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The Flame and the Salamander

by Qor-Ynn

Back to Chapter V...

Chapter VI
Chosen By The Light

There was a startled sound and whispers, then air moved over his skin. The surface he lay on dipped a bit, causing part of his body to move into that gravity well, his hip coming to rest against a warm, solid mass. The aura that touched his, mingled with his, was bright, warm, and known. And very, very dear. "Qui..." he whispered, just a sigh on his lips.

Large hands cradled his face, a thumb bristling through the hair on his chin, a Force caress of the softest kind, lulling Obi-Wan back into a thoughtless contentment of absolute security. A sound, low, rumbling, was part of this feeling, and it took him a moment to understand the meaning of the gentle coaxing: "Obi-Wan. Open your eyes. Come on, try it, love."

He did as asked, and failed as his lids would not open. Confusion marred his contentment.

"Easy," Qui-Gon crooned and a damp cloth dabbed at his eyes, helping him to separate the glued together lashes. Light blurred to rainbow colored halos before a few blinks cleared the film away, and he found himself looking into tender eyes of incomparable blue. Transfixed, Obi-Wan stared into them, seeing his own reflection in the wide pupils, seeing himself smile---and to his bewildered mind he was right back where he had looked into those eyes last, eyes so liquid and bright and blue as the Force...

"You only... have to ask," Obi-Wan rasped, choking at the words that swept to the surface of his mind, his throat rusty as if he hadn't used it in ages.

Qui-Gon's eyes closed for a second, his lashes trembling. Not saying I cannot, as a whisper in Obi-Wan's mind provided: beyond words, the older man just shook his head ever so slightly. But as it had then, at the shores of the Force, a tear fell from his eyes, tracking a wet path down over a pale cheek.

His smile becoming wistful, Obi-Wan touched that cheek tenderly with an unsteady finger, soaking the drop of salty fluid up with his own skin. "But you... did. I... heard you..." He let his hand fall to his lover's chest, laying his hand over Qui-Gon's heart, his fingers curling into stiff folds of cloth. "I heard you."

Qui-Gon took his hand and lifted it to soft lips. Hot breath tickled against his flesh as the older man kissed his palm, whispering, "Then the Force may forgive me my weakness. It can wait a bit longer for you. I need you as much." Qui-Gon bent down and kissed him first on his forehead, then, with a moist exhalation of air that sent a shudder through his body, on his lips. Oh, that was... Obi-Wan's thoughts blended into nothing once more, his heart taking over, feeling cherished and loved more than any mortal could possibly deserve.

"I need you as much," Qui-Gon repeated as he stopped to allow them to breathe, their eyes locking again. "I need you here. Here and now."

"Here. Now." Obi-Wan frowned at the words, his eyes darting up unsteadily to the too bright highlights in Qui-Gon's hair and further up to the source of glaring light in the ceiling, too intense for his raw eyes to focus on, and back to the eyes of his master. A need inserted itself over the urge to connect with his lover, the need to know: Where was here and now?

With difficulty Obi-Wan moved his gaze away again, his eyes focusing slowly on what lay beyond Qui-Gon's body, taking in a small room with metal walls: rust at the seams of the plates, a hatch standing open to a brightly lit corridor. A hatch, not a door.

He blinked a few times, but the image stayed the same.

Taking a deep breath and then letting it out again, his confusion exploded outward with a puff of air that made some of the hair on top of Qui-Gon's head fly up. Hair that caught the overhead light, shining with silver. Obi-Wan stared uncomprehendingly at the white streak high on Qui-Gon's left temple. His hand rose and touched the bright lock, his eyes darting to the now sadly smiling eyes of his lover.

Qui-Gon caught the hand in his own and pulled it gently down, holding it against his neck. "It's nothing," he said lightly, the bobbing larynx under Obi-Wan's palm telling him something else.

Touching that long neck, his fingertips on the edge of a bandage, another memory etched its burning way to the forefront of Obi-Wan's mind. "The Blotter! He acti... activated it!" he gasped out. If they had activated it... there would have been nothing left to rescue... "Force, it was awful. Qui, what did it do to you? Tell me---"

"Be calm, my own. Don't worry about me," Qui-Gon said, starting to hum soothingly while his thumb caressed the back of Obi-Wan's fingers. "There's nothing that won't pass with time. I will be all right, thanks to my foolishly brave padawan."

Frowning, Obi-Wan felt the urge to protest, but confused about Qui-Gon's words he didn't know what to say, his mind an omnium gatherum of unfinished thoughts and feelings...

Then he registered the smell of the air he had just drawn in. It bore the scents of home, of his old home in the Coruscant Temple, Qui-Gon's preferred incenses for meditation: moonspillow and julamba. But this wasn't home--- "Where... are we?"

Qui-Gon smiled at him, a real, warm smile that crinkled up the corners of his eyes. "Safe," he rumbled. "You are safe."

Obi-Wan frowned. Safe. Safe where? "What is this ship?" he asked, a bit impatiently and tried to sit up to see more than the bit of hatch and corridor he could make out over Qui-Gon's shoulder.

"It's not a--- Careful, Obi-Wan. Let me help you." His master's hands were immediately on his shoulders to steady him, drawing him upward when Obi-Wan's arms would not hold him.

There was pain in his abdomen then, and he laid a hand over it, feeling the soft welt of a fresh scar. Gasping, Obi-Wan looked down the length of his naked torso. There was a red, puckering scar all right, and beneath it his insides felt a bit raw, too. But... "I was dying," he murmured. Remembering. Remembering blood. Pain. A stiletto. A gamorrean. Who said `yes'. "Yes, to what?" gushed from his lips, his voice cracking like an adolescent's.

"Yes to what?" Qui-Gon repeated quizzically, massaging his shoulders. Obi-Wan's body leaned on its own into each soothing sweep of the large hands, while his mind floundered on a sea of questions.

"Yes, to what, to what did the... gamorrean say `yes'?"

Qui-Gon made a comprehending sound. "Ah, the gamorrean. Our . . guest agreed to lead us to his client---"

"To his client?" A kaleidoscope of images assaulted him, memories, events, voices. The Fheco's client. The Sith. Yes, yes, he remembered... but... "And who is `us'?"

"Our rescuers, Obi-Wan. Mace and Adi and..."

Mace...! "I heard them speaking! I thought, I thought it was a dream .. ."

"No, they're here. It's a long story... no, not really that long; nevertheless, I think you should rest now, my own, it's not good for you to become agitated."

"You can't be... serious," Obi-Wan glared up at his master, not believing the infuriating man would stop right there.

"I'm very serious." Qui-Gon made as if to lay him down again but Obi-Wan resisted by lacing his fingers behind Qui-Gon's neck and hanging on tightly.

"Tell me," he demanded, drilling his eyes into the widening blue ones.

"You really should..." Qui-Gon began, but Obi-Wan cut him short, too weary and upset to be patient with this bout of motherly care.

"Qui-Gon Jinn. You will tell me."

His master blinked, hit with the Force suggestion Obi-Wan had used without thinking. "I will tell you," he mimicked... and then winked at him, causing Obi-Wan to swing from a second of horrified wonder to laughter that shook his whole body. Ey, but that hurt a bit more than he liked... His laughter ending in a strangled moan, he buried his head in Qui-Gon's neck, riding out the pain in his abdomen.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Qui-Gon whispered into his hair. "It will pass, you must lie still..." Qui-Gon's hand was covering the scar, brushing in soothing little circles over the tender flesh, the new tissues tingling under the onslaught of healing energy, right down to the core of his belly.

They clung to each other for long moments, Qui-Gon rocking them ever so softly, his other hand stroking tenderly over Obi-Wan's naked back, every touch an exchange of emotions. Eventually, the last echo of pain receded and Obi-Wan's body became heavier with every slow beat of the heart under his ear. Qui-Gon's hand brushed up his neck and the side of his face to his forehead, stroking back stray strands of hair, the older man's nimble fingers drawing soothing spirals on his temple.

Obi-Wan hummed his appreciation against the smooth skin under his lips. "You're too good to me," he murmured, "but you haven't answered my questions yet."

An amused little snort escaped the other man. "I had hoped you had forgotten about them by now."

"If I weren't so tired..." Obi-Wan said amiably, pushing into the touching, enjoying the calmness his master was feeding him through every fingertip.

Qui-Gon leaned in, kissing him on the forehead, his hair tickling over Obi-Wan's neck, making him smile. "Then you really should rest, love. No, don't get upset again! You won't miss anything if you rest, believe me. There will be no action for the time being. Master Jöri is out with Knight Sorba, that's his partner, trying to verify some of the Fheco's claims. They're expected to return soon..."

"Master Jöri...?"

"Läkämarisjöri. You heard of him, you once had to read a handbook he wrote on criminology."

"Ah, yes. I knew... know the name. Dry, dry..."

"And dry. That it was," Qui-Gon half smiled. "The man is better in person. I have met him once or twice."

"Hm-m," Obi-Wan agreed noncommittally, having difficulties in holding his eyes open, his thoughts coming to a slow halt.

"Tomorrow you will meet him and the others. You'll get all your questions answered then..." Qui-Gon ran the back of his hand down Obi-Wan's cheek. "Sleep now, my Obi-Wan. Sleep and heal."

"Love you..." Obi-Wan murmured, his fingers closing around a lock of the long hair, hanging so enticingly near. The tiniest of tugs, and Qui-Gon closed in, joining their lips for a sweet, tender kiss.

"Sleep, get better. I will watch over you." The tender fingers on his temple kept on moving, coaxing the Force to settle him into rest. His eyes drifted shut.

He dreamed. Faces of people he had not seen in years; drifting snow... no, sand as white as bleached bones; the silhouette of a mountain range against the setting of twin suns; the sound of someone laughing, telling him to wake up or he would miss his wedding day; a smallish man cowled in a blowing, black robe standing before a splintered window of the Temple's Council chamber; a fearful looking gamorrean bowing and turning away; a small lizard twisting in a sea of flames; Qui-Gon, calm and regal in the formal robes of a councilor; the smoking ruins of a tall city; Qui-Gon kneeling at a burnt pyre; sunbeams reflecting on a blue sea and a voice whispering, `you.'

Obi-Wan started awake, jerking up from his bunk---and then sank back instantly with a groan as his body protested the sudden movement. For a moment he didn't know where he was and panic reared up before conscious thought could reach the surface of his mind. On pure, basic instinct he reached out for his master---and connected instantly with Qui-Gon's steady, calm essence.

A pulse of warmth reached back to him, reassuring him down to the molecular level of the continuing existence of the man he loved. Relief welled up hotly in Obi-Wan's eyes as he melted bonelessly into his pillows, his cold hands pressing over his wildly pounding heart. Just a nightmare again. Not reality.

Willing his concentration to still his ragged breathing, Obi-Wan looked up at the spotted metal-plated ceiling, his eyes focussing sluggishly on the wild patterns of lichen and rust that marked reality for him like a written sign.

If he could only stop dreaming, stop that dream that haunted him every time he'd fallen asleep since coming here. And sleeping had been his main occupation since their rescue two days ago, drifting in and out of short periods of awareness---and restless, disturbing dreams in sleep that did little to refresh his weary mind.

