Master Apprentice Archive Hearts of Darkness - Book I Quick search:

Hearts of Darkness - Book I

by Kass (kassxf@aol.com) & DBKate

Category: ***ANGST***, Drama, Romance, Non-Con

Rating: NC-17 (and we are NOT KIDDING!)

Disclaimer: We don't own them, and they are probably thankful for that.

WARNING: This fic contains non-consensual sex and seriously dark ADULT themes. If this sort of thing squicks you, or you are under legal age to read such things RUN AWAY NOW!

Summary: Revelations made beneath the shade of Darkness.

Chapter One: The Taking
Revelations made beneath the Shade of Darkness

The lightsaber was still warm in his glove.

Still warm even in the damp chill of the rim planet's dense, wet forests. The dark man wasn't sure if it was from the heat of the battle or from his own fierce pleasure transferred to the tightly clutched Force-enhanced metal.

How easy it had been.

It's owner Qui-Gon Jinn, the so-called Jedi Master had almost handed it to him outright, his fears clouding his judgement. Fears for his padawan had led to his defeat as surely as they would lead to his demise. Eventually.

The ship came into view and he approached it without fear. He had time. The young one would come out, saber at the ready, but would never strike the first blow. That was the Jedi way, the one for which they would all pay when the time came. In the end, all he had to do was show the boy the old one's saber.

How pathetically easy.

His presence was sensed immediately and the apprentice emerged, prepared as predicted, his saber lit and held high, but only in defense.

The dark man simply laughed and held out the master's saber for examination.

The young one's eyes were wide. Shocked. His master never prepared him for the presence of Others.

But, then again, who could be prepared for Darkness? He hadn't been. No, when it first came calling, singing its way into his soul, he'd been surprised as well. Embracing it hadn't come naturally, but in time ... in time all things followed their fated course. As they would follow now.

"You will come. Or he dies."

He watched the inner debate with interest. The young one was smart enough to realize that the saber would have never left his Master's hand unless he was either dead or defeated. And if the master were dead, the Force would have let the apprentice know. That is how the bond worked; why it was initiated in the first place. As a source of security ... protection.

But there would be neither here.

"You have but one more moment. Come, or he dies."

The young one relinquished his saber.

Submitted silently to the attachment of the damping collar and there was much pleasure taken in tracing the arteries of his throat, imagining the hot blood pouring out and the light of life slowly leaving the young man's eyes.

Beautiful eyes. Blue with gold and soft greens, changing in the dull gray light reminding him of warmer climes and a cooler soul where the hate had yet to burn so fiercely. The young one had a beautiful face as well, almost too beautiful for a Jedi, more suited for other things.

So many other things.

He was almost a Jedi, but not yet.

There were obvious weaknesses all around him, each one ripe for exploiting, his blind and obvious love for his Master chief among them. Hid his fear well, even as the sharpened cuffs were placed on his wrist, drawn tight enough to cause the first hints of pain. Showed no fear as they retreated into the dark heart of the jungle, to where the master was waiting.

Then again, he had no idea what fear was. Would not.

Not until he, Maul, the student of Sideous, took his delight in teaching him exactly what it meant.

Serenity, not passion, Qui-Gon told himself, for perhaps the hundredth time, pacing out the confines of the stone cell. He'd been a fool, of course, the code counseled detachment, not attachment, and what had he done but rush into a trap, simply because of the possibility that Obi-Wan had been taken by this mysterious opponent.

No windows, no bars and the door had been cleverly constructed so that he could just trace the outlines with Force enhanced senses. The collar around his throat dulled those somewhat, but he was, after all, a Master; he might not be able to summon enough Force to free himself, but he could at least examine his prison.

Resting his forehead against the cold, ungiving stone, he wondered again who this enemy was, wondered about the training that seemed very like Jedi style. Damn his stupidity in leaving Obi-Wan behind, damn the ion storm that had not let him reach Obi-Wan via communicator. Damn his haste in assuming--well, past was past, he had to stop thinking in those terms and think of how to escape from this trap.

He was going to have to use his wits, that was all; without the extra power of Force, he was going to have to use his wits, far more than he'd done already.

There was food and water, he reminded himself and regarded the far corner with distaste. Sanitary facilities, everything a prisoner could want. Save freedom.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door slid open with a grating sound; he whirled to stand ready. The man stood there, his features obscured by the red and black tattooing, his mouth curving in malicious pleasure. "Qui-Gon Jinn," he said, "What a pleasure it is to see you."

Not so, he thought and surreptitiously tested the thick chain that held him just short of the door; it was fastened to the damping collar, any physical effort would ensure his windpipe was crushed, without the ability to touch the Living Force.

"I have something to show you, Master Jinn." The man's tone made the honorific a title beneath contempt.

"I have no interest in anything you would have to show me," he retorted. "What is it you want?"

Another malicious grin and the man stepped back, and then forward again, holding another chain tightly in his hand. At the other end of that chain--his stomach knotted and rage obscured his vision for a moment--stood his padawan, naked and unarmed, collar around his neck, and razcuffs binding his hands.

Obi-Wan's eyes held his, unashamed, unafraid. For a moment, he felt despair; what he had feared had come to pass after all. "What do you want?" he asked the dark man. "Who are you?"

Another tug on the chain and Obi-Wan lost his footing, fell to his knees. "I like him like this," the dark man said and there was something in his gaze that made Qui-Gon's skin crawl. "You may call me Darth Maul," he added, looking at Qui-Gon. "This one will call me Master."

"Not ever," he said evenly. "Not for my sake or for his own. You may kill us, but you cannot best us, Maul."

"Darth Maul, if you please." One black glove descended on Obi- Wan's shoulder, stroked it lasciviously.

Obi-Wan stared straight ahead, his expression impassive, even when the hand moved lower to stroke a nipple.

Qui-Gon watched without reaction, keeping his eyes on Maul, not allowing himself to see what Maul did, what Maul touched, even though rage spread like a wildfire through his veins.

"We're going to have a very good time together," Maul said, almost affectionately. "He's going to learn so much, Master Jinn." Slyly. "Things you haven't bothered to teach him, I'm afraid."

"Be assured, Maul, that if you harm him, I will kill you." That much escaped iron control; he regretted it instantly, regretted giving Maul that much information. Although Maul had somehow known to begin with, or he would not have not known that Qui-Gon would come after Obi-Wan initially.

"You're very dull, old man," Maul told him, grinning. "Perhaps, now that I have the pretty one, I should just kill you." Obi-Wan made an abortive movement, freezing in place when Maul touched him again. "No? Will you beg for your master's life, pretty one?"

"No," Qui-Gon rasped. "He will not." But the eyes that rested on him contradicted that.

"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered, barely audible to him. "I will. Let him go."

Maul laughed. "Soon, pretty one. Soon." And yanked at the chain, pulling Obi-Wan up to his feet again, not easily. Stroked a hand over Obi-Wan's belly and looked back at Qui-Gon. "You didn't know, did you, how ripe he is."

That grin again, and he longed to erase it with his hands alone. The black gloved hand moved lower, he saw Obi-Wan flinch and started forward without conscious thought, stopped at the limit of the chain. "Leave him alone," he said, managing to keep his voice level.

"But I don't want to," Maul told him, his tone spuriously reasonable and continued fondling. "You really are very dull, old man."

He stared into his padawan's eyes, wanted to rage, to weep, wanted his lightsaber in his hand with more passion than he remembered feeling, more violent passion. Obi-Wan stood stolidly, staring back at him; the fondling began to have some effect, he refused to let himself see it. "Remember, Obi-Wan, that flesh is only flesh, he cannot touch your soul."

Maul chuckled. "You might be surprised, Master Jinn. But I will enjoy seeing that, too."

The door began to grate closed again, sliding back into place. He clenched his fists, fought the urge to roar defiance. Stood still, until the door stood between him and his padawan, until he could no longer see those eyes, staring at him as if he were the last shred of hope either of them had.

And he was helpless.

Whirling again, he pounded his fists against unyielding stone until they were bloody, until he slid down exhausted, his imagination providing him of images of what might be occurring beyond the door.

Somehow, he had to get out of here.

And for once in his life, he was going to find pleasure in dealing out death.

"Will you beg for him?" Maul asked, rattling the chain.

Obi-Wan refused to look directly at him. "I will." Began to move to his knees, remembering w beginning to understand what begging would entail, but that he could do. For Qui-Gon's life, that he could do. He wasn't innocent, after all, he was twenty, he'd shared and played with friends; Maul was hardly a friend, this was hardly sharing, but if he thought of it as simply his flesh, he could do it.

