Master Apprentice Archive Dreams Pass Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Archive: MA

Categories: Q/O, AU, angst, action/adventure

Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: This is a complete AU of the first four movies. Obi-Wan as messiah, if you like.

Spoilers/Warnings: EP2 Spoilers all over the place, plus rampant, ugly speculation.

Notes:Beta credits go to Mags at the outset, then Cuimne. I tweaked at the end of every installment and after completion, so any remaining errors are mine. Thanks go to Kal, Cuimne, Ruth, Rahalia, and everyone who feedbacked for the encouragement (even though this was the absolute wrong thing to try to pull off as a WIP).

I

"I wish he were here now," the strange wielder of Dark power said, a wistful note creeping into his voice. "I could use his help."

"Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you." Obi-Wan's voice was clear and firm, as was his conviction. His master, side with this Dark Force user to overthrow the very Republic? The idea would be frightening if it weren't so laughable.

And yet there stood Count Dooku in the doorless stone chamber, calmly stating that Qui-Gon had been aware all along, even to his death, of the corruption in the Senate. The only thing Qui-Gon had not been aware of was the Darkness that already controlled the heart of the Republic.

"I don't believe you," Obi-Wan uttered coolly, tamping down the terrible questions that now rose to the surface of his thoughts, demanding attention. No, certainly it couldn't be as it seemed. Dooku was at the very epicenter of the madness that was about to envelop the entire known galaxy, and now he dragged Obi-Wan's own beloved master into it with him. It was a ploy for his loyalty, and it was not going to work.

Obi-Wan, at the moment, was very glad he had no contact with the Force. He stood to remain bound by the electric blue field, turning idly, for a good long while. Perhaps that was fortunate: it would take him a great deal of time and effort to release his anger. Dooku paced restlessly, dizzyingly, driving home the last of his points and making his demands before receiving Obi-Wan's emphatic declaration:

"I will never join you, Dooku." It was an echo of his earlier, just as emphatic statement about his master. But inside, deep inside his heart he wavered, pleading. Horrible realizations began to rear up, centering on a name.

Tyranus.

/Oh, Qui-Gon, Force. Tell me it was never so. Tell me that use of the Dark Side has clouded Dooku's mind against the truth and he utters lies for the sake of themselves./

Of course, there was no response: not from the Force, and not from Qui-Gon.

"Watch the Senate," Obi-Wan had been told. Master Windu himself had placed him on that particular detail. Sometimes the young master roamed about as usual, heedful of the proceedings as the Jedi so often were. But sometimes he arrived cloaked or painted, disguised as a Senator or as a civilian observer.

The clone army had long since been dispatched to do battle with the Separatist 'droids. Dooku was succeeding in his attempt to create a storm within the Senate: he had single-handedly initiated the largest war in the history of the Republic, pulling his strings expertly. Terse words were exchanged in chambers every day between nations beset by the 'droid occupation and the mysterious opposing clones. Friendly allies were suddenly at each others' throats in the committee rooms as each planet demanded more funds to support the massive number of clone warriors that had to be fed, housed, clothed. A superior army, as the advocates said, but one requiring superior maintenance.

Pulling his silver cloak more tightly about his face, Obi-Wan moved toward a cluster of Senators in the Finance Room who appeared to be speaking urgently and in hushed tones. Manipulating the Force and shielding tightly, he amplified their voices for his ears only.

"... funds are coming in. No one must know. This is a... bipartisan effort by an unknown third party."

"Bipartisan? Speculate, for me, Senator. No one so neutral is that unknown."

Obi-Wan held his breath, listening, appearing to study a panel of shifting numbers mounted to one wall. They were dire, projecting terrible outlooks for several key Republic planets, and they did not match the easy, casual conversation he was overhearing.

There was a pause, and then, "The source is Jedi. Not the Councilor suspected of beginning the clone operation, nor the one who left the Order. No, my intelligence sources bear out that this is yet another. His name is Jinn. He died in the line of duty--or was supposed to have died, at any rate--some ten years ago."

Obi-Wan placed his fingertips thoughtfully on the number panel, ostensibly following the line of figures but in truth, catching his balance. His head swam. Qui-Gon alive? And behind all of this? Obi-Wan shivered, wondering how his own investigators could have missed such huge information.

Unless... unless Obi-Wan himself had simply not been willing to see. And now, there was no help for it: it had blindsided him, screaming at him, demanding that he address it. Closing his eyes and attempting to center, he placed his palm flat on the cool, clear covering over the constantly changing financial data he was pretending to read. He leaned his head forward, drawing in a shuddering breath.

"My word, are you well?" some Senator or another asked, approaching him.

"I'm quite all right," the Jedi rasped, shifting his hand in the direction of the concerned politician.

"Quite," the suddenly glassy-eyed dignitary smiled, moving away. Obi-Wan was about to leave when a dense, thick Force presence entered the chamber.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Senators," Padawan Skywalker said quietly, moving into the cluster of diplomats on which Obi-Wan had been eavesdropping. "I wonder if perhaps you have seen Master Kenobi?"

/Master,/ the apprentice whispered urgently into Obi-Wan's mind. /It's time. We have a lead./

"No, Sir Jedi," one of the women replied softly. "He has not been about today. Perhaps he is in the Armament Room?"

/So we do, Padawan,/ Obi-Wan sent back grimly, clenching his fists inside his sleeves and moving out of the room.

"I shall check there," Anakin said dutifully to the woman who had answered, bowing. "Thank you." Studiously, he turned and perused the panel Obi-Wan had been staring at.

"Goodness," the young Jedi marveled, turning back to the group of politicians. "I am amazed that anyone can make sense of all of this." He chuckled coyly, glancing at the numbers again. "I am grateful every day that my job is so simple." Bowing tightly amid the amusement of the Senators, he made his exit.

The master and padawan pair remained silent all the way back to the Jedi Temple.

/Perhaps it isn't so--perhaps none of it is,/ Obi-Wan tried to tell himself, but he knew with every cell of his being that the pieces fit too neatly for it not to be.

Obi-Wan waited until they were well inside before lowering his silver cowl. "Qui-Gon is alive," he said matter-of-factly, though his voice betrayed only bitterness. Once, that might have been the dearest thought to him. Now, in the face of these circumstances, it galled.

Anakin stared. "How--?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I've no idea, Padawan. I intend to find out. Prepare yourself: we're on our way to Kamino."

The young padawan's eyes narrowed. "No, Master, we're on our way to Naboo. Master Gallia's intelligence sources have traced several communications back to Theed--"

Obi-Wan stopped mid-stride, turning to face his pupil in the wide hallway. "I am not discussing this with you, my young apprentice. We are going to Kamino." His eyes and voice were hard and cold.

Anakin glared and clenched his jaw. His last tack was to fall back on regulations: "The Council--"

"--Will catch me when they may," Obi-Wan finished harshly, to Anakin's astonishment. "I will take full responsibility; you will not be held accountable, Padawan." The master then turned and strode toward their quarters. "Breaking rules seemed to allow Qui-Gon to cheat death," he muttered over his shoulder, sinking into the Moment and clinging to the clarity of his anger. "I cannot imagine it will do me any harm at this juncture."

"There," Obi-Wan said, pointing to a rain-slick platform. "Put the ship down and wait for me."

"But--"

"Wait for me," the master gritted out, leveling a heavy stare at Anakin. Anakin lowered his eyes, nodding. Surprised, the master softened his tone with a tight smile, cupping the side of Anakin's face companionably. The gesture was completely out of place with his mood and the thing he was about to go do. Still, he neither knew nor cared where or why his padawan had suddenly learned obeisance; Anakin's own life might depend on it.

As soon as the cruiser touched down, the master was opening the cockpit and bounding out of it. He dropped his wet cloak the moment he passed through the plasteel doors into the lighted, dry interior of the cloning facility. Then he palmed his lightsaber.

Obi-Wan moved silently down the long, white hallways, tucking himself against the walls and into doorways as he went. Following the path that he'd taken only once, he went to the Prime Minister's chamber, scanned briefly for life forms, then slipped inside.

Inspecting the walls carefully, he discovered that one was arranged exactly as he'd hoped. There was a panel to one side of the throne immediately behind the seat he'd taken so many months ago. He scanned the hidden chamber, then stopped short, instantly recognizing that Force signature, tainted though it was. Oh, but he had hoped--so hoped to be wrong--

But no. He had known. He had simply not seen because he had not wanted to see.

Fighting back a cold wave of anger, Obi-Wan gestured at the panel, spreading it open like a flower.

"Master," he greeted coolly as he stepped inside, tipping his head up to look into the eyes of the man who had both trained and loved him so well, so long ago. He was dressed as befit his circumstance, in the black of the Dark Side.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon replied softly, nodding in respect, looking the younger man over appraisingly. "But not a padawan any longer. My death has become you." There was no humor in the statement; in fact, Qui-Gon seemed quite sad.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his 'saber hilt. "Qui-Gon. You betrayed us all--I cannot possibly imagine what could have caused you to turn so sharply from your path."

Qui-Gon gestured, dark cloak swirling, to a bench, bidding Obi-Wan sit. Obi-Wan merely shifted where he stood, his eyes never leaving his former master's.

Nodding, the erstwhile Jedi dropped his hand. "I had hoped that you, of all people, would understand. When I authorized the beginnings of the clone production using the Senate funds and the voice of the Chancellor, the future of the Republic looked bleak. It was meant to be the threat of war that brought the systems in alignment with each other. Not war itself."

"'War itself' is upon us," Obi-Wan spat. "The death toll climbs. Planetary systems are failing. Economies are being swept into dust. And you--" He choked the thought off and let it die. He could not bring himself to say that he himself was most betrayed of all. The man he'd loved and learned from had turned away without so much as a word.

Without so much as a "Follow me."

He remembered battling his sorrow over the loss of his master, the struggle that he had waged to stay with the Light in his grief. "Dreams pass in time," he had once told his apprentice, hoping he sounded reassuring. Hoping that someday, he too might believe it. His heart had ached and he had turned away then, desperately trying not to think of Qui-Gon with sorrow. Now he realized he had only to change his perception: the sorrow was much preferable to the anger.

"It was never meant to go this far," Qui-Gon half-whispered. "That day we were sent to Naboo to confront the Trade Federation, Dooku approached me and told me of his plans: he knew even then that a 'droid army fighting for the Republic would be a necessity. The only way to beat the Federation was to join it. He asked that I join him.

"I denounced him and his vision. I was incredulous that he would dare approach me in such a way but I felt the threat even then. He had approached me, and so I took the matter into my own hands."

Qui-Gon looked down at those hands now, turning them, as though his scrutiny could correct what he'd done somehow, or shed answers where there were none.

"I had to 'die'," he went on, his voice catching, "to completely implement the plans I had made." He sighed and his eyes were sorrowful and apologetic. "Obi-Wan, I funnel money to the besieged planets to atone for the fact that I initiated the siege ten years ago. The Kaminoans risk everything by keeping me here. When you arrived, they tested you. Yes, you knew they suspected, didn't you? The master that they spoke of, Sifo-Dyas, did indeed pass away long ago. And then, not long after that, he came to life again." He bowed self-deprecatingly, a mocking smile playing in his eyes. "Make no mistake, I will pay for my crimes. I am already well on my way, my former apprentice." The sadness in his eyes, in his voice, was soul-deep.

Swallowing, Obi-Wan contained his own white-hot pain and breathed, "You have already arrived... Tyranus."

Eyes widening, Qui-Gon stepped back, stunned. "How dare you...? I am no Sith. I have bared my heart to you and you accuse me of playing Sidius' right hand?"

Obi-Wan shook his head angrily, snarling. "Save your outrage, traitor; you might as well be playing his right hand; you play his opposition for fools. And why should I believe you now? Now that your Chosen One struggles with Darkness and the Order is crumbling. Now that the Republic is in pieces, in the throes of civil war? Why should I expect any less than a string of lies?"

Qui-Gon's expression hardened and grew bitter. "Because I am your master. Because I raised you. Because I loved you."

The younger man faltered. /Loved me. Loved me./ That had been his dream, once. His deepest desire: Qui-Gon's love. He had not heard those words in that beloved voice in years, and it caught at him, wrenched him unwillingly closer to Qui-Gon's Darkness.

But his firmness resolved itself in the fact that dreams pass. This one had as well, for all the wrong reasons. "That's not enough," Master Kenobi said, and thumbed his 'saber on. "Old love does not make up for the deaths of millions."

Qui-Gon's blue eyes shone icily. "As you wish." He shed his cloak and plucked his own hilt from his belt. "Old love will not prevent the death of one more, then." The bright green 'saber flared to life, incongruous with Qui-Gon's Darkness. It only served to fuel the anger of his former apprentice.

"You betray the Order, your vows, the man who loved you, and yet you keep the blade of a Jedi," Obi-Wan breathed, outraged. Then his eyes went as cold as his master's. "It suits you and all of your lies."

