Master Apprentice
Archive
Walking on Broken Glass
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Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Archive: M_A
Category: Angst / Drama / Hurt/Comfort / First Time
Rating: NC-17
Summary: His life destroyed, Obi-Wan fights for his future
Disclaimer: Obi and Qui belong to George
Note 1: Thousand thank yous to M'Ki Sejaei, the best lector ever, and to Caroline K. Carbis for a very thorough copyediting
Note 2: This story was originally published in the zine "Living Force, vol. II" (2001), accompanied by three paintings by the author Feedback: Very welcome
Chapter I ------
The setting sun fingered in brilliant beams over Coruscant's high skies, painting the swirls of storm-blown cirrus clouds in all possible hues of saturated red--it was one of the last of the planet's natural beauties but tonight it failed utterly to touch Obi-Wan's heart.
He squinted into the brightness, taking deep breaths of already chilled and moist evening air, determined to get his head clear again, needing to dissolve the emotional clogging the latest argument with his master had caused. His calm was only faŤade, he was still hurt, still furious about how little his master valued his opinion about his Chosen One obsession.
Quiet breathing did not quiet his thoughts nor did it do anything useful to his emotions and giving up, Obi-Wan reached out to the Force for help. The connection was instant and true but it did not bring the stillness and calm he craved; a sudden chill of dread made him shiver and left him covered from head to toe in a thin coat of cold sweat, and trembling, he swayed forward, catching himself with his elbows against the high rail that separated him from the two-hundred meters of open space down to the Temple's roof. His hands inside the robe's wide sleeves closed around each other like clamps, his breath hitching, his gaze fixed as if glued to the bright burning before him.
Obi-Wan saw the sun becoming a formless amoeba, its gelatinous mass melting over the endless city-vista, suffocating it, rolling over the surface like a firestorm, consuming the megalopolis, running all around the planet, coming up to him, the towers of the Temple breaking in the wavefront like dried weed, the infernal heat melting the flesh from his bones; Obi-Wan lost his balance, his hands freeing themselves from the cloth and locking around the rail in white-knuckled panic. Blinking against the blinding glare, he saw only black dots until his eyes adjusted again and before him once more was only the harmless big ball of the setting sun. Its benevolent rays caressed his shock-chilled face with warm fingers and in a paradoxical reaction he shivered, ice around his heart.
Again. It had happened again.
Lately these fugue states overcame him much too often for comfort. As long as he only felt a Darkness waiting just beyond the horizon he could ignore it, but these flashes he'd had ever since this mission started were much more unsettling.
He stiffened the shields around himself even more, unwilling to let the other feel any of his disquiet, unwilling to get lectured again by his master, who stood beside him, only a few armlengths between them that might as well have been parsecs.
Obi-Wan had tried to warn his master when they had stepped out onto the balcony a short while ago. He had spoken from the depth of his intuition which had kicked in again as they'd stood before the Council, giving their report about the supposed Sith-warrior and presenting Anakin Skywalker for evaluation and training.
But his master wouldn't listen. As usual he had just admonished him again to live in the Now, not to get lost in the nebulous currents of the future as he was prone to.
How often had he heard those words, spoken softly or with exasperation and leaving him always feeling like a little boy who feared a monster under his bed.
His master wanted to be stubborn again, his mind set, his view narrowed down to what he thought was the right path, guided by the Living Force, insisting he just would do what he had to do.
But Obi-Wan just couldn't shake the feeling of dread; in fact it only got stronger. His flash right now while tapping into the Force confirmed the source of his disquiet right inside that all-connecting-power, the itch in the back of his mind warning him of something hovering behind them, ready to strike.
And the boy from Tatooine was the reason, the hub, the eye of the storm.
He blinked up at Qui-Gon and saw him lost in thought, oblivious to his padawan's turmoil. The warm red light illuminated the older man's face, rinsing out shadows and lines and Obi-Wan's heart twitched again, whispering: How I love you; and the feeling was agony. As if he had heard, his master turned to him and his soft eyes locked with Obi-Wan's. But whatever Qui-Gon saw in the younger man's features it obviously wasn't the naked love and boundless devotion Obi-Wan felt.
"You still have much to learn, my young Apprentice," Qui-Gon said mildly and clasped his shoulder in a firm grip, doubtlessly meant to be reassuring, to cushion the bite of the earlier reprimand. The touch meant Qui-Gon forgave him his too loudly voiced critique but the words themselves were a reminder of the ultimate inequality of their relationship as teacher and student.
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan shut his eyes and willing his mind away from visions of Darkness he concentrated on what he'd learned out of their latest...difference in opinion.
In one sense his master was unquestionably right: He did have much to learn, yet. Especially about people. Especially about a man called Qui-Gon Jinn. While he mostly could predict his master's reactions, now and again he found himself as surprised by him as anybody else.
It wasn't only the difference in experience but also the difference of perception. His master relied heavily on what the bright currents of the ever shifting Living Force were telling him, while he, Obi-Wan, felt mostly the greater context, felt past and future when he asked the Force for guidance. But his understanding in what he saw and felt was still grossly imperfect while his master could rely on his intuition like very few others.
He knew Qui-Gon often des-paired over his student's fre-quently displayed lack of empathy and Obi-Wan himself was very much aware of how far he still had to go. He worked hard on himself, took Qui-Gon's ever patient teachings very much to heart, knowing that he had to learn to be more in tune with the Living Force if he was to become the Jedi his master wanted him to be.
But if Qui-Gon was sometimes exasperated with him, Obi-Wan was certainly more often so with Qui-Gon!
Yet...most of what he opposed so vehemently now was perhaps only born out of the 'foolishness of youth,' as Master Yoda was so fond of reminding him. And he had the suspicion that someday he might come to see many things the way his master did. Nevertheless, in the here and now it seemed to him that Qui-Gon sometimes confused the intuition and feelings born out of his own soft heart with the Will of the Force.
And with Qui-Gon's newest object of obsession Obi-Wan was sure there was trouble ahead. He had felt it. When the child had clasped his hand in greeting, looking at him with those joyful and guileless eyes, he had smiled back automatically--but in truth he had wanted to snatch his hand away. Because just for a second he had felt cold and nauseated.
At the time he had explained the reaction away, thought it in truth caused by his fear over Qui-Gon's narrow escape from the black warrior they'd had the misfortune to encounter on Tatooine.
But now--his own intuition cried loudly into his ears that his vision, his dark premonitions had a definite connection to Anakin Skywalker. Somehow this was all tangled up together.
Obi-Wan's thoughts turned to where Anakin was being tested this minute. The Council, he wondered, would they feel it? Master Yoda had the gift of clairvoyance: Would he feel and see what Obi-Wan did? And if not, would this mean there was nothing to fear? Or would it just mean that the Force had chosen to warn him and no other? Which made no sense. Obi-Wan had no answers until he had heard the Council's verdict. Until he had talked to Master Yoda at the first possible opportunity.
Obi-Wan just wished his master had at least the slightest gift for seeing the future. He longed to share his experience with him, longed to seek his advice first.
But he knew it would be to no avail as he had seen his master holding stubbornly to his beliefs before and mostly he had even thought it an admirable trait. But this time Qui-Gon held on with a never-before felt single-minded determination, one excluding everything else, every word of reason. Not even when voiced by his own master--or his padawan.
It was this which frightened--and angered--Obi-Wan to no little extent. These were the feelings that had brought on his flash of disaster. Obi-Wan stiffened as another explanation occurred to him. Could it be he had even caused what he had seen and felt with his dark feelings? It had happened before. But he had been so sure--
Obi-Wan expelled a harsh breath as he had a sinking feeling he had defeated himself again today, had let himself be ruled again by his own anxiety kindled by a new and very imperfect talent. He looked down onto his white-knuckled hands and with conscious effort made them relax their hold on the rail. He held up his fingers, saw them shaking. Still the same failures as ever. Still he let his perceptions, born in anger and fear, determine his reality. He had thought to have overcome it. Had become controlled and calm, had learned never to completely lose his touch with the Force. This was a real drawback indeed, humbling him in face of his obviously overblown self-confidence.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt the hand on his shoulder move--a hand he had actually forgotten was there--and brush up the nape of his neck to take hold of his short knight's tail for a moment before moving on to settle on his other shoulder. The small tug on his hair brought Obi-Wan the cherished memory of his master's fingers in his hair, not a year ago, when he had granted him this visible sign of coming maturity. It had meant his master was beginning to see the knight he was becoming and Obi-Wan hoped he would also start to see the man in the child he had raised. He dreamt of seeing love in Qui-Gon's gentle eyes so that he would look at Obi-Wan in favor when Obi-Wan actually mustered the nerve to go through with his plans to offer him the Vows after his Rising.
His skin prickled where the callused thumb was rubbing little half-circles onto his nape right over the hem of his tunic and Obi-Wan waited for Qui-Gon to say something. After a silence-filled minute he ventured a look up into his master's face and was surprised to see him again lost in his own thoughts, his eyes unfocused, his head canted slightly as if listening to something distant.
Obi-Wan felt annoyance, chased by apprehension, as he had expected Qui-Gon would of course have felt his turmoil, would now ask him about it, would offer to help him to dispel his anxieties into the Force.
It couldn't be his shielding had been that good, not when they were in bodily contact!
Concerned he felt along their bond and found it closed on Qui-Gon's side. Hurt by the rejection Obi-Wan shrunk back into his own mind and stepped away from his teacher, causing the hand to fall off his shoulder.
"Padawan?"
Obi-Wan looked back at him, saw Qui-Gon rubbing his forehead, gazing at him with a quizzical expression. "Yes, Master?"
Qui-Gon sighed and blinked his eyes as if to clear them, his fingers moving in circles as he used acupressure on his temples. "I think--I think you have still much to learn, my Padawan."
Obi-Wan stared at him. This was unbelievable. Qui-Gon had taken up their discarded conversation as if the last ten minutes of silence hadn't happened? But, be it so: If his master wanted to ignore him he could manage.
"I still have so much to learn, you're right, Master," he echoed the words, concentrating on the truth of the statement, yielding to Qui-Gon's game. "And do you think I will ever know everything I need, about what makes the universe tick, how people think, how the Living--?"
"My Obi-Wan, I fear you will never know all there is to know," Qui-Gon interrupted him in a low voice. "Nobody will ever know everything. We can only learn as much as we can and in the end gracefully acknowledge our own ignorance."
Relieved that his master was really talking with him again, even if it was only about abstractions, Obi-Wan felt a part of the heaviness in his heart lift. "Did you, Master? Acknowledge your own ignorance?"
Qui-Gon looked down to him with the slightest air of ruefulness. "I confess, it's difficult sometimes."
"Sometimes?" Obi-Wan teased quietly, the edges of his lips quivering upwards.
Qui-Gon chuckled softly in his subdued manner and pulled his apprentice to his side.
Obi-Wan let him, feeling the warmth return to his heart. It had become rare in the last year or so for his master to be so affectionate and he intended to enjoy it as long as it lasted.
"So you think someday I will know at least enough to be a knight?" he asked, not out of need for an answer but for just hearing Qui-Gon talk with him, to hear him laugh and have him with him again in all ways that counted.
A big sigh shuddered through the man beside him, causing Obi-Wan to look up to him and he watched as the stark features clouded over again. Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, his unblinking gaze on the redwashed horizon where the sun was just disappearing. The ruby light on his master's face turned to a gloomy blue, suddenly making him look older than his years.
