Archive: anywhere, as often as possible, just let me know
Category: angst, drama (I guess)
Rating: PG
Summary: Obi-Wan faces the first of the Trials he must pass in
order to become a Jedi Knight.
Disclaimer: The boyz aren't mine, much as I wish they were.
They belong to George Lucas, who is a kind man for creating
such a wonderful universe for us all to play in.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Author's Notes: I came home from work tonight, sat down at my
computer, and started typing. Now, five hours later, I'm done.
In strict accordance with the rules of obsession, I shall not
wait for this to be beta'ed and will post it at once. Keep that
in mind as you find whatever mistakes are bound to be in here.
As tradition decreed, Obi-Wan went alone with his Master to
face his first Trial. He was twenty-five years old, a man grown
now, even though at times he still felt like the timid little
whelp who used to huddle inside the folds of his Master's robe,
seeking security from all the unknown horrors of the world. At
times, he wished he could still do so.
The name of the planet they came to was unknown to him. It was
uninhabited, insignificant, except that its single orbiting
moon housed what was known by vernacular as The Devil's Heart.
All of the Padawans had heard of this Trial, and its nature was
a matter of endless speculation. It was a secret that was
well-guarded among the Jedi, and the Knights who passed through
it weren't telling.
These thoughts were fresh in Obi-Wan's mind as he followed his
Master up the steeply sloped terrain of the jungle moon, boots
crunching on the blanket of dried leaves that covered the
ground. Tall, sweeping trees rose around him on all sides, dark
and unfathomable against a silver sky, the first stars of
evening just beginning to appear in that great void. This was
the moon's dry season, and the branches of the trees wept for
want of water, shedding their curling leaves like tears.
It was also abominably cold, and he understood now why Qui-Gon
had insisted he wear his winter garments. No snow yet, but that
would come in time. The land around him seemed to be locked in
a kind of stasis, holding its breath in anticipation of those
first feathery flakes. He tried to imagine this mountainous
environment couched in a concealing blanket of white, and
smiled.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?"
He looked up to see Qui-Gon glancing back at him, a knowing
smile touching the soft fullness of his lips. The hood of his
robe was pulled up around his head, warding off the worst of
the cold, but his breath still frosted the air in front of his
face.
"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, holding out his hand. Qui-Gon took it
and pulled him up next to him. Obi-Wan sighed as the bigger man
nuzzled his ear.
"We're almost there," Qui-Gon whispered to him. "Are you
nervous?"
He nodded. He was actually trying very hard not to think about
it. "Is there nothing you can tell me?" Not knowing what to
expect was the hardest part.
Qui-Gon stepped away from him, curling his fingers between his
young lover's and holding his hand as he turned to continue up
the trail. "You know better than to ask, love. But don't worry.
I have every confidence in you."
It was almost fully dark when they reached the mountaintop.
Obi-Wan went immediately to gather wood for a fire, while
Qui-Gon erected a temporary shelter. Without needing to use the
Force, Obi-Wan soon had an adequate blaze flickering merrily in
front of their tent.
Qui-Gon was leaning back against a fallen log, settling his
long frame comfortably. The firelight touched his stolid
features with a soft glow, flickering in the dark circles of
his eyes. He looked unaccountably beautiful sitting there, this
man whom Obi-Wan loved. Obi-Wan felt a tug at his heart as he
felt the fire in those eyes burn into him.
Qui-Gon held open one side of his robe, and Obi-Wan eagerly
moved to accept the invitation, cuddling up close to his lover,
shivering in sheer pleasure as that robe was wrapped tight
around him. The warmth of their campfire was especially welcome
at his back, and he sighed in pure happiness, letting go of his
fears for one bright moment. He pressed his lips to the curve
of Qui-Gon's throat, his breath warming them both.
They kissed then, softly and lingeringly. Qui-Gon tasted like
the wild winter woods, strong and sharp and beautiful. Obi-Wan
slid his hands inside the bigger man's tunic, touching warm
skin, and he sighed as his Master's long fingers massaged at
his shoulders and neck, one strong arm holding him tight
against that solid body.
