"To alter favor ever is to fear." Macbeth

Two Padawans battled on the training floor of the dueling arena--both
Human, one male, one female. The male stood taller than average in a tan
tunic, his spiky black hair bobbing with each movement. His opponent was a
far smaller figure, her tunic layered black over a white shirt. Her hair,
compelling even from a distance, was white.
Their battle was not furious. In fact the young woman fought with so much
ease and patience that she hardly seemed to be exerting effort. Yet there
was a fine outbreak of sweat on her brow. That, and her opponent's obvious
frustration, were the only hints that the conflict was in fact as intense as
any the practice arena had ever seen. The girl's male opponent was confused
by her apparent nonchalance and even more so by that fact that he was
exhausted after battling her a mere ten minutes. The entire battle did not
exceed fifteen. As though she simply decided she no longer wished to prolong
the engagement, she disarmed the young man in three strokes and brought the
blade of the practice sabre to his neck. She did not actually touch the
blade to his skin, though it was set on a low power and would only have
burned him mildly. Many Padawans--and a younger Obi-Wan was among this
number--purposefully grazed their opponents neck as a way of marking their
victory, and even, occasionally, out of spite.
Obi-Wan noticed her courtesy and was more moved by it than he had been by
her fighting.
The match was called and the young woman saluted her opponent with an
almost archaic formality. The male Padawan returned her salute. He was
gracious in his defeat, even if he seemed to remain a bit confused by the
battle. They departed the arena side by side. Obi-Wan's gaze followed them
as they retrieved their towels from the same bench. They maintained a
distance from each other that implied the two Padawans were probably not
intimate friends, yet they chatted with amiably, after hanging their towels
up again, they parted with a handshake.
"Well, Obi-Wan?"
"I am indeed impressed, my Master. She is...extraordinary."
"Of course, Mah-Kael's death would have been a tragedy under any
circumstances. But to leave a Padawan of such promise without a Master..."
"Indeed, a tremendous sorrow."
Mah-Kael Saleysi had been an agemate of Qui-Gon Jinn's, as well as a
friend. He bore the amusing distinction of being the only Human Jedi in the
Order taller than Obi-Wan's former Master--thinner as well, with long grey
hair and a neatly trimmed grey beard that adhered closely to the lines of
his gaunt face. Obi-Wan had seen little to nothing of him since Qui-Gon's
death, but the older man had spoken to him with great compassion and
sincerity after Qui-Gon's funeral ten years earlier. Mah-Kael had been dead
now for a month--killed in a succession dispute on Tergas while his Padawan,
Saria Ran, completed her first solo mission. Saria had since returned to the
Temple, secluding herself--give or take a few practice duels--while the
Council decided her fate.
Mace Windu did not look at Obi-Wan as he spoke. "She deserves a chance to
finish her training."
"I agree. I assume the Council will allow her that chance?"
Mace sighed. "That would be our wish." He was looking at Obi-Wan now. "But
there are so few Jedi currently in a position to...provide it to her."
Obi-Wan would have liked to inform Mace that he had known what the older
man was pitching for from the moment he saw the Padawans begin to battle.
Instead, he respected the subtlety Mace was attempting to employ. "I
understand. I don't believe I am in that position myself."
Mace cocked an eyebrow. "You've taken an apprentice without my knowledge?"
"No, my Master, But I am...uncertain as to my ability to instruct a Padawan
adequately. Any Padawan--let alone one so talented as Saria--deserves more
in a Master than I could give her."
"Obi-Wan." Adi Gallia had approached from the left. Obi-Wan cast a quick
glance back at Mace, as if accusing him of organizing this ambush, while
Gallia took a seat beside him. "I believe that Saria's gifts make her an
ideal match for you. You might grow impatient with a Padawan whose abilities
weren't comparable to yours. And Saria would grow frustrated with a Master
whose limitations restrained her." She turned her head and looked at
Obi-Wan. "You are one of very few Knights whose talent is comparable to what
Saria's will some day be."