Obi-Wan could tell that Qui-Gon was pondering some problem, he seemed deep in thought and the solution brought him sorrow. But why sorrow? Disquieted Obi-Wan wanted to ask but was stopped by the movement of the fingers that held his shoulder. The large hand curled around his neck and for a long second his face was pressed into the hot flesh of his master's throat.
"You already do," Qui-Gon said huskily and stepped back, breaking all contact, leaving Obi-Wan's left side cold and his heart ready to break out of his chest. He shivered, feeling bereft of more than the comforting body heat of his master, sensing that more than just Qui-Gon's physical self had stepped away from him.
A chill touched his soul and the feeling of upcoming dread settled back on his shoulders with the abruptness of a thunder clap, but the sudden attentive look on his master's face halted all he could have thought to say.
"We are summoned," Qui-Gon announced and turned to lead the way back into the Council Chamber leaving Obi-Wan no option but to hurry after him.
Chapter II ------
Qui-Gon more or less reacted calmly to the Council's decision not to train Anakin. But Obi-Wan knew his master felt rejected once more by his seniors, his opinion not valued.
Obi-Wan in his turn could sympathize well with these feelings, had in fact much experience with them and knew how frustrated they always made him when his mas--Casting a look at his master he made sure he schooled his features not to show his thoughts. When Qui-Gon became this stubborn he seldom got anywhere with the Council. Sometimes it was amazing how a man with such distinguished diplomatic skills--as he showed again and again in his dealings with total strangers--could fail so spectacularly to convince those whose minds he knew best.
The Council didn't always appreciate Qui-Gon's often creative interpretations of the Code and it found absolutely no humor in what Obi-Wan feared the Council saw as a holier-than-thou attitude when it came to sensitivity to the Living Force or even touchier, interpreting the Will of the Force.
Qui-Gon was really much more in tune with the Living Force than anybody else in this room--with exception of Master Yoda perhaps; this even Obi-Wan could see clearly and he knew it hurt Qui-Gon deeply to be misunderstood so often. And even though he didn't always agree with Qui-Gon's causes, Obi-Wan admired the older man deeply for his strength and courage to stand up against the Council, fighting for his beliefs. Qui-Gon had taught him a lot about taking responsibility for one's actions and standing up for them even against intimidating opposition.
Obi-Wan watched his master attentively, not happy with the signs of stress on his master's face. The lines around his eyes deepened by the second; a vein in his temple had began to pulse visibly, testimony that the headache he had seen rising earlier was still there. Qui-Gon even lowered his head for a moment to press thumb and forefinger against the root of his nose. Worry for him stole into Obi-Wan's heart and only added to the frustrating disquiet he still felt like a coiled snake in the back of his mind, not to mention the cold deep in his guts. This was not right, something was not right and became more so each second. Obi-Wan looked to the Council to see if they felt it too, but their faces showed just mild annoyance if anything.
His eyes flickered back and he saw his master straighten up, his head held high, his mouth and eyes set, a posture Obi-Wan knew all too well, meaning Qui-Gon had come to a decision. Oh, Master, he thought miserably, don't fight them--
"Then I will take Anakin as my padawan-learner," Qui-Gon said very firmly.
Obi-Wan's head shot around as if slapped. He watched as the tall man stepped behind the boy and laid his hands possessively on the narrow shoulders. Proclaiming: Mine!
This was the act of Renunciation and Claiming. His master was sending him away. The coldness in his belly exploded into a wave that filled his veins with ice, freezing him into immobility.
No. Please, no.
He knew his heart was bleeding out of his eyes as he looked up to his master's face again, searching for emotion, for understanding in a world suddenly gone mad. But Qui-Gon's features were impassive, closed. As if he did not even know he was still there, as if he did not care if he was.
Obi-Wan's gaze flickered to Anakin's beaming face and remembered a youth who'd pleaded on his knees to be taken as padawan-learner. And was turned down. Again. And again. Taken on eventually like all the other pathetic life-forms Qui-Gon Jinn managed to collect on his travels. A youth, who had done everything to please, to prove himself worthy. Who at last thought he belonged, was wanted, even loved. Fooling himself.
"No master can have two padawans, Qui-Gon," Master Windu reminded in such a disbelieving voice it said very clearly he thought the other man out of his mind...
"Obi-Wan is ready to take his Trials."
No, Obi-Wan tried to whisper. Was this all a dream? It became more surreal by the second. This must be one of his damn flashes--let it be one of his flashes, he would come out of it soon, he must come out of it--
A nudge against his mind, a whisper filtered through his wavering shields: Padawan, attend!
And ever the good, little, obedient student he felt himself stepping forward, focusing ahead.
"I am ready!" he declared as if saying a line out of a stage drama, startling himself with the inane words. He saw Master Yoda's ears droop; the big green eyes regarded him sadly before they turned to Qui-Gon again. Obi-Wan watched the lips move. Heard him arguing with his master, not really understanding through the roaring white noise encompassing him.
"...ready he is not..."
"...insist..."
"...will not fail..."
"...and if he fails? Know you..."
"...Yes, my Master, but..."
"...Qui-Gon, you cannot..."
"...Mace! He is the Chosen One, are you all blind..."
"...Qui-Gon, see reason..."
"...do, what I have to do..."
"...deny him his future..."
"...Obi-Wan will..."
"...not ready, you damn fool..."
"...it is my right..."
Loud silence.
Obi-Wan blinked, found Master Yoda's eyes on him again with such inexplicable sadness in their ageless depths.
"Your right, it is," the old Jedi master conceded, voice weary, defeated. He looked down to where his fingers gripped his stick, knuckles white under dull green skin. "Great sorrow you bring me, Qui-Gon."
"I'm sorry, my Master. But I can't deny the Will of the Force."
There was something like anger sparkling in the elder's eyes and the downcast ears dipped backwards. "Will of the Force, Qui-Gon? I foresee learn the hard way about the Will of the Force, you shall."
"So be it."
Obi-Wan couldn't see his master but sensed him turning away to lead Anakin to the doors. He started moving, to follow Qui-Gon, as he had done half of his life.
"Stay you will, Obi-Wan." Yoda's voice halted him before he could take more than the first step.
He looked over to the entrance, his eyes sucked to cold blue ones staring back at him, telling him something, but what, he couldn't grasp and he snapped his eyes away from the boy's with effort, searching for his master's, needing desperately to understand what was happening here. He felt along their bond--but his master just turned, leading the boy outside, and the chamber's doors closed behind them. In Obi-Wan's mind a door, too, slammed shut, causing a psychic chill that lashed back at him, making him cringe as if a rain of needle-fine ice-crystals had come down on his unprotected brain.
Behind his eyes a dull ache began to spread.
"Come to me, you will," Master Yoda said mildly and tapped his stick on the tiles in front of him.
Obediently Obi-Wan went to the indicated spot and dropped down on one knee, the marble stone radiating icy coldness through the thin cloth of his trousers.
"Understand what your master proposed, do you?"
NoNoNo.
"N--no, Master Yoda."
The old master exchanged a look with Mace Windu.
"Your master proposed your Trials, Obi-Wan."
Yes, he had heard him say that. But he had not understood.
"Your master is pressing the issue and...it is his right to do so, by the Code. Yet we are not happy with his decision, Obi-Wan, so much we tell you. This is not the time. We have more pressing matters to attend to. And besides that..." Master Windu looked at Yoda again, as if asking for help.
"I am not ready," Obi-Wan answered for him, his voice devoid of life.
Yoda's ears twitched. He nodded. "Agree we do, young one."
Obi-Wan dropped his eyes. Silence crept through his whole being, not the silence of serene acceptance but the silence of shut-down nerves, of utter numbness. Only the steady pain behind his eyes remained and demanded part of his awareness.
"But test you, we wish, Obi-Wan. After that decide we will."
He just nodded and kept his head down, his eyes unfocused on the rustbrown swirls, stylized light flares of a lit lightsaber. Strange, he had never realized before how strongly it resembled a sword-lily, leaves and...
"Drop your shields and let us see the bond."
His head snapped up. His inner defenses closed over the deep reaches of his mind; he was shocked by even the suggestion someone could come there, touch there, someone other than his master would look at the roots of their bond, follow their Force-shimmering strands to all the parts of his mind to which they connected.
"Padawan?"
Obi-Wan found himself shaking, the inner tremor had reached the surface and he linked his hands to hold them still, not aware how his fingers turned slowly white from the cut-off circulation. He suddenly found it hard to hold his balance on one knee and grabbed at the Force to steady him.
The connection with the Force brought the outside world back to him with a slam. He felt the currents in the Council Chamber, felt the individual Force-signatures of the people around him, felt their surface curiosity, their doubts, their sorrow, their compassion, their pity. Pity. Strongest from the one slightly to his right. Master Windu. He felt pity. For Obi-Wan. His eyes locked with the steady, serene gaze of the elder.
"Padawan, have you heard?"
"I...do not understand, Master Windu."
"To judge your readiness we have to examine the state of your training-bond."
"Let us see the bond, now, Obi-Wan," Knight Mundi said from his left, a puff of impatience in the Force.
Master Windu looked up and shot a disapproving stare over to his fellow councilor. But then he nodded. "Let us see the bond. Open your mind to us, Padawan."
Windu's command was Force-enhanced and Obi-Wan struggled for a second before he obeyed. He felt the whisper of minds touching him, no, not hurting, more like an increasing itch he couldn't scratch, causing him to screw his eyes shut to the outside, concentrating on the inside world, on the sensation of being invaded. It was not a comfortable feeling at all but it harbored no threat until they reached the place where the bond with his master--
Blinding pain exploded behind his eyes and he screamed.
Consciousness returned with the confusing sight of Master Gallia's face above him, connecting her with the sensation of a scalding hot hand stroking soothingly over his forehead. She did not look at him and he automatically followed her line of vision and found Yoda and Windu kneeling at his side, deep in a whispered discussion.
Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath and together with air came the awareness of pain in his chest; it hurt as if his breastbone was broken, the inner tissues of his throat and trachea sore as if he had screamed his heart out. Perhaps he had, judging from the hurt where his heart was normally located. Each beat was agony. Each breath rattled around a body shivering miserably from the cold that seemed to have seeped into every cell. What had happened? He lifted his head and the hand on his brow shifted away for a second and pain lanced through his brain, making him want to rip out his eyes to get to that splitting pain behind them...the hand was back again and the agony subsided to a dull background throbbing.
"Hush," Gallia crooned and Obi-Wan felt his hackles rise at the tone as if he were a five-year-old and he reached up to brush away the offending fingers. Something rapped against his leg and he winced, pulling away from it.
"Lie still, you will!" Yoda's voice was harsh and Obi-Wan subsided instantly.
He looked up into dark eyes of Master Gallia. She smiled at him. "Be calm, Obi-Wan. All is well. Everything will be all right."
All was well? He didn't think so. He didn't feel as if anything would ever be all right again. He gulped painfully and tried to get together enough saliva to make his swollen tongue work.
"What happened?" he croaked out, knowing it an inane question but nonetheless the only one which encompassed all the others which clambered around in his mind in ever increasing number.
"Right we were," Yoda answered.
"You are not ready," Master Poof declared airily from behind him.
