Actually, in terms of being able to spend time together, it was much easier for all of us once Sionnach became Joma's padawan. In the creche she had been a protected child, carefully brought up to consider all Jedi her family, and we were therefore permitted only the same visits as any other child's relations. We occasionally passed a group of children in a corridor, but there wasn't the sort of constant contact we would have liked. As a padawan, however, she was considered a fellow- Jedi -- not an adult, and certainly always under the guardianship of her master, but nevertheless she was now able and allowed to cultivate relationships outside the home. In public, she bowed to tradition and called us Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker, which all four of us quietly found quite amusing; privately, though, when she sometimes came to visit us on an evening off, we were a family again. By the time she was fourteen, she often had friends with her -- other young padawans who were smitten with Anakin despite his unavailability, or apprentice healers who didn't believe what they'd been taught about her healing of Qui-Gon's wound all those years ago. He always obliged them, shrugging out of his tunic to show them the scars on his breastbone and next to his shoulder blade, and they always left in a bit of a daze.

But the best was when she came home alone. She would curl up on the couch next to Anakin, whom she thought of quite as her own brother, and listen to all three of us talk about our travels. Qui-Gon had the best stories, of course -- but Sion's favorite things to talk about were her parents, naturally, and my own apprenticeship, which held Anakin's attention as well. One evening, she was particularly intent on Qui-Gon's tale of a mission he and I had taken just weeks after I'd become his padawan. The thing had been a series of errors, cock-ups and bungles the like of which Qui-Gon said he had never seen, but Sionnach interrupted him to ask again how old I had been.

"Just about thirteen. Why?"

She looked back at her knee, picking at a loose thread. "I never go anywhere. Just wondering."

"Not ever?" Anakin asked, surprised.

Sion shook her head. "Master keeps submitting our names for missions -- easy ones, Qui, I promise -- but we always seem to lose the bid. We were just turned down again today. She was pretty mad."

"As well she might be," I said. All three turned to look at me. "They're doing the same thing to you that they did to her. The Council. Bunch of short- sighted --"

"What is it they're doing?" Qui-Gon asked.

"When Joma was a kid," I explained, "she was never allowed to leave the planet. Her trials were delayed because of it; she never got the field experience she needed until she was older. Way older, I mean, she was -- well, she's about three years older than I am, and I was knighted three years before she was." Anakin let out a low whistle. "Right. And they said it was because she didn't have enough control over her abilities, so sending her someplace not shielded was too much of a risk. I expect she thinks they're trying to pull the same stunt with you, Sion."

"But that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," said Qui-Gon. "Particularly since Anakin's been traveling with me all these years."

"I know, but you know how they are. I've tried to think of --"

"Excuse me," Sionnach waved. "None of this makes any sense. Why wouldn't they let her travel? And what does it have to do with me? Or Anakin?"

"We're freaks, Sion," Anakin grinned. "You've heard the word 'Adept'? That means that you and I - - and your master and some other people -- are way stronger in the Force than plain old Jedi like my master." Qui-Gon and I chuckled. If he was a plain old Jedi, I was a krayt dragon.

"Yes," I said, "and when Joma was a child they were afraid that was dangerous. Afraid the Force energy was so concentrated in her that she'd do someone a harm."

Sion seemed perplexed. "But that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she said after a moment. "I mean, wasn't Anakin completely untrained until he was eleven?"

"Nine," Qui-Gon corrected her, "but yes. So clearly the Council is being preposterously cautious."

"Well, Master's going to talk to them about it tomorrow," Sion said with a teenaged grimace. "I figure we'll get an offworld assignment in the next rotation. But then they'll just send us someplace lame like Dantooine and settle some shipping dispute."

"I don't know," I said, "those shipping disputes have been getting a little exciting lately, with the chancellor phasing in the government agency and shutting everything else down. When you win a vote by that narrow of a margin, you have a hard time implementing the resolution."

"Can we not talk shop for just a couple of minutes?" Anakin interrupted suddenly, getting to his feet. "I have some news." He visibly collected himself, taking a deep breath and shaking out his shoulders. "I've asked Amidala to marry me," he began, "and she said yes, so I hope you'll agree that it's a good idea to have the ceremony here in the temple." He rocked back on his heels, looked around at all three of us, and grinned nervously.

