On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe: Grief

by Flamethrower

Title: On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe
Book 3 - Grief

Author: Flamethrower

Archive: MA & my Archive

Category: Q/O, AU, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, Boatloads of Angst

Rating: M

Warning: The entire series is rather dark & depressing, but what do you expect from a crossover based on The Crow?

Spoilers: Read Books 1 & 2 if you're running behind.

Summary: Some memories bring pain as well as joy.

Notes: This is a long-term project of mine, begun in 2002, that's just now nearing completion. This fic has gone a long, long, long, LONG way without ever having been published in its entirety, and only my betas and artists have seen anything beyond the first book. I'm relieved and sad and horrified to see it done. There are seven books in all. I'll be publishing one book per month.

All artwork for the series can be found here.

And hey, I still need covers for books 2-7, and artwork for the inside. Please to be helping me, yes? :)

Feedback: Please? I'll try to be better about prompt replies...

Thanks: WriteStuff & Merry Amelie for primary beta-work and boot camp, Laura for constant, nagging encouragement ;) and everyone else who's joined this ride. Hope you're having fun!

Disclaimer: No money made, no profit intended, please don't sue I'm too poor...

Misdirection

The Council summons was unexpected, which likely meant they were back on the mission roster once more. Anakin grumbled about them seeming to be the team most in demand for dealing with the Confederacy's border disputes, but there was no real ire in his words. Qui-Gon was normally serene about such matters, but this morning he found himself ill at ease. Ben had yet to return to his quarters after last night's unusual departure, and wasn't answering his comm. The Force was quiescent, refusing to admit whether Ben still existed or not. That worry aside, he'd also wanted the chance to spend more time in the younger man's company, to pursue that potential they both felt.

They entered the Council chamber and came to a halt in the center of the room, Anakin to Qui-Gon's right and behind him two steps, and they both bowed to the assembled Council. There were only six Councilors in attendance-Mace Windu, Master Yoda, Ki-Adi Mundi, Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti, and Saesee Tiin. Under normal circumstances that would not bother him, but today he knew all but two members of the Council were on Coruscant. He looked at Yoda, taking in his set, lowered ears, and at Mace, who was even more grim than usual. "What's happened?"

"We'll brief you in a moment, Master Jinn," Ki-Adi Mundi said, resting his hand on the arm of his chair. "There is another Jedi joining us, but he is running late."

"Give the man a break, Ki," Adi said, smiling. "I think he was out all night again."

After a moment he heard the sound of pounding feet in the antechamber, and a moment later Ben Lars slid into the Council chamber to join them. "Sorry!" he said, shoving his arms into the cloak he'd been carrying instead of wearing. "I only just got in and saw the message on the terminal in my room."

"Don't you own a comm?" Shaak Ti said, grinning at him. "And what did you do, fall in a shredder?" she asked. Qui-Gon took in the rough state of Ben's clothing and had to agree with her. There were several charred spots on his cloak, and his tunics looked frayed, at best. Despite that, however, he was still in excellent form. The long hair, the braids, the clean-shaven skin-Qui-Gon was just as fascinated by the man's appearance in the light of day as he had been last night, when he'd been shocked speechless. Forget striking. The man looked damn-near edible.

Ben smiled back at the Councilor and removed his comm from his belt, holding it up. It was twisted and blackened, a lump of useless plastic and metal. "No, the shredder was yesterday. Today it was Aurra Sing, trying to assassinate one of our allies."

"Sith," Mace spat, shaking his head. Qui-Gon found himself echoing the sentiment. "That's the last thing we need. Did she succeed?"

Ben narrowed his eyes, like the question was beneath him. "Of course not. She did escape, but it will be at least a few months before we hear from her again. She's missing an arm."

"I told you we should have come with you," Anakin said under his breath as Ben walked over to join them, standing to Qui-Gon's left and one step behind him, in deference to Qui-Gon's higher rank.

"If you're very good and your Master says you can come out and play, next time you can join me," Ben murmured back, a hint of a smirk lurking on his face. Qui-Gon was hard-pressed not to smile at the by-play; it was like the two had been born siblings, so quickly had they fallen into the role of brothers.

"Boys," Adi said, her eyes dancing. "Behave."

"A companion you are missing," Yoda observed, gazing at Ben.

"He's delivering messages for me, Master," Ben said, bowing his head in response. "And he has informed me with much foul language that he is not a messenger bird."

Mace gave Ben a brief smile before sobering once more. "Qui-Gon, Padawan Skywalker, you're here because of your prior involvement and experience with the Sith. We," he gestured with his hand at the other Masters, "are the Council of Six, something Shaak Ti dubbed us in a less stressful moment. Due to expediency, opportunity, and the need for extreme secrecy, the other half of the Council does not know anything that I am about to tell you. Do I make myself clear?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Perfectly," he said, even as he wondered about the exclusion of the rest of the Council.

"Absolutely," Anakin chimed in.

"Knight Lars already knew of our existence, as he created one of those opportunities," Ki-Adi Mundi continued. "He has been tasked to find the Sith Lord, not by us, but by the Force itself."

Qui-Gon looked over at the younger Knight, who didn't bat an eyelash at the Councilor's words. Gods, he thought. No wonder Ben had submerged himself in 'plast and paperwork for so long, with that kind of impetus driving him. Despite the impossible-sounding nature of the task, though, Ben had made more headway in a month than the entire Order had managed in a decade.

Then Shaak Ti began speaking, telling them of what Ben had uncovered, and it was like the galaxy shifted under his feet. "This is insane," he said at last, when Shaak Ti finished by saying that while they could indeed locate the Office of Republic Security's headquarters, no one could find out who was in charge of the new bureau. "Someone has to be giving them their orders."

"Indeed," said Mace. "And after conferring together, we believe that it's the Sith. How, we have no idea, but he's using the mandate slipped into one of the last trade agreements to run the Office like it's his own private army."

"The timing on that raid was too good for it not to have been the work of a Force-sensitive," Ben added. "A Jedi Master would have the power to make the clone soldiers forget, but no Jedi I know of would follow through with this."

"Agreed," Adi said. "Which is why we must be cautious, but also why we must move quickly."

"We've uncovered more instances of their use, including on-site executions. They're creating an aura of fear in the midlevels that is unacceptable. Worse, we seem to have no legal ability to stop them," Saesee Tiin growled.

"Dooku is dead, but the Sith appears to have had other allies, one of whom we believe was taught by Dooku," Mace said, leaning forward in his chair. "He trained an apprentice of his own, despite the Sith folklore of the Rule of Two. Her name, as far as we can determine, is Ventress, and she has been seen carrying Knight Komari Vosa's twin lightsabers."

"And what about Knight Vosa?" Qui-Gon asked, and his heart sank when he saw Yoda's ears lower even further.

"Dead," Shaak Ti said, her voice full of regret. "Quinlan Vos found her body, abandoned and decaying on one of the moons of Iego. Knight Vos's psychometry tells us that she was killed by her own Master."

"Damn," Qui-Gon said, resisting the urge to clench his hands into fists. He felt a moment of anger and outrage at his former Master and then let it go, for it was far too late for such things now. Despite Komari's rough start, she had turned into an excellent Jedi Knight, a woman he'd been proud to consider his sister Padawan. "She will be missed."

"The three of you must go to Bestine IV, tonight," Mace instructed. "We know that Ventress is there right now; if you're lucky, she'll still be there in two days. If not, you may be able to trail her from that location. We cannot, must not, allow the Sith Lord to retain any potential allies among the Confederates, even if the Sith is just using them as a means to an end. The weaker we can keep his power base, the longer we can hold out against him. Unfortunately, you're also working under a time limit."

"Time limit?" Qui-Gon asked, feeling Anakin's confusion through their bond. "Why?"

Saesee Tiin grimaced. "The Loyalist Committee is a pain in the backside, but it seems we have allies hiding within its ranks. Don't ask for their identities, for only Knight Lars knows, and he's not telling. Under the guise of unity, twenty Jedi have been invited to attend the Chancellor's next gala. The three of you are on that short list."

"Oh. Great," Anakin muttered under his breath.

Qui-Gon would never have admitted it, but he shared his Padawan's sentiment. He'd had enough of political elbow-rubbing to last a lifetime, and that had been before Palpatine took office. "How will that help us?"

He saw Ben hold up his hands, wiggling his fingers. "Advanced psychometry and a nudge from the Force, both useful for pointing me in the right direction among people I normally have no access to," Ben explained. "I believe, based on the evidence trail and the methods used, that the Sith Lord is a Senator of the Republic."

"That's a frightening implication," Qui-Gon said, chilled by the thought. "Are you certain?"

"Well, if I manage to sort through over six thousand individuals and find no trace of the Sith, we'll be back to square one, so I rather hope I'm right," Ben said, giving Qui-Gon a bitter smile.

"It would, however, explain how the mandate to create the Security Force could be slipped into a trade bill," Adi said. "But I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to unmasking a public figure as a Lord of the Sith. Our political situation has become tenuous in the past few months, and it may be hard to convince the rest of the Republic of the danger."

"Nevertheless, necessary, it will be," Yoda said, glaring around at them all. "When all pieces of the puzzle are found, ready, we will be. Defeat the Sith, we must."

Si vis pacem, para bellum.
(If you want peace, prepare for war.)
-Vegetius

The journey to Bestine was tolerable, but only just. The trip would have been more comfortable for all of them if the ship provided to them hadn't been so blasted tiny.

"If I didn't think he'd adopt it, I'd put a frog in Master Yoda's bed," Ben muttered, after the third time he and Anakin managed to bump hands while piloting the tiny craft. The pilot's chair and co-pilot's chair were nearly stacked on top of each other in the very cramped cockpit. Qui-Gon didn't even bother trying to squeeze his bulk into the limited amount of available space remaining, and wedged himself in the cockpit doorway instead. "And can you think about something else besides sex?" Ben continued. "That's distracting as hell."

Anakin grinned at him. "Look, just because you're not getting any..."

"Okay, see, no, that is not remotely all right," Ben interrupted, glaring at Anakin. "We may be step-brothers through some weird quirk of fate, but there are some things that are just too damned intimate!" He paused, quirking an eyebrow. "Besides, she's a woman. Fantasize about a man for a bit, will you?"

"Ew!" Anakin replied, looking offended. "I don't like guys!"

