Warnings: Darkness. Nastiness. Complete lack of sex. Also
character death (the thing that didn't happen, happens)
Summary: The events of TPM, skewed slightly and darkly.
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns them, I'm just indulging in a bit
of oppositional decoding. Or something.
Notes: I was happily in the middle of trying to write something
sweet and mushy, when this plot bunny viciously attacked my
ankles. I had to write the thing to get rid of it. The
title was pinched from the Sinead O'Connor song 'Troy'. Many
thanks to Pat and Alison for beta-ing for me, especially Pat,
who was in the final throes of producing a zine at the time.
(If anyone's looking for a damn fine B7 zine ...)
However, all blame for this story belongs to the writer.
Feedback: Would be much appreciated
His master did not ask. Obi-Wan had been called to meet the
Council, alone, without Qui-Gon. It was highly unusual for a
padawan to appear before the Council not accompanied by his
master, and the meeting had not been short.
Yet Qui-Gon did not ask what had been said. A kind of tact
perhaps, Obi-Wan speculated. If the Council had wanted Qui-Gon
to know, he would have been called. Tact then, for him to
refrain from asking, so that Obi-Wan would not have to refuse
to answer. Though his master might hope that Obi-Wan would
confide in him if he wished to.
They stood in silence on the balcony, side by side, watching
the flaming colours of sunset on Coruscant. Side by side, but
separated by light years.
Obi-Wan could not tell him. Could not.
Besides, confidences between them had been markedly scarce
lately, Obi-Wan thought with some bitterness. Ignoring the
corner of his mind which reminded that it had been he who had
started drawing back from the bond. Wanting to distance himself
from his master when it became clear that Qui-Gon's
rebelliousness made him unpopular with the Council. Afraid that
this might affect his own prospects for advancement.
Even so, Qui-Gon had leapt to offer to train Anakin.
He could not tell Qui-Gon. Could not. Qui-Gon had flouted the
Council so often. Too often.
"Master, why must you insist on training the boy?" He tried to
keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Are you so eager to have
a new padawan?"
"You are ready for your knighthood, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon answered.
"There is little more you can learn from me." Looking out at
the bloody sunset, not at Obi-Wan. "You must choose your own
path."
Was there resentment in his master's tone? Regret? Knowledge?
Obi-Wan was not sure. "Please don't defy the Council about the
boy. Don't you sense the danger?" He could not tell him. Could
not.
"Anakin is not dangerous. He is a bright, likeable, generous
lad with enormous natural strength in the Force. He was born to
be a Jedi."
"But what of the future? You know that future sense is not your
strength. You cannot see the consequences if you insist on
training him." The Council's words echoing loud in his mind.
Qui-Gon shook his head. "The Council are mistaken. They grope
for visions of the future and then force the present to fit.
But we must live in the moment and act as best we may." He
turned from the sinking sun to face Obi-Wan. "And in the
present, Anakin is a young boy, who has just left the only life
he knows. I promised his mother that I would watch out for him,
that he would be trained as a Jedi. I won't break that
promise."
"So he is another of your pathetic lifeforms." Obi-Wan could
not keep the asperity from his tone. Another in a long history
of needy creatures that had captured his master's attention,
wasted time, caused distraction and inconvenience and led to
the censure of the Council. "I don't understand why you have to
rescue every pathetic lifeform we encounter. They're a
distraction and they invariably cause trouble."
It was an argument they had had many times as Obi-Wan grew
older and more confident in his opinions. More confident
because he knew his opinion was shared by the Jedi Council.
"Every creature is part of the Living Force, Padawan." Said
mildly. "All are important and have their part to play."
"But you give your attention to the least worthy. Look at Jar
Jar: he is clumsy, foolish and useless - yet you insisted on
bringing him with us."
"You shouldn't be so quick to judge his worthiness. He may be
clumsy, but Jar Jar is a friendly creature, helpful and
good-hearted."
"The galaxy is full of pathetic, friendly creatures. We can't
aid all of them," Obi-Wan objected. "It is for the Council to
decide what is most important, what our mission should be."
"The Council were far away when we met Jar Jar and Anakin. They
are mired on Coruscant, too close to the centres of power, and
so their priorities have become those of the powerful. They
think of politics and empires and forget that we exist also to
serve the weak and the powerless."
Such criticism of the Council dismayed Obi-Wan. "Master, the
Council are our leaders, the wisest and best of the Jedi. They
demand our respect."
"The wisest, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon gave a snort of laughter. "I
knew Mace Windu when he was a padawan. Perhaps when you or your
peers are members of the Council, you may reconsider that
opinion. They may demand our respect, but they do not
necessarily deserve it."
The last rays of the setting sun cast a red glow over his
master's features. Obi-Wan thought of the meeting with the
Council. "Rebellious he is," Master Yoda had said. "Stubborn.
Defiant."
Unarguable.
"You should not speak so, Master."
"I only say what I believe." Qui-Gon rested a hand on Obi-Wan's
shoulder. "I know it is difficult for you, Padawan, when they
expect you to stop me from going against their orders. They ask
of you what they should not. But you must be mindful of the
Living Force. Listen as it speaks to your conscience and learn
to trust in it. You would have rescued Anakin, I'm sure."
"No Master, I would not. My priority would have been to bring
the queen to safety. When that was accomplished, I would have
told the Council about Anakin and let them decide what should
be done." The wisest course, without doubt.
"And what of Jar Jar Binks? Would you have left him to die?"
Obi-Wan had been taken aback at the barbarity of the punishment
Jar Jar would have received, surprised and horrified at the
answer to Qui-Gon's question about the Gungan's fate. But their
mission had to come first. "Difficult it is to be a Jedi,"
Master Yoda had said. "Do things you must which pain you."