His breath steadied at last and the patterns over his head lost any meaning other than marking the obviously poor maintenance of whoever originally owned this scout ship. Named Miccala's Pride, as Qui-Gon had told him. The pride obviously hadn't extended to any use of paint or. . . but he shouldn't judge without knowledge. And this ship was classes above the slave pens on the Fheco's vessel, and not just because there was a lightcube at his bedside and the air was cleansed by incense. There were enough reasons for Obi-Wan to feel indebted to the owner whether or not she or he had felt pride about this rust bucket. This ship meant they were free, Qui-Gon was safe, and he had the luxury of lying on a warm, soft bunk to sleep... and dream.

Obi-Wan sighed in frustration. Reason told him he was just mixing up memories and fears in those dreams. But the Jedi in him insisted he think twice about it, and even while the actual meanings of the pictures escaped Obi-Wan when he tried to meditate, there was the taste of rightness to them he could not dispute. A rightness not about the future, which was ever shifting, but about his role in it. And it was frightening. Frightening to think of the implications of the dreams. He must be mistaken. He was not chosen.

Obi-Wan's mind balked at that thought. Master would have to impart some wise words about the danger of interpreting dreams alone. Most likely he'd say: Obi-Wan, get that nonsense out of your head and listen to the Living Force for once. But that didn't ring true to his own ears; not after what lay behind them. And Qui-Gon was no fool when it came to listening to the Will of the Force. But could he say the same about himself?

The Force had been nudging and calling all through this... adventure. It had shoved and cajoled them in a certain direction at each road's forking in a way that even he, as a Jedi, felt a bit spooked about. Every time, when all hope was lost, something had happened to continue their story. Qui-Gon had been tortured with an activated Blotter, and survived without lasting ill effects. And he himself, well, he had been dying---and had been snatched from death by an unlikely rescue, arriving at the nick of time. It had been an unbelievable string of coincidences---and there was no such a thing as coincidence, as his wise master was known to say.

And he agreed, could do nothing else when he had been confronted with the whole story, painstakingly wormed out of Qui-Gon and Master Windu, when the councilor had visited him yesterday.

No coincidence... chance then, chance spiced with a little touch of Force, so the dice would roll on...

Chance and the Force had led Master Windu and his squad of four Jedi on the trail of the Fheco when investigating the death of a knight on Pitstop, halfway between Kessel and Paledeen Prime.

Chance and the Force had made them decide to follow the bounty hunter to the civil war-wrecked world.

Chance and, no, surely not the Force, had made them arrive too late to prevent Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's kidnapping.

Chance and the Force had let them make the right guess that the Fheco would touch down on Pitstop again on his way to his---then assumed---rendezvous with the Sith lord. And so they had set a trap for the gamorrean.

Chance and the Force. What an unbeatable team compared to coincidence, right? Obi-Wan pressed his knuckles into his eyes. He preferred coincidence. He preferred it to that queasy feeling in his stomach at the thoughts of why and when. And it wasn't his wound, which used to hurt quite differently, it was something else; perhaps it was just hunger pangs. Not a gut-feeling caused by...

Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open again, contemplating for a moment the gray wall. A fine Jedi knight he was, not knowing intuition from indigestion. Or not wanting to know.

No, not a fine Jedi knight at the moment at all. A very disturbed and confused one instead. And meditation eluded him as it had rarely done in his adult life, each attempt lulling him into sleep---and the dreams he refused to interpret.

But whatever their meaning was, the future was already in motion, the game already on: Master Jöri and Knight Sorba were about to return any time now. Decisions would be made tonight. And Obi-Wan had questions, a lot of questions and he would be damned if he didn't get the answers this time after having been held off again and again. And no matter what his dear master had to say about it, by ship's night Obi-Wan would be out of bed and would be staying out of it for good.

Chapter VII
The Seventh Knight

It was an act of will, sitting at a table, back straight and head held high as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And if he sat here a while longer, his legs might stop shaking and his heart might settle into a decent pace again.

Knight Sorba appeared at his side, setting a bowl of soup with thick lumps of... whatever... before him.

Obi-Wan looked at the bowl, his nostrils flaring a bit as the nauseous smell reached his nose. Well. He had insisted on being able to sit up, had insisted on solid food again. Now his bunk had a certain appeal and food certainly had none.

"You're really sure your master won't skin me for this?" the ynoorian knight said in mock fear, her striped eyes dancing, certainly having seen his reaction.

Obi-Wan smiled with closed lips as he took the spoon from her. "I'm sure he will be quite displeased, Knight Sorba..."

"Just Peys," she said.

"Peys," Obi-Wan acknowledged, dipping his head. "Please call me Obi-Wan. And my master does not skin lifeforms of any kind. But when he is done with you, he will have persuaded you to do it yourself."

Her reaction was a cascade of laughter and Obi-Wan watched her with sadness-tinged fascination. Laughter, heart-honest laughter, how long had it been since he had heard this sound from a better world? Sighing gently, he set down the spoon, giving up any pretense of eating.

"I can't just lie there like an invalid," he confided, finding it suddenly quite easy to open up to this woman, whom he had never met before this day. "I need to be part of it."

The knight nodded seriously and lightly touched his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "I do understand that, Obi-Wan," she said.

Sitting down beside him, Peys stared at him with that unflinching neon gaze so typical of her people, stared as if she could look right through him before adding, "If you just wouldn't look as if you're going to fall out of your chair in a dead faint any second."

In response to her words Obi-Wan sat up straighter, ignoring the pangs of hurt that flared up minutely, and with a little help from the Force stopped his trembling. Being a good sport, he raised his chin, and haughtily said, "That would be most undignified and is therefore no option."

Peys grinned broadly and shook her head at him, her many-studded braids clicking together like little silver bells. "I can see why he..." she began, her gaze wandering past Obi-Wan to the doorway---and promptly trailed off, her face settling into impassiveness.

And Obi-Wan knew who stood in the hatch to the galley, felt his bright presence as strongly as if he were leaning over him, warm breath moving the hair on his neck.

He heard his master walk the few steps up to him, felt his aura like an enveloping warmth, anticipated the large hands descending on his shoulders, squeezing them ever so lightly. Obi-Wan could not help but lean into that warm grip, longing for contact, just checking himself from tipping his head back against that beloved body and looking up... The warm hands left him, and Qui-Gon stepped into Obi-Wan's sight as he folded his long body into the chair next to him.

Qui-Gon nodded politely to Knight Sorba, his gaze in no way showing that he disapproved of anything he saw. Then the deeply set eyes of darkest blue found Obi-Wan's.

There was the expected concern in that steady regard. But what Obi-Wan had not really envisioned, and he should have, was the pleasure he found in those ever so slightly raised light eyebrows, the pleasure in finding him well enough to sit up. And almost hidden by it---was that a hint of resignation, a good natured acceptance over something his master could not change---and had even expected?

We know each other all too well, Obi-Wan thought a bit ruefully, sending his affection along the bond.

Qui-Gon's eyes lit up, a perfect mirror of his feelings, and what returned to Obi-Wan was deeply resounding understanding.

"How is the soup?" Qui-Gon asked amiably, eying the untouched bowl.

Obi-Wan was saved answering by the arrival of Masters Gallia and Windu, together with the rest of the crew this ship harbored; quiet greetings were exchanged between the three Jedi already present and the newcomers. Qui-Gon and Peys stood up and bowed, a big hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder preventing him from trying to do the same. He contented himself with bowing his head, eying the two strangers with interest.

One of them was a slender, elderly damurian with his head-filaments neatly braided along his topridge and intelligent, almond shaped eyes, which returned Obi-Wan's gaze warmly.

So this was Master Jöri? The infamous Läkämarisjöri of Yavin, the author of one of the driest treatises padawans had ever been tortured with? He seemed pleasant enough, just as Qui-Gon had said. But with Peys as a partner, Obi-Wan could hardly imagine that anybody could hold on to any stuffiness for long---

Just then he saw how Master Jöri, with an interesting twitch in his lip-tentacles, whispered something to Peys as he brushed by her, evoking an interesting change of color on her eartips...

Well, well. Smiling slightly to himself, Obi-Wan felt his heart getting lighter at that show of intimacy, instinctively seeking the gaze of the man beside him---and found Qui-Gon already smiling down at him in that understated, lopsided way of his. Returning that smile was easier than breathing, but it was difficult not to reach out and touch those full lips---

Resisting the temptation, Obi-Wan made himself look away to the other unknown Jedi, who had to be tha'Bass then. Clad in loose fitting pilot's gear of dark trousers and vest instead of the traditional Jedi robes, his wrinkled, tapering face was as blank as every other rhodian's the knight had ever met.

"Captain, take a seat!" Windu called to the man, turning Obi-Wan's attention back to the group already settled around the table.

His eyes fell on where he was absent-mindedly stirring the bowl of thick soup again. Flustered, Obi-Wan stopped the movement and surreptitiously drew out the spoon and laid it aside; it hit the platter with an embarrassingly loud clunk. Groaning inwardly, he knew all eyes were now trained on his trembling hands, watching as he hid them away in the sleeves of his borrowed tunic...

"You're done?" Peys whispered in his ear, startling him out of his embarrassment and at his grateful nod, she whisked his untouched food away into the galley nook.

When she sat again, Master Windu rapped on the table top and asked for their attention---there were serious matters in need of discussion.

As the minutes ticked by, Obi-Wan found it harder and harder to concentrate on the briefing.

His weak body sabotaged his mind's stubborn determination and it was not long before he was drifting, again and again losing his focus on the one speaking, on the discussion itself. No matter how stubbornly he reminded himself of the solemnity required of him, and against his resolve to prove he was able to sit up, to participate, to hold the role of a responsible knight even when injured, he could not stop his mind from slipping away. The droning voices surrounding him became disconnected, and the spoken words rearranged themselves into new patterns; colors overlaid the grave faces around him; emotions swirled around in the colors and disjointed thoughts; memories that were not memories walked before his open but unseeing eyes...

He heard Qui-Gon laugh and saw him turning to face him, his gray hair blowing in the wind, reddish morning light coloring his face with the stain of life, changing his eyes into a strange shade of violet-blue.

"Obi-Wan?" he was asked in a teasing voice, Qui-Gon's teeth a white flash between widely stretched lips. He wanted to touch those soft, red lips... a breeze blew wisps of long hair over Qui-Gon's face, Coruscant's rising sun reflecting brightly on the single white lock...

Obi-Wan gasped in confusion and the dream-images fell away, resettling him into his aching body; the dim lighting washed out the bright dream-colors, changing chestnut hair into dull darkness that made the white lock on Qui-Gon's temple stand out even more. The white lock he had put there, having drained his love with sorrow and near death---

"Obi-Wan?" he heard again, but the longed for lips were now drawn thin in concern, not mirth.

Swallowing repeatedly around his closed up throat, Obi-Wan commanded himself back into the now. "Master?" he rasped out as he met the shadowed eyes of his lover.

Adi Gallia's face intruded into his narrow view. "Would you like to lie down again, Obi-Wan?" she asked quietly. "You need not sit through this, you know. We will brief you later."