"And now you know how I feel," Ben countered, upon which Qui-Gon had to retreat to the rear of the ship, laughing and delighted by the horrified look on his Padawan's face.

His courtship with Ben was proceeding at a snail's pace, but Qui-Gon didn't mind. He'd been alone for most of his life, and he could afford to enjoy the time they spent talking quietly, speaking about Ben's research, Qui-Gon's teaching of Anakin, Ben's nightly runs with Jeimor, Qui-Gon's tendency to collect strays-almost any topic was up for discussion.

Except one.

"Who was your Master, Ben?" he asked on the fourth day, when they were two hours out from Bestine IV. Anakin was in the cockpit, tweaking the navicomp again and trying to cut another twenty minutes off their arrival time in hopes of catching Ventress on the planet.

Ben looked up at him, putting down the tool he'd been using to adjust the grip on his lightsaber. It was odd to see a hilt with an all-black casing, but considering the Knight's nocturnal activities, it was a good idea. The blade, in direct contrast, was almost pure white, with a faint hint of violet at the emitter. Qui-Gon thought it was an excellent match for the Knight. "I... don't like to talk about it," Ben said at last, and Qui-Gon would have to have been deaf not to notice the hesitation in the man's voice.

Qui-Gon frowned. "I've thought so before, but I'll say it to you now-whoever your Master was did you a grave disservice by not making sure you were Knighted."

Ben ducked his head. "I assure you, Qui-Gon Jinn, that my Master was absolutely not at fault for any lapse of mine," he said quietly, and then made it clear that he would discuss the matter no further. Qui-Gon let the subject drop, but resolved to look up Ben's file when they returned to the Temple. There had to be an explanation, but it was clear that Ben Lars was not going to provide it.

In fact, Ben seemed disinclined to speak to him at all after that, studiously concentrating on his lightsaber. Qui-Gon spent the last of the flight comforting Jeimor, who was grumbling nonstop and clacking his beak to let everyone know that he absolutely loathed space flight. "You get used to it," Qui-Gon said, stroking the crow's black feathers and soothing the bird's misery with a touch of the Force.

Jeimor looked up at him, pinning him with an amber-eyed glare that clearly said that the crow didn't believe him one bit. Qui-Gon smiled in response. "It's true," he said, scratching the bird's neck where beak met flesh, eliciting a long, pleased sigh from the crow. "How do you think species such as yours have spread all over the galaxy?"

The crow grumbled again before trundling up Qui-Gon's arm, settling onto Qui-Gon's shoulder, and burying his head in Qui-Gon's hair with a disgruntled hmph. "You and your companion are certainly well-matched," Qui-Gon told him, amused by their matching attitudes.

Jeimor sighed again, as if in agreement.

Every man is guilty of all he did not do.
-Voltaire

Bestine IV was an aquatic world, filled with coral reefs and jutting, rocky islands. Despite its temperate climate, settlements tended not to do so well on the planet. Maintaining an active civilization on its surface was so difficult that an ancient colony had once ditched the ocean waves for the desert sands of Tatooine.

-I keep telling you- Jeimor said, tilting his head at the viewscreen as Anakin and Obi-Wan worked to bring them in for a landing. He shifted his weight on Obi-Wan's shoulder, pleased that they were going to be planet-bound again at last. -You humans are fucking weird.-

Thanks, he said, flinching when Anakin's hand brushed his once more. Jokes aside, there was a tangle of harsh emotion lurking in the core of Anakin's consciousness. Obi-Wan hoped Qui-Gon had noticed. If that mess was left to fester much longer, there were going to be problems. "I think we're in luck," he said out loud, bringing up the results of his scan on the viewscreen while Anakin swore at the prevailing winds buffeting the tiny craft. "There's a cluster of ships on this island, here," he said, enlarging the island in question, along with its coordinates. "No identifying pings through the comm."

"Could be smugglers," Anakin offered, glancing back and forth at the readouts.

"I doubt that," Qui-Gon murmured from the cockpit doorway. "Bestine is Confederacy-aligned, and the Confederates are harder on the smugglers than the Republic ever considered being."

"What's our plan then, Master?" Anakin asked, changing their course to a direct heading for the island. "Shall we just land and ask them to surrender?"

"I don't think that's the best idea, Padawan," Qui-Gon answered, sounding amused.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh. So many times they had discussed their plans in much the same way. He missed it, missed being called Padawan by Qui-Gon more than he'd ever thought possible. It was a nice surprise to realize that he didn't feel envious of Anakin claiming that title, not anymore. The boy had more than earned it. Funny. After all of this time, it was strange to discover that he and Qui-Gon had both been right about Anakin Skywalker. Yes, the boy could be dangerous-hell, Obi-Wan himself was dangerous in a way he'd never thought possible-but Qui-Gon had taken that potential and molded it into something exemplary.

Jeimor tugged on his ear. -Pay attention.-

"We'll land in the ocean, provided this damned thing doesn't sink like a brick the minute we do so," Qui-Gon was saying. "There's a series of rocks jutting up off the coast that might help disguise our landing. Then we can swim to the main island."

Anakin looked less than enthused. "Do we have to?"

"Not fond of water?" Obi-Wan asked, glancing at him.

"Oh, water's fine, Ben," Anakin said, taking them as close to the ocean's surface as he could in an attempt to disguise their approach. "It's just... oceans. I don't like them. I always feel like they're trying to drown me on purpose."

"Don't worry, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, smiling, keeping an eye on the scanners. He didn't think their presence would go unnoticed, but they might have the chance to ditch the ship before Ventress's people could come searching for them. "I'll make sure you don't drown."

"Promise?" Anakin asked. Obi-Wan glanced back at him, and while Anakin was smiling... there was something else in his expression, something that didn't match the teasing nature of the conversation. His eyes, normally so bright, seemed to be filled with longing, hope... and maybe, beneath that, fear.

Obi-Wan held his gaze and thought that perhaps Anakin knew full well that Obi-Wan had seen more than either of them was letting on. "Absolutely," he said, and meant it. He liked Anakin, and he wanted to see the boy have the chance that the Council had once wanted to deny him. Besides, Anakin had married Padmé Amidala, and someone out of this entire mess ought to have the chance at a healthy relationship.

A large hand came down on his shoulder, and he looked up. Qui-Gon smiled at both of them, his other hand resting on Anakin's shoulder. "Let's go find Ventress, shall we?"

They were able to land the small ship in the ocean without it sinking, and without Ventress's people landing on their heads the moment they touched down. It was cooler outside than Obi-Wan had once preferred. Now it was just an element to be ignored.

The ocean, however, was cold. He gritted his teeth and ducked under the waves when Anakin and Qui-Gon did, restraining the urge to laugh into the rebreather. He probably didn't even need the damned thing. However, his body had to work to keep his core temperature up, and if he'd been alive, Obi-Wan would have needed the Force to keep warm, to keep plowing through the icy waves.

All three of their cloaks were dark, and when they began climbing up the rocky black cliffs of the main island, they blended right in. Anakin was in the lead, leaving Qui-Gon between them, as Obi-Wan had insisted on climbing up last. He could hear the sound of angry voices, and he signaled the others to halt by yanking on the dripping edge of Qui-Gon's cloak. Qui-Gon glanced down at him, and Obi-Wan mouthed, "Jeimor."

Qui-Gon nodded, and Obi-Wan gripped onto the rocks with tight fingers, ignoring the cold that was numbing his hands. Show me, Ebon Wings, he said.

Jeimor sounded amused. -My turn for a fancy nickname now, is it?- he said, and then Obi-Wan's vision was filled with the sight of their ship, viewed by the crow from far above as Jeimor kept watch while in flight. Their transport was being overrun by MagnaGuards, the large new battle droid the Federation had begun producing.

"Ship's compromised," he told Qui-Gon in a harsh whisper, claiming his vision for his own again. It wasn't much of a surprise, but if they had to leave in a hurry they were going to have to acquire another transport.

Qui-Gon shook his head at the news and resumed climbing after tugging on Anakin's robe. They were halfway up when they heard the sound of an approaching transport. Hoods were donned, and they pressed themselves against the rocks, hiding themselves from the light that passed over them. The transport flew on, and Obi-Wan pushed the sodden material back off of his head.

Idiots, he thought. Why the hell aren't they searching for life-signs?

-How do you know they're not?- Jeimor countered. -What if they have something else in mind?-

Obi-Wan frowned. He didn't like that idea at all. But what could they do? Either they confronted Ventress here, or they chased her all over the bloody galaxy. He consulted the Force, found it in agreement, and continued to climb. After moment he was grinning foolishly.

-What?- Jeimor asked.

I was just thinking that I'm a dead Jedi Knight living under an assumed name, and still I'm following along behind my Master.

Jeimor snickered. -How's the view?-

Obi-Wan looked up, catching sight of powerful legs propelling Qui-Gon up, eyeing the silver fall of long wet hair. Couldn't be better, he replied.

They reached the top of the cliffs as dusk fell, and the three of them made their way through a small passage to the flat part of the island, taking up positions around the dark edge of the path to see what lay before them.

There were several ships, large and small, parked on a makeshift landing field that was surrounded by small flashing lights. Farther on were prefab buildings, assembled against another massive spire of rock to shelter them from the worst of the ocean winds. "Where is everyone?" Anakin whispered, when minutes passed and no one appeared on the landing field.

"I smell a trap," Obi-Wan murmured.

"Indeed," Qui-Gon agreed in a quiet rumble. "They know that someone is here, of course. Just not where."

Jeimor, anything? he asked the crow.

-You mean besides it being a trap?- Jeimor paused, and Obi-Wan could sense the crow circling the island. -I've got a bad feeling about this, Kid- he said at last. -Watch your ass.-

"Look," Obi-Wan said, glancing over at Qui-Gon and Anakin. "I can skirt the edge of this place and stay in shadow, and at least get a look at those buildings. Perhaps we'll get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

"Let me do it instead," Qui-Gon suggested, his blue eyes flashing in the dim light. "If they discover me, I'll be recognized as a Jedi Master, and they may stop looking for the two of you. It would give you both more of an opportunity to explore our options."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to agree-he knew full well that Qui-Gon was capable of doing as he said-when a spike of pain hit him like a nail through his right eye, accompanied by an unpleasant realization. "No," he said, shaking his head. "You and Anakin must not split up."