Obi-Wan steeled himself. "Yes, Master. The most important thing
was to reach the queen. Jar Jar was a hindrance. And it is not
for us to interfere with the customs and justice of another
culture."
In the dying light, Qui-Gon's expression seemed saddened. "And
me, Padawan? Would you leave me to die if bidden by the
Council?"
Obi-Wan was silent, stricken at his master's words.
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan." The hand on his shoulder squeezed
slightly, the familiar gesture of reassurance. Qui-Gon had
known him so long, knew him so well. "Don't answer. That's not
something I should have asked you." The last of the light had
gone from the sky as they turned to leave the balcony. "Come.
We must make ready to return to Naboo."
A sudden strike by the Sith and he was falling, plummeting from
the catwalk. The dark creature was strong and skilled beyond
expectation and Obi-Wan was pressed to the very limit of his
abilities. His guard had slipped, from distraction, as memory
of his meeting with the Council tore at him.
Obi-Wan used the Force to catch himself and regain the walkway.
He watched the Sith give ground before Qui-Gon as the duel
continued on the catwalk high above. His master fought
fiercely; no longer so fast or flexible as once he had been,
but still strong, still determined to battle the Dark.
"We'll deal with this," Qui-Gon had said. We.
Obi-Wan made a Force leap to the same catwalk and ran in
pursuit.
He did not reach them. Laser fields cycled closed, separating
Qui-Gon from the Sith, separating Obi-Wan from his master. He
stood behind the shimmering red wall watching the two, Sith and
Jedi, bathed in bloody light, waiting. The Sith paced like a
predator, impatient, testing the barrier with his saber.
Qui-Gon knelt in meditation, drawing the Force and the Light to
himself. Serene.
There was no serenity for Obi-Wan. His meeting with the
Council, Master Yoda's words, his instructions. The memory
clawed at him, reverberating in his mind. His heart was torn.
Tearing.
And then the fields cycled open. Qui-Gon surged forward with
easy grace to resume the duel, green blade flashing against
red. Obi-Wan ran toward them. With Force-enhanced speed he
could have reached the combatants, continued the fight beside
his master Obi-Wan ran toward them with all the speed at his
muscles' command.
But not Force speed.
Torn. Tearing.
He did not reach them. The fields cycled again and he saw the
battle end. The brief opening in Qui-Gon's guard, the blow to
his face, and then the lightning fast saber strike. Obi-Wan
felt the pain lance into him, pouring through the vestiges of
their bond, as if it were he who had been dealt the blow. He
screamed.
He was torn, tearing. Pain and fury surged in him, and as the
fields cycled for the final time, he exploded forward to meet
the Sith.
Fury. Fear. He clung above the pit as the Dark creature slashed
at him, waiting for him to fall.
Desperation. His own lightsaber was lost. He reached with the
Force, trying to call his master's lightsaber to him, afraid
that it would not come to his stained hand.
But it did not fail him. He grasped the saber, reached for the
Force and leapt. Surprise showed briefly on the face of the
Sith before the green blade struck and the dark creature
plummeted into the depths of the planet.
Obi-Wan ran to his master and carefully lifted the wounded man
from the hard floor to rest in his lap. Remorse was tearing
through him, choking him with cold, bitter hands.
Qui-Gon's eyes opened, seeking his padawan. His voice, hoarse
with dying, entreated him to train the boy.
Obi-Wan searched those eyes for some trace of the reproach that
should have been there. Accusation. Anger.
There was none. Nothing but absolution and sadness as the light
in them died.
The only light in the chamber was the flickering pyre. He
stood, expressionless, and listened as Yoda and Windu discussed
policy while the body burned.
He should have felt contented, he supposed. He had obeyed his
superiors' instructions, proven his loyalty and obedience
beyond doubt. He was a knight now; his padawan braid sliced
away in a simple ceremony conducted when the Council arrived on
Naboo.
They had explained the necessity to him. Qui-Gon was
rebellious, stubborn, defiant. He went his own way, even if it
meant going against the Council. And he had influenced other
knights to doubt, to argue. To defy. Such challenge to the
Council's authority could not be tolerated, especially not now,
not when the prophesied Chosen One had appeared after so many
centuries of waiting. Bitter irony that he should be found by
the most wayward, the most troublesome of the Order. The boy
had bonded with Qui-Gon, liked him and trusted him. It could
not be permitted.
The Chosen One's training must be without flaw. He must be
taught respect, deference, obedience to tradition and the
Council. They could not risk the rogue influence of a defiant
Jedi Master.
The air was thick with the reek of burning hair and charred
flesh.
They had not instructed Obi-Wan to perform the act, no
bystanders were to be endangered. A Jedi does not kill, except
in defence of self or others. But the Sith would be on Naboo.
Qui-Gon would fight the Sith. Judging from the previous battle
on Tatooine, he would lose.
"Let this happen you will."
He should have felt contented. He was a knight now, the reward
for passing the trial they had set him. And he had been
entrusted with the training of the Chosen One, would be able to
attain the rank of Master unusually young. Perhaps be asked to
join the Council.
He should have felt contented. His loyalty was to the Council
and to his own future. Qui-Gon had invited his fate with his
persistent defiance. Obi-Wan dredged through his memories,
trying to recall the times when Qui-Gon had infuriated him,
ignored him, treated him harshly. But the memories he found
were of kindness and humour. Affection. The companionable
feeling of a warm hand on his shoulder.
Fingers brushing his tears away.
He should have felt contented. Proud even.
All he felt was empty.
The only light in the chamber was the flickering pyre. Soon it
would be gone.
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