Flustered, Obi-Wan felt a blush creep into his cheeks between one heart beat and the next for having been caught woolgathering. Suppressing the instinctive reaction of his body with a vengeance, he lowered his eyes as he tried to gather his wits for an answer. His gaze fell on his hands. His hands that were gripping Qui-Gon's left one like a drowning man's. He could feel the strong pulse under his fingertips which were pressed deeply into the warm flesh. Could now feel the waves of energy that flowed through the touch into him, bringing him back to alertness. His gaze flew up to his master's again, finding the same worry engraved in the deep lines of his face as before. The concerned eyes told him to listen and be sensible.

But feeling wide awake now and finding the state of mind to urge his body into a straight-backed position again, he felt the unmistakable urge to stay. For some reason it was important, important beyond the simple need to show his elders his ability to concentrate his mind on the task at hand and not give in to the demands of his weak human shell. A part of him smirked at this realization, knowing it was born out of his mulish stubbornness---a stubbornness his master had despaired of ever correcting. Of course, Qui-Gon had failed utterly since he was prone to the same flaw.

Ignoring the beginnings of cramping in his legs, Obi-Wan lifted his chin and disentangled his fingers from his master's, even though it was a very hard thing to do: not only letting go of the energy fed to him, but also because of losing the connection to the Force-aura he longed for with a craving he found vaguely disturbing in his current state of demonstrative independence.

Clearing his thoughts, Obi-Wan sought the eyes of his elders. "I thank you for your concern. But with your permission, I would like to stay. My understanding of the proceedings is of some concern to me." He blinked once as he searched for the feeling that had been teasing at his mind since he had awakened for the first time on board ship. "And," he added, "I feel it is prudent for me to stay." The Force seemed to be content with his decision as the compulsion dissipated a bit.

Obi-Wan saw as Gallia exchanged a long look first with Qui-Gon, then with Master Windu and nodded then in acquiescence, acknowledging his right to decide for himself what was best for him. She turned her eyes again to the man sitting beside Obi-Wan. "You had a question, Qui-Gon?"

"Yes, I do have some questions," Qui-Gon replied in his mild no nonsense way. "While I certainly see the relevance in finding insight into the current situation and planning our future actions, I find myself with the wish to learn about the events which led up to this situation in the first place. I was not privy to the decisions the Council made concerning the aftermath of the events on Naboo three years ago. And I find myself very. . . curious... to know about the actions taken and answers found. Of course only as far as we are allowed to know," Qui-Gon said with a slight bend of his head before adding, "But given the level of our involvement I believe we're due full frankness." He didn't say at last, but to Obi-Wan it was as clearly audible as if Qui-Gon had growled it in his best intimidating voice. And Obi-Wan shared the sentiment wholeheartedly, nodding his head in firm agreement as the councilor's eyes met his.

Windu stared at them thoughtfully for a moment, his dark face the unreadable mask Obi-Wan was used to seeing. Then he made a vague gesture to his fellow councilor, who steepled her fingers in response to the silent communication obviously taking place. Leaning forward slightly, she turned her attention to Obi-Wan and his master.

"We grant you the right to know," Gallia told them. "Nothing of the following has ever reached any ears outside a small group, whose members here," she nodded to Jöri, Peys, and tha'Bass, "have been some of the eyes and ears in the field for us. All too often Mace and I have had to attend the Council and Senate on Coruscant to maintain the façade of business as usual..."

As she continued to speak, Obi-Wan could not help but be amazed about the tale that unfolded before him. He had not known---and he knew Qui-Gon had not known either---about this covert action, well organized and led by no one other than Mace Windu and his former padawan, Adi Gallia, and accompanied by handpicked intelligence specialists, whose crème de la crème sat at this table. Ever since Naboo, these clandestinely operating teams had been sent out to hunt for the Sith.

Gallia spoke about the Trade Federation, about Naboo again, about the Senate and Valorum's unfortunate fall, the others joining in to endlessly discuss politics and conspiracies, lulling Obi-Wan into a half-sleep again with the low up and down cadence of their voices.

Shifting in his seat, stretching a twinge out of his lower back, Obi-Wan became more aware, just as Qui-Gon said, "... usurper. Everywhere else, on any other planet we would have called him that."

"Legally elected and confirmed supreme chancellor," someone corrected.

"Legally elected and confirmed usurper," Obi-Wan supported his master's view, startling himself wide awake with his own unintentionally loud words.

Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan, wearing a warm smile for his back-up, a warm smile that never-theless could not wholly cover the concern in the dark eyes that asked silently if he was all right.

Nodding minutely, Obi-Wan pressed the warm hand that had sneaked its way into his. The line that appeared between Qui-Gon's eyes said he did not believe him, but his master nevertheless turned away, addressing Windu, "We all know about the character assassination done on Valorum to destroy his creditability."

"And we all know," Peys joined in, "that someone bought senators' favours for quite a time before Naboo."

Qui-Gon waved his hand at the knight. "That is so." He paused and added gravely, "And ever since that coup we have known who's behind it, have we not?"

"There is no evidence..." Windu began with a disapproving frown marring his high forehead, but Master Jöri held up a hand-tentacle to stop him.

"Please, Councilor, this is no Senate committee. We are all on the same side."

Windu nodded curtly at the venerable master. "You are right, Jöri. Assuming the trade conflict with Naboo was a set-up, what was the gain?"

"The gain was the seat of the mightiest political position of the Republic."

"A seat not often taken in our past by someone so non-sensitive that he's virtually Force blind," Peys said.

"Was he ever tested?" Qui-Gon asked.

"I don't think so. He is obviously Force blind."

"Is he?"

"Damn it, Jinn, yes he is!"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't know."

Windu lifted his eyebrows in question.

"I just always wondered," Obi-Wan continued. "I don't feel... well... in his proximity. I never had that reaction to a Force blind before."

"Obi-Wan has something there," Gallia said thoughtfully. "Non-sensitives normally don't interact with a Jedi's Force sense. He feels odd to me too, in an unspecific manner. But is it a hidden Force sensitivity?"

"How can an untrained hide his supposed Force sensitivity, how can anybody hide it?"

"I did not say he does or can, Qui-Gon. I said, he does not feel like a Force blind to me, and he does not feel like, say, Finis Valorum, either."

"There I agree," Jöri said. "You can feel very clearly Valorum is a mid-level sensitive; or Queen Amidala; or Senator Organa to name a few."

Peys snorted. "Most successful rulers and politicians are. They call it `charisma'. Even that slimy worm Tarkin has it to a certaindegree."

"Tarkin?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud, the Force becoming a sudden roar in his brain. Something fell into place in his sketchy memory. Before his inner eye, he saw again the soldiers he had fought in Paledeen Prime's snow, saw as he spun one of the men around with a kick, his parka ripping open, revealing a green uniform... and now he recognized it as a fleet officer's jacket, and recognized the thin face above it... the cold hate in the ice-blue eyes...

Feeling faint, Obi-Wan swayed forward only to be stopped by a strong arm, catching him across the shoulders before his face could hit the table's surface.

"Obi-Wan!" his master's voice urged him out of his flashback. "What have you seen?"

"That man..." Obi-Wan gripped the lapels of Qui-Gon's robe. "That man..."

Someone placed the cold hard rim of a cup at his lips, urging him to drink. He gulped the liquid and promptly coughed; a hand patted his back helpfully until the fit stopped. Leaning back against the hard shoulder of his master, Obi-Wan gratefully accepted the tissue handed to him. Dabbing at his eyes, he pressed into the strong hands massaging his shoulders, assurance and love spilling over to him in steady waves, easing the headache that had started to throb behind his eyes.

"Better?" Qui-Gon asked, never leaving off his gentle ministrations.

Obi-Wan nodded, looking up to meet the many concerned pairs of eyes leveled on him. Feeling still a bit short of breath, he began, "On Paledeen Prime, when we were caught---" Taking a compulsive gulp to smooth his terrible rasping voice, he continued, "One of the soldiers. I didn't recognize him then. But now I'm certain it was Tarkin. I have of course only seen pictures of him. I've never met the man..."

Master Windu was standing, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. "But you are nevertheless certain it was him?"

In face of how the Force had just prompted him with the finesse of a wooden club, Obi-Wan nodded once. "Yes, it was Tarkin."

To Obi-Wan's dismay everybody seemed to start talking loudly all at once, worsening his residual headache into a sharp throb again, threatening to drown his own thoughts once more in nothing but noise.

The hands on his shoulders slipped to his neck, warm, callused thumbs drawing circles on the pressure points at the base of his skull. It was pain and it was relief at the same time, but Qui-Gon's healing fingers anchored him, his loving support helping him not to lose the conversation, as the voices tumbled over each other.

"A Fleet officer an ally of Paledeen Prime's warmongers---"

"---and bounty hunters in service to the Sith."

"Now that's too nice." Tha'Bass snapped his fingers, making Obi-Wan wince at the sharp sound. "This gets better and better."

"---and Palpatine's pet hunting Jedi."

"Wasn't it you who thought Tarkin a harmless schemer, Mace?"

"I never thought that, Jöri. A schemer? Surely. Harmless? Never. Not with Palpatine as his mentor."

"So you knew all the time about Palpatine," Qui-Gon stated in a dangerously calm voice.

Everyone fell silent, and Obi-Wan watched as their gazes leveled on Windu, who ran a hand over his scalp, looking troubled. "If I had known about him, I would have acted long ago, Qui-Gon," he explained. "In the beginning Master Yoda and I were just wary of him, keeping our eyes on him. Did we know for some time that he was dangerous? Yes, we did. Yoda said the Force felt different around him, shunted." Here he bestowed a nod first to Gallia then to Obi-Wan in acknowledgment of their earlier similar statements. "And I agreed," Windu continued. "We soon suspected him being under the protection of Darth Sidious."

"Darth Sidious?" Qui-Gon echoed.

"That's the name the Sith used with the Trade Federation." Windu looked up at the woman across the table. "Sorba, you say Palpatine's a Force blind? Let me suggest another scenario. How about: Palpatine is so incredibly strong in the Force that he can make us believe he is Blind?"

Peys shrugged back as if shying away from his words, a reaction Obi-Wan could sympathize with. It seemed a bold claim! Ever smiling, concerned, low spoken, slimy Palpatine was the enemy, the Sith himself? But then Obi-Wan found it didn't disturb him as much as he had first thought, his instinctive reaching for the Force revealed it a quiet sure beacon in his mind. No pressing urge to do anything as if the Force was fairly content with the proceedings.

Peys obviously had gotten over her shock, too, as she was now leaning forward again, staring with narrowed eyes at Master Windu. "There we were looking for the Sith for years now, and you say he was sitting right before our eyes---all the time? And Palpatine? He feels nothing like a... Sith. Not that I would know how a Sith should feel like."

"Nobody has known," Master Jöri said, "not for a thousand years. Personally, I had presumed a Sith would feel like a rough Jedi. But if you're right, Councilor, than I know as little as Peys does. It appears each of us had different expectations."

Qui-Gon nodded thoughtfully. "Well. Perhaps that's what made it easy for him to blind us in the first place. Our expectations, our assumptions opened the door through which he could manipulate us. We incorrectly expected a Sith would have the same skills as a Jedi, was just a mirror image, a Dark twin of a Jedi knight. Like the one Obi-Wan and I had encountered on Naboo. But Palpatine is no warrior, never was and never will be. His strength in the Force comes from elsewhere."

