Summary: Set four years after TPM, a Jedi has fallen to the
dark side. A combination of story and POV of the events.
Disclaimer: The characters within aren't mine. I promise to
return them as good or better than I found them.
WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS:
Warnings will be minimal due to possible spoilage of the story.
However, this story is VERY DARK and VERY ANGSTY. There is also
some violent imagery. I can say assuredly that there is NO bdsm
or non-con, none.
Also, spoilers for the first two JA novels.
Here there be draigons, you've been warned.
Part 1: Prologue
The Fall
I want you to know that I tried. I tried, Master, I really
did.
It would come to me, writhing along the edges of my
consciousness, whispering seductively. Sometimes it would go
and be gone for hours, sometimes only long enough for me to
draw a breath and then it would be back, offering freedom,
offering power...offering darkness. And I resisted it.
I resisted it because I knew you would come. I sat on an
island of calm within my mind, waiting for you and ignoring the
raucous whispering around me.
Because I knew you would come. I knew you would not leave me
here in darkness. You would come. And that thought kept me
sane, kept me still and calm, waiting, waiting for you.
Until the day I realized that maybe you wouldn't.
That maybe, just maybe, you would not come for me. And it was
on that day that a thick worm of doubt was birthed into my
heart, where it gnawed at me until I was consumed. And that day
I answered those dark callings gratefully.
The young man twisted, moving into the final segment of the
kata. He finished smoothly, with an easy grace and came to a
stop in position, waiting for the command.
"Release."
He did, relaxing. He shook his long braid back before bowing
low to his master, already grinning. The older man smiled back
indulgently.
"Very well done this time, Anakin. You held your posture much
better than last time." He arched an eyebrow at the boy.
"However, you're still leaving yourself wide open on your
turns."
The boy grimaced, "Shall I do it again, Master?"
He glanced at the chronometer. "No, I believe we have other
matters to deal with today." A faint smile. "Perhaps a
birthday?"
Anakin's whole being seemed to brighten at the reminder. He
forcibly tamped down his excitement, waiting instead for his
master to come to him.
Qui-Gon was already reaching into his pocket for the gift his
Padawan was expecting. He held it in his hand a moment longer,
feeling its comforting warmth, before he held it out to Anakin.
The young man looked at it curiously.
"I gave this to Obi-Wan on his thirteenth birthday," Qui-Gon
explained, "I think, perhaps, he would have liked for you to
have it."
Anakin took the stone with a sense of awe. That Qui-Gon would
give him something of Obi-Wan's, this was a precious gift
indeed, full of more meaning than true power. He spared a
glance upward at his master.
Qui-Gon was studying his apprentice, enjoying his delight and
for just a moment his shining face was eclipsed by another one,
just as young but far more nervous, anxious, trying not to seem
eager, to not upset his new master.
A blink and the image was gone. Qui-Gon swallowed the rising
lump in his throat, managed to smile again at Anakin, who was
watching him shrewdly.
"Thank you, Master," the boy said softly, with understanding
beyond his years, "I will treasure it always."
A nod and he turned and left the room before his emotions could
overwhelm him. Anakin watched him go, stared at the exit for a
long moment after his master had left, before looking at the
smooth rock again. His hand clenched around it reflexively and
he swore fiercely to himself that he would always treasure it,
for the man who had given it to him and for the man to which it
had once belonged.
Every rejection was like a tiny cut. Time and again a little
blade of pain would bite into me and you were the one who held
the knife. On Coruscant, a cut. On the ship to Bandomeer, a
cut, on Bandomeer itself, a cut, a cut, a cut! Until I felt
that I would bleed to death from a hundred tiny wounds.
The last cut on Coruscant, before the very Jedi Council that
we both served and it was deep, that wound cut open my heart
and I felt that I might well collapse in front of the Council
in a puddle of my own blood.
And now this.
That was the final cut, when I realized you weren't coming.
And then I had nothing left within me to bleed.
And so instead, I listened. And I learned of Darkness.
Qui-Gon Jinn entered his quarters with an almost ridiculous
sense of gratefulness. Today had been far more trying than he
had anticipated and the only thing that he truly wanted to do
was shower and sleep.
Instead, he walked over to the door off the main chamber,
shedding his cloak as he went, and walked through it, out onto
the small balcony. He settled himself in one of the chairs,
taking the left one out of long habit and sat there to watch
the sun set.
The sky was streaked with crimson, which was already being
overtaken by deep petals of indigo and violet. He watched it in
silence, drinking in the sheer beauty of it, trying to memorize
every shift in color. Because of the person who was not there
to do it himself.
It was a little better these days. Sometimes he could go for a
whole minute without thinking of him, without something
reminding him of what he'd had. And what he'd lost.
Four years. It had been four years since it had happened. Since
he'd lost a piece of his soul that could never be regained.
They had just returned from Naboo, Qui-Gon barely recovered
from his wounds and Obi-Wan still high on his accession into
Knighthood. And they had been celebrating privately, with the
intimacy of the closest of friends. Laughing, talking, sharing
a bottle of wine. Qui-Gon was never sure later what it was that
gave the young man his nerve, the warm companionship or the
overindulgence of alcohol.
But somewhere in the midst of it all, Obi-Wan had kissed him.
Urgently, with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding within,
waiting for the last barriers of master and apprentice to fall
away. And Qui-Gon had responded with desire of his own.
They'd spent the night making love, trying to make up for years
of denial until they'd collapsed in exhaustion, sleeping
wrapped in each other's arms. The next day Qui-Gon had awakened
his former apprentice with kisses, made love to him a last
time, urgently, before having to leave for his meeting with the
Council. One last kiss, a last quick caress, a smile and he
left Obi-Wan snuggled warmly in the blankets.
It had been the last time that Qui-Gon ever saw him.
In the midst of his debriefing with the Council he had been
assaulted with a horrifying mixture of pain and fear, a pulse
of agony that slammed through his shields and into his
unguarded brain like a spear, and then...nothing. Total
emptiness. And as he sank to the floor before the shocked
Council members, blood already trickling from his nose and
ears, he realized with a strange kind of detached bewilderment
before he fell into his own darkness that he'd just felt the
other half of his soul die.
He had been catatonic for nearly two weeks, completely
oblivious to all stimuli, lost within himself. The healers
hadn't dared to break through the mental walls he had risen,
the damage of that on his overtaxed senses combined with what
had already happened would have likely driven him insane.
When he finally opened his eyes in awareness, he had simply
stood and left the infirmary, ignoring the startled protests of
the healers and walked, unsteadily but determinedly, to the
meditation gardens. He had nearly fallen to his knees, all his
inborn grace torn away by overwhelming grief.
It had been Master Yoda himself who had found him there, who
had waited until the silent tears built up into near shrieks as
inner agony that could no longer be held within escaped him.
Who had gently, silently, stroked Qui-Gon's hair, offering what
little support he could. And who had, after Qui-Gon finally sat
up and looked at him with a thousand questions in his
red-rimmed eyes, told him what they knew.
Obi-Wan had simply vanished. No one had seen him leave, no one
had even seen him since he and Qui-Gon had returned to
Coruscant. He was simply gone, wiped away as if he had never
existed. And now, he didn't, save for memories.
Qui-Gon sat a moment longer, watching the sun sink lower until
the sky was engulfed in blues and purples. Watching, as he had
whenever he possibly could, because a young man with bright
eyes and a mischievous smile had loved to watch the sun set. He
waited until the last streak of crimson faded from the skyline
before he went back inside to an empty bed and an emptier
heart.
And it was that night, the dreams started.
Time after time that darkness had whispered to me, offering
me anything I wanted, a prize dangled before my eyes, like an
apple. A brilliant shining apple that begged for teeth to break
the smooth crimson surface. An apple full of poison.
It was like a story I'd heard as a child, a fairy tale, but I
was no helpless victim, I knew the apple was poisoned, that
under that healthy appearance the flesh was black and that its
bitterness would fill me.
And I took it anyway.
And I hated him almost as much as I hated you.
I tried, Master. I did try, for so long I tried so hard. But
finally I couldn't...
And so I took that apple. And I bit.
Part 2: In Darkness
Chapter 1: Dreamscape
He told me many things, Master. Things I refused to believe,
things that I could not believe. That you thought me unworthy,
that you had only bided your time with me out of an odd sense
of duty and guilt. That the same sense of honor that had kept
me with you induced you to give me a pity fuck before you sent
me away, permanently.
But I believed in you. I loved you.
Why didn't you come?
He whispered his hatred of you into my reluctant ear, infusing
me with darkness, with poison, and far too soon I hated you
enough to kill you myself.
Soft lips were gently trailing down his neck, kissing their way
lower and he turned his head to allow access. Lower still, to
press against the base of his throat, lower, the flick of a
tongue against his nipples.
He reached down to rest his hand on that head, to sift through
that short hair, but pulled back with a frown at the feel of
it, warm and wet. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand.
Blood was dripping from it. The young man kneeling before him
was drenched in it; ghastly streaks of it covered his naked
body.
The kneeling man sat back, stared at the other man with
familiar eyes.
'You deserted me.'
He jerked himself into a sitting position before he was even
half- awake, almost strangling on a scream that was trying to
escape from his throat. Qui-Gon sat there, long minutes ticking
by as his eyes frantically searched the darkened room, finding
nothing out of place, and he finally settled back on the bed.
His sheets were damp with sweat and he grimaced at the clammy
sensation.
A glance at the chronometer confirmed that it was over an hour
until sunrise. He got up anyway, wrapping his chilled body in a
robe. There would be no more sleep tonight, that much was
certain.
Instead, he went to the small kitchen nook in his quarters and
made a cup of tea that he forced himself to drink. The
shivering subsided a fraction and he placed the cup on the
counter with much steadier hands than the ones that had made
the tea.
Keeping his mind carefully blank, Qui-Gon went back to the main
room. He knelt on his meditation mat, absently noting, as he
had a dozen times before, that the padding was wearing thin and
should be replaced.
He closed his eyes, calming himself, and only then did he let
himself consider the dream.
Most dreams were false half-shadows of memories and imaginings
haphazardly thrown together to tell a kind of story. But some
dreams held a grain of truth and could reveal things to those
who knew how to seek it.
A slight shudder broke through his calm as he mentally went
over the dream, sharpened his awareness of it, searching. Vague
images swam in and out of his thoughts, flittering by teasingly
but nothing concrete came to him. Nothing sane. Finally he
pulled back and released it, let it fade back into a faint
smear at the back of his mind.
Feeling vaguely nauseous at the remembered image, Qui-Gon
shifted to lie on his back, closing his eyes and breathing
deeply. He hadn't been able to tell anything from the dream,
nothing but a sense of uneasiness, something disturbing.
Opening his eyes he saw the room was somewhat lighter. He
glanced at the window; the sky was already streaked with
various shades of pink, heralding the arrival of the sun.
A sigh and he pushed himself to his feet. Another long day
ahead, of that he could be sure. He went back to his room to
shower and dress. This would have to wait; he had an
appointment this morning that he dared not miss.
Oh, Master, my true master, my only master...
Why didn't you come?
Waiting in the Chancellor's private office, Qui-Gon shifted
uncomfortably in his chair, unusually restless this day. He had
tucked that feeling of disturbance far back in his mind but it
still lingered, hovering just out of sight.
The Chancellor entering the chamber brought him back into
focus. The man smiled easily and apologized for keeping him
waiting.
Qui-Gon returned the smile with a polite warmth that he didn't
feel. It wasn't that he disliked Chancellor Palpatine, in fact
he had a great deal of respect for the man. Palpatine
understood the workings of the Senate well and when he decided
things should be done, they were, without the pathetic
bickering and squabbling that had been the rule rather than the
exception during Valorum's tenure.
But still, there was something about the man, about the way he
held himself back and apart from others, rarely revealing what
he was truly thinking.
'And you would dislike the man for that?' he chided mentally.
'If I were honest I would admit that I have that tendency
myself.'
The Chancellor settled himself in his own chair before he spoke
again. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I have a
request for you, Master Jinn. The government of Bandomeer has
requested a negotiator for a matter of some importance." He
raised an eyebrow. "I understand that you have been there
before?"
Bandomeer. It was so odd how a single word could turn the
faint, ever- present ache within him into a blinding throb of
pain. He actually had to close his eyes for a brief second to
control his reaction.
"Yes, I have been to Bandomeer, Chancellor Palpatine," he
finally said, "But it was some time ago, nearly..."
The Chancellor nodded briskly, "Yes, yes, I'm sure it was.
However, you are one of the top negotiators that the Jedi Order
has and the only one who has ever been to Bandomeer. I trust
that you will have no difficulty with this mission?"
Qui-Gon heard the unasked questions. Was there a difficulty?
Would he accept the mission? His mouth was painfully dry. His
aching soul begged him to refuse, to make some excuse, any
excuse, not to go on this mission.
But he knew the Chancellor was right. He was first and foremost
a Jedi and that meant duty came before his personal
preferences.
"I'm sure that I will be capable of handling it," he said
firmly, not allowing any hint of his unease to show.
Palpatine beamed at him. "Excellent! I've arranged transport
for you, just ask my assistant she can tell you what you need
to know."
It was a shock when he showed me his true face. Out of all
of those I had thought of as a perhaps Sith, he was not even on
the list. But then, what better place for Darkness to hide than
in plain view?
And he was Darkness. Never question that.
And he hid well.
His disturbed rest of the night before was catching up to him
by the time Qui-Gon returned to his quarters.
He pushed back the exhaustion and forced his mind to focus. He
had duties to see to before he and Anakin left for Bandomeer.
First, he downloaded onto his datapad all the information there
was on the changes in Bandomeer over the past sixteen years.
He was still reading it when Anakin returned from his lessons.
He gave the boy a nod of greeting before continuing his work.
He absently noted that Anakin returned the nod with a smile,
although he didn't speak so as not to disturb his master and
instead went quietly about his duties.
Anakin ordered up a meal for the evening, tidying the main room
and setting the small table as he waited for it to be sent up.
After the food arrived, he went to stand near his master,
waiting to be acknowledged.
Long minutes later Qui-Gon's eyes flicked upward to meet his.
"Yes, Padawan?"
