This is an unusually short clip for me, but it reveals something interesting about Padawan Threeb. The stuff after the asterisks was kindly donated by Erin.

It was no later than usual, and the day had held no more heartbreaking decisions for the Council than usual. The almost violently beautiful sunset over the Temple threw bright auric beams throughout the corridors, catching the dancing flecks of dust and turning them into powdered gold. Hurrying home to keep an appointment for a sparring match, Obi-Wan paused on a meditation platform, just for a few minutes, to watch the traffic gliding by below, gilded by the sun, the roar of engines oddly muted by distance to sound merely rushing, like waves stealing up on the sand. On some nights, but by no means all, or even many, Coruscant could be truly lovely.

The silence of the Temple reigned in all the rooms, all the towering halls and echoing corridors – except one: the corridor off which the Kenobi quarters opened. Yet another disc of Ben’s collection of foreign and irritating ‘music’ was playing, and Ben had turned it up loud enough to be heard even through the closed door. Obi-Wan scowled, and, striding into the room with his hands firmly over his ears, snapped off the disc player.

From where she sat at the table, softly repeating a list of elements and numbers, Nasriel looked up at him in mild surprise and broke off her recitation long enough to say, “Hi, Master Obi-Wan.”

“How can you possibly study with that racket?”

“What racket?” Nasriel asked blankly. “There was no racket until you stormed in here. Did you have a bad day?” she added sympathetically.

“No, just heard some truly bad music.” Gingerly extracting the disc from the player, Obi-Wan studied it suspiciously. “What is this?”

“Ben’s,” replied Nasriel unhelpfully. “How should I know? I don’t listen to it. Is it music?”

“Is it – you can sit there with a perfectly straight face and ask me ‘is it music’ like that? I’m sure Ben thinks so, but there our opinions happen to differ. How can you ask that?”

“I can’t hear it,” replied Nasriel matter-of-factly.

“You can’t – how – for goodness’ sake, child, I heard it halfway across the Temple!”

“I can’t hear any music!” Nasriel half-shouted at him.

This was an unexpected idea. “Really? So… when Jiron took you to the orchestra, you remember, you told me about it – why?”

“I watched,” she replied happily. “He didn’t know. I loved every moment of that concert. But I didn’t hear anything at all.”

“When you say you don’t hear it, what precisely do you mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Nasriel replied cautiously. “I’m not sure what you hear. It’s like… hmm. Anything with a tune gets shut out. Not anything going on at the same time – if that stuff of Ben’s was playing full volume and you were talking normally or even whispering I could hear you perfectly.”

“Is it just you, or…”

“All Saalisans, I’m told. Nobody knows why, it’s just a fact.”


“I’ve been thinking,” Obi-Wan said quietly, a few evenings later, when Ben was visiting the Senate rotunda with Senator Amidala, in order to get a better feel for politics, and it was just him and Nasriel at home.

Nasriel looked up. “Yes?”

“I thought it sad that you couldn’t hear music. Of course, I wouldn’t know, since I’m not Saalisan, but I thought that perhaps if I projected it through the Force you might get to know what it was like.”

“All right.” Nasriel said hesitantly, and frowned. “I’d have to lower my shields, wouldn’t I?”

Obi-Wan looked at her gently. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the girl said emphatically. She began to release her hold on her mind. Obi-Wan smiled quietly, then closed his eyes. Gently, a stream of color and light and warmth, patterned sounds, floated into her mind.

Nasriel clapped her hands over her ears in surprise, then realized how silly the gesture was, and let them drop.  “That’s… stop that.  Stop it!”

“Don’t you like it?” Obi-Wan enquired disappointedly.

“No… I like it… you – and Ben – can hear things like that… normally? Dear Force.” The shields had slid almost imperceptibly back up across her mind.  “She was right.  My mother. She left a message to me, a note, that music is like how it feels when you light a candle just by the Force.” Beyond the darkened doorway to her room, there was a sound like a soft explosion, and the half-burned candle on Nasriel’s desk glimmered, reflecting in the mirror behind it and drawing sparks of light from the glittering silver font on the cover of a novel.  “It is, a bit.”

The End.


About coruscantbookshelf

"A writer is an introvert: someone who wants to tell you a story but doesn't want to have to make eye contact while doing it." - Adapted from John Green
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3 Responses to Music

  1. Hmmm… That gives me an idea…… ;-P


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