Qui-Gon frowned, and Obi-Wan could feel the ripple in the Force as he and Anakin communicated with each other silently. "All right, but your approach will likely spring the trap, Ben," Qui-Gon said after a moment.

"True, but I can take more damage than either of you and come out of this still breathing," Obi-Wan pointed out, shedding his wet cloak and leaving it behind on the ground. If he was going to be ambushed, he wanted as much freedom to move as possible. "You know," he said, pausing as a thought occurred to him. "There may not be an opportunity to confront Ventress here, but aboard her ship, perhaps..."

"We would be on more even footing," Qui-Gon considered. "Her options for escape will be just as limited as ours."

"I'll bet that one's hers," Anakin said, pointing at the largest ship, a corvette with sleek new lines. "I've never seen that model before, but it looks like a command ship to me."

"Sounds like a plan," Obi-Wan said. "Hold on a minute." A few moments later Jeimor sailed into view, settling onto Obi-Wan's outstretched forearm. "Jeimor, I need you to go with them."

-What?- the crow blurted, startled. -I'm supposed to stay with you, dumbass.-

"Yes, well, staying with me right now might get you shot, and then what would we do?" Obi-Wan retorted. "Here," he said, and lifted his arm. The crow grumbled and stepped from Obi-Wan's arm to Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Be good."

Qui-Gon turned his head, and for a moment cerulean blue eyes locked with amber. "Ben is trying to keep you alive. Being an ass about it is not polite," Qui-Gon said.

Jeimor hmph'd and lowered himself until his legs were hidden from view. Then he fluffed up his feathers and glared at them all, sulking.

"Don't die," Anakin whispered as Obi-Wan stepped out of the rocky crevice. "There've been enough funerals this year."

Obi-Wan didn't bother to answer, concerned that his voice would carry too well after leaving their dubious shelter behind. His sense of danger was going crazy, which wasn't the slightest bit useful because he already knew they were in grave danger. Someone tipped them off, somehow, he thought.

-Ya think?- Jeimor drawled. He still sounded annoyed. -I don't think that Sith Lord likes you guys very much.-

You think? Obi-Wan retorted, grinning.

Velocity

Qui-Gon kept a close watch on Ben's progress, though he needed the Force to do it. The moment the man had stepped into the shadows beyond them, he may as well have become invisible.

"He's good," Anakin said. "Think I can convince him to spar with me?"

"Perhaps if you actually bother to ask," Qui-Gon pointed out, smiling at his Padawan. "And you are prepared for the return of your humility."

"Yes, Master," Anakin said, grinning. "Shall we go?"

Qui-Gon nodded, leading his Padawan into the shadows Ben had disappeared into. The weight on his shoulder was both comforting and unsettling. Sentience in animals he understood and recognized far more than most denizens of the galaxy, but Jeimor was different. He wondered if it was the bird's bond with a human that had altered his behavior. Then he frowned as he caught himself wondering if, perhaps, it was the other way around.

They made their way to the waiting corvette without incident, crouching in the darkness to wait for their chance to board. Qui-Gon was able to count thirty breaths before the first pre-fab building blew apart, flame erupting from all sides. For a moment Qui-Gon could see Ben in the air, thrown back by the force of the blast. The Knight came down hard on his right shoulder and rolled, coming up in a crouch with his ignited lightsaber in his hands.

And for a brief, bewildering moment, Qui-Gon Jinn was dead certain that he was drowning.

His body was so convinced that he had to force himself to gasp in air despite the sensation, pressing his hand to his heart as his breath wheezed in his chest. Not real. Just a vision-a very disconcerting one. He'd accepted prescience more willingly after Obi-Wan's death, if only to never be caught unawares again that way by a person or by the Force. However, the ability had always limited itself to flashes and dreams. This sense of realism was new, and he didn't care for it at all.

Anakin touched his arm, asking without words if Qui-Gon was all right. Qui-Gon nodded and shook off the premonition; it was of no help right now. Droids that had been hidden from sight were activating, dropping down from where they had been clinging to the hulls of the waiting ships, shapeless bits of metal that had hidden in the dark. Ben watched them assemble, his white blade illuminating his face and highlighting his grim smile, while the flames behind him turned his hair into living copper.

The moment the droids began to fire at Ben, all of their attention focused on the lone Jedi, Qui-Gon gripped Anakin's shoulder. "Go," he hissed, and his Padawan wasted no time in darting up the boarding ramp. Qui-Gon hesitated for few seconds, watching Ben's lightsaber become a blur of light as he began reflecting blaster shots back at the advancing battle droids. Then Jeimor tugged on Qui-Gon's ear in ungentle reminder, and he bolted up the ramp. "Which way, Anakin?" he asked, stepping into the ship. The lights were only at half level, but even that was bright after being outside, and to his relief, he could sense no presences in the ship. They had it to themselves, for the moment.

Anakin had his blade ignited, washing their surroundings with pale blue light. He was glancing back and forth, considering their options. "Not a standard corvette layout, but the bridge would still be... that way," he said, pointing down the corridor to the left. "Operations would be that way," he pointed at the central corridor. "And our best chance at finding a place to stow away..." he turned and began walking to the right, and Qui-Gon followed. His Padawan's understanding of ships and mechanics was unmatched, and in this instance Qui-Gon gladly trusted Anakin's instincts over his own.

Jeimor uttered a muted caw, nothing like his more vocal outbursts, and they both paused. "What is it?" Qui-Gon asked, and the crow pointed his beak at a new corridor to the left.

"Works for me," Anakin said. "Still keeps us away from the more used areas of the ship."

The crow's direction led them to a viewport, the battle clearly visible just below them. It was eerie to watch, for they were too far into the ship to hear the whine of laser fire or the hum of the lightsaber. Anakin frowned and shut down his lightsaber, stepping close to the viewport.

Qui-Gon focused his gaze on the black-garbed form. It was hard to be certain, but he was almost sure there were holes in Ben's tunics, marks of where blaster fire had gotten through his guard. "Will he be all right?"

The crow clacked his beak and muttered something, unconcerned. Qui-Gon decided to take that as a positive sign.

Then, to their surprise, the droids halted their fire. Ben spun around, glancing at the halted droids that surrounded him, but never lowered his lightsaber from the guard position. His attention was focused on someone who Qui-Gon and Anakin couldn't yet see. His lips moved. There was pause, and he replied, frowning.

A woman stepped out of the crowd of droids and into the clearing with Ben. She was his height, humanoid, and had shaved all the hair from her head. There were black marks tattooed around the back of her head, from temple to temple. Attached to her belt were a blaster and two lightsabers, and Qui-Gon recognized the curved-hilt blades of Komari Vosa. She was smiling at Ben, but the expression was not very pleasant.

"I guess that's Ventress," Anakin said, pressing his forehead against the transparisteel viewport. "I sure wish we could hear what they were saying."

Qui-Gon glanced at the panel inset into the wall. Unfamiliar make of corvette or not, some things were universal. There was a two-way communications device there, the better for those onboard the ship to converse with those outside. "Absolute silence," he ordered. "That means you, too," he told Jeimor, and the crow coughed at him and shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an obvious show of impatience. Qui-Gon shook his head and activated the comm.

"-there will be more of you, of course," Ventress was saying. She had a rich voice, and was making a fierce attempt at sounding educated, but Qui-Gon could hear the roughness underneath. She sounded like and presented herself as a woman in her thirties, and moved with the powerful ease of a well-trained warrior.

Ben shrugged. "And here I thought I'd come alone. Life is full of surprises, isn't it?"

Ventress's smile vanished. "I already know that Master Jinn and Padawan Skywalker are here, Jedi. We'll find them soon enough. What I do not know... is who you are," she said, circling him. Ben moved with her, keeping her in his sight.

"Your informant must be miserable at his job, then," Ben told her, "if he knew to warn you of two guests but not three."

"Perhaps," Ventress allowed, returning to the position she'd started from, lacing her hands together in front of her. With a start, Qui-Gon realized he'd been misjudging her age. Ventress was young, no older than eighteen Standard. "Or perhaps it was an intentional lapse. I expected to be tested eventually, for someone must take Lord Tyrannus's place."

"You mean Dooku?" Ben shook his head. "I wish the Sith would choose one name and stick with it."

"Ah!" Ventress smiled again, but her eyes were cold. "You knew Lord Tyrannus, then?"

"We met," Ben replied. "We conversed. I killed him."

Ventress grinned with true delight. "So you're the one who slew Tyrannus. You are my test, then," she said, and took the twin blades from her belt, igniting them. She or Dooku had switched the crystals, for Komari's pale yellow blades were gone, replaced by the blood red of the Sith.

"Are you kidding me?" Ben gave the woman incredulous look. "That's stupid. You should just have the droids shoot me."

She raised her blades. "That's not as much fun. Fight or die, Jedi," she hissed with a feral smile, and leapt at him.

Ben met her blades, teeth bared, and then it was a fight, fast and ferocious. Ventress was well-trained, but as she moved and tried to corner Ben against the rock or among the stock-still droids, Qui-Gon saw little of Dooku's combat influence. She had learned the way of the lightsaber before his former Master knew her, that he was certain of.

The younger Knight was good, but Qui-Gon noticed Anakin biting his lip and knew his Padawan had realized what he did: Ben was not proficient at the Jar'Kai, and if it weren't for his quick-thinking and speed, Ventress would have pinned him already. Get rid of the second blade, Qui-Gon found himself chanting in his head, directing the thought at Ben. Even the blasted odds!

Either Ben heard him, or had the same thought, because he changed his focus from evasion to attack, focusing his efforts on Ventress's left hand when the opportunity presented itself. The woman frowned and spun away from him, her blades sweeping out in a red arc, a protective circle to keep herself safe from Ben's onslaught.

None of them expected Ben to simply charge through the miniscule gap in that circle. He abandoned blade technique and went to combat maneuvers, grabbing Ventress's left arm in a move designed to break her wrist, disarming her in a much more brutal way.

Ben's eyes went wide, as did Ventress's, and too late Qui-Gon realized the young Knight's mistake. No! he cried, watching Ben stumble and fall to his knees, still holding onto the woman's wrist. A shriek of mental agony struck Qui-Gon's mind, followed a moment later by a physical scream. Anakin had his hands up on the glass, mouth open in a silent plea for Ben to move, to get up, get away-

Ventress wrenched her hand free and shoved one of her red blades into the center of Ben's chest, wrenching it back out again with a snarl. Qui-Gon placed his hand over his mouth, forestalling the horrified sound that wanted to emerge from his throat. He'll be fine, he told himself desperately. Remember the last duel you witnessed him win!

