Rogue Jedi

by Lilith Sedai

Rogue Jedi
by Lilith Sedai

Archive: Master/Apprentice (not transferrable)

Categories: Slash, angst, action/adventure, Qui/Obi, first-time, drama, dark themes, AU

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Hints of betrayal, hints of non Q/O

Spoilers: At this late date, if you get spoiled for canon, it's your own fault. ;-)

Summary: Outcast from the Jedi order for dabbling in the Dark Side and defying the Council, Qui-Gon Jinn seeks his purpose as a rogue. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan Kenobi seeks his knighthood.

Feedback: It's been a long time since I've written in this fandom; I wasn't prepared for the Jedi boys to show back up and take over my life again. But I'm very glad they have, and I hope you are, too. I enjoy feedback, either on-list or off, but please know up front that I'm not particularly good at responding to it, especially when I'm consumed by RL responsibilities. If you would be offended by not receiving an in-depth response, please use your discretion. Still, there aren't a lot of Q/O people out there anymore, which greatly increases your chances. ;-)

Intellectual property disclaimer: I grovel before the mouse. Please, don't sue. But really, Disney. You guys aren't even selling Qui or Obi merchandise anymore. Surely this little dabble in the waters, conducted purely for fun and not for profit, shouldn't constitute a significant threat to your Galactic Empire....

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Rayphile for handholding and for putting up with all these dratted Jedi. Thanks to Merry Amelie for beta comments and encouragement. Thanks to Michele Lyons for insightful and inspirational comments about the Jedi Council. Thanks to Ewan McGregor for Moulin Rouge, The Pillow Book, and Velvet Goldmine, and to Liam Neeson for Rob Roy.

NOTES: I'm creating a glossary for this fic as I go; I'll include the latest version of it at the end of the story on the archive. The glossary may contain spoilers.

This series has become increasingly AU as it progressed, to the point that I'm giving in and labeling it as such. Some matters of particular AU:

1. Qui-Gon's age - In this fic I say he's between 175-185 years old. I like the idea that Jedi live longer than regular humans, and that some species of humans live longer than others. Maybe I was just traumatized by the conclusion of TPM, and I'm overcompensating for it.

2. Master Tahl's above-ground status - She's alive and Bant's her padawan and this state of affairs will continue until I say otherwise. To hell with Kit Fisto! And while we're on the subject, who the HELL aside from a slasher would name a guy Kit Fisto? And then, there's also Yarael Poof, who somehow is not supposed to be gay in spite of that. There's clearly something wrong with George Lucas's brain.

3. Time frame - This fic begins sometime within a year or two after the start of TPM, and obviously Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were not the ambassadors who got sent to talk to the Trade Federation and Amidala. I say we let someone ELSE deal with the Boy Wonder and Jar Jar Binks for once. Qui-Gon's alive, and he's staying alive, and I like it that way. Cue the Bee Gees, please.

4. Obviously, Obi-Wan has a new/different master - Who else but Yoda? Nobody, that's who. What, you wanted me to give him to Windu? No way.

5. Siri Tachi and Satine Kryze can bite my shiny metal ass. And so can whatshername. Cerasi? And Tahl gets a tolerant pat on the head and a "Sorry, but no Jedi Master for YOU in THIS universe." OTP! OTP! THAT IS HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE! GOOOOO, SLASHBOYS!

6. The padawan buzz cut and dorky knight's tail are a thing of OBI-WAN'S PAST! He's passed half his trials, and there's a good reason to try to make him look a bit different-- the Council wouldn't want to deal with the bad PR of him being recognized from the pornos while he's doing missions. So I arbitrarily decree he's been allowed to grow some better hair. Think of a youngish version of AOTC Knight Obi-Wan, but with a padawan braid and haunted eyes. Let's call it the "Abandoned Senior Padawan" look.

PROLOGUE

Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi left the Council chamber, shrouded in decorum, maintaining a polite silence that belied the excitement dominating his mind: Yoda had finally pronounced him ready for his Trials.

Not only that, but his master had revealed a secret previously unknown to Obi-Wan: the Councilors judged he had already passed the Trials of the Flesh, Spirit, and Courage when he was only nineteen, when he had been abducted and raped daily for months, forced to fight in the arena and then to run for his life, cut off from the Force and pursued for days by malevolent men and beasts, enduring the privations of severe drug withdrawal, cold, storm, and fear, losing his master to the dark, emerging triumphant with little outside assistance and with his soul intact.

The datapad he held in his hand authorized him to request Jedi Battlemaster Cin Drallig to set a Trial of Skill for Obi-Wan within the week. It would not be a simple thing to convince Master Drallig of his readiness; a confirmed master of six classic forms of lightsaber combat, Drallig already spent a considerable portion of his time either defeating Obi-Wan himself or delegating that pleasure to his frequent assistants, Master Dooku, Master Bulq, and Master Bondara.

At the age of 27, Obi-Wan neared mastery of two lightsaber combat forms: Ataru and Soresu. Ataru he had learned from Qui-Gon Jinn, and Soresu he had chosen afterward in order to balance his abilities-- to have both a means of vigorous attack, and one of subtle defense. He had received considerable training in all of the seven forms except for Vaapad; Master Yoda and Qui-Gon had each discouraged him from learning a form whose power was so clearly, if subtly, linked to the Dark Side.

Obi-Wan was aware of how unusual it was for a padawan of his age, or even a young knight, to be so well-trained. He attributed his success to his extensive time at the Temple; serving as padawan to the Grand Master of the Jedi Order was very different from working with a master who spent nearly all his time in the field, as Qui-Gon had done.

Obi-Wan's eyes dimmed, his anticipation fading with memory. He missed working with Qui-Gon Jinn.

Since his abduction, Obi-Wan had spent the majority of his time learning from masters and instructing junior padawans. That did not mean he was untrained in the field; he had accepted many short-term missions when a master or new knight needed backup, or when Yoda judged the mission would benefit from his skills and presence.

Obi-Wan was volunteered for a great number of things, and offered himself for still more. He served dozens of masters daily. While Yoda spent his time with the Council, dealing with the Senate and setting policy, Obi-Wan was busy throughout the Temple. He learned to work with nearly every personality in the Temple, absorbing the tenets of diplomacy and tact, polishing the facets of his skills to gleaming perfection. He sometimes believed that though Yoda alone had formally accepted his training bond, he had in fact been given as a padawan to all the masters who were currently active among the Jedi.

'The perfect Jedi,' his friends called him, half-mocking and half-envious. Only Obi-Wan knew, however, the secret behind perfection: everything he did or learned, each act and mission, all the classes taught or taken, served as an earnest but inadequate attempt to fill a gulf of sorrow he held inside himself, a gulf that had opened when Qui-Gon Jinn abandoned his padawan learner and turned to the dark.

The looks and the whispers had hurt, when he returned to the Temple. People murmured about the holovids he had been forced to make; numerous Jedi had seen them, including most of his friends among the padawans, who were uncomfortable but supportive. A few of his enemies, no doubt, privately kept copies of the pornography for their own personal amusement. He took little shame in that part of his captivity; he had done as he must, and he had honored his agreement with Gida. When the prisoners had touched one another, it had not been rape, at least not in its fullest sense. As a Jedi, Obi-Wan could hold his head high. Let others bear the shame who deserved it: the shame of watching, willingly and without moral purpose, as such a thing was done to another Jedi was greater than the shame of having been forced to make the holos.

What hurt worse was the gossip, both truth and speculation, about Qui-Gon Jinn. Even more Jedi had watched the holos of the carnage on Lisyl than had seen the pornographic ones. Two Dramacore troop transports, each carrying fifty men, had been burned to twisted slag by Force-lightning, and the men inside had all perished horribly. Obi-Wan had viewed the holos many times himself. The Council had required it of him, as they carefully worked to piece together the events of those disastrous few days.

Obi-Wan had also been required to testify that he had not drawn the lightning which caused the devastation-- Dramacore's propaganda laid the responsibility firmly in his lap, but it was not so. He had barely been able to feel the Force at the time. However, he could confirm having seen Qui-Gon Jinn, disguised and temporarily anonymous in his arranha handler's garb, look down on him in the irrigation ditch, then turn and walk up to the plain just before all the nine Sith hells broke loose in the sky. The correct conclusion was inescapable.

The holos of the dead had been exquisitely accurate and thorough in their attention to detail. Dramacore had also spent a considerable period dwelling on the carnage in the city center where Obi-Wan crossed the finish line. Obi-Wan's nightmares were still haunted by the seemingly endless camera pan across dozens of mutilated dead, many of them civilian workers for Dramacore, virtual innocents who had fallen to Qui-Gon's bladework there. Airing these images, Dramacore denounced the Jedi in general and Obi-Wan Kenobi in particular as rule-breakers, murderers of innocents, tricksters, and puppets of corrupt politicians, while gleefully pulling in lucrative contracts with advertisers from all over the galaxy.

If there was a Jedi in the Temple who had not seen the holos of the dead, seeking to verify for themselves the truth of what Qui-Gon had done, Obi-Wan was not aware of it.

The Jedi now spoke of Qui-Gon Jinn in hushed tones, calling him one of the Lost Twenty, and a bust of his face had been placed in the archives, a warning for all Jedi to behold. This hurt Obi-Wan most of all: he had been the catalyst that caused his own beloved master to fall to darkness. No words Qui-Gon could ever have offered to Obi-Wan would make him believe otherwise. No harm to Obi-Wan's body would ever touch him so deeply. No reward was worth that cost. He could not even understand why Qui-Gon had believed the Force had demanded such a cost of him in exchange for Obi-Wan's survival, and he had never been afforded the opportunity to ask.

Obi-Wan glided through the door to the Temple Archives and sat down at a network station. These visits had become a daily pilgrimage. Some years back he had created a 'bot to scan the news broadcasts throughout the Republic and the Outer Rim, seeking news of Qui-Gon. Too often, they found it.

He opened his files. A new folder had been added by the 'bot in the night, and it bristled with stories, all a variant on a single theme: a spaceship crash that had destroyed a large shipment of holographic cameras specifically contracted for Dramacore's use. The first one told him all he needed to know: "FLOUNDERING HOLO-GIANT REELS AS SHIPMENT BURNS! A cargo freighter carrying thousands of dataries worth of holographic equipment collided with an asteroid yesterday, completely destroying all cargo and killing the four-man crew. The equipment was intended for beleaguered entertainment giant Dramacore, whose recent run of bad luck has caused profits to dip, scaring shareholders and--"

Obi-Wan closed the story, scanning quickly through the remaining files. He selected the best and filed them with similar, older stories-- "TERRORIST STRIKE DESTROYS ENTERTAINMENT MEGA-GIANT'S HEADQUARTERS ON XINUNE." "MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF DRAMACORE EXECUTIVE RUOTO MILLIM." "ROGUE JEDI BLAMED IN THEFT OF DRAMACORE HOLO VAULT PROPERTIES." They actually had what Obi-Wan believed to be real security camera footage in that one-- a blurred image, caught from the shoulders down, of a tall man raising one commanding hand toward the camera before the image crackled to static and flickered out. And there were dozens of other incidents, each of them somehow involving Qui-Gon Jinn and his obsessive one-man crusade against the company that had kidnapped his erstwhile padawan.