"Be still!" Yoda rapped at the other, clearly annoyed, causing Obi-Wan to flinch in startlement while he took in a series of tiny, shaking breaths, unable to get air in deeper between his constricting ribs as his mind closed around the information. It didn't really surprise him: He had known, had he not? He pressed his eyelids shut, dismayed, as he felt a tear squeeze out from under his lashes. He was not ready. Would never be. His master...hadn't he been so sure Obi-Wan was? At least he thought he remembered Qui-Gon arguing this point with the Council. Insisting on Obi-Wan taking his Trials. Insisting that Obi-Wan was ready for them. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't believed in him. Or had there been another reason--he couldn't quite remember. As he couldn't remember why he was lying in Master Gallia's lap, weak like a baby, thoughts in muddled disarray. And feeling so cold. Why was he so cold?
"I'd like to know..." he gulped more air into his burning lungs and felt an annoying cough creeping up his throat. He tried to lift his head but the hand on his forehead held him down.
"Shh," the woman said again and his eyes snapped up to hers once more. "It will subside, Obi-Wan. Just rest and be calm. You're in shock."
"But I must know..."
A gnarled finger pressed down on his lips. "Hear her, you do."
Obi-Wan let himself sink back again in Master Gallia's lap and just asked with his eyes, begging not to be hushed, not to be ignored.
Yoda relented. "Your master...great error, he made."
"Tell me, Obi-Wan," Mace Windu put in. "When did your master begin to dampen your training-bond?"
Obi-Wan blinked bewildered. He had no idea what the councilor was asking him.
"He did not..."
"He did not dampen your bond?"
Obi-Wan shook his head and regretted it dearly as the pain shot back behind his brow. Windu leant nearer to him and his eyes were like black storm-clouds. "Tell me this, then. Did your master mention to you when he expected you to take your Trials?"
"Not really. But I thought, I thought--" Obi-Wan's dazed mind skipped to the image of his brushy, little knight's tail, "--in about three years..."
"Three years!" Windu almost roared and Master Gallia put out a startled hand to him while Yoda's ears just dipped back as the dark-skinned councilor faced him. "I knew it, Yoda. I knew it! What did he think he was doing..."
"I am sure he only meant to dampen it down a little, Mace," Master Gallia said, her rich alto-soprano a Force-caress. "I will not believe Qui-Gon did this deliberately."
"You always think only the best of him, Adi. But this time he has gone too far."
Obi-Wan could not stand them fighting over his head. He tried to sit up and this time Master Gallia helped him until he rested with his head against her shoulder, while he willed the dizziness away, breathing deeply to get over the sudden nausea, calling on the Force to help him not disgrace himself by getting sick all over several Council members. After a moment he managed to get to his knees, shrugging away the many hands grabbing him as he swayed.
"Please!" he hissed, holding up his own hands defensively, while gulping great lungfuls of air into his sweat-drenched body. To his astonishment the masters moved away one by one and settled again in their respective seats.
Sitting once more with his feet crossed, his stick on his knees, Master Yoda sighed and looked at him gravely. "Know what happened you must, when examining the bond we tried."
With a sidewise glance at the little master, Windu continued: "The bond, Obi-Wan, the bond snapped when we touched it. You reacted with...blind panic at the suddenness and for a moment your mind shut down under the overload."
Blind panic, shut down, overload, yes, these words rang true for what still echoed in his mind...
The bond had snapped--it could not be, must not be! Frantically he reached inside, tried to locate it and found only emptiness where it had been, the place unlit and cold. A dull numbness radiated from that part of his brain, trillions of disconnected neurons withering, starving, firing disjointedly along ripped apart axons, dripping energy into the Force. He found himself sucked down into the stillness, the empty place like a frozen pond, all life ceased under its reflecting, black surface--and tasted despair. The despair he had overcome so long ago, years ago, ten years ago.
"Obi-Wan," Mace Windu urged his awareness to the outside world again, to the headache, the gnawing hole in his chest, to the hollow, shivering self he had become. "Tell me again. Your master said he saw you ready for your Trials in about three years? You say he did not begin to dampen the bond?"
"No, Master Windu."
"Did he tell you why the bond has to be dampened down shortly before the Trials?"
"No, Master Windu," he said again, his bewilderment growing. The dark-skinned man sighed and sat forward in his seat, bringing his face nearer to Obi-Wan's, looking at him from almost the same level.
"I see. So I will tell you, so you will understand why we ask you these questions. Some of what I will say now you will already know, other things you might have guessed. But anyway, it's not the grade of your physical and scholastic skills which marks the threshold for the final step into maturity, Obi-Wan, as the mind does not mature at the same rate as the body does, generally not in humans and especially not in a Jedi. The mind needs guidance up to the point where it is stable enough, sure enough, knowledgeable enough to assimilate the Force without the training-bond. Knighthood marks a certain level of emotional stability, the mature way of how the mind communes with the Force. The nearer a mind gets to this level, the more the bond fades and withers on its own, its function ceasing to bind a padawan to his master for guidance and protection. And to help this process along a master dampens the bond on his side, erects shields around it, usually a year prior to the Trials. This way the padawan will not be influenced by it anymore when the time comes to stand alone at his passage to knighthood."
It was hard to concentrate on all Master Windu said. It was confusing. "I thought, I thought bonds would be cut at the Rising."
Windu sat back into his chair. "No, no, bonds are never cut, they can be transferred, but they are never in themselves cut."
"Bonds are manifestations of the Force," Master Billaba added. "It would be sacrilege to destroy a bond willed and forged by the Force."
"But the bond with my master--" was it therefore not willed by the Force? It wasn't cut, it didn't wither--"It just...snapped?" Was it that weak?
"Not everything happening understand we do, young Obi-Wan." Master Yoda looked down at his hands for a moment before he continued: "Possible it could be, too much he dampened down the bond, too strong the shields your master erected. Strong willed my former padawan is." The small councilor shut his eyes, his lowered ears speaking of disappointment and sorrow.
"Master Yoda, I don't understand. My m-master, he really did not, he did not dampen the bond. I would have felt it." It had been there, had it not, clear and strong, as always, right up to--
"Oh, he did. When he left this chamber, he did."
When he left the chamber, Obi-Wan repeated in his mind. He again saw the doors closing--shutting him not only out of his master's life, but also out of their bond. In one second to the next, not in a year. Maybe that accounted for his continuing confusion, his muddled senses and the inner quivers he couldn't get under control--in fact he had the feeling they were getting stronger. He looked down at his hands where they were lying on his thighs, skin the same color as his trousers, trembling ever so slightly.
"Obi-Wan," Windu said, leaning forward to catch his gaze again. "You understand you will need a new master? The sooner the better for your own good."
"The wound in your mind, Obi-Wan," Master Gallia continued, looking compassionately into his eyes when he turned to her, "that wound must be sealed. You will feel fine again after that."
Obi-Wan stared up at her, blinking, then over to the forbidding face of Master Windu. A new master. A new bond. Residing where Qui-Gon had been forever. The coldness in him became stronger yet, impossible as it seemed, and all movement inside him came to a sudden halt.
"Where is Master Jinn?" he whispered, asking for a last confirmation of what he knew already, deep, deep inside that lonely place in the middle of his chest.
A long silence as if they were reluctant to answer him. "He left for Naboo, an hour ago," Windu said at last.
Obi-Wan nodded to himself. Left behind. So be it, then.
He breathed into the Force until the calm of his body measured up to the frozen stillness of his mind. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up. Master Yoda regarded him with lowered ears. His eyes sad and knowing. Knowing.
Somehow it made it easier.
"I cannot."
Master Windu's head snapped up while Yoda only shut his eyes as if in pain.
"I cannot," Obi-Wan repeated, his voice calm and steady.
He walked on his knees over to Master Yoda while fingers swollen and stiff unclipped his lightsaber from the belt.
"Obi-Wan, you know what you're doing? There is no turning back!"
"I know, Master Windu," not taking his eyes off the diminutive master before him.
"You will never be a knight."
"I know, Master Windu. It cannot be. Was never meant to be. Forgive me, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan leant forward and held out his 'saber on the palms of his hands. But Yoda didn't open his eyes or acknowledge him in any other way. The final rejection then? Was he not even allowed to resign in honor?
Carefully, he placed the shiny lightsaber-handle into the ancient master's lap and crawled backwards again, his forehead almost grazing the tiles.
"What now, Obi-Wan?" Master Windu asked, his voice heavy and kind for once.
"Is this still my home?"
"Always your home this will be, always Jedi you will be," Yoda said slowly and Obi-Wan looked up startled, already knowing he would find tears in the old master's eyes. Overwhelmed he pressed his face against the cold marble beneath him.
"I'm sorry, Master Yoda," he breathed brokenly, finding his calm all but illusion. "I'm sorry!" he repeated and scrambled to his feet to rush blindly out of the Council Chamber.
Chapter III ------
Obi-Wan stumbled into the bathroom and fell to his knees before the commode, his stomach giving up its hold on the little that was inside. The dry retching seemed to go on forever but eventually the urge lessened and Obi-Wan crawled into the shower in the desperate need to get warm again, to dispel the festering hoarfrost which had seeped into every crevice of his being. He sat in the small cubicle, rocking softly, letting the water pelt down on him with hurting strength until it had long become cold again. Obi-Wan dragged himself out of the icy downpour, peeled the soaked clothes from his shivering frame and tugged down his bathrobe from the nook on the inside of the door, but he found no comfort and no warmth in the thick terrycloth.
He looked up and found a hollow-eyed, pale stranger staring back at him from the mirror above the basin.
Yeah, that's you, he thought wildly. Little Kenobi, little dreamer, little idiot.
His eyes fastened on his braid, dangling like a wet rat-tail over his shoulder, silently dripping icy splashes onto his naked feet. The colored threads had loosened and the whole plait was in a sorry state, hairs sticking out in all directions. He found it fitting: obviously his braid knew when it had ceased its function. Proud mark of a Jedi padawan, of a vain little Jedi-knight-in-training, of the shining future of the Order. No future for him. Failure. Castaway. Never a knight.
What now, Obi-Wan? he asked himself, trying to bend his thoughts to reason. Maybe they would let him work at the kitchens--he was a decent cook after all, everybody said that, his master had said that and one didn't need to be a knight to chop vegetables, right, Master Windu? Or maybe, yes, he could be a physical instructor. If they would let a failed padawan near the children. Bad example.
Ah, bitterness does not become you, he told his reflection soberly, looking sternly at himself, his pale brows divided by a deep ravine. 'Don't frown, Padawan, you'll frighten the natives.' A callused thumb ran down the already deep-edged line, making him laugh. 'Better.' Obi-Wan shivered at this unwelcome memory.
He gripped the edges of the basin and leant heavily on them, taking deep breaths. A little voice in him gibbered: He will never say this to you again. He will never touch you like that again. He will never smile at you again in the way that changes his eyes into soft nightblue velveteen and makes you warm and fuzzy all over--Obi-Wan sobbed once and looked up again to meet his own bewildered gaze, wondering fleetingly when his eye-color had changed to black. He didn't understand anything that had happened. Why had this happened at all? Why, why had Qui-Gon thrown him into the testing, declaring him ready for his Trials--knowing he would fail? He must have known. Must have known the bond was not ready to let them part yet. Must have known Obi-Wan was not ready to let go of it yet. Or of him. Had his master resented him for his clinging, his need?