Obi-Wan couldn't restrain an eyebrow. "She was quite close to Master
Saleysi, was she not?"
"Extremely." Mace met Obi-Wan's gaze. Mah-Kael Saleysi was renowned for his
compassion, courage, and dueling skills. His midi-chlorian level, however,
was not much higher than minimum for a Jedi. "Mah-Kael was talented in his
own way--ways that enabled Saria to realize her potential under
circumstances where most would have failed."
"Obi-Wan." Adi touched his hand, and he turned to face her. "Why don't you
speak with Saria? I've asked her to wait in the meditation garden for you."
Obi-Wan stood, his shoulders suddenly tense. "By your leave, my Masters, I
am expected elsewhere this evening--"
"Ten minutes, Kenobi." Mace stood, Adi following. "I think she deserves as
much."
Obi-Wan bowed without sighing. "Of course. I will find her now."

* * *

Obi-Wan had never spoken with Saria Ran personally, but every one in the
Order, from Initiates to Masters, knew of her. When Saria was fourteen she
joined Mah-Kael Saleysi for her first off-world mission, a routine occasion
of diplomatic intervention. As usually happened during such routine
interventions, violence erupted on both sides in the middle of negotiations.
Saria and Mah-Kael were both taken hostage. Using a method now known to
Galactic Policy students everywhere as "the Ran Solution" Saria escaped and
freed Mah-Kael while collecting the evidence needed to force a settlement
between the warring factions. Several Jedi nominated her for instantaneous
Knighthood. She was, at the very least, universally acclaimed and admired.
Obi-Wan turned a corner and found her kneeling beside one of the fountains.
Saria's back was turned to him. Her short hair was a brilliant white; her
braid was very long. It hung over her left shoulder, in contrast with her
black tunic. Everything about her appearance projected ease and ability.
Padawans, even the most brilliant and capable (such as Obi-Wan had been),
were always anxious for opportunities to prove themselves. They were
normally so fitful that you could practically feel all the eagerness they
were restraining. Saria, on the other hand, seemed to lack the neediness of
her agemates. She seemed calm. She seemed almost to be content.
If Mah-Kael had taught her that then he was indeed talented.
"Padawan Ran."
She stood when he addressed her and turned to face him. Her face was not as
composed as her demeanor, but it still did not betray much. She was scanning
his face even as she bowed. "Master Kenobi."
"Will you sit with me?" He gestured to a bench facing the fountain. She
bowed again, and walked to the bench with him, waiting until he was seated
to seat herself.
"I am deeply sorry for your Master's death. I did not know Mah-Kael well,
but I had the greatest respect for him. The courage you have displayed in
your loss is remarkable. I, too, lost my Master while I was still a Padawan
. . . I can appreciate how difficult this must be for you."
Saria's gaze remained steadily on the tiles of the small courtyard. She
swallowed once. "Thank you."
Obi-Wan had not been aware that he was nervous until his nervousness began
to fade. The fact that she was not stone-faced, even though she was
composed, went far toward putting him at ease. Evidence of her sorrow,
however minute, put a humanizing crack across her terrifyingly accomplished
veneer.
"How old are you, Saria?"
"Nineteen."
"So you are only a few years from your trials."
"Master Mah-Kael believed I would be ready within a year." She smiled,
still looking at the tiles. "But Master Mah-Kael was often generous in
judging me...maybe too generous."
Within a year...a year was nothing in the whole of a life time. A year was
nothing to exchange for gaining an eternal ally, a friend. Obi-Wan heard the
irritating voice of reason advise him in a tone remarkably similar to Adi
Gallia's.
He battled reluctance, knowing that the course of Saria's life would be
dramatically affected by his decision. He would not be a Jedi--he would not
be a fair man--if he did not give each alternative its equal weight.
"How have you been instructed concerning your future at the Temple?"
"I was given a month to remain at the Temple. If in that time another
Master has not chosen me I will be...reassigned."
"Reassigned?"