And then they engaged, glaring over their locked blades.

But he was in the room where he and Qui-Gon had once slept--no, where they slept even now--in the bed that they'd begun sharing only a few months prior. He was only confused from the dream. Shakily, he ran a hand through his spiky, short hair and down his padawan braid.

/Oh Force./

He sighed heavily, glancing toward his wide-awake master.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked, sitting up. "What did you dream?"

"Clones," Obi-Wan murmured, horrified. "And you--Naboo--you were killed. But--you weren't. And Anakin--my padawan--"

"Anakin?" Qui-Gon asked, shaking his head and frowning. "Who is that?"

Swallowing, Obi-Wan nodded, then shook his head confusedly, his eyes huge. "You--you had turned--Anakin never trusted me, and--Master, all I wanted was to have you back, and it--it was--you were dead." The last word fell out on a sob. "And then when I found out you weren't dead, that was almost worse." His voice dropped. "I felt you. I felt the Darkness in you." His hand went to his chest absently, rubbing, as though he could erase the ache of finding Qui-Gon irredeemable.

Qui-Gon saw the tears shining in the eyes of his apprentice and knew that it must have been a terrible nightmare indeed for it to so utterly shake the unshakeable apprentice. Slowly, Obi-Wan began to talk, relaying the dream and the future within it, with the attention to detail that Qui-Gon had come to adore in his apprentice even as he hated it in this circumstance. By the time he was finished, Obi-Wan was shaking and trying to bring himself under control--and failing.

"Come here," Qui-Gon said softly. Obi-Wan all but fell into his arms.

"Shhh," the master soothed, stroking the slender shoulders under his hands. He pressed calm through the training bond and felt the young man relax minutely.

"What was it?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice cracking a little with his distress. "It was so real. It felt like a vision, but--" He broke off, shuddering.

Qui-Gon thought a moment. He could not imagine himself doing or saying any of those things, but he knew all too well that the future could hold different things in different moments. Remaining silent, he realized reluctantly that he could neither ignore the dream nor admit to its viability. One was negligent and the other was abhorrent and he was caught, unable to bring himself to act or even think about it.

But his padawan was terribly disturbed, and so Qui-Gon brought himself under control and tightened his hug.

"Perhaps you had a vision," the master suggested cautiously, then lightened his tone. "Or perhaps what you had was too much pfaise and rice at last meal." He smiled and Obi-Wan caught it and smiled too, his cheek against his master's chest.

But Qui-Gon knew that it was more likely Sight than some odd gastrointestinal complaint arising from an abundance of dinner. This was no mere dream. Now he had to determine how to prevent that string of events from coming to pass.

Guiding them back down to the pallet, Qui-Gon pulled the blanket over them and hugged his beloved padawan close. He would speak with Yoda on the matter. Yoda would likely tell him once again that the future was not fixed and at any time, events could turn on a pinpoint. All the more reason to try to prevent this nightmare from becoming real.

/But clones?/ Qui-Gon wondered, frowning. He kissed the top of Obi-Wan's head and then his lips as the young face turned upward, seeking.

Obi-Wan sighed softly when the kiss ended. He burrowed against his master's broad chest, clinging, gripping the sleep tunic in a fist even as he released his fear, then his lingering sadness. He grounded himself in his master's presence, warm and alive after the chill of his visions.

/I felt you.../

Gently, Qui-Gon threaded a sleep suggestion through to Obi-Wan. Playing his fingers over the padawan braid, he murmured as much to himself as his apprentice, "Dreams pass, in time. They fade. So will this one."

Obi-Wan did not think to be surprised at his master's words. Nodding, he rested against Qui-Gon's warmth, breathing easily and whispering, "Thank you, Master."

Still, Qui-Gon lay awake a long time afterward, waiting. Waiting for the dream to pass.

Obi-Wan struggled to contain his horror as the master and padawan pair stood before the Council. They had requested audience so that Qui-Gon might relay the strange proceedings of the previous night.

But after remarking how fortuitous their timing was, Master Windu relayed information pertaining to a situation involving a Queen, the Trade Federation, and a small planet called Naboo. Then the Councilor spoke the most terrifying words Obi-Wan had ever heard:

"You must leave immediately."

II

Qui-Gon's skill with a 'saber had not diminished in the least during his time away from the Order, even though he seemed to have spent much time here on Kamino where there was nothing but rain and clones. Perhaps he had continued his combat training with the clones themselves--but Obi-Wan had no time for idle speculation.

Ten years, many spent hovering on the edge of Darkness and a few actually in it, had apparently not aged the former Jedi Master. He fought well, if reluctantly. Obi-Wan could feel that reluctance but it made no difference: Obi-Wan had a job to do, and he would not soften under Qui-Gon's apparent regret.

He hated it, nevertheless.

The crackle and hum of lightsabers and the tension between the Jedi and the former master hovered in the air. Obi-Wan spun and leapt, Qui-Gon parried and lunged. The two 'sabersmen were well matched: too well matched. Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon's every technique because Qui-Gon had taught him his.

Obi-Wan felt a flash of Vision come upon him then, the past superimposed over the close future. He cradled Qui-Gon in death, whispering "No...."

In the same instant, Qui-Gon cradled him.

Blinking, he barely parried a blow away from his face. Qui-Gon's snarl had grown ugly and angry; he made no more pretenses about his intentions.

"You have foreseen your own death," he breathed, 'saber locked with Obi-Wan's once more, "coupled with the wishful thinking of a padawan too weak to let go of the past."

Obi-Wan threw him off, his anger growing palpably. "Hypocrite. You speak of the past to me when you've spent a decade hiding from it?"

Qui-Gon only laughed.

Suddenly Obi-Wan realized that his only hope lay in his padawan. /Anakin--/ he tried to call, but the training link was muted; shielded, in fact. Obi-Wan despaired to feel the thick shields of his apprentice and knew somehow that angry pride, just as thick and heavy, lurked behind them.

Qui-Gon's skill was quickly overwhelming the Jedi. Obi-Wan spun away, seeking to buy time, but his old master followed after him immediately.

"Ah, Anakin," Qui-Gon observed, almost idly, leveling a series of strikes. "'My Chosen One.' Perhaps he will accept my training yet. It is clear you cannot handle him."

Growling, Obi-Wan launched himself again. "Not the boy," he snarled, determined. But he was tiring. He could feel it and so could Qui-Gon, he knew.

"Force, but you were always beautiful when you fought," Qui-Gon said low, over their locked and sizzling blades. Obi-Wan's eyes widened. In the fraction of a second it took to be stunned, the Dark Master moved.

The impact, puncture, and burn through Obi-Wan's heart were sudden and languid at the same time, agonizingly slow in a split moment that extended forever.

Screaming, clutching his chest, Obi-Wan woke, jerking upright. The sheet was clammy and his breathing was labored. His bare chest was cool and damp and his leggings seemed to scratch at him.

Too astonished to do less, he burst into tears, whispering "No, no, no," over again, shaking his head. It was too much. Too much. To die by Qui-Gon's hand--sobbing, Obi-Wan went to his knees on the floor. He folded himself over, resting his forearms on the cold metal of the ship and grounding himself in it.

"There is no passion," he reminded himself, voice shaking. "There is no passion. There is no passion." Slowly, he calmed, centering on the coldness seeping into his bare skin. His first vision had seemed to encompass decades, beginning here, now, with Naboo looming over him. But this one... it all came down to Qui-Gon's eyes. Qui-Gon's anger. His fear. His desire to see his own former apprentice die.

Long moments passed before he realized that he was alone. Qui-Gon was not in their small berth, nor had he come back when Obi-Wan's distress had reached an apex. Could he not feel...?

Rising unsteadily and tugging a tunic on, Obi-Wan left their cabin in search of his master.

Qui-Gon was staring out into the stars as they passed, whipping by at the speed of their own light. Wordlessly and without turning from the window, he held a hand out to Obi-Wan.

Going to him, Obi-Wan tucked himself into his master's robe, shivering.

"I felt it," Qui-Gon whispered, still gazing out into space. "Obi-Wan, I swear to you--"

"Don’t," the young man whispered, burrowing closer. "Tell me about the stars, if you like. Talk to me about Tatooine. Force, tell me what conversations you and that Binks creature had, I don't care. Just don't talk about that."

"Dooku approached me in Mos Espa," Qui-Gon said softly, as though he hadn't heard. Astonished, Obi-Wan pulled away, staring up at his master.

Haunted blue eyes looked down at the padawan. "It has begun, as you foresaw--almost. Our foreknowledge has altered events, somehow." He shook his head. "But not enough."

"What did he say to you?" Obi-Wan demanded urgently. "What did you tell him?"

There was a long pause as the master groped for serenity from within. When he could find none, he reached into the Force at large and steadied himself, tightening his hold on his chilled padawan, drawing him close again and wrapping the large robe around them both.

"The Trade Federation fears that their plan to force a treaty is failing. The Force only knows why they need Naboo so badly, but they have gone to Master Dooku for help. He claims they came to him because he was once Jedi. Why would they do that, Obi-Wan? The Trade Federation has no need for Force users."

The puzzlement in Qui-Gon's voice frightened Obi-Wan. If Qui-Gon had no answers....

"He is joining with them. He is funding the construction of a new 'droid foundry and overseeing production. His intention is to wipe out the Republic altogether. He's already begun it; several systems have answered his call to leave the democracy behind and accept martial rule, 'temporarily,' he says. They are moving silently, of course; their representatives are still in the Senate, acting as though all is well. He claims the Senate is useless and corrupt, succumbing to powers we have no knowledge of."

Obi-Wan remained silent, thinking.

"Dooku seems to believe that an empire with the Jedi Order at its head would be more efficient, fairer, less likely to fold under corruption. A Force-driven imperialist state." Qui-Gon shook his head; he was still confused. "If the Order does not agree, he intends to simply continue drawing systems out of the Republic one by one. The ones that do not go will be destroyed. He claims he already has enough 'droids to begin it." Qui-Gon's voice faltered a moment as he added, "He is completely insane. There must be something we can do to stop him."

Carefully, quietly, Obi-Wan suggested, "It is as simple as going to the Council, Master. They will know what to do. He must be captured, contained--"

Qui-Gon was immediately shaking his head. "He would have to be killed, and then he would become a martyr to those he has converted to his cause. No, I see no solution. Only war."

Obi-Wan looked up into the eyes of his master, seeing that Qui-Gon had gone inward, lost in a dangerous reverie. Gently, he touched Qui-Gon's cheek, bringing him back.

"Just because you cannot see a solution does not mean there is none."

The master said nothing, knowing the wisdom of the words but not feeling it.

"Master Qui-Gon," said a soft voice from a doorway behind them. Both men turned to see young Anakin there, wrapped in a blanket and shivering.

Obi-Wan pulled away from Qui-Gon gently and went to the boy. "What is it, Anakin?"

"C-cold," the boy said.

Obi-Wan's heart ached for the boy's present and their shared future. Still, he kept his voice light. "It would seem you and I have the same problem tonight, Pad--" Quickly, he cleared his throat. "Let's see if we can't find you another blanket."

Qui-Gon stepped forward, tugging off his robe. "This will do." He wrapped it around the boy, over the blanket, and then lifted him bodily. He carried Anakin to the small room they had been sleeping in and tucked him into the cot.

"There," the master said, smiling a smile he did not feel. "You'll be warmer in here."

"But where will you sleep?"

Shaking his head, the smile fixed in place, Qui-Gon replied, "I think we're done sleeping for the night." He rose and moved away, pausing in the doorway to look back. Anakin was shifting a little, making himself comfortable in his pile of coverings. Qui-Gon rejoined his padawan in the hold.

Obi-Wan was sitting on a bench, staring at the floor. He remembered details from his first vision, remembered having argued with Qui-Gon over the risk of keeping Anakin as a padawan. "The boy is dangerous," he'd said. In reality, Obi-Wan had never said any such thing. He had stared in the Council session as Qui-Gon had suggested quietly that Obi-Wan take his Trials. Then he had asked that Ani be sent from the chamber.

"If Anakin is as powerful as we believe him to be," he'd said, "then I will need help training him. Once knighted, Obi-Wan can be that help to me."

"Decide that later, we must," Yoda had said. "Train him not. Take him with you, but train him not!"

"Now is not the time for this," Mace had reprimanded. He had then instructed them to go with the Queen.

And here they were, speeding across the galaxy to deliver the Queen to her people. Obi-Wan had remained quiet and subdued, amazed to see his remembered future played out so closely. And yet... a slight shift here; a larger one there... perhaps it was enough to make change.

/Then why do I still dream of fighting Qui-Gon? And... my own death?/

"Promise me you won't initiate any action without the knowledge and permission of the Council," he said suddenly, impulsively, leaning toward Qui-Gon as he moved to sit.