Obi-Wan saved the new stories to his personal datapad and rose, smoothly resuming his errand to Master Drallig's study to request his Trial of Skill.

"You will resist Master Bondara, Master Bulq, Master Dooku, and then myself, for five minutes each, without a touch."

"Yes, Master." It was cruel, all but impossible, but Obi-Wan Kenobi would do. There was no try.

Afterward, only one Trial remained.

PART I: THE TRIAL

"Test you sorely, your Trials have, and yet will," Yoda warned, his eyelids sunk low, his eyes gleaming slits as he regarded his apprentice. The harsh evening light flooding through the Council chamber cast deep shadows over his face, and Obi-Wan thought he looked particularly worn. The news, now two cycles old, of the Sith's return had been a grievous burden on him. Obi-Wan knew he spent much of his time now in deep meditation, questing the currents of the Force, seeking the Sith master without success. "But fitting it is, that you are ready at this moment." Yoda's eyes snapped open, and he gestured with his gimer stick. "Unfinished business you have, and all Jedi have an interest in this."

"Chancellor Palpatine spoke of his concern to me only today. There has been another attack." Mace Windu steepled his fingers. "But you are aware of this."

"I have followed current events relating to the attacks on Dramacore for some time." Obi-Wan stood perfectly still. "Though it escapes me why the Chancellor should be so vitally concerned with the fortunes of an entertainment company."

"It is of great concern to all of us, the Council and the Senate alike. You know these attacks are not simply random or anonymous. They are linked to us, and so they undermine the effectiveness of the Jedi. They reduce our reputation and create problems for our field operatives." Mace sat back. "Dramacore capitalizes on this in their news broadcasts. Citizens of the Republic often don't make the distinction between the Jedi Order and rogues like Qui-Gon Jinn, and the Sith will be quick to use this as a weapon. Destroying the public image of the Jedi, destroying the respect we have earned over millennia... that will be one of their many tactics in their quest to gain power."

"Qui-Gon Jinn is no Sith," Obi-Wan returned, keeping his tones smooth and even. It took an effort.

"So sure, are you?" Yoda's ears turned downward.

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, then nodded curtly. "I am."

"The Council are not." Windu leaned forward. "Qui-Gon Jinn is a known Dark Jedi, one of the Lost Twenty, and this makes him an ideal candidate to be the Sith master-- or to become a new Sith apprentice. Your Trial of Insight will be to resolve this mystery, Obi-Wan. Find out what Qui-Gon Jinn is, and isn't. Bring him out into the light, so we can neutralize him."

Obi-Wan understood the euphemism fully. "Return him to Coruscant for imprisonment and reconditioning, you mean."

Windu nodded with exaggerated politeness, granting Obi-Wan his point.

"Your feelings on this matter are not clear," Eeth Koth commented, cool as a winter breeze. "They must be resolved before you will be Knighted."

"My feelings are quite clear, Master," Obi-Wan protested, making a quarter turn to face the Councilor, again keeping his voice mild. "They merely disagree with your own."

"In disagreement, truth is often sought and found." Yoda rapped his stick on the floor. "Truth we ask for, and resolution. Not agreement."

"I understand, my master." Obi-Wan bowed low. "I will seek this truth, as you command."

"May the Force be with you, padawan." Yoda inclined his head, dismissing Obi-Wan, who returned the bow and walked out.

Obi-Wan went to his quarters to prepare for departure, packing carefully. He had never moved in with Yoda, disliking the Dagobahn environmental simulation the old master preferred; he still lived in the padawan quarters in Qui-Gon's old suite-- half home, half shrine to the master he had lost eight years past.

He assembled a standard field kit-- spare robes and civilian garb, an extra power cell for his lightsaber, a swimming gill, a datapad, and his communicator. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out to the shelf on his desk and his hand closed around the stone that lay there. He hefted it in his hand, feeling its warmth. The room was dim, and the red veins in the stone's center were not visible, but if he shut his eyes, he could almost feel the comforting serenity and calm of Qui-Gon Jinn, who had given the stone to him on his thirteenth birthday.

He tucked the stone in his pack and zipped it up, then stepped out and across the hall, touching the trigger circuit of Qui-Gon's door with his palm.

Obi-Wan had left Qui-Gon's room as it was, but continued to use the common room and the 'fresher; these rooms bore the imprint of his personality and his belongings, blended with those Qui-Gon had abandoned.

He rarely went inside his master's rooms, and even today, he found himself hesitating at the door. Qui-Gon's cloaks and tunics still hung tidily in the closet. His journals and a few mementos were arranged sparsely on the shelves. The bed was neatly made, and a desk chair had been left half-pulled-out as though Qui-Gon would return shortly to sit down and turn his attention to the comm panel.

He would meditate in here tonight, to prepare himself for the Trial to come.

A chime at the door made him jump, and he retreated, sealing up the abandoned room.

Yoda awaited outside, looking up at him with the faintest hint of discontent in his expression, his lips slightly pursed.

"Come in, Master." Obi-Wan politely drew out the cushion Yoda preferred, and he folded his legs and sank to the floor next to it to spare Yoda from craning his neck.

"Thank you, padawan." Yoda was unusually quiet as he maneuvered himself into a comfortable position. "Better, that is." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and straightening his robes-- if Obi-Wan hadn't known better he might have thought Yoda was stalling for time.

"Perceptive, you are." One eye shot open. "Good." Yoda laid his stick across his lap and cleared his throat as though preparing to lecture. "Cloudy is the Unifying Force, and the future is unclear."

It was a familiar sentiment, one Obi-Wan had heard all too often lately. "The influence of the Sith," he volunteered.

"A problem, they are. Responsible for it they may be. A different problem is Qui-Gon Jinn." Yoda's ear-tips swung forward, and Obi-Wan suppressed a smile.

"So sure, are you?" he dared, and Yoda scoffed, swinging the stick and striking Obi-Wan's thigh in mild reproof.

"Not fitting, for a padawan to mock his master." But his ear-tips rose, and his eyes twinkled behind the pursed mouth. "Not my choosing, were your Trials." Obi-Wan waited, listening patiently, as Yoda resettled himself. "Much there is in this that troubles me."

Obi-Wan drew up his knee and rested his chin on it. "I don't understand. Qui-Gon was darkened, not I. I don't understand how I will be required to exercise insight."

"Darkness is inside all of us. A part of the Force it is. A part we must confront and control." Yoda sighed. "Unsettled is the Council. Disagreement may bring truth, but only if truth is sought. Not if belief remains unquestioned." He eyed Obi-Wan shrewdly. "Those there are, upon the Council, who no longer question what they are told. Voices there are, within the Senate, who say much I do not believe."

Obi-Wan remained very still, astonished by Yoda's unexpected revelations, awaiting his master's explanation.

"You must take care, Obi-Wan." Yoda looked at him soberly. "Mistakes, the Council has made. Even before we chose to deal with Dramacore and left Qui-Gon Jinn to arrange your rescue. Fear confuses minds, clouds judgment, even for a Jedi. Disturbed, I am, at choices made. Dismayed, to see wisdom falter. Dark times ahead, I feel."

Obi-Wan considered. "You believe the Council has made a mistake in sending me after Qui-Gon for my Trials."

"Not in the chosen Trial is the mistake, but in the reason for the choosing." Yoda sighed. "Master Windu sees much. If a weakness he perceives, that weakness he will exploit." Yoda shook his head, staring at his feet, then looked up gravely.

"Too much I have said, Obi-Wan. Keep silent, and be mindful."

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan hesitated. "I do not believe Qui-Gon Jinn will harm me."

Yoda chuckled at that, his ear-tips high, his eyes gleaming. "Know, you do, what happens when you assume, I think." He raised his stick and poked it firmly into the center of Obi-Wan's chest. "But face Qui-Gon you must, learn the truth of him, and come to terms with what lies between you, if you would pass your Trials." He hoisted himself upright, his momentarily sober mood fading. "You will be busy this evening. Do not forget to meditate."

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan escorted him to the door. "I thank you, master."

Yoda paused, looking over his shoulder as if he would like to speak, but whatever remark he might have made did not pass his lips. He firmed his jaw instead. "May the Force be with you, padawan. Pass your Trials, and return to me." He shuffled away purposefully.

Obi-Wan had barely closed the door before the entry chime sounded again.

"Master Tahl!" Obi-Wan bowed low; of course, Yoda had been right to warn him. "I was about to seek you. Please, sit down."

"Padawan Kenobi." She stepped into the room, walking without hesitation to the sofa and seating herself. "I thought you might." She drew a datapad out of her pocket. "I'll spare you the effort of working up to a polite inquiry. What you want is here."

"Thank you, Master Tahl." Obi-Wan bowed humbly, letting her hear his voice from the level of his knees. "It seems word travels fast."

"Your Trials are the only topic on the lips of every padawan on Coruscant, and most of the knights and masters, also." She sat effortlessly erect, still holding the datapad, lovely and poised. Ever since he met her, she had made Obi-Wan feel awkward, as if all his joints were elbows, and as if he had a stain on his tunic into the bargain. He had never dared ask her how she moved with such unerring grace, whether the Force gave her sight of a sort, or whether she simply listened to it and successfully ignored the possibility of ever colliding with anything out of place.

Obi-Wan chuckled ruefully. "I'm not surprised."

"You've been watching Qui-Gon." She pressed their business forward smoothly. "I've observed your queries to the database. They match many of my own, of course. But you might have come to me for assistance with more sophisticated research methods." Her lips curled upward with private amusement.

"You have more information?"

"Considerably." Tahl smiled very slightly. "I have spoken to Qui-Gon since he left the Jedi."

Obi-Wan felt a flare of something dark and bitter in his heart, and stamped on it ruthlessly. "This is, indeed, a research result I have been unable to duplicate."

"It was long ago, and only once." She laced her fingers, her face calm. "He contacted me to inquire after your recovery. I assured him it was complete."

"I thank you." Obi-Wan bowed again. "And I trust your estimate was not in error."