Anakin felt a brief surge of pride at that word, the first time
Qui-Gon had called him that since it had become official
yesterday. He hid his pleasure under an outward calm, although
he knew his master would feel it anyway.
"Our evening meal is ready, Master."
Qui-Gon smiled then and Anakin returned it, relieved. Formality
was proper but it still made him a bit uncomfortable.
His master rose and stretched, joints popping. "Well then, we'd
best eat it while it's still hot."
Anakin's grin widened, "Yes, Master!"
They ate in silence. Anakin waited with tenuous patience for
Qui-Gon to tell him what was going on. He knew from past
experience that asking would only gain him a lecture. Patience
had its reward when Qui-Gon finally spoke.
"You'll need to pack for a mission tonight, Padawan. We leave
in the morning."
"Yes, Master." He waited, pins and needles sharpening until
Qui-Gon continued.
"We are going on a diplomatic mission to Bandomeer. I'm afraid
I don't know all the details yet, so make sure that you are
prepared for anything."
"Yes, Master." Somewhat resigned this time and Qui-Gon had to
hide a smile. Anakin, he knew, found diplomatic missions to be
extremely boring. This mission would do the boy good, he
decided.
After the meal was finished, he helped Anakin clean up so the
boy would have time to pack before going to bed. When Anakin
saw his master going towards the balcony door, he quietly
withdrew to his room, to allow his master to go through what
had become something of a nightly ritual in peace.
After the crimson streaks of the sky faded to violet and the
sun finally sank below the horizon, Qui-Gon went to his own
room. He packed the few belongings that he might need in short
order. His earlier exhaustion reasserted itself with a
vengeance and this time he gave into it, skipping his nightly
meditation in favor of some much-needed rest.
I've heard that if a human spends an extended time in total
darkness they will go blind. That their eyes will cease to
function.
There were times, as I sat in the cold darkness that was my
prison, that I prayed to gods that I didn't quite believe in
that it was true.
Someone was crying.
He could hear it, not far away. A child by the sound, weeping
as if their heart would break. And for some reason he knew he
had to find that child but he was trapped behind a wall of
brambles.
He fought his way through them, ignoring the pain as thorns bit
into his flesh, scratching bloody gouges. He pressed on,
following those anguished sobs unerringly.
Finally, he broke through and saw the child, a boy, surely no
older than twelve. Sitting curled up on the ground, crying. He
was so strangely familiar and he went to the child, thinking
only of offering comfort.
He touched the boy's shoulder and the child raised his head to
face him. He found himself staring into empty, bloody sockets,
crimson streaks running down the boy's cheeks like tears.
'Why didn't you want me?' the boy whispered, reaching out to
him with bloody hands.
He fell away from the boy, scrambling backwards but the child
kept coming, closer and closer and he shrieked as those stained
and gory hands cupped his face. Screaming and screaming...
Screaming and his padawan was shaking him violently, crying his
name over and over.
Qui-Gon captured Anakin in a fierce embrace, his mind still
caught up in the horror of the dream. He took more comfort than
he thought possible in the small, warm body hugging him
tightly, offering wordless caring and concern.
He came back to himself enough to feel a tiny wince of pain
through their training bond and realized he was holding Anakin
tight enough to leave bruises. Anakin didn't complain but he
eased his clutching hold, felt a twinge of guilt as Anakin took
a deep breath into half-starved lungs.
"What happened?" Anakin asked. His face was pressed against
Qui-Gon's chest, muffling his words.
Qui-Gon's desperate gasps for air were easing and he pulled
himself further into awareness, casting aside the haze of
sleep.
"It...it was just a dream, Ani. Just a very bad dream."
The boy tilted his head up and peered at Qui-Gon owlishly. "It
must have been an awfully bad dream," he said doubtfully.
"It was." Gods, yes, it was. Qui-Gon rested his cheek against
Anakin's head. His Padawan's presence was like an anchor to
reality and slowly the terror of the dream was loosening its
clutches on his psyche. They stayed that way, clinging to each
other, until their muscles began to protest from being
motionless for so long.
Anakin pushed back, stretching. He looked up at his master
seriously. "Would you like me to stay?" he asked earnestly, "I
stay with you when I have a bad dream and I feel a lot better."
It seemed ridiculous, that such a young Padawan would have to
coddle his master but at that moment Qui-Gon was more than
ready to accept the role reversal. The horror within him was
just barely out of sight, lurking under the surface and waiting
for an opportunity to surge upward again.
So he wordlessly pulled Anakin close again and laid back. His
Padawan curled up at his side, snuggling his head on Qui-Gon's
shoulder.
And Qui-Gon, who not fifteen minutes earlier would have sworn
he would be wide-awake for the rest of his natural born life,
felt sleepiness tug at him.
Wrapped in Anakin's concern and caring, Qui-Gon drifted back
into sleep's embrace.
He didn't dream.
He chose me because he thought it would be fitting for the
one who had killed his first apprentice to take his
place.
Think what you will of -him-, my false master, my despoiler.
Evil, yes, a being eaten away by Darkness, yes.
But you have to appreciate his sense of irony.
Chapter 2: Innocents Lost
When I was finally returned to the world of sunlight and
time, I found out that I had been locked away for nearly three
standard years.
Three years.
For three years, I lived in that stinking hellhole, three
years of my entire world being made up of nothing but darkness
and cold.
And more than him, more than even you, I hated myself.
It only took him, after all, a little less than three years to
break a Jedi.
The trip to Bandomeer was a great deal less eventful than the
last one Qui-Gon had taken. Barring attacks from pirates, it
only took two days to reach Bandomeer from Coruscant.
Qui-Gon spent much of those two days meditating, trying to find
some kind of reason in the dreams that were tormenting him of
late. Trying and failing. Anakin had taken to staying with him
at night. His Padawan's presence seemed to be a kind of ward
against the dreams, for reasons that Qui-Gon could not fathom.
Once, in the night, Anakin had left briefly to use the
facilities and when he had returned his master was already
caught in the throes of yet another nightmare. He hadn't had to
wake his master this time, just settled next to him and the
older man had calmed, drifting back to a more peaceful sleep.
He'd told his master the next day what had happened. Qui-Gon
had listened intently and was silent long after Anakin finished
speaking.
"The Force is trying to tell me something, Anakin, and at the
moment I am unsure what it might be," he frowned slightly,
thinking, "For now, let's just deal with this as best we can
and when we return to Coruscant I will speak with Master Yoda."
He smiled then, faintly, "Between the three of us we should be
able to figure something out."
Anakin had smiled then as well, and they set aside the issue of
the dreams in favor of their mission.
The ship arrived and landed on Bandomeer without incident and
when Qui- Gon and Anakin left the ship, they found someone
waiting for them. A woman that Qui-Gon recognized.
"Clat'Ha." Qui-Gon smiled at her warmly as she came up to them
and clasped his hands. She had changed little in the past
years, older, true, but this was still the fiery woman who had
refused to back down from any injustice.
"It is good to see you, Master Qui-Gon," she replied, returning
the smile. She glanced down at Anakin. "And who is this?"
He gestured Anakin forward. "This is Anakin Skywalker, my
Padawan learner."
"My lady," Anakin said, bowing.
Clat'Ha raised her eyebrows, looking at the boy appraisingly.
"Well, I can certainly see where he gets his manners from!" She
smiled, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Anakin." She returned her
attention to Qui-Gon. "And how is Obi-Wan doing these days?"
A shadow fell across the faces of both Jedi and, for a moment,
Qui-Gon couldn't even speak. He should have expected it, he
knew, but somehow he never did.
"Clat'Ha," he murmured, with some difficulty, "Obi-Wan...died a
few years ago."
He'd heard that same question asked perhaps a hundred different
ways and it was never any easier to answer. Always, he had to
force the words past a suddenly constricting throat as he
desperately tried to hide the sharp stab of an all-too-familiar
pain from a wound that would never heal. It was a phantom echo
of what he'd felt when their bond had been severed, like the
throbbing one feels in a lost limb.
Clat'Ha's eyes went wide and a hand flew up to cover her mouth.
She recovered a bit a moment later, enough to whisper, "I'm so
sorry, I didn't know."
"It's all right, how could you?" Drop it, Qui-Gon pleaded
silently, just let it go, don't make me speak of it.
Instead, she took his hand and said solemnly, "I know the two
of you were very close. I understand how you must feel."
No, he thought distantly, no, you don't, you couldn't possibly.
But she was trying and that would have to be enough.
Another hand lightly touched his elbow and Qui-Gon started,
glancing down to see Anakin looking at him with some concern.
He took a deep breath and carefully let the pain go.
This entire trip was pulling his emotions far too close to the
surface. The faint, familiar pain was becoming a throbbing
ache.
He pushed it aside, almost desperately. Time and enough to deal
with this later, he would -not- let it interfere with his
mission.
He managed to give both Clat'Ha and Anakin a wan smile. "Well!
Clat'Ha, why don't you tell us why we're here?
She did let it go this time, sensing his reluctance to discuss
it further. She frowned at his words. "You don't know? We
needed a representative of the Republic to witness the renewal
of the Arconan Harvest Corporation's contract with the
Bandomeer government. Actually, I was surprised to hear you
were coming for such a trivial thing."
Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in surprise. Trivial, indeed.
Anyone could have come to witness the signing of a contract,
especially one with no foreseen difficulties. The position of
the AHC with the Bandomeer government had been stable for
years. The contract was only a formality.
"I was told that you needed a negotiator for a matter of some
importance. Perhaps it was a miscommunication of some sort," he
mused aloud.
"Probably," Clat'Ha agreed, nodding. Then she smiled again.
"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad to see you again."
Clat'Ha gestured for them to follow and the Jedi fell in step
next to her. "The signing isn't until tomorrow," she continued,
"And I know the two of you must be tired from your trip, so
I'll show you to your rooms."
I still don't know how he got me out of the Temple and now I
never will. Not that it truly matters.
All I know is that I awoke to the darkness and walls of stone
that were to be my home for a very long time.
The sunset on Bandomeer was particularly breathtaking this day.
Qui-Gon watched it closely, committing every change and shift
in color to memory.
Obi-Wan would have loved to see it, he knew, a binary sun
system had always been his favorite, the double suns achieving
colors that their singular cousins could only hint at. Obi-Wan.
This past week he had thought of little else but Obi-Wan.
Everything had come back to him, reopening a wound inside of
Qui-Gon. Except the wound hadn't been closed. It was still
there, raw and bleeding inside him.
Obi-Wan had taught him something once, on this very planet
before Qui- Gon had taken him as Padawan. He'd taught Qui-Gon
that you couldn't hold on to the pain forever. That after a
time the only thing that happened was you hurt yourself
further. He had taught Qui-Gon how to let go of Xanatos. And
now Qui-Gon was going to use that advice again.
It was time he let Obi-Wan go, past time. The wound was
festering; his recent dreams proved that truth. Obi-Wan was
dead and he was alive, it was time he started to live again.
And so he watched for one final time, before he went back
inside to his borrowed rooms, back to the Padawan who needed
him here and not lost in the past. He watched the suns sink
below the horizon in a spectacular kaleidoscope of violets and
crimsons as he remembered a son, a friend, and the last lover
he would ever know. And he finally let himself say goodbye.
Three years, although I wouldn't know it at the time. Three
years I spent with the darkness and the Darkness, one or the
other swallowing every sense I had.
I don't know how long I waited for you, how long the fruit
dangled before my eyes before I finally plucked it free.
However long it was, it wasn't long enough.
The night was cool, a breeze flowing in from the opened windows
and Anakin started awake, lifting his head sleepily. Blinking,
he sat up, he'd heard something, something not far...
Help me.
There, a soft sigh of words, as if the wind was speaking to
him. Was someone nearby hurt, perhaps? The Force trying to tell
him something? He certainly felt something from the Force,
something not quite right.
Help me.
This time he was sure he had heard it. He started to get out of
bed, cast a guilty look at the man sleeping next to him. Master
Qui-Gon was sleeping peacefully for the first time in several
days and Anakin was reluctant to wake him for what might be
nothing. But what if it was important?
Help me. Please, help me.
That did it. He slid out of the bed, moving quietly so as not
to wake his master. He'd just check it out, he told himself. If
it was something important he could always come back and wake
his master and if it wasn't, then no one would be the wiser.
He eased the outer door open, left it slightly ajar and crept
outside. The path to their rooms led through the gardens and he
wandered through them, listening.
Nothing.
He sighed mentally. Oh well, at least he hadn't woken his
master over this bit of nonsense. He'd just turned to return to
their room when he felt something cool touch his neck. And then
an electric current bit into him, every muscle in his body
tightened and shrieked in pain.
He tried to scream, would have screamed but there was something
else, the Force as he'd never felt it swarmed around him like
stinging n'let beetles. It surrounded him, gagging him and all
his screams fell inward. The sickening, crawling sensation of
something diseased scrabbling over him, strangled away his
breath and he collapsed, silently, to the ground.
A dark figure moved from the shadows. He stepped over the boy,
not sparing him a glance as he walked through the gardens, back
to the open door of Anakin and Qui-Gon's room. The dark figure
entered the room, making his way unerringly to the bedroom, to
the prone man on the bed.
He regarded the sleeping man silently, noting the silvered
hair, the lines of the face that were already tightening,
twitching slightly as if he dreamed. A gloved hand came out,
hovered over the sleeping Jedi. It didn't touch, made its way
instead slowly down that long body, then back up stopping just
above Qui-Gon's throat. The hand clenched into a fist, leather
creaking slightly and he abruptly turned and left, leaving the
door open as he walked swiftly back to the unconscious boy. He
scooped him up, hefting the boy onto his shoulder and
disappeared back into the night.
It was dark. He was wrapped in a shroud of purest black, could
see nothing but darkness.
He couldn't see, but he knew. He knew that the walls and floor
were cold stone without a crack to allow in any glimmer of
light. And he knew that there was someone else here in the
darkness, curled up on the floor, naked and shivering.
The other person rocked back and forth, banging his head
against the wall and moaning, a low, eerie thread of sound. The
moans shifted, blended into something more like laughter and he
rocked faster, harder and the laughter in turn shifted to
words.
