On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe: Fury
by Flamethrower
Title: On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe
Book 6 - Fury
Author: Flamethrower
Archive: MA, AO3, and my site
Category: Q/O, AU, Crossover
Book 6 Summary: To confront the Sith on all sides will be a hard-earned victory, even with an avatairee.
Series Summary: On Naboo while battling a Sith, a man made a choice to die so that a horrible, uncertain future could be avoided. Things, however, are never that simple... A crossover based upon concept rather than converging universes.
History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived,
but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.
-Maya Angelou
Book Six - Fury
Jeimor perched on Obi-Wan's shoulder, preening the Knight's hair with his beak. The grooming was meant to be soothing, but Obi-Wan couldn't relax, couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.
Really, he'd walked into his death on Theed easier than he was handling this.
-Self-sacrifice is easy, the first time- Jeimor said. -But if the time comes again, you're aware of just what you're giving up, and it's that much harder to do.-
"Have you ever done so?" Obi-Wan asked, curious.
Jeimor cocked his head, thinking. -Once or twice. I don't mind so much, though. Once you've died half a dozen times over, it gets to be old news.-
"So many times?" Obi-Wan caressed the bird's neck feathers, smiling at the pleased, gurgled caw that emerged from Jeimor's throat.
-Hey, this is dangerous shit you crazy avatars do- Jeimor said, laughing. -Sometimes the bad guys figure out that us crows are helping to keep you here, at least until it's time to go back. When that happens, we become targets, too.-
"Well, here's hoping I haven't turned you into a target yet again," Obi-Wan muttered, dropping down from the ledge. Jeimor launched himself from his shoulder, taking flight, while Obi-Wan fell almost half a kilometer to the crumbling duracrete ground below.
It had taken him weeks to find the place, on a level far, far down into the depths of the city. Even the lower-level denizens wanted nothing to do with these places, for the air could be toxic, and the creatures that roamed the ruins of ancient Galactic City were voracious things, bearing poison tooth and claw. Even on a good day, the air stank of mold and rot.
Jeimor had led him to the building, well-hidden within the ruins of an ancient monolith. If the district borders had existed at this level, it would be tucked between the Senate District and a corner of the Industrial Zone. Unlike everything around it, the hidden building was well-maintained, and Obi-Wan had sensed that it was far larger than it looked.
Getting inside had been easy; unfortunately, he could gain access only to the top floor, which was dedicated to a hangar bay. One touch to the hangar bay floor and he'd known with absolute certainty that he'd stumbled upon the Sith's hidden sanctuary. The problem had been that, at the time, he'd no clue yet as to the Sith's identity. Every impression Obi-Wan had picked up had shown a man in a black cloak, all of his features lost to shadow, the Sith's voice one he did not recognize. Dooku had been present, on occasion, and it made Obi-Wan shake his head in disgust when he'd realized that the Count's visits pre-dated the Naboo invasion. In other flashes, he had seen the Sith that had killed him, the Zabrak that Sidious referred to as Maul.
He stared at the building, his fingers idly caressing the silver hilt of the lightsaber he carried. It wasn't the one he had built as Ben Lars; he'd found the remnants of the black hilt embedded in the wall, its crystals nothing more than sandy bits underfoot.
This lightsaber had once belonged to Komari Vosa. Dooku had taken it from his dead Padawan's hand, presenting it as a set to Asajj Ventress, the gift of one Sith apprentice to another. Once, the blade had been red, but under Depa Billaba's patient guidance, red had been replaced by gentle, pale green.
She would never use it again. He could think of no better justice for Asa that it be raised against the Sith who had stolen her life.
You could always stay outside, Obi-Wan offered the crow, crouching at the window he'd used to gain access to the building before. It was still as he'd left it, locked from the inside with a soft touch of the Force. He brushed his fingers across the ground and found no impressions save his own, and the window was just as untouched to his senses. If the Sith had noticed his lair had been breached, he hadn't deduced the method of entry.
Jeimor came back into view, landing on the dirty, moss-covered ground next to Obi-Wan. He pecked at a fleeing beetle before glaring at Obi-Wan. -You're kidding, right?-
He smiled. Just thought I'd ask.
-Yeah, well, that's nice of you, but stupid.- Jeimor favored him with a soft squawk. -Let's get this show on the road, Kid. It's getting to be closing time.-
He nodded, pulling out his comm. Fortunately for Mace's budget woes, it would be the last one he would ever need. There was a data package waiting to be sent, a large, encrypted file that would reveal itself upon voice command only to those he'd programmed it for. A first message had gone out at dawn to the truly loyal Republic senators within the Loyalist Committee, telling them to gather somewhere safe and wait.
"Voice activation one-one-alpha-jinto-tyree," he murmured into the comm. "Send."
When the package upload was complete, he snapped the commlink in half; unnecessary, perhaps, but it disrupted its signal and prevented tracking. Obi-Wan didn't wish to be interrupted by anyone except those whom Jeimor would guide here.
He gestured, and the window fell open to allow himself and Jeimor entry.
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times he rose again.
-Yeats
"This is getting to be tedious," Garm bel Iblis said, crossing his arms as he leaned back on Bail's sofa. The Corellian man had not liked being tasked with a dawn gathering, and liked even less that in the hours since sunrise, there had been no other word from the Jedi Knight.
"Please, try to have some semblance of patience," Mon Mothma said, not even bothering to open her eyes. The Chandrilan woman had spent most of the morning meditating, much as a Jedi would have. Bail had shaken his head; no wonder the Senator could outlast them all in patience and serenity. "We must trust in our ally."
Bail kept pacing, ignoring Garm's sigh of frustration. He'd managed to convince them all to meet in his apartment, knowing that out of everyone present, he had the best anti-surveillance setup. There was still a chance that their actions might come under scrutiny, but Bail had a feeling that it wouldn't really matter. Not after today.
His comm terminal chimed for attention, and at the same moment, so did everyone else's personal commlinks. "It's from Ben," Padmé announced, glancing up at Bail. They had decided to keep quiet on the nature of Ben Lars's true nature, if only for the other Loyalists' comfort. Besides, it was hard to explain Obi-Wan without actually seeing the Avatairee for oneself.
"Voice confirmation," Mon Mothma continued, as Bail sat down at his terminal to bring up the message.
"Very large data package, too," Bail said, noting the size of the encrypted file. "For those of you who don't have comms capable of the download, I can bring it up on the main screen."
Padmé nodded, and at Fang Zar's gesture, responded to the voice confirmation first. "Senator Amidala, Padmé, confirmed receipt," she said.
"Senator Mon Mothma, confirmed receipt."
"Senator Far, Onaconda, confirmed receipt."
"Senator bel Iblis, Garm, confirmed receipt."
"Senator Zar, Fang, confirmed receipt."
"Senator Terr Taneel, confirmed receipt."
"Senator Alavar, Nee, confirmed receipt."
"Senator Tundra Dowmeia, confirmed receipt."
"Senator Organa, Bail Prestor, confirmed receipt," Bail said last.
Nine comm units chirped together, and whatever program Obi-Wan had used to send the message time-synced each device. The message was voice only, and Bail turned the volume up at his station to better hear what had been said.
"Senators: Greetings. I wish I could give you better news, but I cannot. The data package attached to this message will have automatically decrypted as your voice patterns were recognized and confirmed. Inside is every scrap of evidence there is to substantiate the identity of Sidious, Lord of the Sith, as well as his crimes against the Republic. Sidious is confirmed responsible for the murder of the Trade Federation Directorate, the Flail Incident, the Naboo Invasion, the Outbound Flight disaster, the creation of the Clone Army--"
"Fuck me," Garm whispered in shock.
"--the murder of Aks Moe, the murder of Giddean Danu, the assassination attempts on Senators Amidala and Fang Zar, the confirmation of the Office of Republic Security and the crimes that unit has been responsible for. I know he is guilty of further atrocities, but those are the only ones that can be, without a doubt, proven to the Senate and to the courts."
Bail whistled; he knew Obi-Wan had continued gathering information, but this was far more than he had suspected.
"The Confederacy of Independent Systems, while once a legitimate organization addressing real grievances from certain Separatist bodies, was ultimately controlled and masterminded by Count Dooku, formally apprenticed to Darth Sidious under the name Tyrannus. As some of you are already aware, the Confederacy was meant to lose the war that the Sith worked to orchestrate. The war was to be nothing more than a smokescreen to cover the fact that the government of the Republic was falling under complete control of the Sith."
Senator Alavar covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, gods," she murmured, horrified. "Not the Fallen ones."
"I give this information to you all freely, but Force as my witness, I have no idea what you'll be able to do with it. The Sith Lord will be dealt with by the Jedi, possibly this very day, for it is their pledge to protect the Republic from the Sith. But the Sith planned even for this, and his destruction will very likely bring about the fall of the Republic. I am hoping that you all, the loyal ones among the Loyalists, may be able to alter that fate. If it cannot be altered, then perhaps the damage can be slowed, giving you time to do what must be done to protect the people you have sworn your oaths to.