"I traced his communication to Xinune." She tapped at the datapad. "To be specific, I pinpointed its source as a summer palace once frequented by King Tabare, now apparently relinquished by Prince (and later King) Tiran. And yet, this palace has a full complement of staff, and is maintained scrupulously. Ships come and go from its private landing pad; its facilities have been regularly brought up to the latest standard of electronics technology. There are frequent and irregular take-offs and landings from the private pad. The pattern of arrivals and departures roughly corresponds, in nearly every case, with an act of sabotage against the Dramacore company and its subsidiaries, based on estimates for travel to and from the site of the sabotage. This excepts, of course, attacks that occurred close together; in that case, sometimes several sabotages occur between each departure and return.

"The locals who work in the estate speak of the man who is the new lord over the palace; they describe him as long-haired and tall, silent, with a distinctive pattern of gray hair at his temples; they call him 'Lord Jinn.' They say the King has given him the facility, and that in return, he performs certain services at the King's request. None know what those services may be."

Obi-Wan stared at her, realized his chin was sagging with disbelief, and closed his mouth.

"You've known this--"

"For almost seven years." Her quiet gaze challenged him. "I have spoken of it to no one, not even Bant. The time is ripe now for you to know as well."

"Master Tahl--"

"Qui-Gon Jinn and I fell in love before we were knighted." She interrupted him, her smooth, cool voice silencing his thanks, and he tried not to squirm with discomfort. Again, a flicker of glowing jealousy threatened to ignite within him, and again he quenched it. "This is discouraged, though not forbidden. We might have coupled and raised children, but through decades, we cherished one another without touching, as the Force led. I know you know of this." Her voice took on a brief, dry tone. "Padawans will gossip, especially among friends."

"We meant no harm, Master Tahl." Obi-Wan blushed, contrite.

"None was done, Padawan Kenobi." She rose, moving about the room, her delicate fingertips touching the rough texture of a woven sisal hanging on the wall, the chill of a transparisteel window, the exotic grain of a stained wooden shelf.

"I tell no one's secrets but my own in this," she spoke at last. "They are mine to tell." Her gaze pierced him, even sightless. "Fear of losing me was never enough to unbalance Qui-Gon Jinn." Her voice was soft as velvet. "I was wounded, blinded, nearly killed, and he remained serene. This you saw yourself." She held her head high, but Obi-Wan's breath caught with sympathy. He could guess the cost to her pride.

She continued after a moment, voice cool, composed. "When he left the Jedi, I wept for his loss, but I did not seek him out." She held her back perfectly straight. "I understood it was not mine to do. By then, I knew he was never mine."

The room throbbed with the import of the words she did not say. Obi-Wan's heart leaped so hard he could feel it pounding in his chest, so hard he could nearly hear it. He swallowed thickly, desperate to ask precisely what she meant, but he sensed she would not speak more clearly.

"For the love of Qui-Gon Jinn, I wish you success with your Trials, Obi-Wan Kenobi." She stepped forward and set her datapad in his hand.

"Thank you, master," Obi-Wan managed to whisper as she glided out.

Tahl's visit gave Obi-Wan a direction he had badly needed; he settled himself at the comm panel and began making arrangements for transport and building a cover story. He had hardly finished when the door chimed again, and he rolled his eyes a little, thinking of Master Yoda, who'd been right, as usual, in predicting his busy evening.

"Master Windu!" Obi-Wan could not keep a note of surprise out of his voice when the opening door revealed the identity of his guest. "I'm honored. Please, come in."

Windu did, his eyes scanning the room keenly, and Obi-Wan fought the urge to dig a toe into the carpet and squirm like a ten-year-old initiate as the man rapidly noted and catalogued the way Qui-Gon's things still dominated the rooms where Obi-Wan had chosen to live after his master fell to the dark.

"Obi-Wan." Windu greeted him politely; his mouth smiled, but his dark eyes did not. "I'm sorry to disturb you at such a busy time, a time you should devote to contemplation."

"It's no trouble." Obi-Wan felt even more uncomfortable with Windu's visit than he had with Tahl's, and tried to cover his nervousness. "Shall I make you some tea?"

"No, thank you. I won't stay long." Windu took a seat, uninvited, crossing his long legs at the ankles and surveying Obi-Wan intently. "I wanted to emphasize the importance of your mission-- not just to you personally, but to the Order."

Obi-Wan wished Windu had accepted the offer of tea; it would have given him something to do rather than sit awkwardly, listening to Windu drop pearls of wisdom as if Obi-Wan were a student in a lecture. He took a seat opposite the Councilor, reminding himself that this was his own home and that he should not be the one to feel ill at ease here.

"Qui-Gon's actions are causing more harm than you can calculate," Mace began without preamble. "The galaxy is changing, Obi-Wan. New powers are rising within the Republic. You know of the Trade Federation-- you've dealt with them yourself, more than once. Dramacore is just another part of the same pattern. As the galactic economy thrives, companies and affiliates such as these thrive with it."

Obi-Wan nodded noncommittally; even younglings were taught basic economics.

"To stay relevant in these changing times, the Jedi must work to guide these powers to act responsibly, and ultimately, I believe we must ally with them, if we are to guide them effectively, and if we are to use them to help resist the Sith." Windu leaned forward, intense. "We can do neither if we attack them, if we polarize them against us, as Qui-Gon does."

Obi-Wan blinked. "The Senate has always directed the Jedi in our interactions with corporate interests. If we abandon our neutrality--"

Windu's eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan broke off. "This is the Senate's will, Obi-Wan: the attacks must stop."

Obi-Wan considered the Councilor's words with grave care. They troubled him deeply, but he did not speak.

Windu sighed, shaking his head, some of his intensity seeming to fade, but Obi-Wan sensed it beneath the surface of his thoughts, keen and coiled and watchful. "There are always those who cannot adapt to change, those who cling stubbornly to tradition. They reject progress for its own sake, but as the world moves forward, their ideas will no longer hold sway. If they don't yield, they must be swept aside. Change comes at a cost. It is the way of the Force." The words were deceptively mild, but at their core, Obi-Wan perceived an unspoken threat.

"The reward must always be sufficient for the cost," he whispered, quoting Qui-Gon.

"Precisely!" Windu slapped his palms on his knees, pleased. "We stand at a terrible crossroads, Obi-Wan. Down one path, I foresee war: bitter, costly, and wasteful. Down the other... I see compromise and with it, hope. That future will only come to pass, Obi-Wan, if the Jedi stop fighting these changes, embrace them, and move forward, guiding the new leadership from a position of friendship, not of conflict. That's why your Trial is so important. Position yourself properly as a new knight now, and your work will create a time of peace and prosperity in the galaxy. You can help to bring about a new era of leadership for the Jedi Order."

The carrot and the stick-- first the threat, then the promise.

"I will meditate on this," Obi-Wan offered, but he remembered his master's warning. What weakness was Windu seeking to exploit in him?

"I'll leave you to it." Windu rose, outwardly cordial, and reached for Obi-Wan's hand. "May the Force be with you, Kenobi."

He strode out, and Obi-Wan's quarters were peaceful at last, though his heart was not.

Sighing, he took his pack and went into Qui-Gon's abandoned rooms, where he sank to his knees to meditate and prepare his mind for his Trials. He had plenty of time to review Tahl's notes during the voyage to Xinune.

Obi-Wan lifted his face to the sun, glad to escape the stifling recycled atmosphere on shipboard. The fresh air smelled sweet and crisp; autumn had come to this hemisphere of Xinune already, and the trees were fringed with the colors of fire.

Far from King Tiran's palace in Takat, Velon was less developed and more rural. Fields of vinefruit and grain stretched across the inland side of the city, nestled in hollows between pleasant rolling hills. A cloud glided across the sun, sparking a chill that shivered down Obi-Wan's spine.

On the other side, the royal Palazzo dominated the city, gracefully positioned atop a natural marble ridge that curled out into the bay, creating a sheltered harbor where pleasure boats skimmed the waters, white sails full. Obi-Wan had no attention to spare for them, though; he only had eyes for the Palazzo, which Qui-Gon Jinn now called home.

Both his senses and Tahl's briefing confirmed that the master of the house was not at home. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if this was more of a relief or more of a disappointment. The Palazzo was stunning. It must be large enough to house a hundred families or more. He could not reconcile the lush, carefully tended gardens, the pale stone arches and red tile roofs, the hundreds of windows, the seemingly endless halls stretched out along the ridge, with the austere and unencumbered master he had known. The place must rely on battalions of servants: cleaners, gardeners, maintenance personnel, cooks-- all for one man!

He trotted down toward the city, where he planned to make his next contact. Tahl's briefing suggested men with mechanical and technological skills were always in demand at the Palazzo, upgrading or repairing the facilities there. He was prepared with letters that vouched for his skills and character, and a bag on his hip filled with miniature surveillance cameras, carefully Force-shielded. He had two dozen, not nearly enough, now that he saw the size of the place.

He did not let grass grow under his heels, swiftly locating the employment agency. Among the positions advertised was one for a technician in heating, cooling, and ventilation; it sounded ideal for deploying his surveillance devices.

"You can start this afternoon, if you want," the agent said. "Lord Jinn likes us to work on things like this while he's away. It doesn't disturb his affairs, and he doesn't disturb ours." He pushed a work chitty and a key card across the desk to Obi-Wan. "Take public transit up to the palace and tell the gate guard you're to report to G-section. He'll direct you in. G-section is covering second shift today. You'll be just in time to join them."

"Thank you, sir." Obi-Wan accepted the items and did as he was told.

The G-section manager was a small, rotund human, ill-shaven, his blue coverall stained with sweat and grease. He had a permanent, harried-looking expression of amiable overwork. He provided Obi-Wan with a coverall and a toolkit, and shortly Obi-Wan found himself standing in the kitchen gardens behind the Palazzo. The overpowering, sweet scent of tall white lilies gathered thick and cloying in his nostrils as he listened to small pollinator insects buzzing and studied a complicated ductwork schema.

"The humidity from the ocean and the heat from the mainland come together right here, so his place grows mold and mildew like hell," his new boss commented, explaining the job to the few new crewmen, Obi-Wan included. "It's worse because we don't run the ventilators consistently. While they're off, the coolant stagnates and moisture condenses on all the fittings. Then when Lord Jinn comes home, the maids turn on the compressors and they blow mold spores and everything else all over. Then he has to hire people to spray down the clothes and furnishings with fungicide, and he has to have everything shipped out and cleaned, and he doesn't like that. Says it spoils the living something-or-other." He chuckled wryly. "It'd spoil about anything living, in the quantities it takes to fumigate this place." He looked up, including all his men in his stare. "So this time, we're supposed to stop it before it starts. We expect Lord Jinn to arrive tomorrow, so today we have to wipe down all the cooling units and conduits, replace the filters, and test the system.