"In that case he has reached levels in mind manipulation no Jedi in history has ever achieved---"

"Of course not," Master Gallia inserted tartly. "Nobody who misuses the Force to that extent could stay with the Light."

"So it is," Windu acknowledged. "And Palpatine has fooled us long enough---"

"Fooled? He's been brainwashing us all the time, that bastard!" Peys fumed, slamming the table.

Master Jöri tsked at her outburst. "Peace, young Knight. He will fool us no longer."

"No longer," Windu affirmed. "Tonight, we have at last found the evidence we have been looking for. Finally, the pieces of the puzzle are fitting together." The councilor shook his head, looking down at his folded hands. "And even here, thousands of lightyears away from his influence, I feel doubt. Something inside still urges me to resist accepting the obvious."

"Truly, his arm is long then," Master Jöri said. "And to think how deeply concerned and interested he always seemed to be about Jedi dealings. To think that we nourished a snake at our breast."

Qui-Gon looked from one to the other than sat up ramrod straight, inadvertently jostling Obi-Wan forward against the table's edge. "How much does he know about our actions?" he asked the councilors. "Does he know we're after him? Does he know where we are now?"

"I sincerely doubt it," Windu answered him. "So far he seems to have fallen for our ruse of a Jedi Council too arrogant and self-centered to see the turn of the tide Naboo brought on. By certain means we have made sure that Palpatine thinks us blithely ignorant and---"

"You succeeded quite well with your `certain means'," Qui-Gon interrupted stonily, puzzling Obi-Wan with his words and the shiver he felt running through the body at his side, evidence of how hard the other man was holding back emotions.

Not having gotten the meaning of Windu's words that upset his master, Obi-Wan needed to rewind the conversation, very exasperated with himself for his slow perception. They assured ignorance...? How? By dismissing the evidence of the existence of a Sith lord? By antagonizing the witnesses of his death? Could they have discredited Qui-Gon on purpose?

Windu didn't pretend to misunderstand Qui-Gon's jibe, having the grace to look uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, my friend," the councilor said. "It was necessary. You and Obi-Wan had to be kept apart. Especially you, as a known friend of Valorum's, were in grave danger. We all were in grave danger if we acted too soon. Master Yoda thought it best to leave you ignorant. Your frustration was the best shield for you and Obi-Wan. And for us all."

Obi-Wan took hold of the hand gripping his shoulder too tightly and squeezed it in silent support at that unexpected confession. "And he found us anyway," he said, not even trying to hold the bitterness out of his voice. So that was the answer to what had nagged at him. Windu had actually kept them apart, had split up a good team with outwardly callous disregard of their and the Order's needs.

But he realized now that it had had be done because the Council had foreseen what was to be between him and Qui-Gon, their becoming One offering Darth Sidious an irresistible target. And it already had worked in both directions: Their coming together had resulted in an instant re-involvement with the Sith's case, while apart they had had no clue, running blindly into a trap.

"That was unfortunate," Windu conceded.

"Not entirely," Qui-Gon said, his breath hot on Obi-Wan's ear as he leaned forward. "Now we have the means to draw Sidious out."

"The Fheco."

"Us," Qui-Gon corrected.

They all looked at them then, their thoughts openly churning in their many shaped and colored eyes. The Force had driven them all down the same road, bringing them together in this place, at this time. It all suddenly made a lot of sense.

To Gallia's left, tha'Bass made a slight gesture before standing up and Obi-Wan looked at him curiously as the pilot drew everybody's attention by saying, "So. We are going to Kessel then."

To Kessel? Bemused, Obi-Wan searched his memory, sorting through what Knight Sorba had told them about Kessel while he had been in dreamland. Ah, yes, the Fheco's original destination, his rendezvous to give over a chained and gagged Jedi into the claws of their arch-enemy. The superstitious Fheco had spilled this information in his senseless fear of Jedi mind-tricks, judging them through his own twisted view of the world where everybody was as greedy, unreliable, merciless, and Dark-tainted as himself.

"That we have still to decide, Captain. Please sit again," Gallia requested with a gesture.

The pilot snorted and folded himself back into his seat, falling silent once more.

Windu rapped the table with his knuckles. "Gentlebeings, I'm open for suggestions."

"If we face him openly, do we have a chance against him?" Jöri mused aloud, stating what was probably on all their minds.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Peys answered, frowning up at the ceiling, drawing Obi-Wan's eyes up with her, making him wonder what she saw in the strange pattern of rust and lichens there...

"Obi-Wan," Gallia said, bringing Obi-Wan's tired mind back from his wanderings. "Your opinion?"

Blinking up at Gallia, Obi-Wan cleared his throat to cover his lack of attention. "Ahm..."

"Hard to say," Qui-Gon spoke smoothly over him. "How to judge the power of the master by the skill of the apprentice?"

Gallia's lips widened in a little grin, eying Obi-Wan in open appraisal that made him squirm ever so slightly. The hands on his shoulders tightened, holding him still.

"Well," Gallia said. "I know cases where they are excellent references."

Qui-Gon harrumphed. "I take no credit for the brightness of this knight."

Perplexed, Obi-Wan turned around to look at the man who had said such an unbelievable thing. "Are you..." he began, but forgot what he wanted to say at the pride that shone in Qui-Gon's eyes. Be silent, those beautiful eyes voiced through their bond. Take praise with dignity where it is deserved.

"I don't want to disturb your... conversation, Qui-Gon," Windu interrupted them impatiently, "but we have an unanswered question."

"I can't answer it for you, Mace. If you measure the Sith apprentice against Obi-Wan, if you assume their difference in abilities mirrors my former padawan's and mine, then the answer would be: Yes, we can overcome the master as well. But that's nothing but irresponsible guessing and you know it."

"One minute, Qui-Gon. It was your own idea that we could draw him out."

"I said we have the means, Mace, but I didn't say we could succeed all alone."

"It's six to one," Peys offered.

"Seven," Obi-Wan said, sending her a stare the ynoorian blithely ignored.

Qui-Gon shifted his hands from Obi-Wan's shoulders to the table, gripping the edge hard. "Six to one, sixteen to one! My friends, we're talking about a lord of the Sith here---"

"Who might have a new apprentice," Master Jöri added sagely, the interruption effectively halting Qui-Gon's upcoming tirade.

The tall man took a deep breath, nodded curtly at the damurian and continued more sedately, "A lord of the Sith---or two, should there be a new apprentice---who single-handedly replaced the chief executive of the Republic while we were looking on, seeing and feeling nothing but a vague disturbance in the Force."

"The Darkside shrouds everything," Windu intoned in the manner of reciting a quotation. "The Future I cannot see."

Obi-Wan frowned in puzzlement.

"Master Yoda said that?" Qui-Gon leaned forward. "And you doubt the power of this Sith, this Darth Sidious? I would not stake the future of the Republic, of the galaxy, on the power of six Jedi knights."

Seven, Obi-Wan thought but did not say again. Seven. I'm not dead yet.

And what was that about the future Master Yoda was supposed to have said? He remembered all too well his vision of a black shrouded figure before the broken windows of the Council chamber, looking down on smoking ruins. It was as clear a warning of the future as he could imagine. A possible future, he corrected himself. Possible, but not inevitable.

"I would, Master Jinn," Peys disagreed. "Six is enough to defeat an army."

Obi-Wan silently seconded the older knight's claim, being surprised by his master's passionate denial of their combined power. He frowned as he realized that Qui-Gon had raised his shields, barricading his mind as he did his body with his arms folded across his chest. The whole posture of the large body cried to him of Qui-Gon's concern, reminding Obi-Wan of his headache and the cold unease in his own gut---could it be connected, were they both reacting to the same current in the Force?

Disquieted, he turned to Qui-Gon, but found his master shaking his head before Obi-Wan could even ask with his eyes. The older man demonstrated to him again that he knew his former padawan's train of thought as well as his own; but he would not speak about it now.

There was a long oppressive silence, as everybody seemed to contemplate their options.

Obi-Wan should do the same, knew the Force was trying to tell him something he might understand if he could just concentrate for a minute. But he was ready to admit defeat in his attempt to keep up with the others---by anyone's standards he was not on a par with them in his current state. Beside him, Qui-Gon was seemingly fighting a severe headache now as well, by the way he distractedly began to rub his temples. Watching him sympathetically, Obi-Wan wished he could give back some of the comfort he had received earlier, but... his thoughts trailed off as his eyes slid lower.

Qui-Gon's movements made his sleeves ride up a bit, exposing his wrists, and Obi-Wan's gaze fastened on the marks of capture that still mottled the fair skin. He frowned. Something... his eyes flickered up to the healing cut on Qui-Gon's neck, one side still raw from... his intuition kicked in even stronger, congealing his unease into the beginnings of an idea. Yes, of course...

"If I might have a word," he said into the gloomy silence.

Everybody turned to him, with various facial expressions that ranged from serious attention from the councilors to suspicious weariness from Obi-Wan's own master---and that made him wonder if Qui-Gon again knew...

"Obi-Wan?" Windu gestured for him to go ahead.

Looking at the Jedi one after the other, Obi-Wan said the words forming as if on their own on his heavy tongue, "Let the Fheco get us to the rendezvous, exactly as he planned. He told Darth Sidious he had two Jedi, us. But as he had already written me off, he reported to the Sith he would bring only one Jedi alive. But he did not say which of us was the dead one, if I understood correctly. Let me be the one the Fheco will hand over."

"What will that accomplish?" Gallia asked with a frown. "We have already established that we'll have no chance against Sidious in an open confrontation." She revealed with her words that most of the others actually had agreed with Qui-Gon's assessment.

"Then we won't confront him openly," Obi-Wan said.

Next to him, he caught Qui-Gon's expression changing from concern to an all too knowing keenness.

"I will go."---"This is mine to do." Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan said at the same time, their eyes locking in a contest of wills.

"As your elder and the more experienced my claim trumps yours."

Oh, this was Qui-Gon at his most intimidating, his presence in body and Force known to have made kings shake with awe---or fear. But Obi-Wan was no king, just the seventh knight, the proverbial third wing on the mynock as much as the other Jedi were concerned. Wait. `The seventh knight', where had he heard that before? It was a line in the poem about the Salamander, right, who called himself that... Now, what is this supposed to mean? What a coincidence...

Obi-Wan shook his head once to get those stray thoughts out of his mind, the movement helping him to pull his eyes from his master's magnetic and oh so commanding blue ones that still bore down on him. Lifting his chin in defiance against the will of this man, he trained his eyes on the other Jedi.

"I was a mere padawan when I killed the Sith's apprentice," he went on, his voice becoming stronger, feeling wide awake now. "And even now the Sith lord cannot know I was the one who killed him---as by my knowledge nothing of that event ever left the Council chamber?"

Gallia and Windu nodded.