"Stay out of my head, Jedi!" Ventress screamed at Ben, dropping one of her lightsabers and pointing the tip of her remaining blade at Ben's head.

Ben was gasping for breath, fighting for it, as he raised his head and stared up into Ventress's pale blue eyes. To Qui-Gon's intense surprise, there were tears glittering in the younger Knight's eyes, and a wealth of sorrow in his expression. "Oh... Asa..." Ben whispered, the sound almost too soft to be picked up by the ship's speakers. "How... how could you?"

Ventress howled in rage and pulled out her blaster, firing at point blank range.

The only thing that saved them both was the decades Qui-Gon had spent in the field, long-used to making snap decisions despite any horror he was faced with. He had his hand clamped down over Anakin's mouth before his Padawan could voice his grief and rage, the repressed sound vibrating against his palm. In the next moment Qui-Gon used the Force, turning off the two-way communication system. Anakin struggled against him, and hot tears burned Qui-Gon's fingers as they fell from Anakin's eyes. Let me go, Master! Let me go!

Padawan! Qui-Gon yelled, burying his face against the leather tabards that covered Anakin's shoulder, chest heaving in effort not to give vent to his own anguished denial. Padawan, silence! We can do nothing for him now!

It's not fair! Anakin railed back, turning in Qui-Gon's arms and burying his face against Qui-Gon's chest, his body shaking with repressed sobs. It's not fair! I was just getting to... to know him! And that bitch shot him in the head!

No, it's not fair, Qui-Gon agreed, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to burn his last sight of Ben Lars from his memory, not wanting to recall the wisps of smoke that had risen from copper-blond hair. He didn't think that Ben's bond with Jeimor could save him, not from that.

Qui-Gon's heart felt like dust in his chest; once more he'd lost what was becoming precious to him, and again he was helpless in the face of it. He wrapped his arms around his Padawan, trying to give comfort in the face of loss, unaware of the tears that fell from his own eyes.

He was still not foolish enough to drop his guard. The ship was being boarded, though no one came even remotely close to their location. Qui-Gon chanced another glance outside, afraid of what he might see, but no one remained, not even Ben's body. She must have taken him with her, Qui-Gon thought, trying to calm himself, to center and focus. That would be good, if they had boarded the correct ship. They would be able to take the younger Knight's body back to the Temple for the pyre it deserved.

Qui-Gon stepped back, resting his hands on Anakin's shoulders. "We still have a mission to finish," he murmured. "We still have to stop Ventress. Can you do this with me?" he asked, staring into Anakin's red-rimmed eyes.

Anakin nodded and swiped at his face with his sleeve, his mouth set, expression grim. "Yes, Master. I can do this. It's... we owe him that, right?"

Qui-Gon gave his Padawan a strained smile, knowing that Anakin would understand. "Yes. If this is the last we can do for him, then that's what we do."

Anakin frowned at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Master, where's Jeimor?"

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, only realizing in that moment that he couldn't remember when the crow's heavy weight had left his shoulder. "I have no idea. I didn't even hear him leave."

"He's... probably looking for Ben," Anakin whispered. "I guess that means we'll know where to find him later, huh?"

Qui-Gon nodded and turned away from the viewport. "Let's see to this, Padawan," he said, pulling his lightsaber from his belt and igniting the emerald blade. The ship began vibrating underneath his feet as the engines fired up. Ventress was taking her leave of Bestine IV.

They fought their way to the bridge, mowing down the droids they encountered with fierce efficiency. The narrow corridors improved their chances, forcing the droids to confront them in columns of two instead of en masse. Qui-Gon led them forward, tracking the roiling cloud of dark emotions he could sense. Ventress.

The bridge, when they arrived, was dark and deserted. Qui-Gon held up his blade in guard position and stalked into the room, Anakin at his side. "I smell another trap, Master," Anakin said.

"Me, too," he admitted, turning in place. That sense of darkness was still close, but he couldn't pinpoint her location now.

The Force flared in warning, too late, and blue energy shields coalesced into place around them before Qui-Gon could shove Anakin out of range. "Damn!" he swore, as Anakin struck the shield with his lightsaber. The shield repelled his blade with ease, which meant that the shield would also reflect blasts from the outside as well. They were safe for the moment, if imprisoned.

"Jedi," Ventress's voice floated out of the darkness. "Always skulking about in the dark. Like rats," she hissed. The lights flared up to full power, revealing her standing on the command platform above them, flanked by several droids as well as the ship's crew, garbed in the Confederacy's blue and gray uniforms. Behind her was a much taller, wider figure, covered from head to toe in massive plate armor. "I knew you had to be here somewhere," she continued, giving them a mocking smile.

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced," Qui-Gon said, staring up at her. Anakin's anger at the woman was beating at his shields, and it was all he could do not to growl at the woman. Calm, Padawan, he sent.

"I am Asajj Ventress, Warlord of Rattatak, Commander in the Confederate Forces, and assassin of the Sith," she proclaimed. "As your friend learned, much to his regret."

Anakin ground his teeth together so hard the sound was audible. "I wonder how you'd fare against a Jedi that's actually trained in the Jar'Kai," he bit out.

Ventress gave him a disdainful look. "I wonder how you would fare without your Master to guard your back."

Anakin smiled. "Turn off the force-field, and you can find out."

She laughed. "Oh, I'm not going to do that. I'm young, Padawan Skywalker, but not foolish." She jumped down from the platform to approach their energy prison. "I had thought presenting the body of the one who defeated Dooku would be interesting enough. Presenting the two of you, alive, to Lord Sidious, however..." She smiled again. "The Sith will be hard-pressed to deny my usefulness to him. Apprentice has a much better ring to it than Assassin, don't you think?"

"Sidious is his name?" Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Thank you. We've been wondering about that for some time now."

"You won't be thanking me when you meet him, Master Jinn," Ventress said, her smile vanishing. "Believe me."

"Commander," one of the uniformed men called out. He was a human, with gray hair and eyes like frosted steel. "There is a problem in the aft section of the ship."

Ventress looked up at him, unimpressed. "Then deal with it, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, settling into place at his station and gesturing for the other crewmen to do the same. "Likely it's another glitch. A ship this new is still in shakedown phase."

I wonder if it's Jeimor, Anakin sent the hesitant thought. I'd be awfully pissed off, if I were him.

Qui-Gon was considering the same thing. If there was one thing a crow was good at, it was creating mischief. "Problems?" he asked Ventress with a polite smile.

"I doubt that," Ventress replied, just before her Captain called for her attention again, an angry cast to his features.

"Commander, I'm getting no response from anyone in the aft section of the ship," he said, frowning as he listened to his comm.

The lights on the bridge flickered once before restoring themselves. Ventress turned her attention back to the Jedi, scowling at them. "Did you bring yet another mystery friend with you?" she asked, her voice soft. "Someone new for me to kill?"

Anakin and Qui-Gon glanced at each other. "Sorry, not us," Anakin told her, putting on his best innocent expression. "Must be some other saboteur on your ship."

The Captain stood up, pointing at three men, directing them to go with the droids. "Whatever the hell is going on, find it and fix it," he ordered, his lips a thin line of anger.

There were several minutes of tense silence on the part of the Confederates. Qui-Gon and Anakin spent the time communicating through their bond, searching for the controls to their trap without success. That option gone, Anakin began prodding at the shield with the Force, searching for weak points that could be exploited while Qui-Gon kept his attention on Ventress.

After a time, the Captain shook his head again, his cheeks red with anger. "Commander, the team I just sent is no longer responding to my hails."

"Bring up the security feeds," Ventress barked, pointing at a young Rodian who didn't look pleased to be singled out. "Show me the rest of this ship on-screen, now!"

The Rodian crewman nodded, and the main screen that had been reflecting the blue glow of the planet below them became scenes from various security cameras throughout the rear of the ship. The Rodian flipped through each feed slowly, allowing everyone on the bridge plenty of time to view crushed droid bodies and unconscious, blue-gray uniformed crewmen visible on the floor.

It can't be, Anakin said, but in the next moment they both knew that it was.

The vid feed that the Rodian switched over to showed more piles of dismantled droid, but Ben Lars as well. He was staring straight up at the camera, unblinking and still. Jeimor was perched on his shoulder, and the crow's head was turned, focusing on the camera with one glowing amber eye. Ben's face was dusted with white once more, black lining his eyes and spreading out in careful streaks across his cheeks.

Crow's wings, Qui-Gon realized, taking in the sweeping black pattern, his heart hammering in his chest. That's what the pattern represents. The dust around Ben's eyes was the body, and the long streaks across his cheeks, feathers.

Even Ben's lips were dusted with black, and as they watched, he smiled and held up his hand. Crooking his fingers, he waved at the camera three times before the feed went black.

Qui-Gon felt Anakin's hand creep into his and took it gladly. He couldn't tell if he was relieved to see that Ben had survived after all, or horrified because he should not have.

Ventress was staring at the blackened feed, shock on her features, before she whirled around. "Durge!" she yelled. "Go and find that Jedi and kill him! Pull him apart if you must, just make sure he's dead!"

"Certainly, Asajj," the armored being replied. His voice was a harsh, vile rasp. "Should I keep any pieces for Lord Sidious, or am I allowed to have fun?"

Ventress bared her teeth at Durge in vague approximation of a smile. "I still have these two," she said. "Go and play." Durge turned and strode from the bridge. Only the Captain, the Rodian, Ventress, Qui-Gon, and Anakin remained. "Captain," Ventress hissed, glowering up at the man. "Access the Temple files on Coruscant. Use the slicer codes. Get me the files for Knight Ben Lars!"

"Well, I guess now we know how they deleted Kamino from the Archives," Anakin said. "Sith, Master," he continued under his breath. "How the hell did Ben survive that?"

"I don't know," Qui-Gon replied quietly, but his thoughts went back to that same fragment of memory from the eve of their shared meal, the tale he'd once heard.

The tale of a crow...

"I've got it, Commander," the Captain said, interrupting Qui-Gon's thoughts. "On-screen now."

They all turned their attention to the viewscreen, and there was the file Qui-Gon had resolved to look for when they'd returned to the Temple. "Hell," he whispered. Curiosity about Ben's past aside, they needed to get those codes away from Ventress.