And what failure had Qui-Gon found in his heart, in his character to provoke him to cast his student away in such a cruel, hurtful way? Had he been so disappointed in his short-comings, had he brought so much shame to his teacher that even goodhearted-to-a-fault Qui-Gon Jinn just couldn't stand it any longer to have him at his side? A thousand questions and no answers! He needed answers, he needed his master here, to explain, needed him just here, somehow to make it right again, he needed, oh how he needed...
That's why you failed, his inner voice whispered.
He was twenty-two. Next month. He was a dependent child. He was a disgrace. His master was right. The boy would surely be a more rewarding padawan to train. Being the Chosen One, and all. How could he compete against a prophecy? Anakin...oh, would this pain behind his eyes never stop? Obi-Wan massaged his temples, irritated with his body which just didn't want to stop trembling.
As the massage didn't help, he bent down to splash cold water onto his face again, but annoyingly the tap wouldn't produce less than lukewarm liquid. This didn't help! His still soaked braid slapped him in the face as he slammed his hands against the basin. Aggravated, he seized his hair and tugged hard, producing a sharp pain above his ear. Just rip it out, he thought, and be done with it. Instead he scrabbled for the scissors in the small basket on the shelf beside the mirror and held them up against his braid, determined to end it. End it, now.
The scissors fell out of his shaking hands and landed with a clatter in the basin, his tears pearling on the stained, old metal finish, making it glitter and sparkle, hurting his eyes, making him lift them away from the sight. He couldn't do it. He couldn't. The bruised eyes in the mirror mutely reflected his anguish.
Padawan braids were sacred. The first plaiting a vow, the final cutting a ritual of passage. A master's privilege only. This was Qui-Gon's to do. He would have to look him in the eyes and say the ritual words of Renunciation. That much his master owed him--to look him in the eyes when he ripped his heart out.
Obi-Wan yanked the colored bands from the braid and worked the three strands apart with impatient fingers. He took up his comb and dragged it through the curling hair, leaving a lot of the redblond strands between the comb's teeth.
Looking at the damp, pitiful lock on his shoulder, Obi-Wan's lips curled into a self-tormenting grin. Everybody would see, everybody would know. Everybody would leave him alone and that was all he wanted now, unable to share his grief, unwilling to let anybody anywhere near his heart again.
Unbraided.
Masterless.
Ashawa'li.
He had seen it in a book, a real book he had borrowed from the Library. Study material for an obscure course on old Jedi Traditions by even more obscure Master Eto. With his eidetic memory Obi-Wan could even remember the illustrations on the pages, a text about a long discarded custom, a picture showing the visible signs of a masterless padawan, an ashawa'li. A pariah, regarded as dangerous and unpredictable, Light-forsaken, easy prey for the Darkside. For a masterless padawan was supposed to be mind-damaged by the abrupt severance of the training-bond, regardless of how it had come to happen, might it have been by accident--or being rejected by the master. Like him. But nowadays it was handled differently, right? Obi-Wan was sure he would be summoned to the soul-healers first thing next morning. To have his damaged mind set right again. His damaged mind. Was he...damaged? He didn't like that word, didn't like the text's mentioning of the Darkside. He would not turn, never, Force, never let me turn. But there was certainly something not right with him. More than something. Soul-hammering migraine and the emotional control of a baby was surely more than something.
As he tossed the scissors back into the basket, his eyes fell on the beard trimmer beside it. Qui-Gon's spare beard-trimmer. There was one more old tradition regarding ashawa'lin...
Chapter IV ------
Obi-Wan shot up in bed, his cry still ricocheting from the walls. Eyes wild, he scanned the shadows of the room, the endless flickers of light running over walls and ceiling. Hugging himself he took a deep, wavering breath, his eyes still running over the room's details as if searching for inconsistencies, of wrongness, of a trace of the red shimmer that would render the familiarity of home into another nightmare vista.
But the shadows seemed to be nothing else except what they pretended to be. That lump in the corner was nothing but the old arm-chair with a careless crumpled blanket thrown over it. The humanlike form at the other wall nothing but that exceedingly ugly wooden statuette of a fildan god that had been unreverently recruited as a cloth rack. And the flickering lights flowing in almost regular patterns over all surfaces of the room were still only the running lights of the endless stream of traffic in Coruscant's ever busy sky.
Shivering, Obi-Wan bundled himself up into the blankets again and huddled down in the middle of the big bed. He closed his eyes only to fling them open again after a few seconds, as the nightmare wraiths still lingered behind his eyelids.
Red and black.
A swirling pattern of red and black was all he had seen, but it was enough to instantly bring back the terror from which he had awoken so violently. Obi-Wan stared at the window, letting the moving lines of light wash away the lingering images from his retinas. He wished he could also wash away the feelings these images had brought with them. Stark terror branded his body and even as his mind slowly reconnected with reality, his body still shook in flight-or-fight-reaction, his breathing fast and heaving, making him increasingly light-headed.
Pulling the thick quilt up to his eyes, he concentrated on breathing in the stale hot air under the blanket, bringing his body back from hyperventilation. As his breath got more shallow and even, he became aware of the scent. Without thinking he buried his nose into the cloth's folds and his breath slowed even more as his mind connected the smell and feel of the blanket with the sight of the room. Safe. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as the warm feeling of home engulfed him. Safe and warm in his master's bed. Obi-Wan's head shot up and he looked down at the quilt, his eyes widening. He was in his master's bed. The scent of home was the scent of Qui-Gon. He took a deep breath and yes, the blanket had the distinguished aroma of the beloved big body, and not only that. He now felt the imprinting of his master's aura in it. The whole bed was a pool of Qui-Gon's lingering Force-aura.
Obi-Wan sank back into the pillows. He tried to remember how he had ended up in here, what had brought him into the sanctuary of Qui-Gon's bed for the first time since he'd been a nightmare-frightened child who was welcome in his master's arms at night. Homesickness overwhelmed him, the need for the person, not only the place, and he pressed his hands over his heart as if to patch up the hollow space inside that reminded him of all that was lost.
His eyelids fluttered and he dared not close them again, lest the nightmare image returned. The nightmare of losing his master, of being left behind, of seeing that black and red painted wraith...
Unsure about what was reality and what was dream, Obi-Wan's thoughts flew to the events of the evening before as he tried to sort out what had transpired and what not. Even if the events had a nightmarish character of their own, they were real memories, and accounted for the loneliness he felt, the dull hurt behind his eyes, that cold inside his chest.
As much as he wished he wouldn't, he did remember the last evening. At least to the point of his return to these quarters; after that he had only the most vague impressions of despair and spiking terror connected with this swirling pattern of black and red. His nightmare. He tried to remember more of it but his only reward was the return of the disquieting feeling of imminent disaster with which he'd woken. Obi-Wan peeled himself out of the stack of blankets and quilt, recognizing the futility of his trying to remember while huddling shivering in the midst of a bed and room loaded to the spilling point with rolling emotions of every kind.
He wrapped the thick bathrobe he still wore more securely around his body and stood up, astonished his legs would actually hold him when his knees felt something akin to jelly. He shuffled out into the common room and further to the balcony door. The glass panel slid back and instantly the mild night wind enfolded him and sucked him outside where he stood for a moment and breathed in the cold air heavy with the scent of blooming luccustus. Under the leafy canopy of the potted bush he settled down into a lotus position and closed his eyes.
The sky was grazed with red when Obi-Wan swam out of his trance again. He wavered and would have fallen sideways if not for the large potted plant. Obi-Wan's trembling hand closed around one of the bushes' thick branches to steady himself and with its help sat up again, still light-headed and his vision unfocused. Slowly blinking, he was at last coming fully back into the present.
He now knew why he had felt such terror and dread when he had woken up in the small hours of the night. No simple nightmare. A true-dream, a vision whose images clung stickily to his mind now as surely as the thick sap of the luccustus ran over his hand where he had pressed down too hard on the branch, almost snapping it off. Abashed at his thoughtlessness, he straightened the injured branch and healed it, silently apologizing and gentling the flicker of distress the plant had sent out into the Force.
Keeping his thoughts firmly on nothing but his sticky fingers, Obi-Wan stood up and walked unsteadily into the bathroom to wash the plant's blood off his hand. This done, he splashed cold water onto his face and ran his fingers through his hair...his eyes jerked up and he stared into the mirror, watching his hand running over the stubble on his newly shorn head and down the wildly locked hair on his shoulder. Time not filled with memories, became meaningful again. The line between Obi-Wan's eyes deepened as his brows drew together as tightly as his lips. Whatever had happened yesterday, everything was changed now. Not only his not being a padawan anymore. Not his having his hair shorn in a moment of obvious madness--not that it wasn't somehow appropriate, it was. But these suddenly were such transitory, selfish concerns against what was on his mind now.
The first short flashes of prescience had come to him not even a week ago, culminating in the one haunting him the day before. But they had only been like a raindrop to the river of what his developing clairvoyance had shown him now. Before last night he had thought he would want this deeper connection to the Future, would want to know more about the currents he sensed in the Force but whose meaning slipped through his fingers like sand and whose place in the stream of time was unclear. But was it really a gift or a curse if one should find it was impossible to change what would come?
Master Yoda had taught him visions could be as slippery as his vague feelings of foreboding, for the future was ever changing. He'd been told it was possible he would actually cause what he'd seen, because he chose to interfere. Or chose not to. How should he ever know!? He longed to go to Master Yoda and ask him for advice, but how could he, now, after all that had happened; besides there was no time--
There was this little voice telling him he had to act fast. It said he had no time to spare anymore. He had to act now or his vision would come true and Qui-Gon Jinn would die at the hands of that black and red painted Sith-warrior who had waylaid him on Tatooine before. And all because that twice-damned stubborn, arrogant fool with his fixation on this Chosen One nonsense had left behind the one who always had fought at his side--the one who had defended his back, had been his shieldmate and companion through all the iniquities life and their calling had thrown at them. And in having done so would stand alone against an opponent he couldn't best. There was a certain irony to it, but Obi-Wan didn't care about such narrow-hearted and soul-poisoning feelings as revenge. It wasn't important anymore that Qui-Gon had hurt him, had chosen not to be his mentor, protector, and friend any longer, had taken away his support, care, and love. It had not altered Obi-Wan's feelings for him and all he wanted was for Qui-Gon to live. He couldn't imagine the universe without this man, this man of many, many failures, who was nevertheless one of the greatest of the Jedi. Without him only Darkness could reign; Obi-Wan felt it in his gut, in the back of his itching mind, his prickling neck.
And for himself, as little as it mattered against the weavings of destiny, he was not sure if he could live on when Qui-Gon died. He still felt the throb behind his eyes, felt the wound of the broken bond, knew how it felt to be alone without him in his mind.
And to have Qui-Gon actually die--he knew how that felt, too, had known when he woke up from his nightmare-turned-true-dream. Had felt those cold, breathless lips against his. Had seen those crystal-blue eyes broken and soulless. Had felt the spirit flee through his desperately gripping fingers. Had heard his own throat-tearing wail right into his waking, his heart filled with an even greater pain than the one the broken bond had caused. And he stood here, sane and sound--relatively--only because he knew it really never happened. Hadn't happened yet. Would never happen. Because he would interfere.
And if he was wrong and nothing actually occurred on Naboo, what harm would be done? He had nothing to lose anymore, his future already overshadowed and unsure.
