AUTHOR: Cascadia

TIME: 7 years pre-TPM, Obi-Wan is 18


CATEGORY: Drama, Non-Slash

SUMMARY: A missing scene from my fic, Remnants in the Mind, set immediately before the epilogue - where Obi-Wan is in the meditation chamber. That story can be found at fanfiction.net This may not make a lot of sense unless you've read it.

NOTE: I wanted to make it clear what flower it was that Qui-Gon gave his padawan. The clues were there, but I should have had this little scene to make it clear.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first. Sites who have previously archived any of my stories may archive any of them that they want to without asking.

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are the property of Lucasfilm Limited. All the rest belong to me. I receive no profit from this.

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(a missing scene from 'Remnants in the Mind')

It had only bloomed this evening, its velvety crimson petals shyly peeling back to open to the twilit sky overhead. Just as in the Eroleen Gardens on Rymie, the pale splendor of its large pistil glowed with a lovely pink luminosity against the shadows of night where it sat hidden in the corner of the balcony.

He knelt beside it, eyes the shade of sapphire gemstones roaming over the young Sandriffa flower. This had been the seed that had been given to him by the Premier of Rymie. Now in its blooming stage, it easily rivaled any exotic flora imported to the Core.

Ignoring the chilly wind that sifted through his robe, he picked up the blue glazed pot that he had bought in a merchant shop on the same planet. The plant had taken nine months to sprout and bloom after he had planted the seed, but it was just as beautiful as those that it had been taken from.

But Obi-Wan would not remember.

Not after the mental invasion that had taken place. Not after the padawan's mind had been ravaged, leaving him only partially physically mobile and his most immediate memories . . . lost.

Recovery had been difficult . . . and was ongoing.

He remembered how the boy had looked hours ago, how frustration had rolled off of him in tidal waves. How Obi-Wan had held his tongue when words of impatient anguish warred to pass lips pressed tightly together.

"Obi-Wan," he had said, infusing his baritone voice with as much tenderness as he could. "It will all come back . . . in time."

Then those luminous eyes that gleamed like a tropical sea had darkened, the pale skin that surrounded them flushing charmingly despite the solemnity of the situation.

"I doubt that, Master," the cultured voice had replied in all seriousness, while slender hands tangled in the dark folds of his robe.

Qui-Gon had touched the young shoulder, drawing the boy's gaze and smiling in reassurance. "Never doubt that the Force has a way, young padawan. You will remember everything that was taken from you. And you will be stronger than you ever were before."

Something akin to hope had glimmered in Obi-Wan's eyes before full lashes swept down to conceal it.

Qui-Gon snipped the crimson bloom from its sturdy stem and stood, gazing down at the fragile beauty in his large hands. Its light in the darkness pooled in his palms. Its scent entranced him and stirred images of glittering dripping frost, a crisp carpet of snow, and the fateful encounter at the garden tower when Obi-Wan's anger at him came to an abrupt halt after words were spoken in complete sincerity.

It was a harrowing time. But a time that also held clues to an evil man's identity.

A man that Obi-Wan could not remember.

Would possibly . . . never remember, according to healers.

The padawan always meditated in the same chamber on the mezzanine level late each night before retiring to bed. It was a habit that he engaged in, fervently entreating the Force for complete restoration, under the comfort of shimmering stars.

Tonight would be no different.

Thinking that perhaps he could make it there before Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon walked to the door of his apartment, the Sandriffa cradled in his hands like some precious treasure. Like a bright beacon on the fading shores of remembrance.

He felt sure that one day, Obi-Wan's eyes would open, radiant as before and shining with the clear light of forgotten yesterdays.

One day, he would remember everything.

But would it be tonight?