"Not yet," Maul told him, grinning. "Come with me, my lovely Jedi." And tugged harder at the chain, so he had perforce to follow, or risk strangling.

The stone floor was cold under his feet; they were in a cavern of some kind, some ancient dungeon that Maul had clearly appropriated for his own uses. Out of the darkened hallway, they stepped suddenly into a brightly lit room, soft carpet underfoot. Squinting, Obi-Wan looked around, assessing it as he had been taught.

Another hard tug on the chain nearly overbalanced him, and he stumbled, came up hard against Maul's back. Maul turned, regarded him without expression; at least he thought it was without expression--staring at those tattoos made him dizzy, they deceived the eye, obscuring features.

A gloved hand came up, pinched his left nipple. He bit his lip against protest, against outcry, stood quite still as Maul ran that hand down his belly again. "I think you must be in need of something to eat and drink," Maul murmured. "Then we will discuss my terms for keeping your Master alive."

The hell, he thought, but kept his teeth shut on that reply. Nodded fractionally and made no protest when the free end of the chain was fastened to a ring on the wall.

Maul offered him that hated grin again, moved off and through a doorway; he knelt and closed his eyes, silently chanting the litany against fear. He wasn't a child, wasn't a shrinking virgin, he was a man, and if it took playing some other part to get Qui-Gon and himself out of this place, out of this bastard's hands, so be it. The dread in his stomach eased with each repetition; he opened his eyes again to see Maul regarding him and felt it return. He hadn't heard Maul move, and that somehow was more frightening than anything else that had happened.

Maul put a dish down in front of him, a cup; knelt before him and deactivated the cuffs, letting him have his hands free. For a moment, he considered simply using his bare hands around the bastard's neck, but Maul seemed to divine his brief thought and shifted back, grinning.

He dropped his eyes; food cubes and water, he thought wearily and lifted the cup to his lips, sipped, wary of the taste. But it tasted like nothing more than clean water.

And Maul laughed softly at his caution. "Are you afraid of me, Jedi?"

He took a food cube, chewed it slowly, not answering. A backhanded blow rocked his head backward, cutting the inside of his mouth. "No." Flatly. Struggling to keep his anger quelled.

"You will be." Maul laughed again, reached out briefly to stroke his cheek.

Not as long as he could still find anger, Obi-Wan thought.

"Eat, Jedi. Then we'll talk terms." Another grin and Maul rose. "Enjoy your meal." Taunting him.

He watched the bastard walk out, hating and wishing he did not. Picked up another cube and chewed on the other side of his mouth, still tasting copper. He was going to survive, and he was going to make sure Qui-Gon survived.

But Maul, he thought, was going to die.

The old man was dull, but the apprentice was as lovely as he'd imagined.

Stoic and calm, ready to submit to what he thought was a mere formality when in fact, there was much more at stake. So ... so much more.

He was beautifully naked, shining and virtually new. Stripping him slowly had been a pleasure Maul shouldn't have enjoyed quite as much as he did, but there had been something so satisfying about removing those hated robes and tunics, so faultless, pure and white.

When he had reached an impasse at bound wrists, he had torn the cloth off with barely suppressed glee. Had enjoyed the sound, had enjoyed the reaction it provoked and proceeded to tear the rest off, whether it needed to be or not.

Attaching the chain to the damping collar and encouraging the lad to follow, a puppy upon his leash, was also an exercise in pleasure. Nothing could ruin the moment, and the master's initial rage and terror at the sight of his reduced apprentice filled Maul with a taste of future victory that struck him sweetest of all.

The usual protestations followed, but there were a few surprises. The young one was supple, willing to beg almost without heed. He'd been warm to the touch, and by the Force how ripe he was, his lovely body responding against even that rigid Jedi training.

Perhaps it had been his master's gaze that had done it.

Maul struggled not to laugh outright when he heard the frenzied banging on the prison doors when he'd taken the boy away. The master was going to have to learn how to master himself somewhat better than that and be much more entertaining, at least for his own sake.

For entertaining Maul was an important part of keeping oneself alive for any appreciable amount of time.

But the apprentice ... every movement spoke of sensuality and hidden longing. Repression and regrets and the old man in the cell hadn't any idea how good he could have had it.

But that mattered little now.

First to feed the pretty one's stomach, and then to feed his soul. To fill it with shame and, then, rage. To force him to name those desires that he dare not touch. And then, to take them both into the abyss with him. To turn that delicious defiance into something useful to his own master ... and the Darkness.

After a time, Maul came back, sat down in a chair, one leg slung over the side, some kind of fruit in his hand that he peeled with a tiny knife.

Obi-Wan stared at the knife longingly, but kept his face impassive, waiting. Waiting. And feeling the knot tighten in his gut as he did.

"So, pretty one, how old are you?" Maul's gaze was focused on the knife and on the fruit. "Eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Twenty." Evenly. No sign of distress, but it caught him off balance that Maul had not mentioned 'negotiations'. For one brief, horrid moment, he wondered if Qui-Gon was dead, but no, he could still feel the bond, however faintly, despite the collar.

"So you are not a virgin, I would imagine." Sly sidelong smile. "Or are you?"

His heart thumped dolefully. "No, I'm not."

"What do you like?" Another sidelong look. "What do you wish your Master would do with you?"

Against his will, he felt his face heat. "I don't know what you mean." Stolidly.

Maul made a clicking sound with his tongue. "I do assure you, pretty one, I can tell truth from lies, I know the latter well. If you lie, you lose my interest, and if you lose my interest, your master dies. It's that simple. He's far too old and dull to bother with, to be frank with you."

The peel curved into a spiral centimeter by centimeter; Obi-Wan watched it, unwilling to believe Maul. "I don't think about my master--"

Maul sat up again, looked at him, and even with his ability to link with Force damped, he could feel the danger.

He swallowed hard. "All right, yes." Defiantly. "I do love him. But I haven't lain with him."

Maul smiled thinly. "Jedi." Contemptuously. "Why ever not? If you want him, why not?"

Balance shaken, Obi-Wan glanced away. "He doesn't think of me that way." Thickly. Maul could not touch his soul, he told himself, no matter what; truth was truth, simply that, and however embarrassing, it was truth.

Maul's laughter was cruel. "You might be surprised, pretty one. He's old, not dead. I wonder, does he lie in his bed at night thinking of you, touching himself, wishing you were touching him?"

Obi-Wan looked away again; the image had taken shape in his mind with shocking suddenness, his skin felt hot everywhere and he stayed still, kneeling, his hands folded together on his thighs, glad of even that scant concealment.

Maul was peeling the fruit again; a piece of the peel fell to the floor. As if entranced, Obi-Wan followed its path, jumped fractionally when Maul laughed again. "Or perhaps you do. Lie in your bed, imagining what his flesh tastes like, what it would feel like against your tongue. Or down your throat. Or up inside you."

He closed his eyes, but the images were only made more vivid. "What did you put in the water?" Desperately, feeling his body's response to Maul's words.

"It was the food cubes,"

Maul told him carelessly. "Nothing much, just a little something to enhance your imagination, pretty one."

Another of those hateful grins. "To enhance your imagination and increase your, ah, sensitivity to it." Maul tossed the last of the peel, quartered the fruit, then bit into a piece, watching him. "Let me tell you what I require, pretty one. I am going to take you back to your master's cell and I'm going to fuck you in front of him. And while I do it, you're going to pretend that I am your master, you are going to imagine that it's his cock inside you, his hands touching you, making you scream." Another smile, even more hateful than the others. "And if you do not, there's an end of him. You must convince me that you truly want me to keep him alive. Those are my terms."

Rage and shame flooded him, he tasted acid in the back of his throat. "I will kill you," he told Maul, dizzy with it. "One way or another, I will kill you."

Maul only laughed again. "Now, pretty one, I think I can show you pleasure. And I don't object if you think of someone else, no, I insist upon it!" More laughter.

"Why are you doing this?" He tugged against the chain, felt the collar tighten and ignored it, until he felt the pressure too much. "Why?"

"Why pretty one, because I can." Maul rose, came to kneel just out of arm's reach. "Hold your hands out."

The cuffs again. "I really will kill you," he rasped.

Was backhanded brutally again and fell back against the wall. "Hold out your hands."

After a moment, he did, hating himself, hating his own weak flesh, and hating Maul with equal force.