[Lars, Ben, Initiate. Tested at age two months, five days. Confirmed high Force potential. Midichlorian count: twelve thousand point seven-five. Released to the Jedi by Lars, Cliegg (Father) and Lars, Aika (Mother), both confirmed non-sensitive. Brought to the Temple by Master Jewrrin. Accepted into the creche by Master Yoda.]

The file ended there, which was odd. No medical or schooling records-nothing on Ben's acceptance as a Padawan, which he most certainly had been.

Crow wings. Jeimor. Dust. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and allowed the memory to form, the lost threads of that long-ago tale coming back to him in Yoda's distinctive syntax:

Believed, people once did, that crows carried our souls from this world to the next. A long time ago, this was, when the Republic was new. Happened it would, though, that evil shortened their lives, and go to their rest, some souls could not. So rare, this was, younglings-so very, very rare. Back, the crow would fly, bringing such a soul with it. Put right, those wrong things were, under ebon wing and veil of night.

"But what about the Force, Master Yoda?" he'd wondered, a child of eight and the most outspoken of his crechemates. "Where does the Force come into this?"

"The Force is what it is, young Qui-Gon," Yoda had said, smiling. "Affect it, this does, or it does not. Justice is not so black and white for us as it is for the dead, hmm?"

"If it was thousands of years ago, then why tell us this anyway?" he asked, refusing to let the matter drop. Crows and souls and the dead returning. He privately thought the entire thing was silly.

Yoda's ears had risen, as if he was surprised by the question. "Matters, our history always does."

"The rest of the file is blank-no, wait," the Captain corrected himself. "There's an appended file down at the bottom."

Qui-Gon didn't need to see it, not now, but he looked anyway. He needed the focus, for it was hard to breathe against the sudden, agonizing pain in his chest.

[Addition to bloodline: Lars, Owen. Confirmed non-sensitive. Mother deceased.]

"Died in childbirth," Anakin read, a touch of sadness in his voice. "That's awful."

He agreed, distantly wondering what had possessed Cliegg Lars to move his family to a planet as backwater as Tatooine after living on Ator.

[Age two: Legal documentation secured for name change of Lars, Ben, Initiate, as requested by Lars, Cliegg. File officially closed. All new inquiries directed to file of Kenobi, Obi-Wan, Initiate.]

"What?" Anakin gasped, staring at the screen with shocked-widened eyes, his mouth open. "That's impossible."

Ventress was staring at the screen as the Captain scrolled down through the larger, much more complete file. "I should have known," she ground out, glowering at Qui-Gon as the references to his apprenticeship began. "He's one of yours."

The Captain reached the bottom of the file, and Qui-Gon noticed with a distant sort of amusement that his face had gone white. "Commander, you need to read this."

"What?" Ventress snapped, looking back up at the viewscreen. There was a holo of Obi-Wan there, a profile view of how he'd looked in the last year of his life. Next to it was a simple, stark epitaph. The date of the Battle of Theed, the day Qui-Gon had held his Padawan as Obi-Wan had taken his last breath.

"Impossible," Ventress breathed, echoing Anakin's sentiment. "This is a trick. It has to be. Captain, keep searching. Captain!" she repeated, whirling back around to face the command podium.

The Captain was collapsed in a heap on the floor. Jeimor was perched on the unconscious man's head, looking smug. In the seat at the command station, his booted feet propped up on the terminal and bearing a musing smile...

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan was staring at the holo projected on the viewscreen. "That is an awful picture. You couldn't find anything better?" he asked, looking down at Qui-Gon. His eyes were blue-green, the color Qui-Gon had seen on Geonosis and later thought he'd imagined.

He was trembling, his mind reeling. He should have known-he had known, and he'd denied it. Gods. "You... you kept making faces every time someone tried to snag a holo of you that year," he choked out.

"Oh, yeah," Obi-Wan said, tilting his head. "Forgot about that. Still, at least it would have been interesting. Sorry about your Captain," he nodded at Ventress. "He saw me and passed out."

The Rodian had gotten up from his chair, and was staring at Obi-Wan with his blaster raised. Both weapon and Rodian were shaking.

"Hi!" Obi-Wan said, smiling cheerfully at the young crewman.

The Rodian squeaked, dropped his blaster, and fled.

"You'd think he'd seen a ghost," Obi-Wan said, in the deadpan tone he'd always used when delivering the worst puns Qui-Gon had ever heard in his life.

"You," Ventress hissed. "I killed you once. I can certainly kill you again."

Obi-Wan snickered. "Well, you can certainly try. It's sort of hard to kill someone who's already dead, though, so you might find it difficult."

"I wounded you, I shot you, I left behind a smoking corpse," she spat. "You bleed just fine for a ghost."

He shrugged. "Death is sort of like virtue in that it has its degrees."

"Where's Durge?" Ventress asked, the hint of a hopeful smile on her face. "You won't speak so prettily by the time he's done with you."

"Oh. Him." Obi-Wan put his feet down and tapped out a sequence on the terminal, and the viewscreen reverted to showing what was immediately outside the ship. "There he goes."

In the blackness of space outside, the armored form floated past, arms and legs struggling for purchase where there was none. "You spaced him?" Anakin blurted out, finding his voice at last.

"Eh, he's Gen'Dai, he'll be fine," Obi-Wan said, unconcerned. He touched the console again, and the blue force-field around Qui-Gon and Anakin vanished. Obi-Wan stood up and hopped down from the command podium with swift, preternatural movements, standing before Ventress with his hands laced together behind his back.

"Holy shit," Anakin said, noticing the collection of holes in Obi-Wan's tunics, the blood marring his hair and skin. "You... what are you?"

"Avatairee," Qui-Gon murmured, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he remembered the hesitation in Ben's eyes as he'd approached him, the edginess, and the stark refusal to let Qui-Gon blame his Master for any perceived wrongdoing. "Force, you're an Avatar. You and Jeimor."

"What he said," Obi-Wan grinned, stepping closer to Ventress, who'd pulled the blaster from her belt again. He eyed the weapon without a trace of concern. "Considering that your blaster has already proven itself ineffective, don't you think this is a bit silly?"

"No," Ventress growled, and shot Obi-Wan in the chest.

He flinched, curling inward on himself for a brief moment before straightening up once more. "Ow," he grumbled, taking another step forward. "Stop that." Jeimor flapped his wings, cawing at Ventress in annoyance.

Anakin stared in rapt, horrified amazement. "Okay, that's just creepy."

Ventress fired again, nailing Obi-Wan in the shoulder, but this time he just kept walking. She kept firing, her shots becoming wild and missing him much more than she hit him. In no time Obi-Wan was standing almost nose-to-nose with the woman, looking at her with one eyebrow raised. Qui-Gon found himself holding his breath, wondering what it was he was about to witness.

She halted, uncertain, a great deal of bewildered anger on her face. Obi-Wan plucked the blaster from her hand and tossed it away to clatter to the floor in a distant corner. "We were in the middle of a conversation before, Asa," he said.

Ventress's eyes widened, and her anger melted away, replaced by fear. "No!" she gasped, shaking her head. "No, don't-"

Whatever denial she was about to voice was cut off when Obi-Wan touched her, cradling her face with gentle hands.

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
-T. S. Eliot

Obi-Wan ignored the pain of his body, ignored the horrified shock on Anakin's face, the quiet, stunned, grieving recognition in Qui-Gon's eyes. Right now there was only the terrible wailing of a lost child, and it had to be dealt with.

The moment he touched her face with his hands, she stilled, closing her eyes as if his touch was painful. Maybe it was. He'd never tried to use the psychometry backwards like this, making her see what was in her own heart.

"You're not a Sith," he told her, his voice soft, as the memories streamed through his mind's eye, the same recollection he was subjecting Ventress to. "Waging a war against the Republic and the Jedi won't bring him back, Asa." He watched again as her parents were slaughtered in front of her by a warlord of her planet, leaving the orphaned young girl to die in the harsh badlands of Rattatak. He could feel her horror, her despair, as clearly as if it had been his own.

She moaned and opened her eyes. "Please don't make me remember," she begged, her eyes full of desperate pleading. "Please don't, I don't want to-"

"Shhh," he said, and rested his forehead against hers, sharing the memories, sharing the joy and the pain of loss once more.

"You're a what?" Asajj asked, staring up at the tall stranger in confusion. She'd never seen a ship from the stars before. None of her people had, but Asajj had been the one to find the ship, and its pilot.

"A Jedi," the injured man repeated, frowning as he bound his arm with a strip of cloth torn from his own brown robe. "I guess I must have skipped out of Republic space, huh?"

"What's a Republic?" she asked.

He smiled at her and placed his hand on her head. The touch should have been abhorrent, but instead she felt comforted, the same way her mother had always made her feel. "My name's Ky Narec," he said. "And I'll tell you all about the Jedi and the Republic in exchange for your company, little one."

She smiled. Company! Someone who wanted to spend time with the orphaned one, the outcast one. "Deal," she said, holding out her hand, palm up, delighted when he struck her hand with his palm.

****

"Again, Padawan," Master Ky said, watching her bladework with a critical eye. "You can do it."

"You are full of excrement, as usual, Master," Asajj retorted, sweat pouring down her face as she ran through the kata again at full speed. For all her teacher insisted that this was easy to learn, Asajj had been practicing it for hours and had yet to complete it successfully.

"Yes, well, I can always solve that problem by visiting a 'fresher," Master Ky replied, amused. "You, however, need to remember to stop, breathe, and feel the Force, or you're going to be my Padawan until you die of old age."

Quietly she thought that being Ky Narec's Padawan for her entire life would be a wonderful thing, but her Master was certain they would return to that Coruscant place one day. She wanted her Master to be able to go back with a proper student-perhaps even a Knight!-at his side. "Yes, Master," she said, and tried once more to do as he instructed.

****

"Asa. Here."

Asajj dropped her weapons and fell to her knees, gathering her Master into her arms. In the Force she could feel his presence, and knew that it was too late. She was too late. She couldn't help him. His life's blood was almost gone.

"Don't cry, Asa," Ky said in a faint voice, reaching up and brushing the tears from her face. "I will always be with you."

"It's not the same," she sobbed, resting her forehead against his. "I don't know what to do without you!"

"You will be a Jedi... just like I taught you to be," Ky insisted, smiling. "Just keep walking forward, Padawan, and you'll be fine."