Qui-Gon was pensive. "I can promise no such thing," he said quietly. "If it is true that the Senate is so corrupt, then the Council operates as the guiding hand to a system that is failing miserably."

Obi-Wan felt a breach begin between them, a crack in the honesty they shared. He wanted to plead but what was worse, for the first time in his life he longed to run away, to hide from what his dreams promised him. Death did not frighten him. Qui-Gon falling to Darkness did.

But then he recalled the mysterious warrior that Qui-Gon had battled.

"Master," he said, staring at his hands. "Do you suppose Dooku is involved with that Jedi-trained... thing you fought?"

The master looked startled. "I don't know."

That it seemed not to have crossed Qui-Gon's mind disturbed his padawan even further. Obi-Wan decided then that there was only one thing to be done, and he was going to have to be the one to do it.

The Queen's plan was set in motion. Jar-Jar was on his way to Otoh-Gunga to enlist the aid of his elders. Panaka was preparing for as many rescued pilots and guards as his second could come away with. The two Jedi waited much as they had in Obi-Wan's recollections, only this time there was no apology on his part, nor any declarations of Qui-Gon's faith. They simply sat in silence for a time, watching Anakin trail after Queen Amidala, talking about Tatooine.

"We are already far more involved with this than we should be," Qui-Gon observed quietly after a long moment. "If the Gungans agree to this plan, we will be sending them into slaughter. Battle 'droids are too precise and they have no concept of fear or pain." He shook his head and it was clear to Obi-Wan that he was drawing his thoughts out to encompass whole systems, worrying about Dooku's overreaching plans.

"We cannot direct the Queen's actions," Obi-Wan countered. He knew that as things stood, her prescribed method was a good one and victorious in the end, but he dared say no more. They had already determined once that Obi-Wan's foreknowledge and sharing of it had created some kind of ripple effect, altering events incidentally. If he presumed to change too much at once, he might lose Qui-Gon permanently this time.

/It all hangs on this battle,/ he realized sickly. /Everything./ And as he glanced over at his master, another realization dawned heavily: Qui-Gon was keeping something from him.

A shroud of worry enveloped the young Jedi as he exchanged glances with the master.

"I wanted to explain this before we left for Naboo," the flickering, miniaturized transmission of Obi-Wan said into the recorder. "As we’ve discovered, perhaps it's better that I did not. Now, I fear for Qui-Gon's life as well as his future in the Order."

Yoda and Mace exchanged a heavy glance as they listened to the recording Obi-Wan had made. In it, he detailed the events of Naboo, the mysterious appearance of the skilled warrior on Tatooine, the equally strange appearance of Master Dooku, or rather Count Dooku as he was referring to himself. Obi-Wan's hologram delved into future events, speaking of a clone army begun by Qui-Gon himself under the guise of a Councilor who had only recently passed away. He spoke of Senator Amidala, of Padawan Skywalker, of a fallen Qui-Gon who was neither Sith nor Jedi. He detailed Qui-Gon's concerns about the 'droids and the small band of planets which would eventually be known as the Separatists, and the understanding that Dooku, dead, would only attain martyrdom. Obi-Wan told everything he could remember to tell. He did not question the viability of the visions, nor did he question the reasoning of the Force in giving them to him. He only bore the message into hands more capable than his.

Yoda closed his eyes thoughtfully, considering. Mace watched him, folding his hands, waiting for the little master to speak.

"Bears out, this does, the information we received from Qui-Gon," Yoda said after a moment, opening his eyes. "Telling the truth, both are. Their loyalty to the Jedi this confirms, but not their loyalty to each other. Hope we must that young Obi-Wan can control his fear."

"He does not know that Qui-Gon sent a transmission?"

Yoda shook his head. "Like it I do not but nothing else to do is there. A test of his trust, this is."

Mace nodded, sighing. "We must hope, then, that he passes this trial. Everything depends on it."

"Stay in that cockpit," Qui-Gon ordered Anakin, then moved forward alongside Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan shot Anakin a tight but reassuring smile and Anakin smiled back, a weak, pretended one.

"We trust you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said clearly. The boy's smile became more real only briefly, then faded to a worried look as the Jedi moved toward the hangar entrance.

Obi-Wan's mind worked frantically. /Is that enough? How much did that change, how much did it correct? Or have I destroyed us all with four small words?/ The dichotomy between his visions and his reality was beginning to confuse and frighten him more with each passing hour. He released his fear as much as he could but it was gathering, growing inside him.

"Be in the Moment, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "I need you here."

Then the mysterious, dark warrior appeared in the doorway, removing his hood and snarling.

"We'll handle this," Qui-Gon said.

"We'll take the long way," Amidala replied, moving off to one side with her guards.

"We'll enjoy this a great deal," said a deep, resonant voice from behind the hangar entrance. Count Dooku stepped out, folding his arms and nodding to the Jedi, almost personably.

"Dooku," Obi-Wan breathed, yanking his cloak off and arming himself immediately. "So you are behind this abomination." His eyes flicked toward the creature that had confronted Qui-Gon on Tatooine.

The Count appeared not the least bit surprised that Obi-Wan knew him. He personified cool dignity, his face nowhere near as weathered as Obi-Wan recalled from his dreams. There was still black in his hair and beard, but it was dissipating and would soon be gone as the Dark Side took its toll on his body.

"My young, presumptive friend, I am not Maul's master." Dooku's voice grew smug. "I am merely an acquaintance." His gaze drifted deliberately between master and padawan before he went on archly, "At any rate, I have come to speak with Master Jinn. This is nothing that concerns you."

Obi-Wan tensed, gritting his teeth. "Anything concerning my master concerns me. Had you any concept of loyalty, you would understand this."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon cautioned, raising a hand in a halting gesture, then stepped forward, addressing Dooku. "I made my answer quite clear to you," he said firmly. "There is nothing more to discuss."

"Oh?" Dooku's expression was one of elegant mock surprise. "Perhaps you can tell me then, who is Darth Tyranus, my stubborn old friend? Not you, surely?"

Startled, Obi-Wan cast a glance at his master. Qui-Gon looked angry, and mingled with that anger was something Obi-Wan had neither seen nor felt from his master before: defensiveness.

"How dare you," Qui-Gon breathed, and Obi-Wan reeled. It was all too familiar, an echo from the vision, and he struggled to contain his fear.

"Master," Obi-Wan whispered, staring. He wanted to believe, wanted to beg Qui-Gon to simply deny it all. /Say he lies, say he speculates, and I'll believe you./

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said firmly, his eyes never leaving Dooku's as he removed his cloak and armed himself. "I will not dignify these accusations with a response. I am who I have always been, and you must trust me."

Dooku only laughed. "Well, my former padawan, it seems as though you may have your hands full. I leave you to it, then, to deal with this however you may." He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the hall.

Obi-Wan brought his 'saber to life and launched himself forward, intending to go after Dooku. He was blocked and then parried back by the red-and-black Sith, whose 'saber had turned into a lightstaff. Qui-Gon armed himself and snapped out a series of blows but the Sith was expert and very, very fast.

/He cannot be allowed to escape,/ Obi-Wan sent through the training bond, defending and then throwing himself forward, trying to gain an advantage against their opponent.

/He can, and he will,/ Qui-Gon returned, ducking under a swipe of glaring red 'saber. /He is not our concern. Do not allow yourself the distraction, Padawan./

Qui-Gon's mental voice was sharp and Obi-Wan felt that prickle of doubt again, the fear that Qui-Gon was holding back. He restrained it and fought as the Dark Lord led them further into the generator rooms, forcing them onto catwalks. With frightening familiarity, the duel raged on.

III

Obi-Wan came to suddenly, hearing the crackle of 'sabers in the Prime Minister's chamber. Gasping, he put a hand over the wound on his chest--and stared. There was no wound.

Obi-Wan was sure he had felt the pierce of 'saber through his chest even as he was thrown back suddenly by his own apprentice. But no--his memory was playing tricks on him. Qui-Gon had been about to kill him when Anakin had launched himself into the small chamber with enhanced speed, Force-shoving Obi-Wan against the wall and parrying Qui-Gon's 'saber back.

Blinking, Obi-Wan had only a moment to wonder before he came to his senses. Anakin was out there alone, engaged in a duel with Qui-Gon Jinn. He would never defeat the Dark Master alone.

/Anakin saved my life,/ Obi-Wan marveled, and memories began to resolve themselves, grounded in the history he had changed years ago with a simple statement of trust.

But he could not heed them now. Anakin alone was no match for Qui-Gon, no matter his strength in the Force. Drawing on the bond between them and Anakin's loyalty, Obi-Wan found new power to continue fighting. He sprinted out of the side chamber and once more into the fray, thumbing on his lightsaber.

Anakin's 'saber crackled angrily as he engaged Qui-Gon again and again, but Qui-Gon never seemed to tire. Suddenly Obi-Wan was there, renewed and vigorous. He did not know what was happening to him--his life was a mass of confusion, it seemed--but right now, his padawan needed him. They needed each other.

"How heartwarming," Qui-Gon sneered. "If only you had trusted me the way you trusted Anakin, perhaps we might all be fighting on the same side."

Angered, Anakin let out a low growl and feinted, then ducked low, slashing at Qui-Gon's knee. Screaming, Qui-Gon fell; his 'saber dropped to the floor, deactivated.

"If only," Anakin said, his voice deathly cold. He raised his 'saber high.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Qui-Gon was crouching over him, holding him very still, murmuring his name.

"Stay with me. Stay with me, Obi-Wan. It's not too late, they're coming and they're bringing help." Calloused hands brushed his face tenderly. "Brave, foolish Padawan, you should never have--" his words choked off and he looked away, down, staring at the blackened wound in Obi-Wan's chest.

Obi-Wan took a breath and fire ripped through him. "Ohhh," he moaned weakly. "I--Master--"

"Don't," Qui-Gon pleaded. "Conserve your energy. Pull from the Force. Help me, Obi-Wan. Help me, and hold on. You must hold on until the medical units arrive."

The pain was too great. Vision swimming, Obi-Wan succumbed.

With a start, Obi-Wan came awake. His hand went automatically to his chest before he felt the reassuring warmth beside him, shifting.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon murmured sleepily. "Are you all right?"

Relaxing into the pillows, Obi-Wan turned toward his lover, curling up against the broad chest. "I--seem to be having nightmares. Or--" he shook his head, not knowing what to call them. Tiredly, he scratched at his beard and ran a hand around to the back of his neck, fidgeting with his hair. It tickled since he'd begun growing it out.

Qui-Gon put his arms around the knight and sighed. "You tend to have nightmares when you're under pressure. Are you concerned about Anakin again?"

Considering, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. He's doing fine; much better than I thought. My concerns were unfounded, it seems. Since he had the marriage annulled, he's seemed much more balanced. The distance was wearing on him and in the end I believe he only wanted Amidala to be happy."

The master nodded, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan's temple. "And to think you once thought him selfish," he teased, and Obi-Wan groaned.

"Forgive my impulsive, judgmental side, Master," he retorted, kissing Qui-Gon firmly. Qui-Gon made a surprised sound and kissed back, almost hesitantly sliding his tongue forward to capture Obi-Wan's, then withdrawing and ending the kiss.

Obi-Wan pulled back briefly, looking at Qui-Gon closely. "What is it?"

"Are you all right?" the master asked again, concerned. "You seem distracted lately, and distant."

"I feel distracted. As though... well, as though my attention has been split. But by what, I don't know. It must be all the dreams and nightmares I've been having." Shrugging, he burrowed close to Qui-Gon. "It isn't important. Dreams pass."

Qui-Gon smiled. "That they do." He nuzzled Obi-Wan's cheek and laid a trail of kisses down. Turning his head, Obi-Wan caught his master's lips and kissed him warmly.

"Make them go away for a while?" he asked softly after the kiss ended. "Make me forget them."

Cupping Obi-Wan's face, Qui-Gon kissed him again, shifting closer. Obi-Wan responded by tucking one leg between his lover's, pushing his hips forward. Trailing a hand down Obi-Wan's bare back, Qui-Gon smiled, cupping the round, firm ass and pulling the knight yet closer to him.

"So impatient, my own," Qui-Gon rumbled, moving his lips over Obi-Wan's throat.

"Yes--Master," Obi-Wan gasped, pushing his hand between them to grasp Qui-Gon's firming cock. "Yes. Impatient." He began to stroke gently, enjoying the sighs and moans falling from that mouth pressed against his skin.

Qui-Gon pulled away, pressing Obi-Wan into the mattress. "I shall have to teach you patience then, my irrepressible padawan." He began, very slowly, to kiss and lick his way down the slender column of throat, over collarbones, across shoulders, down the lightly haired chest. Obi-Wan began to squirm and moan, so Qui-Gon found a nipple and latched on firmly, biting.