"I am told that my abilities will be of great value to the Agri-Corps."
Obi-Wan could not restrain his shock. He gave it no voice but it pulsed
from him in waves; Saria certainly felt it, and no doubt any nearby Council
member felt it as well.
A long dormant seed of resentment stirred as he remembered the days near
his thirteenth birthday, the anguish that possessed him when he believed he
was destined for a life as a farmer. He had never felt the Council's policy
in such matters was just. But this crossed the line dividing injustice from
rank stupidity.
Obi-Wan stared at the churning waters of the fountain. He felt trapped, and
like most animals in a trap his instinct was to panic. He had not seriously
considered taking Saria as his Padawan before that moment. He did not want a
Padawan. Not right now, not so suddenly. He was not Qui-Gon Jinn. He was not
even Mah-Kael Saleysi.
But to hand her over to the Agri-Corps...
"If I may, I would like to ask a rather rude question of you."
Obi-Wan turned to look at her, a little startled. There was a glint in her
eye, and a corner of her mouth was slightly turned up. "Given the
circumstances I think you could be excused some breach of courtesy. What do
you want to know?"
Saria looked away again; her shoulder weren't exactly slumping, but they
weren't as high as they had been. "Did you consider taking me as your
Padawan, even for a short time, before you decided against me absolutely?"
Obi-Wan stared at her. She turned her head and looked at him quickly before
turning away again. "Forgive me, Master Kenobi. It was an unworthy
question."
Obi-Wan sat in silence for a minute before speaking again. "Saria, my
hesitations have nothing to do with you. They have to do with myself, and my
knowledge of my personal limitations. Any Jedi would be glad of you as a
Padawan--if he were in a position to do a Padawan justice."
"I see."
Obi-Wan could almost hear the curtain that fell around her with those
words. Her posture straightened just perceptibly; expression vanished from
her face, and her eyes fixed themselves upon some distant point. Obi-Wan
flinched, and began to regret his words before they were cool in his mouth.
He was startled when she began to speak again.
"Mah-Kael had so much faith me. Insane, maddening faith. He was so sure I
would be great--" Her voice grew harsh on the last word.
Obi-Wan was moved; he would have liked to take her hand, but refrained,
feeling she would prefer he maintain some distance.
"Saria--there are others, you know. Many Jedi who would think me an idiot
to lose a chance at training you. You have a month. I feel certain that you
will become a Jedi."
Saria looked at him again. "Master Kenobi. Tomorrow is the end of my
month."
Stunned again, Obi-Wan sighed audibly and covered his face with his hands
before glancing upward, as if for direction. He tried to meditate, but
Saria's words rang too loudly in his mind. A decision of such import should
not have been forced upon either one of them. His irritation with the
Council threatened to become an emotion more profound.
"Saria, I will lay this before you." Obi-Wan turned to her, all his
instincts warring with one another as he prepared to speak. "I am not
prepared to take a Padawan now." It was all Obi-Wan could do to keep himself
from looking away as she gazed up at him. Her eyes were intense and
vulnerable. "I don't know how to teach. But--" The words took him by
surprise even before he spoke them. "For your sake, I would be willing to
try. It would be more than my conscience could handle if I let you--if I let
the Order lose you. I am certain that the living Force has destined you to
become a Jedi. If you can bring yourself to learn from a clumsy and
inexperienced Master, I will take you as my Padawan and guide you to your
trials."
He said the words with an even mixture of hesitation and relief.
Trepidation arose from the fact that he was about to make his life a great
deal more complicated, but relief followed his conviction that he had served
his conscience. His life would have become complicated in a far more subtle,
unwelcome way if he had consigned the girl to the Agri-Corps. He would
rather train her for a year than live with a lifetime of guilt.
"Master Kenobi." Saria stood. Obi-Wan stood with her, and was surprised to
find that her head barely reached his shoulder. "I thank you. I am most
sensible of the honor you do me." She paused, and her shoulders rose as she
took a deep breath. "But I must refuse."