For a moment we were stunned -- then Sionnach whooped out loud and leaped into Anakin's arms, and Qui-Gon rose to embrace him as well. "When, Anakin?" I asked with a grin as I waited my turn.

"The day after I'm knighted," he smiled as he let out a shaky breath. "She's going to stand for the Senate, and we're sure she'll get in, but in case she doesn't, that way I can go to Naboo with her and base out of the branch temple in that region. Master, will you perform it?"

"Perform the rite?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised. "You're asking me to say your wedding?" Anakin nodded. "I'd be delighted, Padawan." He bowed formally.

"And Obi and Sion, we'd like you both to stand for us," Anakin went on.

"Shouldn't some of these be her people?" Sion asked, still wrapped up in a hug, looking up at him.

"Neither of us could think of anyone we'd rather have," Anakin promised. "Will you stand?"

"I will," I said.

"I will, too," Sionnach finished, and Anakin beamed. "Where's 'Dala, where is she?" Sion asked. "We want to congratulate her too."

"Ah, she had to hurry home to discourage some smugglers," Anakin said. "It would look bad if the chancellor's own homeworld didn't comply with the directive."

"Well, there are a lot of people not too pleased about complying with the directive," Qui-Gon said as he fetched brandy for everyone to toast Anakin and Amidala's good health. "I was just speaking to Organa and Delvin earlier today, and they've been telling me their constituents are furious."

I wasn't surprised. Bail Organa was the senator from Alderaan, a pleasant and comfortable world only a few hours' travel from Coruscant. It prided itself on a people with a peaceable disposition and a high standard of living, but it hadn't gotten that way by knuckling under to centralized control for millennia. The Alderaanians were decent people who lived well and ran a thriving export trade -- primarily ale and sea salt -- to farther-flung systems. Under the chancellor's new operation, though, their independent shipping interests were to be put out of business in favor of a central, government- controlled agency. The idea was to level the playing field, to give all star systems, no matter their proximity to anything else, the same dependable, affordable service -- and to prevent the sort of strongarm behavior we'd seen fourteen years earlier, when the independent Trade Federation had blockaded Naboo to force their acquiescence. Palpatine had introduced the measure on the ten- year anniversary of the Battle of Naboo, and it had quickly won support in the senate from two main groups: outlying regions, and xenophobic populations who approved of Palpatine's preferential treatment of humans. (It had been the Niemodians who controlled the Trade Federation, Palpatine reasoned, so clearly non-humans were not to be trusted.) Many, many other worlds had immediately resisted the idea, and it had quickly become a major issue, which was why it had taken so long to push through. Alderaan opposed the plan, on the grounds that they stood to lose substantial profits if they were required to ship all items to Coruscant prior to delivery and to pay exorbitant tariffs on all their goods -- to say nothing of the rise in unemployment.

Even closer to Coruscant, meanwhile, was Corellia, whose senator was Anders Delvin and which had a large non-human population and a long tradition of fierce independence. They opposed the chancellor's plan on the grounds that they didn't like someone else running their show. A maxim about Corellia, handed down the generations, was that a Corellian had no trouble with teamwork as long as he was team leader -- and cliches didn't get to be cliches without often being true. Delvin's people hated being told they had to use the government agency for shipping; they might have done so anyway, but they resented the choice being taken away from them.

"I'm sure they're not the only ones," I said.

"Not at all," Qui-Gon agreed, "but they're the most vocal, and their homeworlds are the nearest. Citizens are organizing lobbying groups already. They're even less pleased that the ranks of their supporters seem to be dwindling. As the new system is instituted, it appears that people are changing their minds and deciding it's not so bad after all, and going along quietly."

"I'm sure Delvin loves that," I snorted.