Once his hands were against restrained, Maul reached in, still gloved, touched his stirring flesh; he closed his eyes, turned his head away, resting his cheek on the cold wall. Slow and soft, then firm and quick and he had to bite back the moan that wanted to rise from his throat.

Wanted to reach for Maul's throat, even if it cost him his hands, even if he bled to death before he could do anything.

But there was Qui-Gon to consider.

That thought calmed him a little; he was docile as Maul unhooked the chain and led him back out onto the cold floor of the hallway, was obedient.

Not quite resigned.

Qui-Gon hands were bleeding; he saw that distantly, raised his eyes to meet his master's and saw deadly rage hidden beneath Jedi calm.

Somehow, it helped him when Maul pushed him down to his knees. If he kept his eyes fixed there--but no, that wouldn't be enough, Maul put a hand on each of his shoulders. "Who am I, pretty one?" Inhuman laughter rode underneath the question.

He bit his lip, not willing to speak, not willing to play this sick game, but Maul fastened the chain again, to the floor, very little slack. "I have a blaster, shall I put an end to his misery, pretty one?" Very softly, and he doubted Qui-Gon had heard it.

"You are my Master." A whisper.

"Louder." The gloves had been removed, he stared at the tattoos that adorned even Maul's hands, shuddered.

"You are my Master." He said it with his eyes closed, unable to watch Qui-Gon's expression.

"There's a start," Maul murmured and stroked him again, laughing as his traitorous flesh responded. "You are delicious, I must say, so very delicious, pretty one, in all your shame and confusion. Don't you think so, Master Jinn?"

He kept his eyes closed, heard no sound from the cell. It made it easier, he blessed Qui-Gon for that. He could also pretend that there was no one watching.

Rough fingers opened him, a touch of slickness, and he felt the first faint touch of panic, his stomach roiled. He hadn't lied, he wasn't a virgin, but no one had ever taken him this way, and he had thought no one would, unless it was.....he was lost, hopelessly lost, the drugs enhanced his imagination, the images in his brain and it was impossible not to let himself imagine it was Qui-Gon.

"What is my name, pretty one." Jarring him back to the unpleasant reality.

"Don't..." It was the barest whisper that escaped him. "Don't call me that."

"No? What does your master call you?" Loud enough for Qui-Gon.

"Padawan." The word was safe, he let himself take comfort in it, let himself hold onto it as if it would save him. Those fingers stroked his buttocks, his thighs, and in spite of himself, he moaned, the drug was in full effect and he kept losing his place in time and reality, and this wasn't happening, he didn't want it to happen, and yet it was.

"That's far too formal. What do you think he would call you in bed?"

Fingers closed around him, stroking him, even as something thick and hot pressed hard into his body's entrance.

The pain was welcome, it didn't cancel the pleasure, but it dimmed it, he could keep that much of his own soul intact, although he still kept his eyes closed. "I don't know." Almost a cry.

"What would you call him in bed, Master Jinn?" Sardonic humor. "Or hadn't you ever thought of it? Not ever? Not alone in your bed? But he's so lovely and so ripe. And tight, I think you lied to me, pretty one, you're at least partly virgin."

Maul's body was against his now, Maul was fully sheathed in him. Tears stung his eyes, and he even welcomed them, more to cling to against the debilitating pleasure Maul's hands brought him, roaming on his belly, his chest, stroking him back to full, rampant erection.

"No answer? Duller even than I thought, old man, look at him, he's lovely. Why, if you took him to the markets on Deneba, he'd bring you a king's ransom."

Slightly breathless now, but Obi-Wan held no hope there, he couldn't control the movement of his own hips and the pleasure increased with each stroke of Maul's hand on him.

"Do you know, he's been wanting you, Master Jinn. How cruel of you to deny him." Maliciously. "Tell him, pretty one. Tell him that you've wanted him, I think it's time he learned of it, Jedi are so fond of truth." Thrusting into him. And somehow, with each thrust, more pleasure flowered from deep inside him, he couldn't think, couldn't find the space to breath. "Yes, I have." Almost weeping. "I've wanted him for a long time."

"Ah, that's better, now, who is touching you, my padawan?"

He shuddered, was caught and held tightly, too close to the edge to feel anything but the drug, the pleasure, the unreality Maul had demanded of him. "You are, my Master." Images flooding his mind, but Maul's hands were smaller, more delicate, and he couldn't completely cross that threshold, not completely.

"Who is fucking you, my padawan?" That inhuman laughter again. And then suddenly, it was out of his control; Maul bit his earlobe sharply. "Call his name!" Hissing it.

Ecstasy beckoned; if he had to fall, it wasn't going to be with Maul in his mind's eye. He screamed out Qui-Gon's name and came, screaming it again and again.

Felt Maul shudder behind him, but it seemed not to bring the dark man as much pleasure; he withdrew quickly and then rose. "My gift to you, Master Jinn. I've broken him in, he'll be ready whenever you are." Slightly hoarse.

Qui-Gon was still silent. Thankfully. He found he was near tears as his breathing steadied, but he would not weep in front of Maul, he would not if it killed him.

"Get up, pretty one."

He took in a ragged breath and opened his eyes. Rose as gracefully as he could, feeling wet and used. Maul held the threatened blaster; his heart sank for a moment, but all Maul did was deactivate the cuffs, gesture for him to go into the cell.

He quailed from that, but obeyed, ashamed, afraid to look at Qui- Gon.

Sank down on cold stone and Maul, still holding the blaster, followed him, fastened the chain to the wall opposite Qui-Gon.

"Enjoy a good night's rest." Mock cheer. "I will see you in the morning.

Neither of them answered; Obi-Wan watched the door slide shut, his mind utterly blank.

Silence in the cell after.

He drew his knees up, wincing at unaccustomed soreness, still not daring to look at his master.

After a moment.."Obi-Wan." Expressionless voice. "Take this."

He turned his head, saw Qui-Gon holding out his robe. "Put it on, before you freeze."

He tried to reach it, could not; Qui-Gon's mouth tightened and he tossed it. It landed at his feet and he put it on, nearer tears than before. "Thank you." Hoarsely.

"Get some rest." Qui-Gon's expression was as unrevealing as his tone.

He wanted to find that reassuring, wanted to think it was to spare him shame.

But his master turned away from him to meditate.

Leaving him nothing of comfort, only worry about what the morning would bring. And in spite of the litany, fear.

Chapter Two: The Turning
Revelations made within a room of gray

Maul examined the fruit in his hand.

Smoothed a thumb over its soft curves and tender skin. On its outer surface it appeared weak, fragile, but looks were deceiving. Beneath the vulnerable exterior lie a heart of stone, one that could crack teeth away from bone, pouring blood from the fissure left behind.

He'd underestimated the old man.

Maul's assumtions were made along more along more mundane lines; he'd expected rage barely hidden beneath cracking control and enforced stoicism. Vague contempt ... a plodding revolt.

But what he received was a look that spoke more, much more, than mere defiance. There was frank arousal; the master made no effort to hide it, and he'd coupled it with a mental message that rang clearly through the haze of the drugs that Maul had so prudently administered beforehand.

The message that he, Maul, could never own what Jinn already possessed.

It took more than a little pleasure out of the young one's ordeal and this enraged him. That and the preternatural calm that possessed the older Jedi, even as he watched his apprentice's misery. Oh, he hadn't even blinked, and only once did he lift his eyes to meet Maul's, his gaze laced with a severe serenity that was calculated to taunt ... and to test.

The man was a master Jedi, there was no doubt. Able to peer into the abyss and examine it as casually as one would contemplate a northern sky. Even as his very body was betraying him.

The fruit in cradled in the tattooed hand was crushed, its heart and flesh spilling out from between calloused fingers, leaving behind nothing but the stone within. Maul allowed it to drop from his palm and listened to it skitter across the floor below .. stone against stone.

The master Jedi would know fear.

If not for his own sake ... then for another's.

By Qui-Gon's internal clock, it was very near dawn; he woke from a restless doze and shifted, easing limbs gone stiff from inactivity. Obi-Wan still slept, still huddled in his robe against the far wall.

Rising, Qui-Gon moved to the center of the room, stretching the chain taut; the sound woke Obi-Wan, who started and looked around, a little desperately, before truly seeing him.

In the course of the night, Qui-Gon had fought with the collar as well as the ring; he'd managed to loosen it sufficiently that it gave him the barest advantage, he could shift it to the side, extending his reach. "Obi-Wan, come here." Softly. "He will be coming, soon, I think. Sit sidelong, so--" He demonstrated, held out a hand.

