Master Apprentice
Archive
Hearts of Darkness - Book III
|
|
|||
Category: ***ANGST***, Drama, Romance
Rating: NC-17 (for adult themes, m/m sexual relations, *EXTREME VIOLENCE & DISTURBING IMAGERY* -- and we kid you not)
Spoilers: None for movies, lots for the previous installments of HOD. If you are looking for those, you can find them here: Book I and Book II
Disclaimer: We don't own them, and they are probably thankful for that.
Summary: After the ordeal, the healing slowly begins.
Note: The authors left this story as a work in progress in the spring of 2000 and have no plans to finish it as of the time it was archived.
Chapter Ten: Dessicant
A drought is felt
Obi-Wan remembered nothing but the scream of a billion anguished voices and the terrible silence that followed.
The destruction of C'hai T'an had shattered his senses completely and he found his entire soul had been filled with the roar of Force-sketched agony, so much so that virtually nothing else remained. He'd been so attuned to the living Force, the very vastness of it, he'd taken for granted that such a incomprehensible catastrophe was impossible.
How wrong he was.
He found he could no longer see nor speak. Heard nothing but the echos of what once was and what will never be again. The tear, the gaping rent in his soul was virtually beyond his comprehension and only his Master's presence of mind and quick care saved whatever precious bits of sanity remained.
He felt Qui-Gon's presence close by and clung to it as proof that he too wasn't among the destroyed. He clung to it as one would cling to life itself in a vast arid wasteland of death. It was his only source of succor; it was water and hope, rain and promise, and if not for the man beside him, Obi-Wan knew he would be among the dead, if not in body, then most certainly in spirit.
He couldn't make out his Master's gentle words, just the soothing tone they were spoken in. Didn't feel the warmth of the blankets he was painstakingly wrapped in, only the care with which he was tended to. He wanted to curl into the arms that embraced him, the strong arms that rocked him slowly to and fro, but discovered that he couldn't even lift his head from his Master's chest. Everything around him was muted, cold ... quenched.
He wondered vaguely if he'd ever recover.
Didn't think it would be that great a loss if he never did. Surely his Master, at least, would be better off without him. Qui-Gon was stronger and so very much wiser, able to work his way through disasters even as his apprentice crumbled beside him. He'd been forced so many times to support them both, carry the weight of two on his shoulders, and as strong as they were, how much longer could they hold out?
Perhaps he should let himself go, Obi-Wan thought and let the smooth river take him past the pain, past the screams and gaping rent of silence that surrounded him. It might be better for all that way, for himself, for the Republic ... and especially for Qui-Gon.
The one he loved more than life itself.
Perhaps ... perhaps he should consider it.
Pausing to glance at Obi-Wan, bundled in blankets, Qui-Gon fed the navigation data into the ship's computer, having made the best out of several bad choices; they were going to Tatooine, well out on the Outer Rim.
He didn't entirely like it, not really, the Hutt had a strong presence there, indeed, was headquartered there.
But Jabba the Hutt also loathed the Jedi order, and was thus unlikely to aid or abet any attempt to recapture Obi-Wan; he himself was, he imagined, quite expendable to whatever it was that his former master had become. Too, it was not a pleasant place, a hot desert world, with no allies there; he hoped it would grant them more time for Obi-Wan's healing, particularly now.
He would not grieve for Yoda; he felt only a distant sorrow and rage; he felt the loss of the lives on C'hai T'an more keenly, particularly that of the abbot. The grief of that loss was raw, but he refused to allow himself time to attend it, not with Obi-Wan in his current condition.
Since the destruction of C'hai T'an, Obi-Wan had been silent, close to catatonic so far as he could tell; although far from a healer himself, he recognized the symptoms of shock caused by an overload in the Living Force, recognized them and feared them. The other cases he had seen had not been as severe, and he felt cold terror at the thought of losing Obi-Wan to this, after all they had survived.
He did not, he told himself bitterly, feel those lost lives as keenly as did Obi-Wan; committing to the course change, he locked it in, moved to kneel beside the bundled figure. Touched a pale cheek very lightly. "Obi-Wan, we are going to Tatooine." Softly, as if Obi-Wan could hear him. Who knew but that he did not, he told himself and bent to kiss Obi- Wan's forehead. He was not going to give up, he could not give up.