"Therefore, Sidious will never be in doubt you did it---" Obi-Wan bobbed his head once at his master, wisely not meeting his eyes "---being the legendary fighter that you are. I, on the other hand, was not a full Jedi then and in the eyes of many I was not much more than a boy. . ." Obi-Wan trailed off, thinking of the patronizing supreme chancellor---oh, if he had known then what he knew now!--- when the man had thanked him for saving Naboo. Palpatine had been just short of petting his head as if he were a favourite puppy!

"My intuition tells me that Sidious will sell me short," Obi-Wan continued, stressing the word, pointing out that his plan was more than mere guesswork. "He will see me bound and think me helpless, will see in me the boy I was three years ago. Especially, if I get rid of this again," he added, touching his beard. "But should Qui-Gon go..." Obi-Wan shook his head. "As I said, he is a living legend and the Sith would never make the mistake of underestimating the great Master Jinn."

"You forget in your pretty plea that the same Sith sent his apprentice to get us both, that time on Naboo," Qui-Gon interrupted him in an almost voiceless rasp. "He didn't seem to be all that impressed by `the great Master Jinn'!"

Don't look at him! Obi-Wan chanted to himself. Don't even imagine the shadowed look that goes with that voice... "But he does know better now, doesn't he? He won't make that mistake again," Obi-Wan insisted. And if I'm wrong I'm dead; we all will be dead.

Windu shook his head. "It appears to me you underestimate the Sith when thinking he will judge you by what he might think happened three years ago."

"I agree," Master Jöri said, the hectic blue tinge of his lip-tentacles underlining his skepticism. "And fooled just by your looks? I don't believe that."

"I'm going by my experience, Masters. I've come to understand that youth and competence, not to mention authority, do not go well together in many people's minds. And I have valid reasons to assume the esteemed supreme chancellor is no exception. But if Sidious should look more deeply, it will be this that will count most, that will mask my true intent." Obi-Wan held up his visibly shaking hands, compelling them to see him, not only listen to his words. "Look at me. Feel me. I'm weak. I bet my Force signature is not very impressive at the moment."

In the periphery of his sight he saw Qui-Gon close his eyes at his words; more acknowledgment he didn't need.

"My whole appearance is of a kind a lord of the Sith would find irresistible. I'm young, I'm hurt, my grip of the Force weak--- l'm harmless to someone like him," in any state, I would guess, but "in this way I'm no more challenging than a Force blind to him. A tool, something to use at will. Maybe even worse, as he will probably feel more satisfaction in a Jedi's weakness. I've heard it's said the Siths' greatest sport always was to see a Jedi cowering at their feet." Obi-Wan grinned mirthlessly, looking at the table top to avoid Qui-Gon's eyes. "I will try not to let it come to that, of course."

There was a long silence where he only heard the sounds of breathing---one harsher and faster than the others.

Cloth rustled and someone sighed. "After all I've heard," Gallia said, "I agree with Obi-Wan."

"I'm with you there," Peys chimed in, winking her neon eyes at Obi-Wan when he looked up to her. "And I'd like to hear more."

There was murmuring of consent all around the table---again from all but one.

Windu had tapped his steepled fingers against his chin while his colleagues spoke, staring at Obi-Wan with speculative eyes. When the voices died down, he made a small gesture with both hands, inviting him to go on. "Tell us your whole plan, Knight Kenobi."

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan answered with a nod before turning back to address everybody at the table. Collected and sure, he laid his ideas before them, details coming to him as he spoke.

When he ended no one said anything for a long while. Peys was thoughtfully playing with the studs in her tresses while exchanging a long look with Gallia, their clicking sound distracting Obi-Wan with the image of meditation beads. She blinked her disconcerting eyes at Obi-Wan when she caught him staring at her and murmured, "Fighting fire with fire. Quite dangerous."

Qui-Gon straightened in his chair, moving for the first time since his earlier objections. "Dangerous? It's virtual suicide!" he whispered vehemently. But sitting so near, the words rolled like thunder against Obi-Wan's eardrum, and only with effort did he refrain from flinching away.

Gallia laid a soothing hand on Qui-Gon's wrist as she queried, "Obi-Wan, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm the best man for it," he confirmed, not able to look away this time, when Windu leaned forward and replaced Gallia's hand with his.

"Qui-Gon?" The councilor waited until the brooding man had lifted his eyes to him. "Qui-Gon, I don't like it either. But he has something here that rings true. The Force seems to agree with him."

Qui-Gon's face reflected his disbelief as he stared at Windu. Minutely shaking his head, he turned to Obi-Wan, his eyes drilling into his in feverish intensity. "How could we let you do this. Only a few days ago I thought... I... you were on the brink of death, Obi-Wan. You should see yourself, you don't look as if you should even be out of bed!"

"I can stand. I can talk. More isn't required of me."

"There is much more `required'. How can you think you can possibly succeed with your harebrained scheme!"

"I have the Force---"

"If anything goes wrong, you won't! He will squash you the moment he becomes aware of you."

"Then you must not let him become aware of me."

"Too many ifs and whens!" Qui-Gon growled, but Obi-Wan just stared back, his eyes steady, having foreseen his master wouldn't be rational about this. They were too close, too many emotions between them that still needed to be sorted out.

Qui-Gon went on, "You cannot know whether he will react exactly as you speculate. He might kill you right there---"

"That's a risk I have to take," Obi-Wan said stonily. "And he will want me alive, I doubt he will shoot me on sight."

"You'll risk too much in exposing yourself to the Sith that way. And it's not shooting you that I'm afraid of. There are worse things than death!"

"If I fail, he will not get me alive. And I'm not helpless. The Force will---"

"The Force will what? How was that? You intend to fight fire with fire? You're not some mythological spirit who's immune to getting burned! The risk is too high. I forbid you to do this."

Obi-Wan bristled but he could not afford to get down into emotion-based arguments now. "Qui-Gon, see it through my eyes," Obi-Wan asked in a calm voice instead. Screening out the others' presence, he reached out to the troubled man with his whole being, "You will be in much more peril than I. He will dismiss me, but you will face him openly. He will concentrate on you, not me." Had he really expected he could keep emotions out of this? Seeing what churned in the older man's eyes, he felt himself crack. "Qui-Gon. How do you think I'm feeling when I know you will have to stand in front of a Sith lord with nothing but your courage and a lightsaber?"

Qui-Gon seemed not to listen and turned to Windu, "Mace, forbid this! If it depends on appearance I can stand on my own." He held up his bruised wrists for all to see.

"You are too bright in the Force, Qui-Gon, he would know in an instant . .."

"Then help me. You can blind me temporarily..."

"No!" Obi-Wan grated. He would never allow... in his agitation he tried to stand up and failed, falling back with a gasp. Qui-Gon reached out to him, fingers closing around his arm in support.

Windu raised his hand. "Qui-Gon, the danger of that aside, where is the sense in this? You would have no more---no, less!---strength than Obi-Wan does! What advantage would you have?"

"He would be out of danger!" Qui-Gon rasped, coming up out of his chair. "I can't stand..." he stopped, as if astonished over his own words. Gasping, he dropped down on his seat and sank into himself, covering his face with his hands.

"Qui-Gon," Windu said quietly, "Obi-Wan, all of us, are Jedi. We do what the Force asks us to do---and you know that even better than the rest of us, don't you, my friend?" He laid his hand on Qui-Gon's bent shoulder before he turned to the others again.

"The Fheco said Darth Sidious loves drama and appearance," Windu told them. "As we have heard, it's their normal procedure to meet personally when handing over prey of whatever kind. And the Fheco will not set a foot inside the Sith's ship. That is also understood."

Peys clicked her tongue. "Appears they don't trust each other; that isn't really hard to understand."

"I feel that this is a good plan and we might succeed with it," Gallia said and Obi-Wan looked up and met her serious purple eyes before she turned and let them search the other faces, at last lingering on Qui-Gon, who still sat with his head bent, half of his face effectively hidden behind his long fall of hair. She shook her head sadly and there was compassion in her gaze as she met Obi-Wan's again. "You are the only living Jedi who ever fought a Sith and won, Obi-Wan. And you will now give us the chance to catch another one---Force willing, the last one. Whatever might happen on Kessel, the Order will be forever in your debt."

Obi-Wan found no words at this praise, this obituary, and just nodded once to her in acknowledgment of her words.

Tha'Bass stood up. "I will see that we'll get to Kessel on time."

Gallia stood with him, asking the other Jedi to follow her out. Läkämarisjöri and Sorba bowed to a disquieted Obi-Wan before they left the galley.

Windu walked up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Knight Kenobi," he said gravely, his black eyes as sad as Gallia's had been. "I'm sorry, very sorry that this burden will be yours."

The hatch closed noisily behind him, leaving Obi-Wan alone with his withdrawn master.

Chapter VIII
Your Fire's My Heart

After a long, bleak silence, Qui-Gon got up as well, shoving his bloodless hands up the sleeves of his tunic, hugging himself as if he were cold.

Obi-Wan found the shadowed eyes as opaque as dry riverstones when his master glanced down at him for the space of two heartbeats.

"I'm against it," Qui-Gon finally grated, turning his head away.

Once more a long silence where Obi-Wan felt the urge to scream rising if he just had the air for it, an invisible clench of hurt and misery tightening around his chest.

Cloth rustled on cloth as Qui-Gon shifted and his words came out as if pressed through a locked throat, "But it seems I have no valid argument," he paused, then there was a very audible gulp, "as this counts for nothing." Qui-Gon looked back at him then, and where his eyes had been pebbles before they were now shining and deep. Obi-Wan felt himself falling into that bared soul, falling directly into the well of unbearable sorrow, the suspicion rising that Qui-Gon must have foreseen his probable death---a flicker of a vision's image out of his dreams: Qui-Gon kneeling before a burnt pyre. Obi-Wan's own pyre? But Qui-Gon would live, the Jedi would live. It would be worth it.

"But it does count," he assured Qui-Gon, unable to bear the sight of those beautiful eyes filled with this broken sadness. "It means everything to me."

Obi-Wan stood slowly, using the back of the chair for leverage, reaching out to the hurting man, his heart cracking right alongside his love's as he took the bearded face in his hands. "But I must do what the Force asks me to do. You are the one who taught me to always listen to my heart."

The blue eyes narrowed. "And what is your heart telling you?"

"Oh, Qui-Gon, don't ask me to choose," Obi-Wan said, ignoring the challenge. "Even for you I cannot stand down now. Especially not for you. And if you don't know by now what you mean to me..." He faltered, shaking his head as the words left him, his hands restlessly stroking the sides of the beloved face.

A shudder went through the large body as Qui-Gon let go of a deep breath. His arms came up and gathered Obi-Wan in an loose embrace that held him gingerly against the heaving chest of his master.

"You're right. I do know. I do know," Qui-Gon whispered. "But it destroys me."

"Don't. Don't give up on us already. Who told me to always live in the Moment and not worry about the future?" Obi-Wan bit his lip, feeling helpless in the face of Qui-Gon's pain. This man was a born caretaker, a decision maker. It must be unbearable for him to stand back and let be what must be. To let the one his heart was demanding to hold safe go and meet his possible death. His own eyes burned, the thought of parting from Qui-Gon agony---both their hearts were hurting. But Obi-Wan had the easier part: he would walk away, and Qui-Gon would be the one left behind if the worst should happen. Kneeling at a pyre. So all they had for sure was the Here and Now...