Something sparked in those lifeless eyes and Obi-Wan rose, wincing, moved to copy his posture; their fingers brushed, Qui- Gon curled his, cupping the very tips of Obi-Wan's, felt some relief from that small contact. "Listen to me," he told Obi-Wan, "And listen well. I know how hard it will be not to feel shame, my padawan, but you must remember that you have been drugged. Your body is not to blame, nor are you." He felt Obi-Wan's hand tremble, caught fingertips between his own, afraid of losing that much. Tried to choose his words carefully, honesty enough to ease Obi-Wan's pain, care enough not to destroy the bond of trust between them. "I have shame of my own, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's mouth trembled. "It's not your fault, Master, don't--"

"Hush." With just a hint of edge. "I, too, was drugged, Obi- Wan, and what ever else Maul may be, he is not completely blind. You are beautiful, in body and soul." The words came with difficulty. "He may not see the latter, but he sees the former quite well." A deep breath. "And I am not blind, either."

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, blinked hard and looked away. He felt a flicker of fear in his gut--had he said too much? By all the gods he didn't believe in, he prayed not.

After a long moment, Obi-Wan looked back at him, mouth set. "I will try not to be ashamed." Firmly. Determined.

His own hand trembled briefly. "Don't be ashamed to look at me, either, Obi-Wan." Very softly. "If it helps you, don't be ashamed to meet my gaze. There is nothing of which you should be ashamed in this place, in these circumstances."

Obi-Wan looked away again. "It's easier to pretend you aren't there." A barely audible whisper.

His throat ached. "All right. Whatever helps you the most, my padawan."

The grating sound began; the bastard had come sooner than he'd expected or hoped.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened, he tugged the robe off and fairly threw it at Qui-Gon, who tossed it behind him.

They were both standing when Maul appeared in the doorway. "Ah, both awake? I suppose Jedi are early risers."

Qui-Gon folded his arms and said nothing. Obi-Wan stood with his shoulders straight, his expression almost impassive.

"Remember what I told you, Obi-Wan." Softly. Almost inaudibly, he hoped.

Maul's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Stop that." Flatly. Holding his blaster up, he advanced into the cell. "Step back, Master Jinn, or I do assure you, you will regret it."

Obligingly, he stepped back, back again. There was something in that red gaze that gave him pause this morning; he wondered if it could be used, felt the first feral rush of possibility through his veins, headier than any drug. "Why don't you leave him alone?" Calmly, calling upon all his discipline. "I give you something freely, Maul--I do love him, and yes, I have looked on him with desire. Is that what you seek to know?"

Maul stood still, staring at him, eyes narrowed. "Too easily, Master Jinn." Contemptuously. "Remember, he called me Master last night. That smile again.

"No, he did not." He kept his tone mild, even kind. "He called me Master."

They stared at each other for a moment.

And then Obi-Wan spoke, drawing Maul's eye to him. "He's right, you know. You told me to pretend it was him. I called him Master."

Pride flared briefly, followed by a flicker of fear. Oh, Obi- Wan, he told his padawan silently, don't take risks--and Maul's hand came up, leveled the blaster at Obi-Wan's chest.

He held his breath, heart pounding, judging the distance and the damned chain.

After a moment, the blaster loaded. "So you did." Thin smile and Maul released Obi-Wan's chain, gave it a brutal tug. "Come, pretty one, it's time for more lessoning."

Obi-Wan stumbled, caught his balance and flicked a quick look back at Qui-Gon.

Be wise, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon told him silently. This time, when the door slid shut, he did not waste time in rage.

Water on stone, he told himself grimly, and settled on the floor before the ring on the wall, emptying his mind of all but that.

It was impossible not to feel fear, Obi-Wan thought, once again chained to the wall in Maul's private quarters. It was impossible not to feel shame, but it eased him that Qui-Gon saw no reason for it. That Qui-Gon had his own reasons for shame, and told him, shared it with him.

It was another bit of strength to hoard against whatever Maul would do today.

Coming in, he had seen their lightsabers, on the far side of the room, sitting openly on a table. Maul's confidence was complete, it seemed and that realization made his stomach roil again.

"Hungry?" Maul's tone was amused; he crouched and place a dish and cup in front of Obi-Wan. "Don't worry, it won't be in the food cubes this time."

He didn't believe Maul, not really, but without food, he would be incapable of fighting at all. Too, his treacherous mind pointed out that the drug at least would spare him the worst, he could slip into that unreality again, with Qui-Gon in his mind's eye instead of Maul.

His hand shook when he reached for a food cube; he chewed it doggedly, refusing to consider how it would affect him.

Still crouching, Maul watched him. "Tell me of your master, pretty one."

He glanced up. "What of him?"

"How long have you been his apprentice?" Maul smiled, sank back on his heels. "How did he choose you?"

He took another food cube, stalling for time, wondering what Maul was after. "Several years," he told Maul. "I was thirteen. I would have gone to the Agricorps, but he saw something in me worth teaching, I suppose." Bad choice of words, he winced inwardly, wishing he had used others.

"Seven years," Maul mused. "He doubtless saw your potential." A gloved hand reached out and touched him; Obi-Wan suffered it silently, not attempting to protest. "And never has he touched you in that time? Amazing. Jedi are fools."

His gut roiled again. "I was just a boy."

"All the more delicious, my pretty one." A glint in those mad eyes. "Perhaps he was afraid he'd be caught."

Obi-Wan refused to respond, took a drink of the water, another food cube.

"Truth or lies, Jedi--" Maul rose abruptly, stood staring down at him. "You liked what I did to you, did you not?"

Fear chilled him briefly, he gathered his strength again, gathered the memory of Qui-Gon's voice like a shield against him. "You didn't do it to me." Evenly. "In my mind, it was him."

The gloved hand lifted, struck him hard across the face; his head slammed against the wall, but he'd turned the moment the movement began, saved himself from loosened teeth and another cut inside his mouth. His head might ring, but he did not taste blood. "In your mind, perhaps," Maul hissed. "But it was me inside your body, pretty one." The mad eyes were redder, and he felt the waves of menace.

"You told me to imagine it was him." Taking some joy in thwarting Maul's pleasure, he risked it again.

Maul turned, paced a few steps away and returned to stand over him. "I wonder how he will feel if I kill you in front of him, pretty one."

Oh, yes, definitely enraged. He fought the fear that wanted to freeze him in place, that wanted to stop his mouth. "I was obedient, why are you angry at me?"

Maul stared down at him again. "You will call me Master." Thickly.

He kept his hands wrapped around the cup to keep them from trembling. "Whatever you want," he murmured, keeping his eyes down. "As long as my master is well."

There was a sudden tension; he risked a quick glance upward through his eyelashes, saw Maul's expression go stony, saw the gloved hand fondle the control to the cuffs and was glad that Maul had removed the cuffs so that he could eat.

He was safe for the moment.

Or so it seemed.

"Eat, pretty one." Silky, dangerous tone. "And then we will have lessons."

He thought again of Qui-Gon, wrapped the memory of Qui-Gon's assurances around him, frail comfort against the storm he saw in Maul's gaze.

It was all he had.

The rage was burning and it afforded him less pleasure than it ever had before.

How often had he fed on its bright embers, how often had it fueled him in battle and at res? The Darkness demanded anger daily as its ransom, so why did it now betray him? Oh, he was enraged, but this ... this feeling that assaulted him was a hollow fury, whispering of small defeats and tiny indignities lashing over him in waves of humiliation.

All at the hands of two Jedi who should be, by all accounts, broken beyond repair.

Jedi. He was taught to believe they were fools, sanctimonious cowards, too fearful to look directly into the Darkness that danced always on the very edge of their powers. Spending their lives calling that fear by any other name as to relieve some of its shame.

Serenity. Inner peace. Perfect calm.

Placing limits on themselves at every turn, unwilling to face the great force that could be unleashed with a single moment of pure hatred. According to all of Maul's lessons, the Jedi were weak ... foolish ... and ultimately, powerless.

He began to wonder if that were true.

Maul paced, feeling the blood clenching, then pooling its heat somewhere behind his eyes. Perhaps his master had been wrong about the Jedi ... but, then again, that was not possible.

_His_ master was never wrong.

But this defiance was intolerable. Even the young one ... the puppy ... the whelp, was defying him in ways he couldn't fathom. In small infuriating ways, feigning obedience and dicing logic even as he crouched naked and used at Maul's feet.