"Let me out. Let me out, let me out, let me out." A soft
continuous chant, slowly growing louder until he was shrieking,
lunging awkwardly from his crouched position to claw at the
stone walls with his bare hands, scraping already raw and
aching fingers bloody yet again.
And he couldn't
"Let me out! Let me..."
see,
"out! Let me out, letmeout..."
but he knew.
"Let me out! Please, I'll do anything, just let me out, LET ME
OUT!!!"
He knew.
Qui-Gon fell from the bed in his efforts to escape, skittered
across the floor and smacked into the wall before awareness
finally took hold of him. Breathing heavily, he looked at the
room frantically, calming only when he saw pale walls and light
from the several moons streaming in through the window.
His deep gasps for breath eased and he let his head rest
against the wall as reality slowly reasserted itself. He had
been several days without a true nightmare and now this.
Something was not right with this. He'd thought it was his
preoccupation with Obi-Wan lately that had been causing the
dreams, that's why having Anakin stay with him helped, it
forced him to focus on the now...Anakin.
The boy was nowhere in the room. He didn't have to stand to
feel that, didn't have to move at all. He could feel nothing
from his Padawan through the Force, not a trace, not a whisper.
All he felt was the wind blowing in gently through the window,
tousling his hair, and the faint warmth from the just rising
suns.
Three years. He could have waited longer, there was no rush
for him. I was the perfect apprentice, already trained in the
ways of fighting.
All he had to teach me was the ways of the Dark. And I learned
those lessons eagerly.
I'm sorry, Master. I am sorry. But I had already bitten that
apple. And the higher you are, the further you have to
fall.
Chapter 3: A Lamentation for the Sun
I still remember the first time I saw the sun again after so
much darkness, felt again the light and warmth that I had been
denied for so long.
I tried to escape from it.
I had been cold for so long that I flinched away from the heat
of the sun. It seemed to burn through my skin like acid and I
struggled to escape from it, crawling weakly, pathetically, on
my elbows because my ruined hands couldn't support me.
I fled from the light of the sun on my knees while the mocking
sounds of laughter came from behind as he watched me cower.
His first thought as he woke was that he was cold. Anakin
opened his eyes and looked around blearily at his unfamiliar
surroundings. Out of habit he mentally reached out to his
master, searching for his comforting presence.
A sharp stab of agony pierced his already aching head and he
rolled over onto his side, gagging.
"I wouldn't do that again if I were you."
Anakin jerked his head up, looking in the direction of the
voice and the strange, shrill giggle that followed the words,
but his eyes were watering from the pain and he couldn't see
clearly. Without thought he tried to reach up and wipe away the
tears but his hands refused to obey. He saw a dark figure move
to kneel before him. A hand lightly touched his neck and he
realized that there was some kind of collar around it.
"Ingenious, isn't it? It was made especially for
Force-sensitive slaves. Of course, I made a few adjustments."
The hand trailed to the back of Anakin's neck, just barely
touching. "If you try to use the Force, it sends a pulse of
electricity right to the pain centers of your brain."
The voice was almost obscenely cheerful and Anakin looked up at
the man crouched before him, trying to focus.
"Who are you?" he rasped out, his throat was dry and tight. It
came to him then that the reason he couldn't use his hands was
because they were being held together with binders.
Silence, then a much harder voice, "Well. How appropriate.
Forgotten so quickly, am I?" A sigh, then the gleeful tone
returned, "Oh, well, it doesn't matter much anyway, does it,
Chosen One?"
There was something about that voice, something...Anakin rubbed
his face against his shoulder, trying to clear his eyes and the
man leaned back just as he looked up, his face abruptly
outlined in the dim light.
"Obi-Wan?" The disbelieving words fell from Anakin's lips
before he could stop them. This wasn't possible, everyone knew
that Obi-Wan had died. His mind whirled, searching for an
excuse, a reason.
Obi-Wan smiled brightly, "See there! You do remember me, I knew
you would!" He reached out and tapped a stunned Anakin's nose
with a gloved finger before twining his hand into Anakin's
cropped hair and jerking him upright roughly, ignoring Anakin's
cry of pain.
"Quite the proper little Padawan, aren't you?" Obi-Wan
observed, studying Anakin critically, "I'm sure your Master is
quite proud of you."
He released Anakin's hair and leaned back on his heels. Anakin
fell backwards and leaned against the wall behind him, too
stunned to even speak.
"I wonder if he'll bend you over and fuck you too?" Obi-Wan
mused absently, as if speaking to himself.
Anakin gaped at him, his horror and sense of unreality
increasing by the second and he finally found his voice.
"Master Qui-Gon would never...!"
"Oh, but he would," Obi-Wan cut in. "He did." A little smile
played on his lips. "I wouldn't worry though. You're a bit
young yet, I should think. Although," he put a finger under
Anakin's chin, tilting his head up. "You do have a very sweet
mouth." The boy jerked away, eyes wide and terrified, and
Obi-Wan laughed.
"Don't worry, Chosen One." Anakin flinched at the
mocking words. "I'm not going to hurt you. I won't even touch
you, have no fears of that."
"Then why am I here? What are you going to do with me? Why are
you doing this?" Faint hysteria and he was on the edge of tears
now, this couldn't be real, his mind insisted. When he imagined
Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was as a hero, the destroyer of the Sith,
savior of Master Jinn. This...thing, this creature who was
watching him with fever-bright eyes could have stepped
breathing from his worst nightmares.
The thing that looked like Obi-Wan smiled again and the sight
sent a chill to trickle icily down Anakin's spine.
"Why my dear little Anakin, I'm not going to do anything to
you. You're only bait. As for why I'm doing this." The smile
fled then and if it had made Anakin feel cold the expression on
Obi-Wan's face now turned his blood to ice. "I'm doing it for
the simplest of reasons. I want to see Qui-Gon Jinn die."
He laughed, watching me shrink into the darkest corner of
the room, then he walked over to crouch next to me. I didn't
move, actually crawled closer to him, using his body to block
the sun.
He touched me, ran his hands over skin that had been bare for
so long that it had forgotten the feel of clothing.
I was hardly aware of the intimacy of the touch increasing. I
simply lay there in the shadow of his body and let him do as he
wished.
His touch was cold.
On the floor of his provided room, Qui-Gon Jinn knelt, deeply
immersed in the Force, searching. The contract signing had
immediately put on hold when it had been discovered that Anakin
was missing.
Extending his senses further still, pushing tendrils of Force
outward, Qui-Gon was perfectly still, as he had been for hours,
noticing but not acknowledging the occasional person who peeked
into the room to check on him.
Anakin was still here, still on Bandomeer, that much he knew.
He could feel the brilliant touch of him dimly through the
Force. But it was shrouded, wrapped up in a suffocating blanket
of darkness.
He had felt darkness before; there wasn't a Jedi who hadn't.
The stained, corrupt touch of the greedy, the cruel, those
beings who cared not who the hurt as long as they got what they
wanted.
But this darkness was something beyond. It left a sour taste in
the back of his mouth, made his sinuses sting and his eyes
water. And yet, this was a darkness that he had felt before.
Twice before, to be exact.
And it led him back to Obi-Wan.
After the...incident, Qui-Gon had searched for months for some
clue, some answer as to how, why, the man who had been the
center of his life had been taken from him. Searching, torn
between duty and the desperate need to know what had happened.
There had been very little to go on, not even trace had been
left to tell him where to start.
He had gone anyway, searching. Checking every past enemy that
he could think of, his own, Obi-Wan's, even enemies of the
Jedi. Nothing. Not a fragment, not a whisper.
Months later he had finally surrendered. Obi-Wan was gone and
there was nothing that could change that. He'd learned to deal
with it as best he could, because there was no other choice.
He had checked every possibility, every enemy, all of them, but
one. The one that he had known to be true from the start but
had denied it because it had been the one enemy that he
couldn't fight, couldn't -find-.
And now that enemy had Anakin. But this time was different
because Anakin was still alive. And he would not surrender. Not
this time.
He was not going to lose another.
Eyes still closed, Qui-Gon got to his feet and walked out the
door, silently following that tiny echo.
He took everything from me, everything I'd ever had,
everything I ever was.
And he took away ever bit of light I had ever possessed, when
he took you away, and turned everything I had felt for you to
Darkness.
Anakin shivered, pulling his knees up to his chest. He was only
wearing his sleep clothes, his feet were bare and wherever they
were was not warm, not at all.
It looked like an old mining shaft. He recognized a few old,
rusty bits of equipment. It looked like there had been a
partial cave-in, there were piles of rock and debris scattered
about.
Obi-Wan was a few feet away, pacing back and forth and
muttering almost inaudibly, outlined in an eerie green glow
from the small portable lights that were set out. Anakin
couldn't watch him. There was something about him now that made
him feel almost nauseous.
He still didn't really believe it. This couldn't be the Obi-Wan
he remembered. The man for whom his Master had grieved, for so
hard and so long that the Council had briefly been fearful for
his sanity. It just wasn't possible.
He shivered again, pulling his knees closer still to try and
hold in what little warmth he could. Obi-Wan abruptly stopped
pacing and gave him a narrow glance before striding towards him
Anakin shrank away but all Obi-Wan did was silently strip off
the long black cloak he was wearing and brusquely drape it over
Anakin's shoulders.
"Thank you," Anakin said without thinking. Obi-Wan said
nothing, simply resumed his pacing.
Anakin snuggled into the still warm folds of the cloth,
watching the older man this time. He didn't understand this;
the slight bit of concern was a direct contrast to his earlier
treatment.
"Won't you get cold?" he asked timidly. Obi-Wan stopped again
and stared at the young Padawan until Anakin began to regret
opening his mouth. Then Obi-Wan laughed. Not the peculiar,
shrill giggle from before, but something harder, bitter, that
made Anakin shiver again in spite of the cloak's warmth.
"No, 'Chosen one', I won't get cold." There was a strange
bleakness to the words, almost sanity. "I'm quite used to it."
He moved to lean against the cave wall, gloved fingers twisting
together. He couldn't seem to hold still, constantly fidgeting
as if he was on edge. Anakin watched that, wondered about it.
Afraid to face Qui-Gon, perhaps? He did know one thing, he
couldn't just sit here and wait for his master to come. Qui-Gon
was a fantastic swordsman, perhaps the best in the order but he
had trained Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan had killed the Sith where
Qui-Gon had failed. Anakin took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't
about to make a horrible mistake.
"Why do you want to kill Master Qui-Gon? He loves you."
Obi-Wan's head snapped towards Anakin and the waves of darkened
anger coming off of him were almost palatable.
"Does he?" The words were deceptively soft, almost idle,
belying the rage Anakin knew he felt. "Does he really?" He took
a step closer, moving to stand right at Anakin's feet.
"Tell me then, why didn't he COME FOR ME!" The last words were
a scream, couched with a kind of anguish that Anakin had never
before felt from anyone. Before Anakin could even speak Obi-Wan
moved in a blur, lifting him up by his throat and pinning him
against the wall.
"He loves me?" Almost breathed in Anakin's ear, as the boy
struggled. "I'm sure that's what he wanted everyone to believe,
wanted me to believe. But he never really wanted me. He thought
he could fool me, but I learned, oh how I learned!" he spat,
breaths coming in angry gasps. He grinned then, suddenly, a
grotesque parody of cheerfulness. "And then you came along,
Chosen One," The hand around Anakin's throat tightened and he
wheezed, trying to suck in even a tiny amount of air as Obi-Wan
giggled shrilly, "And then he got rid of me."
He released him, and Anakin dropped back down to the floor,
coughing, rasping air in through his bruised throat. Obi-Wan
stalked away, pacing, muttering again, too low for Anakin to
hear.
Obi-Wan ran a gloved hand over his face. Qui-Gon didn't love
him, no, it had all been a lie to soothe his conscience. And he
was going to pay for that lie, oh, he was going to pay! Because
he had lied, hadn't he? That hand moved upward, tangling in his
hair painfully. Of course he'd lied, it didn't matter what that
little bratling had said. Qui-Gon had told him nothing but lies
and then had deserted him in favor of someone better. Hadn't
he?
He moved past the young boy still gasping on the ground, moved
just down far enough so the boy couldn't see him and sank to
the ground, curling up in a ball. This had all made sense a
moment ago, before that little shit had started to talk. Maybe
the boy was in on it too, maybe it was his fault...no, no, no
it was Qui-Gon, all of it, all him. All, all, all, he chanted,
turning it into a song as his agitation sank away and was
replaced with anticipation. He could feel -him- now, coming.
Soon.
Anakin pushed himself back upright with his bound hands,
struggling to wrap the cloak around him again. In spite of the
aching in his throat, he felt a sharp stab of empathy for the
man now out of sight. This was Obi-Wan, he believed it now, but
something was wrong. He was sick somehow, infested with that
strange crawling darkness.
He shifted further, burrowing in the robe. He cast a furtive
glance in the direction Obi-Wan had disappeared in, before
reaching, tentatively, for the Force.
The pain surged back but he had expected it and he gritted his
teeth, pushing it aside as he had been taught, reaching
further. The Force stirred weakly in his grasp and he clung to
it, manipulating the gossamer thread and aiming it towards the
binders.
His head was already throbbing with pain, but he couldn't stop
now, he had to free himself. It may be that this man was
Obi-Wan but he also intended to murder his Master and that
Anakin could not allow.
You never really understood what you meant to me, did you?
You were my everything, my center, my sun. My world revolved
around you.
And then I wasn't enough and you took another.
I lost my light when you rejected me and I was so cold, so
very, very cold.
And you never came.
Chapter 4: Dreams Into Waking
I will never forget how it felt to stand in the Council
Chambers and hear you declare Anakin Skywalker as your Padawan.
There I stood, hardly a meter away from you, forgotten in the
moment that it took for someone to close a door. Years we had
been together and all of them, worthless.
I wanted to hate Anakin, but I couldn't blame him. He was a
boy and he was just as susceptible to your whims as I was. The
dark one, my jailor, my savior, may have made me hate you but
it was you who gave me up.
Even before the yawning mouth of the old Home Planet mine
appeared before him, Qui-Gon knew where the vague pull of
Anakin's mind was leading him.
It was like a waking dream and he shivered despite the thick
Jedi robes he was wearing, awash with a sickening sense of
déjà vu. Qui-Gon half- expecting to see Xanatos
appear riding on a speeder bike, as if he had accidentally
stepped back in time.
He forced his attention back to the moment with difficulty. His
mind felt as if it was being torn into a dozen directions, a
churning whirlpool mixing Anakin, Obi-Wan and that darkness but
it was a distraction he could ill-afford, not now, not with his
Padawan's life at risk. And perhaps more than his life.
He walked cautiously through the mine entrance. It had been
shut down for years, all the precious minerals stripped away
but even if the Force hadn't told him, he could see that
someone had been there recently. The tunnels had been cleared
out slightly and here and there were small portable lights.
He walked through the eerily silent tunnel, his boots crunching
on the gravel the only sound. This was right; he could feel
Anakin's Force signature getting stronger as well as that
darkness. It set the fine hairs on the back of his neck
prickling. At the end of the tunnel was a lift, operational.
Qui-Gon stepped into it and without a moment's hesitation
pressed level six.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the lift carried him
downward. All of the past was coming back to haunt him at once,
mistakes he'd made with two of his Padawans. He couldn't afford
another one
He stepped out of the lift, delicately touching the Force
outside of it for an ambush before continuing. Qui-Gon hadn't
walked but two steps when he heard it.
"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come. Again."
He didn't turn, not at first. Qui-Gon went completely still as
all control over his limbs left him. His initial thought was
that the Council had been right, that his refusal to stop
grieving had finally torn away his sanity and he was now
hallucinating the one voice that he wanted most to hear.
He knew, knew that if he turned around there would be no
one there, just empty darkness and the ludicrous spark of hope
that had flared within him would be extinguished as quickly as
it had been ignited.
But he had to turn, eventually. He needed to prove, even in his
absolute certainty, that no one was there, certainly no one
with that voice.
He was wrong.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and just stood, all his energy expended
just to keep upright. His heart racing, pounding as if it were
trying to beat its way out of his chest as he was assaulted
with equal parts of love, disbelief and despair.
He couldn't see this, could not possibly believe what his eyes
had told him. It was a cruel joke that his strained mind was
playing on him, a dream. In a moment he would open his eyes and
that image would dissolve into a blood-soaked phantasm and he
would wake up again screaming, his sheets damp with sweat and
tears.
But when he opened his eyes that figure was still standing
there, a nearby lamp casting his face in light as he watched
Qui-Gon with an expression of amusement.
His hair was much longer, pulled back into a haphazard ponytail
at the nape of his neck and even in the dim light Qui-Gon could
see it was threaded thickly with silver, more so even than his
own. His face was lined as no human of only twenty and nine
years should be, lines that spoke of endured harshness and
pain. Dressed completely in black, from a dark tunic down to
knee boots.
But he was alive.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, barely above a whisper as if
afraid to speak too loud, lest he wake himself and this vision
be proved false.
The younger man smiled fleetingly. "Why, Master, you do
remember me! I would have guessed that you had banished me from
your mind the very moment I left your sight."
The nearly caustic bitterness in those mocking words shocked
Qui-Gon back into reality and his heart throbbed anew as he
realized in one horrifying moment that the vortex of darkness
that had been suffocating him since this had begun was centered
around the man before him.
It was his eyes. Those were not the eyes of the Obi-Wan he had
known. There was very little sanity in those gray eyes but
there was a great deal of hatred. It seemed to bruise the very
air around him. Qui-Gon's heart screamed in denial and he knew.
His first instinct had been correct, this man was not his love.
This was a dark reflection of the young man who had stood in
this same mine nearly two decades before.
It was pure reflex that saved him from the first blow, raising
his saber against the red blur of Obi-Wan's was as natural to
him as breathing. It took the second blow to jar him from the
blankness of shock enough to realize that Obi-Wan was attacking
him.
And in another instant of clarity he realized something else,
even as he automatically defended himself from the coming
attack. Qui-Gon realized that he couldn't do this, that even if
by some miracle of the Force he managed to defeat Obi-Wan, he
couldn't kill him, not even to save his own life, no matter
what the young man had become. And he also knew without a doubt
that this was a battle that only one of them would survive, if
that.
He accepted that, accepted his death with an ease that
astonished him. But he couldn't do it just yet; there was
something that must be done first.
Switching tactics in mid-blow, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan
backwards, hard, augmenting his own strength with the Force.
Obi-Wan slid backwards and off the edge of the walkway, down
into a smaller shaft. It certainly wouldn't stop him, but it
bought Qui-Gon the precious seconds he needed.
You were my center and then I found myself cut free and I
fell for what seemed like an eternity into darkness.
"Qui-Gon..." A strange, disembodied voice called out only a
short distance away and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, holding
himself outside of the Force and as undetectable as he could
possibly be. He was crouched low behind one of the many rock
piles scattered about, moving slowly and steadily towards his
Padawan.
"Come out! You aren't playing the game right!" Petulant tone
and Qui- Gon moved quickly while Obi-Wan spoke, using his voice
to mask any sounds of movement. The only thing he could
concentrate on now was Anakin.
"Did you really think I wouldn't know, Master?" Taunting and
Qui-Gon couldn't hold back a wince even as he moved closer to
where he'd last felt Anakin's presence. His tight shields made
it so that Obi-Wan couldn't find him but it also impaired his
ability to find Anakin. Wouldn't know what, Qui-Gon wondered.
As deranged as Obi-Wan obviously was at this moment there was
no telling what he was speaking of but his next words where
beyond anything Qui-Gon could have expected.
"Tell me, were you just waiting for your little 'chosen one' to
come before you discarded me or was that just a convenient way
to get rid of me?" Shrill laughter and Qui-Gon, in his shock,
missed the opportunity to move closer to Anakin. "How
very...tedious...it must have been for you, the great Qui-Gon
Jinn to be stuck training me because of a errant moment of
guilt."
All mocking was gone from those softly spoken words and at that
moment he sounded so much like the Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon
remembered that his eyes burned with tears, that his Obi-Wan
could believe that. Still, he moved forward and Anakin came
just into his line of vision, wrapped in black cloth, his eyes
tightly closed in his pinched face.
It occurred to Qui-Gon that he hadn't heard Obi-Wan speak in
far too long a time in the same instant his ears registered the
sharp hum, just a moment too late, and then he felt the searing
heat of a lightsaber only inches from his neck.
Obi-wan clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Now, now,
Master, you're trying to cheat. You get the prize after you
win, not before." And to Qui-Gon's utter shock, instead of
parted his head from his neck with one neat stroke, Obi-Wan
stepped back and moved into an attack stance, saying softly,
"Let us finish this then."
He cast a last glance at Anakin before again igniting his
saber. Sometimes there were no choices.
It was a mistake, all of it a mistake. So many lies, all my
memories were conflicting. Lies, truths, memories but I no
longer knew whom they belonged to or what they meant.
I only knew you. Hated you for reasons I no longer
understood.
Anakin watched helplessly as Obi-Wan pushed his master back yet
again. It was becoming obvious who was going to win this fight
and really it had been obvious before Qui-Gon had set foot in
the mine.
Desperately, Anakin focused every shred of energy he still had
left towards the binders on his wrists.
Raising his lightsaber to deflect the blows that were being
hammered down on him, drowning in the black pall of rage that
surrounded him, Qui-Gon Jinn was exhausted and almost ready to
simply surrender. He had been doomed from the start of this and
it was only the bright glow of Anakin, only meters away, that
kept him fighting. He could not afford to lose, could not fail
Anakin.
It was only moments later that he discovered that he didn't
really have a choice. One hard downward swing, a sharp kick and
he was knocked to the ground, his lightsaber rolling out of
reach as he lay flat on his back, Obi-Wan standing triumphantly
above him.
"Not good enough for you, Master. But I was good enough to beat
you," Obi-Wan gasped out, panting from exertion. "Goodnight, my
Master." He raised the saber over his head.
"I've missed you, Padawan." The words came without thought.
They fell from Qui-Gon's lips by their own will. Their eyes
caught for an instant, an eternity and Qui-Gon watched as
Obi-Wan's eyes cleared, lucidity replacing rage and he
hesitated, lightsaber poised for a killing blow. Then anger
surged again, dimming the brief vision of the young man he had
known. The saber started its descent.
And stopped. It hovered uncertainly for a moment and again
anger was wiped away to be replaced by...shock? Obi-Wan's lips
parted, as if to speak, but all the emerged was a thin ribbon
of crimson, to trail down his chin. His lightsaber clattered to
the ground, extinguished, and Obi-Wan followed it, crumpling to
the floor.
Behind him, hands dripping red, was a pale faced Anakin.
Obi-Wan curled into himself, bending just enough for Qui-Gon to
see the long, sharp piece of twisted metal that Anakin had
stabbed into Obi-Wan's back. Blood was already pooling on the
floor underneath the man as he tried desperately to breathe.
No, no, no, not again, no please no. Qui-Gon crawled
over to the dying man, not even noticing the sharp rocks that
dug through the thin fabric of his pants. He jerked the
impromptu weapon from Obi- Wan's flesh, dragging a hoarse
scream from him, barely more than a loud breath. Qui-Gon pulled
his former Padawan into his arms, felt the warm blood gushing
from the wound seeping into his pants but he didn't care. He
would not let this happen, he would -not-.
Even as he pressed his hands to Obi-Wan's face, searching for
his mind to start healing, Obi-Wan tried weakly to shake them
off.
No, he mouthed, lacking the breath for speech and Qui-Gon
didn't need to hear it aloud to know what Obi-Wan said next.
Let me die.
His eyes were shimmering with tears of pain but they were
lucid, even as they flickered shut.
"No!" Qui-Gon shouted, hardly aware that he had done so as he
reached for the Force and surged into Obi-Wan's mind. The
younger man tried to fight him off, tried to raise his shields
but he was sluggish and in pain and Qui-Gon shoved aside his
protests easily. It only took him a bare second to find it, the
ragged bleeding edge of their severed bond, the raw mental
wound that matched his own.
Obi-Wan screamed, mentally and physically as Qui-Gon captured
that edge. With no time for gentleness, he wove his way into
Obi-Wan's unwilling psyche. Dimly, in the shadow world of the
physical he felt small, wet hands slide over his own and the
energy surge double, tripled, burning white-hot through him.
He felt the strands of their bond wind together again even as a
last desperate wave of ugliness flowed over him. Qui-Gon
endured it, held it away from Anakin as best he could while he
was wrapped in a web of a thousand insects stinging him at
once. He pushed back against it, drowned it in the abundance of
their light and he felt a sudden sense of rightness as their
link snapped together tightly.
A flood of mental images came to him. Qui-Gon relived
everything that Obi-Wan had endured the past few years, all the
pain of Obi-wan waiting, all his desperate belief turning to
despair when he realized he was waiting in vain and he felt
Obi-Wan's sudden awareness of his own memories, a mixture of
disbelief and rage and confusion.
And just before the drain of energy overtook him and he sank
into unconsciousness, his senses aching with Obi-Wan's pain as
well as his own, he heard the man in his arms take a breath.
Why didn't you let me die?
Chapter 5: The Sun Also Rises
I have many regrets, my Master, I cannot imagine that there
are any sentient beings that do not. I regret things from my
childhood, foolishness that I was too young to avoid. I regret
things from a dozen missions that I had with you, that if
perhaps I had done one thing differently or better so much
would have changed. I regret that I waited so long to kiss you
for the first time and if I had known before how you would have
reacted, nothing could have stopped me.
And I regret that I didn't touch you, that first and last
time.
His eyes were open, somehow he knew that but all he saw was a
grayish blur. He tried to squint and discovered that he could.
He blinked several times and slowly the world swam into focus.
A white wall. That was what he had been looking at. Except it
was at a strange angle, not quite right somehow.
Oh. He was lying down. That explained it. Gingerly, he tried to
move. He could, so he sat up and found that he had been covered
in blankets. He was noticing other things now, a small machine
at his side with various wires poking out here and there, some
of which he discovered were attached to his arm. That seemed
important somehow but he didn't know why.
A sound and the wall opened, no, that was a door and someone
rushed into the room and started to poke at him with a strange
instrument. He didn't think to pull away, just watched as the
other prodded at him.
"Master Qui-Gon? How are you feeling?" The person, (she?)
asked, speaking very slowly and that irritated him for some
reason. He understood her perfectly well and he was going to
tell her so when he realized that he didn't know how.
She must have sensed his mental distress because she spoke
again, soothingly. "It's all right, you're going to be fine.
You've gone through something very traumatic. Rest will help."
She pressed gently on his shoulders, trying to make him lie
back but he resisted. This wasn't right, he tried to say,
something was missing something was -wrong- but the only noises
that left his throat were unintelligible grunts, low guttural
sounds of frustration.
He felt a flash of annoyance and realized it had come from her.
"All right then, be stubborn!" And she pressed a button on the
machine. Immediately he felt horribly tired and he had lain
back on the mattress before he'd even thought about it. The
last thing he felt was her pulling the blankets over him again
and then he sank into a comforting void of sleep.
The next time he woke he was much improved, if a bit
disoriented. And then he'd had to prove that he did know his
own name, the names of the Council members as well as the
answers to few other inane questions that he answered with
gritted teeth as he struggled with annoyance. But the healers
must have been satisfied with his answers because they allowed
him to remain awake and left him in the room, alone.
His solitude was short-lived. Bare minutes later Master Yoda
and Master Windu walked into his room and closed the door
firmly behind them.
"Where is Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked before the door had even
clicked shut. The healers had refused to answer his questions
and had even warned him that if he became too agitated they
would put him back to sleep. That had shut him up quickly. But
now in front of these two, whose faces were far too grave, too
solemn he was finished waiting. Four years was long enough.
It was Windu who finally broke the silence. "Qui-Gon, the
Council feels that it may be better for you not to see him for
a time. You both have been through so much..." Qui-Gon cut him
off rudely, he was in no mood for words games.
"I need to see him, Mace. Where is he?"
"Not the Padawan you remember, Qui-Gon," Yoda pointed out, but
the words were gently said. "Much has happened, much has
changed."
Qui-Gon glared at both of them and they both looked back,
utterly serene and calm. He nodded suddenly and an almost
undetectable bit of tension left the room, only to surge back
when Qui-Gon promptly tore the medical wires from his arm.
"What are you doing!" Mace demanded, his calm disappearing into
flustered shock. Yoda said nothing but his ears lowered,
expressing his silent annoyance. Ignoring them both, Qui-Gon
shoved the blankets aside and managed to get into a sitting
position. Dark spots wavered before his eyes as he was
assaulted by equal parts of dizziness and nausea. He'd been
kept unconscious for some time apparently. He fought the
queasiness back, breathing deeply until it eased and only then
did he look at the other Jedi.
"I'm going to see Obi-Wan," he explained matter-of-factly. "And
if you won't take me then I will go to him myself."
"Qui-Gon, you are in no condition...."
"I can feel him!" Qui-Gon finally snapped out. "I can feel that
he is nearby and hurt but nothing else. And I don't give a damn
what you or the rest of the Council thinks is best, I am going
to see him!" The last near shout drained him for a moment but
he still managed to struggle into a sitting position at the
side of the bed. He started and nearly fell off the bed at the
loud crack of Yoda's walking stick being rapped against the
floor.
"Persistent, you are." Irritably, but also with a touch of
resignation, as if he had expected it. "See Obi-Wan, you will."
Yoda nodded at Mace, who, with a faint smile, walked over and
simply picked Qui-Gon up, cradling the man in his arms, never
mind that Qui-Gon was several inches taller and a few kilos
heavier.
He didn't have to carry Qui-Gon far. Down one corridor, past a
door, two doors and at the third he turned and went inside. The
room was dark, a marked contrast to the brightly lit hallways
of the infirmary and Qui-Gon blinked rapidly, struggling to
make his eyes adjust. He could just see the outline of the bed,
hear the soft hum of machinery.
Mace settled Qui-Gon into the chair next to the bed, plucking a
blanket from a nearby stack and wrapped Qui-Gon in it before
the other man even realized that he was cold. All his attention
was on the young man in the bed, swathed in blankets. His face,
the only part of him visible, was ashen, his parted lips nearly
as colorless as his face.
"What happened," Qui-Gon whispered hoarsely, his eyes never
leaving his former Padawan.
Yoda studied him closely. "What memories have you?"
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to answer and hesitated, glancing at
the other masters who were waiting expectantly before saying
uncertainly, "I was on Bandomeer with Anakin..." and he cut off
abruptly, flooded with guilty concern. "Anakin, where is he? I
didn't even..."
"Fine, he is," Yoda interrupted, impatiently gesturing for
Qui-Gon to go on.
Qui-Gon nodded, relieved. Of course he had known Anakin was
alive, they did have a bond but his newly awakened bond with
Obi-Wan had him completely ensnarled at the moment.
"Bandomeer," he repeated, speaking slowly. "And Anakin was
kidnapped and the...the mine and Obi-Wan. I..." He closed his
eyes tightly, trying to picture it in his mind but reaching for
the memories seemed to push them further from his grasp. "I'm
sorry," he said finally, reluctantly. "It's...blurred somehow.
I can't quite grasp it."
He felt a ripple of disappointment come from both masters
before it was quickly hidden and he glanced at them curiously,
silent questions in his eyes.
It was Mace who finally broke the silence, his tone low and
weary as he spoke. "When you arrived back on Coruscant, Anakin
told us everything. He said that there was a battle between you
and Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon winced at those words. Yes, he did
remember that now, vaguely, like he had watched it from afar.
It seemed as insubstantial as a dream, a mere cobweb of memory
to be brushed aside.
"He told us that afterward you both healed him," Mace
continued, his eyes flicking briefly at the still figure on the
bed. "The stress of the healing made you both lose
consciousness and when Anakin awoke he used the distress beacon
on your belt to summon assistance. The Bandomeer healers
contacted us and did what they could but when they realized
that your injuries were more mental than physical they sent you
all back here." Mace sighed and rubbed his temples as if his
head pained him. "You've been here for just over a week."
"Reestablished your bond with Obi-Wan, you have?" Yoda asked
abruptly, sharply. Qui-Gon blinked at him, still trying to
assimilate this information. He had been unconscious for a
week? More than that, he realized, for however long he had been
on Bandomeer as well as the trip to Coruscant. Yoda repeated
the question and Qui-Gon glanced back at Obi-Wan, his bondmate
who had tried to kill him.
"Yes," he said softly, finally. There was no denying it,
whatever had happened weeks ago or years ago he could never
deny Obi-Wan, never. He looked back at Yoda and Mace, eyes
going from face to face and his confusion growing as both
council member's expressions became strangely grim.
"And what feel you from him?" No sharpness now, it had been
replaced by a sense of urgency.
Again Qui-Gon looked from the silent figure on the bed to the
other Masters and back before he answered, honestly, "I can
feel that he is here but very little else. He's so completely
closed off that I can't read anything from him." It was true
but he felt slightly uncomfortable speaking of it, feeling as
if he needed to protect Obi-Wan somehow.
Yoda and Mace wilted visibly at his words; their shields
actually wavered enough for Qui-Gon to feel their
disappointment. "And you remember nothing from your linking
with him?" Mace asked heavily.
"No, nothing specific...what is this all about?" His own tone
was sharp now, his hackles rising. At this particular moment he
could care less that these two were the highest members of the
Council. Obi-Wan had been through enough, more than anyone
should ever have to go through, Qui-Gon remembered at least
that much. And he would be damned as a Sith himself before he
would sit by and allow anyone to hurt Obi-Wan again, Council
member or no.
Immediately a wave of reassurance/warmth/calm washed
over him. "No, Qui-Gon it isn't like that," Mace said urgently,
strengthening the sentiment of their feelings with words. "It
isn't Obi-Wan that we are concerned about in this, just his
knowledge."
"Knows who the dark Master is, he does," Yoda added gently and
Qui-Gon recoiled at the reminder.
He looked at Obi-Wan again, his pallor made worse by the
whiteness of the bed linens, his chest slowly rising and
lowering with each breath his only movement. "He isn't going to
wake up, is he?" Qui-Gon whispered hoarsely. His words were
nearly a sob and Qui-Gon felt as if he were choking on his own
sorrow. Lost and then found, only to be lost again and he felt
as if something within him had again died. He wondered dully
how much of his soul he could lose before the Force finally
took him back.
A gentle hand on his knee startled him and Qui-Gon looked down
to see Master Yoda looking at him gravely. "Know that, we do
not," the diminutive master said softly, squeezing Qui-Gon's
knee again. "Injuries are not like yours, closed himself off
deliberately he has." A hesitation then very gently, "Afraid he
is."
Kindly said but the words gave Qui-Gon no comfort. Deliberately
closing your mind off, whether consciously or otherwise was far
worse than just an involuntary reaction. There was no treatment
but time, healers couldn't reach past such shields for fear of
damaging the mind behind them. He'd saved Obi-Wan's life,
nearly at the expense of his own but he had been unable to save
the young man's mind.
It had all been for nothing.
No, not for nothing, he corrected himself fiercely. There was a
chance, however slim, that Obi-Wan would awaken and Qui-Gon was
going to live for that chance. A chance was better than what he
had had for the past four years.
A last gentle pat on his knee and Master Yoda turned with
Master Windu and left, quietly closing the door behind them.
For long moments the room was quiet and still, broken only by
the soft beeping of machinery.
Qui-Gon reached out and carefully tucked the blankets away from
Obi- Wan's face so that he could see it better. The lines of it
were relaxed somewhat in slumber but not completely, he still
looked older than he was. Or perhaps it was just older than
Qui-Gon remembered him, it had been four years.
Four years. Qui-Gon only had the vaguest shadowed memories of
what Obi- Wan had been through, a surety that there had been
pain and fear and nearly insanity. And he did recall his last
dream on Bandomeer. Vividly. The sound of Obi-Wan's screaming
echoed through his head again at the memory and Qui-Gon
shuddered, curling slightly into himself as he forced the
thought away.
Had the dreams been a warning through the Force of this? Or had
Obi-Wan somehow made them manifest? Qui-Gon didn't know but he
had a feeling that he had seen the last of them. He hoped.
"Obi-Wan," he said softly, not expecting a response and not
receiving one. He swallowed thickly and leaned forward to
lightly touch Obi-Wan's face, slowly tracing those faint lines.
His fingers stroked down the bristled, unshaved cheek to the
long hair that was spread across the pillows, and Qui-Gon
fingered the strands of gray that streaked through the dark
gold.
He pulled back a bit, looking further down and one of Obi-Wan's
hands was resting on top of the blankets. Qui-Gon abandoned the
soft hair in favor of that hand, took it in his own. Turning it
over, he studied the callused palm as carefully as if he had
been a gypsy fortuneteller. The hands were familiar to Qui-Gon,
long slender fingers that were as adept at handling a
lightsaber as they had been, for just one night in Qui- Gon's
memory, at giving pleasure. But now that hand was a mass of
scars, pale and silvery in the dim light and Qui-Gon closed his
eyes against them, remembering how Obi-Wan had gotten those
scars.
"Obi-Wan," he said again, his voice hoarser with growing pain.
"Obi- Wan, if I had had even the slightest idea of what had
happened, just a hint, I would have come. Never doubt that,
Obi-Wan. I would have come, I would have..." His words were
little more than an agonized whispers that were falling upon
deaf ears but he continued anyway, his eyes never leaving the
Obi-Wan's unfamiliar but much loved face.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm so, so, sorry. I thought you were dead. I
-felt- you die. I swear I would have come, I would have, if I
had only known..." He choked on the words, tears coming now in
spite of himself. He wiped away the wet streaks impatiently.
"Never again," Qui-Gon whispered fiercely, clutching Obi-Wan's
hand in his own. "I will -never- let you go again, do you hear
me? Never. I swear it."
Qui-Gon sat there the entire night, watching the man he had
never thought to see again sleep, peacefully and completely
oblivious to his master's quiet vow.
You would not remember that first almost-touch, Master. On
Bandomeer, before I took Anakin away I saw you. I hated you
then, burned with it, tasted it like bitter poison in the back
of my throat. But I had to see you.
The sound of the door clicking open woke him the next morning
and Qui- Gon tensed, looked towards it warily and he prepared
for another argument with the healers. He knew damn well enough
that he couldn't stay here forever but it had been four years.
They could allow him a few days.
Instead of a nurse, however, he saw one blue eye and part of a
blond head peering through the crack of the opened door.
Qui-Gon smiled, relieved and nearly happy for the first time
since he'd woken in the infirmary.
"Padawan," he said, allowing Anakin to hear his relief and he
opened his arms. Anakin flew into them without the slightest
hesitation, allowed Qui-Gon to pull him into his lap and hug
him tightly.
They said nothing, allowing their bond to speak of their relief
and affection for them, before Anakin pulled back a little,
giving his master a happy smile before turning a much graver
look towards the other man lying silent and still on the bed.
"He really is Obi-Wan, isn't he, Master." It was a statement
rather than a question but Qui-Gon nodded anyway, not trusting
his voice at this moment.
Anakin was quiet for a moment, considering that, before asking,
"Is he better now? He was...I'm not sure. Sick somehow?"
Qui-Gon swallowed, hard. "I'm not sure, Padawan. I hope so," he
replied, his words husky and his throat tight. He closed his
eyes again, trying to hold back the burn of tears just a little
longer. He had cried more since Obi-Wan had...been taken than
he had the entirety of his life before that. For the past four
years the tears had always been there, held back only by his
will and waiting for any moment of weakness to break through.
And there was no guarantee that now Obi-Wan was back that this
would change.
They were both quiet for some time, each lost in their own
thoughts as Anakin settled onto his Master's lap and watched
Obi-Wan breath. Long minutes had passed when a thought suddenly
hit Qui-Gon.
Keeping his excitement from his voice, he asked softly,
"Padawan, you helped me heal Obi-Wan, didn't you?" Anakin
nodded and he continued carefully, "Did you pick up any images
or feelings from that?"
Anakin gave him an apologetic look. "No, just a lot of..."he
gestured vaguely, shrugging. "Heat? Power? Something like that.
Nothing clear. Master Yoda already asked me."
Well, it had been worth a try. He should have known that Yoda
would have already thought of it. Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes
tiredly and stretched as well as he could with Anakin still
sitting on his lap. All his muscles immediately protested. His
limbs were cramped and tight from spending the night in a
chair, no matter how comfortable it was.
Stifling a yawn, he hugged Anakin again, still feeling twinges
of guilt for not asking after the boy sooner. "And who has been
caring for you while I've been in here?" he asked, poking a
finger into Anakin's ribs and holding on as the boy laughed and
tried to squirm away.
"Master Yoda. He said that if he could handle you as a Padawan
he shouldn't have any trouble with me." He raised mischievous
eyes to Qui- Gon's, lips curling as he tried and failed to
contain his smile. Qui- Gon raised an eyebrow in surprise,
pretending to be insulted.
"I deny everything that Master Yoda says. I was a perfectly
good Padawan. I..." He stopped when Anakin gasped suddenly, his
face slack with shock. Qui-Gon followed his stunned gaze back
to Obi-Wan and his own shock tore through him, followed quickly
but a surge of desperate hope.
Obi-Wan's eyes were open. He didn't move or speak but his eyes
were open, clear bluish-gray, focused on the ceiling.
Carefully, with trembling hands Qui-Gon set Anakin to the floor
and stood, leaning over the bed.
"Obi-Wan?" he asked, softly. No response. It only took a moment
for Qui-Gon to see that Obi-Wan wasn't looking at him but
beyond him. He waved a hand in front of Obi-Wan's eyes.
Nothing.
All his wildly rising hope left him in a painful rush and
Qui-Gon sat back in the chair heavily. Anakin moved to stand at
his elbow and hesitantly reached out to touch Qui-Gon's hand
and the master grasped it blindly, gratefully. Taking a deep
breath, Qui-Gon released the despair that was trying to form.
This was a start at least, he told himself firmly, and
certainly better than nothing at all.
The Padawan and Master stayed a while longer and when Qui-Gon
finally drifted back to sleep, the weariness from his own
convalescence catching up to him, Anakin carefully extracted
his hand. Picking up blanket that had been discarded on the
floor, he tucked it carefully around the older man before
stealing from the room.
He glanced back in a last time before closing the door.
Obi-Wan's eyes were still open, still looking up at the ceiling
although Anakin doubted that he saw anything. It was Obi-Wan
Kenobi, someone who was very important to Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon, who looked far too pale and thin sleeping in a
too-small chair next to Obi-Wan's bed and suddenly Anakin
wanted very much to help Obi- Wan because it would make Qui-Gon
happy. His master was the best Jedi there was, strong, wise a
good teacher as well as a good friend but he was so rarely
happy and Anakin wished very much to change that. To repay
Qui-Gon for everything that he had done to help a lonely slave
become something much more.
Turning to go back to Master Yoda's quarters, which he was
sharing until Qui-Gon was better, Anakin made a silent promise
that if there was -anything- he could do, anything at all, to
help Obi-Wan he would do it, if only so his master could smile.
On Bandomeer, it had been four years since I had last seen
you and you were asleep, dreaming of what, my only true Master?
Happier times one would hope.
I should have killed you then, let my bitter hatred flow and
end it all in a gush of hot blood, your blood instead of mine
which I had bled for years.
I regret not touching you then because that would have ended
it. I didn't touch you for fear that if I did I wouldn't be
able to stop myself. My hands would have wrapped around your
neck and I would have strangled the life from you and that
would have been far too easy. I wanted you to see your death in
my eyes after I stood over you in triumph. Or at least that was
what I told myself, then.
Now I wonder.
The sun had set nearly an hour before and it was only the dim
artificial lights of Coruscant's night that cast shadows along
the wall. Qui-Gon was watching them, the occasional flicker as
he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting.
A moment later in started, the faint twitching, soft, almost
imperceptible whimpers that would escalate in a moment if he
let them. Instead, he reached out and soothed the figure lying
on his bed, stroking the fine, soft hair with one hand as he
calmed the younger man back into a restful sleep.
The shivering eased and Obi-Wan sighed very softly, burrowing
deeper into the blankets as he slept on. Qui-Gon watched him,
waiting quietly for the next tremor.
Three weeks it had been since Qui-Gon had awoken in the
infirmary on Coruscant. So much and yet so little had changed.
Obi-Wan was still lost in his own mind, wandering around in a
world that only he could see.
He had spent one week in the infirmary, staring at nothing,
oblivious to the Healers probes, to Qui-Gon's presence. He
simply stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. Or had seemed to,
until the day he vanished from the infirmary.
Qui-Gon smiled faintly at the memory, still gently stroking
Obi-Wan's hair, the silky filaments clinging statically to his
fingers. That had thrown the whole temple into an uproar. A
maybe Sith who had very nearly killed one of their own roaming
around loose in the temple.
A manhunt had quickly ensued but the moment Qui-Gon had learned
that Obi-Wan was missing he found the other man easily,
following the thread of their link to a secluded corner of the
meditation gardens where he had found Obi-Wan, on his knees and
stripped to the waist, his face tilted upward as he basked in
the warmth of the sunlight.
He had allowed Qui-Gon to lead him back to the infirmary,
completely docile and the healers had quickly settled him back
into his room. Only to have him vanish again an hour later.
Nothing could keep him in his room, locks were useless and time
and time again he could be seen walking like a silent wraith
through the temple hallways towards the gardens, where he would
strip out of his shoes and shirt and kneel, eyes closed and his
face turned towards the sun.
He would stay until the sun went down and then he would stand
and dress. He never acknowledged anyone or even seemed to
notice they existed, only aware enough, it seemed, to avoid
walking into them.
That first day half the Council was watching him. Qui-Gon was
watching as well and when he dressed and left the gardens they
had all followed him. Not to the infirmary, but to his old
quarters, Qui-Gon's quarters that he now shared with Anakin,
where he laid down on Qui-Gon's bed and promptly fell asleep.
Obi-Wan stirred again, this time one hand reaching out blindly
and Qui- Gon captured it gently, pressing a kiss against
callused fingers. And then there was this. That first night he
had had every intention of allowing Obi-Wan to sleep alone in
his bed. If Obi-Wan wanted to sleep in his old Master's bed,
whether consciously or unconsciously, then he could. But
Obi-Wan hadn't been asleep an hour before the tremors had
started, the soft whimpering cries and eventually the screams.
He had calmed only when Qui-Gon had touched him, soothed him.
In the past weeks Obi-Wan had settled to the point where it
usually only took Qui-Gon an hour to calm him into a deeper
sleep. And then Qui-Gon stayed, holding him through the night
and protecting him from whatever it was the tormented him.
The hand slipped from Qui-Gon grasp and slid down his chest,
settling at his thigh and there it rested, warm pressure that
he could feel through the thin fabric of his pants. He took a
deep breath and relaxed himself, pushing away his natural
reaction to the intimate touch even as he closed his eyes and
relished it. It had been so long, so very long and sleeping
with Obi-Wan in his arms, the younger man often practically
right on top of him, was making it difficult. Not that he would
ever take advantage of Obi-Wan in the state he was in.
No, he thought, carefully moving that hand to a safer location.
Obi-Wan had suffered enough. Now was time for healing. If only
Obi-Wan would allow it.
The Council had reluctantly agreed to release Obi-Wan into his
former master's care instead of using more secure methods to
hold him in the infirmary. Qui-Gon smiled again at that, but
this smile was laced with a faint bitterness. Their decision
had had little to do with either his own or Obi-Wan's well
being but instead it had been for Obi-Wan's knowledge. If there
was a chance that Obi-Wan could come back to himself so that
the Jedi might know who the Master Sith was then they meant to
take it.
But Obi-Wan seemed to have reached something of a plateau. He
would rise at dawn, would eat food that was provided from him,
dress himself and walk to the gardens where he stayed until the
sun set and then return to his quarters, eating sometimes,
sometimes not and he would sleep. And he would dream.
The tremors began again, the soft wordless cries and again
Qui-Gon soothed them away, offering comfort and protection,
offering peace and Obi-Wan seemed to latch onto that, settling
again and completely unaware that the hopes of the entirety of
the Jedi council, as well as those of one man, lay in him.
Anakin was getting frustrated. It had been weeks since he made
his silent promise to help Obi-Wan and so far he hadn't been
able to do much of anything. If the healers couldn't help
Obi-Wan, then what did he expect that he could do?
He had been meditating on it last night when a thought had come
to him. It wasn't a great plan, by far, but it was better than
sitting around doing nothing.
And now he was in the gardens, determined to carry this out.
Obi-Wan was in his usual spot, kneeling in a patch of sunlight
and Anakin was hovering on the edge of the clearing nervously.
It wasn't that he was afraid of Obi-Wan, not really, even after
what had happened. That strange ugliness that had been in
Obi-Wan in the mines was gone now. Of course, so was any other
sense around Obi-Wan, so who really knew?
And Obi-Wan had been staying with Anakin and his master for a
few weeks now. He wasn't exactly great company but Anakin had
gotten used to their silent roommate and certainly his being
there seemed to please Master Qui-Gon and that was enough for
Anakin.
No, he was nervous because his plan might not work and then
he'd be right back where he started and fresh out of ideas.
Anakin took a deep breath and steadied himself. The very least
he could do was try. Master Yoda said there was no try only do
but he didn't think that applied to this case. In this all he
could do was try. The rest was up to Obi-Wan.
He walked carefully over to Obi-Wan and nearly jumped out of
his skin when the man's eyes opened, regarding him silently.
That was new. Obi- Wan didn't usually pay attention to anyone.
New hope surged within him. Please, please let this
work.
He pushed his nervousness aside and stepped closer until he was
right in front of Obi-Wan. The man didn't move, just looked up
at Anakin with that familiar blankness. Anakin shifted,
kneeling in front of him.
"I...I brought you something," he blurted out. No response but
he hadn't actually expected Obi-Wan to just suddenly decide to
talk to him. Quickly, he reached into his pocket and pulled
something out, his fingers closed over a small object. He held
his hand right under Obi- Wan's eyes and opened it, so that the
man couldn't help but see the smooth, dark river stone in his
palm.
"Master Qui-Gon said it was yours," Anakin said, shrugging
awkwardly, "I thought you might like to have it back."
Obi-Wan was looking at the stone with wide eyes and Anakin held
his breath as Obi-Wan hesitantly reached up and took it. He
waited a moment, watching Obi-Wan silently inspect the rock and
then he sighed and got to his feet, turning to leave. Well, it
was worth a shot, he thought glumly.
"Thank you."
Whirling at the sound of those hoarsely spoken words, Anakin
gaped at Obi-Wan openly, his mouth gaping open. Obi-Wan didn't
speak again, just looked up at the boy with wide, guileless
eyes.
Recovering, he closed his mouth with a click and managed to
stammer out, "You're welcome."
They held gazes for a moment longer and then Obi-Wan returned
his attention to the stone. Anakin backed away from him, eyes
still on the lower head until he nearly tripped over an exposed
root. He caught his balance and then nearly ran from the
gardens to find his master.
The second time I didn't touch you, because...because I
couldn't. I wanted to, I needed to, but I...
I couldn't.
Slowing from his near run, Qui-Gon skidded to a rather
undignified halt outside the entrance to the gardens. He had
practically flown to the gardens after a very excited Anakin
had told him that Obi-Wan had spoken to him but now he was
strangely hesitant to go inside. So many times his hopes had
been crushed, he wasn't sure he could bear to feel it again. A
little piece of him died with every fall and he wasn't sure how
much more his faith could withstand.
Steeling himself, Qui-Gon walked inside, forcing a calm that he
didn't feel. Obi-Wan wasn't difficult to find; he always
secluded himself in a hardly used corner of the gardens,
through tangles of greenery and into a brilliant patch of
sunlight. And this time of day the gardens were nearly empty.
Initiates were all in their classes, masters and knights were
fulfilling their duties. Only a few stragglers were in the
gardens, far enough away from where Qui-Gon was that they were
only a dim pulse in the Force.
Pushing his way through the clinging branches, Qui-Gon finally
made it through and caught his breath at the sight of Obi-Wan.
He was sitting cross-legged and barefoot, his boots tossed
carelessly aside. Eyes closed, head tilted back as he sat there
and basked in the warmth of the sun.
The light had tinted his hair gold, the silver streaks lost in
the brightness of sunlight as the long strands hung loosely
around his face. Rest and proper food had softened the lines of
his face and the sight of him sitting there made Qui-Gon ache
deeply with a confusing mixture of pain and love. This was the
Obi-Wan that he remembered, the faintest hint of a mischievous
smile curving the younger man's lips as he bathed in the golden
light. The long-severed connection between them throbbed
headily with life and Qui-Gon could have stood there for hours
and simply watched him, more beautiful in this moment than
anything he had ever seen or ever dreamed to see again.
And then Obi-Wan opened his eyes and the spell was broken. He
turned and looked at Qui-Gon, his head tilted questioningly.
It took a moment for Qui-Gon to find his voice. "Hello,
Obi-Wan," he said finally, emotion threatening to choke him.
Obi-Wan had looked at him, really looked at him and seen him.
Obi-Wan looked at him a moment longer, blinking, before he
nodded slightly and again closed his eyes, tipping his head
back again for the embrace of the sunlight.
Long minutes ticked by and Obi-Wan did not move again, only
remained sitting as he had before, just as beautiful but
disappointment stole the wonder of his pose from Qui-Gon. The
older man closed his own eyes for a moment, struggling with the
shaft of pain. He saw me, he did see me, Qui-Gon whispered in
his mind, consoling his shattered hope with the thin balm of
his faith. He had waited for so long with no hope at all, he
could survive longer with the shreds that he still possessed.
He open his eyes and looked at Obi-Wan again, vainly trying to
recapture the peace he had felt when he'd first seen the
younger man, before he finally turned away from the sight and
the silence.
"The sunlight feels wonderful."
It took a moment for those softly spoken words to penetrate but
the moment they did Qui-Gon's head jerked back around fast
enough for his neck to protest the abuse. Obi-Wan was smiling
at him, leaning back on his hands to let the sun touch as much
of him as possible. He stretched and sighed under Qui-Gon
astonished gaze like some great feline.
"It seems like a very long time since I felt this warm," the
younger man confessed softly, his eyes still resting on
Qui-Gon's. He shifted forward again, his hands hanging loosely
in his lap as he watched Qui- Gon edge forward into the small
clearing.
"Does it?" Qui-Gon said faintly, his thoughts in a whirl. This
much anticipated moment had finally arrived and he had no idea
whatsoever of what he should do. Cautiously, he took another
step forward. He could not make the mistake of believing that
this was -his- Obi-Wan, no matter how much his heart cried for
him to do just that.
Obi-Wan nodded again, his eyes dropping down to his hands that
were still resting in his lap. With one finger, he traced the
silver scars on his other hand; there were literally dozens of
them, ragged intersecting lines crisscrossed over once smooth
flesh. The young man studied them, seemingly fascinated before
again raising his eyes to Qui-Gon's.
"Master, what has happened? I...I try to remember but it all
seems so confusing, I..." he shook his head in frustration.
Exhaling a breath that he hadn't even been aware that he was
holding, Qui-Gon let some of his tension bleed away. Master.
With one word Obi- Wan had managed to dispel much of his fear
that the battle in the mine had not been finished and that the
moment Obi-Wan returned to himself it would begin again. Only
this time one of them would be cut down, or both for if Obi-Wan
had managed to kill him there was no doubt that the other Jedi
would not have allowed him to live.
Carefully, Qui-Gon moved closer to the younger man, half-afraid
that Obi-Wan would bolt away from him like a skittish rabbit.
But Obi-Wan simply watched him approach, his eyes never leaving
his former master as Qui-Gon sank down to crouch in front of
him.
He was close enough now to see the lines embedded in Obi-Wan's
face, lines caused by whatever trauma it was that neither of
them truly seemed to remember. Qui-Gon's hand had drifted
upward as if to trace those creases and he caught himself,
tucking his hands in his sleeves. Clear gray eyes regarded him
calmly, waiting for him to speak.
"Obi-Wan," he said, softly, "What do you remember? Anything?
Anything at all?" Those eyes flicked away and Qui-Gon took a
deep breath, releasing his frustration. The sooner they knew
who the Sith was, the sooner this would be over and then
perhaps...Qui-Gon cut off that thought ruthlessly. Obi-Wan had
committed no true crime, as far as Qui-Gon was concerned and he
was free to do as he wished.
"Master." A barely audible whisper. Obi-Wan was studying the
hem of his tunic as if the answers of the universe were woven
into the fabric but a moment later he looked up again at
Qui-Gon. He wet his lips and then said, quietly, "I remember
this."
The feel of warm lips pressing against his own was such a shock
that Qui-Gon lost his balance and fell backwards. A warm,
living weight followed him down, pressing him back into the
soft grass. Their lips had separated during the fall and
Qui-Gon barely managed to gasp in a breath before they
returned, urgently, almost brutally kissing him. Qui-Gon's
hands fell on Obi-Wan's shoulders, intending to push him away.
And then finding that he couldn't.
The taste of Obi-Wan on his lips was as intoxicating as Ulian
brandy, a heady draught tasted only once before and then far
too briefly. He found himself responding to the warm pressure,
hesitantly parting his lips and allowing the wet velvet of
Obi-Wan's tongue to stroke inside.
Rolling over, Qui-Gon twisted and pinned Obi-Wan beneath him,
exploring the nearly forgotten sweetness of Obi-Wan's lips. Oh,
this was wrong, he thought hazily. He should be going to the
Council, reporting the change in Obi-Wan condition but his
intentions slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon let himself truly feel, for the first
time in over four years. The sun hot against the small of his
back as Obi-Wan tugged his tunic up, the pliant warmth of
Obi-Wan beneath him.
No, not wrong, he decided suddenly. Nothing that was wrong
could feel like this. Nothing.
It was like a dream, a memory that I was never quite sure
had really happened. Lying there in the warmth of sun and skin,
warmth that I had nearly forgotten existed during my
imprisonment.
It was completely new and at the same time as familiar to me
as drawing a breath. I learned and relearned the taste of your
skin, your sweat, the satin feel of your hair against my
stomach and then lower, drifting across my thighs as you took
me in your mouth, like you had years ago. A lifetime ago.
Things that I had begun to believe I had only imagined were
coming true.
You took me there, in the sunlight. I could see the glow of it
behind my closed eyes as you moved inside me as you had once
before. The sun touching every part of me before your hands
did, warming me.
And even though later I knew that I should never have touched
you, never fouled your skin with the taint of my darkness, this
was a moment that I could not regret, ever, no matter the pain
it caused me later.
I could never regret the moment where I learned to love you
again.
It was coldness that awoke him, pulling him from his peaceful
dreams and the warm embrace of his master. Blinking, Obi-Wan
lifted his head and looked around the room. Somehow, in the
midst of barely remembered but eagerly embraced passion they
had managed to get back to Qui-Gon's rooms. Faint warmth traced
Obi-Wan's veins again as he remembered tumbling backwards onto
the mattress and pulling Qui-Gon with him, refusing to let him
go for even an instant.
But the seeping coldness stole that warmth from him and Obi-Wan
frowned, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. The more he
tried to push it away, the more it seeped in, like trying to
hold water in your bare hands. It oozed around the blocks in
his mind to itch infuriatingly at the back of his head,
lingering there until he had no choice but to search it out or
go mad.
Carefully, Obi-Wan extracted himself from Qui-Gon's clinging
hands, soothing sleepy murmurs of protest and sliding into his
robe. He gave one last brush of his hand over Qui-Gon's
forehead, gently pressing him into a deeper sleep before he
walked quietly into the common room and settled into a
meditative posture on the floor.
The past few weeks had been so odd to him. He had been able to
see and hear but it was as if a thick cushion had been wrapped
around him, preventing him from reaching out as well as
stopping the world from coming in. He knew now that it had been
his shields surrounding him but at the time it had been little
more than a jumble of confusion. When he had finally had the
comprehension to allow movement his first thoughts had been for
sunlight, his senses pleading with him to bathe in the warm
glow of natural light and so he had, without thought or reason.
Now he sought a reason, for this ever-present coldness, for
everything. It was not only the past weeks that felt odd,
Obi-Wan thought ruefully, it was everything. Something had
happened, that much he knew and now he was going to figure out
what.
Breathing deeply, he slipped into a meditative trance with the
ease of long practice, tracing down the taut threads of his
mind, searching for that coldness. It throbbed in his brain, a
pulsating mass of -something- that itched and burned. He
frowned and pushed harder, dropping his shields further even as
he belatedly thought that perhaps he should have woken Qui-Gon
before he tried something like this...
White-hot pain lanced through him and Obi-Wan lurched forward
on his knees, gagging painfully even as that infuriating
itching swamped him. It surrounded him, buffeting him,
-burning- him and he would have screamed if he had not been so
utterly possessed by it. Memory gushed back into him in a wild,
shrieking kaleidoscope of images that were flashed through him
too quickly for him to grasp.
No! He howled silently, no, no, it isn't true, it isn't it
can't be true...and that itching, that cold, that -darkness-
thrust at him again, brutally, spearing through his vulnerable
shields and Obi-Wan convulsed, writhing, feeling the coldness
of the floor seeping through his clothes as the coldness of his
master seeped into his mind, pushing past broken shields into
him, violating him in a way that now seemed far too familiar.
A moment later his pain faded and Obi-Wan shifted gingerly to
his knees again, his skin clammy with sweat. He barely felt it,
it was nothing to him, as far from him now as any sense of
warmth that he had ever felt. He lowered his head, seeking a
trance again but this time he did not need to search for the
coldness. It was inside him, as it had always been. With a
sense of utter weariness, Obi-Wan opened himself up again and
allowed the Darkness inside.
He dressed swiftly, carefully shielding his presence from
Qui-Gon's sleeping mind. The older man didn't even stir, still
resting under Obi- Wan's earlier tender ministrations and for
that Obi-Wan was grateful. In his present state he could never
push the Jedi into sleep again and he found himself strangely
reluctant to kill the old man.
He finished dressing himself, grimacing at the feel of Jedi
robes against his skin and was turning to leave when he felt
something heavy and warm in the pocket of his inner tunic.
Frowning, he reached for it and knew what it was the instant
his fingers touched the smooth surface.
The stone. The river stone that Qui-Gon had given him on his
thirteenth birthday. A gift from Master to Padawan. He closed
his eyes and simply felt the stone for a long moment, felt the
warmth and texture of it against the palm of his hand.
And then he pulled it free, not looking at it as he silently
walked over to the low table that was near Qui-Gon's bed. He
set the small stone on it, with all the gentle, pained care of
woman abandoning her child on the doorstep of a stranger's
home. And just as he was turning away, something caught his
eyes.
He stared at it, mutely, a pulse of warmth cutting blade sharp
through him. Four years since he had seen it, four years or
longer and it looked just as he remembered. Constructed with
his own hands, sitting in a small, carved stand right next to
Qui-Gon's, was his lightsaber.
His other lightsaber was lost to him, buried in the depths of a
mine on Bandomeer. A silent cry rose within him, pleading with
him and he obeyed it without thought, snatching the lightsaber
and securing it quickly within the folds of his robe.
Qui-Gon shifted in his sleep and sighed. Obi-Wan froze,
precious seconds sliding by as he waited for Qui-Gon to slip
again into deeper sleep.
Enough, he had wasted enough time and his master was waiting
for him. Still, when he would have turned away a persistent tug
of the agonizing warmth buried deeply within pulled him back to
Qui-Gon's bedside. Hesitantly, he reached out with one hand,
letting it hover over Qui- Gon's face, close enough to feel the
heat of his skin. Moist breath hit his palm once. Again. His
hand began to tremble, fingers only centimeters from Qui-Gon's
skin.
And then he pulled away and turned, not looking back as he
walked out the door and shut it silently behind him.
That time I didn't touch you because I knew I was no longer
worthy of the touch.
I was dirty, soiled and stained with Darkness and I would not
let that touch you, not you. Not ever. Darkness would never
possess you as it had me and if I had to kill you to keep you
safe from it, I would.
Chapter 6: The Darkest Hour
When I was in my prison my only escape was to dream, to let
my mind be elsewhere. In the beginning, they were dreams of
you, memories of pleasant times and beautiful places of light
and life. Memories of making love with you.
As his poison seeped into me, so did it invade my dreams.
Still dreams of you but these were blood soaked visions of your
death by my hand.
Fear is the path to the dark side, you taught me that.
I fear my dreams.
Stinking muck clinging to his boots and faint mist swirling
about his ankles, Qui-Gon silently followed the cloaked figure
of his former padawan through the lower levels of Coruscant.
People who lived up in the skyline tended to forget about the
lower levels, perhaps willfully. Coruscant had simply been
built overtop without regard to those who lived here, cutting
them off from more than the most meager touch of the sun. It
was the lower dregs of society that lived down here; the ones
that the Republic tried to pretend did not exist in their
social order. The users who walked around in a chemical-induced
fog in an effort to hide from the wreck that was their lives
A large rodent ran across Qui-Gon's boot and he ignored it,
concentrating all of his energy on disguising his presence from
the young man he was following.
Slipping out of the temple had been almost absurdly easy. The
temple was no prison and wrapped in the Force as he had been,
others simply had not seen Obi-Wan as he had departed. It had
only been Qui-Gon's newly reformed link with his love that had
allowed him to see the young man and he even as it sickened
him, he had to sourly admire Obi-Wan's ability to manipulate
the Force, even if it was in darkness. His only mistake was
that he had forgotten his newly remade bond with his former
master and Qui-Gon was following the shimmering lines of that
bond like a beacon.
Skirting around a humanoid who was snoring drunkenly in the
pathway, Qui-Gon continued on, keeping Obi-Wan just in his
sight. They had been walking for close to three hours now and
Obi-Wan showed no sign of slowing.
Breathing shallowly, nearly suffocating from the stench
surrounding him, Qui-Gon walked on and distracted himself with
thoughts of Coruscant, the center of the galaxy, the jewel of
the Republic. And underneath the shining surface beauty was
this, this filth, this darkness. Like the Republic tended to
be, politics often more important than people.
Like Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, shielding his pain at the
thought from the Force but neither could he deny its truth.
Beneath the beauty that was Obi-Wan, beneath warm smiles and
pale eyes was darkness, deep within, eating away at the young
man's soul.
And Qui-Gon wondered with bitter amusement what that made him,
that he loved Obi-Wan regardless.
But even as he still following his troubled lover, Qui-Gon also
knew that Obi-Wan's loss of the light was no more his fault
than this slum was the fault of the planet Coruscant. They had
both been molded, shaped into what they were by forces that
they could not control. And Qui-Gon silently vowed that he
would not leave Obi-Wan in the hands of another again, no
matter the consequences.
The younger man had hesitated, wavering at a crossroad before
he finally seemed to gain his bearings, crossing and ducking
into a ramshackle building. Qui-Gon followed cautiously,
stepping over the wreckage of the door silently as he tried not
to allow his former padawan from his sight.
The building was darkened and smelled of mold and dust, and
there was something he couldn't place, a warning rushing to him
through the Force, something...
He realized his mistake only a moment too late, the large door
sliding from its panel behind him, closing him in an instant
before he could have made it through the opening; an illusion
of a ruined building and a trap. Obi-Wan hadn't forgotten their
bond after all.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, leaning against the cool metal of the
door, feeling nothing more than tired. He couldn't even spare
enough emotion to be shocked, not now, not here, ensnared by
Obi-Wan even while the scent of their lovemaking hours before
still clung to Qui-Gon's skin. He had long ago realized his own
death. Had known since the moment he had seen Obi-Wan was
alive. Qui-Gon had known it and now he would accept it, as a
Jedi.
Standing straight, Qui-Gon turned around to embrace his fate.
Is this a dream? I feel so cold, like I so often do in my
dreams and I can feel you. And him, I can feel him so close and
so cold, so very cold.
Something is wrong here; I can feel it deep inside me, in
places where I am terrified to look because I don't want to see
my own blackened soul. But something is wrong, very wrong and
so, so cold.
Why didn't I touch you that last time? I regret that. I regret
it with every part of my being that I didn't take just one
touch, tainted or no.
Perhaps it would have kept me warm.
His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room and Qui-Gon
stepped a bit further inside, studying his surroundings. Much
like he'd expected, the building was obviously long since
abandoned and thickly layered in dust, glass littering the
floor from the broken skylights above that allowed dim lights
from the city outside to flicker in. Somehow, Qui- Gon had
always thought that the place that would be his grave would be
somewhat...nobler perhaps? He smiled just a little at his own
fanciful thoughts. His world was crumbling around him but he
could still be concerned with appearances.
Well, he had always said that he'd prefer to die in battle and
what battle was more noble for a Jedi than the one against the
Sith? And then Qui-Gon saw the man that he had hunted through
the city only to find that instead of predator, he was the
prey.
Obi-Wan was kneeling in the center of the room, his hood down
and his head lowered. He hardly seemed to be breathing and for
just a moment Qui-Gon allowed himself to drink in the sight of
him, still wearing Jedi robes, his hair loose and falling
forward over his face.
And what will happen to you, my Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon wondered
silently. Would Obi-Wan stand soon and strike down his former
master, as he had tried to do before? And would Obi-Wan go to
the Sith, the one who had shaped him and what would they do to
the galaxy? For just an instant, Qui-Gon had a flash of
destruction of the likes he couldn't even imagine, putting his
bloody dreams of late to shame. He could see the Jedi falling
by Obi-Wan's hand and there was nothing but blood, rivers of
blood as the galaxy fell into the darkness as Obi-Wan had
before them.
And then it was gone, only the low rumble of city noises
breaking the silence. Obi-Wan hadn't moved a centimeter, only
knelt there with his head bowed. So they were waiting then. A
chill prickled its way across Qui-Gon's nerves as it occurred
to him for the first time that it was quite possible that death
could be the least of his concerns.
And standing here, surrounded by visions of a world in shambles
and waiting for a being that carried more dark energy than he
dared imagine, Qui-Gon felt utterly helpless in a way that he
hadn't for over four years.
It was an interminable time later when he finally felt it, an
awareness skittering across his consciousness, like insects
scuttling from a beam of light. Qui-Gon hadn't moved from in
front of the door, had, in fact, sat down in front of it and
passed the time looking at Obi-Wan and mentally replaying the
hours before this, in his quarters. Remembered how Obi-Wan lips
had tasted, remembered the soft gasps of pleasure that had
escaped him as Qui-Gon had touched him, his strangled pleas
when Qui-Gon had finally taken him.
Chances were quite good that one way or another he'd never have
the opportunity to think on this again and he rather take that
memory of Obi-Wan into eternity with him than this one; the
once proud Knight that he had known, the man he loved on his
knees, waiting for the one who he called master.
The creak of hinges was loud in the silence of the room, coming
from the dark area far off to the other side. The faint sound
of footsteps and then a figure appeared from across the room,
walking towards where Obi-Wan knelt.
No. Not possible. It can't be, cannot be. Wild thoughts
as recognition came and dawning awareness. His own senses had
always tried to warn him that something was amiss but never
would he have guessed this, never...
"So good of you to join us, Master Qui-Gon," Chancellor
Palpatine said, as he walked across the floor, his shoes making
hardly a sound on the floor. But for his words he all but
ignored the Jedi master. Instead his eyes were on Obi-Wan, who
had not moved, was in fact still kneeling, head down and
staring at nothing at all.
Palpatine stopped in front of Obi-Wan, reaching down to lightly
run his fingers through the young man's tousled hair and
Qui-Gon's stomach clenched to see it. Forcibly, he controlled
his emotions, even as they shrieked at him that this...this
-creature- had no right to be touching Obi-Wan, to foul
Qui-Gon's former padawan with even his presence.
Instead, he remained silent, locking his feelings behind a wall
in his mind. Silent and still, watching with detached interest
as the Sith, and he knew that this was the Sith, there was no
doubt of that, watching the Sith touch his lover.
"You seem startled to see me. Recognition comes to you a bit
late," Palpatine said softly, stroking his thumb across the
smoothness Obi- Wan's cheek. "As it will for all of your kind,
I'm afraid."
He straightened then, his eyes meeting Qui-Gon's for the first
time, making the Jedi master wonder how he could possibly have
not seen this. It was in the man's eyes, an impossible depth, a
coldness that made Qui-Gon shiver just to see it. Never before
had he thought to see pure evil made into flesh. And this was
the creature who had kept Obi-Wan for all that time.
Oh, my Padawan...I would have come. I swear I would have
come had I known.
"It's pathetic to see that you are just like your brethren,
Master Jinn." Palpatine continued, his long fingers still
lingering on Obi- Wan's face. "Short-sighted, all of you.
Perhaps if you looked more to the future your kind would be
stronger. It's been a thousand years, Jedi, and more than that
but we have had the patience to wait because -we- have known to
look to the future." He gave a mocking sigh of pity, shaking
his head. "But you are like them, the Jedi. Fools all of them.
Weak." Palpatine smiled thinly. "And now you are going to pay
for your failings. My apprentice will see to that."
"He isn't yours," Qui-Gon said, dimly pleased with the calm in
his voice. Silence be damned, he was going to die regardless.
"The only person that Obi-Wan belongs to is himself." The young
man in question didn't even stir at his words, only stared
vacantly at the space before him.
The Sith's eyes glittered dangerously. "And assuming that is
your greatest mistake, Jedi."
He made a slow circle around Obi-Wan, stopping to stand in
front of the young man. "It is my feet he is kneeling at,
Master Jinn, my command that he obeys. And very obedient he
is." Threading his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, he tilted
the young man's head upward. "And very beautiful, isn't he? My
other apprentice had his charms but this one..." His fingers
tightened painfully into Obi-Wan's hair until pale eyes rose to
meet Palpatine's. A quick glance at Qui-Gon and then he said,
"I do hope you enjoyed your little reunion with him."
Dropping his hand to Obi-Wan's chin, Palpatine tilted the young
man's head just a tiny bit more before his hand clenched into a
fist and he backhanded Obi-Wan viciously, knocking him to the
floor.
Qui-Gon took an involuntary step forward but Obi-Wan was
already scrambling to his knees again. Palpatine smiled again,
this time looking at Qui-Gon.
"You see? Obedient." His voice hardened a fraction, a sharp
edge to the already icy tones. "That was for failing on
Bandomeer. It was to be his final test, the last action that
would finally bind him to me and he failed. If he hadn't
brought you with him now, I'm afraid I would have had to kill
him and it would have been a shame to waste such a pretty
apprentice."
One hand again drifted to Obi-Wan's hair, petting idly and
Obi-Wan remained perfectly still, seeming oblivious to the thin
ribbon of blood trailing down his chin.
Qui-Gon let his attention fade from the sight before him. He
was prepared to handle death but this, this he could no longer
bear to see. Letting himself go inward, he thought instead of
before, of his beautiful Obi-Wan, his, times of caring
for his padawans, for both Obi-Wan and Anakin. Anakin, and
there was a regret. He would not live to see Anakin reach
Knighthood. And he did love the boy, could never love him like
Obi-Wan but it was love nonetheless. And Anakin would be well
cared for; at the beginning of the boy's apprenticeship Qui-Gon
had asked Yoda to stand for him, if something were to happen.
Yoda would train the boy well, and...
Anakin.
Stiffening in shock, Qui-Gon felt a sleepy rush of awareness go
through his training bond with Anakin as the boy awoke, feeling
Qui-Gon's distress and reaching instinctively for his master. A
rush of insight and Qui-Gon reached for him desperately,
struggling to link their minds as closely as possible, grasping
the threads that bound them. Too far away to speak directly but
Anakin was strong and perhaps a mental picture...die he might,
but the Jedi -would- know the face of the Sith.
Dimly, Qui-Gon heard a howl of rage from Palpatine and then he
was swamped in a choking cloak of Darkness, trying to smother
the binding that was already thinning in his grasp. It became a
battle of wills, Qui-Gon clinging grimly to his message,
struggling to push it through the stinging wall that Palpatine
was fighting to keep in place. He could taste copper and
vaguely realized that his nose was bleeding from the strain.
And even in the dim light he could see a dark jewel of blood
winding its way down Palpatine's chin as he bit his lip.
The Sith spoke then, although Qui-Gon couldn't hear it through
the buzzing in his ears he knew what the man said. A mere two
words.
"Kill him."
Obi-Wan stood and turned towards him, his lightsaber blazing to
life and Qui-Gon recoiled to see it, almost losing his grasp on
the bond. Bathed in familiar blue light was Obi-Wan's face but
not his Obi-Wan. Dark, blank eyes stared back at him and this
time the salt Qui-Gon tasted was not from blood.
I didn't want to hurt you. All my anger had left me and all
I felt was empty and a great sense of weariness. I wanted to
beg you not to look at me, to not see me like this.
And I wanted for it to be over. I didn't want this but I
didn't know how to stop.
It was a mockery of a battle, Qui-Gon struggling under the
weight of the Darkness blanketing him, still trying to reach
Anakin. His own lightsaber seemed too heavy to lift and he
fought feebly, should have been long since dead.
And yet Obi-Wan wasn't toying with him as he had before. Eyes
strangely blank and completely silent, he was fighting almost
like a machine, all the grace and power that he had always
carried seemed gone from him. Watching him like this was an
obscenity almost worse than the darkness. He was fighting as
one already dead.
The anger of the previous battle, the rage, had vanished and
been replaced by apathy and it was almost a relief to Qui-Gon
to finally fall, to have Obi-Wan standing over him with his lit
saber as their eyes met and Qui-Gon waited to die.
The sound of clapping startled them both, and they jerked to
look at Palpatine, who stood not far away, applauding his
student with grim satisfaction.
"Well done, my Apprentice. Now, kill him," Palpatine said,
walking close to them and smiling down at the fallen Jedi.
"Kill him. Let the first blood you spill before me be from the
one who betrayed you."
And for the first time since entering this building, Obi-Wan
spoke, his eyes never leaving Qui-Gon's as he whispered,
softly, "As you wish."
The blow came as a shock, worse than Qui-Gon had expected.
Especially to Palpatine, as Obi-Wan whirled, a blur of movement
that severed the Sith in half, as Obi-Wan had done to the other
Sith apprentice years earlier. Palpatine collapsed in a spray
of blood, shock frozen on his already cooling face.
Obi-Wan didn't even pause to watch Palpatine fall, dousing his
saber and turning back to face Qui-Gon. Falling to his knees
before his former master, his eyes filled with immeasurable
sorrow. Long moments passed in silence before Obi-Wan finally
spoke, barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry."
And before Qui-Gon could speak, he pressed the unlit end of his
saber against his chest.
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan repeated, teeth chattering slightly as he
began to tremble. "I didn't want to do this but I don't have a
choice."
Words froze in his chest as Qui-Gon looked into the wild eyes
of his lover. "Padawan, don't," he said softly, reaching out to
the younger man but stopping quickly when he clenched his
lightsaber convulsively. "Don't do this, you don't have to do
this."
"Yes, I do." He laughed then, his voice edged with hysteria.
"It's perfect, don't you see the irony of it. My lightsaber
will have killed all the Sith."
"Don't call yourself that!" Qui-Gon nearly shouted, rising to
his own knees. Obi-Wan skittered back, nearly falling over
Palpatine's body but he caught himself, eyes still on Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon's hands lifted again of their own will, reaching out to
Obi-Wan.
"Padawan, please. I can't lose you again. Please," his voice
cracked and Qui-Gon swallowed hard, struggling for calm that
was eluding him. He couldn't do this again, not again. "Don't
call yourself that," he repeated, softly. "You aren't like he
was, Obi-Wan. This isn't you."
Obi-Wan grew still at his words, his tremors fading and for a
moment Qui-Gon thought he had reached him. That he'd managed to
find his Obi- Wan in that sea of blackness. And then Obi-Wan
lifted his eyes to Qui- Gon's, strange emotions reflected in
those pale depths.
"No, you're wrong," Obi-Wan said calmly. "I am this. It doesn't
matter what I wanted or what I intended, it's still true. I am
of the Sith." The last word was bitter, spat from his mouth as
if it were poisoned. He lowered his head again and his
shoulders began to shake and it took Qui-Gon a moment to
realize that he was laughing.
"Yes, I am a Sith," he said, still smiling as his eyes again
rose to meet Qui-Gon's. "And I am a Jedi."
It was as if time froze, caught in the moment between now and
the instant before lightspeed. A flicker of movement, pale eyes
that still held Qui-Gon's widening in the shock of pain and a
flare of blue light that bloomed in the darkness. A faint jerk
of his body as his lightsaber entered it but Obi-Wan's hands
never faltered. Until the moment passed and the lightsaber fell
from his slack fingers, the power cutting off automatically and
the harmless looking cylinder of metal rolled away across the
floor.
And looking into Obi-Wan's face, Qui-Gon saw him as he had
been, as he should have been. And this man was Obi-Wan; grief
stricken at what must be done, but still determined to do it, a
man of honor, of decency. A protector. A Jedi.
Obi-Wan started to crumple to the floor and found himself in
Qui-Gon's arms before he could even touch the tiles. Qui-Gon
was speaking, lips moving but Obi-Wan heard nothing, raised one
hand to Qui-Gon's mouth, silencing him. He couldn't speak,
breathing was too difficult so instead told Qui-Gon with his
eyes, shook his head when Qui-Gon would have tried to heal him.
Tugging feebly, Obi-Wan pulled the older man's head down, just
enough to press a kiss against his master's lips. He tasted of
blood, of salt but when he raised his head all Obi-Wan saw was
his eyes and the light of love within them.
Obi-Wan smiled then and in that smile Qui-Gon saw the boy he
had cared for, the friend he had respected and the man that he
had loved.
And then, in the arms of the love of his life, with the first
rays of morning light creeping in through the broken skylights
to weave abstract patterns on the cold floor, the man who had
once been a boy with no greater wish or hope than to be a Jedi
Knight, closed his eyes and died.
Part 3: Epilogue
Horizons
It was cold on the balcony of his quarters, and Qui-Gon pulled
his cloak tighter around himself as he watched the sun slip
downward in the skyline in its bright swirl of color.
The small figure huddled at his feet looked up at his movement,
eyes questioning. Qui-Gon gave Anakin a faint smile, gesturing
that he should go inside and the boy did, pausing to lay a hand
on the older man's shoulder before leaving him.
He watched in silence, as he had before, only now it was
different. Now he knew why he had never found peace before in
this ritual, because the Force had known the truth. And while
he wouldn't call what he gained from this peace, there was at
least certainty. It was over this time, truly over.
Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon could pretend for the briefest of
moments that he felt a warmth along his back, remembered a
young man with laughing eyes pressing against him, hugging him
to keep him warm as they watched the sun set. And then it was
gone.
He opened his eyes, studying the horizon and remembered, dozens
of other times and hundreds of other sunsets. There was no
death, there was only the Force and part of him knew that, the
part of him that was the Force, call it soul, call it
lifeforce, whatever you will. That part of him knew.
But the part of him that was only flesh and blood sat in
silence and watched the crimson sky darken to streaks of purple
and indigo. And that part of him wept for the one who was not
there to see it.
It was for the best, don't you see? I never could have let
go of the darkness, not totally. It would have consumed me,
trickled through my veins, poisoned me, until the blackness
took over. It was already too late for me, my love, and I
couldn't go on living in shadows.
Not even for you.
I was the last of the Sith, my heart. And innocence, once
lost, can never be regained.
I'm so very sorry but it had to be done. I was trapped there,
still trapped inside a prison, one made of flesh and bone not
stone walls, but a prison nonetheless. But now, I am free. I'm
free and the darkness can't get to me, I'm here bathing in the
warmth the light that is so nearby, safe and free.
I don't enter it yet though, I can't. I'm waiting here,
standing behind you and waiting, as I should have waited before
and this time nothing will draw me away, nothing.
So, please don't cry. I will be here with you, always, waiting
for you until the time that we will never be apart again.
Archive 