"The Sith Lord, called Sidious, is none other than Supreme Chancellor Palpatine."
Straight pins striking stone would have made louder sounds than everyone in Bail's apartment in that moment. Bail realized that his mouth had fallen open. Never, in all of his years, would he have expected that.
"May the Force be with you all."
Crescendo
Vima Da-Boda, once a Master of the Jedi Order, lifted her head as if scenting the breeze. The winds were quiet, but even the calmest air spoke to her. She had not been a Jedi in long years, but to abandon the Force had been anathema. She still listened, and she heard well.
"It be time," she said, and her youngest girl nodded, the candlelight shining in her large, luminous green eyes. Navati wasn't a child of her womb, but she was a child of the Force, and that was close enough.
Navati touched the new pattern on her face, one Vima had brushed into place that morning. Tears of black dust ran down her narrow cheeks, but a line of black dust across her lips left her with a permanent smile. Tears of joy and despair. "Time for the choosing, Mama Vima?"
Vima nodded. "Time for many things, daughter-mine."
Navati stood, pulling her cloak back and revealing her pristine white hair. "I will tell those who cannot hear you, Mama Vima," she said, and left.
The old woman smiled, reaching out to the Force. Old Yoda was there when she did so; he had been touching the Force on Coruscant so often, for so long, that they often found each other this way. Time it be, she said.
Know this, we do, Yoda replied. See you I will, Padawan?
She snorted, amused, letting Jamel help her to her feet. The rebel had dusted his face as well, though he planned far more destructive activities for the day than Mama Vima's people. Not been your Padawan in many years, old troll.
Always my Padawan you will be, Vima Da-Boda, Yoda replied, unperturbed. Many years it has been since Neema was lost to us. Come home, you should.
She smiled. Old troll. I already be home, Master. An' all my children be here. She still missed her daughter, Neema, like a fierce lightsaber wound to her core, one that could not be healed. Sometimes she still dreamed of killing the overgrown bastard that had been her daughter's death. But in the depths of Coruscant's slums, with gray and black dust brushed over her skin, she'd found her peace.
Maybe I be seein' you, she allowed at last, watching as all of those who bore dusted faces rose, ready to greet the sun they usually shunned. You give that Force-forsaken Sith hell for me, hmm?
Man is free at the moment he wishes to be.
-Voltaire
With Jeimor on his shoulder, he walked the length of the great hangar bay. The silence was unnerving, because he could feel eyes upon him. Where he was being watched from, Obi-Wan had no idea, but the sensation wasn't helping his jangled nerves and rippling Force-sense one bit. He'd never seen the Force in such a state of flux, speaking of so many pivotal points that he couldn't even sort them all, much less comprehend.
The crow was unsettled, too, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he muttered nonstop under his breath in his own language. -He's waiting for us.-
"After the events of the last twelve hours, I would be very surprised if he were not," Obi-Wan replied softly. There was a lift in front of him, a clear outline in the floor with controls inset, the cover open in obvious invitation. "Remember how we joked about Geonosis being hell?"
-Yeah?-
"We were both wrong. It's down here," Obi-Wan said, and stepped onto the lift. He activated the control with a booted toe, and the platform descended.
"You folks ready?"
Roshi fingered the trigger guard on her rifle, biting her lip. She was nervous, but forcing it back as much as she could. Papa Bavieu would never let her live it down if she choked now.
Still, she couldn't help it. Raids at night, under cover of shadow, were one thing. This was quite another.
Being in charge of herown team was terrifying.
She clicked on her comm and answered, surprised to find her voice steady. "Ready, Jamel."
"Standing by," Lori's growl came next. She was stationed far to the south.
"Ready," Papa Bavieu said, sounding impatient and tetchy. Roshi shook her head; her father's uncle hadn't taken enough tea with breakfast, and would probably be a Bantha's arse by suppertime.
She listened as the comm clicked, each of the commanders confirming their readiness. It was weird to think that Jamel had found so many, but not really a surprise. The people of Coruscant, all of them, were damned tired of this shite. The lower-level denizens, especially, were used to being left the hell alone. You could only push that lot so far before they'd stand up and light the world on fire.
"All right, then. Check your chronos, and each other, and wait for th' signal," Jamel said, sounding fierce and proud all at once.
She grinned. They weren't lighting the world on fire, but certain portions of it would certainly be burning before the day was over.
When the sword of rebellion is drawn, the sheath should be thrown away.
-English proverb
"I can't believe you not only sanctioned this, but refused to divulge this matter the moment it came to your attention!" Mace was yelling. Yoda looked cross; Anakin looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
Qui-Gon half-smiled at his apprentice. Anakin had refused to apologize to the Council for his marriage, or to allow the Masters to speak ill of it, while still maintaining the serene air of the Jedi Knight he was swiftly becoming. While he would never be a wordsmith like his Master, or his predecessor, Anakin Skywalker was well able to defend his actions without falling prey to anger or fear. That, of all things, told Qui-Gon of the rightness of his and Padmé Amidala's joining.
"Dammit, Qui-Gon Jinn, are you listening to me?!"
Qui-Gon turned his attention back to Mace, realizing now that Yoda's eyes were glinting with quiet amusement. "No," he said bluntly.
Mace sighed, rubbing his forehead. "My friend, I know of your fondness for flouting the Code, especially before the Council, but this is simply not done!"
"Unique Padawan, unique situation, Master Windu," Qui-Gon replied, answering at last. "And seeing how the event you speak of is well in the past, now, and has only improved my Padawan's dedication to the Order and to the Light... tell me, Council of Six: what room is there for complaint?"
Adi looked like she both approved and wanted to punch a hole in the wall. "There is still the issue of the political viewpoint, given that this pairing involves a Senator of the Republic. Our neutrality--"
"Our neutrality no longer exists, Master Gallia," he bit out. "Or have none of you noticed the way the wind is blowing, stirred and directed by a Lord of the Sith?"
"Enough," Yoda said quietly, treating them all to an intense stare. "Right the Council is, and right Master Qui-Gon is," he said, causing Mace to lift his head in surprise. "Matters little now, this does. Focus more should we on a bonding, or on the Sith, hmm?" he asked with a tight smile. "Sith I think is more important. But youngling--" he pointed his gimer stick at Anakin. "Flout, Qui-Gon does, but tells us, he does, also. Hide your love you should not, hmm?"
Anakin lowered his head. "No, Master. You're right; at the very least I should have done the Council the honor of telling you my intent, even if I were to wed without the approval of the Council. One would think I'd have learned this much from my Master, at least," he said, and Qui-Gon smiled. "Besides," Anakin continued, shrugging and giving them all a self-deprecating grin. "It seems like lately, everyone knows anyway."
"Some secrets don't keep very well, Padawan," Qui-Gon said. Or thought he said, or tried to, because in that moment he was bombarded by Jeimor, caustic and frantic.
-Oh shit oh shit how the fuck is that possible shit shit SHIT--
Pain struck him, embers and fire and burning, burning forever--
It was work to rise up above that torrent of input, fed through the otherworldly connection Qui-Gon had with the crow. He became aware that he was screaming, and that it was being echoed, kilometers away, by Obi-Wan.
Then the pain ended as if a switch had been thrown. He was on his knees, with Anakin's hands on his back and Yoda's clawed hand resting on his leg, both of them doing their best to soothe him with the Force. "No, m'all..." he coughed. "I'm all right. Not me. Not mine," he said, still trying to gather himself. He met Yoda's worried green eyes. "Something's gone wrong."
Yoda nodded slowly. "Mm. Feel it, I do."
"What do we do? How do we find Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked. Qui-Gon looked up; his Padawan's blue eyes filled with trepidation. "We can't just leave him to face the Sith alone, Master."
"I know where they are," Qui-Gon said, the weight of a surprising new grief pressing down on him. The images that showed him the way to the Sith were the last things he'd seen from Jeimor.
The crow had passed into the Force.
Atmosphere
The Sith was waiting for him in a room secreted beneath the hangar, one that looked, startlingly, like a throne room awaiting its king. There were no bright tapestries here, though; all was dark, made of black and chrome, a technological shaping that took nothing of life into account. What might have been a receiving hallway was bracketed by hulking black stone columns. The throne itself was simple, a seat that could be mistaken for a large chair if placed elsewhere, but the dais it rested upon denoted its purpose clearly.
Palpatine, Lord Sidious, was standing on the last step of the dais. He was dressed in the black robes of the Sith, no longer hiding under the Chancellor's blue of office. His hood was back, revealing the too-old, sallow, amber-eyed visage once more. "You are a very difficult man to kill, aren't you, Knight Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan halted a few feet away from Sidious, just out of reach of arm or lightsaber. The room was cold, chilled even further by the Sith's presence and the very atmosphere of the place. He was reassured by the warm, living weight of Jeimor on his shoulder, who was eyeing the Sith like he was an unfortunate, inedible, species of insect. "You might say that."
