Warning: the following story contains m/m contents. Run as fast
as you can if you CAN NOT tolerate homosexuality OR you are
UNDER AGE.
Disclaimer: all hail the mighty Lucasworld !
Category: AU, angst, sex, character death, first time
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan (of sorts)
Rating: R
Summary: This is an AU where the Jedi are nomadic horsemen
(think Mongolian tribes) and the Sith are the barbaric Horde
invaders who rape and pillage their way through the land. The
current reigning Empire/Dynasty makes the Jedi the border
protectors/defenders. This is a story with a
pseudo-Chinese/Asian background which I know doesn't appeal to
most of the readers. With this, I apologize for any
inconvenience caused.
The story begins with a funeral but it is interspersed with
flashbacks.
It was said that the Great Mare once cantered across the plains
of Tatooine, causing a wake of desert plants to grow and
flowers to bloom. When She was gone, the plains reverted back
to their acrid dryness. But the Great Mare was known for Her
odd generosity even then: where Her hooves landed sprouted the
proud Jedi horsemen. All the tribes claimed descent from the
Great Mare, the protector and the keeper of the desert. They
owed their horsemanship and their archery skills to Her. She
was the Giver of life, the provider of precious water and the
Bringer of death.
The Jedi were once numerous, the tribes ranging from the dune
seas to the sun-baked valleys. Families grew up, learned the
ways of the desert and died under the harsh twin suns worshiped
as the two flame-coated foals of the Great Mare. But as the
hills of desert sand shifted, so did events and circumstances
of the bigger world. New invaders came on their raging metal
beasts, bringing along with them death and destruction. So
emissaries from the Empire were sent with due speed to the
existing Jedi tribes, conveying the Emperor's express wishes.
The proud Jedi horsemen were decreed to become the Empire's
border defenders. Because of their ferocity in war and their
talents in archery, they were best suited to protect the
Empire's interests.
Yet, the new invaders known as the Sith were ruthless fighters
and the Jedi began to suffer defeats. One by one, tribes were
razed to the ground, the men killed and the women raped. The
remaining tribes were forced to retreat further into the
unforgiving Tatooine desert where they found temporary
sanctuary from the Sith Horde. It was time to rest.
It was time to mourn the fallen.
The desert wind whispered across the sand, hissing softly as it
lifted the leather tent flaps and rattled the tent poles. It
was not the harsh skin-flaying wind today but it was much
gentler as if the Great Mare was feeling sympathetic as She
watched from the heavens.
Funeral rites were being sung.
The tribes gathered under the two suns. Most of them were on
horseback. Men, women and even children rode easily on the
small dun-colored horses. With five tribes assembling, it could
have been a festive occasion, perhaps a horse race. But the
mood was somber, the atmosphere solemn. There was an air of
heavy sadness too. No one smiled. The children kept quiet,
sitting on their ponies as they gazed at the wooden pyre.
From his restless brown-coated stallion, Yoda observed his
surroundings with a burden in his heart. The patriarch of the
leading Jedi tribe felt his age today; his gnarled hands ached.
His bones in his body throbbed. He was once a great warrior,
his small size not withstanding. Now, as he watched the younger
members of his tribe take their usual places behind him, he
rued his old age with a silent oath to the Great Mare. If he
was strong enough ... healthy enough to lead the Jedi into
battle, this wouldn't have happened.
He gripped the carved totem stick in his hand, closing his eyes
for a moment. He could still remember the bone-chilling defeat
as if it was occurring right in front of him. He could still
smell the cloying sweet smell of burning flesh and the metallic
tang of blood. Worse of all, he heard the taunting laughter of
the Sith barbarian as he rode away on his black beast of death.
Yoda opened his eyes, seeing the familiar figure of Mace
approach. The dark-skinned man urged his mount to stop beside
Yoda's stallion. The head of Windu tribe bore a still-healing
scar on his otherwise smooth face. The rest of his body was
hidden beneath the Jedi brown robes. As a tribe leader, he
carried a full quiver of arrows and he held his bow, made of
horse-bone and strung with dried horse-gut.
"Young Kenobi?" Yoda glanced at the younger man, feeling his
horse shift slightly. He patted its neck reassuringly; even
Storm sensed the undercurrent of disquiet in the air.
Mace's dark eyes flickered. "He waits with the Jinn tribe." The
Windu leader shook his head sadly, pulling at the reins. "The
Great Mare watches over him."