"Indeed. But we weren't going to talk about work," Qui-Gon said, slapping his knee and turning back to Anakin and Sionnach, who had resumed their seats on the couch. "We were going to toast to Anakin and Amidala's health and good fortune -- and I suppose while we're at it we should toast to absent friends, since Amidala is away and poor Shmi Skywalker is no longer with us." He paused somberly, and Anakin bowed his head. His mother had been killed a year before in a freak shop accident, just before he had planned to buy her freedom from Watto. He had been less upset by her death, though, than he had been by the fact that it hadn't affected him as much as he thought it should have. Sionnach squeezed his hand sympathetically. "So. To friends we've lost, and friends we'll meet again, and to Anakin and Amidala and their future together. May you live long and happily, in love and comfort, and may you never regret a day in your lives."

"To Anakin and Amidala," Sionnach and I said, raising our glasses.

"And," Qui-Gon went on, surprising us in the midst of our first sip, "I have some news of my own. Your wedding day may be a lot sooner than you think, Anakin."

Anakin was puzzled. "Master?"

Qui-Gon's eye twinkled. "Yes. Based on your performance, I'm prepared to recommend at the next session that you stand your trials one year from that date."

Now the boy was astonished. "Master?"

"And I'm certain you won't have any trouble with them."

"But -- but I -- really?"

"Yes, really," Qui-Gon laughed. "You're going to be a Jedi Knight, son. Start planning your wedding."

Anakin's eyes were as wide as they had been the day he'd arrived on Coruscant. His hand trembled just a bit as he scrubbed it over his face; he stared for a moment at the ceiling, and then at me, his features making a slow, smooth transition from puzzled expression to elated grin. Suddenly, with very little warning, he gave a shout to match Sionnach's of a few minutes earlier and propelled himself at Qui- Gon, who only just managed to keep his chair upright under the impact. "You're welcome, Padawan," he chuckled.

Anakin pulled himself together and stood up, still grinning like a fool, and came over to me -- but I was ready for him. I was on my feet by the time he flung his arms around my shoulders, and only staggered a bit due to his greater height. I slapped his back, only partly to regain my balance. "Congratulations, boy," I said. "You're on a roll, apparently. Anything else you need to get done today? You're sure to succeed."

Anakin laughed and whirled around to scoop Sionnach, nearly as happy for him as he was, up in a bear hug. "A message, I have to send a message," he said as he set her down. "Have to call her. We only talked about 'someday' -- a year? A year from the next session, which is when, Master? Four cycles?"

"Three," Qui-Gon said.

Anakin threw back his head and shouted again. "I've never been so happy before!" he said, dancing Sionnach toward the comm station.

"And I hope this will be the unhappiest day of your life," Qui-Gon nodded.

"Master, I could walk on air! Oh! Wait!" he said to Sion, bending to speak to her face-to-face. "I can!" And he pulled her into his arms again and Force-lifted them both, rather quickly, off the floor.

Sionnach shrieked, girlish excitement combined with just a little terror. Qui-Gon leapt to his feet. "Anakin! Be careful!"

"I'm sorry, Master," Anakin said, flipping over backwards in midair. "I know this is technically not an appropriate use of the Force, but if I didn't expend the energy somehow I'd break something." Holding tightly to Sionnach, he turned upside down and stood on the ceiling. "Surely you've been so delirious with happiness you couldn't stand it, Master. The day your first padawan was knighted, maybe? Your bonding day?"

"We're not Adept," I pointed out, "so perhaps the energy buildup wasn't so impressive."

"Probably true," Qui-Gon smiled. "Are you feeling better now, Padawan? Would you care to come down from there, before I have to explain to the quartermaster why there are boot-prints on my ceiling?"

"Yes, Master," Anakin said with a grin. He carefully oriented himself and Sionnach to the floor, and drifted down as gently and slowly as a blanket settling on a bed. "I'm sorry, Master," he said again. "Sorry about that, Sithspawn," he said to Sionnach, ruffling her hair. "I'll try and warn you before the next time that happens."

"Go call your fiancee," Sion told him with a push in the direction of the comm station.

Anakin turned and walked backwards away from us. "My fiancee," he said, turning a spontaneous backflip and laughing out loud before hitting the transfer button on the comm station and disappearing into his room.

"Wow," Sionnach commented.

"Yes," I agreed. "Qui-Gon, I don't think you and I turned handsprings the day we agreed to bond, did we?"