Palpatine nodded. "Of course, there are other options. I would have put them down as ludicrous nursery tales, of course, if Sly Moore had not enlightened me. And you come bearing the proof on your shoulder. How interesting." Palpatine sneered at them both. "What do they call you? Ahh, yes. Avatairee. How... quaint."
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. He wasn't surprised that Sidious had gained the knowledge of what he was. It was almost like the power was written onto his skin, once one knew what to look for. "I've been called many things, actually. You'd be amazed at the number of legends there are, hiding beneath the surface of history."
"Oh, not at all, Obi-Wan," Palpatine said, and all the hair on Obi-Wan's body tried to stand up in protest. He did not like the sound of his name on the Sith's lips. "You see, once Madam Moore had told me the truth of what you are, I discovered that there is a story of your kind even among the Sith."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's not much of a shock, given the Sith penchant for revenge."
Palpatine smiled. "Oh, the avatar was not a Sith. The avatar was working to destroy the Sith in question, a man of near-limitless talent named Darth Travestine. He knew much of the wisdom of the Dark, Obi-Wan. It did not take Travestine long to discover the truth of what you represent."
"And what do I represent to you, then?" Obi-Wan asked, unconsciously taking a step back.
"Power," Sidious said, and a dark, rictus grin spread his lips. He held out his hand, haloes of energy crowning his fingertips. Obi-Wan ignited Asa's lightsaber, expecting the same lightning that Dooku had attacked him with. Instead, violet tendrils formed and wrapped around the blade before passing right through his guard to graze his hand. The merest brushing touch of it burned like ice and fire. Obi-Wan jerked his hand back, but the tendril moved with him, wrapping around his hand and arm and tearing lines of pain across his skin.
Then others were approaching, faster than he could move to escape them. He had no idea how to counter them because he had no idea what the hell they were.
Jeimor, GO! he yelled, hoping to at least spare one of them. The crow took wing, a tendril just missing him. The purple thread seared through one of Jeimor's primaries, filling the air with the scent of burnt feather.
"But not just any power," Sidious crooned. Obi-Wan hissed as another tendril wrapped his left arm as gently as a lover, bringing torment with its touch. The lightsaber fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, the blade shutting down as it fell. Obi-Wan pulled at the damned tendrils with the Force while batting away at the others, succeeding only in slowing them down, not stopping them.
"Power for the taking," Sidious whispered.
Anything else the Sith might have said was lost to his own strangled scream. The tendrils lit up, disappearing into his body. Obi-Wan dropped to the floor, writhing, blind. His very essence was being ripped from his bones, his soul stripped from its mooring, his mind was being shredded...
-Oh shit oh shit how the fuck is that possible!- he heard. Jeimor. Jeimor, who was still too close, in grave danger. He didn't want his friend to suffer this fate.
Jeimor! he cried, concern for the crow and the memory of what must be done overriding his own torment. You have to go!
-Shit shit SHIT--
The unmistakable sound of a blaster discharge struck his ears, accompanied by the sickening, shocking feel of his bond with Jeimor breaking.
Gone.
The crow was gone. Jeimor was dead. His irreverent friend, his ebon wing.
"No," he whispered, tears of pain and grief forming in his eyes.
"Yes," said Palpatine, and the violet, seeking threads multiplied tenfold, wrapping his entire body in their fiery embrace.
"This is preposterous," Senator Taneel was saying, shaking her head as she paced back and forth in front of them. "We can't just call a Senate hearing and demand Palpatine's head on a platter!"
The head on a platter had been Garm's suggestion. Bail was inclined to second it, but since the Republic was already on the verge of a war, he didn't think it was a good idea to begin this particular political battle with violence.
"By the dearest gods," Mon Mothma said, interrupting what Taneel might have said next. She was staring down at her comm in horror. "Bail, you need to turn on the 'Net. Right now."
Noticing the pale cast to the woman's features, Bail rushed to comply. "What channel?" he asked, and then realized it didn't matter. It was on every channel.
The reporter on-screen, a frazzled looking Devorian woman, was pointing to the fire behind her. "--just as every other outpost on Coruscant, this building is on fire after an assault by unknown forces just minutes ago. I repeat: the outposts for the Office of Republic Security have all come under attack in a coordinated, specific assault, resulting in every outpost set ablaze. We don't yet have information on any casualties, either military or assailant. The only word received from the assailants is a repeat of the broadcast message that first brought to light the atrocities the Office has allegedly been committing against those beings who live in the mid- and lower levels of Coruscant. While the footage is widely disputed, there are many willing to verify its authenticity despite the Office's insistence that it is only carrying out its mandate. The difference today," the reporter ducked as a new explosion sounded in the background, but it was within the already-burning building. "The difference is that the message was signed by a group calling themselves the Alliance."
Bail frowned and switched channels, finding the Devorian or other reporters like her in front of different burning outposts. One channel was displaying a few short seconds of vid footage, capturing the shoot-out between a group of cloned troopers and...
"Oh, Force," he whispered, spying the dusted faces on every member of the group, even those whose visages were barely humanoid enough to wear it.
"Our boy has been busy," Fang Zar commented, a wry smile on his face. "I don't think Coruscant was willing to sit and wait around for us to get our thumbs out of our collective asses," he said, which made Garm bark out a laugh.
A moment later Bail's personal secretary darted into the room, looking pale and off-balance. "There's someone here to see you, Prince Organa," Brax said, swallowing visibly. "She's unarmed, but she is..."
The visitor in question walked into the room fully cloaked, sweeping around Brax without a second glance before lowering her hood when she reached Bail. She had large, luminous green eyes and a dusted face, just like the armed rebels on the 'Net. Unlike the others, though, the black dust formed both smile and tears. The result was discomfiting to witness, and Bail brushed unconsciously at his shoulder as he and girl stared at each other.
"You be the Prestor," the girl said, and smiled, which only increased the emotional discord created by the dusted expression. "I be Navati, sent by Mother Vima to see you all." She reached into her cloak; Bail took an unconscious step back, while Garm drew his hold-out blaster and took aim, ready to fire if the need arose.
Navati only brought forth two clear, sealed jars. One was filled with a pale gray substance, the other black. "Mama Vima says that it be time for the choosing, Prestor," Navati said, bowing her head. "This be yours, for you and your friends. The rest be up to you."
Bail took the jars, his stomach flip-flopping nauseatingly as he realized what they contained. "What's going on, Navati?" Padmé asked in a hushed voice. She had stood up, and there was a strange, almost reverent expression on her face.
Navati turned and smiled at her. "Time for the choosing, Senator-wife. We all be choosing, and the sun will witness it."
"What does that mean?" Senator Alavar said, her brows drawn together in confusion. "And what is she talking about, Padmé? You're not even seeing anyone."
Padmé pursed her lips but said nothing. Bail shook his head. "Navati, what will happen today?"
Navati pulled her hood back up to hide her face. "Many things, Prestor. The Force will be watchin' to see who stands where." She left without another word, leaving Brax to hurry after her in dismayed confusion.
Bail realized he was staring at the jars, stunned, when hands covered his. He looked up; Mon Mothma gave him a sad smile. "My decision was made long ago, my friend."
Qui-Gon was in the lead, followed by Anakin and the Council of Six. It had seemed wisest and yet foolhardy, once that particular decision had been made; if they all died, then at least half of the Council would still live, and messages awaited each member should they become the only Council. Anakin had said that their chances were better with all twelve, and had been surprised when no one disagreed with him.
"Do we sacrifice all of us, or only some of us, Padawan Skywalker?" Saesee had said, his voice soft, his eyes sad. Qui-Gon had a terrible feeling the Iktotchi Master had already seen some clue as to their fates. "In the end, we can only do what is best for all our sakes."
The Councilor's last statement was running through his head, almost non-stop, when Qui-Gon found the ledge with the near-kilometer long drop. There were vague shapes in the swirling mist far below. The weather was turning, befouling the air of the lower levels. They would need to get inside quickly once they had found the Sith's hiding place.
Anakin looked down and shook his head. "I have a bad, bad feeling about this, Master," he said.
"I do as well," Qui-Gon admitted, but he wasn't thinking about dying. He was, instead, remembering the fierce, desperate words whispered into his ear: Please make me feel like I'm here!
"Jeimor's dead, isn't he?"
Qui-Gon turned and gazed into the sober eyes of his Padawan. He knew that Anakin was the last apprentice he would ever take, no matter how much longer he lived, or how Yoda might pester him. He would never retreat the way he had after Xanatos; he could teach the younglings in the Temple as easily as the classes composed of eager, serious-minded Padawans. Obi-Wan had seen to that. He would never shirk his life again, for the gift was too great, and the price too high.
"Yes, he is." Qui-Gon acted on impulse, touching Anakin's cheek with his hand, the way Obi-Wan had done mere hours before. "I want you to stay here."