"Ohh--Qui-Gon, yes," Obi-Wan encouraged, writhing. He sank his hands into the long mane of hair, petting and playing as Qui-Gon continued to tease him exquisitely. Slowly, so slowly, Qui-Gon moved over his rib cage, across his stomach and down, nuzzling the angle of one hip and then moving inward. Suddenly, quickly, Obi-Wan's erection was enveloped by warm, wet suction.

Arching and crying out, Obi-Wan carefully let Qui-Gon's hair go and made hard fists in the sheets. Qui-Gon's mouth moved up and down, tongue swiping restlessly, lapping first at the underside and then at the crown, constantly moving. Obi-Wan's hips worked reflexively. He moaned, tossing his head.

"Yes--don't stop," he hissed. Far from it, Qui-Gon increased the pace and suction of his mouth, driving Obi-Wan tumbling over the edge into orgasm, crying out.

Obi-Wan screamed, arching off of the medical cot, struggling against the hands that pinned him down.

"Hold him! No--Padawan Kenobi, stop, you mustn't--"

After the ecstasy of his dream, the agony was all-encompassing, making breathing nearly impossible. A Force suggestion was pushed at him and he batted it away, eyes flying open. Qui-Gon hovered over him, pale and frightened, arguing with a healer.

"I warned you that this would happen," Qui-Gon hissed angrily. "He needs to remain unconscious--he does not need to be forced awake to answer questions! Look at him! He's barely healed at all. Let him rest!"

"We must know what else he's seen," an unknown voice said before a needle pierced Obi-Wan's inner arm, bringing with it faint and yet blessed relief from the pain. "Dooku escaped unimpeded. We must know where he's gone."

"That's what investigations are for!" Qui-Gon barked, and Obi-Wan's head swam. He swallowed; his throat felt thick and dry. There was too much light in the room, even for closed eyes. At least now the pain was faded, the worst of it blocked behind whatever drug the healer had injected him with. Still, it loomed.

He remembered the battle. He remembered the dark warrior, snarling and horned, tattooed with markings the color of blood and the Sith. He remembered fighting in tandem with Qui-Gon. He remembered the push through the bond, remembered knowing suddenly that Qui-Gon was about to die. In that instant, the entire clone nightmare could have come to a screaming, painful end.

/Or could it?/

The instant had stretched to an eternity as Obi-Wan's faith overcame his doubt. Along with the flash of knowledge had come a burst of energy, just enough to shove his master out of the way and parry. But his parry had not been quick enough and the Sith was too good. As in his visions, Obi-Wan's chest had been seared through with tormenting slowness, the electric burn overwhelming everything else. The vision of him ten years older had clouded the moment, much as the past was clouding it now.

"Please," he croaked, blinking in the brightness of the medical ward. "Drink."

Qui-Gon looked down, startled. "Yes, Obi-Wan," he said softly, his voice urgent and surprised. A small tube was pushed between Obi-Wan's lips and he drew at it, grateful at the mouthful of cool water before the tube was pulled away again.

"Slowly," his master urged. "Oh, my Obi-Wan, only a moment. They will let you sleep again, and then the bacta will take care of the rest. No, no, be still." He spoke soothingly, his fear and urgency bleeding through the bond and belying the calm in his voice.

"Hurts," Obi-Wan sighed. "So much."

Qui-Gon glared at the healer who remained out of Obi-Wan's range of vision. Obi-Wan heard shuffling and the opening and closing of a cabinet. When the hypo punctured the skin at the side of his neck, he allowed his eyes to slide closed again. This time the relief was complete, and so was dark, warm unconsciousness.

His master's voice grew distant and hollow. "Sleep, my own. Rest and heal..."

And sleep, Obi-Wan did.

Master Kenobi stayed his padawan's hand. "No. Do not kill him. There are answers yet that he can give us. Are there not, Darth Tyranus?"

The two Jedi stared down dispassionately at the wounded Count Dooku, who glared back at them defiantly. "I will give you nothing," he spat. "Nothing you could do to me would come close to the suffering my master would inflict."

"Then answer quickly and you will die quickly," Obi-Wan bluffed, releasing his anger and steadying his breathing even as Anakin did the same. "That is as much kindness as you have earned."

Dooku laughed. "You once accused me of knowing no loyalty. I know it now, foolish Jedi. My master holds my devotion tightly. I may die or I may walk away; it makes no difference."

Anakin crouched down, glaring at the Count. "You will tell us," he said, his voice deadly and sure. He closed his eyes and Obi-Wan felt a shift in the Force as Anakin, the only Jedi to successfully use Force-suggestion on a Toydarian, now probed the Sith Lord's mind. Gasping, eyes wide, Dooku began to shake as he struggled to fight out the intruding presence. It was in vain: Anakin's expression hardened, then relaxed as he opened his eyes, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said quietly, rising. He and Obi-Wan turned away and walked into the long hallway of the cloning facility, leaving Dooku where he lay.

"Wait!" Dooku called, struggling to rise, then crying out and clutching at his lanced knee. The two Jedi turned back as one and regarded him cautiously.

"You cannot--leave me here," he said haltingly. "I--my master--it is the way of the Sith."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "What are you on about, Dooku?"

"All--" Dooku gasped and gritted his teeth, tipping his head back and letting out a long groan of pain before he spoke again, his phrases punctuated by labored breaths. "All the Trade Federation wanted--was a way out from under Sidious. They knew they had made a mistake. Don't you--aghh!--"

The Sith Lord took several breaths and centered himself. Obi-Wan could feel the vortex of darkness moving around Dooku before he resumed what appeared to be a stalling tactic.

"Don't you see?" he demanded breathlessly. "Have you so little vision? The Order is the only way to bring balance to the Republic. You, Anakin, surely you see. The Chosen One, the greatest hope for the universe. The only hope for the Force. Help me. The Jedi should be in control. Then we will have peace." He held a hand up in a supplicating gesture.

Anakin glared at the Sith Lord. "Liar. You are no Jedi and there is no Chosen One. That's a myth; a fairy tale to--" he stumbled in his speech, catching sight of Obi-Wan's pained expression.

"Padawan," Obi-Wan said quietly, pleading with his eyes for a chance to explain. "We have much to do, and time is short."

The young Jedi's eyes locked with the master's and held a moment, knowingly. "Very well," he breathed. "Time is short, is it not?"

Anakin stared down coldly at Dooku, then added, "It would seem we have a Supreme Chancellor to impeach."

IV

Obi-Wan tilted his head and stared at the door, waiting. Qui-Gon was about to come through it and when he did, the padawan intended to say things, demand things that he knew would not go over well.

And then there he was, tall and cool as always, his relaxed demeanor firmly in place in spite of the turmoil Obi-Wan saw in his eyes. Qui-Gon slipped into the room silently, staring a moment before he moved closer, as though to reassure himself of Obi-Wan's viability.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon smiled a little shakily, settling into a chair beside the bed. "They told me you had come out of the tank. How are you feeling?"

"Don't let them keep me here, Master," Obi-Wan said urgently, immediately. Qui-Gon's eyes widened as Obi-Wan pressed on. "The dreams--I can't sleep anymore; I can't stand it. It might be the drugs--those are what's giving me the visions, I'm sure. Please." He reached for Qui-Gon's hand and gripped it hard.

Qui-Gon squeezed his padawan's hand but said quietly, "Obi-Wan, you know you were having those visions before--this." He glanced away, unwilling to name the terrible thing that had put his padawan in this bed.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Please. Help me find a way to make them stop--I am afraid of them. It's too much for me to know, too much--I can't think anymore, I can't remember where I am, or which reality, which time is mine. Please Qui-Gon, Master--" He broke off and slumped back onto the bed. His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head slowly, lost in his fears.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, his voice rich and soft. He leaned over and nuzzled a pale, cool cheek. "Please be calm, love. These--visions, these dreams--are too important; you cannot stop what the Force needs you to know. We've already seen so many of them come to reality. The Chancellor--"

The young man's eyes were suddenly fever bright. "Oh, Force, Qui-Gon, he cannot be allowed to--you have to find out how far along the clones--I've saved you, but the Chosen One--!"

Qui-Gon remained still through his padawan's broken rambling. He raised a hand to stroke Obi-Wan's brow and soothed him silently. Slowly, the padawan calmed and then laughed.

"I'm insane. I'm completely crazy. I have tapped into something uncontrollable in the Force and it has broken my mind."

The words chilled the master clean through. "No. If--in your visions--you’ve saved me, then surely you've done more than enough. Let them go, Obi-Wan, if the Force wills it."

Obi-Wan stared, half daring to hope that it might be so simple. Could he simply refuse to see? Could he perhaps shake himself lucid enough to change the course of them, or perhaps end the dreams altogether? Perhaps if he only believed....

But the halting phrasing his master had used, and that "if," kept him from believing enough.

It was a galaxy of oppression. There was nothing, nothing but sweltering heat and the nagging understanding that the Empire reigned over all with fear and the threat of great pain.

Ben hobbled out to the stone where he had once sat and contemplated the gross magnitude of his failure. Now, his bones ached with the shifting of the sand and he only contemplated the blessed release that the Force would soon allow him. He had long since let go of his guilt. It had been hard going, but Anakin Skywalker, Chosen One or no, had taken his own fate into his hands; no one could alter the course of his choices. Young Obi-Wan had made mistakes that old Ben could not correct; guilt was self-destructive and petty--rather like the Empire.

The Jedi Order had been gone for too many years. The last hope for the known universe was a boy named Luke, son of the Chosen One: more immature at nineteen than Anakin had been at nine, less capable and certainly less loyal. Anakin had been mature enough to take a padawan's sparse words of praise and turn them into a viable friendship. He'd been capable enough to help a young master defeat a Sith Lord. He'd been loyal enough to risk the Dark Side for his mother and loyal enough to Obi-Wan to overcome it. He'd been everything the Chosen One should have been.

But those days had been gone for decades. Now Ben had to find a way to make a young, impulsive child develop the strength of soul it would take to defeat his own father. Was this the new Chosen One, then? This child who seemed to do little more than bemoan his inability to remain perpetually in Toshi Station, tinkering with speeder parts?

Sighing, the man now known simply as a crazy old hermit with delusions of grandeur released his petty annoyance to the Force and called a gnarled stick to his hand. Oh, how he ached for the Old Republic. He ached for the Order, as flawed as it had been. He ached (oh, terribly) for Qui-Gon.

But Qui-Gon had been the first to fall to Anakin's wrath. Just on the other side of the quadrant, Anakin's mother had been taken by Tusken Raiders and beaten severely over the course of weeks. She had died in Anakin's arms. Qui-Gon had tried to help, but his sense of responsibility over the clones and Dooku had outweighed his sense of responsibility for Anakin's heartbreak. Ben himself had played no small part in Shmi's death by ignoring the dreams of a young man who could no more make sense of them than Obi-Wan had of his own. It had been hard, but he had long since released his guilt. It was an indulgence he could no longer afford.

Anakin had overcome his grief until he'd learned on the trip home from Kamino, that fateful, cursed trip, that his visions were only a small symptom of a massive nexus with the Force, greater than any ever seen. What might have been seen as a boon was only resented as a long-kept secret; it was something that offered explanation for his visions, his power, his confidence (what Obi-Wan had coolly corrected to "arrogance" as they spoke). The Jedi Master might have known the young apprentice would react in exactly such a fashion.

The secret had been blown wide open then. Anakin had couched his anger and hoarded it, continuing with his training under thick, cloudy shields. He had allowed his resentment and rage to build until Chancellor Palpatine had coddled him into acting on it. The Jedi would discover later that Palpatine had played more of a role in Anakin's training than even Qui-Gon had.

Obi-Wan would also discover that his lies of omission to Anakin, to the Council, and to Qui-Gon regarding the nature of Palpatine's involvement (and oh, what an understatement that was!) had set off a chain of events that negated Obi-Wan's earlier corrections. They had never known about Senator Palpatine, nor had they suspected him to be Lord Sidious. Would they have, based on the words of a half-frantic, sleep-deprived Senior Padawan?

That lack of knowledge, the lack of a hint, had been their undoing-- theirs, and Obi-Wan's. For in the background, Sidious had worked his connection to the young padawan. Oh, Chancellor Palpatine had been the one that Anakin had run to on that terrible day when he'd learned the truth. He had been the one that Anakin had confided in.

Ben shook his head, lost in the memories.

"I am strong," the young One had said before launching himself into the battle that had taken Qui-Gon away. "Strong enough to have saved my mother. Strong enough to have ended the Clone War before it began. Strong enough to have discovered and destroyed Dooku and his master--but no. Now everything is in ruins, and it's your fault!"