He wished that the kissing and petting could go on forever, but
it was time. He knew it even before Qui-Gon pulled away from
him, rumbling deeply in pleasure as Obi-Wan's fingers stroked
through the hairs of his chest. Qui-Gon caught his hand in his
own and pressed a kiss to the backs of those trembling fingers.
"Don't be afraid, my love," he said quietly, holding Obi-Wan's
hand up to his cheek and gazing into the other man's eyes.
"I am afraid," Obi-Wan admitted in a whisper. "I don't want to
disappoint you."
Qui-Gon smiled then. "Nothing you do could ever disappoint me."
He leaned down to plant one final kiss atop the bridge of
Obi-Wan's nose and then released him.
"What do I do?" Obi-Wan asked, suddenly feeling very cold.
"You will know when the time comes," Qui-Gon replied.
So Obi-Wan turned and left, leaving his Master behind. He knew
that the Trial was something he had to face alone, without help
or encouragement beyond what his Master could provide at the
outset. Soon the camp was lost from view behind him. He did not
look back.
He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he was being
drawn toward . . . something. It was an odd feeling, but he
trusted to his senses and let the Force guide him.
He found the cave only a few dozen yards back into the trees, a
black, gaping mouth half-hidden beneath a heavy overhang of
rock. The cold that sighed out from within seemed to have
nothing to do with the temperature of the air on his skin. He
could feel it in his bones, in his heart. There was something
very Dark about that cold. He felt afraid suddenly of more than
just failure.
He carried no weapon. You will only face that which you
bring with you, Qui-Gon had told him, the only advice he
had been allowed to give. Taking a deep breath, he focused on
the Force, feeling the fear drain away from him. What did he
want to bring with him? That was easy - his love for Qui-Gon.
Filling his thoughts with memories of warm love and tender
passion, he felt the coldness recede from him slightly. Taking
another breath, he stepped into the cave.
Darkness surrounded him. The interior of the cave was dank,
filled with unpleasant smells and unidentifiable scufflings. He
was not alone here; he could hear the soft scraping movements
of the creatures that inhabited this murky hole, living out
their blind lives here in the whispering dark.
Hands held palm-forward in front of his face, he moved deeper
into the cave. The floor was thankfully smooth and provided no
obstacles for his slow, shuffling steps. His fingers touched
the back wall, slick with slime and lichen, and he dropped his
hands down to his sides.
He turned slowly, fighting disorientation. The darkness here
was complete. His eyes were starting to ache from the effort of
straining to see in that inky void, trying to make out a shape,
an outline, anything, searching for some hint of light where
there was none. The sound of his breathing was harsh in his
ears.
A movement to his left made him turn. He was startled to see a
shape coalesce out of the blackness, glowing faintly with a
pale, ghostly light. Low murmurs and soft, gasping cries
reached his ears, and he stared, dumbfounded, at the scene that
appeared before him. Naked bodies slid sinuously together
underneath a half-covering of loose blankets, moving in a
tender rhythm. He recognized the two lovers immediately as
Qui-Gon and himself. They wavered in front of his eyes,
dream-like, still glowing faintly with that corpse-white light.
He blinked, not sure what to make of it. His heart was pounding
in his chest.
"What's going on?" he whispered, unaware as he said it that he
had spoken aloud.
Around him, the darkness seemed to sigh against his face. He
thought for a moment that he felt something clutch at his
ankle, but when he shook his leg, there was nothing there. Wary
now, he took a step backward, feeling his back press against
the wall.
"Who's there?" he said in tentative challenge, his voice
echoing in the large chamber.
A breath of giddy laughter slid past his ear, there and then
gone. No, he hadn't imagined it.
"What is this place?" he demanded, truly frightened now. The
dampness of the rock wall was starting to seep through his
clothes.
So soft that he could almost believe it existed only in his
imagination, a voice whispered to him from out of the dark. It
was sexless, ageless, devoid of accent or any other identifying
characteristic. It was merely a Voice, cold and sinuous and
full of dark amusement.