She held him close and sang to him until he was gone, and then she took his lightsaber from his hand. Osika Kirske had done this, had murdered her Master just as he had murdered her parents.

She would keep walking forward. But first, she was going to find Kirske, and every single one of his allies, and let them all feel the burn of her Master's blade.

Obi-Wan caught her when Asajj collapsed against him, sobbing out the grief and anger that had guided her steps since Ky Narec's death. "It's all right," he soothed her. "Let it go."

"It's not all right," Asajj insisted, her hands fisting his ruined tunics. "He'd hate what I did, he'd hate it! He would hate me!"

"No," he said, shaking his head, hugging her and letting his presence in the Force soothe her in a way she hadn't felt since losing her Master. "He wouldn't hate you, Asa. You were lost and alone. He wouldn't lay blame on you for that. Maybe if you'd had a few more years together you could have held on in the face of all of that grief, but he died, and that wasn't the fault of either of you."

"It wasn't fair," she whispered. "And I betrayed everything he tried to teach me."

"You've been blaming yourself for a long time now," Obi-Wan said, realizing that Anakin and Qui-Gon were approaching with slow, cautious steps. "It's time for that to stop."

"What if I can't?" she said, looking up at him with luminous blue eyes, her face streaked with tears. At last she looked her true age, a Rattataki girl of only seventeen years.

"It's easy to die for someone, Asa," he told her. "Living for someone-that's much harder." Obi-Wan breathed out a laugh, amused by the irony of the entire situation. "Believe me, I would know. The question is: Do you want to go back to the Confederacy and keep trying to die for your Master? Or do you want to go and see what Ky wanted for you? Do you want to live for him?"

Absolution

There was so much Qui-Gon wanted to say. Most of it had piled up behind the rock that seemed to have taken up residence in his throat. Duty came first, as it must, and Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Obi-Wan made short work of gathering up their new Confederate prisoners. Qui-Gon was not surprised that a command vessel of the Confederacy had a brig, but in this moment it was a convenience and a relief. Obi-Wan had deactivated the rest of the battle droids when he'd been toying with the bridge controls, so they could move freely about the ship without fear of attack.

Asajj Ventress, former Padawan of Knight Ky Narec, had been placed in one of the officer's quarters. She'd protested, at first, saying she had her own rooms, but Obi-Wan had shushed her with gentle words and told her that she needed to rest somewhere that wasn't steeped in Darkness. She'd given in, falling asleep under Obi-Wan's watchful eye like an exhausted child.

Watching them together, seeing peace and forgiveness where there would only have been enmity, tore at Qui-Gon's heart. He'd felt Darkness in Ventress, and had looked no further. Obi-Wan had seen through that facade, found the Jedi underneath that was worth saving. After her tears had purged her of those brittle, harsh emotions, like a wound being cleansed of poisons, little of that dark cloud remained. Only gray strands of grief swirled around the lost Padawan, now, and in her exhaustion she was as docile as a newborn feline.

He'd had to grit his teeth when he and Anakin had agreed to take the corvette's shuttle down to Bestine IV, foolishly gripped by the fear that the corvette would disappear into the ether, taking Obi-Wan with it. As if sensing the thought, Obi-Wan had smiled and sent Jeimor to accompany them.

How well Obi-Wan still understood him. Jeimor's restless, irritated weight on Qui-Gon's shoulder had reassured him when nothing else would have.

Anakin jumped out of the ship into the ocean to retrieve their tiny craft, but not before offering Qui-Gon a hesitant grin, saying that it would be nice not to have to report another lost ship to the Council. Qui-Gon had agreed, trying to smile in response. Anakin's eyes had still been wide with shock. Qui-Gon imagined he looked much the same.

Both ships were now docked in the corvette's small hangar bay. The prisoners were conscious, grumbling under the watch of speedily reprogrammed guard-droids, who would see to their needs on the flight back to Coruscant. Ventress was in a Force-assisted sleep. Jeimor was also slumbering, perched on the back of the chair at the command console on the bridge. Messages were sent, and the ship was in hyperspace, with nothing to see out of the viewscreen but the blue-white streaks of stars.

There was nothing else to do... but talk.

The rock in his throat refused to budge. Qui-Gon rested his head against the console, trying to regain his center while listening to Jeimor mutter in his sleep behind him. He could do this. He could face this situation rationally, like a Jedi Master, and not fall to pieces in the process.

Right, he thought, snorting with wry amusement. He was already falling to pieces. Why try to fool himself?

The three of them met in the ship's small communal dining area, staggering in one at a time from completing the tasks necessary to get the Confederate ship into Republic space without getting shot down in the process. Ben had arrived first, and was able to point out a fresh pot of tea waiting for Anakin and Qui-Gon. He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed up against the wall, staring reflectively at nothing in particular.

No. Not Ben. Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon found himself smiling; that was going to be a hard habit to break.

He decided to follow Obi-Wan's example, retrieving a mug of dark, bitter-looking tea and seating himself on the floor a few feet away. Anakin, holding his own tea and a dubious-looking sandwich, eyed them curiously before sitting on the floor as well.

"You know... there are chairs in here," Anakin decided to point out, after taking a few bites of his sandwich.

Obi-Wan blinked a few times and looked at Anakin. The dust on his face, combined with the drying blood and destroyed tunics should have looked threatening, but didn't. There was too much of a Jedi's serene presence in his gaze. "Well... yes. Why aren't you sitting on one?"

Anakin shrugged. "I thought we were all sitting on the floor for a reason."

"I'm sitting on the floor because I feel like I'm going to pass out at any moment, and didn't want to suffer the indignity of falling out of a chair," Obi-Wan said, leaning his head back to rest on the wall, closing his eyes. Qui-Gon watched him in silence. Gods, but he really did speak in exactly the same way, even if death seemed to have made Obi-Wan's playful side a bit more... manic. He shuddered.

"So, you do need to sleep?" Anakin asked, his innate curiosity surging to the fore once more.

Obi-Wan seemed amused by the question. "I got shot in the head. Not only did it hurt, it also takes quite a bit of energy to heal from something like that. Jeimor, being imminently more sensible than I am, is already asleep somewhere."

"I left him snoring on a chair in the bridge," Qui-Gon said, surprised that the rock in his throat allowed him to speak.

"Mm. Figures," Obi-Wan replied. His voice was normal, as Qui-Gon's had been-as if there was not ten years of distance between them, and Obi-Wan being present wasn't something straight out of a fantasy.

Anakin put his mug down, biting his lip. "Ben? I mean, Obi-Wan?"

"Either works, Anakin. They're both true."

"Right," Anakin said, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "What's it like to be dead?"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, lifted his head, and stared at Anakin in surprise. "You know, you're the first person to ask me that?"

Anakin ducked his head apologetically. "Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry," Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. "I..." He paused, uncertain. "It..." He glanced away from them, his eyes unfocused. "Seconds," he whispered at last. "It felt like seconds. Seconds in silence."

Qui-Gon realized that every single hair on his body was trying to stand on end. "That doesn't sound very nice," Anakin said, his eyes huge.

Obi-Wan looked back at them, as if realizing the effect his words were having. "Well... that's not all that death is," he said, and dipped his finger into the mug of tea he'd been steadfastly ignoring. He leaned forward, drawing a wet line on the floor in front of him, and then shook off the excess tea. "Say that this here," he said, putting his right hand on one side of the line, "is life, everything that we can experience right now." Obi-Wan put his left hand down on the other side of the line. "And this is everything that comes after, whatever that may be."

"But... shouldn't you know what that is?" Anakin asked, confused.

"I stayed... here," Obi-Wan said, resting one finger on the line itself. "So no, I don't know."

"What is that?" Qui-Gon asked, his voice little more than a rasp. The rock, it seemed, was growing.

Obi-Wan looked up, meeting Qui-Gon's gaze. His eyes remained blue-green, not the gray Qui-Gon had become accustomed to seeing. "She called it the borderlands," he said, his voice soft. "Who she is, I don't know, but... I think she meant that it was a boundary. And I refused to go any farther than I had to."

Qui-Gon stared at Obi-Wan. In that moment he was somewhere else, holding onto his Padawan's slight, lifeless body, cradling him, feeling a tidal wave of colossal grief unlike anything he'd ever known. There had been peace in Obi-Wan's eyes when he'd died, a peace Qui-Gon had never shared. "Why?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, closed it, his eyes searching Qui-Gon's face. "Something broke," he whispered, and in a blink he was on his feet, shaking his head. The silver beads in his long braids of hair were dull with blood. "I need a shower," he said, and practically bolted from the room.

He stared, part of himself straining to go after Obi-Wan. The rest was still trying to comprehend what, exactly, had just happened.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon looked over at Anakin, who inclined his head and smiled. "Pot, kettle, black, Master," he said, in approval and blessing.

"Indeed," Qui-Gon replied, climbing to his feet to seek out his Avatar.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
-C. S. Lewis

Obi-Wan had to dig through a haphazard pile of all of their things on the Temple ship to find clothing that was his. The droids, when searching their craft for hints as to their whereabouts, had not been concerned with keeping things in order.

There was a shower and decontamination area next to the hangar bay, and that was where he went, pulling off his boots and throwing them at the metal walls as he stalked inside. A row of lockers, as tall as a standard humanoid, lined one wall. There was a bench on the other side, and beyond that were nozzles lining the walls, one bay for chemical cleaning, another devoted to basic cleansing.

He sat down on the end of the bench, ripped off his ruined tunics, and threw them at the lockers. Then he bent over and buried his face in his hands. "Fuck," he grumbled. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Qui-Gon knew. Knew, and had reacted... Well, that was the entire problem. He had no idea how his former Master was reacting. Obi-Wan didn't even know how he was reacting. Aside from running away to hide in a shower, that was. He was at a complete and utter loss.

Obi-Wan forced himself not to move when he felt the other man's approach. When warm fingers settled onto his back, he flinched, taking a deep, shaky breath.

For a few minutes there was only touch-soothing, glorious touch, the simple brush of fingertips against his skin. He closed his eyes and began to relax, as he always had when his Master had attempted to calm him this way.

"Did you have no choice," Qui-Gon asked, his voice a soft rumble, "but to bear the scars of the wound that caused your death?"

"I don't know," he said, dropping his hands away from his face. "I woke up and it was there."

"Where?" Qui-Gon asked, his fingers coming to rest on the round burn scar on Obi-Wan's back, where a Sith's blade had once pierced his flesh.