The impact of her words nearly caused him to take his seat again. "What?
I--but why?"
Saria's eyes were seeking the tile again. "I am afraid that I could not
bring myself to learn from a Master who accepted me from a sense of pity and
obligation." She took a step back ward, and bowed. "Forgive me, my Master. I
must take my leave."
Obi-Wan could not bring himself to call after her as she hurried from the
gardens. He watched her retreating form and sank again to the stone bench,
and began the messy business of processing his sense of failure.

Saria stalked toward her chambers in a fury.
//This is not right. It cannot be right.//
She had looked in Kenobi's eyes and seen the truth. He did not really want
her. If she had accepted him, their relationship would have been a mockery
of the Master/Padawan bond. And her bond with Mah-Kael was too recently
severed to indulge in such a mockery, even to save herself from exile.
If he had only been sincere. If he had only been honest. Even if he had
still been reluctant--she could have worked with sincerity and honesty. She
could not work with a self-righteous martyr to duty.
Not even to avoid the alternative.
Saria palmed entrance into her room and sat slowly on the edge of her bed,
staring at the plain wall before her. This room was desolate. She would not
regret leaving it. Just being here, knowing Mah-Kael would never return to
claim his precious few posessions or awaken her in the morning with a gentle
hand upon her forehead--
Yes, that was enough to make the prospect of leaving tolerable.
Saria had never felt as though she belonged to the Order. She had belonged,
briefly, to Master Yoda--he alone of all her creche teachers--and she had
belonged to Mah-Kael. Without them her connections to the world outside her
own mind were nonexistent. When she was very young she despaired of the time
she would have to choose and be chosen by a Master, since she was sure she
would not be able to endure the bonding process. But Yoda had chosen
Mah-Kael personally and asked him to speak with her. Eight years is a short
time in which to grow old but it seemed now in her memory that Mah-Kael was
much younger the day he first came to her, his hair mostly brown, his face
unlined. He came to her so kindly, and before she had time to shut him out
he was speakingly in soothing tones of her favorite place in the Temple and
leading her there. He was such a large, so powerful person, yet so mild--
Saria forced her mind away from that train of thought. Every time she
thought of him the pain of losing him coursed through her anew. There was no
point anymore. Everything he taught her, the years of his life he devoted to
her--all of it was wasted. She would not become a Knight, or a Master, nor
would she sit on the Council--any of the things Mah-Kael predicted for her.
Mah-Kael had taught her that the widow who shared her evening meal with a
hungry traveler did as noble service to the universe as any Jedi. One needed
neither a sabre nor robes nor a particular midi-chlorian count to serve
others. The imperative duty of any sentient creature was simply to use such
talents as he or she possessed for the good of others. To slight or deny
one's own talent was a criminal act. By burying it in the Agri-Corps for
example.
She turned her face to the door which had divide Mah-Kael's side of the
quarters from her own as though she expected him to walk through at any
minute. And felt her courage grow even as her heart expanded and shuddered
with loss.

"She refused me, my Master."
Mace Windu nodded, and indicated that Obi-Wan should take the empty seat
beside him. "I know. She announced her intentions to the Council just after
you parted."
"Forgive me, Master Windu, but..." Obi-Wan's voice rose, and he struggled
to speak calmly. "Can the Council really mean to send her to the
Agri-Corps?"
Mace could not help but detect the note of outrage in Obi-Wan's voice. "It
is standard procedure, Obi-Wan. The Code dictates it."
"Forgive me, my Master, but I cannot recall the Agri-Corps having been
mentioned in any lesson I was ever taught concerning the Code."
Mace stood, and moved toward a window. Obi-Wan sensed some guilt in his air
but did not comment upon it. "It is the responsibility of the Council to
protect the Jedi Order as best it can from internal threats."
"Yes, I remember that."
"If an Initiate fails to become a Padawan--or, as in rare cases, a Padawan
fails to become a Knight--she can become very dangerous. Her anger and
resentment make her...uniquely susceptible to turning."