Decision made, Obi-Wan went into his own room to hurriedly don the only civilian clothes he owned. He hadn't worn the suit for at least a year and it was unaccustomedly tight, showing he had broadened his frame with a few extra muscles for he had stopped growing taller years ago. But it should work--at least the black trousers would, the embroidered jacket wouldn't fit over his shoulders anymore without being a serious hindrance to movement--something the trained warrior he was just couldn't tolerate. Forsaking the jacket he slipped into a sleeveless black shirt and headed for the door, his hand automatically reaching for his 'saber. He stopped short and turned when it didn't come to his hand, looking to the place on the bookshelf where it normally lay when home. He stared at the empty spot for a second and then turned back around jerkily. How could he have forgotten? Scooping up his robe from where it lay crumpled on the floor, he was out into the hall before the door had time to open all the way.
Standing on the steps of the main entrance, he turned to cast one last look up the tall faŤade, up to the far away towers crowning the Temple, silently asking forgiveness for what he was about to do. Taking out his comlink he called a taxi, carefully selecting one with a living driver as he had no money. A little voice in him protested his plans, questioned his motives, quoted the Code to him. He didn't listen.
As they reached their destination, the driver turned to him. "That will be four credits, gentle Sir Jedi," she said, looking open and friendly at Obi-Wan. This was getting much, much harder than he had thought.
"You have never seen me," he said, and a simple hand-gesture wiped the memory from the old rodian's mind. Crime number one.
He easily gained access to the high security area surrounding the hangar housing the Senate's starships and shuttles, leaving several glassy-eyed guards in his wake.
Obi-Wan looked around the vast area, the specifics of the red-painted ships scrolling down before his inner eyes. He needed speed. Above everything else, he needed speed. There.
The security lock at the ramp was easily broken as was the access code to the navigation computer. The engines roared to life behind him, their caged power a strong subsonic pulse around him as he hurried through the pre-flight check. His selection for a transport had possibly one more advantage--maybe, just maybe it all would be much easier than he had feared. Nevertheless, he readied himself for whatever must be done to get him away from here should they ask him for codes and authorizations. Obi-Wan had been on this ship before, knew the protocols. Actually there were none. Nobody dared ask the owner of this yacht where he went to and why. Obi-Wan activated the comm, sending out the ship's ID. A deep breath and his voice dipped down to an accented rumble: "Good Morning, Control. This is Republic One. Captain Wedgwil Reeza speaking. Code blue, priority blue. Repeat, priority blue. Request immediate countdown and start window."
The comm crackled for a moment and Obi-Wan was already sure they would call his bluff. Then: "Good Morning, Captain Reeza. Commander Mareel sends greetings and tells me to remind you about the invitation. She says her husband will be disappointed if you aren't back in time. Otherwise, priority blue confirmed. Countdown at will, Window at will. Bon Voyage."
Obi-Wan felt sweat running down his back as he tried to remember the name of Base Commander Mareel's mate. He couldn't remember. But who cared, he really didn't think this was a trap..."Control, please tell Mareel I will be on time. Thank you, Control. Republic One out."
As the streamlined little ship roared away from the gravity well of Coruscant, Obi-Wan let out a long-held breath. It seemed there were, after all, merits to traveling on the Supreme Chancellor's state yacht.
Chapter V ------
Obi-Wan ghosted through the corridors of the Royal Palace of Theed. The ugly sound of distant fighting echoed through the decadently decorated hallways, but concentrating on Qui-Gon's faint Force-signature, Obi-Wan knew he would not find him there. The Force urged him to hurry, and he ran along a dim corridor, his mind preoccupied with the pressing need to find his master as fast as possible. He rounded a corner and came face to face with the muzzles of three droid-held laser rifles.
Obi-Wan jumped back and reached for his lightsaber--his hand falling on his empty belt. At this threatening move the foremost battle droid opened fire on him, giving him no time to react but to raise his hand in uncentered, instinctive defense, the lethal beam not deflected, but splintering in a shower of sparks against his shrieking flesh. Obi-Wan cried out as white agony shot up his arm and he fell to the ground, the injured limb pressed protectively against his chest.
"Surrender immediately or be executed," the leading droid's tinny voice demanded dispassionately and Obi-Wan snarled at it with bared teeth, stabbing out with his good hand and letting all three droids meet their fate at the opposite corridor wall where they burst apart into dozens of pieces.
Moaning, Obi-Wan crept to his feet again and made it down the corridor, stumbling more than running, while he inspected his right hand. There was a blistering wound in the middle of his palm; each and every nerve in his arm seemed to be on fire from the overload as price for his absentminded folly of giving away a split second of advantage by groping for a weapon he no longer owned. This regression into habit could have cost him his life. As well as his lack of concentration on the Now, of what was directly in front of him that had led him into the confrontation in the first place. He hadn't been so mindless for years! He clamped the palms of his hands together and channeled healing energy into the wound, but his concentration now lay on where he was going, all senses tuned forward, all awareness in scanning his surroundings for other nice surprises he could do without.
His intuition led him to a nondescript doorway in a narrow side corridor. A maintenance hatch it looked to be. Making short work of the lock, he slipped through and found himself on some narrow walkway along the outside edge of a power generator hall, a huge cavern filled with white-blue pillars of focused energy running through a kilometer long shaft down into the rocky spine of the planet.
All his Force-senses screamed for his attention now, being near the light he sought, being near another strong presence in the Force, a Dark rippling of astounding magnitude. The Sith.
Crawling along the edge of the walkway, away from the electrical buzz of the nearest energy shaft, he looked down. Gangways crisscrossed the hall and on one, many levels below his perch, three strips of light moved in a deadly dance around each other, red and green and red.
Obi-Wan did not linger to watch. Dimming his own presence in the Force so as not to alarm the fighters, he found his way down to them, level by level.
When he was only three walkways above them, he let himself take a look again. Now he could see them clearly. Qui-Gon was holding his own against the Sith, which wielded its double-ended 'saber like a quarterstaff, forcing the Jedi master to parry at a much higher speed than if against a single 'saber. Their movements were too fast to discern more than two arcs of crimson lightning against a green flame, always there to meet them in a burst of bright energy. Qui-Gon was fighting for his life with more finesse and speed than Obi-Wan had ever seen him use before, one with the Force, the Light like a halo around him. It was glorious, it was fearsome, it was exactly as in his vision, and Obi-Wan fought his own battle against the panic that tried to overcome him again at the pictures rising, cold sweat plastered his shirt to his back, his lip bleeding where he bit down on it in his fight to get himself under control again. He concentrated on his mission, his goal, on getting his Qui-Gon out of this infernal place alive and sound, and it did the trick, his focus returning to the Now, his heart quieting from its attempt to break out of his chest.
He watched the fight continue in its Force-accelerated speed and knew it could not go on forever; his trained eyes already saw the decreasing speed of the large Jedi's movements. Qui-Gon couldn't win this fight alone. But he wouldn't be alone much longer--Obi-Wan looked around for a way to get down there fast but undetected. His master needed all his concentration on the fight, not in wondering where his wayward ex-padawan had suddenly appeared from.
As he moved along the walkway, one eye fixed on the combatants, he saw them separate for a moment, and then--he felt the Dark ripple shift in his direction--Obi-Wan dropped down on his belly and blanked his mind. Concentrating only on one thought, allowing it to bleed minimalistically through his shields: need feeding, hunger, need feeding, need, need, need feeding... the Darkness whispered against his thoughts and flew away again uninterested in a hungry little rodent scuttling along the walkway above it.
Obi-Wan almost laughed when he dared move again. That had been a trick learned in the creche, when the children had been taught to identify a creature and its intentions by the emotions it stirred in the Living Force. He had been a good little rat then and who had thought he could fool a Sith lord with it! A preoccupied Sith lord, preoccupied with killing his master!
Obi-Wan felt the warning in the Force and scrambled again to the edge of the walkway to see the fight had almost slowed down to normal mortal's speed. His master was tiring fast, he could see it in the drooping shoulders, in the way Qui-Gon stepped back several feet from each bone-jarring engagement, stalling now, purely on the defensive. I'm coming, Master! he wanted to send. To shout: Hold on! But he dared not break the older man's concentration. And then, while Obi-Wan was letting himself glide over the edge of the ramp to fall to the walkway below, he saw it, his heart forgetting to beat, his mouth opening into a soundless cry of denial. Saw as the Sith got under Qui-Gon's guard and dealt him a hard blow to the chin. Saw his master stumble back, dazed, saw the demon swinging his blade around and Obi-Wan knew what would come, had seen it before, seen it before, Force, no, saw the red blade vanish between the beige folds above his master's abdomen, nooo, saw Qui-Gon freeze in midmotion, saw time end--he was too late, too late!
With an inner wail Obi-Wan swung himself over the edge and down, down, thirty meters down to land hard behind the Sith which stood over the crumbling form of Qui-Gon Jinn.
Slowly the black-clad thing turned and astonishment pelted off it as it became aware of him squatting there, one hand on the ground, staring at it. Obi-Wan blinked away the stinging tears that hindered his sight, ignored the weeping child in the back of his mind, ignored anything but the enemy. The red and black tattooed Sith cocked his horned head which made it look like a nightmarish parody of a zabrak male.
"So, what have we here," the man-demon grated in a low voice showing off sharp teeth as he smirked at him.
Slowly Obi-Wan stood, never giving up the eye-contact.
The mutant zabrak looked him over and was obviously not impressed. Obi-Wan's self image showed himself a white-clothed Jedi padawan, but the puzzlement in the horned man's face let him become aware of how he must look to him: A slim youth in black, shorn head and madness in his eyes. All the better.
As the Sith seemed to contemplate whether he should kill him first and ask him later, Obi-Wan sent a tendril of his mind out to Qui-Gon, dreading what he might find--and connected solidly with the living essence of his master, weak, very weak, but definitely alive.
Not too late then. Not too late.
As if he felt the touch, the demon looked down to the fallen man lying behind him. The quizzical look changed to speculative. He let his lightstaff swing once in a full circle, daunting. Then he made a swift attack in Obi-Wan's direction, causing him to step back and crouch down defensively, falling automatically into the opening stance of an open-hand-against-weapon kata.
The movement let his long strand of hair swing from behind his back to his shoulder.
He saw the yellow eyes on it. Saw again that speculative look and a grin getting uglier by the moment, splitting the man's painted face into a mask of malevolence.
"So so. What have we here, hm? A little Jedi? What did you do, little apprentice, or should I say ex-apprentice?" the thing taunted, surprising Obi-Wan with his knowledge of Jedi lore of a thousand years past. Or not so surprisingly at all: the Sith had been part of that past, had they not. And their favorite prey had been Jedi--but Obi-Wan had no intention of becoming this Sith's prey, not as his master had.
Obi-Wan hitched a breath, turning his thoughts to the here and now, concentrating solely on his enemy, who was still trying to goad him into doing something rash.
"Can see why they discarded you. That old man here, he was a Jedi, yes, little challenge but a fighter. But you? Look at you. Failure is written all over you." The enemy beckoned with a gloved hand. "Come on, little failure. Show me your pitiful skills. Or do you want--him?"
The Sith toed Qui-Gon's ribs. "Maybe it's him you want, yes? He cast you away, yes? Took away your pride, yes? Did he not?" The ugly voice was sapping with Force-suggestion, its black clawing fingers creeping over Obi-Wan's mind like slow moving tar, searching for the source of his hurt, his madness, scratching at his ever-present headache.
"He destroyed your life." Suggesting revenge.
"He betrayed you." Suggesting hate.