Anakin blinked, his head rocking back in surprise as if he'd been struck. "What? That's ridiculous! Master--"
"Not for the reason you might think, Ani," Qui-Gon murmured, stilling the young man's words. "You are the strongest of us, for all that some of us still fear that strength," he said, glancing at Mace as he spoke. Mace scowled but did not turn away. "We need that strength for the time to come, Anakin. The Order will need you more than any of us could ever believe, and you must be there to help guide the Jedi onto a new path when the Republic crumbles. You and your children are our future." And I want you to be there to see it, he thought.
"Be here to greet those who survive, or be ready to warn the others if we do not come back."
"But... but... Master," Anakin spluttered, flustered. "I can't do that, not without you! I'm not a Knight!"
Qui-Gon smiled and touched the braid Anakin had once had so much trouble growing in his early years as a Padawan. It was a short thing, for all that it encapsulated over ten years of teaching, learning, and training. It was a simple matter to call upon the Force, severing the entwined hairs just below Anakin's ear. "Yes. You are."
Anakin couldn't have looked any more surprised if Banthas had begun raining from the sky. "Master?" he breathed.
"You would conduct the first field-Knighting in three hundred years, right before we face a damned Sith," Mace grumbled, while Shaak Ti grinned fit to crack her face in half.
"If we live, you can contest my decision before the full Council," Qui-Gon retorted mildly, far too amused by the poleaxed expression on Anakin's face. "In the meantime..." Qui-Gon pressed the blond braid into Anakin's unresisting left hand.
"May the Force be with you, Knight Skywalker."
Anakin swallowed, his throat working, his eyes far too bright. He nodded jerkily. "Yes, Master."
No one spoke congratulatory words out loud, but there were far more smiles for Anakin than frowns as each Councilor jumped off the ledge, choosing to float or fall towards the distant ground.
Yoda eyed the drop, snorted, and then glared up at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon smiled and gave the tiny Master his hand, which Yoda used to nimbly climb into place on Qui-Gon's back. Qui-Gon took Yoda's gimer stick and shoved it into his belt for the trip down.
"Wait. Qui-Gon?" Anakin called.
Qui-Gon turned and reacted on instinct, catching the Padawan braid he'd just been given. Anakin grinned, his delight finally running free in his eyes and in the Force. "Keep that safe for me, all right?"
All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.
-Winston Churchill
Fire sank into his limbs, glass shattered in his bones, lava poured through his body. He screamed, over and over, his throat tearing, his body pulled as taunt as a wire and still bending, breaking....
Draining. His life-force was being ripped from him, drained away. Force-drain. This was Force-drain, an ancient, nightmarish myth brought to life.
He shrieked in helpless agony, howled desperate refusal against something he could not stop, the worst sort of defilement. Not his to take, not his, not his!
It would not stop. The pain. Would. Not. Stop. The Sith would not stop. He was Other. There was plenty to take, far too much to steal.
Because he couldn't die. Just like Jeimor had said. Not until it was time.
Diffraction
From the lower levels they came, streaming up into the daylight like shadows come alive. They wore cloaks meant to blend in with a city drenched in perpetual night, their faces dusted in gray. Out into the sunlight they walked: single individuals, pairs, groups, clusters, streaming masses. The Senate District and the Temple District and the Market District--they filled those places, for they had focus and sway over the Senate Dome, the building central to all.
The largest group of dusted folk surrounded the Dome itself. The press noticed their similarity to the rebels who had destroyed the Security Squad a mere hour before and pounced, spreading the story that a massive terrorist uprising was at hand on Coruscant.
Some panicked. Some came out to see the dust-faced people for themselves, taking vid or pics. The braver ones asked questions; the braver still borrowed gray dust or powder and joined them, even if they weren't quite sure what it was, exactly, they were participating in.
Judicial was called, with demands that they come do their job. The head of Judicial on Coruscant, a very terse individual by the name of Jan Dodonna, politely told everyone to go get fucked. The Senate had made certain that Judicial didn't have jurisdiction over Coruscant affairs any longer, and Dodonna already had it on good authority that terrorism was the last thing on this group's mandate.
When the calls became too annoying, Dodonna shut down the comm, locking his office before meeting with his dust-faced secretary and her girlfriend. Most of his staff would be joining the throng gathering around the dome. To participate, to keep them safe; he did not yet know which it was to be. Perhaps both.
The army was called, but the new Republic military was stationed along the Separatist border, patrolling, performing maneuvers, and generally still learningto be an army. They were not going to be available any time soon.
Those options failing, the press continued to observe and debate the group's purpose. All the while, Mother Vima watched them dart from vantage point to vantage point, and thought they were all acting like a bunch of drunken hornets.
At her side, Navati grinned. "Big, buzzy insects that can sting but are confused as to how to go about it?"
"That's about the size of it, daughter-mine," Vima said, smiling as she peered up at the great dome. The time of choosing was at hand, and there were battles above and below that would reveal the outcome of that choice. She hadn't been able to tell young Qui-Gon that this choosing was just as important as the other, because the Jedi already had their task. No sense asking them to give up too much.
It was up to her people to see to this, and... well. She wasn't above influencing folks into getting what she needed for her children, but this was different. This wasn't about influence. This was about providing clarity, something that buggering Sith Lord hadn't allowed folk in this area of Coruscant for far too long.
"We're all ready, Mama," Navati said, giving her a warm, confident smile.
She nodded, feeling Navati's tiny hand slip into her own. They twined their fingers together, and with that, Vima opened herself to the Force.
A riot is the language of the unheard.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
Anakin breathed out a sigh, wrapped his arms around his chest, and told himself that everything was fine. The Force was screaming at him, and he knew he was lying, but his Master had given him specific instructions. They even sort of made sense. His first task as a Knight--contested or not--shouldn't be to disregard everything he'd been told.
His comm chimed, and he snatched it off of his belt. "Master?"
"Well, if you're getting into the kinky stuff, you've got to let a girl know," Padmé replied. Despite the teasing quality of her voice, he could feel... something underneath, some weird underlying tension.
Anakin blushed and grinned. "Hi, sweetheart. How's your day been?"
"It's been educational. Listen, I have something to tell you--"
"Yeah, same here, Padmé," Anakin said, pacing back and forth along the roadway edge. "I'm standing about a kilometer from the Sith's door. Master Qui-Gon and six members of the Council are confronting him right now."
"Confronting--oh, gods. Anakin: Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith!"
For a moment he merely stared at the comm in his hand, certain he must have misheard his wife. "I... what? No. No, that's stupid! That's not possible, Padmé!"
"It is possible, and thanks to Obi-Wan, I'm looking at all of the evidence that proves it. Bail and Mon Mothma are presenting it to the Senate right now," she said, sounding worried, exasperated, and thrilled, all at once.
Anakin lowered his comm-link, staring down into the chasm, as the events of the past twenty-six hours began to make sense. Obi-Wan hadn't told them the Sith's identity because none of them would have believed him. Anakin didn't want to believe him.
Except...
He was supposed to be there. He had to be there. This was what that stupid prophecy was all about. Obi-Wan had known, and had done his best to shield him from the sharp pain of the betrayal Anakin was feeling in that moment. Master Qui-Gon, in ordering him to stay away, was just trying to keep him alive.
But this wasn't his Master's choice to make.
He was my friend, he thought, disconsolate, and allowed the grief to swell. He'd lost so many friends...
Then there was a whisper in the back of his mind, a voice Anakin usually associated with the Force. He uses you.
Had he? Had Palpatine's friendship been a mask?
Chosen One, the voice whispered. Power for the taking... it said, and Anakin shivered.
In the end, the decision was easy to make. There was, after all, one way to know for certain.
"Listen, I need to tell you two things." He was going to get in so much trouble on his first day as a Knight. Appropriate, given who his Master was.
"What is it, Anakin?" Padmé asked, and there was no missing that semi-suspicious, yet loving tone. It was one of the many reasons he'd married her.
"If I don't come back tonight, name our baby something that starts with an L. I like L names."
"But Ani, I'm not... I'm..." Padmé's indrawn breath was like a sharp slice through staticky air. "I'm pregnant?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he said, realizing there was a huge, sappy grin on his face. "I was going to wait and tell you in person, but I don't know what's going to happen today. I want you to know that I love you, and you make me happier than anything in all the worlds. I want our baby to know that I would have loved her, too."
"It's a girl?" Padmé was crying; he could hear it in her voice, and that left him blinking back tears, as well. This wasn't the future he'd envisioned for them, nothing like what he'd hoped for.
"Or a boy. I'm having a hard time figuring it out." He frowned for a moment, concentrating. "It...might be both. Two L names, then? I can't even name a pet robot without insulting it, so that's as much as my contribution should really be when it comes to naming our kids."
Padmé laughed, sweet and clear, full of as much delight as sadness. "Come back to me, Ani. Promise me," she pleaded. "I don't want to raise our children without you."
"I promise to try," he replied, squeezing his left hand into a fist. The Force was whispering more hints, and he was never going to lie to his wife. "I love you." He turned off the comm and jumped into the chasm.