"Live in the Moment with me," Obi-Wan implored quietly, rising a bit unsteadily up on his toes to kiss the sorrow-creased forehead. His beard brushed over the crooked bridge of the noble nose, and he felt the skin under his lips twitch as Qui-Gon blinked rapidly while letting go a trembling breath that tickled softly against the younger man's neck.

The long arms tightened their hold around him, molding him to the curves of the towering body. Hot air breezed over his ear, over his cheek as Qui-Gon rubbed his face against his. Beard brushing against beard; hot, smooth cheek against his own; little spikes of lashes winking on his forehead; soft lips on his temple; auras mingling; Obi-Wan would have been content to remain that way forever.

Peripherally he was aware that they had sunk to their knees together when Obi-Wan's legs gave out, their bodies folding into each other, touching and touched.

But Qui-Gon's hands began to move on his back, the large palms stroking along his spine and Obi-Wan arched into the touch, his skin tingling wherever the fingers passed. He believed he must have red welts on his skin where they stroked up his neck, feeling his very blood rush to meet the points of contact. Leaning his head back with a low moan as Qui-Gon's tongue lapped wetly below his ear, a shiver running down his spine, he was swept under when Qui-Gon's mouth closed over his, their tongues caressing, drinking from each other like thirsting men.

Eventually needing to come up for air, Obi-Wan ran his finger along Qui-Gon's lower lip, swollen from his own kiss, wet from his own saliva, memorizing its shape and velvety feel. He looked further up, meeting the smoldering gaze. "I need you," he murmured, seeing the blue-ringed pupils blaze wide in response, feeling Qui-Gon shudder against him, his breath teasing against Obi-Wan's skin, warm and moist, awakening every cell in its wake to bristling life. Closing his eyes to savor the feelings in their purest form, Obi-Wan joined their mouths again, tasting the sweetness of the other's flesh mixed with the counterpoint of salt in the corners of the wide lips.

He felt Qui-Gon's strong arms slipping under his knees and shoulders, lifting him effortlessly as the tall man stood up. Without losing the contact of their lips, without once easing up on caressing the agile tongue dueling with his, Obi-Wan let himself be carried out of the galley.

He lay bonelessly in Qui-Gon's arms, sweat drying on his still tingling skin. With their limbs entwined, their foreheads pressed together, he listened to nothing but the universe they had created between them, sharing each breath, each heartbeat, each thought...

. . . until uncounted but all too fleeting moments later a flicker of disquiet tapped against Obi-Wan's consciousness, telling him time was growing short.

Becoming aware of the changing sound of the ship's engines, he reluctantly opened his eyes to the gloom of his cabin---and came fully awake when the dim light started to flicker over the walls with the increasing up and down dancing of the lightcube. The Miccala had started to vibrate down to her inner structure when the ion drive kicked in with a strong roar as they fell out of hyperspace.

His fingers tangled in long hair, Obi-Wan held the lightcube safe in its socket with a wee touch of Force until the wall seams stopped groaning. In an unreal finishing stroke, some flakes of old paint shook loose from the ceiling and drifted down on them like dirty snow.

Frowning, he freed one hand from the soft mane and picked a speck of gray paint out of Qui-Gon's hair, found it sticking on his fingertip like fresh ash. I don't believe in omens, he groused and flicked the particle over the edge of the bunk. It's just blasted paint.

Unheedingly, the dread remained that had settled in the pit of his stomach, and with a harshly expelled breath Obi-Wan gave it to the Force, unwilling to follow the tricky path which led to the quicksand of feelings colored by whispers of the future.

Obi-Wan buried his fingers in the long hair again, tenderly stroking a loose lock behind Qui-Gon's ear, trailing his fingers along the arc of the strong jaw in a final caress. Reaching down he collected his lover's hand from where it rested on his hip to place it on his chest, pressing the warm palm right over his heart like a badge of ownership.

"Whatever might happen today, I will always wait for you," he whispered and looked up, meeting the night-deep eyes watching him, the older man's irises unreflecting like black holes pitting into the fabric of the universe. "Remember, Qui, remember all you have to do is ask..."

His lover's fingers curled ever so slightly, his thumb caressing the skin over Obi-Wan's heavily beating heart before the older man enfolded him in an all-encompassing embrace as if to never let him go again.

Chapter IX
The Flame And The Salamander

The cloaked man watched their approach, his hands patiently folded in front of him, white against black.

"My Lord Sidious," the Fheco brother greeted him, while his claws around Obi-Wan's neck trembled in terror.

"Let me see him."

Obediently, the bounty hunter dragged the cowl from Obi-Wan's head, in the process pulling his blood-soaked hair half over his face.

Shaking his head once to get the strands out of his eyes, Obi-Wan got his first good look at the Fheco's client.

The man's head came up slowly, the harsh blue lights of the hangar revealing blotched, age-wrinkled skin on a beardless chin and thin, withered lips with downturned corners---which now rose as the mouth curled in a cruel smile.

"You," was all he said---and if Obi-Wan had had any doubt left that this man was the sought after Sith, this one word of recognition and malicious glee dispelled it.

Obi-Wan held his head a little bit higher in silent defiance.

The man's cackle was an ugly grating sound. "I am pleased," he said to the Fheco and Obi-Wan saw from the corner of his eye how the broad shoulders straightened in relief. Leaning back a bit into the big fist, he reminded the gamorrean to better remember which side he was on. The movement canted the Blotter around his neck against the bone of his jaw, sending an icy pulse of pain into his teeth. It was an unnecessary reminder, but it gave Obi-Wan the needed edge, knowing the Sith could not read any of his thoughts---or the Fheco's: his temporary ally wore his bracelet in open display on his hairy wrist. The gamorrean had assured them he had done it before, had done it ever since he had been given the assortment of Blotters some months ago, his fear of mind-tricks stronger than his greed. And for whatever reason, the Sith had tolerated that show of defiance...

Obi-Wan's eyes trained unflinchingly on the shadow below the hood, scowling in well studied arrogance. "I demand you release me at once," he said. "I'm a Jedi knight, a representative of the Senate. The Republic will not allow---" The fist that split his lip and bruised his naked chin was as real as could be.

"Silence, you bhat!" the Fheco grunted, shaking his prisoner like a puppy, almost throwing him off his feet.

Obi-Wan knew without having to see that twitching snout beside his face how much the Fheco loved this part of his role, not playacting at all---hopefully he wouldn't love it too much.

Suppressing the urge to lick his hurting lip, Obi-Wan stared squarely at the point where the Sith's eyes ought to be located under the low-hanging hood. "I protest. Kidnapping and mistreating a Republican representative is a capital---"

An invisible hand clenched tightly around his throat, silencing him effectively---and adding to the misery, the damn Blotter started to vibrate against his skin, reacting instantly to the Dark Force in use.

"Spare me your petty complaints," the Sith lord said and turned his face slightly to the still shaking Fheco, "My assistant will reward you. Now leave."

The gamorrean cast a nervous sideward glance at Obi-Wan, his white-rimmed eyes almost panic-stricken, forcing Obi-Wan to glower a silent Go! to the idiot who was not far off from giving them away with his behavior.

The sweaty hand fell from the knight's neck and the bounty hunter bowed woodenly to the Sith, almost stumbling over his feet in his haste to get out of the hangar.

Without the gamorrean's strength to hold him up, Obi-Wan staggered a step to the side before he could lock his knees. The strangling Force grip around his neck let up not a millimeter and some of the Sith's invisible fingers were pressing on his carotid artery, diminishing the flow of blood to his brain. It was starting to become an effort to stay entirely aware, the edges of his vision beginning to blur slightly.

Obi-Wan's captor was silently watching his faint struggles for air, so relaxed in his power that his white hands were still folded limply before him as if nothing at all was happening.

"Well, my young friend," Sidious said at last in his slow, over-pronounced upperclass tones Obi-Wan was used to hearing from arrogant senators Republic-wide, "I must confess, I have longed for your presence here."

But there the similarities ended. There was an insistent feeling inside him, saying he had never heard that voice before, and---what a ludicrous idea!---especially not in connection with the soft spoken supreme chancellor. There was a sneering malevolence in that old-man's-voice that Obi-Wan did not need the aid of the Force to understand---the hair rising at the nape of his neck spoke of the very primal way his body and mind understood evil when they encountered it, even with the Blotter around his neck.

"I'll bet you have," Obi-Wan pressed out an answer through his almost shut windpipe, the need for air making it easier to play the impotent fool and say things normally foreign to his tongue. "You... Sith-begotten . .. son-of-a---" He was brought up short as the pressure increased for a second but then abated enough to let him draw some hasty lungfuls of wonderful air.

"Come, come. No foul speech, my boy," Sidious said with the pleasantness of a grinning gundark, "even if you are totally right." The ugly grin was on the thin lips again. "A shame you could not bring your doddering master with you. I have felt the desire to converse with him---about certain happenings on Naboo he was involved in." He tsked with his tongue. "I am inconsolable about his untimely demise." And he even sounded as if he meant it in his slimy diplomat's way, and this time something connected in Obi-Wan's mind, even against that insistent inner voice saying: no, you're wrong. Obi-Wan shook his head, as if he could dislodge the thought speaking with his own voice, was sure on a different level he had heard this manner of speech before, this unique inflection... you're mistaken... but it still would not match up with the soft spoken Palpatine... not him... not him, but if not Palpatine, who... If he could only remember, if he only had the Force... Force help me! The thought was enough to make the Blotter buzz, for a moment recognizable for what it was. It was stroking his brain with foul fingers, whispering to him how hopeless this venture was and how terrible his failure... no, no, he would not listen. Shaking, Obi-Wan called himself to order and focused back on the role he had to play, forcing himself to react to the Sith's words, allowing a shadow of grief, chased quickly by heated scorn about the slander, to appear on his face, the latter not very hard to play at all---

"My doddering master would have killed you on the spot," Obi-Wan grated out, maneuvering the Sith into dismissing him, "you Fheco-loving. . ." The resulting squeeze was so excruciating he thought it would certainly crush his larynx. It was no deception at all when his shackled hands came up as if to pry away the invisible fist trying to wring the life out of him.

"I am scandalized. Is this what they teach the young in the Temple these days? But I will be happy to re-educate you. Sheqk," the Sith ordered and one of the silent shadows came forward bowing deeply.

"My Master," Sheqk said---a name that meant nothing but slave in Bothian. How inventive, Obi-Wan's blurring mind babbled, how... oh, Force...

"See if you can find suitable accommodations for our guest."

With this Obi-Wan was suddenly released and he gasped for air---his knees buckled and he would have fallen if Sheqk hadn't caught him by his shoulders and held him up in a bruising grip as unrelenting as the Sith lord's had been, obviously manipulating the Force himself. The Blotter was happily humming with the Darkness in use around him, whispering, whispering, give up give up give up. . . and still half-unconscious, Obi-Wan's heart was gripped by the cold fingers of doubt---

Sheqk dragged him around and up the ship's steep ramp, too steep for Obi-Wan's rubbery legs and he stumbled and fell to his knees, hissing sharply as the brutal grip almost tore his barely healed shoulder in two. He struggled to get to his feet again to reduce the pressure on---

"Sidious!" an authoritarian voice rang out behind them, echoing in the vast hangar hall.

