Before his death, my Master lectured me often on attachment, a lesson I never quite grasped. Even at the very end, when Qui-Gon lay dying, I wept, centered more on my pain than his own. I was attached, he was leaving me, and I was not ready to let him go.
Left with a Padawan I was unready to train, the mistakes began early. At first I brightened sullen expressions with treats, smuggled occasional letters from his mother in the folds of my belt, and made room in my bed when his nightmares grew too big. At first these things were bribes, intended only to soften things between us, but eventually I found myself doing these things simply to make Anakin smile. I loved him.
I love him differently now, of course, and he loves me. I would say our feelings our equal, though his passion stronger. Were it to be my life set against the life of an entire squadron, I know what Anakin would choose, and without hesitation. I am a Jedi, and I am not sure I can say the same.