Whatever happened between them, he would not leave Obi-Wan unless Obi-Wan insisted upon it; perhaps, he admitted to himself, tucking the blankets around more closely, perhaps not even then.
Which was entirely high-handed, but he didn't damn well care. Rising, he went to the foodstores, found some dried soup containers, some tea; he brewed a cup of the astringent green tea for himself and made soup for Obi-Wan, knelt again to coax spoonfuls between unresponsive lips. A fair amount of it got on the blankets, but more found its way inside Obi-Wan; even if his current condition, Obi-Wan swallowed reflexively, which was reassuring.
The warmth and weight of his padawan against his chest was reassuring, at least to him. "I know I have failed you badly," he murmured and smoothed the tangled padawan lock, no longer plaited. "But I swear to you, my beloved, I will not fail you again." Pressing his cheek against Obi-Wan's hair, he thought for a moment. "Did I ever tell you about the time that Mace and I got into trouble with Council over our garden prank?" Thinking of Mace Windu made his throat ache; they had once been close friends, yearmates, and the thought of Mace's mutilated body stirred that distant rage to new life. "We were twelve, and a more mischievous pair never graced the halls of the Temple, I do swear. You, my padawan, were downright docile and well behaved compared to the two of us." Thus, holding Obi-Wan tightly, he began to remember his friend, to grieve for him, all the while tying Obi-Wan more firmly to life.
Or so he hoped.
The Supreme Chancellor had failed after all.
Standing near a window, Yoda looked into the night sky, frowning. His awareness of Qui-Gon's life force, however attenuated, still existed. It was possible, of course, that it was simply Qui-Gon's life energy pulsing through the Force, but his intuition was otherwise.
Qui-Gon yet lived. And with him, undoubtedly, Obi-Wan.
C'hai T'an might have died, but they had not.
It was a pity. One would have expected better from Qui-Gon, or at least hoped for it, at least until one remembered that he was now corrupt.
Extending a tendril of thought, Yoda tasted the living Force, let it pulse through him, and smiled without humor. No, Qui-Gon was alive, and with him, that source of evil, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Far enough away that Yoda thought of the Outer Rim territories. Searching them would be a lengthy process, he thought and frowned more deeply again. The key to finding them would be to understand Qui-Gon's patterns of thought, and he should be able to tap into that, he'd been Qui-Gon's master.
But for some reason, he could no longer do so.
The failure made him angry, and thinking about it made him angrier.
Turning away from the window, he surveyed his new Council with hooded eyes. "Found and destroyed, they both must be."
There were nods around the room, but none of them offered a single idea to facilitate such a course.
A pity Plo Koon had died at the spaceport, Yoda thought and moved slowly back to his chair, leaning on his stick.
He could do with some intelligent discussion, but it seemed that only Chancellor Palpatine was capable of it.
Somehow, Qui-Gon had been warned. Somehow, he would discover how, and the one who gave the warning would pay.
In the meantime, however, there were other matters to attend to.
"Found, the children must be." Scowling at his circle of Council members. "Go on, the Temple must, the order must."
No one dared answer. And for once, he found that soothing.
Was it his imagination, or did Obi-Wan's eyes show more comprehension as the long hours wore on? Qui-Gon wasn't certain, but he redoubled his efforts, managed to get more soup down Obi-Wan and less on the blankets.
"There, love, you have to eat." Softly, tenderly, and he held Obi-Wan closer. "I know it hurts, in your mind, but you must not give up. I don't know what I'd do without you, love, you must hold on."
Another bite of soup went down entire, not a drop spilled. Obi-Wan was growing stronger, he thought and closed his eyes briefly, so relieved his hands wanted to shake. "There, that's the way."
A faint sound when he raised the spoon again. "Just a little more," he coaxed, reckoning it for protest. "Please, love, just a little more, it's your favorite."
An indrawn breath, the first real sign of comprehension he had seen and his eyes stung. The bite went down and he set the spoon aside, held Obi-Wan close to him again. "That's better. Some tea? It's a bit cool, but that won't hurt."
No answer, but Obi-Wan swallowed when the cup was held to his lips. Unable to resist, he kissed Obi-Wan's temple. "Stay with me, please, Obi-Wan." Softly. Humbly. "I know I have not done as well as I ought, but one thing is true--I love you too much, I cannot bear the thought of losing you, Jedi master or not."