"You three--" he pointed to Obi-Wan and two other young men "--look young and you're not too bulky. The conduits in Lord Jinn's private living areas are the newest, and they're the most compact. I'll need you to do those with me. the rest of you, break up in teams. Team A take the west wing." He gestured at the schema. "Team B, you get the east. Team C, center and entertainment areas. D, you take conservatory and outbuildings."

They broke up and went to work-- a process that involved lengthy foot travel through the Palazzo to their assigned areas. Obi-Wan took advantage of the opportunity to stare, filling his mind with details-- the lavish parlors, cavernous banqueting rooms, and decadent guest bedrooms. The sparkling modern kitchens and sumptuous marble baths. Everywhere he looked he saw evidence of wealth and luxury, overwhelming and lush. Walls were covered with tapestries, floors with mosaics of tile and gilt. Rooms were stuffed to bursting with oil paintings, solid hand-worked wooden furniture with velvet upholstery, entertainment centers, game facilities, and books. They passed through atriums of cascading ferns and vines, indoor fountains trickling softly through them, feeding into pools where exotic fish swam, flashing their silver bellies. Tall glazed windows in every wall admitted floods of light.

Qui-Gon's private rooms were furnished in a more casual taste, but still exquisite. He lived in the central area of the house, above the entertainment floors on the highest level. As the workers ascended the curving marble stair, Obi-Wan's boots, carefully covered in protective cloth sheaths, sank deep into a lush runner of carpet. The ceiling was constructed of vaulted glass, and tropical plants had been tucked into every nook and cranny, succulent foliage giving the impression of a tamed jungle, dozens of orchids spilling sprays of glorious blossom at artfully selected intervals.

Qui-Gon regularly used more than a dozen rooms, Obi-Wan learned-- rooms full of comfortable overstuffed furniture upholstered in leather, with wood fireplaces in the walls, rooms housing an incredible proliferation of bookshelves, overloaded to groaning with real paper books, for which he knew Qui-Gon had always entertained a weakness. There were wide beds in bedrooms with an acre of floor, piled deeply with silk-covered pillows and down-filled coverlets.

While his hands were still clean, Obi-Wan pressed his palm to test the welcome of one inviting-looking bed, which yielded with the softest sigh, light and warm and luxuriant. He wryly remembered Qui-Gon's former disdain for such things, the simple pallet he had once preferred, wrapping up in his cloak on the floor rather than indulge such luxuries. The books he understood. Standing in a library, inhaling the musty spices of dust and books, surrounded by trailing leaves of potted plants, he felt more of a sense of the man he had known than anywhere else in the place.

They went to work swiftly, swarming up ladders and into ducts to accomplish their cleaning tasks-- activity that afforded Obi-Wan an excellent, discreet opportunity to place his surveillance devices. He let the Force guide him-- one here, one there. In the master bedroom, next to the comm array and holochron generator, in a study, in a meeting room, along selected pieces of corridor.

"You're a fast worker!" Obi-Wan's boss complimented him. "We'll finish early." He tapped at his scheduler. "It's a good thing, too. Lord Jinn's radioed ahead; he's arriving early."

Obi-Wan suppressed a flicker of mingled anxiety and anticipation, checking again to be sure that his presence was shielded. It would not do to feel an emotion strong enough to leave a lasting impression on the Force while he was here.

"You two, go to the control room and check all the circuits." He dismissed his other helpers, smirking. "We'll hit the playroom last, then fire up the system for him." He cut his eyes at Obi-Wan, amusement devilish on his face. "You'll get a kick out of this, I promise."

Obi-Wan projected casual indifference. "I thought the lord would be too busy for play."

"Nobody's too busy for this kind of playroom." His boss laughed. "He does well enough for himself, I'd say. You'll see!"

So saying, he keyed a discreet door in the master bedroom. A section of wall swung inward, and they stepped through into a small chamber-- for once, with no windows-- that might have been a walk-in closet at one time in its existence, but now was lined with every possible variety of erotic toy.

Obi-Wan's eyes popped with disbelief.

"Don't tell me you're a prude." The boss laughed. "Look at you blush!"

Obi-Wan hastily reached for serenity. It had been a long while since he felt so unsettled, but the sight of neat rows of anal insertion toys, whips and floggers, harnesses and straps, skin stimulators, vibrators, clamps and clips, and a variety of items about whose functions he had not even an inkling of an idea....

"Can you imagine what he gets up to with all this? And King Tiran with him-- everyone knows the man's as queer as a five-legged calf, including the Queen. Everyone knows about the clubbing, and some of us have seen the holos. He's here more often than he's in Takat these days, now that Queen Ashea is finally delivered and he has an heir and a spare."

Obi-Wan flinched, carefully setting a turmoil of conflicting emotion aside. "No, I don't think I can imagine," he answered honestly. He resisted the urge to touch anything, then tried not to tuck his hands in his pockets like a naughty initiate caught sneaking sweets in the kitchens. He could hardly process the information he was being asked to assimilate. Qui-Gon, using a room like this, with *Tiran?* Was that what Tahl had actually meant when she said he wasn't hers?

Without allowing himself to think too closely about what he was doing, Obi-Wan palmed one of his surveillance devices and moved swiftly to seal the flat, transparent gel to the bottom of a shelf while his boss was half-turned away, gesturing expansively at something that looked like a piece of gymnastic equipment with a dildo built right into the seat. "The cleaning crews say it all gets used, regular."

"Does it?" Obi-Wan answered lightly, feeling absurdly as if he were making small talk at an uncomfortable diplomatic reception. Not to be overlooked due to his scattered emotions, he also had to worry about the matter of the holos, and his own exposure in them. Perhaps he wouldn't be recognized; the holos had not circulated widely on Xinune thanks to King Tabare's intervention. Also, he was older and his body had matured, filling out and building muscle. The Council had allowed him to grow out his hair and also a short beard, the better to change his features, but he still wore a padawan braid. Perhaps he should have requested permission to cut it.

"They say Lord Jinn used to be a Jedi. Got himself thrown out for his perversions, I'd say." Obi-Wan's boss elbowed him jovially.

"If he used to be a Jedi, it might not be too wise to think that kind of thought out loud." Even as Obi-Wan spoke, the Force stirred. Reaching out, he sensed the rippling stretch and sudden coalescing aura of a presence, the familiar feel of a consciousness emerging from hyperspace. "And we might want to get out of here before he returns, too. You said he was coming early?"

"You're a wise man. Let's grab the ladder."

Obi-Wan nodded, retracting his cautious probe and trying to seal himself inside his own mind. He had felt too many emotions in here; it left a curl of himself imprinted on the Force. But Qui-Gon had never been prone to listen to the Unifying Force, where Obi-Wan's talents were strongest, and where his presence would resonate most fully. He would have to hope that old habit was one that had lingered.

They wiped down the cooling conduits and re-installed the ceiling panel, and then with a bit of judicious influence from Obi-Wan, they departed in haste. Qui-Gon was making no attempt to shield, and his planetfall was imminent.

They stepped out into the garden, Obi-Wan's eyes tracking up to the horizon, where a growing speck revealed Qui-Gon's ship approaching, sedately and properly maintaining a speed below the sound barrier-- probably out of consideration for all the antique glazing in the Palazzo. He kept his respiratory system in check, refusing to allow his heart to speed as they trotted across the grass to the outbuilding that housed the physical plant, and his boss started the environmental control systems for the area they had finished.

"We're well out of there." Obi-Wan noticed a trace of sweat on the man's head despite his earlier insouciance. "The other crews won't trouble him; he doesn't go into the east or west wings unless he's entertaining. But he wouldn't have liked to find us in his living space."

Obi-Wan could not resist glancing out the dusty, smudged window, up toward the landing pad. The ship rotated, aligning itself, and set down gracefully with a whisper of contact. Then he heard the rather louder clunk of the magnetic clamps on the landing gear engaging, and a whine of servomotors as the ramp came down.

Obi-Wan held his breath, awaiting a sight he had not seen for eight years. He locked down firmly on his shields as heavy boots appeared on the ramp: Qui-Gon Jinn's old familiar ambling pace, half-lazy and half-graceful, the slight slouch to the shoulders, his dark hair still accented with streaks of white from the damage done by the Force lightning he had channeled on Lisyl.

Qui-Gon wore an elegant, crisply cut jumpsuit, dark green with restrained brown piping at the shoulders, well-made brown belt and boots of supple leather, and a brown cloak of crushed velvet. It rippled in the wind from the engines as he turned and called back up the ramp, momentarily obscuring his form. A companion?

Tiran emerged, dressed in a similar jumpsuit of sober dark grey, and Qui-Gon clapped his shoulders familiarly, the two of them sharing a smile. They went inside, Qui-Gon's palm lingering on Tiran's shoulder.

Obi-Wan stood very still, as if the slightest motion would betray his presence to the Force.

"Lord Jinn and the King," his boss said quietly at his shoulder. "Thick as thieves, aren't they? The systems are working. Let's see how the others are getting along."

Obi-Wan had no desire to re-enter the Palazzo with Qui-Gon in residence, but he could hardly wander the gardens alone, so he obeyed. He was relieved when they avoided the main corridors and kept to the servants' areas, and he longed for their tasks to be completed so they could take their transit back down into the city.

By the time they departed, the pleasure boats were seeking their berths, sails falling and furling, and the sun touched the wide sea, drawing a path of molten gold along the bay. Obi-Wan left his temporary co-workers and sought a lodging in a hostel well away from the Palazzo, on the theory that distance would render his presence less noticeable than proximity.

Once settled, he drew out the electronic array that drove his cameras, and activated it. Each device he had placed was functioning, a row of green blips on his screen, each transmitting its information to be recorded. Empty room after empty room showed up on the console as he flipped through them, but at last the master bedroom camera rewarded his search.

Qui-Gon and Tiran were sitting down to supper at a table on the terrace, visible through the window, their conversation inaudible.

Obi-Wan left the array to record the proceedings and went to seek food for himself. He badly needed a few moments to regroup; seeing Qui-Gon again had shaken him.

He had thought he was coping much better than this. He had thought that his sense of abandonment had been replaced and mostly healed by his relationship with Master Yoda and his connections to so many other Jedi in the Temple. He had thought his pain over his old master was long dead inside him.

He'd been wrong.

Seeing Qui-Gon had bared wounds that were only buried, not healed, and now they throbbed afresh. If not for Qui-Gon's persistent pursuit of Dramacore, the man would seem to have no concern whatsoever for the half-trained apprentice he'd left behind.