The Senate chamber had become an oppressive place, and Bail Organa couldn't remember when that had happened. It had never seemed that way, when he was a junior Senator learning the ins and outs of Coruscant politics under his cousin's wing. Granted, he had been one hell of a wide-eyed idealist even for a crown prince, but never had he felt dismal in this place.
Sometime after Cousin Antilles had retired, when Bail had become both royal representative and Senator. Sometime after the first Sith had turned up and killed his friend. That was the closest he could come to an estimation.
Learning that the cause of that oppression had been standing right there in the center of the room, acting as if war was the last thing he could ever want, had been the Chancellor of the Republic, Sidious of the Sith, Palpatine.
Their fellows, presented with the evidence in oratory form by both himself and Mon Mothma, now had digital copies... and were arguing about it. At full volume.
"I need ear plugs," he muttered to Mon Mothma, whose serenity looked to be cracking if that thin, steely-eyed frown was any indication.
"I just want to turn the lot of them over my knee and give them sound spankings. If they're going to act like children, then I shall treat them like my own three and hope for the best," Mon Mothma growled in response.
They kept watch in silence, nodding once at Padmé as she went off to comm her husband and give him the news. It was sort of funny, that. Now that the rest of their clandestine little group knew that Padmé Amidala had married a Jedi, there was a new deference in how she was being treated. Bail was glad of that, at least. There were far too many others in the Senate, and elsewhere in the Republic, who would be happy to ostracize her.
It was only moments later when the tension in Bail's shoulders seemed to ease, that the breaths he took weren't tainted by hot, heavy, lifeless air.
Mon Mothma lifted her head, glancing around the upper corners of the Chamber. "The air changed," she said. "Did you notice?"
"Yes," he said. "So did they." Bail pointed; the non-stop squabbling was beginning to cease, as Senators and aides began to pay actual attention to what they had been given instead of arguing with each other.
"Huh. Jedi Battle Meditation," Fang Zar said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
"What? You think the Jedi are behind this sudden, ah, clarity of thought?" Mon Mothma asked.
"Clarity of air, atmosphere, release of the press of emotion--possibly far more. I believe the Senate has been under severe negative influence," Zar said, giving them both a thoughtful look. "Though, I don't think the Jedi are repelling it. Nor do I think we're being influenced in the opposite direction. I think the Senate blowhards are being given the chance to function for the first time in ages without a Sith's influence. Now, they--we--have no guiding hand but our own."
"You mean, even absent, he was..." Alavar looked pale. "Gods."
"Sith and Jedi can both work the Force in similar ways. Who's to say a Sith wasn't using some form of Battle Meditation to push the Senate whichever way he wanted? He was standing right there, after all," Fang said, pointing to the Chancellor's platform, empty save for Mas Amedda, who was suffering a bout of silent, impotent fury. Of Palpatine himself, there had been no sign. "Given what I understand from a few of my Jedi friends, influence is easier if your target is right there with you."
"Then why did it stop?" Alavar asked. "While I'm glad of the timing, it would seem that if Palpatine were to try to mount a defense of himself, keeping that lot squabbling would be the best way to start."
Bail shared a glance with Mon Mothma. "The ones Navati spoke of?" she murmured.
"Mama Vima," he replied. "Whoever she is."
Mon Mothma nodded, sighing. "We're damned even if they succeed, aren't we?" She motioned out at the tiers of near endless Senate pods, her lips pressed into a thin line. "The Republic won't survive this revelation."
Fang Zar sighed, and literally seemed to grow older before their eyes. "No, dear. No, it won't."
She nodded, unsurprised by the answer. She took out the jars of dust that Bail had been given by Navati.
"What are you doing?" Bail asked, curious.
Mon Mothma dipped her fingers into the first jar, the one that held pale gray dust. "I told you my choice was made long ago," she said. "Now is the time to see it through. I'm joining the Alliance."
Bail thought about the data disk that had awaited him some evenings previous, brought to his hand by an overly large crow. I think I already made that choice, too, he thought, watching as his fellow Senator dipped slender fingers into ash, smearing it across her cheeks as if it were the finest powdered makeup.
Padmé rushed back towards them, her comm clenched in a white-knuckled grip. She was far too pale, the paint on her lips standing out in stark relief against her skin. "The Jedi are confronting Palpatine."
"Shit," Garm whispered. "That was fast."
Mon Mothma nodded and stood, smearing her lips with a black streak that left her appearance hollow-eyed and grim. "Then we must act now, and push to allow the Jedi to deal with their ancient foe. Bail, we will need information."
"I'll go to the Temple, then." Of them all, he was the most well-known among the Jedi. Even after Obi-Wan's loss on Naboo, he had visited the Temple often. "I can let you know the moment there is news."
"Go, go," Garm said, standing up and putting on his fierce scowl of a Senate mask. "We'll deal with this."
Padmé joined Bail, staying right by his side as they abandoned the docked Senate pod for the corridors that led to the outer rotunda. "I'm going with you."
"I'd be foolish to argue," Bail agreed. The last he saw of their allies, Senator Taneel had taken the dust-filled vials from Mon Mothma and was turning her face the color of night.
Hope is the last thing a person does before they are defeated.
Henry Rollins
Jeimor's memories led Qui-Gon to a building within another, and a small, ground-level window that was hanging open. He disregarded the window and blew in the hangar's main doors with a quick, irritated shove.
Ki-Adi Mundi eyed the doors as they entered, which were collapsing into a crumpled mess. "Have you forgotten how to be subtle?"
Qui-Gon snorted in response as he followed Shaak Ti and Adi inside. Yoda was still riding on Qui-Gon's back, his clawed hand resting on Qui-Gon's left shoulder. "Do you really think the Sith isn't expecting us?"
"Oh, I'd say he's expecting us all right," Adi said, and there was no mistaking the mournful tone in her voice. "Qui-Gon..."
He stepped forward when both Masters motioned him to go first, and knelt at the edge of a lift built into the hangar floor. He touched Jeimor's shiny feathers in gentle mimicry of the scratching the crow had once enjoyed. "I am sorry," Qui-Gon whispered, scooping up the lifeless body in his hands. The scent of burnt feathers struck his nose; a blaster shot, most likely, as a lightsaber blade would have disintegrated much of the crow's body.
"Here," Mace called, finding an empty crate among the stacks of shipping containers. Qui-Gon laid the crow on the foam cushioning, closing amber eyes and folding the bird's wings up into a position of rest. "We'll come back for him when this is done," Mace said, his eyes hard. Qui-Gon nodded; there was little else to do, now.
Instead, he turned his attention back to the other item that had been lying on the lift platform, bending and picking it up, his jaw clenched. The lightsaber had once belonged to his sister-Padawan, Komari Vosa, and was last owned by Asajj Ventress...but he could feel Obi-Wan's Force-signature on it, a fresh imprint. Qui-Gon had no doubt that both lightsaber and crow had been deliberately placed, a taunt and a lure. He rubbed his fingertips along the curved silver hilt, staring at nothing as he contemplated the Force, his Padawans, and the role they all had yet to play.
"If the crow is dead, then what does that mean for Obi-Wan?" Adi asked. "Is he dea--gone, as well?"
Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. Not yet." He had a terrible feeling that he would be cursing that fact before the day was over.
He clipped Obi-Wan's lightsaber onto his belt next to his own. Even if it never found its way back to its owner, Qui-Gon was keeping the blade.
Hmm. Sentimental you are, Yoda sent, and the ancient Master's grip on Qui-Gon's shoulder became a caress.
Yes, he agreed, because he was, and there was no shame to it. "Let's go," he said aloud, and stepped onto the lift platform that the Sith had left baited. The moment all seven of them were in place, the lift came to life, sending them down.
"Oh, that just doesn't scream trap or anything," Shaak Ti grumbled, rolling her eyes. Ki-Adi grinned humorlessly, but otherwise there was silence as the hangar bay floor went ever higher over their heads, and dim lighting took over. The pervading atmosphere grew colder, filled with a dank, putrid odor that Qui-Gon didn't recognize, but found disturbing.
The room below was literally straight out of Qui-Gon's nightmares. It was dark, not only due to insufficient light, but because every surface was black. Chrome fixtures were visible here and there, but slick, glossy black tile predominated. A dais was the room's largest feature, and on it was an empty chair whose purpose was obvious.
He'd dreamed of this room. One month after Geonosis.
Next to the throne was an energy cage, just like the one Dooku had used to imprison Qui-Gon. It had been a lure for his Padawan, drawing Anakin and Padmé Amidala to Geonosis. With the supposed interference of a Senator of the Republic as his weapon, Dooku had stirred the Separatists to war.
Suspended inside this new energy cage, head and shoulders slumped in unconscious repose, just as in his nightmare, was Obi-Wan. In the Force, Qui-Gon couldn't feel him. With his heart in his throat, he probed at the cage with his mind, and sensed nothing living in that space.