No response, of course, but Obi-Wan's head turned slightly to rest on his shoulder. It was enough. He closed his eyes. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you about the time I went swimming in the sacred pool on Janada and nearly got my foolish padawan self skinned alive."
The memory made him smile. "So, you see, you must never think you've been a trial, my love, because I was, I'm sure, the worst of them all. I can't recall another padawan who nearly caused a diplomatic incident of those proportions."
Was he imagining it, or were Obi-Wan's chilled hands warmer now? He prayed so, chafed them gently with his own. "I love you, Obi-Wan," he murmured and his voice trembled slightly. "Please, hold on--ah, I've lost my place again, haven't I. Back to Janada." He summoned back the younger Qui-Gon, the moonlit night and the temptation of the pool, his voice quiet as he embroidered the tale. Praying that Obi-Wan would, indeed, return to him.
The first sight that greeted Obi-Wan upon awakening was that of his Master's sleeping face. Exhausted looking even in the midst of slumber, the dark crescents beneath Qui-Gon's closed eyes were painful to look at, even more painful to contemplate the cause of.
How his Master, his beloved, had suffered for his sake.
He would claim that it was his responsibility, the care of his padawan, but beneath the duty lay the added burdens of guilt and longing. All burdens that could be laid directly at Obi-Wan's feet, careless and unwanted trophies of a Fate that neither one of them had ever expected.
Obi-Wan ran a shaking finger over the soft greying beard. Nuzzled a bit closer and relished the warmth of Qui-Gon's closeness, an unfailing source of comfort in the vast coldness that now surrounded them.
So many friends lost, so many enemies lurking in the infinite shadows.
He shivered in spite of his Master's warmth. Exhausted and abandoned they were among the shunned now, outlaws ... hunted things in an unforgiving galaxy, leaving behind a trail of blood and tears wherever they went. Ever forced to choose between survival and honor, and Obi-Wan wondered if they'd decided upon survival one too many times.
Qui-Gon would tell him that decisions had been his, to forget everything, to place all of the blame, the burden, on himself, but Obi-Wan knew that could no longer be. It was between both of them now, and back to back they had to stand or else give up all pretense of partnership.
No, I will stand beside you Master, he thought calmly. Now and forever.
No longer would he be a burden to the man who lay next to him, beautiful still even in the throes of an uneasy slumber, his breathing light but hoarse, his fingers trembling as they clutched unconsciously at the hem of Obi-Wan's robe.
And yes the red-eyed demons still clung deep within Obi-Wan, sharp clawed creatures fighting for every scrap of his soul ... his sanity, but their dark voices would have to be shunted out, put away along with his fears and the awful memories. These dark fancies would have to be abandoned, whatever the cost.
There was too much at stake now. Far too much.
Obi-Wan bestowed a lingering kiss upon Qui-Gon's haggard cheek. "I love you," he whispered, the warm skin soft against his lips. "I love you with all that I am. Whatever may come, whatever may follow."
A slight murmur in reply and he could feel his Master relax beside him, his breathing easier, his fingers no longer trembling. Curling up closer, he forced himself to follow his Master into slumber and prepare himself for the hardships he knew lie ahead.
To live, to die beside this man who loved him so deeply, whose love he returned in equal measure. To stand back to back with him, and not falter...
Whatever may come ... whatever may follow.
Qui-Gon woke when the ship's chronometer alarm chimed, woke and somehow felt easier, felt access to hope again. Obi-Wan slept on, curled trustfully against him, and the sleep felt natural, no longer the bleak mindlessness of a mind burnt badly by Force.
Shifting carefully, he leaned over Obi-Wan, lightly touched Obi-Wan's hair and heard the faintest murmur; his heart soared suddenly, it was true sleep, then, and salt stung his eyes. "Ah, love, thank all the gods." Softly, almost a whisper.
Obi-Wan stirred in sleep, curled more tightly in the cocoon of blankets. Smiling, Qui-Gon kissed his temple lightly, rose to check their position. Very near Tatooine, he approved, and sat down at the navigation console. The ship was an old model, but well built; no wallowing in space, she moved smoothly when he set the controls to manual.
Tatooine, he thought, and for once it seemed a refuge, a safe place to heal and gain their strength and balance back; Mos Eisley wasn't the most pleasant place, but he had skills and so did his padawan. They were no longer Jedi, officially or unofficially, they were men with mechanical skills, and he rather thought it would be possible to exchange the credit chip the abbot had given them for a decent exchange rate, perhaps sixty credits to the dectare, which would see them comfortably in lodging, and perhaps set them up in business.
