldn’t feel this way after doing the right thing, right? As a Jedi I should…I should be in control of my emotions.”

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon said. “One does not feel too much or too little, one simply feels.”

The boy looked up. “But, the Jedi code…”

“The code is words.” Qui-Gon smiled gently. “The Living Force is greater than any words we could care to lay atop it, and therefore, all words will inevitably fall short. Your emotions are not crimes, but an integral part of who you are.”

“Then…then why do we work on control so much?”

“Because we do not allow our emotions to control us.” Qui-Gon placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “A Jedi can do much harm if they abandon all reason in the throes of passion, or grief. We must hold ourselves to a higher standard, but that does not mean we can hold ourselves above our very nature as living beings.”

Anakin shook his head. “So what should I do?”

“Allow yourself to feel, Anakin.” Qui-Gon squeezed his hand. “Face your emotions; do not fear them.”

“But…what if I lose control, like you said?”

“Then I will be here, to help you,” Qui-Gon said.

Anakin slumped forward, half leaning into Qui-Gon’s hand. The man bore it without comment.

“Master?” Anakin asked.

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Can we…meditate for a little longer, today.”

“For as long as is required, I should think.”

“…Thank you.”

Qui-Gon nodded. He settled back into his own meditation, letting his force presence reach out and settle around Anakin’s shoulders as the younger Jedi trembled, then sobbed. For all of his concern, the boy did not once lose control of the Force. Instead, he let it rush through him like a tide, emotions spilling out onto the world around him.

Qui-Gon felt the ripples reach out into the world, eyes widening every so slightly when Sullust reached back, pressing against Anakin.

The presence calmed him, after hours of grappling with emotions, both recent and old. Here, deep underground, there was no sun to rise or set, yet time still passed, and with it, wounds began to heal.

Finally refreshed, Anakin pulled back, taking a deep breath. His eyes were tinged red, but other than that, he recovered quickly. “Thanks, Master.” He jumped to his feet, brushing off the knees of his robes. “I didn’t take too long, did I?”

“Time well spent is never wasted,” Qui-Gon replied. “Now, perhaps it is time for lunch.”

“What about saber practice?”

“In the afternoon.” Qui-Gon rose to his feet. “Unless you mean to skip a second meal today?”

On cue, Anakin’s stomach growled, and he smiled sheepishly. “Maybe some grub sounds good. C’mon, Master!”

Qui-Gon sighed as his padawan bounded off, eager to put the earlier sadness behind him. Still, he lingered a moment more, eyes tracing the ground.

Where Anakin had knelt, a ring of mushrooms had sprouted from the soil, lush and vibrant as the lichen that blanketed the ground.

The boy was strong, and some days Qui-Gon felt he was only scratching the surface of how strong. With a wan smile, the Jedi stepped around the ring, feeling the way the air still rippled, as if the world yet looked on.

The Force made it a simple matter to track his padawan down. The boy was a brilliant beacon, ordering grilled skewers from a vendor just a few hundred meters from the park. Anakin grinned back at Qui-Gon as he held up his prize, and Qui-Gon nodded, accepting his own skewer.

“Rat, do you think?”

Anakin shook his head. “Tastes like some kinda lizard.” He paused in his chewing. “Think I saw some in that exterior cave system earlier; maybe they ranch them?”

Qui-Gon hummed, taking another bite of his food.

“Hey, Master Qui-Gon. I had a thought earlier.”

“And what thought was that?”

“Since light sabers can turn on and off, why don’t we ever learn how to use that in spars?” Anakin took another bite. “Seems like it would be useful, like, against that big guy with the vibroblades. Just vwip, vwop, slice, you know?”

Qui-Gon hummed again. “Others have thought the same, though none have quite figured out how to implement it effectively,” he said. “My master, Dooku, once made a study of Trakata, as it is called. Come.” He tossed his stick into a nearby receptacle. “Let us go to the training fields, and I will show you why he, as many other Jedi, ultimately discarded the technique as useless.”

“Trakata.” Anakin tasted the word. “Sounds wizard.”

“Perhaps you will still think so, when you realize how slow your lightsaber is to activate and deactivate.”

“Slow?” Anakin tilted his head. “It barely takes a second.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Then you shall have no problem with what I aim to teach you.”

Anakin huffed. “I’ll make you eat those words, Master.”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon said. “Perhaps not.”

That afternoon, he demonstrated succinctly why a second was a lifetime in combat, and why rendering yourself functionally unarmed when you were close enough to lock blades with the enemy was a poor idea in practice.

Unsurprisingly, that did little to deter Anakin. Perhaps he would make something out of a technique that the Jedi had long since disregarded.

Or perhaps not.