And now the Order was completely decimated, the Jedi extinct but for an old hermit who lived in a cave of ancient stone and a little green Dagoban who remained cloaked amid the thickness of the Living Force on his home planet. It would have been poetic to say the galaxy was in chaos, but it wasn't. No, it was neatly ordered now, held in tight, strict formation by the fear and rage that had borne the new era: by the fear and rage that had been engendered in dreams.

So many dreams--dreams and visions and futures and pasts, and all of them came down to this. Ben poked his stick into the cracked-sand earth and watched a minute puff of dust rise and then fall. Yes, after all, the dust rising and falling was as apt and complete an analogy for the progression of time as he'd ever heard Master Yoda give.

Ben stood and leaned on his stick, looking off to the southeast where the boy grew too slowly and not well enough, and yet would be tested before much longer. Would that Ben could have trained Leia! Leia was capable, strong, bull-headed like her mother, compassionate and sharp. But no, she was not in Ben's charge, and if nothing else, he would bow to wisdom greater than his in this, his last task, and complete it.

Sighing, the old man headed for his cave. Soon. It would be soon.

Waking slowly, Obi-Wan came to realize three things: the pain had eased immensely, this was the first time in weeks that he hadn't jolted awake either breathless or screaming, and he had tears on his cheeks. Of all the terrifying visions he'd seen, of all the shifting or repeating dreams, this had been the most fundamentally disturbing. For all his corrections and adjustments to the present, his visions still told him all was lost.

Despondent, he looked around and saw Qui-Gon asleep, a bearded cheek in his palm, leaning on the arm of his chair. He was pale and under his eyes were dark smudges. He had lost weight, weight that a lean man could not afford to lose.

"Oh, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan whispered, stricken. For all of Obi-Wan's own mistrust and fear, he could not deny the steadfast love and loyalty inherent in his master's actions. Obi-Wan knew then with a deep sense of rightness that had Qui-Gon died on Naboo, not only would the Clone War not have been prevented, but the Order, and the padawan himself, would have lost someone invaluable.

There was yet one thing more to be done, but it would keep a little longer. Only a precious little while, while Qui-Gon slept.

"I need to speak with Anakin," Obi-Wan said in a clear, firm voice, nothing like the desperate tone he'd used before, much to Qui-Gon's relief.

"He's involved in classes," Qui-Gon told him. "I can arrange for him to come at the end of the day. I will bring him; perhaps you'd like to visit with Master Yoda as--"

"Alone," Obi-Wan shook his head. "I must see him alone." The half-suspicious look on Qui-Gon's face was almost more than Obi-Wan could bear. Still, he held his ground.

"Very well," Qui-Gon said quietly, wondering. Then, for the first time in days, he left Obi-Wan. Alone.

"Listen to me," Obi-Wan said, that fevered urgency back in his eyes and his voice. He felt that he was perpetually in a dream state now, but had enough of his faculties left to know that this was the present. This was real. This was his chance to correct it all.

Anakin did not say anything as he moved closer to the bed on which the older padawan sat, propped up on pillows.

"There's something you have to know. Something all-important. Something about yourself and the rest of the Order."

At Anakin's confused look, Obi-Wan plowed on quickly, "There is a legend, a prophecy in the Jedi Order that goes, 'From no father shall be born the Chosen One of Balance.' It's a mystery. We aren't generally taught about it until we're much older than you, but-- this is something you need to know. You see, it was widely believed that this was only a myth, not a real prediction. We call it a prophecy, but it's really just a kind of fable. Like all mysteries, it is written in oblique terms, like a code. Do you understand?"

Anakin nodded hesitantly. "Like the Holy Writings we learned about the other day. Most systems have them."

Obi-Wan smiled encouragingly. "That's right. The Jedi Order has them, too. For centuries, we thought that perhaps this was a kind of dead end, something that said there would never be balance. That one side of the Force would always overpower the other. For centuries, as well, we believed that we, the users of the Light, had the advantage. We believed the Sith extinct. Without Dark Force users, the Light would always weigh more heavily." Now the words poured from Obi-Wan's mouth. Later, he would wonder where they came from, wonder how he had remembered all of these arcana or when he had worked it out this way. At the moment, however, he neither knew nor cared.

"We believe things to be best this way. This way, we can ensure the progression of good in the galaxy. 'From no father shall be born the Chosen One of Balance.' We always thought that was another way of saying the Chosen One would never exist. How could he, with no father? And we believed the Sith to be gone forever, so of course we knew the Light would remain in control over the Dark."

Dangerous, frightened light dawned in Anakin's eyes. "What's it got to do with me?" he asked, but he knew. Obi-Wan could see that he knew.

"You are the Chosen One, Anakin. You were conceived by the Force itself. Do you see? Several things have to happen in a certain order for there to be balance. The prophecy continues, 'And to no mother shall he return.' There's some more about order and prosperity, but Anakin, you must know. There is so much to learn and you have so much to do before you can make the prophecy a reality. You have to know now, because the Sith do exist in this era, and because they are strong, so strong--"

"No." Anakin's eyes were terrified. He backed away from the bed, his face a mask of fear and anger. "'To no mother'-- what does that mean? What does it mean?"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said softly, suddenly feeling as afraid as the young boy looked. "I--I don't know."

Tears welled in Anakin's eyes. "I can't do all that, I just wanted to be a Jedi--and a pilot. I just wanted to be able to help my mother someday."

Struck speechless by the discrepancy between what he knew and what he longed for, Obi-Wan could only stare and shake his head.

"I can't!" Anakin cried, then darted from the room.

Obi-Wan sighed, shaken. He was grateful for the mattress under him and the coolness of the room as his heart raced and ached in a way that had nothing to do with his 'saber wound.

It was insanity sand and stars; 'droids; clones; Qui-Gon evil; Dooku beneficient; Palpatine; Anakin, a man who was a machine. Images swirled and darted, confusing and frightening and sometimes comforting. There was Qui-Gon smiling down, then Anakin looking tearfully up. Then Qui-Gon again--

Obi-wan roused blearily and stared up at his master, who wore an expression that was somewhere between exasperated impatience and terror.

"Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Force help us all, what have you done?"

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan frowned. "What--?"

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed dangerously. He closed them a moment, breathed in deeply, and finally spoke.

"Anakin is gone."

V

Several weeks had passed since those dire visions had occurred. That final, hopeless vision remained with him, haunting, threatening a desolate end to a desperate time, but slowly, the sharp ache of it faded. Obi-Wan's sleep still suffered; while he became less afraid of closing his eyes, he became more afraid that he had sealed the fate of the galaxy in a rush of thoughtless words. The nightmares were gone, but this was small consolation next to his new waking life.

It seemed that several dozen very important Jedi had accepted Anakin Skywalker to be the Chosen One: discreetly. It also seemed that Obi-Wan was currently under investigation regarding the deliberate offering of information far beyond his scope (and place within the Order). Immediately upon his release from the healers' ward, he was placed in detention while his character was quietly assassinated in Council chambers.

"A deliberate act, this was," Master Yoda said mournfully. "Afraid, he was, of Padawan Skywalker; jealous, too, hm? Allowed his visions of the future to cloud his thinking in the present, he did."

"We have seen enough evidence of that future come to pass," Qui-Gon argued, losing patience after three long days of the same series of questions. Obi-Wan, not yet fully recovered from his injury, sat in a hoverchair. His forehead was cupped in his palm and for the entire series of questions, he had said nothing in his own defense. Sparing him a glance, his master went on, "My padawan was never jealous of Anakin. Had I acted in the manner that he had foreseen, he might have had cause to be, but it did not come to pass. He was only working for the protection of the future he sees looming--"

"Enough," Yarael Poof sighed. "This bickering neither assists us in determining Padawan Skywalker's location nor addresses the problems that Padawan Kenobi claims to have seen coming to fruition in the future." He swivelled his head and stared at Obi-Wan. "We must have something more immediate to work with than some nebulous possibility--one that we should never have been shown--decades away."

/Ah, the most common assumption,/ Obi-Wan thought bitterly. /That I can turn it on and off like a switch./ However, he had learned after three grueling days of questions to keep his tone humble and his thoughts to himself. He had also learned that no matter how desperately he tried to tell them the remainder of his visions, the crucial detail that no one had heard, all they wanted to know was, "Why did you tell Anakin?"

And so, against his own will, locked inside what he now considered to be a half-broken mind was a bit of knowledge that could save everything--or destroy everyone.

"Then that is it," Mace Windu sighed. "There is nothing more we can do but keep Padawan Kenobi from disclosing more than he already has."

"I shall take full responsibility for my padawan's actions," Qui-Gon said firmly, stepping forward, hands folded into his sleeves. "We must conduct an investigation into the nature of Anakin's disappearance and determine his whereabouts ourselves. If I take Obi-Wan off-planet, no one will be jeopardized, and perhaps we can get to the root of his visions as well."

For the first time since the investigation had begun, Obi-Wan felt a glimmer of hope along with his gratefulness for his master's steadfast loyalty to him. It seemed that everyone now doubted Obi-Wan, distrusted him, feared him, even--but not Qui-Gon. Never had Qui-Gon given Obi-Wan any reason to think he did not believe.

Yoda tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Arrange this, we can. Keep him with you at all times, you must, Qui-Gon. Too powerful is Anakin Skywalker to be allowed to go without training in the Light Side of the Force. Bring him back, you must." He closed his eyes and tipped his head down, momentarily consulting the power that guided them all.

"Yes. Do this, you will, Master Jinn. Depend on you, we must." He turned and pierced Obi-Wan with a hard stare. "We must," he repeated.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed, indicating the untouched tray of food on the detention room table. "You need to eat. Let me at least bring you something from the commissary."

Obi-Wan shook his head, then looked at Qui-Gon, pleading. "Why won't the visions come back?"

The master sighed, taking his padawan's hand across the table. "I don't know, Obi-Wan. Perhaps they depend on Anakin's return. The Council promised last week that we are to be sent to Tatooine as soon as transportation can be assured."

Nodding glumly, Obi-Wan squeezed his master's hand feebly. Then his eyes grew intense with the fervor that Qui-Gon had come to fear. "Please, Master, at least let me tell you--"

Qui-Gon raised a hand, shaking his head, his heart constricting. "Obi-Wan, I cannot. Please, I cannot. Everything hangs in a delicate balance that depends on your silence. There is nothing more I can do, and the Council--"

"This is bigger than the COUNCIL!" Obi-Wan shouted, rising from his chair and sweeping the food tray to the floor in a loud, spattering rain of vegetables and sauce. Stunned, he stared at the mess he'd made, then at his master, who was watching him with grieving eyes.

"I--I--" Obi-Wan stammered, eyes wide. "I'm sorry." He sank back into his chair, hiding his face in his hands. Quietly, despairing, he began to cry.

They sat before Chancellor Palpatine: half the Council, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan.

"This is most unusual," the Chancellor sighed, glancing down at the requests for indefinite changes of orders, fund transfers, and transports. "And very costly, to be sure. Tell me, what is it that causes the most requested pair in the Order to suddenly forgo their duties in search of one missing child?" He raised his eyes to look questioningly at Master Yoda.

"A very important child this is," Yoda said simply, but would offer no more.

Palpatine looked the requisitions over once more, then shook his head. "This..." He glanced at the datapad again, "Anakin Skywalker... Oh, yes, I remember. Oh my, the boy who single-handedly destroyed the Trade Federation's control ship. My." The politician seemed to consider a moment, then said, "No, I simply cannot imagine what would be of such import. I am afraid there is far too much else in the Republic for the Jedi to concern themselves with. I can grant neither the leave nor the funds."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, seething. He had done his best to hide his emotions, couching them behind with-all-due-respects and if-you-pleases, but now it was too much. And suddenly he could see clearly, once again, what had to be done, and there was no alternative: he had to do it.

In an instant of Force-enhanced strength and speed, he leapt from his seat and instantly armed himself. 'Saber flashing, he bounded across the Chancellor's desk, murder showing plainly in his eyes and a war cry of "Sidious!" echoing in the chamber around him.

Just as instantly, he was brought down by no fewer than four Jedi; stunned cries and the sound of breathless struggle reverberated in the shocked atmosphere of the chamber. Qui-Gon stared, dumbstruck. Mace gripped the arms of his seat, leaning forward as if he would bound into the fray himself; Yoda closed his eyes. Later, Qui-Gon would reflect that he'd never seen his grandmaster have so much trouble finding his center.

"No," Obi-Wan grunted, struggling under the weight of two Jedi while another disarmed him and the fourth held a 'saber at his throat. "You don't--the Sith--!" He jerked his head in the direction of the Chancellor, but immediately fell silent as Master Yoda tapped his way toward him, glaring.

Rising from his seat, the Chancellor looked down at Padawan Kenobi, then at Yoda, supremely puzzled. "I--my goodness," he stammered, suddenly nervous. "Master Yoda, I trust you understand the nature of this threat that has been made today upon my life. An assassination attempt in my own chamber--" He stopped, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, then settled into his chair again, wiping his brow, looking very disturbed.