Realization suddenly dawned on Obi-Wan. "So you send them to the Agri-Corps
to get rid of them."
"To keep their energies focused on positive endeavors." Mace turned
quickly, his tone almost snappish. "To...distract them at first, and then to
show them that there is more than one way to live a meaningful life."
Obi-Wan, unconvinced, nodded once, stiffly.
"Granted, Jedi of Saria's strength are rarely in this position." Mace
sighed. "And it is a tragedy that she will not have the chance to complete
her training. But do you not see, Obi-Wan--if Saria were to turn--"
"She will not turn because you give her more time to find a new Master!"
"Perhaps not. But who knows when that will be? There are almost no Jedi
left who are fit to train a Padawan. Another month could easily turn into
another year...and it is my experience that it is dangerous to leave a
Padawan idle."
"What of betraying a Padawan? How dangerous is that?" Obi-Wan's temper was
rising.
"Enough, Obi-Wan." Mace's tone was sharp. "Remember that you offered her
another option. This is Saria's decision."
Obi-Wan stood. He stared at the taller man nearly a minute before bowing.
"Of course. My apologies."
Obi-Wan was headed for the door when Mace turned and called over his
shoulder. "Obi-Wan?"
"Yes?"
"Her ship leaves at 0500 tomorrow morning. If you wish to take leave of her
you should do so tonight."

* * *

//Why would I want to take leave of her? She will heap scorn on anything I
say. And rightly so. I can't say anything that will be of benefit to her.//
Obi-Wan stopped just outside the door of the chambers Saria had once shared
with Mah-Kael Saleysi. //I want her to absolve me from guilt. To tell me
that she would have refused me, no matter how I phrased my offer. In short,
I want her to lie and make me feel better.//
He placed a hand on the wall next to the intercom, his shoulders slumping.
He did feel guilty, but it was an unreasonable guilt. He had spoken the
truth to Saria. He could not be a fit Master, not now. Not when every
instinct revolted. Not when the loss of his own Master still burned in his
heart. Not when the thought of allowing another person to share his life as
he had shared it with Qui-Gon made him almost sick.
Obi-Wan, much like Saria, had returned from a mission--his final mission
with Qui-Gon--to find himself all but deified. Defeating a Sith lord
automatically elevated him to the status of legend. Padawans, Knights, and
Masters alike passed him the corridors, whispering to each other and casting
furtive backward glances at him. A note of his deed had already been entered
into the archives of the Jedi Order. Myths about him grew until even Council
members gave him wide berth. Obi-Wan never fostered those stories--at least
not on purpose-- but he depended upon them to buffer his dealings with
people. And they did so, effectively, since the only person who would have
been able to tell the difference between the Knight and the legend had died
as the legend was born.
In a Master/Padawan bonding, there could be no buffers. And Obi-Wan was
afraid to let Saria see him as Qui-Gon would have been able to see him.
At length he placed his hand on the intercom pad and waited as his name and
information were processed and transmitted to Saria's side of the wall. Only
a few seconds later the door opened. Saria stood just inside the room. She
wore a black tunic and form fitting pants over a white shirt. Traveling
clothes.
"Won't you come in Master Kenobi?" Her tone could not have been more civil.
If she was surprised to see him she did not express it.
He followed her into the room. A small bag lay on the bed, half filled with
clothing and random items. It hardly seemed big enough to hold all of a
person's personal possessions.
"Please sit down." She gestured to a chair. "I hope you won't think me rude
but I must continue to pack. I will be finished shortly."
"I hear you are leaving early in the morning."
"Yes. My ship leaves at 0430."
"Ah..." Obi-Wan frowned. "I thought Master Windu said 0500."
"I don't doubt that he did. That is when the ship to Bandomeer leaves."
Obi-Wan simply looked at her, awaiting an explanation.
Saria met his eyes then turned back to her closet. "I will not be on that
ship."
"What ship then?"
"I am going to Anasta."