Perhaps he'd been going about it all in the wrong way. Perhaps he'd been too subtle in his approach.

And perhaps it was time to truly teach the foolish little Jedi the error of his ways.

Maul did not interrogate Obi-Wan, but only sat, as if considering what to do next.

Eyes red and mad and in spite of himself, he felt his fear increase, refused to let it take control of him, chanted the litany silently, his eyes downcast.

Maul moved suddenly, coming toward him, cuffs held out silently.

He swallowed hard and put his hands out. The cuffs closed around his wrists, almost painfully; his heart thudded hard once, he wondered if Maul's patience was at an end, but he kept his hands, the razored edges inside the cuffs did not bury themselves in flesh and bone.

His pulse was still rapid when Maul unfastened the chain and tugged him up. "Time for lessons, pretty one." A leer, but that was almost what he expected.

What he had not expected was the second room, he had not expected the surgical frame that awaited him.

He dug in his heels suddenly, the fear all consuming. "No!" Pulling back on the chain, heedless of the tension that robbed him of breath, that pressed against his windpipe.

Maul was laughing, merry again. "Ah, my pretty one, are you afraid? You needn't be. There won't be any permanent damage, that would be tedious and waste your looks." He twisted the chain around his hand, pulled hard.

Stumbling, Obi-Wan went to his knees, gasping; the world greyed out around the edges and when he could breathe again, he was on his knees in front of the framework, the chain held short and taut.

"Now, you don't want me to kill your master, do you?" Softly, hot breath against his ear. "Obedience, pretty one."

He gasped for air again, stared at the framework, at the table nearby with things on it that he did not recognize. Shuddered and let himself be pulled up to his feet; arms, legs, torso, and even his head were fixed into the frame, immovable.

Maul came to stand in front of him, grinning. "Do you see those? Those are neural stimulators. Some arouse pleasure. Some arouse pain." Reaching out, he drew a bare fingertip down Obi-Wan's chest, the fingernail just edged enough to cause a flicker of discomfort. "Now, what do I want to do first, I wonder?" Another leer.

Terror rose in his throat, choking him for a heartbeat; he was helpless, Qui-gon was bound, and he had no defenses, none at all, and he'd never thought to be in this position, not ever. Maul was smiling at him thinly, eyes glittering, and oh, he regretted baiting the monster now. "Whatever you like, Master." When he could breathe again, when he could speak without stammering.

Maul's mouth curved more tightly. "Very nice. But not quite good enough." He moved away, back toward the table, just at the edge of Obi-Wan's vision. "Let me see, which one will be most effective."

Pain or pleasure, Obi-Wan thought, and bit on his lower lip, sinking his teeth into soft flesh. Center, he told himself and bit harder as something like living flame seemed to touch his spine. No scream escaped him; he was distantly grateful for that.

In a very little time, it seemed less important.

Even through stone walls, Qui-Gon could hear the screams. Rage overwhelmed sanity, but he leashed it, channeling that energy into his slight grasp of Force. The ring was weakening, he could feel it; moreover, he had managed to lengthen some few of the links in the thrice cursed chain, giving him more space.

Not that he cared about the space, he wanted them weakened, he wanted the collar weakened, he wanted it to break, and kept desperation from his mind only by telling himself that Obi-Wan's screams meant that Maul had not killed him.

He refused to allow himself to consider what else Maul might be doing.

When the screams died down, he went very still, waiting, but Obi- Wan did not reappear, nor did Maul.

Fear joined rage, simmering in his gut, and it paradoxically brought back his sanity; he found himself wondering precisely why they had been entrapped so tidily, why Maul had not simply killed both of them.

He sensed that he was expendable, necessary only to keep Obi-Wan biddable, which suggested that Obi-Wan might well be the focus.

This man, Maul, had embraced Darkness. Legends of the Sith came to mind, and perhaps they were not all gone, after all. Perhaps they were still out there in pairs, here and there, skulking in the shadows.

It fit, now he thought about it, and the possibility nearly drove him to mindless rage again; they wanted Obi-Wan, whoever they were.

Was this the master or the apprentice? Too young to be master of Darkness, no, this was theapprentice, and why was the apprentice conniving with his master?

Even Sith had only one apprentice.

A slow and feral smile curved his mouth. Perhaps this young one had too much hunger in him to think clearly. But the smile faded as the silence continued. If Obi-Wan was dead already_.

He couldn't allow himself to consider that possibility, he told himself, blocking it away. Turning back to the chain and ring, he chanted the litanies until he could achieve some semblance of calm.

Until he could grasp the slender tendril of Force that was all he was allowed.

The pain was bad enough, but the pleasure was worse. And the skillful alternation of both was worst of all.

Simultaneously aroused and agonized, Obi-Wan screamed again, unable to keep the silence any longer.

"Ah, that's better my pretty one." A hand stroked his flank possessively. "You are so responsive, it's a pity your master wasted you."

He caught his breath on a sob. "Did your master waste you?" Reckless now. "Is that what happened to you? Or did he take full advantage of you."

There was a dangerous moment of silence. "I think it's time to show your master some of your tricks, don't you think? So that he knows what he's missed?"

No, he thought and closed his eyes again. Please, no, but really, what choice did he have?

The answer to that question, of course, was none, not if he wanted Qui-Gon to have any chance of escape at all. "Why don't you let him go? I'll stay with you, you can do whatever you want with me?"

This time it was pleasure that brushed his nerves. He writhed in the restraints, helpless against it, whimpering and begging wordlessly, screamed again when, without warning, it changed to searing pain.

"I can do what I want with you now," Maul told him, reasonable tone. "Well, let's see what he thinks of this, shall we?"

He could scarcely move of his own volition, Maul had to support him briefly, then shoved him to sprawl on the floor.

The cuffs went back on, naturally. He panted for breath, managed to push himself to a sitting position. "I don't think I can walk."

"I'll have to drag you then." Dispassionately.

It amazed him that his flesh remained whole, that after the pain, there was no mark on him, not even a reddening of the skin. "I can't walk." Distantly. He recognized shock, stared up at Maul, wishing one or both of them dead.

One black boot drew back, he didn't have time to protect himself; it caught him in the ribs, pain that felt more distant than what he'd just endured. Still, he rolled, tried to protect his chest and belly when Maul kicked him again, was hauled up choking.

One, two, and three hard blows to his face; oh, good, he thought vaguely, marked after all, and was set on his feet again.

He managed to stay there, stumbled after Maul into the next room, into the corridor.

Ah, well, after all this, being raped in front of his master was nothing; an irrational laughter wanted to bubble up, but he was still sane, knew Maul would kill both of them in his present mood. Or at least thought he knew.

The door opened slowly and he wished Maul would just get on with it, he was so tired, he wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep.

Qui-Gon stood again, arms folded, expression impassive, but he knew his master well enough to recognize the relief in his eyes. He hadn't thought what it would be like for Qui-Gon, waiting for him to be returned, shuddered as Maul positioned him on his knees.

"He's learned something more about himself, Master Jinn."

He looked at Qui-Gon in spite of himself, in spite of his resolve, saw something that made him shiver.

"Has he?" Shockingly, Qui-Gon smiled. "When does your master come for him, Maul?"

Maul's hands went still on him. "Shall I show you? His pleasure and his pain? And more?" Almost a polite, reception room tone, but Obi-Wan felt the tension in the fingers that rested on him.

"Perhaps your master hasn't told you when. Have you spoken to him?" Coolly, as if nothing were amiss, as if--fear rotted the brain, he thought tiredly, if he could only have kept his wits about him, questioned Maul, poked at him more delicately_

"I confess, Master Jinn, you seem to show no interest in your lovely Padawan or his condition." Savagely and the stimulator touched him, purest pleasure, almost ecstasy.

Almost pure need, and he sobbed, his forehead against the stone floor, welcomed the penetration, the hand on him. Qui-Gon's voice was distant, far away.

But he still heard it.

"He is lovely," Qui-Gon agreed. "And strong in the Force. Stronger than you, I don't wonder, or you would not need the collar for him. I don't wonder that your master wants him."

The stimulator stopped. He gasped for breath, for wit, and Maul withdrew. "Shall I kill him in front of you, Master Jinn? Perhaps just one quick cut, right across his throat? Or more slowly?"

"I don't think your master would like that," Qui-Gon told him gravely. And then, even more shockingly, turned and moved back to the far corner of the room, out of Obi-Wan's line of vision.