"Over all of us," Yoda said quietly and lifted his totem stick,
signaling the funeral to begin.
Drumbeats rolled across the plains and the high-pitched wailing
of women joined in, their cries soaring into the blue sky. This
was the song of the combined tribes, preparing the deceased
before he finally made the last journey to the Heavenly Plains.
It was a song praising the warrior for his deeds on the
material plane and thanking his tribe for their fortune. Now,
he would find favor with the Great Mare.
The plaintive song rose and fell dramatically. Then, there was
only silence, broken by the hissing of the desert wind and the
nervous snort of a skittish horse.
One of the onlookers suddenly broke rank, kicking his mount
into a slow canter. Both rider and horse came to a skidding
halt before the pyre. The rider raised his bow in salute and
shouted out something. The wind tore away his words. Without
warning, all the assembled Jedi burst into action, urging their
horses to gallop with breakneck speed. They looked as if they
were about to collide with each other but with sheer
horsemanship, they managed to pull away, yelling triumphantly
as they did so. This was called "The Last Ride". It was
supposed to grant the fallen warrior his final ride with the
tribes.
Only young Obi-Wan Kenobi stayed behind with the womanfolk. He
stared resolutely ahead, his eyes fixed on the pyre. To the
casual observer, the young man appeared emotionless, his lean
figure statue-like on his steed. Like the rest of the Jedi
tribes, he was dressed in the cream-colored tunic and draped
with the dark-robe colors of the Jedi warrior. It was whispered
that he wore the robes of Qui-Gon Jinn, the fallen warrior now
resting on the wooden pyre.
He simply watched the riders cavorting with seemingly mad
antics, shouting challenges to each other. Only the Jedi
tribeswomen closest to him could see his hands clenching
spasmodically on the pommel of his saddle. Only those nearest
to him could see the shudders that wracked his body.
A beautiful woman, clad in simple rust-hued robes, coaxed her
horse forward. "Obi-Wan."
He barely turned around to look at her. The woman with lovely
eyes and serene smile was the first wife of Tomu Gallia. She
pressed on bravely. "Obi-Wan?"
This time, he wheeled about on his saddle, his blue eyes
flashing dangerously. Adi Gallia drew back with alarm at the
uncommon ferocity. But the anger subsided almost immediately
and Obi-Wan gazed at her, his youthful face drawn with sorrow.
"You should have joined in," Adi Gallia said softly. "He would
have wanted you to. You are a Jedi warrior now."
"I made my choice," the voice that replied had a lilt to it. It
was a singer's voice, destined to fill the night sky with its
beauty.
His tone was final and Adi Gallia remained silent.
The Jedi horsemen finished "The Last Ride" and went back to
their tribes. There was a shrill scream in the sky and the Jedi
looked up. It was a circling desert hawk and the elders nodded
in approval. The desert hawk was considered a good sign, even
at a funeral.
Someone had lit a fire and now, the smoke billowed upwards. The
women began to wail once more and there were unshed tears in
the eyes of the assembled.
Obi-Wan Kenobi, recently made a full-fledged warrior, bit his
lower lip and closed his eyes, willing the tears to flow.
He had overseen the rites before the funeral proper. As the
womanfolk of the Jinn household dressed the corpse in his full
Jedi regalia, Obi-Wan made final preparations as well. He
placed the quiver of arrows and the prized bow next to the
body, adding the saber, the mark of a Jedi tribesman, at the
last minute. He couldn't bear looking at the tranquil features.
The eyes were closed; he appeared as if he was sleeping. The
hands were folded, holding the saber covered with
horse-leather.
No more soft-spoken "Obi-Wan". No more gentle caresses in the
nights.
Just silence. Damn the Great Mare and Her capricious nature. A
horse is just a horse. It serves its master but it is also an
effective killer with a single nasty kick.
Obi-Wan glared skyward, feeling a surge of irrational anger
towards the horse goddess. Mother Mare with Her Bounty. She had
another aspect, the Hell-Mare who would destroy crops and
trample your life to death. Why? Damn you. Why?
When did he first meet Qui-Gon, tribe leader of the Jinn tribe?
It seemed so long ago, so damned long ago. He was only a boy
then, a refugee from another Sith Horde attack. His own tribe
was killed, his parents slaughtered. He remembered it clearly.