Obi-Wan had been badly damaged in body and soul, and only one of those had been swift to heal. The soul-healers attributed much of his misery to the rapes and near-rapes he'd endured, but Obi-Wan had always known that was only his body. The hurts to his mind and spirit went far deeper: all the way down to the raw and empty place inside him where he and his master used to share their training bond. That corner of his soul had become a shrine to Qui-Gon's memory: a place of silence and shattered love, shrouded in grief and confusion.

Well, the Trials were not supposed to be easy. He thought ruefully of Yoda saying the nature of his Trials had been chosen accurately, though perhaps for the wrong reasons. Yoda had known, as he always did. And Windu? The man had an uncanny knack for knowing precisely how to break an opponent. Had he thought Qui-Gon would break Obi-Wan, or vice versa?

It remained to be seen.

At least he wasn't still in love with the man, he consoled himself. Instead of love, all he had felt for Qui-Gon for many years now was emptiness, occasional flares of jealousy toward those who had mattered more to Qui-Gon than he did, and a faint, bitter sorrow. It was best that way.

He stared down at the plate of stew he had obtained from the proprietor of his lodging; he had eaten half, but never tasted it. He dipped listlessly at the rest with a chunk of bread. He would have to go back up and monitor the cameras, waiting for the Force to guide him to his next action.

He finished the bowl and paid, then moved reluctantly up the stair. He really didn't have the stomach to watch Qui-Gon have sex with Tiran, he decided. Tiran had been a friend, and also a good man to have at your back, but whatever he and Qui-Gon might do in bed together was something Obi-Wan had no desire to see.

Dawdle as he might, there were only twelve steps up to the second floor, and eventually Obi-Wan could delay arrival at his room no longer. He entered and scanned the computer array; noise from the master bedroom indicated that Qui-Gon was bathing. Obi-Wan seated himself on the dingy coverlet of his lumpy bed and prepared to wait. At least the room was empty; it seemed Qui-Gon was alone.

Soon Qui-Gon emerged, still damp from his bath. The video pick-up caught him and swiveled to follow. His hair was wet, wrapped lazily in a white towel, and he wore an absorbent white robe that hung open and loose around his long, angular body.

Obi-Wan abruptly found it necessary to carefully re-adjust the strap of his left boot, which was still fastened tolerably well but must of course not be allowed to come loose. When he looked back up, Qui-Gon was seated, the towel puddled on the carpet, running a brush through his long hair, slowly coaxing it into submission.

I used to do that, Obi-Wan remembered, his throat suddenly thick, the sensations as fresh in his mind as if he had last performed this duty yesterday. Start at the ends and work up. Comb back at the crown. Brush, lifting the strands and letting them fall, until dry. Pull back the top, smooth the sides, and bind off with a thong.

It still had the feel of ritual, Qui-Gon moving slowly and calmly through the familiar steps. He left the top loose, though, shaking his head and tucking a few strands behind his ears, and rose, stretching gracefully.

That boot-strap really was troublesome; Obi-Wan could see where it would separate from its buckle and slide free, if he wasn't absolutely sure that it was secured properly. He fastened it again, with great care.

At least Tiran was still nowhere to be seen. Obi-Wan might be able to locate him if he scanned the camera feeds, but even as he thought of it, his hand fell back onto the table.

Qui-Gon was moving, triggering the wall panel that led to the playroom.

Oh, dear. Obi-Wan froze. This was going to be more than a single boot-strap could compensate for.

Qui-Gon stepped through the portal serenely, and the camera feed switched automatically to follow him. Obi-Wan glimpsed his chest and belly-- still taut with muscle, though the skin had loosened a bit and the chest-hair held a scattering of silver. But Qui-Gon's expression dominated his attention. His master looked purely peaceful-- not merely serene, but deeply at peace and content. Where serenity could be and often was a mask, this look had the feeling of soul-deep, certain acceptance. It was difficult to reconcile this man with the dark Jedi he'd expected to find.

Then Qui-Gon shed his robe. Standing tall, he let it slide off his shoulders. The light hanging on the wall behind him caught in his hair like a halo as he tipped his chin back and raised his arms over his head, seeming to feel the caress of the air all over his bare skin. He wore a gold ring in his left nipple, which made Obi-Wan flinch, his hand going to his chest-- where he had never chosen to remove the ring Jata and Bilam had placed in his own left nipple. At first it had seemed inconsequential, and later, he had regarded it as a source of secret pleasure, a link to a time when he still called this man his master. That Qui-Gon wore one now, in the same place, laced a thrill of erotic shock down Obi-Wan's spine. It could not be coincidence.

Qui-Gon stretched, bowing and tucking his fingertips under his toes. It had the reverential simplicity of a salute before a motion/energy focusing kata, and Obi-Wan sighed with relief, thinking he had dodged a blaster bolt-- but then Qui-Gon began.

He ran his hands over his body slowly, fingers and palms exploring with a gentle patience, expression still deeply peaceful. His fingertips traveled over and around his nipples, along his stomach, and under his testicles, lifting them and cradling their weight. They moved around his hips and over the swell of his bottom, down and between his thighs-- patient, slow, and appreciative.

Obi-Wan's skin heated in a blush as Qui-Gon's hand circled his own shaft and tugged lightly upward. It began to fill and darken, responding to the gentle pressure.

Still moving with the slow, deliberate grace of a kata, Qui-Gon handled his body again, dwelling on the nerves that generated pleasure. Though Obi-Wan was far away, he could all but sense the sexual energy Qui-Gon was building with his flesh-- this was a kata, Obi-Wan realized abruptly, but it was one like none he had ever seen before. Instead of calming and controlling energy, this kata was meant to generate and experience it.

Each pass of the broad hands intensified the energies Qui-Gon was generating-- he twisted the nipple ring until he gasped, the low sound from his parted lips driving straight to Obi-Wan's groin. He was helpless to look away as Qui-Gon bit a fingertip, then licked its pad and circled one nipple with the wet finger. His hair flowed with his movements, and Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon enjoying its feathery glide against his skin. His face was perfectly smooth except for the smallest smile that curved his lips. His hand passed over his face, touching his mouth, and he licked and sucked at his own fingertips as if at a lover's, his eyes sliding shut, his body taut with growing tension.

His shaft was fully erect now, too heavy to stand against his belly, dangling and moving gently with the slow glide of self-exploration. And then Qui-Gon stilled, the first phase of his kata arriving at a place of balance-- the whole body humming with energy, ready, in harmony with itself and its desires.

Qui-Gon stirred, stepping forward, and his palm curled around something outside the camera's field of vision. When he stepped back again, he held a flogger, one with ultra light blades, suitable for mild stimulation. Again he began to stroke-- trailing the soft fronds over his skin, letting them brush against his heavy shaft, dangling them along his thighs and calves.

A quick whip-crack stroke, and they curled around his shoulder, another, another-- his ribs and flanks were touched with soft pink now, and Obi-Wan groaned low in his throat. He could almost feel the way the air would slide against the faint heat the flogger left, the skin sensitized to the slightest motion, the slightest change in temperature. Another series of strokes, and then it was dropped, and Qui-Gon stretched again. Obi-Wan could see the faintest gleam of moisture at the tip of the man's cock, and he could not draw his eyes away for any amount of guilt, could not stir his conscience enough to bring himself to shut the console and withdraw.

Back to the shelf again, abandoning the light flogger, Qui-Gon reached a second time and came back with a small item in his palm-- a clip that he fastened onto his right nipple with slow deliberation, tightening it until he hissed and Obi-Wan whimpered in spite of himself. With every gesture, every bright spark of pleasure and pain, Qui-Gon's aura of contentment and peace grew stronger.

He fisted his cock harder this time, stroking with more purpose. His nails dug at his flesh as he ran his hands over himself, worshipping sensation, scraping hard, blunt fingers over sensitive nerves, bringing his body from awareness to flame. Twist the clip, pull the ring, breathe. Bite the lip, stroke the cock, rest.

The third stage now. This time he took longer, and when he stepped to the center of the room, his palm dripped with oil.

He moved his oily hand over his cock, a loving, lingering stroke, and then he leaned to brace himself against the single piece of furniture, the apparatus with a dildo that dominated the little room, raising one foot and one arm to rest on it and leaning forward.

Obi-Wan's hands closed to shuddering fists as Qui-Gon sank his fingers inside his body and fucked himself on them, long and slow and loving, his lips open, until his breathing came harshly in his throat and his skin gleamed with sweat.

Too ashamed to touch himself, too aroused to remain passive, Obi-Wan began to squirm in spite of himself, hissing a low exhalation as the seam of his leggings dragged across his stiff cock. Had he thought he no longer loved this man? Perhaps not-- perhaps-- but lust? Oh, yes. He felt lust, more lust than he'd ever believed possible. The pure sensuality of the man, the strength of the energies he had to be generating, the complete, continuing acceptance he displayed, unlike anything Obi-Wan had ever seen in him before. Was this what time and the Dark Side had wrought in Qui-Gon Jinn, once so severe and ascetic? How?!

Qui-Gon arched and gasped, halted, quivering-- on the verge of orgasm, perfectly balanced: a heartbeat, two, three...

And he returned to his center, waited, wiped his hands on a towel, and tossed it away.

This time, he mounted the apparatus, settling on his knees over the dildo and hesitating as if in prayer, then slowly sinking down onto it, his lashes fanned against his cheeks, his mouth opening on a low groan of satisfaction.

Obi-Wan whimpered helplessly, the sound choked in his throat, his hips surging forward, his cock desperate, pleading for attention. He could not, would not. But Qui-Gon would, and did. His powerful thigh muscles ebbed and surged, that beatific smile still touching his face as he rode, tossing his hair back, tugging at his nipple ring, tightening the clamp-- slow and measured, escalating toward orgasm again, then cresting and stilling until it receded, and starting the slow, deliberate climb again.

Forward and back, Qui-Gon rode, sweat gleaming rivulets down his broad chest. His hair clung to his skin, throat, shoulders and face. He grasped his cock, alternating hard, quick strokes and slow, measured ones, in perfect control of the building storm of pleasure inside him. Obi-Wan could hear the man's low sounds of effort and pleasure, a soft velvet growl, slowly growing louder and more urgent, demanding, matching the crescendo building in his body.

The tempo built with the urgency; Obi-Wan shoved the heel of his hand against his balls painfully, wondering dazedly if he could come without ever touching himself. There would be no more resting; Qui-Gon pushed forward into the channel of his fist and down to receive the dildo, moving fiercely. Then, as he rose, his eyes snapped open and he half-turned his face, staring straight into the camera, that strange little half-smile as predatory and knowing as it was peaceful and self-assured.