"Come back here!" Maul was enraged. "I will kill him."

"I don't think so." Qui-Gon's voice was calm.

The chain was yanked hard; he nearly choked, came up on his knees, then on his feet, fingers clawing at the collar instinctively again. The cuffs hurt, he wondered dully if he was going to lose his hands after all, but no, that wasn't Maul's intent.

A blow to the gut that robbed him further of air and drove him back down, the world greyed out completely, he let go of it, glad to be free, and sank into the comfort of unconsciousness.

Maul's rage was almost a separate entity, Qui-Gon thought, nearly holding his breath; would it break free? He took in a slow breath as Maul stepped back from Obi-Wan, frustration telegraphed by each movement.

Thank the Force, he'd guessed right.

Thank the Force.

Obi-Wan stayed unconscious and that worried him badly, he sat very still watching Maul drag Obi-Wan into the cell. Did he have enough slack to try and take Maul? He doubted it. Not yet.

But soon. Oh, yes, soon.

Once the door was firmly in place, he risked moving, found he had achieved more in the empty hours than he'd dared hope. A full arm's length closer, but Obi-Wan lay still, eyes closed.

Acid rose in his throat. "Obi-Wan." Urgently. "Obi-Wan, come here."

It took a moment, and nearly broke his heart, but Obi-Wan roused, tried to sit up and failed, fairly crawled to him. Or as near to him as the other chain would allow.

Not as near as he wanted, but still, he could stretch out and touch the bruised face lightly, guiding that small tendril of Force to something not destructive. Not as great deal, just enough to ease pain, to check that nothing was broken. He dare not do more, Maul might be hungry, but he wasn't stupid either.

Unfastening his outer tunic, he coaxed Obi-Wan into shifting again, got it around shock-chilled flesh and added his robe, chafed Obi-Wan's hands pointlessly until finally swollen eyes opened to peer at him. "How?" Faintly.

"Water against stone," he told Obi-Wan grimly. "Water against stone, my padawan."

Something that might have been a smile if things were not so dire. "You were amazing."

His heart did break, he swore it did. "I? I did nothing." Rustily, eyes burning and he tightened his hold on Obi-Wan's hands, stroked cold fingers back to warmth. "Except fall into a trap and bring you into danger." Bitterly.

"Why do they want me?"

Ah, his padawan--even now, he could think, he could reason. "Because they, like me, recognize that you will be a great Jedi someday." Softly. "Only they would prefer that you are Sith."

"I'd rather die." Faintly.

His eyes burned again. "Yes." But he wasn't going to dwell on that possibility.

"I mean it." Obi-Wan raised his head weakly. "Master, if it looks like they're going to win, I need your help, I can't do it myself."

It felt as if a knife had been driven into his heart and twisted, but he nodded soberly. "I will, my Obi-Wan. You have my oath on it." Very softly. "But it will not come to that."

Obi-Wan's head rested on a fold of the robe again, his eyes closed. "Water against stone." Blurrily.

"Yes." Fine strong hands in his own, unmarked except for thin cuts and bruising on the wrists. "Nothing is broken, Obi-Wan, that I can find. But you need rest."

"I can't sleep. I may never sleep again." A horrid, death's head sort of grin. "Think of the nightmares."

"I can do that much," Qui-Gon told him, aching again. "I'll tell you a story, shall I? What would you like to hear?"

Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment. "Tell me why you chose me after all?"

Oh, how it hurt. He gently rubbed his thumb on the inside of one bruised wrist. "That is far too easy and much too short. I chose you because you showed me that I had hidden behind walls out of cowardice, I chose you because your courage showed me what I lacked, and because you brought me back to life and taught me to laugh again."

Obi-Wan's eyes opened briefly. "Truly?"

"Truly. Now, what else."

Obi-Wan sighed, fingers closing trustfully over his. "Tell me about Injadrin's daughter and the Moon."

He smiled. An old favorite, he thought, allowing himself one faint hope, that Obi-Wan would not be so damaged by this that healing was impossible. "Very well," he murmured. "On Hykso, there was a very wealthy king, Injadrin, who had many sons, but only one daughter. He indulged her terribly, she had only to lift an eyebrow at something and it became hers...."

It took some time, but the fine hands in his own finally went slack, utterly relaxed.

And only then did his face become a mask.

Chapter Three: Departure
Revelations made within a shaft of light

The blue sky held no hint of rain.

The fields would go thirsty again that day and would soon burn to death beneath a brutal assault of sunlight, fated to die, no matter what Force could be summoned to help them along.

Leaving behind a vast sea of waste ... life to nothingness turned.

The Agricorps had never suited T'seratz Falkz. Since the moment he'd been admitted into the ranks of the Jedi Academy he'd wanted to be a Knight, desperately, but no master would have him. He'd been too impulsive a student, too impatient ... too prone to anger. Years passed by and with them came faded hopes, faded ambitions. He had no affinity for healing, so the farm world of Kweial was the only place left for him.

With its bales upon bales of shrweat and ronc, it was a flat, ordinary place, without the least bit of excitement to distinguish one dull day from another. There was morning, noon and moonrise, and by T'seratz twentieth year, he wondered if this was where he'd been sent to die.

Until the day the Senator of Naboo came to visit.

He was a handsome man, so much younger than many of the greybeards he'd seen when on Coruscant and wiser-looking as well. He'd taken a special interest in T'seratz and for a fortnight following, they'd spent it together in deep and familiar conversation.

The Senator was witty and cosmopolitan, relaxed and filled with intimate knowledge of things that T'seratz had only dreamed of. Those were wonderful days for T'seratz and the longer they spoke, the happier he became. The Senator was helpful, kind and encouraging in all matters of the heart and soul. He encouraged T'seratz to examine his lessons at the hands of the Council, to rethink his training at the Academy; encouraged him to question the Code itself.

Encouraged him to confide his fears. Encouraged him to express his anger.

"Come with me my friend," the Senator had said when the time came for him to leave. "And you shall find yourself a Knight yet."

T'seratz agreed and was taken off-world, ending up in an ancient stone palace where he heard laughter and dark voices along with the lovely echos of a strange chanted song. He thought he was dreaming as choirs of crimson and ebony angels fluttered before his eyes, only to fall like blood-lace upon stone at the song's end then rising when the notes began anew.

When the Senator of Naboo finally reappeared, he was changed, changed into something wondrous. He was the god of the black room, the center of all things and his voice was heard above all others as he loudly proclaimed the words that would change T'seratz' life forever.

"Your name will be Maul."

And so it was.

Maul left them alone for what was surely the entire rest of the day and well into the night. While Obi-Wan slept, Qui-Gon returned his focus and concentration to the chain, to the ring, to the collar, that he had managed to shift again; he felt the metal softing to his will, tamped down exhilaration, but rejoiced nonetheless.

The enemy was time. Now that he had stirred Maul's fears, he feared that there would be no restraint, Sith Master or not; Obi- Wan surely could not survive much more, not without being broken beyond repair.

His own hands were bruised, still, but he used them hard, pulling at the chain for each small success with the metal. His throat, too, was bruised, from testing the collar; he grimly persevered until Obi-Wan woke again.

A small sound, not quite a moan, and he carried a cup of water over, held the cup to dry lips.

Obi-Wan drank thirstily, sat up. "S'good. Where is the--oh, there." Fuzzily.

There was more slack in the chain, he was able to help Obi-Wan rise, steady wobbly legs with his own strength. There was heat in the skin beneath his fingertips; fever. Hardly surprising, between drugs and shock.

He had to steady Obi-Wan again at the toilet, his arm around Obi- Wan's shoulders. No blood in his urine, he noted clinically, with no small relief, and his scant use of Force to heal had reduced some of the swelling around Obi-Wan's eyes and mouth. "How are your ribs?" Softly.

"Bruised." A grimace and Obi-Wan drew the tunic and robe around himself again, leaned a little on Qui-Gon to return to the spot where he had slept. "But not broken." He managed to lower himself to the floor again, winced. "He's losing control." Blurred, raspy voice; livid bruising showed at the edges of his collar, too.

"Yes, I think so." Crouching, Qui-Gon found he could put an arm around Obi-Wan, hugged him. "I can't let him take you again, Obi-Wan. I won't."

"He's got a blaster." Obi-Wan's voice was despairing. "You can't fight that, Master. And I won't let him kill you."