Sheqk halted in the hatch to look back, dragging Obi-Wan around with him.

A tall hooded man was striding towards them into the gloomily lit area in front of the ship. In his ground-sweeping, closed robe he seemed to be dressed all in black, the same as the Sith's minions around them, but in Obi-Wan's eyes it was as if faint starlight was dancing around him. The Blotter was reacting to what he was seeing, vibrating against his skin, its breath never so cold against his mind, filtering his perceptions---was this how all Darksiders saw Jedi? Haloed in the Light?

Darth Sidious calmly stood at the foot of the ramp, his men silently moving nearer their master.

The tall man halted a dozen strides away and not surprisingly the Sith recognized him.

"Ah, Master Jinn," he said. "I see your demise was reported hastily." He didn't sound as if he was uncommonly surprised at having been deceived by his informants.

Qui-Gon inclined his head ever so slightly, saying, "Not for the first time, I dare say." He paused and Obi-Wan's heart went out to that brave man, all doubts forgotten. It was time. His right forefinger crept toward the controls of his shackles.

Qui-Gon spoke on, "As it stands, we have unfinished..."

Three fast heartbeats, one breath, one blink, and he freed his hands and stepped back, his right leg hooked behind Sheqk's to draw him down onto the deck with him, his hand pressed over the startled man's mouth. One more breath and the edge of his hand connected with Sheqk's neck, sending him into oblivion.

"... a pleasure." Qui-Gon's lightsaber fired up in its familiar hum.

"What do you think you're doing, Master Jedi?" Sidious said in a sad voice, a father talking to a rebellious son. "This is so useless."

Obi-Wan rolled to his knees, his eyes snapping to the hooded man below him.

Still unaware of Obi-Wan in his concealing hole of Force blindness, the Sith lord had his full concentration on the Jedi master with the green-edged white flame in his hands---and the other Jedi who now stepped out from their cover, becoming visible as they took off their Force suppressors one by one.

Obi-Wan's fingers itched to do the same, so much that it was a physical hurt---at the last moment he redirected his willful fingers to his shoulders, drawing his hood up over fair face and hair, shrouding himself in shadow. As he moved down the ramp, seemingly out of nowhere the words of the poem that had haunted him before washed to the surface of his mind, followed by Qui-Gon's voice, telling him, `You are not some mythological spirit, who can't be burned...'

But I am, Master, Obi-Wan thought, as the real meaning of the poem hit him, giving him the key to his fate. See, I am

Born to the one Force,
Chosen by the Light:
I am the Salamander,
The seventh of knights.

Sidious seemed unconcerned, his confidence mirrored in his men who stood silently on both sides of the ramp, blasters in their hands.

Energy began to crackle in the air like a thunderbolt had struck the ground right beside them. It was as if they suddenly were under Kessel's open sky, a black tempest brewing over their heads, lightning flickering along wildly milling clouds, wind gushing up, the air filled with ozone and sulfur.

The Sith moved his arms; Obi-Wan couldn't see what he was doing, but the collar around his neck was reacting quite strongly to the gathering of Dark Force. Obi-Wan bit on his hand to stifle a groan, the self-made hurt effectively refocusing his senses on himself.

Like a black silhouette, Sidious stood against a background of blue crackling incandescence. Lightning left his fingers in sizzling bursts of deadly energy and Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon's 'saber flash up in response.

"You fools!" the Sith lord boomed. "Even a hundred of you could not bring me down." He held up his hands again and bolts zigzagged through the hangar, the bellow of blasters joining in, answered by the familiar short, blinding novae of angry humming energy when bolts met lightsabers, followed by sparkling explosions of evaporating metal wherever the energy was de-flected to.

The wind was filled with demon voices, the air itself wailing, and far worse were the cries of agony when the lightning bolts hit flesh.

Your touch draws blisters!

Obi-Wan's ears were bursting from the howls of pain as the Sith's wrath hit the Jedi like a thunderstorm pounding a field of grain. Getting nearer to him was like running against a hurricane, like wading in muck, up to his neck in a slimy bog.

Sidious'---Palpatine's, for it was indeed him---hood had fallen back with the spastic movements of his arms, his white hair standing on end as if transformed into a thousand spitting snake heads.

While hate burns your soul to ashes and sand!

Looking beyond, Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon deflecting the bolts, but they were falling on him like rain and even he could not block them all---he was hit, once, twice. The tall man stumbled back, and Palpatine laughed like the proverbial titter-wolfine before she devoured the king.

Obi-Wan's heart forgot to beat as he saw Qui-Gon go down. But the Jedi master rolled to his feet again, his face a mask of pain---and in what seemed an inhuman movement under the Sith's barrage, he even lunged one step closer to the enemy, his lightsaber a blur, buying with his own life the time Obi-Wan needed.

Yanking his eyes away, Obi-Wan bit his lip to a bloody mess as he crawled on, down on all fours now, his fingers clawing at the edges of the metal plates. Though only a few meters separated him from his goal, they appeared like kilometers, the Darkness a living entity stemming his advance, pressing him down as if he, in his Force blindness, was nothing but a blade of grass. But Obi-Wan had to reach Palpatine, had to reach him before he killed the Jedi, before he killed---oh, Force...

Your fire's my heart,
filled by Your blue spark...

He concentrated on the thought of his lover. In the image before his inner eye Qui-Gon was smiling at him, his eyes sparkling Force-blue, his hand stretched out, beckoning Obi-Wan to come closer... and concentrating on nothing else but reaching that hand, Obi-Wan crawled the last meter and rose to his knees behind the angry Dark god that was trying to destroy them all.

The black cloak battered his face as he stood, shielding him against the wind as his hands reached for the Blotter around his own neck. For a heart stopping second it seemed to resist him, the manipulated catch not giving---then it was in his hands, its open ring like a gaping maw.

Obi-Wan wanted to throw his head back to howl his elation as the Force rushed over him like a wave of glistening foam---but of course Palpatine had felt it, too, that sudden emergence of the Light right behind him. He whipped around, his whole being sputtering energy that hit Obi-Wan like a million arrows of searing lava.

Fury exploded across the Sith's face, his eyes a flaming sulfur as he descended on his prey---and then they opened wide in surprise as the Blotter snapped closed around his neck.

My fire burns fire!

Obi-Wan chanted inside, a spell, a prayer, as foul breath gushed in his face, so near was the other man.

He could see every individual burst vein that netted the skin and in the once-white of the bulging eyes, he saw himself reflected in the inhumanly large pupils, saw his own face surrounded by a blue halo, his stare hard like laserlight.

The yellow eyes screwed shut and Palpatine roared his wrath in Obi-Wan's face, a blow of Dark energy slapping him backwards. Obi-Wan careened around and fell, hitting his head hard, his hands instinctively shielding his face, expecting to get hit by a fatal energy bolt---

---but nothing came. The roar rolled like a thunderclap through the hangar, echoing, dying.

Ears ringing, hand around his throbbing head, Obi-Wan opened his eyes.

Palpatine knelt on the end of the ramp, his fingers clawing at the collar. Darkness still emanated from him, but it was in broken pulses, like bursting bubbles of tar rippling the surface of the ether.

Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn to movement in the deep shadows beyond the Sith's silhouette, seeing a hood-shrouded Jedi master slowly step forward, burns smoking on his robe, his violet-colored 'saber ready in one hand, the collar he had worn in the other.

"Yield or die," Mace Windu said and if living granite had a voice, it would sound like him, grating and dry as dust.

Palpatine looked up at the approaching Jedi and howled anew, and as they had feared, the one collar did not contain him for long. His clawed hand flashed out, pointing at the Jedi councilor, blue energy gathering, sluggish but steadily, at his fingertips---and darted around as a second Jedi appeared beside Windu, holding his smoking shoulder, hair wild,

hair sparkling ember,

face charred, but standing tall and alive!

Palpatine laughed his wolfine-titter again.

"Jinn. You're hard to kill, indeed. But this charade will end---now!" The Sith seemed to breathe Darkness into himself, gathering it to kill the two Jedi in front of him, all of them, and Obi-Wan knew what he must do.

I am the Salamander, while you are just Flame!

He came up, crying, "Palpatine!" and threw himself on the back of the still kneeling man.

I will endure---

It was like hitting an exploding energy core, flaying his skin from him, searing his mind with boiling oil. But he slung his arms around the Sith and held fast, pinning the deadly hands to his sides, until he was the only one the Sith could still reach with his wrath---

And saw Qui-Gon rip the collar out of Windu's hands---

And Obi-Wan held on, calling everything he had to shield himself one more moment, held on, just one more---

Running to them---

Held on, pain all he knew and his shields faltered---

Towering above them, his hair wild around him like a blue-sizzling halo---

Held on even when the deadly energy rushed in on him and tried to still his heart---

His hands ramming down like swords---

Held on---

His sleeves raking like dark wings over his face---

Hammering on his faltering heart to make it beat one more time---

Closing the second---

And another beat---

And a third collar---

One... more---

Around the Sith's neck with the finality of a death stroke---

And felt something rip in his chest and he cried out, his eyes seeking his lover---

A howl as if the universe itself cried out---

And then silence, booming, echoing, white silence, silence---his heart still, his mind still...

A burst of Light exploded in his chest, fusing with his torn insides and then a terrible pressure rammed down on his breastbone, squeezing the blood out of his heart, the air out of his lungs. And then again, and again and he cried out, coughing, his heart setting in with a painful stutter, the frantic pulse in his ears roaring. Faintly he heard something through the noise, words, ever repeating, I ask... stay... stay... Qui? Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon calling for him...

And he came back to the deafening clank of many boot heels on metal, the ground vibrating under his head. More sounds of fighting, blasters firing, angry voices, cries...

"I ask!" Qui-Gon rasped into his ear, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but could see nothing. A tickling softness was splayed over his face, smelling sickeningly of scorched hair. He blinked, became aware of the rest of his burning body, and found his lover leaning over him, one hand moving over his heart, one long arm around him, rocking him softly.

"I ask. I ask you to stay," Qui-Gon repeated on and on like a litany, his voice breathless and raw as if he had chafed his vocal chords in saying these words forever.

Even if it seemed impossible at first, Obi-Wan managed to lift his stone-heavy arms and bury his hands into the soft hair that was draped over him, holding on for dear life, whispering, "I... I don't... intend... to go."

Qui-Gon stilled his rocking and pulled back until their eyes met, and Obi-Wan absentmindedly registered the many lines that radiated out from the corners of his lover's eyes, stark white on black soot-covered skin---and the much broader, glistening tracks that ran down beside his generous nose.

The older man's breath puffed over Obi-Wan's face as he half laughed, half sobbed. "You'd better not," he was told while the large hand drew tight circles over his chest, feeding healing Force energy. And then his lover bent down and kissed him between the brows, the softly prickling beard tickling his eyes shut.

There was a hoarse guffaw from above them, and reluctantly they drew apart to look up.

"You two will yet be my death," Mace Windu said exasperatedly, but when he bent to clasp Obi-Wan's shoulder, his eyes were full of respect. "You did it. The Force was with you today."