He did all that, Obi-Wan thought. He did betray me. He did destroy my life. Took my pride. Cast me away--
Wading through the nets and pits the Sith had laid out around his bruised mind, Obi-Wan took a step towards the fallen Jedi master.
The Sith backed away, grinning. "Don't you hate him, little failure? He is responsible for your pain." Again a step. And again. "You can make him pay." The air vibrated from the Dark Force gathering around them.
Obi-Wan came to stand beside the prone man, stared down at him with unblinking eyes. Qui-Gon's chest still moved, hitching, little gasps of breath jarring the long frame. Obi-Wan's eyes fastened on the ashen face, the closed eyes, sunken in their sockets, on the bloody bubbles staining the blue-tinged lips. He crouched down beside him, his hand closing around the long neck.
"Yes, feel how you hate him. End it."
Black venom oozed over his mind. Obi-Wan's fingertips found the pressure points at the base of Qui-Gon's skull.
"End it!"
Obi-Wan gathered the Force and sent a pulse into the nerves under his fingers, felt them tingle, struggle against the overload. Felt the long body first stiffen and then go slack and still under his hand.
His fingers trailed along the side of the sweat-slick neck to the exposed collar bone and outwards, to rest under the Jedi's shoulder. Slowly his head came up and his gaze locked with the eyes of the hovering Sith Lord.
He stood up.
"How little you understand," Obi-Wan said mildly, watching the confusion on the ugly face, watching the yellow eyes widen as he saw the humming green blade that appeared in Obi-Wan's hand.
The Sith stepped away from him, obviously taken aback by the smile that lit Obi-Wan's face as much as from the lightsaber.
"As you wish, little Jedi-bastard," he snarled and launched himself at Obi-Wan, who brought up Qui-Gon's 'saber in lightning fast defense. The blades crashed against each other in a burst of white energy, filling the air with angrily sputtering static and the biting smell of ozone.
The Force shuddered under the bending of the Darkside that fed the Sith, making him into a sheer undefeatable flame of hate, hindering Obi-Wan from submerging himself into the Force enough to counter the deadly swirls of the red blades. His bruised mind struggled to hold onto the Light against the manipulations of the Sith as much as his still shock-chilled body fought against a weariness creeping up fast. A weariness he had brought on himself, depleting his little reserves when he had directed that blast of healing energy into Qui-Gon's system, sending his master into a deep trance to eke out a little more time for him, for them. Whatever he had left inside, it had to be enough--
Obi-Wan parried the lunge going for his head and countered with a kick aimed at the solar plexus, but his boot heel only glanced across the Sith's waist as he danced sideways. Off center, Obi-Wan barely had the time to bring his weapon up fast enough to block a brutal undercut stab--and felt his 'saber slip as his blaster-stunned right arm didn't stand the strain. The red blade slid in and dealt him a glancing blow to his right biceps before he could divert it and jump out of the way of the second blade's deadly arc. The stink of burned flesh filled the air. Obi-Wan danced backwards, the green lightsaber clasped in his left hand while his other arm, traumatized twice by blaster fire and lightsaber burn, cramped up into uselessness.
The Sith grinned and shook his head, sending thick droplets of sweat flying, obviously as weary as the young Jedi but confident in the kill.
Obi-Wan knew he had no chance at all against that red wheel of deadly laserlight now, onehanded, wounded. His eyes flickered to the still form of his master as he backed away to his side again. The failure was his, his efforts too little, too late. Or the failure was in his pride to think he could change destiny.
As the Sith sauntered nearer, Obi-Wan crouched into a last stand, the green blade humming beside his face, determined to protect his master, his friend, his never-lover to his last breath.
A bone-jarring array of attack and parry ended in a swift screwing motion that almost broke his hand, and Obi-Wan's 'saber went flying, the handle clattering noisily over the metal gangway, coming to rest against Qui-Gon's leg. Obi-Wan was forced to roll out of the reach of the Sith's 'sabers, the Sith that now stood above the fallen Jedi master, gloating at Obi-Wan with free-spilling scorn. He crooked his head at the young Jedi after he glanced down once to the unconscious man at his feet.
"What do you think, failure, shall I behead him or just kick him over the edge?" He nudged his boot into fragile ribs, watching Obi-Wan.
Pushed beyond endurance, the young man snarled and launched himself onto the Sith, shoving him back in a last gathering of Force. Obi-Wan felt the hot bite of the lightsaber over his back, then he was inside the demon's guard and kicked the legs out from under him. They fell into a tangled heap and Obi-Wan bit into an exposed wrist, clamping down with all he had left, channeling Force, tasting blood, wringing a growl out of his opponent and the red lightsaber flew out of a suddenly nerveless hand as the tendons snapped under the savage assault. A fist rammed into his diaphragm but he didn't let go, not even when a knee cracked ribs. Then pain exploded against his head and he crumpled into a boneless heap, all his muscles turned to butter from one second to another. A fist clawed shut around his windpipe, his bulging eyes locked with slits of yellow pus.
The world began to fall away from Obi-Wan and he felt nothing as the Sith spat in his face, snarled at him in words he couldn't understand. He stared up into the black and red patterns and watched them swirl faster and faster as reality meshed with nightmare...Suddenly he could breathe again and the air rushing into his burning lungs almost hurt, hurt as much as his throat did, and the swirls before his eyes cleared. A face was still above his, but there was no black, no red, only--blue. Blue eyes.
He must have fainted then for the next time he lifted his heavy lids, he found himself lying on his side--almost nose to nose with Qui-Gon, whose features were slack and waxy. He looked dead, but the soft puffs of air against Obi-Wan's chin told him of a life still there. Obi-Wan drew an elbow under his chest and heaved himself up, moaning when pain flared up in the right side of his chest. He looked down at his master, stared at the moving chest, a sob catching as he laid his trembling hand over the charred hole in the tunic, feeling the hot burning of the cauterized flesh beneath. His eyes flickered to the big hand lying between them, the long fingers clenched tightly around the handle of his lightsaber.
Obi-Wan tensed and his head came up, his eyes searching for the enemy...and found the Sith sprawled on his other side. Obviously dead. A surprised look frozen on his face, eyes staring, a hole in his chest.
Banishing the Sith from his mind, Obi-Wan scrambled painfully to his knees and bedded Qui-Gon's graying head in his lap, carefully smoothing the long hair over the broad shoulders before he laid his hands on his master's lower ribcage.
Closing his eyes he focused, breathing down into the midst of his being, his mind opening to the Force, inviting it in, grounding himself in it as he never had before. He channeled all he had to give into the healing of the wound in older man's chest, felt the Force come to him in his unselfishness as into the open arms of a lover.
When he was satisfied his master was stabilized enough to be transportable, Obi-Wan let himself be drawn to the outside again, the lingering effect of the healing trance making him feel languid but clear-minded, his headache silent for once. He found himself leaning over the now deeply sleeping man, their foreheads pressed together, his hands lining the bearded jaw, as if cradling an immeasurably precious object of art. That you are, Obi-Wan thought sadly, his fingers combing through the short, but soft hairs of the beard. Immeasurably precious--
He straightened in alarm, his hand automatically reaching for Qui-Gon's lightsaber, when he heard the echo of running feet coming their direction.
He watched as Naboo guards swarmed into the power generator hall, clattering along walkways far above, shouting orders at each other, calling for Master Jinn--
Panic rose in Obi-Wan at the thought of getting shouted at that way by grim soldiers demanding answers from him, explanations of why and who and what. Looking the way he was they would not easily believe him. The who, and why was nothing he could explain in a few words--not that he had any intention of doing so--and he would have to fight off their mistrust, and worse, their curiosity...and well-meant help that would press their doctors on his master...
Looking down again at the unconscious man, Obi-Wan was filled with a sudden conviction that Naboo doctors were not what they needed, what Qui-Gon needed, and a mounting urge for home filled him, to return home to give his master into the care of their own people, their own healers.
Scrambling up to his knees, the young Jedi gathered the large man to his chest and tried to stand up but his legs wouldn't cooperate, exhaustion and panic mixing to create total failure. Hissing at the pain flaring up all over his shaking body again, Obi-Wan pressed Qui-Gon nearer still, the hot face branding his neck. The short, fast gusts of breath against his skin, the painful rattle in the chest under his hands turned his panic into desperation. He had to get up, he had to...
Focusing on that one thought, he cajoled the Force into helping him get his legs under him and stand up. Qui-Gon was awkwardly large in his arms and heavy, backbreakingly heavy. But concentrating on the Force's urgings, he held on and was rewarded by a cool surge of energy that gave him the strength to get moving.
At a close trot, Obi-Wan hastened along the walkway to the nearest hatch leading out of the cavernous hall. He ran purely on instinct, searching his way through a labyrinth of underground hallways, stairs and lifts that led him into a battle-scarred but otherwise empty hangar.
Hefting his master higher in his arms, Obi-Wan stepped cautiously out into the rubble, and almost fell when his feet tangled in something soft. He looked down in alarm...and grunted in surprise as he recognized the heap of heavy cloth he had walked into. With a flick of a finger he gathered his master's robe up and hurried on. A half-open blast-door led into the marble hallways of Theed Palace and getting his bearings Obi-Wan was soon backtracking the way he had come. The broad halls were strangely devoid of any droid presence. The living beings Obi-Wan felt were few and distant; it was easy to avoid them. But the way back seemed to be endless, his arms long numb, his steps faltering as he at last reached the ship.
In front of the ramp he had to step over a dozen crumpled but otherwise totally unscarred battle droids. Their white carcasses were evidence of a victorious war and Obi-Wan wondered fleetingly how the Naboo had managed something so seemingly impossible...
He carried Qui-Gon up the steep ramp and once aboard thoughts about droids and battles fell out of his mind; filled with the voice of the Force, nothing mattered but the precious life under his hands and how to coax the yacht to fly just a little bit faster.
Chapter VI ------
There were Temple-Guards waiting for him, as he touched the ship down.
But his eyes didn't linger on them or the significance of their presence but strayed past them, looking for--There they were.
In the shadows of the entrance a pair of green-robed Jedi waited and Obi-Wan didn't stay in the cockpit for post flight checks but let the ramp down and then rushed to his master's side in the small infirmary.
He didn't need to consult the monitors at the man's side to know his condition. They were in time and that was all that counted. Obi-Wan laid his shaking hands on the burning cheeks, again giving all the energy he could spare and still stay conscious himself.
"We're home, Master," he whispered to deaf ears, not caring for his own weariness and the ever growing dark flecks in the periphery of his vision.
Gentle hands on his shoulders urged him aside as the healers arrived and took over. They removed the robe tucked around the wounded man and Obi-Wan caught it before it could slip to the ground and get under the healers' feet. He held the dark cloth to his chest for a moment, then slipped into the wide folds, hugging the scent and warmth of his master tightly to his chilled skin.
Obi-Wan didn't let go of Qui-Gon's hand all the way to the Temple entrance where a guard stepped in his way and bowed politely. "Padawan Kenobi? We must ask you to follow us to the Council Chamber."
One of the healers, an old man Obi-Wan knew as Master Healer Aiko, turned and held out a commanding hand between them. "Pardon, Knight. He is in no condition to go anywhere but the Healers' Halls."
The guard bowed before the old man--a lot deeper than he had before Obi-Wan--and stepped aside. "Then we will escort you."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. I will come with you to the Council Chamber."
"But you..."
"Master Healer, I thank you for your concern. But I need to do this. I need to."