"Dealt with, Padawan Kenobi will be," Yoda assured him, tilting his head in the direction of the door and indicating Obi-Wan. "Place him, you will, in maximum-security detention," he told the Councilors who held the young Jedi. "Arm the guard. And Master Qui-Gon?"

Too stunned to breathe, Qui-Gon turned to the head of the High Council.

"See you privately, I will. Much there is to discuss before you are assigned a new padawan."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth but found that his voice had fled him.

"Calm down, you will, Qui-Gon," Yoda snapped, rapping the tall master's knee sharply, making him pause in his pacing in a very undignified manner: clutching his kneecap and wincing.

"Please forgive me, Master," Qui-Gon retorted sharply, "for my lack of control. My padawan just tried to murder the Supreme Chancellor!"

Narrowing his eyes, Master Yoda levitated himself right into Qui-Gon's face and gripped the bearded chin hard, brandishing his gimer stick menacingly. "Listen you must, you willful, stubborn grand-padawan of mine. See me pacing and speaking to an old master so disrespectfully you do not. See me whining about my lack of skill as a master you do not. See me wondering where I went wrong, you will never. Listen you will, before I bruise--your--head." He punctuated his words with sharp jabs of the stick.

Qui-Gon's eyes widened slightly and he nodded, rubbing his jaw when Yoda let it go.

"Hmph," the little master snorted, floating himself steadily to the ground. "Always responded better to threats of beating, you did, Qui-Gon. Now about your padawan."

Qui-Gon dropped to one knee, regarding the little troll thoughtfully, suddenly enveloped with a sense of calm he hadn't felt in weeks. "You know something."

Yoda snorted again. "The oldest master in the Order for nothing, I am not."

Obi-Wan sat in the small, gray detention room, legs folded before him on a little green cot. He was slumped forward, elbows on his knees, defeated. They had taken away his 'saber, his utility belt; everything hard, sharp, or presumably dangerous or anything that might be used to potentially attack or subdue a visitor or a guard. The security guard had even removed his boots. The only thing of metal in the room was the bolted-down cot and the gray metal cuffs that had been clamped to each of Obi-Wan's wrists. They weren't chained together; their only purpose was to keep Obi-Wan from accessing his use of the Force to escape or reach into his master's mind. A thin blanket sagged over the end of the cot, unheeded.

Now he could see the insanity of telling a nine-year-old boy that the fate of the galaxy rested on him. Now he could see the folly of hurling himself across the Supreme Chancellor's desk, bent on murder. Obi-Wan couldn't imagine what his master might think of him now. He did not, in all honesty, know what he thought of himself. He knew what the rest of the Order thought of him, he presumed. Certainly, he knew what the detention block thought of him: that Obi-Wan Kenobi was dangerous, unbalanced, impulsive with his anger. That he'd lost his center.

A terrifying, nagging thought had occurred to him several hours prior as he'd undone and re-plaited his padawan braid for the seventeenth time: what if the visions weren't visions at all? What if they were merely dreams? Surely, the one of him and Qui-Gon together, in bed--flushing, he struggled to turn his thought away from that bittersweet memory. What if he'd only tapped into enough of the Force to lend the dreams a grain of truth, and the rest, the future, was nothing but the desperate projection of an overtired mind?

/Oh, Force help me, what have I done?/

Obi-Wan wanted to sob out the anguish of having allowed himself to be so led astray by the overemotional visions. He wanted to scream at the indignity he'd done himself, his master, the entire Order. But shouts and tears would not come. He was exhausted; utterly spent.

The problem was that sleep would not come, either.

After a long while he heard an achingly familiar tap-shuffle outside his door. Muffled voices and a ripple of Force preceded the arrival of the little master, to Obi-Wan's mingled terror and relief. Yoda sealed the door behind him with a flick of claw.

"Watch carefully your dreams, you must," he said without preamble. "Tell you nothing I can, but learn everything you will, soon enough."

Obi-Wan frowned at the cryptic nature of the master's appearance. "But--what about the Chancellor? Am I to be tried?"

Yoda swept an outstretched hand through the air. "Sleep you must, Padawan. Sleep and dream."

An irresistible, black drowsiness descended over Obi-Wan before he could think to argue. He did not feel his body being shifted and stretched out onto the cot nor the blanket being pulled over him. Neither did he realize that the old master was removing the cuffs impatiently, then weaving a way into the young man's thoughts, forging a bright connection with him.

Silently, Yoda gathered up the fragmented dream images that Obi-Wan had seen, sorting them from the memories of the past and the possible outcomes upon which Obi-Wan had speculated. When he had what he needed, he closed down the connection and withdrew it carefully.

"Hm," Yoda grunted quietly, passing a hand over Obi-Wan's short, spiked hair. "Sorry I am, Obi-Wan," he whispered before gesturing the door open again and then closing it behind him, engaging the lock once more.

There was no future.

Obi-Wan stood in a smoky green field, looking about him for direction. He knew with the lucidity that came with Force-enhanced dreaming that this was all he was going to get. Still, he waited for the mist to clear or for a wind to rise; any indication of a direction might have been just enough.

Distantly he realized that the Force-dampeners had been removed. Looking down at his dream-self, he saw that his entire uniform had been restored, the cuffs removed, and his lightsaber returned to him. He looked up again and saw a dim figure moving toward him through the swirling, pale green mists.

Obi-Wan armed himself immediately. But the tired, haggard face and the raised, empty hands stayed him. Retracting his blade, he stared.

It was himself.

He knew this, though he had never seen what he was to look like in those bleak years on Tatooine. The white-bearded old man dropped his hands and shuffled forward, sighing and shaking his head.

"What now, then?" he asked, and his voice was older even than it had been in Obi-Wan's vision.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan whispered. "I'm waiting for something." He clipped his 'saber hilt to his belt and sat in the grass, folding his legs.

"That makes two of us, my young friend," old Ben sighed, sitting down next to his younger self. Together, they stared into the mists, waiting.

"Red thirteen to Communications," Qui-Gon said into his handset. "Patch me through to oh-seven-five." While he waited for comm clearance, he adjusted several switches on the control panel of the small transport jet Yoda had secured for him. He was strapping himself in when the comm responded.

"Away, are you?" Yoda asked.

"As good as," Qui-Gon replied, hitting another switch and gearing up the thrusters. "Have you--did you see him?" He swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat.

"Mmm," the rumbly voice growled in affirmation. "No choice have we. Return quickly you must, before you are missed. Look good on your record, another Consular reprimand would not."

Putting on his headset, Qui-Gon smiled grimly. "It isn't the Council that worries me, Master."

"No," Yoda sighed. "No." He paused a moment, and then just before switching off, added, "Hurry, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon fired the engines, raised the landing gear, and hurried.

VI

"Anakin," Qui-Gon greeted softly, crouching down and holding out a hand.

Anakin looked up, startled. Gasping, he dropped his tools and ran for the house.

"Anakin, don't!" Qui-Gon shouted, taking off after him. "Wait, please!"

He skidded to a halt just outside the domed hut. Shmi Skywalker stood in the doorway, brandishing a long, knobby staff.

"You leave my son alone," she said quietly, her accented voice reserved but her eyes full of protective fury.

"Madame Skywalker," Qui-Gon said urgently. "Please--there is so much here that you do not understand. So much is at stake: far more than I can explain to you right now."

The woman tightened her stance: apparently she had some training in a Tatooinian fighting style. Her potential skill level was not a factor in Qui-Gon's hesitation, though it did mean that she knew everything that Obi-Wan had told Anakin. If she was angry enough to arm herself, she would not be easy to convince.

"You had better explain," she said threateningly. "I have a feeling you aren't here with the proper authorization from your Jedi superiors, and I am not without a contact or two. You aren't very well-liked, you know. Giving you over to Watto to sell would buy us a lot of food."

Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. The idea of Shmi Skywalker overpowering him for Watto's use was ludicrous but too telling to ignore; still, he really did not want to take her down this way. Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, knowing he had no choice.

"Obi-Wan hates it when I do this," he sighed by way of an apology. He waved his hand, murmuring, "Sleep."

"The way I see it," old Ben told Obi-Wan as they sat in the mist, waiting, "Count Dooku never learned to control his greed. In the end, that's the only explanation for any of it... and for all of it: greed." He plucked a strand of grass from the ground in front of him and studied it thoughtfully.

The padawan shook his head and argued, "That negates Qui-Gon's part in it, and mine, and Master Yoda's."

Ben sighed. "My young, impulsive friend, I wish that were so. But Qui-Gon wanted so badly for the prophecy to be true that he allowed his desire for unification to overwhelm his contact with the Living Force. It killed him in the end--or will kill him, if one is to look at it from your side of things--this desire of his to see the facets of the universe joined. Living and Unifying, Dark and Light, immediacy and possibility. There is his greed." He looked at Obi-Wan speculatively. "There are many other similar aspects but they all come down to the same desire at heart: two polar opposites joined eternally."

Obi-Wan sighed, somehow relieved and chilled at the same time.

Ben flattened his hand, levitating the blade of grass just above it, and continued. "Master Yoda wanted the same unification, but he wanted rightness with it. The difficulty is that rightness cannot be made, it can only be. Master Yoda's greed was good and true, but greed nonetheless."

Obi-Wan snorted. "How can you say that greed is good and true? You're playing with semantics." He fell silent, though, watching Ben play with the blade of grass as avidly as any child with a new toy. After a moment, he asked, "And me? What is the origin of my greed?"

Smiling openly, Ben turned his head, regarding the young Jedi. "My boy, you know as well as I do and perhaps better. That being true, then you cannot believe that all greed is bad. Tell me: what is the origin of yours?"

Swallowing, Obi-Wan held the old man's eyes, snared by the soul-deep weariness and the fading desire for life in spite of the smile there. There was a spark, though, buried under the surface of the cool, blue-gray gaze, and Obi-Wan knew it all too well.

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan sighed, finally tearing his eyes away. "His approval, his guidance, his trust, his love... Force, the very idea that I might have lost him..." He broke off, looking at Ben urgently. "Have I created this?" He spun his hand, encompassing the mist and the grass and the entire plane in which they sat. "Have I sought to prevent something unpreventable? Is that why you're here? Or have I... invented these things, these dreams, out of my imagination so that I might delude myself that I am making a difference to him?" It seemed too huge, too impossible. The galaxy hung by a thread and the thread dangled from Obi-Wan's love? It made no sense; it seemed the very definition of chaos.

But Ben shook his head. "Obi-Wan, the universe depends on no one. The Force chooses one person over another not because it needs, but simply because it is time. Extraordinary things happen--things that no one can explain. Qui-Gon finding Anakin. You finding the future. Luke finding himself. There is an order inside the chaos, and no one person can be the controller of it. You see? Greed has many forms, but they are useless without action. Greed is the desire to have things come to you effortlessly, or in ways that exclude the rest of the world you live in. It matters not that the origin of the greed is good or evil."

Stretching out on the grass, Obi-Wan sighed and stared into the milky whiteness above him. "That's only your opinion. No one can know these things; they're mysteries."

Ben leaned over Obi-Wan, smiling, and the spark grew brighter in his eyes. "They're truths, Obi-Wan. Spend as long as I have on a lifeless patch of sand where you have nothing but your failed past to comfort you. You, too, would come to learn that every opinion is a truth. Every god, every vision, every life, every death, every lie. Every sin and virtue. Everything is a truth and every reason behind it is a true one... from a certain point of view. What you saw came to pass, but no one else would have seen those things. That does not alter the fact of their being."

Staring up at his aged self, Obi-Wan whispered, "Then the visions are real. My only wrong was inaction."

"You acted, Obi-Wan," Ben corrected gently. "Perhaps not enough in your eyes, but that does not mean you did not do all you should have."

Obi-Wan curled upward suddenly, rising to his feet. "No. That's not good enough. I can see now: there is no guidance. The Force wasn't giving me outcomes; it was asking me questions. This is my answer. You. Me." He palmed his lightsaber and ignited it, lighting the mist around him with a blue glow that was strangely comforting.

The old master saw the bright, determined spark in the young Jedi's eyes: the spark that came straight from his greed. Their greed.

"What are you doing?" Ben asked.

"I'm getting off my ass," Obi-Wan said firmly and headed off, out of the mist.

Ben, able to stop waiting, faded into it.

"An audience I need with the Supreme Chancellor," Yoda told that worthy politician's receptionist. He received her reply, pressing a vocal unit into one ear to better hear her, then said quietly, "No, no. A recorder, we do not require. Tomorrow evening, yes, yes. Thank you, I do."

Yoda removed the encryption headset and looked heavily at Mace Windu.

"I hope you know what you're doing," the younger master sighed.

"Hm," Yoda grunted noncommittally.