"In my heart I did, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied, holding my gaze. Outside my field of vision, Sionnach made retching noises. I was inclined to join her. After a moment, Qui-Gon grinned. "No, love, I don't recall that we did. But, of course, we had been seriously involved for some time by then - - we agreed to bond, as you say, rather than one of us proposing marriage to the other. That day in the combat salle, on the other hand, when Mace and Depa had to shield the room and carry us home ..."

I felt my face flush. "Well, yes. There was that."

"What?" Sion asked, innocently curious. "Why'd Master Windu and Master Billaba have to carry you home? What'd you do?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. "We were, ah, about to start -- walking on the ceiling --" I nodded at Qui- Gon; he choked back a laugh -- "and as you've just seen, that causes all kinds of Force-output that can be dangerous if it isn't controlled. And we're not Adept, so we wrecked our own strength in a big hurry. Mace and Depa helped us walk home; they didn't carry us."

"Oh." Sionnach thought about that for a minute. I gave Qui-Gon my best combination raised-eyebrow- glare. If he hadn't been so dignified, or so sure that Sionnach might look to him at any moment, I believe he would have stuck his tongue out at me. As it was, he raised his own eyebrow and curled the corners of his lips in the barest beginnings of a smile.

I nearly exclaimed out loud in relief when the door chime rang before Sion could ask another question. I hurried to answer it, and found Bail Organa of Alderaan waiting on the other side. "Senator," I said, surprised. I heard Qui-Gon and Sionnach get to their feet.

"Knight Kenobi. Master Jinn. Padawan --"

"apVess-Norill," Sionnach said with a bow.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at home, gentlemen, Padawan, but I'm afraid I've urgent business to discuss that cannot wait until tomorrow. Do you have a few minutes?" he asked Qui-Gon.

"I --" Qui-Gon looked from the senator to me and back again, thrown by the suddenness of it.

"Of course you do," I said to him. "It's getting toward time that Sionnach should be getting home anyway. I'll walk her back."

"Excellent. Thank you, Obi-Wan. Good night, Sha," Qui-Gon said, hugging Sion to him. "Be sure to come by again soon."

"I will, Qui," she promised as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Say good night to Ani for me."

Senator Organa came in to the apartment as we left; we heard him apologize again for the intrusion, and Qui-Gon say he supposed his padawan was still tying up the comm station, before the door closed and we couldn't hear them any more.

I've been told that the color of my eyes is difficult to name, that they run the range from jade green through grey to blue, though not as deep (or, to my mind, as intoxicating) a blue as Qui-Gon's. I'd never known brown or hazel eyes to do the same, though, until I realized that Sionnach's eye color was as hard to name as my own. When she was a baby, her eyes were a sort of golden amber -- a bit lighter and less green than what I'd call hazel -- striking without actually being unsettling. As she grew older, though, depending on the light and her mood and no doubt several other factors just as easily quantifiable, those golden eyes could be as rich as bronze (recalling the warmth of her mother's dark eyes) or as pale as sunlight (like her father's, clear and water-blue). She looked at me now, as we walked, with eyes like a cat's, narrowed and assessing and deep yellow like honey. "Yes, Sion?" I asked, amused. "Is there something on my face?"

"No," she smiled, looking away. We walked in silence for a moment. "Obi?"

"Yes?"

Whatever she had been about to say, she evidently decided against it. She reached for my hand, as she had when she was a child, and I gladly clasped hers. "Obi?"

"Yes?"

She still wasn't ready, apparently. I squeezed her hand to let her know I was still listening. "Obi?"

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask you, there's something -- I mean, Master is really helpful, but sometimes you need another perspective too, and I'd have brought it up at home but you know how Qui gets." I still didn't know what she was talking about, but I did know how Qui-Gon got where she was concerned, so I smiled knowingly. "I'm sorry, let me start over." She took a deep breath. "How do you know when someone who's your friend -- how do you know if you love that person?"

"Um ..."

"Or if he loves you?"

"Well, I certainly see why you didn't mention this with Qui-Gon in the room," I joked.