A port like Mos Eisley needed skilled hands adept at repairs to certain engine components, and both of them had been well trained to perform their own, in the event of emergency. He could thank the Order for that, at least, no matter what else it had become.
He wasn't going to think about Mace Windu or young Bant, not yet. He wasn't going to think about vengeance, he was going to focus on their survival for the moment, on their survival and Obi-Wan's well being.
Glancing down again, he smiled, bittersweet. Obi-Wan slept on, cheek pillowed now on one arm. Brave padawan, he thought and his eyes stung again. Too much, too much, but no more--he was not going to allow it, not if he had to die to prevent more harm to his padawan.
As if hearing his thought, Obi-Wan frowned in sleep, murmured inaudibly.
"Hush, love," he whispered and turned his attention to the console. "Somehow, we'll do all right. Just sleep for now."
Tatooine swelled in his viewscreen.
Our new home, he thought and smiled grimly. How odd: Coruscant had become Hell, and this place Sanctuary.
The universe was becoming an interesting place.
"So," said the pale alien who was the Hutt's aide de camp, "You wish us to seek out Force sensitives for the benefit of the Jedi order in exchange for the governorship of this planet and admission to the Republic?"
The three Republic representatives, two military and one civilian, stood as confidently as if they were in their own Senate chamber. "Precisely," said the civilian, also Senator from Takkar. All in all, he rather wondered at the apprehension his colleagues had expressed when he had announced that the Supreme Chancellor and the Jedi Council had asked him to undertake this mission.
Tatooine was a primitive place, and the Hutt, while certainly appalling in appearance, had watched from heavy-lidded eyes throughout his presentation, not even a hint of hostility in the reptilian gaze.
The alien turned to regard his master, who grunted wordlessly; turning back, he smiled thinly. "We appreciate your offer, gentlemen." Raising his hand, he made a sharp gesture.
The floor unaccountably vanished and the distinguished Senator from Takkar fell with his two colleagues, landing hard on his tailbone and doing as much damage to his dignity. They had fallen into some kind of cellar; his military escort drew their blasters, flanking him.
"Bantha dung, my weapon is dead," the younger snapped. "Wait, what is that?"
The elder of the escort assisted the Senator to his feet. "Where? Damn." A scowl up at the titter that swept the room above. "This isn't very gods cursed funny--" He touched his collar, activated his commpin. "Malka, this is Shide, we need reinforcements."
Static hummed in the air, but there was no answer.
The younger man, Tekin, turned toward them briefly, his face pale. "There's something down here with us, I can hear it."
Shide swore and threw the useless blaster down. "Senator, stay behind me. Tekin, scout that end of the room."
Tekin gave him a white-eyed look, but advanced into the shadows, vanished into them.
Rubbing his bruises, the Senator leaned close. "How do we get out of here, Lieutenant?"
Grim look in response. "We hope that the Hutt doesn't really mean us any harm, Senator."
Tekin screamed, a sound of mortal terror and then of agony. Shide cursed again, ran in that direction, but had no sooner vanished than he reappeared again, backing into the Senator, his expression appalled.
The Senator tugged at Shide's coat. "What is it?" Terror made him lightheaded, his hands shook; the faces above seemed grotesque, distorted by the effects of his fear. "What is it, Shide?"
"Tekin--" Shide's voice was a husk. "Gods."
The thing that advanced out of the shadows was very, very hungry, and in the end, the only comfort to be had was that it ate Shide first.
Chapter Eleven: Medius
A hard-won middle ground is discovered
Mos Eisley was as appealing as Qui-Gon had expected, that is to say not at all. But there were contacts made, business done successfully, and in a very little time, he had exchanged the chip from the abbot for a goodly sum of cash, had found suitable living quarters for them, and gotten them ensconced.
In a very little time, some few days after their arrival, he had met one Watto, a physically unprepossessing being who nevertheless ran a lucrative business selling a variety of droids, engines, engine parts. Said Watto was immune, evidently, to any shading of Force, but he'd learned to bargain from masters and soon had a contract that paid far better than Watto had intended.
He might not be Jedi any more, but he still could influence a roll of the dice.