"Geonosis. Disoriented, confused, rocks poking me in the backside." Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's faint amusement at his words. "Come to think of it, I'm fortunate I didn't wake up naked, considering Jeimor's sense of humor." He lifted his head at last. "I'd been breathing desert air for an entire hour when you saw me again."

"I knew it was you," Qui-Gon said, surprising him. "I knew, and then rejected that knowledge. I couldn't... I couldn't allow myself to believe it."

He lifted his legs, swiveling around on the bench so that he could look up at Qui-Gon. "Why not?"

Qui-Gon sank to his knees before him, and didn't speak. Instead, he held out his hands, palm up, in invitation.

Obi-Wan swallowed, lifting his hands. Oh, there would be no mistaking anything after this, no doubts left once he touched Qui-Gon's skin and felt the truth of his memories. "Are you..." his voice cracked; he cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you sure? I can't... I can't control what I'll see."

Qui-Gon only gazed at him, and behind the serenity in his eyes was that deep, lurking sadness. The one thing Obi-Wan did not see, however, was doubt. Qui-Gon knew what he was offering.

Obi-Wan sighed and tried to steel himself. If he'd thought Ventress's memories had been painful...

His hands hovered over Qui-Gon's palms for just a moment, trembling, before he let his fingertips brush skin. He sucked in a breath, feeling his eyes roll back in his head just before he lost sight of everything before him, and could see only the memories of another.

Elegy

The red energy shield slammed closed in front of his face, and if Qui-Gon had not broken his nose long ago, he might have just chanced losing the end of it. As it was, he shut down his lightsaber, calling on the Force in a desperate bid to refuel exhausted reserves. The Sith was good; he was very, very good. Despite his and Obi-Wan's reputation for wielding the best blades in the Order, they were just barely holding their own.

Damn the Council anyway, for their short-sightedness, their refusal to believe that Qui-Gon could recognize Darkness when he saw it. There should have been a full team of Jedi sent back to Naboo, not just a negotiating pair.

Then there was his Padawan, his silent shadow of the past few days. Even now Obi-Wan was quiet, standing before the red shield at the far end of the corridor, not responding to the Sith's taunts and harsh laughter. His blade was still ignited, but his shoulders were steady, his head lifted, as if Obi-Wan were not as drained as Qui-Gon knew them both to be.

They needed to plan together, to communicate beyond the quiet civility that they had managed to re-cultivate in the swamp. He reached down the bond they shared and to his intense surprise, discovered that there was nothing on the other end. It was untethered, the unwound ends twisting in the Force as if waving on a gentle breeze. As if it had never been connected to anything at all.

"Obi-Wan!" he shouted.

His Padawan turned his head at Qui-Gon's call, looking back over his shoulder at him, and Qui-Gon felt all of the air rush from his lungs in realization. There was a calm acceptance in Obi-Wan's eyes, a depth of serenity that Qui-Gon had once despaired of ever helping the boy to master.

Obi-Wan knew he was going to his death. He had known he was going to die, else how to explain such an expertly unwound bond? There would have been no chance during their battle with the Sith to do such fine work.

"No," he whispered, but Obi-Wan had already turned his attention back to the Sith, and the energy shields opened again. Obi-Wan engaged the Sith, their blades a blur of blue and red, and Qui-Gon ran down the hall, a frustrated growl on his lips because he could not use the Force to increase his speed, he had not the strength left for such a thing if was going to be called into combat once more.

The last energy shield fell into place in front of him, and he could only watch, holding his lightsaber in a white-knuckled grip, the only sign he would allow of his own inner turmoil. Obi-Wan was...

Force, Obi-Wan was dancing.

The younger man's restrained fire had been allowed to run free, but instead of boiling over, as Qui-Gon and others had once feared, it was like Light itself had been unleashed. The Sith was on the defensive in the face of the skill Obi-Wan displayed in that moment, his Padawan communing with the Force on a level even some Masters still struggled with.

Gods, it was beautiful. He was beautiful, and as joy and fierce pride surged in his chest, Qui-Gon allowed himself to hope that he'd been wrong.

A fierce clash, and the Sith lost half of his lightsaber to a brilliant feint and twist, and on the follow-through Obi-Wan managed to injure the Sith, as well. The tattooed Zabrak howled in rage and pain, muscles and tendons severed, leaving his left arm, his weaponless arm, hanging uselessly at his side.

But in injuring his opponent, Obi-Wan had left himself vulnerable. There was no chance to avoid the remaining blood-red blade. The Force answered Qui-Gon's call, but the Sith deflected the Force-shove. Qui-Gon could only watch in horror, and breathe out faint, desperate refusal, as the Sith stabbed Obi-Wan in the chest, just above his heart.

Their eyes met for a few brief seconds; there was pain on his Padawan's face, his skin already pale with shock, but there was no surprise in his eyes. Tactical suicide. He'd sacrificed himself to leave Qui-Gon a certain victory.

Maybe he screamed; maybe there was silence, and the scream was only in his own head, but it seemed like heartbreak should create a sound that everything in the universe could hear.

The Sith let Obi-Wan fall, turning his attention back to Qui-Gon, still oozing confidence. When the red shield gave way, Qui-Gon wasted no time in wiping the confidence from the bastard's face. After what Obi-Wan had done, the fight was almost ridiculously easy, and Qui-Gon didn't bother restraining a triumphant shout when he sent two pieces of Sith into the melting pit. He stood at its edge and watched the Sith fall, breathing hard and trying not to succumb to the rage he felt, battle lust in his blood and devastation in his heart.

Then none of it mattered, because he could sense that Obi-Wan still lived, and that meant there was time. Qui-Gon raced across the room to the still, pale form, falling to his knees. Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, but at the touch of Qui-Gon's trembling fingers on his face, they flickered open. They were not blue-green, but gray, as if life was stealing color as it fled. Impossibly, Obi-Wan smiled up at him, the expression filled with such warmth and love that it felt as if the few remaining pieces of Qui-Gon's heart were broken anew.

How could he be so blind, as to not realize he loved this man?

He gathered his Padawan's unresisting body into his arms, and already it was like he weighed nothing. There was no healing the Sith's wound, no saving his Padawan from this fate even if Qui-Gon had not been on the verge of collapse. Obi-Wan's heart was burnt, beating in a failing, desperate attempt to keep life flowing. His spine was damaged, and both of his lungs were almost destroyed by the heat that had pierced him.

"Obi-Wan," he whispered, feeling hot tears burn lines of fire down his face. "Why..." He couldn't finish the question, because he knew. Obi-Wan had always, always made sure Qui-Gon came first, even if it flew in the face of all good sense. Qui-Gon had repaid Obi-Wan's stubbornness, his unwavering devotion and love, with harsh words and dismissal. Worse, he'd failed his Padawan in the most crucial way, and as he felt the Force gather like dusk falling across the sky, Qui-Gon knew he would never have the chance to make it right.

And he was lost.

Obi-Wan reached up with one shaking hand, touching Qui-Gon's face, catching Qui-Gon's tears on his fingertips. Then his hand fell, strength gone, and Qui-Gon caught it. Obi-Wan's hands were cold, lacking the heat of the living already, and it wasn't fair. Force, this was not right, it would never be right.

"Train Anakin," Obi-Wan said, the words seeming to have no more strength than a breath. Qui-Gon almost smiled at the flash of annoyance in Obi-Wan's eyes, as if that wasn't what he'd meant to say at all. Strangely enough, he understood. Too late, always too late.

"He... needs you, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said, and smiled again, his eyes fever-bright with love, and Qui-Gon felt himself choking back bitter grief as he realized that his love was returned. Possibly it had been returned for years. "Like... I..." Obi-Wan tried to speak again and could not, and there was blood on his lips. His lungs, abused and weakened, refused to rise again.

"Obi-Wan-Obi-Wan!" he cried, feeling the heartbeat under his fingers stutter, feeling Obi-Wan shudder as his body tried in vain to keep breathing, keep living. Then the struggle ceased, and Obi-Wan went limp in his arms, and night came to his world.

****

"Much grief I feel in you, Padawan of my Padawan," Yoda said, gazing up at Qui-Gon. The old Master looked far more careworn than usual, even worse than the day Dooku had decided to leave the Order.

Qui-Gon nodded but said nothing. His eyes felt like he'd tried cleaning them with sandpaper, his throat was raw, and his shoulders ached, as if he'd found himself under the burden of an unbearable weight. The words were true; there was no need to say more.

Yoda sighed and paced back and forth in the antechamber to the great room the Council had been granted. The other members, all eleven, were waiting for them, because Yoda had chosen to speak with Qui-Gon alone, first. "Still plan to take the boy as your Padawan, do you?"

He nodded again, which seemed to frustrate Yoda.

"The Chosen One the boy may be, Qui-Gon, but matters, that does not." Yoda stared out of the window, facing away from Qui-Gon as he stilled his footsteps. "Dangerous he still could be, but the danger has become... less. Still, his training... Certain, you are, that do this you can?"

Qui-Gon managed a terse smile. "I think we'll manage." Despite everything, he had a bond with Anakin already, a spontaneous creation of the Force that rivaled his lost connection to Obi-Wan. Anakin kept tiptoeing around it mentally, as if afraid of hurting Qui-Gon with his very presence, unsure of his actions in the face of his new Master's grief. "Besides, Obi-Wan practically ordered me to do so, Master Yoda. If it is the last thing, the only thing, I can do for my Padawan, then I will honor his words."

Yoda nodded, turning to face him once more. "Your Padawan, Skywalker will be. Need each other, you will." His ears and head lowering, Yoda sighed once more. "Miss him, I will."

"As will I, Master," Qui-Gon said in a whisper. "More than I ever imagined."

****

He helped the local Naboo priests prepare Obi-Wan's body, making sure each fold of cloth was perfect, that everything that could be pristine, would be. He unwound the fraying Padawan braid, running his fingers through the soft threads of auburn that marked all their years together. Then he rebraided it by touch and memory, blinded by grief, putting the beads and ties in their proper places.

The pyre, though, he would not, could not light. That task he gave to Yoda, who accepted it with solemn eyes. He waited for that moment with Anakin at his side. The boy was wrapped in Qui-Gon's own robe, chilled from the Naboo night, and was staring at the pyre in silence.