"Anasta...I've never heard of it." Obi-Wan watched her for a moment. She
was projecting a look of relaxation but her casual words were so brittle
they seemed to snap as they left her mouth. "Why are you going there?"
"Anasta is my homeworld. I have no memories of it. I thought I should see
it before I set out, possibly even visit my family--if I can find them. I
have no memories of them either."
Obi-Wan searched for a way to defuse the pain that was palpable in her
stance, in her voice. "Farming is a noble profession, Saria. I know you can
hardly imagine it now but--you may find peace in the Agri-Corps."
Saria wheeled to face him. She opened and closed her mouth as if she began
to say something, then thought better of it. "I do not require consolation,
Master Kenobi. I am not going into the Agri-Corps."
Obi-Wan's first instinct, once he recovered from the bitterness of her
tone, was to feel relief. Then he realized that, given Saria's body
language, that might not be a wise reaction. "What do you mean?"
She stood over the bag she was no longer packing and gazed into it for a
long moment before speaking.
"My Master taught me that the only kind of control a sentient being can
possibly wield is control over herself. We attempt to control events and
other people by manipulating them but our success can never be very
profound. Control of the self produces the ultimate power--and peace."
Saria met Obi-Wan's eyes again. "I cannot make the Council give me more
time. I cannot force Jedi to come to the Temple and ask me to be their
Padawan. But I can decide what I will do with my life."
Obi-Wan's mouth was dry. "And what will you do?"
"I am leaving the Order."
"Saria!"
"Master Kenobi, please."
"You cannot betray the Order simply because the Council's decision does not
please you!" Obi-Wan could not help but recall Mace Windu's comment on the
possible danger of Saria's turning.
"It is the Council which is traitorous!" Saria snapped to blazing attention
at Obi-Wan's reprimand. "My destiny does not lie with the Agri-Corp. I can
sense that, and if the Council cannot, then its vision has been obscured. I
cannot be guided by them when I know that the will of the Force runs
contrary to their decisions. Mah-Kael would do as I am doing, and that is
all the justification I need!"
Her voice, so strong in its conviction, cracked when spoke again. "I would
give so much for the chance to finish my training and become a Knight. I
would give my life to serve the Jedi. But there is a difference between a
servant and a slave. A slave loves no one more than herself, and so will
obey her Master without question in order to win his favor. But the servant
loves her Master, and will refuse to obey him if he commands her to some
action that will bring him harm." She lifted her head. "The will of the
Force is tentative. It speaks in a whisper. But when my thoughts turn to
Bandomeer, every midi-chlorian in my blood revolts. And my midi-chlorian
count is over eighteen-thousand, so I rarely mistake that feeling for
anything else."
Obi-Wan blinked, then realized she was joking. He couldn't quite bring
himself to smile.
"It will break my heart to leave this place, this way of life. But I can do
no less. To follow the Council's mandates blindly into the Agri-Corp would
be to betray everything Mah-Kael taught me. And that I will never do."
Saria reached inside her travel bag and retrieved a silver, cylindrical
object. Her lightsaber. "It will save me the trouble of confronting the
Council if you will receive this of me." She held it out for him.
Obi-Wan leapt to his feet. "I will not receive it. I refuse to resign you
so simply! What can you do after Anasta? What can you do with your life?" He
was dangerously close to shouting.
"I may not even make it so far as Anasta. I will simply go where the Force
guides me."
"Saria." Obi-Wan spread his hands imploringly. "I sense great danger for
you. I understand your reasons, but in my heart I feel there must be
another way."
"Master Kenobi, if you see an option I may have overlooked I would welcome
your telling me about it." Saria's face seemed suddenly very tired, very
sad. The hand in which she held her lightsaber fell to her side.
Obi-Wan took a step closer to her. "Become my Padawan."
"Please don't--" Saria almost backed up a pace.