You stand in The Devil's Heart, young Padawan, said the
Voice.
Obi-Wan shook his head in denunciation. "Devil's Heart" was a
Padawan name given to a test that they did not understand; it
meant nothing to him. Next to him, the ghostly lovers moaned in
their lovemaking, eyes closed in the tender grip of passion,
sharing breath as their lips met in a deep kiss.
"What is the meaning of this?" He indicated the writhing
figures with a brusque gesture, unwilling to draw too close.
His body was starting to respond to the low chorus of sighs and
moans, sounds as familiar to him as they were arousing. The
sight of his Master's face, lashes dark against his cheeks,
lifting back with an expression of pure rapture . . . his own
head lifting to kiss the silken skin of the bared throat. . .
He looked sharply away, struggling to get his breathing under
control.
What you see is only the image you carry within your
heart. The Voice sounded strangely smug, as if it had put
the image there itself. Why do you fear it, young
Padawan?
"Because it's not real." As if of their own accord, his eyes
slid back toward the gasping lovers.
So sure of this, are you? The Voice was amused. What,
then, is real? Are you real? Am I?
That got his attention. "Who are you?"
This time, the Voice did not deign to respond. Obi-Wan had a
sudden feeling that he was standing here having a conversation
with himself.
After a long silence, the Voice spoke again. Is this
real?
And the scene before him shifted. The ghost-lovers faded away
as if they had never existed, and in their place a tall, robed
figure loomed. Obi-Wan fell back with a cry, but in the next
instant, he recognized the stern face that gazed at him.
"Qui-Gon," he breathed, his senses reeling.
"This way, Padawan. Hurry." And then the figure turned and ran
in a billowing of dark robes. Obi-Wan noticed for the first
time that the Jedi Master held his lightsaber tightly in one
big hand.
Obi-Wan launched himself off the wall, chasing after his
Master. The pallid green radiance of Qui-Gon's lightsaber led
him onward into the dark, and it took him a moment to realize
that his boots were ringing on the hard deckplates of a ship
instead of the broken rock floor of a cave. Stunned, he skidded
to a breathless halt.
He was standing in a long corridor, illuminated brightly with
an even, white light. He closed his eyes tightly, but when he
opened them again, the corridor stubbornly remained.
"This can't be real," he whispered.
Ahead of him, he could hear the sounds of fighting coming from
further down the corridor. Even as he tried furiously to deny
the evidence of his senses, the sounds drew closer.
He realized that he was holding his own lightsaber. With just
the barest of thoughts, he ignited it, gazing in disbelief at
the shimmering blue blade. The cool metal of the hilt felt
undeniably solid in his hand.
Before he could think what to do, two battling figures came
into view. He stared in horror at the scene before him, feeling
his mouth go dry. Qui-Gon was locked in a vicious battle with a
black-robed monstrosity, with amber eyes and stunted horns and
a snarling face that was tattooed in an alarming pattern of red
and black. The creature fought with demonic glee, its weapon a
long, double-bladed lightsaber that pulsed red like freshly
spilled blood.
Qui-Gon was faltering under the heavy blows, obviously fatigued
after a long, exhaustive fight. Obi-Wan saw his Master stumble
under the demon's next brutal attack, and that broke him out of
his paralysis.
"Master!" he cried. Tightening his grip around his lightsaber,
he shot forward down the hall. After only a few yards, however,
he was brought up short by a wall of hissing light that sprang
up directly in front of him.
He stared in disbelief, shaking with the need to do something,
anything, to help his beleaguered Master. Completely helpless,
he watched in agony as the demon pressed his Master further
back, hovering at the edge of a deep pit, red blade meeting
green in a cascade of explosive sparks.
Then the inevitable blow struck home, and Obi-Wan felt as if it
had carved a hole in his own chest. He stared, unable to
breathe, as Qui-Gon's tall form crumpled to the floor, the
blade of his lightsaber extinguishing as it fell from his
grasp. The demon stood over his fallen body and lifted
hate-filled eyes to meet Obi-Wan's shocked stare. A slow grin
pulled at the corners of that fearsome mouth.