He was crouching behind a wounded horse, sobbing helplessly as
if the earth would break. A tall figure emerged from the
smoke-filled surroundings like a wraith-spirit out of the Jedi
ghost lore. The figure knelt down, clad in the robes of another
Jedi tribe, and offered a large hand warmly. "Do not be afraid,
child." The voice was a smooth rumbling like a desert lion. The
hand covered his own cold trembling one, squeezing
reassuringly. "Come," it said and he remembered looking into a
bearded face, framed with long brownish-grey hair.
And those eyes. They were blue. They reminded Obi-Wan of a
cloudless sky or the mirror surface of some oasis lake.
Then Qui-Gon led him through the smoking wreckage to a band of
waiting riders. From that day onwards, he lived his life as a
Jinn tribe member, living and eating in their sand-proof tents.
He was grateful for Qui-Gon's generosity. Grateful. The word
sounded too simple, too devoid of meaning. His feelings for the
Jinn tribe leader were more complex ... deeper than being just
grateful. Grateful. Maybe, Adi Gallia was right afterall. He
should have taken part in "The Last Ride" as an act of profound
gratitude to the man. He was Qui-Gon's protÈgÈ,
nurtured and trained in the Jinn traditions. He had lived most
of his life under the warrior's guidance; he had learned so
much. Being grateful was the right response, the right emotion.
Grateful.
"The Last Ride" was not enough.
A high-pitched whistle drew Obi-Wan out from his reverie. He
straightened automatically, assuming the stern look of a Jedi
warrior. Yet he trembled still, wept inwardly and wished for
the funeral to end quickly.
There were puffs of sand as the horsemen appeared once more on
the field. This time they were Jinn family members, dressed in
the tribe's traditional finery. Silver threads decorated their
headdresses and glimmered at the cuffs of their sleeves. Their
boots were made of the finest horsehide, trimmed with silver.
They wore black tunics, an external sign of their mourning.
Like most of the Jedi tribes, they carried quivers full of
arrows, their bows hanging at the side of their saddles.
They arranged themselves into neat rows before the pyre. A
warrior separated from the group. Silence descended on the
assembled as they watched the warrior lift out an arrow from
his quiver and prepare to take aim. They all knew that the end
of the arrow was fitted with a strip of black cloth, the color
of death and mourning.
The Jinn warrior fired his arrow. It lanced through the air
with a low hum and lodged itself into one of the logs.
"The way is prepared," Obi-Wan heard the womanfolk muttering
softly. "The Great Mare awaits at the other end. Go to Her,
brother of the wind. Go."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and he wiped at the tears flowing
unrestrained down his cheek.
The warrior returned back to the group, taking his place
amongst grim-faced kin. They held their bows at a certain
angle, facing the sun. With a shout, they released the arrows.
Streamers of black exploded into the air, singing in a unique
shrilling. The streamers danced in the sky for a brief moment
like dragons before draping themselves gently on the pyre.
"The journey is set," the women whispered, united in their
grief. "The Great Mare beckons you to join Her in Her race."
The strains of the ma'qhing drifted across the suddenly quiet
plain. The tune was gentle, soothing the frayed nerves of the
mourners.
Qui-Gon loved the ma'qhing, the traditional stringed instrument
of the Jedi. He would enjoy sitting under the night sky, no
matter how cold it could get, and simply listen to the ballads.
He taught Obi-Wan to play the ma'qhing and they would sing to
the desert as Obi-Wan plucked at the strings.
"Your spirit will infuse the ma'qhing," Qui-Gon had told him
once as they shared the bowl of fermented horse-milk over the
fire.
"For a warrior and a tribe leader for that, you speak like a
musician. Like old Ai-Jah!" Obi-Wan had countered back
playfully. Only he dared the easy banter and camaraderie with
the head of the Jinn tribe.
Qui-Gon laughed, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. Obi-Wan
went back to playing the ma-qhing but he caught the older man
observing him with a peculiar expression. It made Obi-Wan blush
red with embarrassment.
He was sixteen, a growing teenager starting to best his friends
at the rough-and-tumble sports. He was performing well at the
horse races and his archery skills won praises from other
tribes. At this time, he wore a braid, signifying his position
as a warrior-in-training. Qui-Gon had personally braided his
hair and the man's face shone with pride as he touched the
finished braid with his fingers.