The wrinkled old face of the healer regarded him as if measuring him up. Obi-Wan met his gaze with steely determination.
"You will come directly to us, afterwards."
"I will, Master Aiko."
Obi-Wan placed his master's limp hand gently to his side and his eyes flickered over the prone, still form on the litter, memorizing everything. "Take care of him, I beg you."
A hand squeezed his shoulder. "We will, young Padawan. Go now."
Nodding, Obi-Wan wrenched his eyes away, gathered up his robe's dragging ends and strode as briskly as he could manage to the entrance, the guards falling in step with him.
He stumbled several times when his tired legs wouldn't go one step further and always there was a hand catching him and in the end he was hanging on the arm of a sturdy woman guiding him along the endless halls of the Temple.
They stopped before the great doors and Obi-Wan caught the eye of the woman beside him for a second, a play-mate out of long past childhood days, as he belatedly realized. Was that pity in her gaze? Don't, he wanted to say to her. I did what I had to do and I will bear the consequences gladly. But he said nothing and the guard averted her eyes and let go of his arm as Obi-Wan shrugged out off the billowing dark-brown master's robe. "Please keep this for me, sister," he asked as he handed it to the guard before turning to face the room behind the now wide open doors.
The chamber was only dimly lit, but one glance showed the whole Council in attendance. Obi-Wan walked the few steps into the middle of the earth-brown circle on the tiled floor, stepping into the midst of Jedi-Justice, the ornamental lightsabers pointing at him in accusation.
The numb stillness in him did not leave him as he sank slowly to his knees, not meeting anyone's eyes. The movement made him light-headed and he swayed for a moment, eyes pressed shut. Then he bent further down and touched the smooth marble with his forehead, the cold like a brand on his burning flesh. It hurt to stretch this way, there was fire running down his back, fire in his chest, but not a muscle switched in his face as he braced himself on his good arm, stretched out his legs and at last lay motionless on the floor, his arms wide in total submission. Never required of a Jedi, but the only way he knew now.
He was almost deafened by the roaring of his blood in his ears, the pulse of his laboring heart like hammer beats in his brain, but he heard the startled if not horrified gasps from some of the councilors around him.
"Stand up, you will, Obi-Wan," Yoda said after an eon.
Obi-Wan felt the compulsion to obey but he didn't move. He didn't know if he could. All his muscles had gone slack the moment he had lain down; he felt as if he were melting into the stone, his body warmth seeping away into it. But then he didn't want to move. He was where he belonged. A failed, cast-away padawan in grave violation of the Code, who cheated, lied, manipulated minds, stole.
The tapping of a stick was coming nearer, stopping directly beside his ear and Obi-Wan felt the blinding presence of the small Jedi master above him, as he leant down. A clawed finger touched the crown of his head and he tried in vain not to flinch.
"With your hair, what have you done? Tse, tse." The tiny hand ran down his neck and Obi-Wan started as it encountered the burn on his back. Yoda clicked his tongue again in annoyance.
"To the healers you should have gone, Obi-Wan," the small Jedi master chided while his hand ran over the burns, beginning on his right arm and ending at his left hip. The young Jedi shivered under the touch that felt like electricity, but as the clawed hand left his skin the white-edged burn had dimmed down to a dull throb.
"I needed to come here, Master Yoda. I needed to get this...over with..." he murmured.
"Over with?" The old master rested his hand on Obi-Wan's hurting ribs, warmth spreading out of them in rhythm with his heart. "So tell us what happened, you will."
"Yes," Obi-Wan hitched a breath, trying in all earnest to remember everything and to open up, to overcome the bone-deep weariness. "Yes, I will."
Unable to talk in the position he was lying in, he pulled his elbows against his stomach and rested his cheek on his hands. He was bitterly cold and he knew he should sit up but he dared not give up his position on the floor. Still, he needed a lot of deep breathing and concentration before he could begin: "It started with a true-dream I had..."
"A true-dream. You had a true-dream? How can you be sure it was a true-dream?" Master Windu's voice exploded from a short distance away and it startled him; somehow he had forgotten he was not alone with the small Jedi master to whom he had been close all his short life and who could command to know everything of him and he would try to give.
Before he could answer, Master Yoda let out an impatient puff of air. "Shh, yes, yes, known I have, find this gift he would. On you go, Obi-Wan."
"The night after, after he left me, I dreamt of him fighting that thing we saw on Tatooine..." He told them about his vision and was asked a lot of questions about it. When he came to his decision to go after his master alone he was asked why he hadn't come to them.
"Because I thought I had no right, I'm ashawa'li, am I not, masterless, nobody would have listened. You would have thought me delirious." At the silence that answered him here he understood they still thought exactly that. The hand that had lain motionless on his shoulder for a while, pressed down once.
"Listened, I would have," Master Yoda said mildly.
Obi-Wan screwed his eyes open and looked up into the wrinkled little face. "I had no time, Master Yoda. I had no time. The Force was urging me to go." He told then how he'd left the Temple and gone to Naboo and what he'd found there. His coming too late to prevent his master from being stricken down. The fight with the Sith. They asked him about the Sith. Every detail he remembered was turned around and around again. It exhausted him, bodily and much more mentally as he had to relive it again and feelings so long kept inside threatened to overwhelm him.
"I thought I would die, Master Yoda, I thought he would die." He pressed his face into the coarse fabric and could do nothing against the sobs that crept up his throat--somehow he had ended up with his head in Yoda's lap, curled into a fetal position of boundless hurt and confusion. Tiny fingers drew circles over his temples and forehead, soothing him, the steady golden pulse of warmth emanating from them comforted the hurt away, leaving him light-headed but curiously clear-minded for the first time in he knew not how long.
He sat up then and drew himself into a more decent position, sitting on his haunches, his hands flat on his knees. He looked up and met the eyes of the councilors for the first time. And found friends where he had thought to see only enemies. He could feel it in the atmosphere that vibrated with compassion and support and even something he would have dared call admiration. As he looked in their eyes his heart lifted up again. Masters Gallia and Yaddle especially seemed to favor him, their thoughts a caress on the abraded planes of his mind.
But he also found trouble there in the minds of the Council, sorrow and dread and alarm. Yet nothing of it was directed at himself. When he met the dark eyes of Mace Windu a new emotion entered the Force, a low but hot anger and Obi-Wan flinched away from it, disturbed by it and frightened to an extent he hadn't felt even with the Dark ripplings of hate the Sith had emanated. This was a Jedi master, one he had known always as over-controlled, almost cold. And even more disturbing was the direction of the anger. For it was for his master, for Qui-Gon, who had been Master Windu's best friend in the old days, by all he knew. And the cause. Himself. He didn't want to be the cause of one Jedi hating another, and he certainly didn't want anybody hating his master, and he felt his fright turning into something else as his instinct to protect raised its head and he got ready to defend his master, his eyes drilling into the councilor's in mute challenge.
Yoda came up beside him and lifted his stick to stab it into Windu's direction. "Stop that you will! Long talk we will have. Meditate with me you will. Release the dark emotions to the Force you must."
Instantly Master Windu hung his head--a curious sight for Obi-Wan's eyes--and nodded. "Yes, my Master," he murmured and wouldn't look up again.
Seeing this, Obi-Wan's own agitation deflated in the space of one adrenaline spiked heartbeat and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath down into his center, and then released his unsound emotions into the Force. Yoda turned to him and regarded him curiously, his lowered ears coming up again. Meeting his keen eyes, he asked: "Master, what will happen now. The Chancellor..."
"Ah, no problem that is."
"But I did wrong."
"Jedi are not under the jurisdiction of the Republic. If there must be consequences for your rashness we will see to it ourselves," Master Gallia said and he turned to her.
"But I stole his..."
"Forget you did," Yoda interrupted, "Chancellor Valorum a friend of Qui-Gon is. No interest in suing the padawan of his friend he will have. Talked with him I already have. No problem there I see."
Obi-Wan stared at him. So the Temple would hush it up? "Then I submit myself to the judgment of the Jedi Council," he said, bowing from his waist.
"Decide that later we will."
Obi-Wan met Yoda's eyes squarely. He needed to know now where he stood. He needed to know his place. Needed to know if he was allowed to see his master again. Yoda looked inscrutably at him, giving him no clue. Obi-Wan bowed again, "No, Master Yoda, no disrespect, but I need to know now. I need..."
"Need you do? Need you to do something else, I do." Yoda prodded him with his stick. "Tell me, what do you want to be."
What he wanted to be? What question was that? "I want to be a Jedi."
"You are Jedi." Yoda's ears twitched. "Ah, you want to be a Jedi knight."
"Yes Master, but...I know I destroyed my chance. I just beg you to--" Obi-Wan leant forward and pressed his forehead against the cold tiles, "--to let me stay in the Temple, in whatever function you see fit for me."
"Obi-Wan."
"Please, it's my home."
"Obi-Wan. Look at me you will." So he did, obeying instantly. Yoda's eyes were soft under heavy lids. "Jedi knight, you will be. Seen I..."
"I don't think..."
"Interrupt me, you should not! So impatient you young ones are! Always so eager to take blame you are and never listen do you!" Yoda let out a sigh and a clawed little hand under his chin urged him into upright position again.
"Now," Yoda continued more softly, "tell me, where to be, you want."
"Where? Where. Master Yoda, I..." Obi-Wan was confused. He had no idea where the old Jedi was leading him to. He wanted to be here, at the Temple, with his master. But what did his wants and dreams have to do with anything? He gave the only answer he knew then: "I want to be with my master," he whispered, baring his heart.
"Why?"
Obi-Wan looked into the bottomless green eyes, "He is my home."
Yoda's ears came up straight and a merry smile blossomed on his wrinkled face. "Then go to him you should."
"Master?"
"Go you do, and tend to Qui-Gon you will. Need you he does now. Speak we will after well again he is."
Obi-Wan wanted to argue but then just nodded. Qui-Gon needed him. He would be there. Always.
Taking Yoda's words as a dismissal he got to his feet.
"Wait, Obi-Wan. One more question," Master Poof said. Obi-Wan turned to him and bowed politely. "Master?"
"Young Anakin. Where was he while all this happened? I hope he did not come to harm on Naboo?"
Anakin. Obi-Wan froze. He had all forgotten about the boy.
"No, Master Poof, not to my knowledge." The truth.
Obi-Wan was stricken; how could he have forgotten the boy? He should have taken care of him, if only because Qui-Gon would have wanted him to. He had no answer for himself, but then he had really been out of his mind at that time, single-minded on his master's rescue, but it disturbed him greatly. His unease must have transmitted itself to the councilor, for he held up a hand as if to halt his thoughts.
"It's all right, Obi-Wan," he said reassuringly. "You misunderstood me. We do not question your decision. You may be interested to hear that Queen Amidala is en route to Coruscant and is expected to arrive this night. She will bring Anakin with her, as well as the corpse of the Sith."
Obi-Wan nodded at the news, relieved. Unburdened from that new worry, he shoved all thought of the boy and queen into the back of his mind again and instantly he felt his heart urging him to leave. To his relief he was dismissed without any further delay. Outside the chambers he collected Qui-Gon's robe from the silent guard and buried himself again in its wide folds, concealing his mangled form from the world as he hurried to Healers' Halls.
Chapter VII ------
They had braided his hair. It was the first thing Obi-Wan saw as he peered into the bacta-tank.