He fought the rage that wanted to rise. Hugged hard, one armed and released Obi-Wan, tugged hard on the chain. "Here, put your head on my leg, Obi-Wan. Try and rest again. I need to keep working on this, we're running short of time. If Maul does not lose control completely and kill you, his master will arrive." And I will have to kill you, he thought and briefly closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan's gaze was bleak. "I don't want to die, Master, I can assure you. But if I can keep Maul busy while you finish this--" His mouth trembled briefly. "I would count my life well spent."

"I forbid it." Fear choked him. "Do you hear me? I forbid it." Cupping the bruised face between two hands. "I swore to you that we would both survive, don't doubt me now."

"I don't." Faintly. "I just can't bear any more. If he takes me again, I'm going to goad him, Master. I'm going to make him angry."

"I forbid it." Deadly voice. "You are still bound by oaths of obedience, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan's eyes closed for a moment. "If he takes me again, Master, I don't want to survive it." Even more faintly.

No and no and no, he thought and held Obi-Wan to him again. "I forbid it, Obi-Wan, your duty to me is to survive, do you hear me?"

Bleak, bleak expression. But finally a nod.

Undone, he kissed Obi-Wan's forehead. "Good. Try and sleep, my padawan. I swear to you, this is not done, we have not been defeated yet."

Obi-Wan nodded again, lay down, his head resting on Qui-Gon's thigh; putting one hand down, Qui-Gon gently touched sweat matted hair, swallowed against the iron band of grief inside his throat, and turned his attention back to their escape.

Even the hardest metal is composed of atoms and the atoms are themselves composed of smaller particles; even the hardest metal can be transformed, with even just a sliver of Force in the hands of an adept. He was no adept, Qui-Gon told himself with grim pleasure, but the metal was changing, had changed, would change-- the collar would tear free, soon, and the chain was no longer a concern. With the collar gone--

The door began to slide open.

Obi-Wan woke at the sound, sat up immediately and gave Qui-Gon a bittersweet smile. "Too late."

He wanted to rage, but Maul was standing there, blaster in hand. "I will gladly kill you before his eyes, Master Jinn." Coldly.

He shifted on the balls of his feet, saw the frantic look Obi-Wan gave him and shut it out of his conscious mind. "Well, after all," he told Maul pleasantly, "I am expendable, am I not?"

"He should hate you by now." Thin smile. "Which is what I wanted. I wonder why he doesn't?" The blaster wavered. "But you're right, you are expendable."

Desperate and barefoot, Obi-Wan moved suddenly, shockingly, and kicked out at the hand that held the blaster.

Maul cursed, but the blaster skittered across the floor, out of reach. Lunging forward, Qui-Gon stretched the changed metal of the chain, but the collar did not break; Maul held up a hand and he felt himself struck by a bolt of invisible, near deadly Force, was thrown back against the wall hard enough to make him reel.

The sound of a blow, and his head cleared enough to see, he pushed himself upright, lunged forward again, but it was too late, Obi-Wan had been dragged out of the cell and the door was closing.

The collar and chain held him just short, he swallowed the curses that rose to his lips, closed his eyes again.

There was very little time left.

Blow upon blow and the collar was choking Obi-Wan, he tried to get his fingertips under it to no avail, could not get his feet under him and was dragged part of the way down the corridor.

Maul turned suddenly and struck him again. "You," he hissed. "I will not let him have you, you are mine. I took you both, I trapped you, he will not have you."

He didn't mind the blow, it let him get his legs under him. Oh, the expression on Qui-Gon's face; he hoped Qui-Gon would forgive him for what he was going to do. "He? You mean my master? He has always had me, Maul, even if he did not use me the way you have." Taunting voice, somewhat weakened by the hoarseness near strangulation had left.

Another blow, this one hard enough that his teeth clicked hard together, he bit his tongue, tasted copper. "You fool, what do I care about your ancient master?" Raging. "My master will not have you, that much I swear."

The red and black patterns were so close they dizzied him, he jerked his head back and Maul put fingers into his hair and yanked him back to his feet.

"My ancient master could best you easily--but I forgot, you can't face a fight, can you?" As cruel a tone as he could manage, given his condition. "You thought to make me hate him? You thought I would turn? You're the fool, not me." He smiled, feral and raw, hate welling up inside him. "You thought you were doing your master's bidding, didn't you. When all the time he was going to replace you."

Freshly enraged, Maul hauled hard on the chain, he stumbled forward, barely managed to keep his footing. Kill me, he thought, praying for it. "Is your bladework faulty? Or is it your ability to command the Dark Force? What failing have you, Maul?"

Another blow, and this time he fell, dodged one vicious kick, but took another on his thigh. The pain was nearly blinding; it gave him hope. "Poor fool Maul," he gasped. "Trusting his master. But you forgot, Maul--he's the one who led you to Darkness in the first place."

Another kick robbed him of breath and sound. Not quite good enough, said a little voice in the back of his mind. But he couldn't taunt anyone without the breath to speak....and Maul dragged him bodily into the second room.

This time, the table held other things. Sharp things. Deadly things.

And even as Maul forced him upright against the surgical frame, he realized that there were worse things than dying.

There was dying by inches.

It seemed to take an eternity, and Qui-Gon finally just worked his fingers beneath it and tore the collar the rest of the way, oblivious to the sharp edges that cut his fingers and his throat.

The moment he was free of it, he was at the door, closing his eyes, feeling the way Force moved through the stone, tasting the current. Another moment and the door groaned back open, so slowly, too slowly, but he was free and out and running as the Force guided him.

A sharp cry, despairing and he burst into a room, elegantly simple, richly carpeted. Two light sabers on a table; he held out his hand and his own flew to him, his fingers closed around it.

It flared to life and he was moving, even as another cry came through an open door.

Maul stood in front of a surgical frame, and Obi-Wan's torso was covered in blood; Maul whirled to face him, eyes all flame and insanity. There was a wordless growl, he lunged forward, more interested in driving Maul back, away from Obi-Wan, than anything else. The blade Maul held was bloody, the sight of it drove his own sanity further away.

"I'll kill him while you watch!" Maul hissed, but backed, whirled again and seized something from the table.

A double blade flared to life and Qui-Gon moved, parried a strike, put himself between Obi-Wan and the blade. Strike and counter strike, and he had to admit, the bastard was good; his rage increased with each clash.

Oh, so close, the Darkness was so close, and he knew that seizing it would win the day. It tantalized him, tempted him, but the prisoner behind him kept him from that final act of rage. Holding Maul at bay was not enough, not while Obi-Wan bled--

And Maul faltered, spun away, on the defensive; he pressed forward, strike and thrust and strike again, a flurry of blows that hissed and hummed with each contact.

Maul fell back further, against the wall of his torture chamber, bared teeth at him in defiance. "You lose, Master Jinn!"

He struck, evading the defense, thrust Maul through, replete with rage and hateful satisfaction for an instant. Only an instant, but Maul's eyes widened.

Not with surprise. With...with something frighteningly like relief.

His mind cleared, he felt remorse and grief for his own lost virtue. Kicking Maul's saber away, he bent over the fallen Sith, deactivated his own. "Why, Maul? Why kill him?"

The red faded from Maul's eyes. "You lose, Jedi." Hoarsely. "And I win." Very faintly. "He's on his way, you had best be quick." A rictus, almost a smile, that faded swiftly as life ebbed.

And was gone.

"May you find peace," Qui-Gon murmured and closed the staring eyes before rising and going to the frame. Obi-Wan roused to sludgy semi-consciousness as he worked on the restraint, cried out wordlessly in protest. "Shhh, it's me, it's all right, we're going to get out of here." He was babbling, he knew, undid the last restraint and lifted Obi-Wan down, carried him out of the room and laid him on the carpet. The cuts were shallow, but long, the bleeding was not as bad as he feared; he dealt with the collar first, using Force to simply break the lock. Then, thinking of Maul's final words, he found his robe, his outer tunic, managed to rouse Obi-Wan enough to get both around him. "Come, we have to get out of here, Maul's master is on his way."

Dazed eyes met his. "You did it."

Stomach knotted, he nodded. "I did, at long last." Rising, he lifted Obi-Wan with him. "I don't know how much time we have, Obi-Wan, we have to hurry."

"I don't think I can walk." Huskily and Obi-Wan swayed against him. "I think he broke something inside."

"Then I will carry you." Grimly, and he turned, saw Obi-Wan's light saber, and held out his hand, called it to him with Force; he would not leave it behind, he would not leave anything of Obi- Wan's behind. His padawan had already lost too much.