"What did you do to her?" Anakin demanded, appearing in the doorway of his room with a rudimentary weapon, possibly a blaster he had built, trained on Qui-Gon's chest.

The master had no reason to believe the rickety little gun wouldn't work perfectly--a piece of the safety mechanism was loose, and it was plain and toylike, but he went still and raised his hands. "She's asleep, Anakin. Nothing more. There is... so much you need to understand, and there is no time. Obi-Wan spoke honestly, if misguidedly: you are every bit as important as he told you."

"Stop it!" Anakin cried, turning his face away and staring at the floor, leaving the gun he held nevertheless pointed straight at Qui-Gon's heart. "I don't want to hear that. I don't want to know it. I can't go back there and do all of those things, can't you understand that?"

Risking more than he wanted to admit, Qui-Gon crouched to one knee, putting his hand on the other one. He could feel the anger and fear radiating from Anakin, and the waves were too powerful to deny. Anakin could not go without training. The Chosen One had to be restored to the Order, or all would be lost.

"Ani," Qui-Gon said softly, "let me help you. Let me guide you. You will not go forward alone." He glanced down at Shmi, crumpled to the floor and safely unconscious. When he met Anakin's steadfast little gaze again, Qui-Gon tipped his head up, bracing himself and speaking shrewdly:

"I know what you want, my friend." Pointedly, he looked back down at the boy's mother. "And I can help you have it."

Surprised, Anakin lowered the weapon a bit. His suspicion was plain. "How?"

Qui-Gon smiled and held out his hand. "Let me teach you something."

Hesitantly, Anakin stepped forward and slid his small hand into Qui-Gon's huge one, setting the weapon aside.

Obi-Wan paced inside his cell, waiting.

He'd roused the instant his dream self had made to move out of the fog, but he was enough of a student of Qui-Gon Jinn to know that the moment, while perfect in its own right for whatever means the Force intended, was not always a perfect time to act.

He recalled Yoda coming into the cell; the old master had admonished him to watch his dreams. Had he implanted the dream images, or had they been a product of Obi-Wan's mind?

/It doesn't matter,/ Obi-Wan realized. /The visions are real. The dreams are real. It's time to move./

And he could feel it around him: moments converging, sliding together into something crucial and absolute. What was happening was the culmination of all of those visions. Stunned, Obi-Wan realized that the futures he had seen were never meant to happen. They were all about now, this instant, and where it was going.

/The Force was asking me questions./

"I'm glad I paid attention in Continuum Sciences," he muttered aloud, studying the seams of the door. "Only I wish I'd paid more attention to Qui-Gon's 'Moment' lectures."

Sighing, he slid his palm along the smooth doorway and gave a mental push, bracing himself and feeling for the guard outside the door. He was still asleep.

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan muttered, "I could almost kiss you."

It would be difficult but not impossible; these bays were meant to contain the Force-blinded, not fully capable and damned stubborn Jedi. Carefully, Obi-Wan threaded tendrils of Force energy into the minute crack in the door seal. Then, drawing in a careful breath, he wedged the door open, listening to the groan of protesting hydraulics as they gave way. When the opening was just wide enough to slip through, he let go his Force hold, exhaled heavily, and disappeared out into the hall.

Qui-Gon sped his little transport out of Tatooine's atmosphere and into orbit, shakily working to concentrate on the control panel. His body sang with the impact of what he'd shown Anakin; his blood tingled with the residual power of it.

He had assumed it would be simple; he'd asked Anakin to push. His intention was to take the strength of Force that coalesced in Anakin's body and refine it, use it to locate and remove the explosive implant that resided in Shmi's body. Anakin's eyes had lit up at the idea.

"Will we take her with us?" he'd asked breathlessly with the ever-present eagerness of the young.

Qui-Gon had smiled gently. "We cannot, Anakin. Not today: my ship isn't big enough. But with the implant gone, your mother can use her... contacts, perhaps, to secure transport to Coruscant behind us."

Anakin had thought a moment, then asked, "But how will she get away without papers?"

The master had marveled at the boy's foresight. "The Force has always shown me a way, Anakin. I have a feeling it will clear the way for your mother as well, whether or not she realizes it."

And oh, how the Living Force had already shown itself. Qui-Gon had funneled Anakin's strength in it into himself and then into Shmi: when he had looked through the eyes of the Force at her, he had easily found the dark, unnatural thing inside her in the hollow of one shoulder. Carefully, straining under the effort of reining in Anakin's remarkable power, Qui-Gon had made a small incision in Shmi's skin, pulling out the implant and tossing it aside. Immediately, he had staunched the flow of blood with a cloth and levered as much healing energy at the wound as he could manage. By then he'd been shivering and weakened. The power of the Chosen One flowed through him, but he was only a conduit; he could take nothing for himself. By the time he'd gasped out at Anakin to sever the coursing energy flow, he'd been slumped over Shmi, struggling to remain upright. Anakin had merely stood to one side, blinking, confused but otherwise unaffected.

Astounding.

"Bacta," Qui-Gon had said hoarsely, knowing he could do no more to heal the wound. Anakin had run to get it, unsure what more to do.

/I'm too old for this,/ Qui-Gon had admonished himself, rising unsteadily.

Now, as they rounded Tatooine's orbital space and waited for the moment to depart, Anakin rested one hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder, sending a last, quick burst before damping down the connection he'd unwittingly forged between them. Startled, Qui-Gon pulled in a breath. He felt his senses equalizing, his attunement to the Force regaining normalcy.

"You are an amazingly quick learner," the master told the boy. "You will be an incredible Jedi one day. I daresay you can learn to do whatever you wish with your gifts."

Anakin glanced down into one hand. He held the explosive device that they'd pulled from his mother's shoulder. He had disabled it, discovering it to be simple once the thing was outside a human body. Now he caressed it like a religious artifact, a sacred memorial trinket.

"I want to fly," he said quietly. "That's all. Can I be a Jedi and fly?"

Qui-Gon smiled, thinking of Obi-Wan and his prowess in the cockpit. "Yes, Anakin. I know of just the instructor for you."

/Provided the instructor doesn't spend the rest of his days in a detainment cell,/ he mentally amended, adjusting a trajectory monitor and engaging the hyperdrive. He probed at the training bond but felt nothing in return to comfort him. He rationalized a thousand small reasons why that would be so but could accept none of them out of hand. The simple fact was that the immediate future loomed large and dark, waiting, and the time leading to it was short.

For the first time in his life, Qui-Gon lamented the sluggishness of interstellar hyperspace.

Obi-Wan crouched in a darkened Temple hallway, waiting for the moment to move, reaching out with his senses and searching for his path. The power of the moment flooded him; he knew timing was everything. He was waiting for guidance as he had before, but now it was with purpose. More was happening than he could possibly account for: he could feel it, though he could not so much as tell how to begin his course of action.

Checking his newly-secured equipment, he did not dwell on his near-misses in the detention block. He hefted his lightsaber, knowing that when this was all through, he would either be pardoned for his crimes or dead. The sleeping and knocked-unconscious guards in the reclamation area would have to forgive him, one way or another.

Distantly he heard the sirens begin, belatedly heralding the escape of a detainee. Oh, yes: the Temple was about to step up security in the detention block and no mistake. Silently, he moved out of the hallway and toward the Temple landing pads. He wasn't going to be able to manipulate a speeder out of the checkout point attendant, so the only simple solution was to steal one.

/Qui-Gon will just have to forgive me, too,/ Obi-Wan thought grimly as he fired up the speeder engines, tearing away from the pad just as the shouts and blaster fire began.

Qui-Gon's huge hands enfolded Anakin's rib cage as he hefted the boy out of the cruiser.

"Hurry," he admonished tightly, hoping Anakin would forgive him for being so short. /Soon,/ he told himself. He would make amends soon, when this was all over--one way or another. He took Anakin's hand and tugged the boy through the Senate landing bay, rushing toward the destiny of everything--and everyone--he held dear to him.

Yoda nodded to the Supreme Chancellor's receptionist. As he passed through the anteroom, Chancellor Palpatine swept toward the doorway of his offices, smiling.

"Master Yoda, I am so very pleased to see you. Come and sit, my old friend. I have had tea made ready, if you like."

Nodding his head and thickening his shields, Yoda knew that pretense, at least for a little while, would be wisest. "Kind to an old Jedi you are, Supreme Chancellor." Grunting, Yoda heaved himself up into the damnably tall and steadfastly grounded chair opposite Palpatine's.

Palpatine appeared to concern himself with Yoda's comfort, though he made no move to assist the old master. He lightly touched a panel on his desk and said softly, "The tea, M'krill." Then he turned his head and addressed the little green Jedi. "Please, Master Yoda, tell me what it is I might do for you today."

"Come to see you, I have, about my young padawan friend."

The Chancellor's eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the desktop. "Is that so?" he muttered, sounding less curious than bothered. "I have scheduled him a trial date, Master; surely you can see that there is nothing left to discuss but the boy's sanity. He attempted to kill me. While I myself would not consider it an act of treason--I am only one man--the law is quite clear. Murder, in any case--"

"Refer to Padawan Kenobi, I do not," Yoda corrected amiably, glancing up at the Twi'lek woman and bowing his head as she handed him a small, smooth cup brimming with red tea. He leaned far forward and set it on the edge of the desk.

"Your little Anakin, then." Palpatine nodded and took his own tea from the tray the female bore to him, then nodded at her in dismissal. "I am afraid I cannot reconsider and allow a search--not on Temple funds, at any rate."

"No," Yoda agreed. "Of course--no." He closed his eyes in a display of sorrow and focused. Obi-Wan was coming. So was Qui-Gon. The moment was now.

"Comes to defeat you, Anakin Skywalker does, Lord of the Sith," Yoda murmured quietly, meeting the leader of the free galaxy's eyes. He watched pale, cold shock cross the face of the Chancellor, shock that was quickly replaced by grim resignation.

"Very well, then, Jedi." Palpatine's voice became stony and harsh, roughened by the deep abuse that the Dark Side inflicted upon him, no longer corrected by his playacting as a benevolent leader. "Let your Chosen One come. When I have him, you will see your balance," he sneered. "Balance that will be within the Dark Side of the Force. Blackness will overtake all, and little Anakin will become my right hand. It is all as I have foreseen, you foolish little monster." He stood suddenly, a lightsaber snapping into his hand from an unseen fold in his robe. He ignited the blade, cold and red. Yoda smiled coolly, calling his own 'saber to his hand and launched himself at the Sith.

And then they engaged, glaring at each other over their locked blades.

VII

"You are as outdated as the Order," Sidious snarled before jerking back and lashing out, swinging several lightning-fast blows that did nothing but glance off of Yoda's 'saber, sparking.

Yoda wasted no breath on words; he focused on returning strikes that also were batted away. He could now plainly feel the intense, dark energy swelling and receding around Sidious, but he could also feel the severed training connection, still aching like an amputation. The dark power, which always required a second, was listing heavily: Sidious would not be able to maintain control for long.

Leaping up and over Sidious's head, Yoda made his blade fly, too, connecting it with Sidious's with blinding speed. The Sith was ever ready, though, sneering and striking out as Yoda landed on the desk.

"Not so strong are you, betrayer," Yoda grunted low.

"Nor you, my nemesis," Sidious growled into the pause in fighting. "A team of Jedi cannot defeat me, let alone a mere child. But you? You shall die, make no mistake."

Yoda raised his chin, glaring. "Kill me, you should, then." And he beckoned.

Qui-Gon felt the battle begin and let go of Anakin's hand, arming himself and racing through the Senate halls.

"Stay here," he shouted over one shoulder.

"But--"

"Stay here," he bellowed and ran faster, igniting his 'saber.

Obi-Wan cursed the slowness of the speeder, forcing the accelerator down harder. He raced through the upper level traffic, dodging transports and crossing lanes, sometimes dipping straight down through them.

/I waited too long,/ he thought fearfully, then calmed himself, turning the speeder hard and descending toward the Senate landing bay. He fairly leapt from the speeder before it had come to a halt, palming his lightsaber and sprinting for the Senate chambers and Sidious' offices.

The receptionist screeched something in her native tongue as two armed and very fast Jedi darted through the offices. Her words were drowned in a loud, crackling sizzle as Obi-Wan sliced through the closed doors and Qui-Gon kicked in the remnants of the opaque plasteel.

They threw themselves into the fight. There was no time for words. The truth of Obi-Wan's dreams had pinpointed down to this: the last Sith Lord's battle with Master Yoda which no one, not even Obi-Wan, could have foreseen.

Obi-Wan stretched his senses, fighting to stay on top of the battle, but Sidious was too fast. He was fighting three Jedi from the defensive and never seeming to tire. But the padawan could feel Yoda's purpose and Qui-Gon's surety, and they heartened him. Ignoring the taunting sneer on the Sith Lord's face, he dodged a blow and leapt, over and behind Sidious altogether. It made no difference; his blows were effortlessly tossed aside. The Dark Side was with the evil Chancellor.