"Right. He'd say 'Sha, you're wonderful, and anyone who doesn't see that isn't worth your time.' Very nice, but not very useful." She smiled ruefully.

"Indeed. So tell me about this young man?"

Sionnach turned to me with the same look on her face that Anakin had worn when he was sixteen and talking about Amidala. Oh, boy. "He's fantastic," she said. "He's sweet and funny and strong and smart and gorgeous and --"

"And does he have a name?" I asked.

My -- My what? She wasn't my niece; and though I'd sworn to protect Sion just as Qui-Gon had, only he was designated by her parents as her godfather. My godchild-in-law? That's what Joma would have called her. -- blushed. "Inayouk," she said, slower, more quietly. "Inayouk s'Deki. He's Knight Ferriling's padawan."

I cast about for faces to put with these names. Kustin Ferriling was a knight a few years younger than myself. I recalled teaching him in an intermediate class in close combat, and calculated that he must have been about seven years behind me; thirty or thirty-one, then. So he couldn't have been a knight for much more than five years -- which meant that this s'Deki was his first padawan. I didn't know that I'd ever heard that name before. "I know the master, but not the student," I said.

"He's, um, almost your height, and dark hair and dark eyes," Sionnach told me, her own eyes shining brighter by the second. "And dark skin -- not like Master Windu, but like -- like -- like caf with milk in it, I guess. And he has the most beautiful smile ..."

That was when I knew. He had nothing of the kind, of course -- Qui-Gon had the most beautiful smile. But so did I, and so did Amidala, and so did Anakin, and I was willing to suppose that so did Sionnach herself, if you asked the right person. "It doesn't sound to me like there's much question that you love him, firefly," I said. "And I've never met him, so I can't begin to guess whether or not he loves you."

"Well -- he says he does," she hedged, "and I believe him, but -- mostly."

"When do you not believe him?"

"Just sometimes. It's nothing that he does, I don't think. It's me, I see him looking at me, and I sometimes think he mustn't really love me, he must just want to --" she stopped and looked sideways at me. "To walk on the ceiling," she finished, with an eyebrow raised.

I gasped so hard I choked. So much for euphemism. I tried to cover it with a cough, but I could see that Sion wasn't fooled. "How old is this boy?" I managed to ask.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen. Well. I'll guarantee you that he does want to walk on the ceiling. That's not open to question. I'm prepared to believe, though -- based on my impression when I do meet him, of course -- that two things are true: one, that he'd rather walk on the ceiling with you than anyone else, and two, that he sees you as much more than just someone with whom to walk on the ceiling. Because -- and, now, here's where I'm going to sound just like Qui- Gon -- because you're wonderful, and a boy as smart as you say this one is couldn't escape noticing that." She smiled, and for a moment she looked so like her mother I could scarcely breathe. The smile and the crinkle in the corner of her eye were the same, and her hair was dark and her eyes were brown. The light from a passing ship's burners lit the corridor with a bluish glow, and I would have sworn I was looking at Liskat's ghost. But then the ship passed by, and we came out of the dim spot where a lamp had broken, and in the normal light I saw the red hair and amber eyes of Liskat's daughter. We reached the door of her quarters and I pulled her to me for a hug. "You can't fault Qui-Gon for wishing you'd never grow up," I murmured into her hair.

"Of course not," she said, surprised.

"The older you get, the less his obligation to your parents to look after you, and the less his connection to them," I said. "Your father was Qui-Gon's best friend for many years. When Qui-Gon no longer has you to hold onto, I think he's afraid Dorim's spirit will desert him."

"But --"

"Of course he won't," I said, anticipating her objection, "but there was only one person hit harder by your father's death than Qui-Gon -- your mother, and she died soon after. Just don't -- don't forget how we love you, too, hmm?"

"I couldn't if I tried," Sion said, reaching up to kiss my cheek. "Good night, Obi. I'll bring Inayouk to meet you soon. He'll be really excited." And she slipped into her apartment and closed the door.