"Something feels wrong here, Master Yoda," Saesee Tiin said, his eyes darting around the room.
"Feels wrong here, everything does," Yoda muttered in response, accepting his gimer stick when Qui-Gon handed it back to him.
The snap-hiss of an ignited lightsaber and the Force screaming a warning sent Qui-Gon to the floor. He ducked and rolled, feeling Yoda release his grip and tumble off in the opposite direction. A lightsaber sliced through the air where they had stood a moment before, meant to cleave them both in two.
Qui-Gon had his own lightsaber in his hand as he stood up, igniting the blade in one movement while flinging his cloak aside with the other. Yoda's blade was out and ignited, as were Mace's, Adi's, and Ki-Adi Mundi's.
Saesee Tiin was on the floor, crumpled, and in the next instant Qui-Gon felt the Iktotchi Master pass into the Force. Shaak Tii had not managed to retrieve her own blade; was, in fact, too busy trying to evade the swift, merciless strikes of the Sith's lightsaber as she leapt out of the way again and again.
"Tii!" Adi shouted, launching herself into the fray, with Mace and Mundi just behind.
The Sith was a cloaked, hooded whirlwind, a gale force of seeking Darkness that swirled about him like a physical extension of the Sith's body. Strangely, only that released Darkness could be felt in the Force. The Sith himself didn't seem to exist, but for the fact that he was, undeniably, attempting to kill them all.
Yoda scowled, watching the other Masters battle Sidious, and then his gaze hardened. "See to Obi-Wan," he ordered Qui-Gon in a terse voice, striding forward and tossing his gimer stick away with a finality that spoke volumes. "Need him, we will."
Qui-Gon hesitated for a breath, torn between the very real danger the Councilors were in, and the near-overwhelming need to touch Obi-Wan's skin, to see if his love had once more gone from this world. The decision was easy to make; Yoda was right. No matter his feelings, they needed the avatar, or this battle was lost.
He turned away, turned his face away from the danger his friends were in, and hardened himself against the sounds of desperate battle.
He was halfway up the dais when Mace died, and the shock of losing his longtime friend almost drove him to his knees. Instead, Qui-Gon hastened his steps, driving himself forward, using Force-speed to reach the energy cage. He shoved his lightsaber into the mechanism, disengaged the blade and caught Obi-Wan's body just as the energy field stuttered and died.
He whispered a relieved curse under his breath as he cradled the man in his arms. Obi-Wan was still alive, but only with his fingers on Obi-Wan's skin could Qui-Gon feel his presence. It was far weaker than it had been, even after the Sith's attempt at drowning the Knight.
"Stolen," Qui-Gon said, and then blinked in surprise. Not his word. He looked down to find pale gray eyes looking up at him, filled with grieved awareness. "Obi-Wan?"
Force drain. Not the breaking bones we both once dreamed of, Obi-Wan said, his mental voice so faint that it was the barest whisper in Qui-Gon's thoughts. He has what I carried here, Qui-Gon. He stole what she gave me. Obi-Wan's breath hitched, a misstep from a body that should have already been dead, and wasn't.
Qui-Gon took in the washed-out, faded pattern of wings on Obi-Wan's face. They looked old, rain-washed and destroyed by time. Without Jeimor, without Obi-Wan's own strength, there was nothing to keep the crow's mark from fading.
The Avatairee would be of no help to them. They had lost.
Qui-Gon lifted his head, catching sight of the battle once more. Shaak Tii had gained her lightsaber and was fighting with Adi at her side, both of them working in concert to drive the Sith back. For a moment it actually seemed to be working. Then the Sith feinted and brought Darkness to bear; Adi shrieked in anger and pain and fell, injured but not defeated. Shaak Tii bore up under the Sith's assault for precious seconds, protecting her friend.
The Sith would have been a frightening opponent on his own, and Qui-Gon had no doubt there would be casualties if things had been normal. Instead, the Sith flew through the air, streaming that otherworldly energy in his wake, an obscene parody of what Obi-Wan had represented. Without a sound, without so much as a hint of effort, Sidious was slaughtering the best of the Order.
Obi-Wan gazed up at him, his eyes washed out and lifeless, filled with sadness. His breath hitched again when Shaak Tii passed into the Force. I'm so sorry.
Adi slammed into the Sith with both lightsaber and body, allowing Yoda and Ki-Adi Mundi to rejoin the fray. Even injured, the Corellian woman was a force to be reckoned with, and the Sith seemed to realize that.
No. This is not your fault, my love, Qui-Gon replied, sensing the grief and the siren-song of guilt in Obi-Wan's words. You didn't cause this. He sighed, glad that Anakin was out of this fray, glad that he hadn't led his Padawan into certain death.
Don't give up. There is still a chance.
Hope flared. How can we stop him, Obi-Wan?
Adi was flung across the room on a bloom of violet lightning, striking the far wall. She was out of the fight but not dead; Qui-Gon could sense the Master hanging onto life out of sheer, stubborn will.
We... we... cannot, Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but hear the desperate emphasis Obi-Wan placed upon the word.
Yoda was one of the most rapid, most fantastic duelists who had ever lived, though the cost of such energy expenditure was harsh on his frail, tiny frame. Even he could barely keep up with Sidious. When the ancient Master saved Ki-Adi's life, the Sith took the opportunity presented and moved faster than any living being, Force-enhanced or not, should have been capable of.
Not without sacrifice, Obi-Wan said, and twitched his fingers. Qui-Gon understood the faint gesture and took Obi-Wan's hand in his own. He swallowed back his grief, and forced himself to watch what he knew was about to happen.
Yoda did not die without one last act of defiance. Even impaled on Sidious's red blade, the diminutive being snarled and shoved his lightsaber into the Sith's form.
What sacrifice?
Sidious roared out his anger at being wounded, flinging the tiny body away from him with a rush of wind and the further crack of lightning. Yoda was gone before he landed, and in the circle of Qui-Gon's arms Obi-Wan was crying, his eyes leaking silent tears.
Gods, I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon. There is only one way to end this, and you know what that is.
Qui-Gon stared down at Obi-Wan, blinking his eyes to clear them and realizing he had been grieving for their losses, as well. What are you talking about?
Then he remembered. Balance was about choice. Anakin's choice.
No. No! I told him not to come here!
Then it was only Ki-Adi Mundi standing against the Sith, and he had no chance alone. In moments he was gone, his spirit a flash of recognition in the Force before there was nothing left but silence. Adi still lived, but would be of no further help to them.
Of the seven Jedi Masters who had come to stop a Sith, only Qui-Gon remained.
Sidious shut down his lightsaber, hiding it within the folds of his robe, before approaching the dais. Qui-Gon thought that the hooded form was like a representation of the element of Malice come to life.
There was a long, almost contemplative moment, in which Jedi Master and Sith Lord regarded each other without speaking. The silence, the pervading chill, reminded Qui-Gon of ancient tombs, but the smell of cauterized flesh was reminiscent of battlegrounds he had walked, where freshly disturbed earth had turned to blood-red mud.
"Well, well," Sidious intoned at last. His voice was rough, but there was silk underneath, and that part was familiar. "It seems as if it's just the three of us now, Master Jinn."
Immolation
He'd never felt so helpless. Had never actually been so helpless; even infants were capable of howling, letting the world know with angry cries that they suffered hunger, discomfort, pain.
Fear.
For himself there was none, but his fear for Qui-Gon was a terrible thing, and he had to force it back down, put much of it away.
Still, his heart fluttered in his chest when Qui-Gon laid him down on the cold ground, standing to face the Sith.
If Qui-Gon Jinn feared Sidious, he was keeping that entirely to himself.
He'd never felt so helpless, but he would not allow those fears to overcome him now. Qui-Gon had spent his entire life spitting defiance in the faces of the corrupt. Something stubborn and innate in his core had already decided that if he were to die, he would do it his way, even if his resistance was limited to the rebellious nature of his last living thought.
Qui-Gon had his lightsaber in his hand but did not bother to reignite the blade. Sidious had proved himself the better duelist, and Qui-Gon wanted this encounter to last more than a few seconds. He wanted Sidious to remember it, even if Qui-Gon had never felt so much like a flittering moth veering too close to a great and terrible flame.
Those thoughts considered and dismissed in a breath, Qui-Gon did something he once would have considered suicidal. With a swift, efficient motion, he tossed his lightsaber away. A gesture of surrender in other places; here, it was defiance.
The cloaked form radiated amusement. "So certain as to the outcome of this little war, are you?"
"You take pleasure in defeating people by using their strengths against them. If I lifted that blade, you would get far too much enjoyment out of my death. I don't intend to give you that," Qui-Gon answered, glad that his voice sounded normal, as if he did this every day.
"You have read much of me in very little time," Sidious murmured.
"If I couldn't quickly surmise an individual's desires and intents, I would have died long ago."
"And yet," Sidious whispered the words; they were filled with quiet, secretive delight. "He surprised you," the Sith continued, meaning Obi-Wan. "Your skills failed you, and your Padawan died."