Qui-Gon reached into the Living Force and pulled, drawing on it for his strength and speed. He could feel the Sith losing ground: the Light Side was with the three Jedi, and while Sidious banked back their strength for the moment, he could not hold out forever. His balance was off; Qui-Gon knew as well as Yoda did that the danger of the Dark Side was that one could never command it alone for long.

Yoda neither thought nor felt; he simply flew.

Anakin, who had immediately ignored the order to stay put, ran through the halls, muttering an oath in Huttese that he never seemed to be fast enough when he really, desperately needed to be. He ignored the Twi'lek behind the desk--she was babbling rapidly at into a comm unit--and leapt into the anteroom, brandishing his crude little blaster.

Qui-Gon caught sight of the boy from the corner of his eye and shouted, "Anakin, get back!" Immediately a piercing bolt of dark lightning slammed into him from the Sith Lord's hand, throwing him out of the fight and against a wall where he struck soundly, slumping down, dizzied and half-coherent.

"No!" Anakin cried, going to him and throwing down his weapon, but then a wave of prescient horror overtook him. The universe narrowed to a pinpoint again, and the pinpoint was at the end of Lord Sidious' 'saber.

The impact, puncture, and burn through Yoda's heart were sudden and languid at the same time, agonizingly slow in a split moment that extended forever.

Obi-Wan's eyes went wide even as his heart constricted. Fresh, hot adrenaline shot through him at the damnable Sith's smile; Yoda slid from Sidious' blade limply, choking out a breath.

"No," Obi-Wan breathed. "No. No." His head spun with his anger and he flew at the Sith, filled with fire.

Qui-Gon felt the anger sear through the training bond and he arched, struggling to rise. He could not fight, this much he knew: but he had to find a way to stop his padawan from succumbing to his rage.

"Anakin," he said hoarsely, but a wave of dizziness caught him and stole the rest of his words away.

Anakin stared, confused and terrified. Master Qui-Gon was badly injured. Master Yoda was possibly dying. Obi-Wan could never hope to win alone. The boy faltered, knowing he'd just been taught something invaluable, something crucial that could save them all, but he could not decide who should receive it.

"Instinct," Qui-Gon murmured, catching the movement of Anakin's fear, and Anakin gritted his teeth, drew himself up, and flung everything he had into Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan felt the surge coming before it reached him but the impact of the actual thing was like sinking into the Force directly. The battle slowed to a crawl in his vision, and he could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. Suddenly he was too aware of his own anger and pain, too aware that Yoda was dying, too aware that Qui-Gon was injured and Obi-Wan had been able to do nothing.

Visions reeled inside his head of what he'd once thought to be Anakin's future, but those were meaningless now. The man who would have been unable to guide Anakin Skywalker past the darkness now took that one's guidance, tethering himself to the light through the boy. It no longer mattered how they'd come to be here; if the Force had granted him with sight to prevent an otherwise unpreventable future, or if perhaps it was Anakin's action that had placed them here, no one could say. Obi-Wan only knew that his purpose was, for the first time in months, plain.

He batted away a blow intended to cut him in two. The action felt distant, as though he were observing. Life slowed inside the Force, and he could see, now, a glimmer of real fear in the Sith Lord's eyes, quickly disguised as rage. They fought, engaging as quickly as Yoda and the Sith Lord had, but to Obi-Wan it felt as rudimentary and stilted as a training session from early crechehood. With a curious detachment that he would recognize later as sharp prescience, he watched as Sidious lurched forward, feinted, and then struck, disarming Obi-Wan with a blow to the hilt of his 'saber. Obi-Wan dropped the severed half of it and watched as the Sith Lord drew back for the killing blow.

Without thought, Anakin pushed again, sending his little blaster to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan extended his hand, eyes fixed on Sidious, and caught it, brought it around, fired. The explosion of energy from the weapon was huge and almost soundless but for a deep, low hum. Obi-Wan felt the abrupt resistance of recoil as a bright, white-ringed blast consumed first 'saber, then arms, then body in a disintegrating wave. The blast raced through the outer wall and half of a sculpture as well, radiating as it dispersed over Coruscant. The walls of the chamber rippled with shock; ancient, white smoke billowed to the ceiling and disappeared.

Astonished, ripped back into the moment, Obi-Wan looked at the blaster. It was a trinket; brown and junky. He stared at Anakin.

Anakin was on his knees, slumped over Qui-Gon as though shielding him. "Weak," he whispered, though which of them he referred to, Obi-Wan did not know.

Qui-Gon shifted and groaned, struggling to sit up in spite of the small weight on him. He opened his eyes and stared at the wreckage around him and then at his padawan, who was still stunned and breathless.

"Yoda..." Qui-Gon whispered.

The padawan staggered to the old master, crouching over him, afraid to touch him only momentarily. That fear faded as he stared at the scorched uniform tunics. He parted the cloth over the little chest, revealing a black-ringed hole too large for such a small body. The master was, amazingly, breathing.

"Dying, I am, Obi-Wan," came a weak voice, not from mouth but from mind. "Anakin--"

"Oh, Master, no," Obi-Wan whispered. He bit back a sob as he heard that, once again, Security was late; klaxons were sounding around the Senate building and he could hear the booted feet running toward them.

Obi-Wan's throat closed convulsively. They were going to put him away; Yoda was certainly dying and Qui-Gon might be too. Surely his visions, his fear, every change he'd made, every possible deterrent to an ugly end could not have resulted in this. Surely it was not meant to end this way. He turned to Anakin, who was watching him, somehow already regaining strength after his amazing display of power.

"Anakin, I need help. I need time."

Anakin struggled to his feet and gestured; the ceiling over the anteroom came down; stones and rubble and drywall suddenly fell, blocking the chamber doors. Almost immediately afterward, threatening shouts began outside, muffled by the rubble. Startled, Obi-Wan watched Anakin move closer. In the brief moments of his incredible Force use, Anakin had changed. Now the boy looked down at Obi-Wan and said quietly, "I don't know how to heal. But I can help you do it. I couldn't do it for my mother, but she's okay anyway." His words were childlike and aged at the same time; related and unrelated. The distance Obi-Wan had felt seemed to have taken up residence in the boy's voice.

"Then help me," Obi-Wan pleaded quietly, placing his hands over the wound as Yoda pulled in a pained, shallow breath, then went still as his heart stopped. "Help me, Anakin." He closed his eyes and waited.

This time, he felt the brief build of power inside him for a moment before impact. He could feel Yoda fading fast, could feel the Force reaching for him, but then the strength slammed into Obi-Wan abruptly. It enveloped him, infused him, and he directed it: he felt cells and organs and tissues restructuring themselves beneath his hands, felt Yoda's heart begin to beat again, no longer torn and seared but whole. The muscles re-wove themselves; the skin closed. Obi-Wan shuddered and relaxed, the strength seeping from him as Anakin's power left him behind.

Qui-Gon shifted and stared, blinking. His padawan had just taken all of that power and--he broke off the thought, swallowing. It was too unbelievable to consider, but there it was, before his eyes.

Yoda pulled in a deep, strong breath and glared at Obi-Wan, crouched over the small master as he was. "Wasting good strength are you on an eight-hundred-year-old Dagoban. Have a headache, your master does: tend to him." He grunted and shifted, steadying Obi-Wan with a push of Force, then calling his stick to his hand and rising with shaky effort. His ears sagged exhaustedly. "Sith."

He looked up at Obi-Wan as the padawan scrambled to tend to his injured master, but turned away discreetly as the young man fell into his master's arms, too grateful to do more than cling. Sighing, the master glanced around the room, taking in the scorched patch of floor, the blown-out wall, and the absence of the Dark Side, then shambling over to Anakin, who hugged the breath out of him. There seemed nothing more to say.

/No good does it to thank you, my three young Jedi, but I do,/ he thought solemnly, patting Anakin's shoulder as Qui-Gon stroked his padawan's hair gently, reassuring him.

/I do./

The blare of trumpets overtook the Temple halls as Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon were presented with medals for high excellence in battle. The Order seldom awarded its Jedi with gifts or symbols; the entire purpose of the Jedi was to constantly do extraordinary things. This occasion, however, merited the music and the cheers, the palpable relief of the Order at large, and for the recipients to be flanked by grateful Councilors and transgressions cleared from their records.

"Unusual this is," Yoda proclaimed, shushing the musicians and quieting the cheers. "Unique is it when Jedi become criminals, go missing and get knocked on the head, only to end the day by saving old masters and restoring the influence of the Light to the Force." He looked at the newly-made Knight Kenobi, the pleased and flushing Padawan Skywalker and the understandably proud Master Jinn in turn. The crowd chuckled, then sobered again as Yoda waved them down.

"Balance, we have not achieved," Yoda admonished, speaking now not as an award presenter but as an old teacher, the wisest in the Order. "A victory it was, but the fulfilling of the Prophecy, it was not." He nodded his head as murmurs went up--how could it be? The Sith were destroyed, did that not achieve balance in and of itself? But he hushed the hall full of Jedi once more.

"Know not, do we, what the future holds, but the Force will show us when it is time." The hall exploded into cheers and elated applause again.

Yoda held back the heaviness in his heart as he met Qui-Gon's gaze; for all that his three dearest Jedi had achieved, there was still one loose tie: Dooku. Perhaps he would be the one to reappear as Sith, though Yoda thought it unlikely. /Too weak is he, on his own,/ he thought, but when Obi-Wan caught his eye with a bright, vivid smile, toying with the ribbon around his neck, Yoda clamped down on his uncharacteristic concern and smiled back, another token for a seemingly impossible task well carried out.

Yoda could not know what the future held. He hoped that Obi-Wan's dreams had subsided. He hoped that perhaps the Light Side of the Force holding sway was enough to stave off any other overwhelming terrors. And above all, he hoped, truly, that the Sith had indeed been vanquished.

In the midst of the Jedi, a beaming, half-tearful Shmi Skywalker looked on. Her dream and Anakin's, if not Obi-Wan's, had come to pass.

(ten years later)

Obi-Wan watched, smiling, as the Council and Qui-Gon formally bestowed knighthood upon Anakin Skywalker. The former padawan was, to Obi-Wan's recollection, the youngest knight in the history of the Order.

Of course, this did not so much make Qui-Gon proud as give him a great sense of relief. The master was wise enough to know that Anakin's exceptional ability had little to do with training and everything to do with who he was.

The master sliced through the padawan braid at Anakin's temple and presented it to him in an open palm.

"You are hereby proclaimed a Jedi Knight. With this rank comes responsibility as well as new power." Qui-Gon restrained the urge to roll his eyes as his third padawan had once done; no title would bestow any more power on Anakin that he could use. Still, the boy beamed under Qui-Gon's words, fidgeting with his freshly-severed padawan braid.

Qui-Gon had feared that the boy would waver: after everything they'd been through together and the trials that they had faced a decade prior, the skilled and powerful trio knew that no prophecy had been fulfilled, even in the years hence. Dooku was still at large, though no Dark Sider emerged to claim the title of Sith. So, collectively, they had waited.

Obi-Wan's dreams had ceased completely, and though it took him and his master and the Council months to clear the collective Jedi name after the death of what was perceived to be a beneficent Supreme Chancellor, life had eventually returned to the shaky normalcy that defined Jedi existence.

Anakin had flourished and grown under Qui-Gon's teaching and had come once again to respect and appreciate Obi-Wan and his friendship. He smiled at them both now as Qui-Gon stepped back and Yoda drew the ceremony to a close. As the Jedi in the High Council chamber began to mill about, Anakin picked his way among well-wishers and friends toward his master and his master's right hand.

He saw them draw apart slightly as he approached, but they all knew it was little more than decorum. Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi had never hidden their love, only cloaked it in discretion among their peers. Now, Anakin smiled openly and without preamble, threw his arms around both of them, hugging them tightly to him.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For teaching me. For being my friends. For freeing my mother. For everything."

Obi-Wan smiled and pressed an affectionate kiss into Anakin's hair. "We could hardly do otherwise," he said quietly, and Qui-Gon nodded his agreement.

"You are the strongest of Jedi," Qui-Gon said, in an uncharacteristic acknowledgment of Anakin's power. "Without guidance and wisdom--and never doubt that you will always need guidance, Anakin--your strength is wasted. We love and respect you too much to allow that to happen."

Anakin nodded, suddenly shy, and stared at his shuffling feet. Then he smiled, looking up at Qui-Gon.

"I have been given my first solo assignment," he beamed, bouncing on his heels lightly.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Yes," Anakin grinned. "I'm to negotiate intra-planetary trade disputes. Master Yoda has foregone the standard supervisory protocols for me."

"Where are you going?" asked Obi-Wan.

If possible, Anakin's smile grew even brighter. "Naboo."

End.