There was a space to the front of their quarters that served excellently as workshop. Obi-Wan, though still far too quiet and still reeling from the aftershock of C'hai T'an's destruction, worked alongside him some of the time, although his first days in Mos Eisley were difficult.
He tried not to coddle, tried to treat Obi-Wan with the respect he deserved, but it hurt, oh, it hurt to see that pale face, drawn and thin, and he encouraged Obi-Wan to rest as much as possible.
The first commission from Watto was a pair of 'droids, the owner of which was recently deceased for reasons Qui-Gon did not care to examine. Oddly enough, it was the 'droids that sparked some sign of life and energy in Obi-Wan and they worked on them together, had both working in good order far earlier than he had planned.
There was satisfaction in working with his hands, and more to be had in working companionably with Obi-Wan again. The anger he had seen and felt on C'hai T'an had burnt to ash, apparently, and Obi-Wan, though subdued, was very nearly himself again.
Not quite. Qui-Gon was afraid that the mischief beneath his padawan's sober exterior had been thoroughly quenched--at least until he had Obi-Wan accompany him to Watto's shop with the 'droids.
A small boy greeted them. "Hullo, sirs, I'll get Watto for you."
Qui-Gon smiled. "I haven't seen you before, lad, do you work here?"
The small face darkened slightly. "I'm Anakin. Watto owns me and my mother, sir."
Slavery. He swallowed back any comment that wanted to rise, smiled at the boy again. "I've brought Watto his 'droids, young Anakin." Glanced at Obi-Wan and saw Obi-Wan's gaze on the boy, interested and bright.
Anakin's expression eased and he looked up at Obi-Wan, returning that interest. "Are you a slave?"
"No," Obi-Wan told him softly.
"He's my partner," Qui-Gon interrupted, "This is Ben Kenobi, Anakin."
Obi-Wan extended a hand solemnly and shook Anakin's smaller hand.
"Anakin Skywalker," the boy told Obi-Wan and smiled brilliantly suddenly. "I'll go get Master Watto, sirs."
Obi-Wan's gaze followed him out. "He's just a child."
"I know." Softly. "Likely he was born into slavery. Or he and his mother were sold for debt. It's a harsh life on the Outer Rim."
A sigh and then the hint of a smile. "Ben Kenobi?"
"Well, I think it's best we don't advertise our true names." Qui-Gon shrugged, grinned. "I'm Quinn to Watto."
Obi-Wan snorted, but his mouth still curved.
The sight made Qui-Gon's pulse speed; there was still access to humor, and where there was humor, he prayed, there might some day be joy.
"Brace yourself, Watto is not the prettiest being we've ever seen," he told Obi-Wan lightly.
"I'll watch Anakin instead," Obi-Wan muttered and gave him a sidelong smile.
It lifted his heart through the dickering that followed.
The young boy Anakin arrived with another commission from Watto, this time a delicate hyperdrive part that had seen better days. Obi-Wan allowed the boy to hover over as he worked, feeling oddly soothed by his presence.
The child was a bit of a chatterer, but bright and inquisitive as well. Obi-Wan let him hand over the small tools he needed, marveling at his memory and learning skills which were lightning quick.
As they worked, their fingers brushed and Obi-Wan was shocked to feel a definitive stirring in the Force spark between them. He instinctively tightened his mental shields, but saw the boy's eyes turn huge.
Heard a furtive whisper. "You're like me, aren't you?"
Obi-Wan stared at the boy, surprised. "What do you mean?" Cautiously.
The child looked down and scuffed his toe in the sandy dirt. "You see things, don't you? Hear thoughts and feel this ... this ... I dunno ... "thing." All around you. You know ... everywhere. It tells you things."
Obi-Wan held a quick finger to the boy's lips. "Shhh." Shook his head nervously. By the Force, this one was sensitive. "Hush, boy. This is not the place to speak of such things."
"Okay." The small face looked abashed. "I'm sorry."
Obi-Wan felt an immediate stab of guilt. "You've said nothing wrong, Anakin. It's just that ..." He bit his lip, not sure how to explain.
"I understand." The young eyes darkened with sudden comprehension. "There is a danger in it, isn't there?"
Obi-Wan nodded, feeling oddly helpless and wishing Qui-Gon was there. "Yes. There can be." Especially here and now, he thought miserably. Hunted creatures that they were. He softened his tone and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "Perhaps later we will talk about this ... "thing," Anakin, but not now."