In that fiery sapphire gaze, Obi-Wan felt himself seen and touched, known and welcomed, in lust and love.

He exploded into helpless orgasm at the searing caress of eyes and mind on his soul, wailing in harmony as Qui-Gon also groaned aloud-- "Obi-Wan!" They came together, in long, soul-deep pulses of lust and perfect pleasure, welding them into a moment of pure unity, the distance between their bodies no longer important. Obi-Wan could feel the Force surging decisively around them, a million of his own possible futures opening and a million others closing as the nexus moment reshaped the universe and his course within it.

Obi-Wan slapped the console shut with a trembling hand-- too late, too late. Seduced by the energy web Qui-Gon had woven, he had revealed himself in his desire; he was caught. He could not measure how anything had changed; for all its violence, the nexus was past, and the Force was silent. He only knew that the balance of his universe had inevitably altered, and that the changes centered around Qui-Gon Jinn, whoever and whatever he had become.

I've got a bad feeling about this.

Obi-Wan rose on trembling legs and cleaned himself up, taking his time, lingering in the sonic shower and waiting while his soiled clothes went through a 'fresher cycle. Moth to flame, inevitable. Moth to flame, the pride of the Jedi shattered. All his training in serenity, all his supposed perfection? Meaningless.

Obi-Wan gathered his things and re-wove his padawan braid, slow and methodical, finding only a poor semblance of calm. He enforced a placidity that he did not feel onto his motions; inside his soul he was a boiling morass of electric tension, conflicting thoughts and emotions arcing and tangling, seeking ground. This evening's events had constituted a Trial of both his spirit and his insight, and he had failed both utterly. That thought sobered him, if nothing else did. If he meant to become a Jedi Knight, he must achieve peace with all of himself. He felt shame at the thought, but at the same time, he didn't-- some untamable portion of him floated on wings of exultation and joy, anticipation and exhilaration stronger than fear.

He left his room, understanding his role in the dance, and went out into the street, eyes flickering across the city to the Palazzo. He would go. It would cost him his dignity and his pride, but there was no point in waiting any longer, now that his presence and purpose were known.

But the Force stirred with warmth, and his head turned, for Qui-Gon stood there waiting, once again clad in brown and green, standing beneath a tall tree with long, trailing branches. A street-lamp shone softly, illuminating the silver-green leaves from within, catching the silver in Qui-Gon's hair.

"A Jedi does not come only because he is summoned, so I have come to you instead." His one-time master smiled, infinitely tender, and he stepped forward with leonine grace, just the faintest hint of the predator, his arms opening to welcome Obi-Wan Kenobi home.

Obi-Wan hesitated, torn between suspicion and yearning, and slowly stepped forward into Qui-Gon's arms, letting them close around him. He remained tense despite the warmth of the welcome, refusing to melt against the man's tall body, stepping back quickly as soon he was released.

"I foresaw you would return to me one day," Qui-Gon said, releasing Obi-Wan at last and stepping back, looking him up and down. "I thought I sensed your presence when I first entered my rooms-- and then when your emotions flared in the Force, I felt you there with me." He smiled at Obi-Wan, his eyes warm. "We have much to do together." He set out, assuming Obi-Wan would follow.

Foresaw? That did not sound like the master he once knew, who customarily focused only on the moment. He evened his breathing with an effort, trying to release the tension from his body, wondering exactly how much choice he had, and exactly what sort of things Qui-Gon had in mind for them to do. But ultimately, it didn't matter; he knew he would follow, at least for now. He fell in at Qui-Gon's side and they began to stroll casually toward the Palazzo.

"You have questions," Qui-Gon acknowledged, smiling over at him again. "Let me answer some of them as we walk."

Obi-Wan nodded quietly, waiting.

"You blame yourself for what happened to me, and I suppose you are correct, but not in the way you may believe." Qui-Gon's voice fell into a groove, the comfortable, pedantic tones of the long-accustomed master. "Before you were ever kidnapped, I became aware of a serious problem in my soul, a problem neither my Jedi training nor my experience as a master had never taught me how to deal with successfully. The problem involved personal imbalance, and the typical accompanying lack of control. I had already determined that I must resolve this problem upon the conclusion of our mission. At the time, I thought I could do so with a spiritual retreat, time spent with soul healers and meditation, introspection and devotion to purging the imbalance and releasing it to the Force. I believe, in retrospect, that I would have failed to resolve the crisis even had I been able to address it then; the methods I hoped would serve would not have sufficed. But I am out of the thread of my tale.

"You were kidnapped before I could act to address my imbalance, and you know very well what happened thereafter." Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment. "Or perhaps you don't. You must know what I did, but I don't know what you were told about other circumstances."

"Master Yoda worked to coerce Dramacore to release me," Obi-Wan said softly. "It took time."

"The Council decided to bow to Dramacore's demands, at least in the short-term, hoping to suppress the holograms and protect the reputation of the Senate and the Order," Qui-Gon corrected him, voice steely. "Voices in the Senate pressured them to take this path. Yoda was proactive in your defense, I agree-- if somewhat inadequately, but others were not."

"You came to rescue me with Knight Raksen and Padawan Walek."

"I came after you alone." Qui-Gon's voice grew chilly. "Misi was sent to be a watchdog over me, I think, to see what I would do and to interfere if she thought it necessary. She did interfere, at times; she protected you in the arena when I could not, and she was there to stop me, at the end, when I lost myself to the Dark Side."

"I saw the transports." Obi-Wan lowered his head. "You had little choice, acting alone-- drastic actions were warranted. You couldn't fight a hundred men, all the handlers, and the cats."

"I acted as I needed to then, I agree." Qui-Gon nodded. "I'm glad you see that, Obi-Wan. In that instance, if not in the city square, my actions were justified, though the means and the motives, perhaps, were not." He looked at Obi-Wan for a long moment, his face still. "In the city center, innocents were present, and I could not restrain the Dark Side. I took innocent lives in my passion for revenge."

Obi-Wan accepted the evaluation with a quiet nod.

"I already knew the Council had declared me rogue. It didn't concern me as it should. Rogues have returned to the Jedi before, and have found themselves welcome. But after the battle in the square, that was no longer possible. I would not be accepted after doing such things as I had done, not knowing such things as I knew. Not thinking such things as I thought. It was at that moment, realizing how far I had fallen to the dark, that I determined I must leave you. I did not like placing you in the hands of the Council, not after they failed to protect you and seek your release, but I had no better choice. You were in poor condition, and I could not provide the resources your care demanded-- I couldn't even take care for myself, though I too was badly in need of healing. And I had commitments, promises to keep." He smiled again, disarming, and Obi-Wan was struck suddenly by the ease and frequency of that smile, once so rare.

"I took the cats-- I called them all to me, and I tended their wounds, and then I returned them to their homeworld, a remote and savage place called Chandar. I released them, and Maj'lis-- the cat who covered you in the city center, if you recall him? With Maj'lis at their head, they made a mighty hunting pride." His voice was distant for a moment, his eyes faraway. "I stayed with them for a time, to ensure they would survive, and I let the Living Force flow through me and heal my hurts. I lost track of time, running with the hunt. When I left Chandar, nearly a year had passed, and I was much mended. I contacted Master Tahl, and found out that you were well again, and that Yoda had undertaken to finish your training. That knowledge eased my fears on your behalf." He smiled sidelong at Obi-Wan. "If there is still a Jedi I trust, it is he."

Obi-Wan inclined his head in agreement, though a shiver of alarm slid along his spine. If there is a Jedi I trust. If. And he does not trust me.

"That doesn't explain anything unexpected about my role in what happened to you." Obi-Wan ventured neutrally.

"No," Qui-Gon agreed. "Your role was threefold, and you are only aware of a single aspect. The threat to you, of course, drove me to access the Dark Force in order to have the strength I required to protect you in ways I could not have accomplished otherwise, alone. But there was more. There was also, of course, my attachment to you, which is excessive by any measure the Jedi Code can apply."

Obi-Wan blinked at the information, and at the casual tone in which it was delivered. "Attachment." He tasted the words passionlessly, listening for any truths they might carry. He used the present tense. An unwanted but delicious shiver slid through him.

"Yes." No further explanation appeared to be forthcoming. "And in addition to it, there were your questions. Always you questioned the tenets of serenity; you questioned the rightness of objecting to attachment. You proposed alternative solutions-- channeling the passion of attachment productively, learning to accept and control attachment rather than rejecting it. As I thought over what had happened, I realized your words were wisdom. You know of the Jedi enclave on Corellia, where nuclear families form within the Jedi; they do these things. Why are they considered anathema by the Temple on Coruscant? There is no reasonable answer.

"As part of my self-therapy, I researched these theories you had proposed. I studied them in practice on Corellia. I contacted the Whills, and learned much there. And while I did these things, I also gave myself leave to pursue a particular passion I had developed: the passion to destroy the entity and the people who had hurt you." Qui-Gon's voice was calm as a spring morning, his mien and his countenance peaceful, but suddenly Obi-Wan could sense an ice-cold splinter of hatred in his soul. "I took the riches you were promised for your victory and used them for this cause; Jata had them on his person, and I needed them-- and I knew the Jedi did not. Later, King Tiran succeeded his father, and he has been quite glad to assist me, as you see."

"But that is less important than why I have made my choices. Obi-Wan, I have come to realize a fundamental flaw in the tenets of the Jedi Code." Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, pausing and leaning against an iron fence, studying him with thoughtful interest. "In denying themselves the right to experience their passions, the Jedi have become unbalanced. They have listened to fear and chosen the path of cowardice; by reducing their capacity to feel, they have reduced themselves in power and compassion. I believe this is a fatal flaw. Sooner or later, such an unbalanced structure will fail to thrive, as it failed to serve you in your need-- as I very nearly failed you."

Obi-Wan felt another frisson shudder through his body. "My questions? But every padawan asks his master why the Code is written as it is."

"Then perhaps every padawan's master should listen to his apprentice," Qui-Gon returned sharply. "As I should have listened to your dreams."

"But the Code protects us from the consequences of acting without understanding." Obi-Wan felt very strange, attempting to convince Qui-Gon of tenets his master had once drilled into him with patient persistence.

They walked on in silence for a few minutes before Qui-Gon spoke again. "You speak of protection. Ask yourself, Obi-Wan, whether protection strengthens the protected. Does it do so, or does it render its recipient dependent?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He hesitated, then spoke. "It allows the weak to survive when they could not do so otherwise. That is the purpose of the Jedi. To defend and uphold those who cannot--"

"Is that a tenet the Council followed when they failed to send a force to retake you from Dramacore?"

"That's different."