"Hear me out," he insisted. "Please. I have had time to think since we
spoke this afternoon. You must know that I rarely visit the Temple these
last ten years. I arrived early this morning for my first visit in over six
months and within hours of my arrival three different Knights approached me
on the subject of taking a Padawan--though I assure you I came here with no
such intention! I spent an entire morning defending my solitary way of life
to people I hardly knew. Then my *old friend* Mace Windu invites me to watch
a round of dueling with him. And suddenly I am seeing the most incredible
battle I may have ever seen--a battle carried triumphantly by a brilliant
young Padawan who has just lost her Master. So I defend myself to Master
Windu and Adi Gallia, who subsequently order me to seek this brilliant
Padawan out and defend myself to her." He took a deep breath. "You must
understand that I was simply not operating at the height of reason."
"I am sure I was not either."
"I spoke honestly when I explained my hesitations. I am not sure I could be
a fit Master to anyone, let alone to someone who speaks more languages than
I do. . . But I have other hesitations--deeper and less honorable than the
first." He ran a hand through his hair. Longer by ten years than his Padawan
cut, it touched the back of his collar and matched the strawberry blonde of
his beard. "This may be the longest personal conversation I've had with
anyone since Qui-Gon was killed. I have--made myself--into a bit of a
recluse since then." Another long breath. "But we are trained to teach and
pass on what we have learned. And we are trained to overcome personal
failings once we have identified them. In other words, Saria, I have no
excuse for denying you--and I know that I did just that when I phrased my
first offer to you in terms I knew you could not accept. Selfishness has
motivated all my actions today."
He looked at her straight, and continued. "But I *will* overcome that
selfishness if you will give me the chance and allow me to take you as my
Padawan."
Saria stared at him for a long moment. Obi-Wan held her gaze without
flinching. He felt a light touch--a probe--Saria was testing him, feeling
his sincerity. Obi-Wan made no resistance, instead opening himself to her as
fully as he knew how.
An aeon passed. "Master Kenobi, you must understand that--my bond--with
Master Mah-Kael--it was extraordinarily strong. I loved him--perhaps more
than is common. And he has been dead for a very short time. Just as you say
you have been intimate with no one since Master Qui-Gon's death, I have
never had so much as a friend other than my Master. You may find that
the--echoes--of my former attachment haunt our own bond."
"If you are prepared to understand that my feelings will be much the same,
I have no objection."
"You must also understand that my feelings toward the Council will not
change because of your intervention. I maintain that their conduct has
been--unworthy."
This was dangerous ground--dangerous particularly because Obi-Wan, if he
could be honest, would admit to a similar opinion of the Council. "It is a
separate issue which we may deal with in time. But you must see that you
cannot treat a disease by isolating yourself from it. If anything, your
trepidation concerning the Council is more reason to stay."
Saria watched him, and her stance shifted ever so slightly. "Perhaps you
are right."
They stared at each other for another long moment. Obi-Wan was afraid to
say anything further--was her admission to be understood as an acceptance?
His questions were answered a moment later. Saria turned slightly, placing
her lightsabre on the bed behind her. Then, after meeting Obi-Wan's eyes
seriously for another long moment, Saria sank gracefully to one knee.
Relief spread like warmth in Obi-Wan's chest. He looked down upon Saria,
then placed a hand lightly on the top of her head. Her white hair was like
silk.
"Do you willingly accept me as your teacher, Saria Ran?"
"I willingly pledge myself your Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The Council ceremony that bound them was brief. Neither Master nor Padawan
felt that anything more elaborate was called for, out of consideration for
the memory of Mah-Kael's recent death. They left the chambers solemnly but
were conversing in serious though friendly tones before they were ten feet
down the corridor leading from the Council chambers.
Adi Gallia stood outside the chamber doors, watching them. Mace Windu
emerged a moment later.
"I am pleased they found each other."
"I think I am, also." Adi frowned. "But I have a feeling--I cannot discern
it. Their future seems somehow...clouded."
"Their time together cannot help but be short."
"Yes," Adi mused, her eyes still focused on the distance. "Let us hope it
is enough..."

END PART ONE