The boy's face brightened. He looked up shyly. "You can come by later for supper, you and Quinn. Mother is making taboulash tonight and it's ripping good. Honest. There's lots of it too."
Blue eyes wide with hope and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile at the sight of such fresh innocence. It was a welcome change. "I'll talk with ... Quinn. But I think he'd like that. I know that I would."
"Great!" The boy jumped down from the work stool and bounded toward the door. "I'll go tell Mother."
Obi-Wan's mouth dropped. "Wait, you didn't ask your ..." But the boy was already long gone and Obi-Wan chuckled. The child was impulsive, not unlike himself at that age. Except at that age he was already in a creche being taught in the ways of the Force by Jedi Masters who'd answered all his questions and taken care of his every need, whether spiritual or physical.
He suddenly wondered what had happened to the creche on Coruscant and shuddered. Surely Mace and the untainted Knights would have thought of the children immediately, perhaps even have had enough time to save a handful of the smaller ones. He prayed that this was the case, for if it was, there was hope for the Order yet.
But why should he give a damn for the Order, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. What had they done for himself and Qui-Gon in their time of need, besides nearly destroy them? Even his faithful Master, a Knight who had served the Order his entire life, with all of his soul had been treated almost as poorly as an unwanted servant, a creature to be tossed aside when no longer of any use to the Council at large.
Fools, he thought savagely. You were all fools and deserving of what you reaped. The anger grated at him pleasantly and he quelled it reluctantly, allowing himself to enjoy the heady relief it engendered, if only for a moment.
With a sigh, he turned back to his work and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. There had been time and enough for anger and recrimination, now was the time for healing and nothing else was going to take precedence over that.
Nothing.
Shmi Skywalker's quarters were surprisingly inviting for the home of a slave. The warm, spicy smell of food permeated the living area and Obi-Wan was pleased to discover that their hostess was a gracious woman of middle years who no doubt would have been a great beauty if not for the harsh hand dealt to her by an unkind Fate.
She was cautious with them at first, then slightly bewildered, obviously not used to two tradesmen who treated slaves with the manners of courtiers. Qui-Gon had brought a small jug of sweet wine and soon they were happily ensconced at the supper table, the boy chattering away while his mother passed around the food, blushing and smiling timidly at Qui-Gon when their hands accidentally touched over the bread.
She was all the prettier for her shyness, Obi-Wan noticed with a small spark of jealousy, one that was surprising and rather welcome. It was such a delightfully ordinary emotion, one that spoke of a passion that he thought tragedy had all but destroyed. He sat back and decided to enjoy it rather than dwell on its negative side. Convinced himself happily that in spite of anything else, their hostess had excellent taste.
Qui-Gon spoke easily of small things, creating a sketchy background for them that Obi-Wan made a mental note to memorize the details of later on. It was a lovely supper, and afterward the boy was tugging at his sleeve, beseeching him to follow him to his room, to look at his things, then outside to examine the racer he was building, then off to meet his young friends all of which Obi-Wan did gladly.
He even joined in a game of rabbard with the children, closing his eyes and counting off as they ran to find places to hide. He found most of them easily and swung each one up into the air upon discovery, laughing at their happy shrieks when he caught them at the last possible second. Anakin was the last one to be discovered and Obi-Wan wasn't surprised. The child was filled with the Living Force and even untrained, had learned how to wield it to his advantage, albeit unsteadily.
When the boy tried to sneak past him into the "safety zone" Obi-Wan whirled and snatched him up, tickling him unmercifully, delighting in the squeals of laughter that sounded throughout the dusty courtyard. It was a joyous sound and the delight that shone in Qui-Gon's eyes as he and Shmi watched from the doorway was even more welcome.
It was a beautiful sight: his Master's face filled with such hope and happiness; so much love and passionate promise. It stole Obi-Wan's breath away and he could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to go back to their quarters and revel in it, returning it tenfold strong.
He flushed at the thought, then turned back to the children who were already asking for another game and a story if he had one. He agreed and began the tale of the terrible Dragon King who lived just past that dune and was no doubt stomping his way toward them at that very moment.
Had to hold his sides to keep from falling over with laughter as they yelped and fairly dove for cover when he roared and pounced on their huddled, shaking mass at the story's end.
Tatooine's closest moon was nearly past the horizon when he and Qui-Gon began to say their goodnights. Anakin embraced him tightly, whispering that he wished that Obi-Wan would stay forever and never leave.