Instead of the simple words Qui-Gon expected, Yoda climbed up so that he stood at the edge of the stone bier, his hands held together before him. "A burning flame we have lost. Rarely has my heart been this heavy, my duty been this difficult." Yoda blinked a few times, his eyes bright in the light of the surrounding torches. "A loss this is, not just for Master Qui-Gon, but for all Jedi.

"Over eight hundred years have I trained Jedi. In all of that time, no more than three Padawans have there been who were Knighted after their deaths. Four, there now are."

Qui-Gon gasped, turning startled eyes to the rest of the assembled Council. They gazed back at him, and more than one set of eyes was filled with shared grief. There had been no mention of this over the past few days, no hint that they would even consider bestowing this last possible honor upon his Padawan. Unthinkingly he put his arm around Anakin, pulling him close, desperate for contact-any contact. Anakin touched him through their fledgling bond, offering wordless, child-like comfort.

Yoda wasn't finished. "Fought, this young Padawan did, against an ancient enemy, and in his heart there was no fear. In defense of others, he acted, for those who stand here today, and for those who may stand with us tomorrow. A Padawan we will consign to the flames, but it is Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi that we will remember."

He was beckoned forward, and Qui-Gon followed the ancient Master's instructions with heavy steps, accepting the tiny, silver knife from the clawed green hand. He severed the rebound braid above the uppermost tie, and for a moment he held it in his hands, feeling the silk of Obi-Wan's hair slide through his fingers.

Not fair, not right, he raged in his mind, careful not to allow any of that storm to touch his bond with Anakin, or to show on his face. This was not the Knighting he'd wanted for this man, who'd earned it through kindness, word, and deed, over and over again.

Qui-Gon wrapped the long auburn braid around Obi-Wan's cold, folded hands. "This is yours," he said, not even needing to think about it. Perhaps Obi-Wan might have given it to him, but that was not his decision to make, and thus it would stay. "You earned it," he whispered. Oh, love, you more than earned it, he thought, and stepped back, nodding to Yoda.

Yoda bowed his head, taking the torch from Mace's hand when it was offered. "Those gathered here to mourn with us: grieve not, for there is no death. There is the Force."

Sublimation

Obi-Wan launched himself backwards, trying to escape and could not as ten years of isolation and grief and anger and loss and desolation poured through his psyche. Qui-Gon's thoughts of ending his life dominated him: of sliding into the Force with a whisper of will and stilled heart, the reckless actions, pursued without consideration of consequence, of making sure Yoda understood that Anakin was his if he should fall. Restraint had been his watchword, Anakin's presence in his life and a vague thought to his duty to the Order had kept him from following Obi-Wan into the Force. Broken, everything was shattered, and he had so little reason to stay...

He might have screamed, trying to purge what he would now always carry-the pain he had inflicted, all unknowingly, on the one he loved.

Obi-Wan hit a wall and fell to the floor, his hands clasping his head, and realized that he could not draw breath. He fought for it, struggled to make his lungs take in air. Jeimor! he called in a panic, and then lost even that. can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe!

Then Qui-Gon was there, recognizable by scent and touch as warm lips pressed against his. Air was forced into his lungs, and his body soaked it up greedily, as if it was a substance that was vital to his existence once more. He gasped for breath, grateful when it came again to him without help. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" he tried to say, and then Qui-Gon's lips were upon him again in a fierce, demanding kiss.

Obi-Wan parted his lips and a tongue darted inside, tasting and seeking. He groaned into Qui-Gon's mouth, every nerve in his body lighting up as it recognized what was being asked of it. Breath and skin and scent and touch, all encompassing, the sum of existence and something that should have never touched him again. The pulse of life beat against him, warm and overwhelming, and he wanted.

Obi-Wan took a breath; he should not ever have this again. He was dead, a ghost of solid flesh, and all too soon he would not even be that.

His resolve lasted for an entire two seconds before there was a hot hand on his crotch, palming his already erect cock through his leggings, and he decided that he didn't care. He growled and pushed back, claiming Qui-Gon's mouth for his own this time as he tried to undo the belt that was in his blasted way. The belt dropped and he was untangling Qui-Gon's sash and tabards and pulling tunics off with Qui-Gon's help.

He looked up and found Qui-Gon's eyes upon him, deep and dark with a near-feral need, and Obi-Wan found himself shaking under that gaze. "Qui-Gon... you know I'm not here forever," he said, his voice raw whisper.

Qui-Gon smiled and cupped Obi-Wan's face with his hands. "But you're here in this moment," he murmured. "You're here, with me. Do I need to reiterate the old lesson once more?"

"Maybe I need to learn by example," Obi-Wan said, and found himself shoved against the lockers, Qui-Gon pressed against him. Skin slid along skin, and Obi-Wan threw his arms back against the rough edges of the lockers, reveling in the contrast of cold steel against his back and Qui-Gon's teeth at his neck, nipping him and then laving the bite with his tongue. Obi-Wan shivered and thrust his hands into the beautiful silver mass of Qui-Gon's hair, pulling his head back up for another searing kiss.

Qui-Gon moaned against his lips, a long, low sound that went straight to his cock. Then Qui-Gon picked him up, pinning him against the lockers so that their hips rested together, and Obi-Wan reached down and grabbed the hard line of a very evident erection.

"Oh, gods," Qui-Gon hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Do you know... how long I've wished... how I dreamed-"

Obi-Wan kissed him again to cut off the flow of words, tugging the older man's trousers down. He took the magnificent, heavy, leaking cock in his hand, pleased by length and girth, and squeezed his fingers around it.

Qui-Gon pressed his face into Obi-Wan's neck, moaning again, and Obi-Wan slid his hand up and down that long shaft, rubbing his thumb underneath the sensitive head. "I always wanted to do this," he confided, almost breathless himself from sensation and from what he could feel from Qui-Gon, like it was no effort at all to sense the effect he was having on the man. "I wanted to touch you and feel you, watch you respond, I wanted so much to love you..."

"Gods!" Qui-Gon shouted, and grabbed Obi-Wan's hand, shoving it back up against the locker and pinning it in place. He tugged down Obi-Wan's leggings and rocked his hips. Their cocks slid together, slick with forming sweat and pre-cum, and Obi-Wan panted for breath, already almost undone from the dual onslaught of sensation.

"Oh, Force! Qui-Gon, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you," he said in a rush, unable to thrust back, captive to Qui-Gon's desire and utterly pleased with that fact.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered, and it only took two more thrusts before he was coming in shaking, sharp jerks of his hips and bathing them both in warmth.

Obi-Wan gasped, his mouth falling open but no sound emerging from his throat, feeling Qui-Gon's intensity sunburst his own. It was like a star going nova, one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever felt in his life, and he could have stayed in that warmth forever.

Qui-Gon let him back down onto his feet gently, and Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around the larger man, resting his forehead against the hot flesh of Qui-Gon's chest. He was not surprised to find that his face was wet with tears.

"Well," he managed to say after a moment, trying to sound cheerful. "If I didn't need a shower before, I certainly do now."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I really did miss your abominable sense of humor."

"Even the puns?" Obi-Wan couldn't resist asking.

"Especially those," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan raised his head to look at him, just to see if he was serious.

He was. There were wet lines on his face where tears had fallen from his eyes. Qui-Gon was also bearing smears of white dust on his nose and cheeks. "What's this on your face?" Obi-Wan asked, reaching up to touch one of the white spots on his cheek.

"It's from what's on your face, actually," Qui-Gon said, and there must have been something in Obi-Wan's eyes, because Qui-Gon frowned. "You don't know?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, bewildered. "What's on my face, Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon started opening lockers until he found one with a mirror stuck to the inside of the door. "Look," he said. "It was there the first day I saw you."

Obi-Wan gazed into the mirror, confused by the image reflected back to him. It took him a moment to recognize his own features, buried as they were by black and gray dust-not white, as he'd thought. All of his face, even his neck, was covered in the light gray dust. There was a slight smear of black dust around his lips, and his lips themselves were black, too, with nothing to suggest he hadn't just exchanged many wet kisses with someone. The rest of the black was concentrated around his eyes, making their blue-green color stand out in sharp relief. Broad strokes of black lines graced his cheeks. Wing-pattern, crow-pattern. He bore an echo of Jeimor's wings on his face. "What is this?" he asked again, and reached up and ran his fingers across his cheek, right over the wing pattern. The dust came off on his fingers, but the pattern did not smear. Disconcerting.

Obi-Wan looked at his fingertips, rubbing his thumb over the dust as he pondered the silky, slightly greasy texture, and his stomach lurched as he realized what it was. Not dust, not dust at all.

"What?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Not dust," he repeated, feeling his heart thud painfully against his ribcage. Not dust. "It's ash," he whispered, and then bolted for the showers.

He turned the first shower's water tap on full blast and jumped into the spray, shrieking as ice-cold water struck his skin before scrubbing with both hands at his face. By the time the water finally began to heat up, he felt like he'd scrubbed his skin raw. "Is it off?"

Qui-Gon turned him around in the shower, having sensibly finished taking off his clothes before getting wet. He was looking at Obi-Wan in concern, but then he took Obi-Wan's hands away from his face and pressed a kiss against Obi-Wan's forehead. "It's gone, Obi-Wan. Stop trying to peel your face off, please."

Obi-Wan nodded, trying to still the tremors in his hands, and was grateful when Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around him. "Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I want the reminder," he muttered.

"Nor I," Qui-Gon admitted, resting his chin on Obi-Wan's head. "Though I daresay it will be back."

"Yes," Obi-Wan breathed, burying his face against Qui-Gon's smooth chest and sighing. It would be back, because it was who he was, who he'd asked to become. It was sort of stupid to run from that now. He focused on breathing, in and out, a meditation without intent, and they both stood under the hot spray for long minutes without moving. The blood that had dried in his hair, his own blood, ran in pink rivulets down his skin.

Before he knew it he was laughing.

"What?" Qui-Gon asked again, nuzzling his ear. "What's so funny?"

"Mace said 'restored,'" Obi-Wan said, and snickered again. "It didn't even occur to me that he really meant it. By the way, this was probably the best Knighting gift, ever."

Qui-Gon hugged him so hard it made his ribs ache. "And I am so glad to be able to give it to you."

It appears to me impossible that I should cease to exist, or that this active, restless spirit, equally alive to joy and sorrow, should be only organized dust.
-Mary Wollstonecraft

Book 4: Trust