His close friendship with Qui-Gon was already causing heads to
turn and tongues to wag. No one dared to speak about it
publicly; only in the comfort of night did they dare mention
about it. For Obi-Wan, his closeness with the tribe leader was
a source of jealousy amongst the Jinn boys. They envied the
easy relationship between the two and wished that they were
fortunate enough to experience it. For Qui-Gon, the elders of
the tribe were showing their concern. He was already forty-five
but he hadn't found a suitable marriage-partner yet! What old
Ai-Jah and the rest of the elders were worried about was
Qui-Gon forming an unofficial bond with the foundling child. If
this were so, Obi-Wan would become, in a way, a minor wife
without real status, real power. They had rare cases of
warriors forming the unofficial marriage bond but one of the
partners would suffer at the end. It was not something that
they had envisioned.
And worse, Obi-Wan was like a son to Qui-Gon. Old Ai-Jah and
his cronies worried and worried. The Jedi has strict rules
about marriage and primogeniture. Although they allowed the
joining of two male warriors, they kept to the old ways,
permitting male-female marriages as the official (and thus)
accepted norm. The first wife of a household would be accorded
the full range of privileges; she would be able to stand beside
her husband as an equal. In the case of the minor wife, the
position allocated to the male partner of the warrior, the
situation would be different. The minor wife would be doomed to
a life of servitude and lack of formal recognition. At festive
gatherings, he would be seated among the womanfolk but he
wouldn't have the powers given to the first wives or the first
daughters of the households.
Obi-Wan didn't really care about the marriage laws. He simply
enjoyed being a Jedi warrior, riding hard under the twin suns
and playing with the lads. However, he was conscious of his
growing body and often he had examined the changes in his
physique in the privacy of the tent. He knew that he was
good-looking; the girls of the Jinn tribe were already making
eyes at him. Even with his sandy-brown hair cropped short, he
looked handsome. He found himself interested in one or two
girls but that was all. He was deeply aware of his own needs,
those that spoke straight to his groins. Sometimes, he compared
the size of his manhood in the company of the clique of friends
he had. Sometimes, he eased himself by stroking it to fullness.
He often saw Qui-Gon's eyes watching him during the morning
saber practice. At first, it made him perturbed with its
intensity. But he soon grew used to it. Furthermore, Obi-Wan
started to notice things about his foster-father and teacher,
things he didn't seem to see when he was younger. The man was
extremely regal with a slightly crooked nose. He might have
strains of off-worldly blood in him. He kept his long brownish
hair in a neat ponytail; loosened, the strands glowed with
sun-bronzed highlights. He was tall, towering over the rest of
the Jedi men. Only Mace of the Windu tribe and close friend of
Qui-Gon rivaled the Jinn leader in terms of height.
Yet, when he walked, Obi-Wan found himself drawn to the raw
magnetism exuded by the Jinn leader. Qui-Gon moved with a sense
of self-confidence, his stride easy and graceful like the lope
of the desert cat. Obi-Wan fantasized ... dreamed of holding
the older man ... and he was quickly ashamed. Soon, he realized
that every touch, every gesture from Qui-Gon made him feel
uncomfortable.
Qui-Gon had noticed his young fosterling withdrawing. But he
didn't press further.
Obi-Wan's attraction grew and he felt even worse. So one night,
after a silent dinner where he dropped his chopsticks into the
fire and spilled the horse-milk onto the mat, he stole out into
the biting cold. He was glad for his fur-lined tunic as he made
his way to the corral of horses. He had brought along his
ma'qhing and he began to play a doleful tune. The horses only
whickered at him and went back to their silence, stamping their
hooves.
"Sometimes a desert song is best sung in the night," a familiar
voice said suddenly in the darkness and Obi-Wan almost dropped
the stringed instrument from sheer fright. Relief and
embarrassment flooded into him when he saw the speaker walking
towards him.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said politely and stared at his booted feet.
The nearness of the man was driving him crazy inside.
"What's wrong, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's warm rumble held a hint of
concern. "You acted like a skittish colt during dinner."
"Nothing," Obi-Wan bit out and turned away, feeling the heat in
his face. A large hand fell onto his shoulder and he almost
bolted.
"Look at you," Qui-Gon chided.
"Don't touch me."
The growl forced Qui-Gon to hesitate and he lifted his
offending hand off the trembling --- trembling? ---shoulder.
"Obi-Wan?"
The wind became colder and Obi-Wan shuddered, hugging himself.