The single, long braid flowed like a lazy snake in the eddies, away from the head it was attached to, and back, brushing over one shoulder before moving away again. Obi-Wan's eyes followed, fixed on the elastic they had used to tie off the braid. Ah, they should not have used some of those, it would break the fine hairs, Qui-Gon had such sensitive hair, one had to be careful with it...the braid's tip drifted up the long neck and brushed over the bearded cheek before spinning away again.
But Obi-Wan's eyes stayed. How pale his master looked, how hollow his cheeks, how gaunt the skin over his high cheekbones, the eyes deeply sunken in their sockets. He longed to see the color of the fine lips, needed to know if they were red or blue, but the breathing mask obscured the lower half of the long face.
Instead Obi-Wan's eyes sank lower, over the long neck, down the breastbone to end at...it looked almost like a speck of dirt. From a certain angle it looked like dirt. Crusted black dirt. One needed only to wash it away, scrub a little and there would be pale skin beneath, unblemished, perfect skin.
Obi-Wan shifted to his other foot and his perspective changed. Now he could see the cauterized edges, could see the black-burned flesh surrounding something that must not be.
Shouldn't there be progress by now? Shouldn't there be at least the beginning of healing? Of new flesh filling the gap? His eyes were drawn to the broad chest, watched the ribs expand and draw in air. So slowly. So painfully slow. He waited, he counted, five breaths a minute. Wasn't that too few? Should he talk to a healer? But the many monitors beside the tank all showed green. And the medidroid working on them did not seem to be disturbed by anything it saw. Everything seemed okay then. But there was a prickling feeling in the back of his head. There was something he needed to do.
Obi-Wan leant forward and laid his hands flat on the plexiglass, swayed until his forehead touched the warm surface, too. His eyes searched restlessly over the floating body, touched every limb, explored every crease and shadow, and found again and again the ugly spot under the left arch of ribs. The wrongness. Without thinking Obi-Wan climbed up the stairs to the top of the tank and sat down on the edge, peering into the liquid, staring at the prone figure floating in it, its features disturbed by the rippling surface.
Obi-Wan touched a finger to the colorless goo. Strange, gelatinous, smooth, warm, pulsing. Alive. Seductive. As if they had a mind of their own, his fingers stretched out to the body. Heedless of the garments he wore, Obi-Wan lay down on the edge of the tank and reached down into it until his fingertips touched flesh. He let them graze along the cauterized skin and then just let them lie there. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and connected with the Living Force, so easy now, and touched Qui-Gon's life-force there, dim, muddled, gray. How far from the benevolent strong greensilver pulse he was used to finding.
Determined, he latched the weak flow to his own energy, flooded it with his own life-force, coating the gray with blue light. He channeled all he was into it, giving of himself in pulses of healing.
He drifted in a netherland of green and blue swirls when a sudden jerk on his shoulder brought him back into the brightlit outside. He blinked up into the face of the master healer he met on the landing today, but there was gravel in his eyes, hurting, tears filling them in response, washing out the lined features above him.
"What do you think you're doing?!" a voice boomed. "Is this a suicide attempt, Padawan? Even a creche child knows better! Tell me!"
"I--" his mouth felt as dry as his eyes had. "I just...he needs me--"
"Your life-force could have been sucked up by the bacta!"
Obi-Wan knew nothing to answer to that. His brain was foggy, and it seemed to be much too great an effort to speak. He felt himself manhandled down the stairs, many hands on him.
They urged him onto a litter, not that they needed to urge him much; he was grateful to get off his feet and maybe if he had a fixed surface under his head it would stop spinning, and if it stopped spinning maybe it wouldn't hurt so much and would let him think again.
The master healer was still mumbling as he examined Obi-Wan, his ungentle hands raw on his face, his body. "Stupid boy," he said again and again.
What had he done? Obi-Wan was not sure he had done anything. He had just watched his master, hadn't he?
He was hauled into an upright position and moaned as his head began to throb sickly again.
"Serves you right," the healer said unkindly. "What sort of fools do we raise these days, someone tell me?" Nobody answered that rhetorical question; there was just another pair of hands on his back, starting a slow comforting massage.
"He seems all right to me," a very deep female voice said near his ear.
The master healer snorted. "Not that he deserves it."
"Ah, Master Aiko, I think he does. Look."
Obi-Wan didn't know what they were looking at; he felt the old man walk away and was only grateful that the warm hands on his shoulders didn't leave, too, reveling in the soft healing comfort they offered. The pulsing pain in his brain lessened and when he cautiously raised his head, he found the nausea was manageable now. There was still sand in his eyes and he lifted his hand to wipe them, only to slap himself with a soaking wet sleeve. What was this...the hands on his shoulders dipped forward and with one practiced movement divested him of robe and tunic. Blearily he watched the black cloth fall to his feet, the wet sleeves splashing thick fluid on the white tiles. There was a soft tissue in his hand then and he gratefully dabbed his eyes with it. The warm hands started their massage again.
"My, this looks nice," the woman behind him said. "You healed that yourself?"
Obi-Wan needed a second to realize what she was talking about. "No, Master Yoda did."
"Ah, I always suspected he heeded the wrong calling..." This from Master Aiko, who stepped in front of Obi-Wan again. "As someone else, too."
His voice was much calmer now and Obi-Wan put down the tissue and looked up to the man standing before him. The old healer regarded him with a solemn gaze, nothing of the earlier hostility in evidence.
"Young man. Don't get me wrong. What you did was irresponsible and rash. I do not condone it. There is a reason why it is never, never done."
"Master. Please. I have no idea what you're trying to tell me. What is it I did?"
"You don't remember?"
"I don't really...I was in front of the tank. I looked at my master."
"Nothing else?"
"Then you were there and shouted at me."
"Hm."
The other healer laid one hand on his head. "It's the essbee. We have seen that before, Master."
"Can't be, Hahep. No essbee. There was no indication and his scans showed..."
Obi-Wan tuned out the healers' conversation as he had no idea what they were talking about. Instead he turned and tried to look past the billowing robes of the master healer, to catch a look at the tank.
They hadn't said anything about his master. Was everything all right? He felt Qui-Gon's life in the Force, but that said nothing about his condition. There were several healers and technicians clustered before the tank's front and he got just one glimpse of a pale leg; then his vision was blocked again.
One of the healers turned to them. "Masters, we're ready now."
Aiko halted in midsentence and strode over to the tank. Obi-Wan twisted around and looked up at the woman behind him. "What..."
Her tattooed face wore a broad smile as she met his eyes. "Come on, Obi-Wan, you want to be there." With this she slid her hands under his armpits and hauled him to his feet.
Held tightly to the side of the large healer he staggered over to the others. There was the sound of machinery and with a sudden start Obi-Wan realized they were about to lift his master out of the tank. No! That was much too early! He had been told he would be in there for days! That could only mean...he launched forward and pressed himself through the wall of bodies to get to the tank, only to see how his master was hauled out of the bacta.
He leant heavily on the glass and watched as the technicians brought Qui-Gon down to them on an anti-grav litter. His eyes saw the movement of the broad ribcage, saw...no.
He pressed forward and reached out, his fingers sliding through the slime, contacting warm living skin, finding the texture different, smoother. Just a little scrubbing and there would be pale skin beneath, unblemished, perfect skin. Tender, smooth, new skin, no scar tissue, real breathing skin. Impossible. He reached deeper with the Force and found all the way through new blood vessels, lymph ducts, nerves, muscles..."Impossible..."
"Yes, young man. For this you should be a shrunken plumboo sucked dry by the bacta." A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "The Force willed differently today. Ha! Not that I complain!"
Aiko slapped him on the back so hard he almost fell over his master's chest. Dazed he looked up to Healer Hahep who stood at the other side of the examining table, her hand on Qui-Gon's pulse. She winked at him merrily and Obi-Wan felt dizzy again, out of kilter, understanding nothing.
His hand still flat over the patch of new skin he watched as the breathing mask was lifted from his master's face. Oh, he looked so vulnerable with all the goo still covering him, his beard wet clumps of stuck-together hair, his fine-lined lips on the edge of being blue-tinged.
"He's coming around," someone said. And really there was movement under the transparent eyelids and the chest under his fingers heaved for deeper breaths. Someone produced a towel and began to wash away the bacta slime but Obi-Wan reached out and took the wet cloth in his own hand. He edged up to the head of the table and slid a hand under Qui-Gon's skull, cradling him tenderly as he brushed away the goo from his face. Come to me, he thought, come back to me. The lips under his fingers trembled and then Qui-Gon coughed harshly, his whole body shuddering. Hands were instantly there again and Obi-Wan helped turn his master to his side as he coughed and retched fluid out of his lungs and airways. When the urge had subsided he was bedded again on his back.
Obi-Wan washed away the residue from his lips, his other hand stroking through the wet hair, smoothing the loose strands out of the long face, drawing the thick braid from under Qui-Gon to place it on his shoulder. The heavy eyelids fluttered and Obi-Wan leant forward, his hands framing the gaunt cheeks, his thumbs stroking the bearded jaw. "Master?"
Blue appeared between the spiked lashes.
"Pa...an."
"Yes, I'm here, Master. I'm here."
A weak hand came up and--missing its target--fell on his arm. Obi-Wan reached out and grasped the fingers firmly between his own.
Weary blue eyes focused on him. Obi-Wan pressed the long fingers against his cheek. "Welcome back, Master," he whispered, unheeding the wetness on his own face, tasting the salt as it ran in to the corner of his smiling mouth, but all his senses only on the man before him, his heart light as a feather.
Qui-Gon frowned, blinked. "Padawan?" he asked almost inaudibly again, his voice colored with confusion, as if not recognizing him, obviously still not fully awake and coherent. Obi-Wan smiled tenderly down at him, his eyes brimming as his heart was.
"Yes, I'm here. All is well, Master, all is well now. I'm here. Your padawan is here."
A blink, the frown deepened. "Whe...Anakin?"
Everything froze. His breath, his muscles, his mind. Slowly Obi-Wan sat up, his hands dropping to his sides. How could he have forgotten. He wasn't this man's padawan anymore. Feeling an all consuming numbness stealing over him, he slid down from his perch on the table and stood up. Feeling nothing, seeing nothing, he moved to the door.
A hand caught his arm before he could duck through it and flee. He looked up into the tattooed face of Healer Hahep, his eyes unable to focus on anything but the swirls of dark blue design on her cheeks.
Whatever she saw in his face made her drop her hand. She stood back. "If he checks out right, and it looks that way, he probably can leave here day after tomorrow, or even tomorrow..."
Obi-Wan bowed his head once. "Thank you, Healer. I will prepare. Now, excuse me, please. I need...to go." He turned blindly into the corridor and strode away, aware of the eyes following him until he turned a corner--where he ran almost into Master Yoda, nearly bowling the small being over, twisting sideways at the last possible moment and falling on hands and knees beside him.
"Look where you go, you must."
Obi-Wan bowed low, his loose hair brushing the floor, too shaken to speak.
Two little fingers pinched him lightly on his bare shoulder. "Qui-Gon awakened, I hear."
Obi-Wan nodded, still unable to look up; he didn't want to talk to Master Yoda now. He only wanted to go away, to be alone. Alone. He needed to be alone.
As if knowing his thoughts, Master Yoda's clawed hand moved up to touch him once on his cheek. "Off you go, Obi-Wan. Talk later we can."
"Thank you, Master Yoda," he whispered and not looking at the councilor he scrambled to his feet and hurried away. Just away.