Qui-Gon smiled. The cruel words, which once would have hurt so much, were no longer so difficult to hear. "He was always very good at surprising me."
"A skill that you, too, seem to share."
Between one blink and the next, the Sith Lord struck. With a harsh jolt of painful impact, Qui-Gon found himself pinned against one of the stone columns, the Sith's hand at his throat and fetid breath wafting into his face. Sidious was shorter, frailer in structure, but there was no mistaking the immense strength in that Dark body. Even within such intimate distance, shadows filled the Sith's cowl, keeping his features hidden from view.
Qui-Gon could move his hands, clench his fists. The rest of his limbs were frozen, caught in a skilled Force-grip that chilled all of the blood in his veins.
"Long have you proved yourself an irritant to me. Long have you kept me from my goals, interfering with what is rightfully mine." The Sith Lord spat the words up into Qui-Gon's face, biting rage in each syllable.
Then the anger vanished. In its place, Qui-Gon could sense twisted delight. "I think you should have the opportunity to share in my frustration."
Still pinning Qui-Gon in place, with the iron-banded Force grip keeping half the air from his lungs, Sidious turned his attention back to the dais.
Back to Obi-Wan.
Submission is not always what it seems.
-Raziel (Legacy of Kain)
Brave. Brave and defiant. Stubborn, too, and oh, how Obi-Wan loved that about his Master.
When Obi-Wan felt his body lift from the cold metal of the dais, it was almost a relief. The rough Force-grip supported him much as the energy cage had, with the toes of his boots just brushing the ground. He opened his eyes; Qui-Gon was struggling against the Sith's hold with all of his strength, his expression pained, his eyes full of frantic denial. Obi-Wan could sense that Sidious was exerting real effort to keep the recalcitrant Jedi in place, using more energy than he'd expected to need.
The Sith could think that this entire scenario had fallen into place from his own orchestrations, and Obi-Wan was happy to let him believe it was so. Not everything Obi-Wan had done as Avatairee held obvious significance. Jeimor had been the one to whisper such truths into his ear, with dawn just breaking over the horizon.
If Sidious had been given access to everything that Obi-Wan was, there would be no hope. Not for any of them, regardless of prophecy or the words of the strange woman in the borderlands.
But: Qui-Gon held part of the otherworldly strength Obi-Wan had carried, visible only in the restored bronze of his hair. For Qui-Gon, that strength only meant renewed life, a renewed strength of his cells; there was no longer anything ethereal about it. It would always remain unknown to the Sith. Untouchable.
The old mania was still entwined with his thoughts, but it was Qui-Gon's example that gave him the strength to laugh in the face of Darkness one last time. There is peace, knowledge, serenity. There is the Force.
Obi-Wan offered the Sith Lord a wide grin, his lip splitting and dribbling blood down his chin as he rasped, "Give it your best shot, you dried-up fuck."
Dispersal
At Obi-Wan's words, violet tendrils of fire left the Sith's gnarled, bony fingers. It was only when those violet tendrils wrapped his lover's body, when Obi-Wan's abused form seized as if being electrocuted, that Qui-Gon understood what he was seeing.
Force drain. An ancient myth, a thing of nightmares, written of by the scattered survivors of the ancient Sith Wars. That was how the Sith had stolen the crow's ethereal gift. Sidious was seeking it still, trying to take what tiny fragments might remain.
Obi-Wan was not screaming, could not scream. There wasn't life enough left in his body for that. Qui-Gon wanted to scream for them both as he heard the pained gasps of air that were torn from Obi-Wan's throat, and witnessed the tortured splay of his hands as the Darkness rent and ripped and destroyed. In the end they were both silent, for Sidious had locked Qui-Gon's jaw shut as effectively as he had pinned the Jedi Master in place. He could only weep frustrated tears as he watched his Avatairee suffer.
"STOP!"
The sound of Anakin's voice, raised in firm command, was enough to make him renew his struggles against the Sith's hold. No, not Anakin! I can't lose them both--
Sidious's response was to slam him hard against the stone column. Qui-Gon's cry of pain was wheezed out through clenched teeth, and sharp prods of fire were in his back. He could taste blood in his mouth. Broken ribs. Many.
Then he was dropped, and his legs would not hold him upright. Qui-Gon collapsed to the cold floor, blowing blood from his mouth when cracked bones and fragile lungs were crushed together.
He heard a similar, boneless thud, and lifted his head. Obi-Wan was lying in a crumpled heap on the first and second stair of the dais, unmoving. The vile purple threads were gone, but there was something final about the way he lay. As if that nameless woman of the borderlands had felt mercy, and called her servant back at last.
Sidious had turned his attention to the newest Jedi, his dark pleasure in that morning's events renewed. "Is that a request, or a command, young Jedi?"
Anakin stood among the bodies of the fallen Jedi, his expression a stoic mask. His eyes, though, were alight, blazing with his strength in the Force. The dirty cloud, the mark of his stumbling attempts to remain away from the Dark, was gone. It had not been mere impulse of the moment when Qui-Gon had severed the young man's braid.
"You could consider it both. As your friend, it's a request. As a Jedi, it's an order... Chancellor."
Qui-Gon sucked in a surprised breath and then coughed it out again. He wrapped his arms around his chest against the sharp stabs and deepening pain, struggling to sit up. Chancellor? Palpatine?
The Sith lifted his hands and pulled back the cowl of his hood, the shadows over his face fleeing with the black cloth. It was indeed Chancellor Palpatine, benevolent savior of the Republic.
Insane, Qui-Gon thought, wiping blood from his mouth with one shaking hand. Impossible.
And yet... Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and looked again. The Sith's face was much aged, his skin sagging and yellowed, his eyes amber. But if Qui-Gon did not focus, all he could see was the aging, careworn face and watery blue eyes of the Chancellor of the Republic.
Force illusion. By all the blasted gods. No wonder the Sith had laughed at them.
Sidious, Palpatine, was smiling at Anakin. "So! You know. How interesting. Your step-brother must have told you."
"Actually, no. My wife told me," Anakin replied, a battle-ready smile appearing on his face.
That gave the Sith pause. "Your wife?"
"Yeah." Anakin's smile grew, a victorious snarl that would have made any Corellian rogue proud. "See, the thing is... Everyone knows. My brother told the Senate, and the Senate told everyone else. I'm not surprised that you missed the news. Looks like you were busy."
"And the word of a single Jedi is supposed to sway them all?" Palpatine mused, his voice smooth, a smile on his face.
"Well, there is the little matter of a mountainous pile of evidence Ben Lars put together. You might have destroyed all the physical copies in his room, but digital copies were already spread out, all over Coruscant."
"I wonder what hope they think they have." Palpatine's expression had not changed, but Qui-Gon didn't trust it. He touched the Force with an unsteady mental hand, stoppering up his bleeding insides as best he could. Then he looked around for a lightsaber, spying Mace's blade a short distance away. If he could put his head together enough to call it to his hand, perhaps he could put a blade into the Sith's back while Palpatine was distracted.
Anakin turned his head and gave Qui-Gon a sharp look, shaking his head. "You stay out of this, Master. This isn't your fight. It never was."
Sidious chuckled, an oily sound that made the hair on Qui-Gon's body rise in instinctive protest. Never had he heard Palpatine sound like that. "Are you going to arrest me, Anakin?"
Qui-Gon's apprentice raised his chin. The fierce, delighted snarl of battle had faded, replaced by a resignation that made Qui-Gon's heart pound in alarm. "No," Anakin said, shaking his head. "If I thought it was possible, I would. But it's not. I'm just going to stop you."
"You cannot hope to defeat me, Anakin," Sidious said, the words soft. It was a deep, unsettling surprise to realize that Palpatine's regret was not artifice. "It isn't too late, my friend. You could join me."
"What for?" Anakin asked, unmoved by the suggestion. "You had nothing that I wanted except your friendship. Considering the dead at our feet, and the torture I watched you subject my brother to... Well, I think our friendship's over."
"But there is power in who I am, and what I do, Anakin," Palpatine said, his voice resounding in his smoother, Coruscanti-tinged accent. "I could teach you the means to bring forth the peace that you crave. Imagine an end to the conflicts that rage across the stars! You would have the power to affect the minds of others in all corners of the galaxy."
His eyes flashed with realization, and then Anakin's expression grew pained. "It wasn't a raid. You influenced that Tusken tribe into attacking my mother's home."
"And it was a simple matter. Does the thought not tempt you?"
Qui-Gon met his Padawan's eyes, and knew the question to be academic. Anakin might have been foolish enough to consider such things when he was younger, still unlearning all of the bad habits of a life spent enslaved. He might have been tempted still, had Obi-Wan not bullied Anakin into revealing the tale of the tribe's slaughter. A Sith's influence would have left the damage to fester in his psyche, turning that filthy cloud into a firestorm of Darkness.
Not anymore. Qui-Gon had done as he had once promised.