I walked home quickly, disturbed by the memory of Sionnach looking so much like a ghost of Liskat. It shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did -- but in any event, I wanted to talk to Qui-Gon about it. Senator Organa was still there when I arrived, though, so that would have to wait. I poured myself another glass of brandy and settled on the couch to pretend I was interested in their conversation. It was the trade thing again, of course; from the sound of Organa's voice and the look in Qui-Gon's eyes, Organa had been doing most of the talking and Qui- Gon most of the listening up until now. The senator was evidently in two minds about some choice he had to make, but the brandy and my tumultuous thoughts conspired to draw my attention away.

Anakin had gone out to celebrate his various good tidings with some padawan friends of his. I idly wondered if Sion's friend Inayouk would be among them, before reminding myself that the boy was six years younger than Anakin and they were unlikely to travel in the same circles. Come to that, how had Sionnach met him in the first place, with him being three years older than she was? Perhaps he had been like me, a little older than some others when they finally went as padawans. Sionnach had been very young, but girls tended to go younger than boys anyway -- they became insufferable in the creche long before the boys did, we always told ourselves. So it was possible that Sion and Inayouk had gone as padawans at close to the same time. That option made even more sense when I remembered that the kid's master was a very young knight. But I hadn't asked Sionnach how they'd met. Or what her other friends thought of him. Or --

Qui-Gon was speaking to me, I realized suddenly. I focused on him in time to hear him ask me if I intended leaving any brandy for him and the senator. It was only then that I noticed that I had drained my glass, poured another, and grasped the bottle by the neck, curling it close to me as though to protect it from theft. With a sheepish smile, I handed him the bottle so he could offer Organa a drink as well. Qui-Gon raised his own glass in preparation for a toast. Another one? What in the worlds was he toasting now? "Here," he said, "is to the triumph of right over might, and to the continued prosperity and autonomy of the Alderaanian people."

"Hear, hear," Organa said, raising his glass in kind.

"Yes," I added helpfully, entirely bewildered. "To Alderaan."

What had happened? Qui-Gon obviously thought I had been listening to everything he and Organa had been saying before the toast, so he didn't enlighten me. Was it possible that Organa and Delvin had succeeded in stemming the flood of support for the chancellor's proposal? Not by themselves, surely -- Alderaan and Corellia were important systems, but the two of them alone couldn't accomplish anything. Who were their allies? Was that even what had happened? So many other things were possible, particularly when dealing with Palpatine. The chancellor was full of surprises -- and so had this evening been, actually. First Anakin's engagement to Amidala, then Qui-Gon's announcement of Anakin's recommendation for trials, then Sionnach's mention of this boy who loved her --

And how long had that been going on? I'd forgotten to ask her. Had she met him through Anakin? It would make sense, in the same way her young friends swarmed around him, for her to cast an eye at friends of his, I supposed. I'd have been surprised if he allowed it, though -- he'd always been quite protective of her. And besides, I reminded myself sternly, this s'Deki kid was too young to be Anakin's friend. But you knew M'Liskatha Vess when you were both padawans, a pesky voice in the back of my head noted. You weren't close friends, but you were certainly acquainted.

I shook my head to dislodge the random thoughts, and saw that Qui-Gon and the senator were at the door. Organa was on his way out, and waved to me as he left. Qui-Gon turned back to me with a mildly puzzled expression. I concluded that I was exhausted beyond all hope of recovery. Coherent, linear thought had abandoned me, and trying to hold an idea together long enough to tell Qui-Gon about it was making my head hurt. He seemed unruffled by the meeting with Organa of Alderaan, so there was no need to stay up and share concerns about that issue; as he helped me to bed, removing my boots and tucking me in as he had when I was a padawan, Qui-Gon told me Palpatine had conceded Alderaan's point on the higher cost of routing all shipments through Coruscant, and agreed to designate Alderaan a "hub" on the hub-and-spoke system. If the same could be achieved for Corellia, perhaps the conflict could be defused. I tried to process that thought and tell him it sounded like good news, and I wanted to ask him when the hub- and-spoke idea had come into the discussion, and I wanted to talk to him about Sion and her young friend, but my eyes were heavy and my voice would not come. I felt Qui-Gon slide into bed next to me, and pulled him closer, just before I drifted off to sleep. I could tell I was smiling, and my dreams were sweet.

---

Comments always welcome!