His saber had fallen from his hand and the face that loomed above him was quickly but a fading dream. Blue eyes peered at him, changing from light to dark, then to pure sky, but one that held nothing but furious clouds.

He found himself back where he'd begun, but the fields he remembered had long burnt away and their blackened stalks were all that remained. The stone palace, the blood covered angels, the fire and the darkness were nowhere to be seen and the Darth Maul was alone.

The clouds gathered in strength and he remembered sorrow.

Thunder then, and it began to rain .. hard. The storm washed over him in torrents and he peered up at the sky, opening himself to the deluge, hoping for a bit of cool water to quench his thirst, to relieve the ache in his parched throat and allowed it to pool inside of him, washing clean a heart that had been fired into hardness; a solid bit of shale lodged within a hollow tomb.

He found himself wishing. Wishing for water upon a stone.

He listened for the sounds he'd grown dependent on for the last years of his life, but they were no longer there. Gone was the chanting of the Ancient Ones, gone was his Master's crushing presence ... gone were the marks from his hands and face.

There was only One Voice, but its power shone and rose above him, surrounding him with a sound that was dazzling in its eternity. Greater than any Darkness, it sang out, as loudly as a burst of thunder, then, as softly as a newborn's cry.

"Your name is T'seratz Falkz."

And so it was.

Relief made his knees tremble. "Captain Resh. It's Captain Resh, Obi-Wan."

Pushing himself up weakly, Obi-Wan stared in disbelief. "We're free."

"We're free." He crouched, supported Obi-Wan until Resh reached them. "Get us out of here, Captain. And quickly. We aren't out of danger yet."

Resh gave him one startled look, glanced over his shoulder and bent at once to help Qui-Gon lift Obi-Wan. "What in the name of- -what happened to you?"

"Later," Qui-Gon told him and used Force to augment his strength. "Are you armed?"

Resh nodded.

The undergrowth parted ahead to reveal the ship; he had never been so conscious of relief in his adult life.

He carried Obi-Wan up the ramp himself, ordered the Captain ahead to take off.

"Let me down," Obi-Wan told him hoarsely. "Please, I want to try and walk."

The ramp came up, sealing; he felt the ship vibrate as the engines were restarted; carefully, oh, so carefully, he did as Obi-Wan asked, supported him as Obi-Wan tried to get his footing. "Oh. I think it's my ribs." Weakly.

The tunic and robe gaped, he could see the wounds, see the livid bruising. "Very likely." Tightly. "Lean on me, Obi-Wan."

"Gladly." The ghost of a smile, not quite there.

It eased some of the ache in his heart. Some of it.

But not until Obi-Wan was healed would the rest of it ease.

They were safe, Obi-Wan thought, drowsy with drugs. He wasn't hurt all that badly, really, his ribs were fused again and his lung had not bled much internally. The cuts were sealed, they didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. Opening his eyes, he saw Qui-Gon sitting near his berth, reading.

A quick glance up at him, a warm smile. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

He didn't want to sleep. He'd managed a light doze earlier, and it had been full of nightmare images of red and black, red that turned into his flesh. Maul had promised slow evisceration and he dreamt of it. "I'm not that tired." He licked his lips. "It's just the painkiller, it's making me sleepy."

Qui-Gon rose, brought him an icy glass of water. "Here, the physician says you need to drink as much water as you can."

He shifted slightly, making room for Qui-Gon to sit. "I'm all right."

"You will be." Mildly and a big hand brushed his braid out of the way, fingertips touching his jaw lightly, almost tenderly.

He studied Qui-Gon's face, the familiar and beloved face, now haggard with weariness and emotion. His master was not physically demonstrative, not given to displays of affection, not effusive, yet throughout this ordeal...."Thank you," he told Qui-Gon gravely.

Jedi serenity vanished, Qui-Gon's expression shifted. "Oh, my padawan, do not thank me. I did nothing but make mistake after mistake, and you suffered for it." Hoarsely.

He stared, appalled, saw eyes that were over bright and struggled to sit up; to no avail, Qui-Gon put a hand on his chest, and he was still exhausted enough that was enough.

"No, master," he said urgently, fighting the muzziness. "He would have taken me anyway, you said it yourself, they wanted to take me and twist me. Hurting you was part of the pleasure of it."

"You underestimate your value, my padawan." Qui-Gon's mouth twisted and his fingers traced a line along Obi-Wan's jaw. "You always have."

He lay still, a little stunned. "What you said to Maul," he began, haltingly, and two fingers were laid over his mouth gently.

"What I said to Maul was quite true." Huskily. "And I must find a path where my love for you does not endanger you as it has in this. I leapt too readily into his trap, and thus failed you."

His stomach knotted abruptly. "What are you going to do?" Fearing the answer.

Qui-Gon leaned over him; warm lips brushed his forehead. "Become wiser, I hope."

He shivered, reached up and was carefully embraced. "Are you going to send me away?" The surprise he saw when Qui-Gon drew back was comforting.

"I am not." Firmly. "You are my padawan." Very faint smile, almost rueful. "And also too dear to me. Selfish or not--unless it is what you want? I would not blame you, Obi-Wan."

"Never." He shivered again as Qui-Gon's fingers traced his eyebrow lightly.

"We will learn together then." Mildly. "And for now, you need to sleep and heal. We'll be home soon."

Somehow, it eased the knot of pain beneath his calm. "I disobeyed you."

Briefly, Qui-Gon's eyes closed, but the fingers still moved on his skin, a light caress. "I was afraid you might." Softly. "But it would not have mattered--when he came that last time, I believe he had determined that you were his rival and that you must die. Another failure on my part--I underestimated his madness."

"You kept me sane." Urgently again. "Master, don't blame yourself, I would have done anything to keep him from killing you--"

Fingers on his lips again, and Qui-Gon's smile was sorrowful. "I would have done anything to keep him from hurting you. Including reach for Darkness, my padawan, and I came very close. Never again." Another kiss on his forehead. "Now, if I must read to you from dispatches to bore you to sleep, I will."

It almost made him smile, but too much lay behind them. "Will you stay here?"

"My word on it." Solemn expression.

He saw everything he wanted in those eyes, reached out for it. "Will you lie down with me? I think I could sleep if you were here." Haltingly.

An almost tender look transformed Qui-Gon's expression. "I will." Softly.

His eyes stung; he shifted just enough, was carefully enfolded. With that comfort, he let the drug steal his senses, sank gratefully into it. "Thank you." Muzzily again.

Felt a wave of affection across the bond, felt fingertips stroke his eyebrows, coaxing his eyelids into drooping again.

It didn't erase what had happened. But it eased some of the raw places in his soul.

At least for now.

Obi-Wan slept at last, and with the slightest sound, Qui-Gon touched him, breaking the start of a nightmare with a murmur of reassurance. It was little enough to do, he told himself bitterly. Obi-Wan might have been right, Maul might have taken him anyway, but he would never know that for certain, would always blame himself for this.

And for worse--Maul's death had given him savage joy and satisfaction, never mind it had been brief. He had stood within reach of darkness, fear and rage and hate near choking him. He wasn't a child, wasn't an apprentice, he knew quite well that even Jedi adepts admitted to the shadow side of their souls, but his shadow side had never come this close to breaking free before.

They would have to report to the Council exactly what had happened. Or most of it. He was not going to report to anyone but Yoda what Obi-Wan had endured. If Yoda chose to share it with the remaining members of the Council, so be it, but he was not going to reopen those wounds in public discussion.

Obi-Wan needed time to heal.

He needed time to heal, to forgive himself for his entrapment, to forgive himself for his utter failure to protect his padawan. To purge himself of the hate that still rose when he thought of the Sith Master against whom Maul had warned him, there at the end.

He wondered if Maul had been taken and broken so, taken and twisted into a tool of the Dark, found a place in his heart of darkness for pity, for compassion. Hoped that Maul had found peace and not the Abyss.

Prayed for it as dearly as he prayed that Obi-Wan could heal from this, that it had not planted a seed of Darkness in his padawan that would flower and bear fruit.

"I love you, my Obi-Wan," he whispered, when Obi-Wan made a sound in his sleep. "You're safe, it's over, we're on our way home."

There was a sigh, and Obi-Wan did not wake, only settled into deeper sleep. Temporarily peaceful, at least.

He wondered if either of them would ever again find more than temporary peace, and turned his mind toward Coruscant, his arm tightening around his sleeping padawan.

END OF HEARTS OF DARKNESS: BOOK I

On to Book II