Anakin Skywalker was a Jedi Knight, and he was not swayed. "I choose the Jedi, Lord Sidious. I choose my mother, my family, my friends, my Master. My brother," he finished, a hint of the roguish smile returning to his face.
"Then you're a fool!" Sidious roared, and an echo of that fiery denial hit Qui-Gon like a Force-created shockwave. Qui-Gon flinched away from it, while Anakin raised an arm in front of his face, as if trying to swat away a spider's web.
"Balance is nothing. Power is everything!" Sidious raised his arm and sent the violet threads of Force-drain into Obi-Wan, letting them twine and seek like greedy serpents.
Obi-Wan's eyes opened, distress shining in pale gray depths. He did not move, but a faint sound of protest rattled in his chest. Qui-Gon felt his heart constrict. Still alive, after all. Gods above and below, that was beyond cruel.
"Coward!" Anakin spat. "If you want power so much, then come and take it from the source!"
Qui-Gon's eyes widened. "No," he tried to say, but choked on his own blood. He spat out a foul copper mouthful, trying not to retch.
Sidious regarded Anakin as if he had, at last, done something worthy of the Sith's full attention. The violet threads left Obi-Wan's body, but did not dissipate; they curled around Sidious's right hand in an active, writhing bundle. "Are you truly so foolish, then?"
The reckless, challenging grin of Anakin's younger Padawan years appeared, mocking the Sith. "I figured I was good at it, so I should stick with it. Come on, then. You think power is such a good thing. Come on and take it, then! I won't even try to stop you."
No, Qui-Gon sent, refuting, protesting. Anakin, he's right, don't be foolish--
You named me a Jedi Knight, Master. Now shut up and let me be one!
Sidious did not need a third invitation. He hurled the seeking violet threads at Anakin, who watched them come. When they caught on his arms and held, Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as they pulled pain and strength from his core.
"Ani!" Qui-Gon whispered. No. Not this, not while he was still alive. He fought to get upright, staggering to his feet at the sound of Sidious's cheerful laughter. One step and he collapsed again. The slight healing he had done held, but his strength did not. Qui-Gon levered himself up on his elbows and looked, hoping and praying he was not about to witness another student's death.
To his surprise, Anakin was smiling. It was a grim expression, highlighted by the lines of pain surrounding his eyes.
Even the Sith found it strange. "What amuses you, young Skywalker?" Palpatine asked. His presence in the Force was growing stronger, hulking like a great shadow over everything in the room.
"You do," Anakin replied. He raised his hands and pushed.
In the Force it was like a ripple of solid power, a tidal wave of light. Qui-Gon felt it wash over him, easing the pain of his body, gentling his ability to breathe.
Sidious's amusement faltered. "What are you doing?"
"Why, I'm giving you what you wanted," Anakin said, taking a step forward. He did not motion, this time, but the wave of strength came again. The violet threads flexed with it, filled to capacity and passing on that power as it came. Then it was not a wave, but a constant onslaught that rippled along those tendril pathways.
Sidious was no longer standing confident among the wrecked bodies of those he had slain. He was stepping back, retreating. The shadow in the Force was massive, but strangely, it no longer seemed as dark. "Stop this!"
"NO!" Anakin yelled, his temper revealed at last in response to the petty quality of the Sith's request. "I told you that I would stop you, Chancellor. I meant every word!"
Anakin's hands, both wrapped by violet, were burning with white light. Then that light crawled up his wrists, to his elbows, until his shoulders were illuminated. "Anakin!" Qui-Gon gasped, stunned by the beauty of it, horrified by the truth it represented.
Sidious was frozen in place, his eyes full of anger and fearful refusal. "Anakin, please!" The hulking shadow was wavering like a candle flame in the breeze. Anakin only shook his head, pressing forward with those great waves of Light.
Chosen One. Born of the Force. The highest midichlorian count ever recorded. All of those things meant power, power that Qui-Gon's young charge had never been concerned with. Until now, until he could use it to end the threat of the Sith forever.
Sidious's pleas had become frantic, nonstop sounds that blurred together as he tried to free himself from the onslaught. The Sith Lord had claimed the strength of the Avatairee, and was being forced to absorb the strength of a child of prophecy.
Too much power for one being to contain.
Where Sidious was standing, Qui-Gon could see only a hint of the man, trapped in a whirlwind of white light and darkness. The shadows that Sidious had called forth were fighting back, but they were losing, were being choked out of existence as Qui-Gon watched.
Anakin was pushing everything he had into the Sith. All at once, too fast for any physical being to compensate for. During the training of Qui-Gon's youth, they had all been warned against channeling too much energy at once. At best, it wore you down. At worst, it burned you to ash.
"Please don't," he heard himself whisper.
"Ni domtian a laicee, my Master," Anakin replied. He was an indistinct form, now, a figure burning out from the inside as he gave up all that he was. May the Force bring you peace.
The last shadow vanished, and the white light Anakin had called forth blinded him. Qui-Gon heard an old man's shrill scream...and underneath that, almost inaudible, was the jeering laughter of a crow.
Qui-Gon awoke sometime later, and there was no part of his body that didn't ache like fire. Even though it was the last thing he wished to do, he pushed himself up, getting to his hands and knees and then, haltingly, to his feet. He was no longer bleeding, but his bones were not in their proper places, and it felt like he was grinding glass into his hip sockets with each step he took.
His training bond with Anakin was dissolving, old skeins of connection drifting away like dead leaves on the wind. Yet he could see no evidence of Anakin Skywalker's final battle. There were no new bodies to be seen.
Even Obi-Wan was gone as if he had never been. The overwhelming grief of so many losses had his throat tight, choked with a despair he couldn't allow himself to voice.
Qui-Gon took a few slow steps closer to the dais. The place where Sidious had stood held nothing but smeared ash. The floor in that spot was black slag, and in the mess of melted stone were two marks in the exact shape of a human man's booted footprints.
Where Anakin had been, there was only a lightsaber, lying on the black stone floor. Qui-Gon went to it as quickly as he could, kneeling down on the cold ground next to the silver hilt. It was Anakin's; Qui-Gon knew the hilt well, and Anakin's presence was still a tangible thing from it.
The silver casing was unmarked, the floor around it untouched. Feeling heartsick and weary beyond belief, Qui-Gon touched the hilt with the barest tips of his fingers. He felt cool metal and quiet crystal resonance, and above all, strong determination. Such a simple echo, but one that made it all real, that finally left him reeling.
The click of a blaster being readied caught his attention. He turned around--a slow, painful process--to discover the Chancellor's aide, Sly Moore, standing with a blaster leveled at his head. She was in a massive cloak that seemed to block what little light filtered into the chamber. There was ice in her gaze, and anger, as she regarded him with cold determination. Her finger was already pulling the trigger.
Before he could move in his own defense, Moore's chest erupted in blue-violet fire. The woman croaked like a toad that had been stepped on, dropping the blaster, before she slumped down onto the floor with a final, long exhale.
Qui-Gon stared down at the corpse before he raised his head to look up at Adi Gallia, who was holding her ignited lightsaber in both of her shaking, white-knuckled hands. She was rasping for breath, blood oozing from the corner of her mouth.
"Qui-Gon...you're...all right?"
He nodded once. "Yes," he said, his voice as much of a wreck as hers. "I...they're gone, Adi. All of them."
"I know." She glanced at the dais, where Obi-Wan's body had lain, and nodded, as if an unasked question had been answered. Tears spilled from her eyes as she searched the shadowy room, spying the bodies of their companions. "We should... we should contact the others. The rest of the Council. We... need help."
He nodded and clambered back to his feet, going to the surviving Councilor to support her before she collapsed. Adi's injuries were worse than his own, but the moment he touched her, Qui-Gon knew she would live.
Comm calls were put in, both of them speaking in turns as first Adi's, then his own breath, gave out from exhaustion. It took some time to explain where they were, and exactly how deep the Sith's lair was buried.
While waiting for other Jedi to arrive, they walked through the chamber in slow, unsteady stops and starts. "He's... not here," Adi said in bewilderment, after they used a small pack of emergency flares to mark the location of each body.
Qui-Gon stared around at the red flare lights, at a loss. There were only four, when there should have been five.
Agen Kolar came to get them, leading a crew of seven Jedi and three higher ranking Judicial officers. The thought of walking out of the Sith's chamber was an exhausting prospect, so when a Judicial officer and one of the younger Knights steered him in the direction of a hoversled, Qui-Gon went willingly, as did Adi. He sat down and his vision grayed out; he remained conscious just long enough to hear the young Knight trill something about a broken spine and then swear like a smuggler.
Kolar remained behind through each successive team's arrival, so it was he who found Yoda's lightsaber. The small hilt was removed from a deep hole in the other stone column, its grip and metal casing cracked and blackened by Force Lightning. It was all that was left of the Grand-Master of the Order.
The ancient Master's tiny, frail body was nowhere to be found.
To have died once is enough.
-Virgil
Book 7: Clarity
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