He knew that Qui-Gon was increasingly worried. The man had
folded his arms across his chest.
"You are my teacher. You are also my foster-father."
"Obi-Wan."
In the ensuing silence, a horse whinnied.
"It is wrong for me to feel anything else!" He shouted and ran
back to the tent, diving straight into the warm confines. He
made for his blankets and hid under them, hating himself for
saying too much ...and he was shocked to feel relieved as well.
A while later, Obi-Wan heard the flap open. He shut his eyes,
knowing that Qui-Gon was back. But for the whole night, the man
tactfully stayed away from him.
For a few days after Obi-Wan's confession, uncertainty entered
into the relationship. The two men were silent and the whole
tribe speculated. Obi-Wan appeared more taciturn than usual;
even the girls shied away from him. Qui-Gon brooded and the
elders wondered why.
Then the news of an invading Sith Horde came and the Jinn tribe
quickly mobilized. Obi-Wan shrugged off his self-imposed
silence and joined the Jinn boys in their preparations.
Huan-Hai and Di-An were dying to probe their friend further but
one icy glare from Obi-Wan made them think twice.
The Sith attacked with frightening precision, hitting the Jedi
with well-aimed shots from their strange weaponry.
What manner of creatures are they? Obi-Wan thought grimly as he
wiped the soot off his face. He had managed to kill two of the
black-clad warriors with his saber. He kicked the strange
wreckage with his boot. Odd weapons they use. I don't think
they ride horses anyway. He made a dent into the shiny metallic
...chariot?
"'WARE!"
Obi-Wan's warrior senses kicked in belatedly and he rolled
away. Within a few seconds, a Sith blade thudded where he was
standing. A tall figure, wearing only black, raised its blade
high above its head. Obi-Wan snarled.
The next thing he knew was the tall Sith warrior toppling over
and landing flat onto its face. Qui-Gon stood behind, his saber
dripping with dark blood. The wind blew at the older man's hair
as his blue eyes glittered like hard gems; he positively looked
like one Jedi warrior from the legends.
"Thank you..." Obi-Wan managed to whisper out before he caught
the man in his arms as Qui-Gon's legs buckled beneath him. It
was then Obi-Wan realized that Qui-Gon was badly injured.
"Next time..." Qui-Gon wheezed painfully. "Next time ...be more
alert!"
Obi-Wan looked at his hand, shocked to see fresh red blood
smeared across it. He needed to get Qui-Gon to the waiting Jinn
healers.
Qui-Gon was in a great deal of pain when the Jinn healers tried
to apply herbal poultices on the gaping wound around his waist.
The Sith blade had made its deadly mark and rumor had it that a
wound caused by a Sith blade would not heal. They bandaged it
up with clean strips of cloth as the Jinn leader gritted his
teeth and bore his pain manfully.
Obi-Wan hovered nearby anxiously.
"Thank the Great Mare that the wound is shallow..." Ai-Jah
said, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the sandy-haired youth
and frowned. The healers shuffled out and already Obi-Wan could
hear the wailing of the women.
He placed a piece of dry wood into the hearth-fire and sighed
as the flames flared into existence.
"Obi-Wan?" The pain-filled voice said from the pallet. "Play
...your ma'qhing for ...me."
So Obi-Wan did, strumming his ma'qhing and singing until his
throat became sore and dry. He sang on, letting his songs fill
the tent with their purity. He wanted the lyrics to wash over
the air of despair hanging above his head.
"Obi-Wan..."
A large hand crushed Obi-Wan's free hand and the younger man
hissed with the uncommon pain. He stared into the pale-blue
eyes ... and he was struck with the love he saw coming from
Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon loved him too. Not only as a teacher and a father, but
a lover as well.
Lover.
"I knew ... about your feelings for me ... "
"You did?" Obi-Wan asked stupidly and cursed. But the
realization sang like the bright tune of a ma'qhing within him:
Qui-Gon loved him!
A fit of harsh wheezing interrupted a soft chuckle.
"Hush, don't talk ... " Obi-Wan whispered quietly. The man on
the pallet was delirious.
"I want...you ..." Qui-Gon continued doggedly. "Not as minor
wife ...but first wife ..."
Now, he was truly delirious. Obi-Wan brushed his hand across
the perspiring brow.
"I want you recovered," Obi-Wan said sternly. "Then we can talk
more about first and minor wives."
Qui-Gon eased into a fitful slumber and Obi-Wan sank onto his
haunches, feeling numbed. Outside, Ai-Jah sighed sadly and
walked away.
Qui-Gon recovered rapidly and soon he was back onto his feet,
refusing help from Obi-Wan. He was ravenous as he healed from
his Sith wound and he fell to his food like a starving man.
"So what do you think?" Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan's wrist one
day after finishing a bowl of fermented horse-milk.
Obi-Wan froze.
"I don't want you to become minor wife..." Qui-Gon smiled,
stroking the younger man's arm tenderly. He was pleased to see
Obi-Wan shuddering with pleasure.
The youth didn't answer immediately. Instead, Obi-Wan mulled
the question over in his head. Ai-Jah had confronted him two
days earlier and had subjected him to a lecture on Jedi
marriage laws. He had now understood the difference between a
first wife and a minor wife. It had left a bad taste in his
mouth.
"You can't break Jedi traditions," Obi-Wan repeated even though
his heart broke and shattered into a million pieces.
"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon whispered and drew the youth into his
arms. "My little windrunner ..." He tilted Obi-Wan's chin so
that he could kiss the soft lips. He did, brushing his lips on
the unprotesting mouth. Obi-Wan moaned softly, snuggling
closely into the man's warmth. He could feel the moist tongue
sliding into his mouth and he welcomed it, his body aching with
a nice kind of pain.
It was the hardness pressing into his groins that shocked him.
Obi-Wan pulled away, suddenly afraid. Qui-Gon's eyes were dark
with desire and he panted, shaking his head.
"It's too fast," Obi-Wan said, seeing the bulge in the man's
horse-leather pants. "I ..."
"I know, little windrunner ..." Qui-Gon said hoarsely even
though his need was strong. "I will give you ...two more years
..."
For two years, Qui-Gon Jinn waited for Obi-Wan's answer. For
two years, the relationship between the two men became
stronger, if not unbreakable. Slowly as the months wore on,
Obi-Wan allowed Qui-Gon to share his sleeping pallet and soon
they cuddled each other to sleep, sharing their body warmth in
the cold winter nights.
When Obi-Wan turned eighteen, he was ready. By then, he had
matured into a fine young man. His muscles had hardened after
hours of training, his body now lithe and lean. He kept his
hair short and his braid curled around his slim waist. Qui-Gon
experienced a rush of pride and admiration as he watched
Obi-Wan race under the bright Tatooine suns. Obi-Wan's firm
skin was bronze in the sunlight and as he lifted his head to
shout a challenge to the sky, his hair caught fire, glistening
gold. The Jinn leader knew that Obi-Wan was ready to become a
full-fledged Jedi warrior. He also knew that he couldn't wait
any longer.
"You must re-consider, Qui-Gon!" Ai-Jah had told him once; the
old man's tone was subtle. He dared not reprimand his tribal
leader outright but his body language conveyed his emotions of
anxiety and anger. "You are Jinn's leader, son of the great
Chai-An. The bloodline of true Jedi horsemen flows in your
veins! Please re-think your decision. At least, send Obi-Wan to
other tribes. The Windu and Gallia tribes are proud to have him
as a warrior..."
Qui-Gon faced the elder, his eyes hooded. "What did you just
say?"
Ai-Jah knew then that he had said too much.
The Jinn leader began to pace like a trapped stallion. Every
step he took told Ai-Jah that he was fuming inside. He was
trying to control his temper ... though barely. When Qui-Gon
finally stopped, he turned around to face Ai-Jah with a steely
gaze.
"No, I am not going to send Obi-Wan away."
He sent Obi-Wan instead on a hunting trip to test his warrior
skills. Qui-Gon rode alongside the young man, quietly observing
Obi-Wan. The young man seemed to have grown more and more
beautiful, day by day. How strong he had grown! From a scrawny
twelve-year-old lad, an orphan from a now-dead tribe ... to a
young man, so full of life! He ached to hold Obi-Wan in his
arms ...
Obi-Wan caught two desert mouse deer and he triumphantly held
his prize aloft. Exhilaration hummed in his veins and he began
to sing. The plains shimmered with heat and they echoed with
his song. Unexpectedly, he kicked his horse into a tight gallop
and he took off, laughing with his robes flying in the wind.
Qui-Gon grinned and followed suit, urging his stallion to catch
up with the disappearing horse and rider.
They raced. They let the wind scream by their ears, let the
sand hiss on their skin and they reveled as their horses
finally drew abreast. Powerful hooves thundered, churning out
great clouds of sand. Qui-Gon leaned close and pulled at the
reins. He glanced at Obi-Wan's face, taking note of the young
man as he did so. The horses began to slow down, easing into a
canter.
Then, Qui-Gon grabbed hold of Obi-Wan and they fell, tumbling
onto the hard gritty ground. Obi-Wan yelped with pain as his
skin rubbed painfully against the sand. They tumbled and
tumbled, finally rolling to a halt. They found themselves in
the shade of a sand dune. At this time, Obi-Wan was gasping
with great painful breaths. His heart hammered in his ribcage
and he gazed into Qui-Gon's eyes. His arms were pinned to the
ground and he felt Qui-Gon's hard arousal between his legs.
In the heat of the mid-morning sun, they made love. They
started with kisses and they proceeded to pull their clothes
off, so great was their need for each other. Qui-Gon pleasured
the younger man, alternately stroking and nibbling the
sensitive tip of Obi-Wan's manhood. They didn't care about the
sand and the heat. They had only eyes for each other. Obi-Wan
hesitated at first at the sight of the older man's organ but
his desire got the better of him and he pleasured Qui-Gon until
the man cried out with a mixture of delight and agony.
Their lovemaking had them rolling on the sand. Qui-Gon clamped
down his desire to enter into the youth even though Obi-Wan was
ready and his wide blue eyes begged him to complete the deed.
No, it would hurt since it would be Obi-Wan's first time of
sorts. The sand would make it worse. Later, in the comfort of
their tent, they would make love again.
Instead, Qui-Gon dry-humped Obi-Wan until the youth was wild
with pleasure. He held Obi-Wan in his arms as the orgasmic
shudders rippled across the slim body again and again.
They rested, holding each other. Obi-Wan caressed the older
man's face, infused with a sense of tenderness. He would be
happy if they stayed together like this forever. It was a
powerful feeling: your beloved in your arms and both of you
alone under the blue sky.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said quietly and the young man quickly
responded with a kiss. "No ...not now. I want to say that you
are a warrior now..."
Obi-Wan drew back, looked Qui-Gon in the eye. Joy shone in
those blue eyes.
"Here," Qui-Gon produced a small knife and with a swift stroke,
he cut off the braid.
Obi-Wan gasped. Tears filled his eyes and he clutched at
Qui-Gon's arm, unable to explain his gratitude.
Grateful.
Obi-Wan ground his teeth as fresh tears threatened to flow down
his face. He was back at the horrible funeral. Back to reality.
The wooden pyre was still there. Not the sand dune. Not the
tent. The wooden pyre was still there.
Two horsemen approached him. He recognized them as Yoda and
Mace, two important tribe leaders. Obi-Wan felt his anger
re-surface. Weren't they those who protested, together with
Ai-Jah now infirm and immobile on his bed?
"Obi-Wan," Yoda said as the wizened Jedi leader halted before
the man's horse.
Obi-Wan accorded him with a stiff nod.
Mace shook his head. "Do you really want to do this?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan said coldly. "I am first wife of the Jinn
household."
"Impertinence!" Yoda snapped and Obi-Wan glared unforgivingly
at the old man. "You are not first wife. Minor wife!"
"Before he died, he made me his first wife. Damn you, Yoda,
can't you let me mourn his death in peace!" Obi-Wan directed
all his scorn at the tribe leaders. He also made sure that
everyone heard him. "Damn all Jedi traditions. Damn the Great
Mare. Damn your interference!"
With a violent jerk of the reins, Obi-Wan turned his horse
around and pointedly left.
Yoda didn't say anything.
Ai-Jah had alerted other tribes of Qui-Gon's 'unhealthy'
relationship with Obi-Wan Kenobi. Very soon, tribe leaders and
heads appeared at the Jinn camp to speak their minds. They had
expressed their displeasure and twice they tried to send
Obi-Wan away. They attempted to send him to the borders where
he was supposed to fight alongside with the Emperor's army.
Twice they failed for Obi-Wan ran away.
His love for Qui-Gon became stronger. In the nights, they made
passionate love, plunging themselves into heady pleasure.
Obi-Wan had never known such love, such pleasure and he often
wept happy tears after a particular session of lovemaking.
In the day, Obi-Wan walked beside Qui-Gon, aware of the curious
looks and whispering. He walked taller and straighter, ignoring
the finger pointing.
His ma'qhing skills improved too and he would sing to Qui-Gon
after dinner. He would sing of nightly pleasures, of sun-kissed
skins and of sensuous flowing water. Afterwards, he would put
away his ma'qhing into its leather pouch and he would snuggle
into Qui-Gon's body, nuzzling his throat. It was a period of
love and intense emotion. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon wanted it to go
on.
But it seemed that the Great Mare ... the Hell-mare ... had
other plans in mind.
When Obi-Wan turned twenty-five, when the Jedi were pushed
further inland, Qui-Gon Jinn was killed by a Sith warrior.
The Jedi suffered great losses that day. Obi-Wan fought like
one man possessed but he couldn't keep the Sith Horde from
razing the tribe. He made sure his saber crushed skulls and hip
bones ...even though he knew that the Sith were winning this
time. There were screams and moans of the dying all around him.
The carcasses of horses littered the ground, turning the air
cloying sweet with their burning flesh. Somewhere, he knew that
Qui-Gon was fighting and his heart sang with pride.
Obi-Wan wheeled around, just in time to see Qui-Gon's tall
figure kneel down and topple over. A black-robed Sith warrior
howled its bloodthirsty cry of triumph.
Obi-Wan's heart stopped beating and shattered. He stared at the
robed Sith dumbly at first. Then, white-hot fury overwhelmed
him and he ran towards the killer of his lover, screaming his
rage.
The red-and-black demon face leered at him, mocking him.
Taunting him.
They fought, Obi-Wan driven by blind anger and despair. At
last, he killed the Sith warrior. As it lay dead on the blood
stained sand, Obi-Wan trembled over the corpse. He was bathed
with blood, his opponent's blood.
Qui-Gon!
He ran over to the fallen warrior and cradled the man in his
arms. His soul shivered to feel the coldness in Qui-Gon's hand.
Obi-Wan began to sob, brushing the pale face with his hand.
No!
"Obi-Wan ..." Qui-Gon rasped out. "I want ...to speak to you
...before I go ..."
"No. Don't you dare say that!" Obi-Wan tried to sound fierce
but he failed.
Qui-Gon's following words were so soft that Obi-Wan had to lean
close. The words sank into Obi-Wan's dazed psyche. His eyes
opened wide. Qui-Gon became limp in his arms.
For a moment, Obi-Wan rested his cheek on Qui-Gon's pallid
face. Then, he lifted his head and howled his hatred and sorrow
to the Great Mare.
The ma'qhing was heard once more and Obi-Wan kicked his horse
forward. In his hands, he held his hunting bow and an arrow
with its sharp tip covered with oiled cloth. Silently, he
dipped the arrow into the fire.
There were the sounds of women sobbing as he made his way to
the middle of the field. He kept his gaze resolutely ahead. He
didn't care whether the smoke from the fire was irritating his
eyes. He only knew that his horse moved. His heart was already
somewhere else.
He was going to perform his last obligation. He was going to
light the pyre.
Normally, it was the task of the first wife to do so, her last
act of honor for her husband. Obi-Wan didn't care. He was first
wife of Qui-Gon Jinn, tribe leader of the Jinn people. And he
was going to finish the rite, no matter how scandalous it was
going to be in the eyes of the traditional Jedi folk.
The silence was deafening. Obi-Wan began to sing. It was a
desert song where the lyrics spoke of the beloved waiting for
his mate. His mate was coming in from the horizon and the
beloved's heart swelled with joy. There would be the jubilation
of reunion, the promise of fulfillment.
When he finished, half of the assembled Jedi wept unabashedly.
Even Yoda bowed his head and whispered a prayer to the Great
Mare.
Obi-Wan aimed and fired. The arrow flamed across the air and
landed perfectly right in the middle of the pyre. As he
watched, tears streaming down his cheeks, the fire spread
inexorably, branching and worming its way across the pyre.
He turned the horse around and left the field where the other
riders took over, firing more arrows into the already-burning
pyre. The smell of burning wood was strong and the smoke burned
the eyes.
His last duty was done.
With a small knowing smile on his lips, Obi-Wan headed for the
sand plains, away from the assembled tribes and his kin. There
he would go.
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