Abruptly, the laser wall shut down, releasing him. He surged
forward with a howl of pure anguish, noticing only peripherally
that the demon who had struck down his lover had disappeared.
Falling to his knees next to that shattered body, he lifted the
placid head and shoulders and cradled him gently in his arms.
"Master," he said in a whisper, burying his face in the thick,
soft hair that spilled over his arms. Sobs shook through his
stooped frame. "Oh, Master. I failed you. I should have been
there, but I wasn't. I'm so sorry, Master."
"I forgive you, Obi-Wan." The voice that rose from those
blood-flecked lips was a dry husk of its former rich timbre.
Storm-blue eyes gazed up at him, calmly accepting. "Please
don't . . . blame yourself. I forgive, my Padawan."
Obi-Wan touched a tremulous kiss to the lips that he knew so
well, giving voice to a wordless keen of pure misery. He held
the beloved body close to him, pressing a tear-stained cheek
against the long hair, rocking gently. "Master," he whispered,
over and over. "Master."
If only there was something he could do to heal his fatally
injured lover. He could feel the Force flowing like a banked
fire within him, but it wasn't enough, not near enough. He
gritted his teeth in frustration as he groped for the
maddeningly elusive threads of power that he knew were inside
of him, just waiting to be used. But it was no use; his control
of the Force was not yet enough to allow him this kind of
mastery.
"No!" he screamed, a single word of mindless defiance. He could
feel the Dark Side pressing up around him, enfolding him,
wrapping him in its warm, seductive embrace. Oh, how easy it
could be, to just take what was being offered. Just take the
power, and with it, take back his lover's life.
"Please . . . Obi-Wan . . ." Qui-Gon's breath was a shallow
rasp in his chest now, his body contorting with the pain of the
death that sought to claim him. Fingers hooked claw-like in
Obi-Wan's robes, pulling him down.
Obi-Wan stared, his loyalties torn, when suddenly a thought
occurred to him. His eyes narrowed, and he blinked, once, as if
waking from a deeply seductive dream.
"You aren't Qui-Gon," he said quietly.
Pain-filled eyes stared up at him, pleading. "Obi-Wan. . ."
Releasing that shattered body was the hardest thing he had ever
had to do. Resolutely, he untangled the hooked fingers from his
robe and dropped the clutching hands to the floor, sliding back
out of reach.
"You are not my Master," he repeated, firmly. "My Master would
never have forgiven me for allowing him to die." Fresh tears
stung at his eyes as he added softly, "My Master would have
said that there was nothing to forgive."
As soon as the words left his mouth, the scene around him
unraveled. Qui-Gon's broken body breathed a last shuddering
sigh and then faded from view. Within seconds, he was crouched
once again in complete blackness, the cold rock floor of the
cave hard under his knees.
The Voice rose up out of the dark around him. Well done,
young Padawan. You have passed your first Trial.
This commendation brought surprisingly little elation with it.
He knelt there, completely wrung out, feeling wretched. "It was
all a dream," he whispered, half in query, half in desperate
hope.
A dream? Perhaps. Always in motion, the future is.
He raised his head with a stricken look. "The future? That was
a scene from my future?"
One possible future. The tone was ambiguous.
Enough. Drawing on his last reserves of strength, he pulled
himself to his feet and stumbled back towards the entrance of
the cave. After the blackness that he had grown accustomed to,
even the mingled starlight hurt his eyes. He squinted, hovering
at the mouth of the cavern, hesitant to step outside. Casting
one last glance over his shoulder, he considered all that he
had learned.
Then he turned his back on the darkness, and stepped forward
into the light. He allowed himself a brief smile as he realized
the truth of his victory.
Whistling softly under his breath, he started back towards the
camp, and his Master, and home.
Finis.
"The devil's heart knows no mockery, only truth.
This, then, is our prison."
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