"With... us," Obi-Wan returned with as much breath as he could gather, but it still was only an almost inaudible wheeze that left his burned lips.

The expression in Windu's eyes turned to concern. "Qui-Gon, can you move him? We must leave here."

"If you lend me a hand, old friend?" Qui-Gon rasped and Obi-Wan bit his already bleeding lip as he was lifted up, the pain in his chest surging like a stoked fire. All he could do was close his arms around Qui-Gon's neck and hang on as he was carried down the ramp, only half aware through the fog of pain that engulfed him, knowing that only Qui-Gon kept him conscious.

Below, the other Jedi waited for them. Adi Gallia's gaze was somber as she met Obi-Wan's, and nodding at him, she directed his eyes downwards where Peys was leaning over the still form of Master Jöri, her studded tresses hanging loosely over her forehead.

Every elation Obi-Wan might have felt in his half-conscious state over his and his beloved's survival crumbled to dust as she looked up, her face a mask of grief. His tongue an unmovable swollen object in his mouth, Obi-Wan awkwardly loosened one hand from Qui-Gon's neck and held it out to the distraught knight, seeing himself in her place, his heart flying out to her, breaking in more than sympathy.

They had kicked the wheel of fortune into motion again until its pointer slipped into the next notch, but it seemed fate allowed them to cheat her only so much. Obi-Wan had survived; but the pyre would burn.

Peys took his hand without hesitation, cradling his burned, nerveless fingers gently between hers. "I'm glad you made it, Obi-Wan," she said in a choked voice before she turned back to her partner, wrapping his charred robe around him, covering his still face with very gentle hands.

Obi-Wan tightened his arms again around Qui-Gon's neck, seeking solace in the strong heartbeat under his ear, a weary numbness replacing the pain radiating out from his chest into all his limbs as he watched the others prepare the dead for transport.

And he felt nothing at all as his tired eyes fell on something behind them. Beyond the bedraggled group of Jedi, another crumpled body lay. Consumed by his own fire, there was nothing left of Palpatine of Naboo but a twisted lump, burned to ashes and sand.

At last they rolled the Sith's remains into the cloak of one of his dead henchmen, and Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan tighter as he turned to follow the sad caravan back to the Miccala.

Very gently, Qui-Gon laid him down on a bunk and immediately started to peel the clothing away from his burned body, the shifting lines in Qui-Gon's tense face a sign it should hurt---but it didn't.

Peys knelt down beside them and helped his master place wet wraps all over his skin, the smell of bacta heavy in the air. Nobody was talking; he could hear the others going in and out of the room but never a word was spoken to break the white noise of silence in Obi-Wan's ears.

Gallia once leaned over the shoulders of his caretakers, smiling tightly at him before vanishing again.

He had slipped into unconsciousness then, knew it when he started awake with a gasp, the yellow eyes of his nightmare replaced by the velvet blue ones of his lover. Qui-Gon was soothing ice cold bacta on his burning lips and that must have roused him, but he was confused to find the lights low, the deep throb of a stardrive vibrating under him.

"You should sleep on," Qui-Gon whispered. "You're running a fever again." His tender smile guided Obi-Wan's gaze to the sheen of bacta ointment coating the burns on his master's cheekbones, and on to his neatly combed and braided hair whose ends were singed black.

Qui-Gon's fingers kept on massaging the cold gel into his skin, seemingly engrossed in his task and unaware how unguarded his expression was, his mien flickering from tenderness to disquiet with every turn his thoughts must be taking behind those deeply lined eyes.

Obi-Wan found it not hard to deduce what he was thinking. "I wonder," he began, having to clear his throat a few times to get beyond the lump lodging there.

Silently his master held a cup of water to his lips and he emptied it gratefully before trying again, "I wonder what will we do now? The chancellor... how will we explain this to the... Senate?"

"Should you be implying it would be unwise to tell them he was Sith... absolutely. Sith, Jedi---a difference that makes no difference in the eyes of the ignorant and the fearful. And as we have seen uncounted times, fear so easily leads---"

"---to hate."

Obi-Wan thought about the visions of shattered windows, thick smoke curling in the wind, the sky drenched in red and black as if the world was on fire. Not just the world: the Temple. The Temple which was the heart of Coruscant, of the whole Republic.

But had they prevented that dark future on Kessel? Or had Palpatine's poisoned seeds already taken root in the hearts of the power hungry and fearful, and would even his death and exposure lead to what he sought, what all Sith had ever sought? The danger was not entirely past, that much Obi-Wan felt clearly.

"We Jedi always walk on the edge of a blade," Qui-Gon reminded him. "We serve the Force not through fear but compassion and knowledge---but in every Jedi lies the potential not only for great good, but also for great evil. Power corrupts---a maxim the general public understands all too well, and if they ever came to the conviction the Jedi can be corrupted, too..."

"Was that how... Palpatine wanted to get rid of us? Manipulating the public into confusing... him... with us---and letting them burn us at a stake?" Witches, an accented Libanu voice snarled in Obi-Wan's mind to be replaced by the sad sight of Master Jöri's charred face, his warm eyes forever closed and lost to those who loved him. Palpatine had already done his best to begin the burning.

Fingers stroking lightly along the tender skin of his jaw coaxed Obi-Wan away from that embittering train of thought. He looked up and found Qui-Gon gazing at him, his eyes a bit unfocused.

"I harbor the distinct hope," the older man began, "that we will never have the misfortune to find out what he planned for us. The Force willing, we were in time."

Obi-Wan nodded faintly, part of him already feeling along the strands of the Force their thoughts had drawn near. He found what fueled Qui-Gon's hope: the emotions stirring in his mind---while not being very clear or lasting, as if some things were still undecided---were not dreary, but a bit like that brief moment just before dawn when the night was darkest, but the first bird was already stirring, preparing to sing the sun into the sky again. "I see it," he murmured absentmindedly, then perked up again, staring at Qui-Gon. "What will Master Windu... the Council... what will they do with... the knowledge we have gathered?"

His master's mouth quirked up on one side. "Even they can't ignore such a clear warning from the Force, Obi-Wan. They will have to change their views; many things will have to change." Qui-Gon sighed and lowered his head for a moment before adding, "Actually, there has already been a heated debate while you were resting. Gallia is contemplating calling for a Concillium."

"A Concill..." Obi-Wan frowned up at his master, wondering if he meant the same thing. There had been no Concillium since the Sith Wars and then it had led to a fundamental reorganization of the Order---and to the birth of the Republic as they now knew it... Oh-oh. "Sounds exciting," Obi-Wan ventured, gauging his master's feelings to be nothing near that adjective.

"Well, doesn't it? We do live in exciting times, my Padawan," Qui-Gon acknowledged wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, all too obviously anything but excited by the prospect. "Who had thought Adi could be such a radical thinker? Then again, what else but a Concillium could overturn everything we have known? We must trust the Force to guide us in this as well."

A warmth rose in Obi-Wan's belly at those words and he found the strength to place his bandaged hand on Qui-Gon's knee. "It will," he said with conviction, remembering how the Force had led them through the nightmare that lay behind them---and now it seemed it had been just the prologue of something much larger. Well, everything would happen in its own time, and greater minds than his would bear the burdens of shaping that change. At least more awake minds than his, he decided, feeling exhaustion creeping up on him without much stealth.

His sleepy brain filled with less speculative images of the recent past, returning to the acts of the real-life play in which the Force had cast them. Vivid images of bodies and Blotters, of bounty hunters and soldiers, of snow and hot water, of hate and love, flowing together into one image. The image of a calm, shimmering Sea under the arc of an unending Sky.

The Force was beginning and end, and had used him, tested him---and in the end rewarded him with his greatest desire. Obi-Wan's gratefulness and belief flowed out into the blue currents, and an answering spark trickled around his heart to fill him with deep-running contentment.

Wanting to share it, Obi-Wan snuggled into the palm lying against his cheek, his hand sneaking into the other one, squeezing with what he meant to be a strong, reassuring grip, but he suspected it came across as not much more than a light flexing of thickly bandaged fingers.

But it was enough and he felt Qui-Gon leaning in, his delightfully cool nose nuzzling his cheek, holding Obi-Wan safe in the warm aura of his body. It could have been a perfect moment... If it were not for a nagging feeling rising out of the substrate of Obi-Wan's memories.

A loose strand in the past drama's weaving still needed fixing, not that he liked that particular thought very much. Gathering himself, he blinked away the sleepy blur and found his master regarding him as if the older man had been waiting all the time for him to open his eyes again and continue their discussion. Mindful of his lips, Obi-Wan fought back a fatuous smile, whispering, "I think we should go back."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows winged up in question. "Go back?"

"To Paledeen Prime."

"Paledeen Prime," the older man echoed as if he was not following him.

"There is a civil war raging... that needs to be ended, Master. Remember? We have to cleanse some minds from whatever... he... Palpatine... did to them." Obi-Wan wheezed from too little air for too many words, becoming annoyed with his body's lack of cooperation.

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. "Another team will take care of that."

"But we are... we are the most qualified! It is our responsibility---"

"If it is anybody's responsibility, young Knight, then it is mine. I am the one who mishandled the negotiations."

"Oh no. You are just the one..." Force, give me some air! "... the one harboring a martyr complex... Master. The Sith mishandled it. The Sith, not you."

The tall man had the grace to look chastened. He laid his hand on Obi-Wan's heaving shoulder. "You are of course right, Obi-Wan. I was just trying to spare you the return to that hell hole."

Obi-Wan sighed, not sure if he should be exasperated or just give in to the tender feeling Qui-Gon's admission kindled in his heart. Force, how he loved this man---but they had to sort out their balance soon if their partnership was to work on all levels. "You know, some time you will have to... curb that protective instinct... of yours."

Stroking his thumb along Obi-Wan's dimpled chin, Qui-Gon looked down, his eyes liquid as he said ruefully, "I will try, my love."

"I will be all right," Obi-Wan reassured him, suppressing a hiss, as he gingerly laid a stiff kiss on the callused pad of the caressing thumb.

Qui-Gon nodded seriously. "I've already talked to Mace about it and it seems he agrees with you. We will go back. But not before you are fully healed," he added in the stern voice that meant there would be no further discussion about it. Rubbing his eyebrow, he went on, "To my shame, I confess I will be glad to be off Coruscant if Adi gets her Concillium."

"She will."

Qui-Gon cocked an eyebrow at him. "We're getting a bit presumptuous, aren't we?"

Smiling drowsily at his master, Obi-Wan felt at total peace with himself for the first time in all too long a while. After all, they were the Salamanders of the Force and whatever fire they had to endure, whatever task the future might lay before them, together there was nothing and no one they could not overcome.

"Qui?" he murmured with a heavy tongue, beginning to lose the fight against sleep. When his master leaned down to him, he made the effort to open his eyes once more, seeking the other's worried gaze. "And then, when we're done... I'd like to revisit a certain place. Up in the mountains."

Qui-Gon's answer was a butterfly kiss on his tender lips that suddenly did not hurt anymore. The mattress shifted under added weight and then Obi-Wan was enfolded in the gentle arms of his lover, hearing nothing but the strong heartbeat under his ear, feeling nothing but contentment.

The future could come.

THE END