"I am just around the bend, young one. Besides, we all work for the illustrious Watto, don't we?" he said soothingly. "We will cross paths daily, I'm sure."
The boy pouted. "That's not the same. I want you to be here with us. Promise you'll come back and visit soon."
Obi-Wan laughed and hugged the boy hard in reply. "That's up to your mother, Anakin. 'Tis her home."
"Oh, yes. Please come back soon," said Shmi to both of them, but her eyes were fixed on Qui-Gon. "You are always welcome, at any time."
Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile at that, and a few moments later, turned to Qui-Gon as they were walking back to their quarters. "She's very pretty." Teasing.
"The child's mother? Yes, I'd dare say she is." Qui-Gon nodded.
"Beautiful even and she certainly had an eye for you."
"Is that so? I honestly didn't notice." Fond glance. "I was too busy appreciating a much more exquisite sight."
"And what sight was that, Master? The moon? Or that very bright star to the North? Or ..." Obi-Wan asked airily, still teasing.
Qui-Gon softly interrupted. "It was the love of my soul enjoying himself for the first time in what feels like a thousand years." Tender voice and Obi-Wan felt his heart start to race again when Qui-Gon slung an affectionate arm over his shoulder and kept it there as they made their way home.
The finished their journey in companionable silence as the first of Tatooine's four moons sunk beneath the horizon and the second one followed, stealing away the last bit of midnight sky.
The late and largely unlamented Senator from Takkar had been fed to some sort of beast and his bones returned by the Hutt.
Looking through the window, across the square at the now empty Senate building, Yoda snorted. He had warned the Supreme Chancellor that the Hutt was unlikely to welcome any grant of governorship to a planet he already essentially governed. The Chancellor had merely smiled and sent the Takkarese anyway, which led Yoda to wonder if that had been the aim all along.
The Republic was rotting away from the center, like a piece of enka fruit gone bad; the Chancellor had struck swiftly following the return of Takkarese bones and the subsequent attempt of Takkar to secede. Even now, a Republic force was occupying Takkar, and the Senators had mostly fled, except for those few who raised voices to call for the Chancellor to take centralized power.
"The Emperor will see you now, Master Yoda." An obsequious functionary stood in the doorway behind Yoda.
He nodded, leaned heavily on his stick as he followed the woman slowly through the corridors.
Palpatine came forward to greet him. "Old friend," he murmured and bent to take one of Yoda's hand between his own. "Thank you for coming."
Yoda nodded. "Came as soon as possible, I did."
Palpatine's expression was grave. "Andelus has joined the rebels, and there are rumors that Aldebaran is next. I'm afraid we must face the fact that civil war has broken out."
Yoda bowed his head. "Strong, you must be. An example of the rebels, you need."
"Yes, I agree." Still grave. "And worse, I have poor news to repay you for your help and advice, Master Yoda. Wreckage has been found in the Ganelan sector. Wreckage that appears to be that of one of the ships which lifted off Coruscant with the children from the creche. There were no bodies found, but the navigation console was destroyed, the technicians were not able to discover where the ships were bound."
One of Yoda's ears tipped downward, he reached out with his mind, tasting the Force, could find no sense of the children. But then, he had not known many of the latest crop, there was no resonance there for him to follow. "Found they must be." The civil war was disrupting the effort to refill the creche, and the division in the Order had spread; Takkar's temple had been destroyed, and the Jedi there gone rogue, fled further away from Coruscant into space. That creche, too, must be recovered before the children were hopelessly corrupted by Darkness.
"I agree." Palpatine's voice was still soft.
Looking up, Yoda frowned at him, tested the living Force which seemed stronger around Palpatine today. "Sensitive to the Force, you are."
Palpatine blinked at him, taken aback. "Perhaps a bit, Master Yoda. But my parents had plans for me, I was never tested."
Perhaps that explained what he felt today. And surely it was to the good, it would make Palpatine stronger still, this sensitivity.
"Come, old friend, let me arrange for some tea. We will talk of Andelus and the wisest methods for dealing with this rebellion before the entire empire is torn apart."
Yoda's ear twitched again. Empire, he thought and frowned. Well, the Republic was rotten, there was no gainsaying that. Empire, though--still, a strong man was needed at the helm, a strong man with powers greater than a chancellor, supreme or not, could command.
Nevertheless, