Title:The Merry Jedi Part 1
Author:Storm
Rating:PG
Feedback:be gentle... [email protected]
Category:crossover Star Wars/humor
Disclaimer:It's George's world, I'm only playing for a while.
"A true knight Qui-Gon is. Forever on his own quest."
from Cloak of Deception

"attend and listen gentlemen
that be of freeborn blood
I shall tell you of a good yeman
His name was Robyn Hode"

opening lines of "A Gest of Robyn Hode"

~*~

Qui-Gon Jinn, Knight of the Jedi Order, was grumbling again. "Bow and arrow. Unbelievable. Archaic. Medievel."

"Never happy you are, Qui-Gon. So attached to your lightsaber, are you? Other ways, learn we must." And the smaller Jedi Master notched his arrow, pulled, squinted for a split second only, and bulls-eyed the distant target. He was dressed in a dark brown robe belted with a thick rope.

Qui-Gon of Locksley closed his eyes, trying to find his center. The path his emotions was treading was drifting closer and closer to chaos.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, apprentice to Qui-Gon, and known among the young ladies as Little Obi, called over. "Nice shot, Friar Yoda! Look! I can do it with my eyes closed." And Little Obi shut his eyes and shot his arrow in one fluid motion. Bullseye.

Qui-Gon sighed in mortification.

Taking a firm stance, he pushed everything down into a tight ball inside himself. One deep breath, and the ball of chaos was released. Qui-Gon felt the peace of the Force descend upon him, and he opened his eyes and sighted at the target. Releasing his arrow, he watched with time slowed senses. The arrow flew straight and true and thwonked deep into the target, off-center but at least inside the circle.

Mace-A-Dale chortled. "Good one, Locksley. Except that's my target."

Friar Yoda chuckled, and Little Obi grinned hugely.

"Mealtime is it, young Jedis." As the three laid their bows on the ground. "More practice you need, Qui-Gon of Locksley. Eat after, you may."

Qui-Gon Jinn called on all his command of the Force to stop the words that jumped into his mind, picked up his bow once more, and planted his feet firmly once again.

An hour later, sweat soaked and exhausted, Qui-Gon looked with deep pleasure on his target. His last dozen had hit squarely, and the final two were both bullseyes. Amazing, he thought. All I've been doing is standing here and pulling one arm back, and I feel like I've climbed the Unseen Mountain. While those guys sit over there eating and drinking and making merry. Qui-Gon snorted. The Merry Men, that's what I should call them.

He pulled his arrows out, replacing them carefully in his quiver. And what were they eating? He strode over, trying to identify what was on the platters in front of them. Was that? Yes, it was. Unbelievable. An entire...animal....of some sort. With fruit in it's mouth. What was the fruit there for? The beast's last meal?

The Jedi Knight reached for a flagon of mead and drank deep. Ah, that hit the spot. He drank again, then again, as the hot late afternoon sun beat down on his head. He felt a slight touch of dizziness then, and sat down quickly. Passing out after archery practice would not be his preferred way to end the day.

Mace-A-Dale was strumming lightly on his mandolin. At least Qui-Gon thought it was a mandolin. Maybe it was a ukelele. The song was unfamiliar to him, but seemed to have something to do with bubbles. Little ones. He speared several slices of the meat and chewed industriously while he watched the others.

The Dalesman was tall, as tall as Qui-Gon himself, and his skin dark, his eyes cheeful and brown. Mace kept his head shaved, for religious reasons, he always said, but Qui-Gon knew it was because Mace believed the ladies liked it.

Friar Yoda was the religious one of their group, and he delighted in being mystical and mysterious. Really, Qui-Gon thought, sometimes I think he's just being annoying on purpose. He likes to make us think he's all powerful and wise, but it's probably because he doesn't know the answer.

Now Little Obi, he was cock o' the walk, wasn't he? The best archer, the best woods tracker, and he had every damsel under the age of thirty wrapped around his finger. (And none too few over thirty as well.) Obi was good looking too, Qui-Gon admitted grudgingly, but he knew it. He kept that long silly braid because that Marian chick said it made him look sexy.

His gaze moved on to the diminutive Friar. He was good looking too, in a green and scaly sort of way, though definately not Qui-Gon of Locksley's type. Though Qui-Gon was the nominal leader of their band, Yoda was the one who made all the major decisions, and planned all their adventures.

Like this one. Tomorrow's jousting tournament at Nottingham Castle. Friar Yoda had decided that, instead of their usual lightsaber dueling, they should enter the archery contest, kick some flaming arrow butt, and take home the prize. Which was probably something lame, like some lady's silk scarf or something. And so they had all broken out their trusty, rusty bows and begun practicing.

Which was when Qui-Gon of Locksley realized he was getting a bit old. For archery, he amended quickly, for archery. In the lightsaber dueling no one would be able to touch him.

(As long as that red-and-black-faced Sir Maul didn't show up again. The last time that tattooed freak had been there he'd nearly won, and it had taken a quick-and only slightly illegal-manuver to save the Locksley reputation.)

As the band of outlaws made their way through Sherwood Forest, the shadows lengthened. And as they sat singing ridiculous songs around the bonfire, Qui-Gon of Locksley massaged his aching arm and cast grim thoughts ahead to the morrow.

TBC