"No." Qui-Gon stopped and faced him, eyes narrowing. "The difference is only in your mind. Soon you will come to see the contradiction between the Code and the Council's actions, as I do. Then maybe you will grow to understand that the Code is as misguided as the Council."

"You're mistaken," Obi-Wan rallied bravely, but he was not at all sure-- he remembered Mace Windu's burning eyes as he spoke of allying the Jedi with the Trade Federation, the better to guide it from within.

"Your feelings betray your doubt," Qui-Gon observed gently.

Obi-Wan colored; he had no ready answer.

"I have spent the remainder of the years since we parted pursuing the destruction of Dramacore, and certain of their affiliates." Qui-Gon continued after a time. They had reached the dockside. As they paused, looking out over the water, Obi-Wan listened to the small boats rocking against their moorings. Qui-Gon fell silent, and Obi-Wan heard the soft hush of the water lapping, and the low murmur of the breeze. The wavelets caught the glimmer of the city lamps and reflected them back, making the sides of the boats and the stone of the quay dance with pale light.

At last Qui-Gon spoke again, his voice low and intimate. "My quest for revenge has been both instructive and personally satisfying, Obi-Wan. I've learned to control my passions by experiencing them rather than denying them, and I can access those powers the Jedi call the 'dark side' in such a way that I control them, rather than allowing them to control me. My center is whole and true once more, and I have strengthened it. I'm more powerful than I ever anticipated, and happiness has become part of me." He glanced at Obi-Wan. "Especially tonight." His voice warmed. "Your presence is all I could have asked for to improve on my contentment."

His hand fell, feather-light, on the small of Obi-Wan's back, and Obi-Wan shivered again, this time with heat rather than chill. How was it that Qui-Gon could overwhelm him so effortlessly, even after so long?

Obi-Wan did not know how to answer him. "You honor me, with your confidences." He felt brittle and exposed, overwhelmed by a turmoil of conflicting emotion, uncertain of his companion's intent. "But you must see that they are nothing short of heresy."

"That is a word I would have expected to hear from the Council, borne to me on the point of a sword, accompanying a bargain that is no bargain-- a demand that I submit to their harness or to prison rather than deny their arrogant self-deception and continue to walk in freedom." Qui-Gon's hand did not move. "Are you the Council's sword, Obi-Wan?"

Windu. Obi-Wan flashed on his memory of Windu's cold-hot eyes burning at him, and his implication that Obi-Wan's Trials would be successful if he returned with Qui-Gon neutralized or in custody. Yes. It was true.

"Qui-Gon, I--"

Qui-Gon silenced him, gently tugging him forward and sealing his mouth softly over Obi-Wan's words.

The sweetness of pure fire annihilated Obi-Wan's mind. Liquid strokes of velvet lips devastated him with tenderness, the soft brush of Qui-Gon's breath warmed his cheek, and then Qui-Gon's silky tongue coaxed his lips to open and slid slowly inside his mouth, stroking lightly at his palate, inviting him to respond. He could not resist, his hands unclenching from startled fists, tentatively rising to cradle Qui-Gon's forearms, then his elbows, then his shoulders as the kiss sank deeper, kindling them both.

I am in so much trouble, Obi-Wan thought faintly, and Qui-Gon drew back.

"Yes," he answered gravely, his eyes unreadable, lost in shadows as he looked down into Obi-Wan's face. "More than you know." He touched Obi-Wan's lip softly with one rough knuckle. "It's growing late. Let's be going."

They climbed toward the Palazzo, faster now, Qui-Gon leading with renewed purpose. Soon the city was behind them and they walked through night-drenched gardens, full of rich, sweet perfumes. Qui-Gon directed them to enter a gravel lane over-arched by trellises of roses, the moon glowing in their petals, delicately scented dew showering them whenever one of them brushed a trailing branch.

The front door swung open at a wave of Qui-Gon's palm, and they went in, Obi-Wan hesitating, overwhelmed once more by the opulence of the grand double stair. Qui-Gon mounted it casually, glancing back for him, and he followed, wondering uncomfortably what lay in store. He was unsurprised to be led to the private living quarters, but was relieved when Qui-Gon stopped just short of the master bedroom and directed Obi-Wan into a room of his own.

"This room should meet your needs, and if it doesn't, you have only to ask for what you wish. Ring the bell, there. You will find my housekeeper accommodating." The coverlet was already turned back, windows open to the fragrant night, and fresh flowers had been cut and arranged to welcome him. From his windows, Obi-Wan could look over the sea and hear the faint, lonely crash and moan of the waves as they broke on the shore.

Obi-Wan nodded. "It is more than adequate. Thank you." Pointedly, he dropped his pack by the wall nearest the 'fresher and shouldered out of his robe, spreading it neatly on the floor to serve him as a bed.

Qui-Gon chuckled, rueful. "Shall I show you the cold water taps, so that you don't enjoy the hospitality of warmth against your wishes?"

Obi-Wan laughed, but did not move his robe from its place on the floor. "I think I can survive a hot bath with my integrity intact." But perhaps not what's coming next. He held his breath and waited for Qui-Gon's next move. En garde.

Qui-Gon inclined his head gracefully, acknowledging the expectations of the moment. He stepped to the wall opposite of Obi-Wan's chosen bed, and touched a section of wainscoting there. The wall slid aside, revealing Qui-Gon's own suite next door. "You are welcome to come to my bed, if you wish." His voice was husky with promise, and his eyes caressed Obi-Wan with longing, but he did not step forward. Attaque.

"I think that would be a bad idea." Obi-Wan straightened his spine and was glad to hear that his voice seemed steady. "A wise man once told me the reward for my actions must be sufficient for their cost." Parry.

"And what do you believe it would cost you to lie with me?" Qui-Gon mused, not seeming at all offended. "Your dignity, your pride? Your honor? Your knighthood? Your heart?" Reprise.

My soul? Obi-Wan rallied as best he could-- the thought of bedding Qui-Gon left him dry-mouthed with lust. "And how would it reward me? A night of pleasure? A lifetime of regret?" Arreêt à bon temps.

Qui-Gon's eyes closed and he dipped his chin, politely accepting the refusal. "It goes without saying: I will respect your wishes in this." His eyes opened, sadness dimming their deep blue. "I hope in time you will come to trust me, Obi-Wan." Contre-parade.

"I hope in time you will earn my trust." Touché.

Qui-Gon nodded without speaking and stepped through the opening in the wall, which slid closed behind him.

Obi-Wan sagged against the plaster, scrubbing his palm over his face. He needed a shave, and a bath would feel marvelous. A cold shower would probably serve him better, but he had denied himself enough for one evening.

He would bathe and rest, and then see what the morning brought.

Dawn brought the cries of sea-birds and the scent of the ocean breeze wafting in through his windows. Opening one eye, he saw a white bird with black tips on its wings sitting on the sill of one window, studying him through one bright eye.

"Good morning," he greeted it. "You'd better not come in. I'd hate to have to explain what you'd probably do on the carpet."

It flew at the sound of his voice, launching out across the ocean, and he followed it to the edge of the terrace, looking down at the crashing surf many meters below.

The air was chilly, but not unpleasantly so; he went to his knees on the terrace and reached inside himself to greet the dawn, sending his consciousness spiraling out into the vast seascape before him, feeling the surge and billow of the airs and the waves, the warming of the light.

In time, he also felt eyes resting on him, and he returned to himself slowly, drifting up out of his trance. He was unsurprised to find Qui-Gon standing at the rail on his own balcony, silently watching Obi-Wan meditate. There was soft heat in the man's eyes, and Obi-Wan realized he should have put on his tunics before emerging. At least he had worn his leggings, he thought wryly.

He stood, stretching, absurdly embarrassed by the little gold ring in his nipple, and the way its chill had made his flesh tighten.

"You are beautiful," Qui-Gon said simply. "Will you join me for breakfast? There is much to discuss."

"I'll finish dressing." Obi-Wan did, and let himself into the hall where Qui-Gon waited, every inch the polite host. But of course he would wish to seem so. Obi-Wan must be patient and watchful; he must not allow himself to forget that this was a Dark Jedi who stood before him, not the same kind master he had once known. This was a man who had killed innocents for his own purposes, and who might again, if it suited him.

"You're watching me out of the corners of your eyes, as if you expect me to run mad and start dissecting the servants," Qui-Gon commented wryly as they descended the stair. "I'm not even carrying my lightsaber, Obi-Wan."

"And you're watching me full-on without blinking, as if you're one of those damned cats, preparing to pounce on a particularly tasty morsel," he retaliated tartly.

"I regret causing you discomfort." Qui-Gon turned his face away carefully. "I would normally break my fast in my rooms, but today is a special occasion. You'll like this, I think." He pushed open a door. A study lay within, with a relatively small round table inside it, and two people waited there, rising as the door opened. Qui-Gon stepped aside to allow Obi-Wan to enter, and hung back.

"Tiran. And Gida?" Joy exploded through Obi-Wan, and he forgot his worries, surging forward to scoop Gida into his arms, kissing her cheek, and then extended a more restrained handclasp to Tiran, who stood back, watching him with eyes that were not perfectly welcoming. "It's good to see you." He included them both in his gaze. "I never found out what happened to you, Gida. Knight Raksen said she left you with the price of passage off Lisyl, but she didn't say where. Tiran..." he hesitated. The Prince-- the King, now-- had never answered his messages. "I've missed you more than I can say. I'm sorry I sent you home so summarily."

Tiran's eyes did not warm. "That's in the past," he dismissed it. "Lord Jinn has explained that you acted as a Jedi must."

"You both look well." Obi-Wan held Gida away from him. Her scars had faded to the palest of lines, barely visible. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"I bought passage to Xinune while you were with the healers on Lisyl, and Tiran was kind enough to take me into his service," Gida explained. "Now I'm the head of housekeeping here at the Palazzo for Lord Jinn."

"My wife doesn't care for reminders of my sordid past." Tiran's voice was quite dry. "I thought it best if Gida and she did not try to coexist under the same roof."

"Or myself," Qui-Gon added, also dry, but light. "For some reason, she believes I tempt her husband's dubious virtue."

"You'd tempt the virtue of a monk." Heat flashed in Tiran's eyes, past Obi-Wan's shoulder toward Qui-Gon.

"Evidently not," Qui-Gon returned, self-deprecating, tilting his head towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan flushed to hear their personal business revealed in company, but he suddenly understood the King's coolness. Tiran was jealous of Obi-Wan, and of how Qui-Gon apparently felt about him. Of course. How fortunate it was that as a Jedi, Obi-Wan did not share such ignoble emotions.

"Well, I'm not about to be an obstacle to anyone's temptation." Obi-Wan spoke smoothly. "Gida, come sit beside me, and we'll let the lovebirds sit together."

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon rumbled, exasperated.

"No, I won't hear of it." He would put Gida in his lap, if he had to. "I think it's admirable that you've found a congenial partner with whom to share your new philosophy of sexual adventure," he told Qui-Gon archly. He took Gida's hand and led her to one side of the table, placing her between himself and the seat at the head of the table, which Qui-Gon took, after a pause that was fraught with tension.

Tiran sat belligerently at Qui-Gon's right hand, across from Gida, and scowled openly at Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon stared austerely at Tiran, and Obi-Wan flourished his napkin, deliberately ignoring the byplay and concentrating on placing it neatly in his lap.

Gida stared between the three of them with disbelief. "Oh, for--" she shook her head curtly, then clapped her hands, and a bevy of kitchen maids emerged from an alcove, bearing steaming dishes.

The maids served them with practiced efficiency, loading Obi-Wan's plate with more food than he was accustomed to eat in an entire day, and pouring half a dozen beverages for him-- both cold and steaming.

"You set an impressive table." He directed the compliment to Gida.

"It's nice working without a budget." She giggled, glancing at Tiran.

"Only the best for Lord Jinn," he responded stiffly.

"Only the best for my guests." Qui-Gon placed his fingers on Tiran's wrist, calming.

"A courtship ritual," Obi-Wan pointed it out to Gida, gesturing with his fork. "Very touching."

"Don't patronize me!" Tiran flared. "Either of you!"

"Is this a domestic spat?" Obi-Wan asked Gida sotto voce, unable to help himself. "I've always wanted to be part of one."

"Stop it," Gida hissed. "Stop it, all of you." She flashed a glare at each of them. "This is a pleasant reunion between friends. You're going to eat this meal that I've spent days planning, and we're going to have a polite conversation while you do it."

"Yes, mother." Qui-Gon smiled at her indulgently, his fondness apparent.

Oh. Perhaps he's having her, as well. Obi-Wan restrained his acid tongue with difficulty. "The weather is very clement," he offered by way of polite apology, and the others murmured assent, venturing an occasional compliment on one of the courses. But for the most part, they continued the meal in strained silence until Qui-Gon pushed away his plate.

"Gida, thank you for your hard work. Breakfast was exquisite, as always."

"It's my pleasure." She bowed her head, self-conscious.

"And King Tiran, thank you for taking the time from your duties to be here. Your support is very important to me, and you know how fond I am of you." His smile held a trace of sadness. "Of all three of you. But pleasant though it may be to share your companionship, I'm afraid the real reason you are here is one related to business."

He paused gravely, studying each of them; Gida snapped her fingers and dismissed the kitchen maids, who trooped out passively. When the door clicked shut, Qui-Gon continued.

"My researches into Dramacore's affairs have, as some of you already know, revealed alarming insights into the state of the Republic. I have little personal incentive to care whether the Senate thrives, or even the Jedi," he looked at Obi-Wan apologetically, "Saving present company, of course." He waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, he went on. "However, I am concerned for the general order and well-being of the galaxy, and those agencies are the best existing means of protecting them. I think we can all agree that it would not benefit the vast majority of citizens to see the Republic become an oligarchy-- a group of planets whose citizens are little better than slaves, governed by a few elite corporate interests, whose only concern is increasing their profits. Or even by a single powerful figure, one who controls those interests and manipulates them to his own satisfaction."

Obi-Wan remembered Windu's desire to ally with the Trade Federation, his heart sinking. "What evidence do you have for this?"

"These interests have allied, calling themselves the Trade Federation-- of which Dramacore is a member in good standing. They apply careful political pressure to worlds where they perceive a profit can be made-- and to worlds whose circumstances create particular kinds of political leverage. You may recall the Blockade of Naboo, only recently settled when Queen Amidala surrendered to pressure and ended the blockade by agreeing to pay the crippling excise taxes that the Nemoidians imposed on trade routes to her world, to protest when the Senate levied import taxes against them. During this conflict, Nubian Senator Palpatine succeeded Chancellor Valorum. And though Chancellor Palpatine publicly rails against the Trade Federation, evidence shows that they have only grown and thrived under his regime."

Obi-Wan nodded; Naboo had been a mess, even without the involvement of the Sith, though now that he considered it, he realized the Jedi had focused largely on the emergence of their old rivals, and less on the more humanitarian concerns, the needs of the planet and its citizens.

"Naboo is not alone. Many worlds are affected, including my own world of origin. The taxes and tariffs levied on both imports and exports are so oppressive that most of the citizens on these worlds have insufficient access to food and medicine. The affluent few, who do, control the political power in the Senate, and do not feel compassion for others less fortunate than themselves. And so the Trade Federation grows, and their influence spreads, expanding the economic distress for worlds throughout the Republic."

"I don't have the resources that would be required to defeat, or even significantly injure, the Trade Federation," Qui-Gon admitted. "It would take an army of unprecedented size, I think, and all the ships and resources the Republic could bring to bear. But I have done as much as I could, smuggling resources to those who needed them most, striking here and there, whenever I have the opportunity to damage their interests, even as I have struck against Dramacore. If need be, I will continue to strike on a small scale, hoping that a pebble can somehow turn the tide."

He looked sober. "The Force has also shown me a man-- a dangerous man, cloaked in shadow, who stands at the center of this. I am close on his trail. And that is where you come in." He gazed at Obi-Wan. "If and when I find him, I will need you to persuade the Jedi Council to move against him. The Jedi must oppose the Trade Federation, even at the cost of war. Even if the Senate and the Supreme Chancellor do not agree."

Obi-Wan stared at the tabletop between his fingers, thinking of Windu. "My heart tells me they will refuse. You've only offered opinions; I've seen no proof. I only have your word."

"I can show plenty of proof." Qui-Gon straightened his spine. "But you will have to accompany me on my next mission, Obi-Wan. It is not a planned attack, though I will not hesitate to defend us with any means at my disposal, should we be discovered. If you will accompany me, I believe you'll see more than you need to know about the power of the Trade Federation and the consequences of their business practices."

"I know you would go if you could," he forestalled Tiran, raising one palm. "But your duties lie here. As do yours, little one." He smiled again at Gida. "I'll have need of you both, if things go as I've foreseen."

"You never used to concern yourself with the future," Obi-Wan murmured.

"I was wrong." Qui-Gon squared his shoulders, face alight with certainty-- Obi-Wan realized Gida and Tiran were each staring at him with awe, rapt, entranced by his conviction and his charisma. That kind of magnetism could be perilous, in the hands of the wrong person, and seeing it in Qui-Gon made Obi-Wan deeply uneasy.

"I believe you are correct about the Trade Federation's predatory intentions; however, I need to see what you say you have to show me," Obi-Wan decided reluctantly. Windu was right about one thing-- Qui-Gon was extremely dangerous. "I'll have to report to the Council, first." He rose to return to his room.

"I cannot allow that." Qui-Gon sighed. "The security risk is too great; I believe the Jedi are compromised, even to the highest levels."

"You said you trusted Yoda."

"As much as I trust any Jedi, but I do not trust him in this. Not when all our lives are at stake, not when the time is not yet ripe for him to know."

"Nevertheless, I have a duty to--"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, as if in pain, and raised a palm to silence him. "I hoped it would not be necessary, but you force my hand. You'll find that your communications equipment will not function, Obi-Wan."

"You sabotaged it while I was sleeping."

"I did it while you bathed." He did not raise his eyes, waiting.

"You aren't doing much to earn my trust, you realize." Obi-Wan folded his arms, already knowing the answer to his next question. "If I decided to depart now and be done with this, would I be allowed to go?"

"No," Qui-Gon admitted quietly. "You would not."

"I thought as much." Obi-Wan leaned back. "It's just as well, then, that I planned to agree."

"Yes." Qui-Gon looked up at him at last, eyes dark, almost desperate. "Forgive me."

"Unlikely." Obi-Wan stood, gathering his dignity. "I see the cost of accepting your offer would have been even more than I anticipated."

Qui-Gon's eyes closed again, and he seemed to shrink within himself. "So too would the reward." He sounded almost fragile.

"I'll be the judge of that." He retreated to the door. "Tiran, Gida, it's been my pleasure to see you both again. I apologize for my childish behavior, and I hope you won't hold it against me."

Tiran flashed an angry stare at him and did not speak, reaching out to stroke Qui-Gon's arm, comforting him. Qui-Gon covered the King's hand with his own, patting his fingers.

Gida sighed. "The housemaids won't watch themselves, I suppose." She tugged her blouse straight and arranged her hair. "I'll see you when you return, Obi." She stepped up to him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Don't be so harsh with him. He loves you," she whispered in his ear, and ghosted away.

Obi-Wan had his own opinions of that.

He went back to his room-- his pleasant jail-- and packed away his few things, testing his neutered comlink and confirming Qui-Gon's claim. He tossed it in the bottom of his pack; he might eventually be able to repair it, given access to the right components.

Prepared for travel, he went again to the balcony, where the sea still muttered restlessly against the marble promontory. He had vaguely hoped to get down there, to see the tidepools and wade in the sand. But as Jedi, all too often he did not get to enjoy the worlds he visited.

He retrieved his cloak and wrapped it around him: he felt better wrapped inside the mantle of the Jedi, symbol and signifier of his duty. It would be easier to be cold to Qui-Gon now that his good faith had been betrayed, now that the man himself had made Obi-Wan's role clear. And yet, he could not help but regret declining the night he might have spent in Jinn's bed, letting himself enjoy the pleasure that was offered, letting himself fall in love with his old master again, letting himself believe in the tenderness he had been shown, letting himself ignore that this was not the same man he had once known.

"My master wouldn't fuck me even if he turned to the Dark Side; for then, he would no longer be my master," Obi-Wan murmured, realizing he had finally found the correct answer to the riddle. Tears stung his eyes, unexpected. What fools they had been to play that game, so young and innocent, unheeding. Perhaps this was one of the insights Yoda had hoped he would find here.

He sensed Qui-Gon at his door, and went in to meet him, shutting the windows and taking up his pack.

"Our ship is ready." Qui-Gon led him forth. "I think you'll find it well-appointed. We have a considerable journey ahead of us."

"Did you remember to pack the sand?" Obi-Wan said without thinking, and regretted the flash of wistfulness in Qui-Gon's eyes.

"Have you expanded your skills?"

"Not at sorting sand." Obi-Wan shook his head briskly. "But I believe I could surprise you in the training salle."

"There is a suitable room on the ship."

"I'll challenge you to a match, then." It would be wise to take the man's measure and learn whatever he could of him. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

PART II - The Mission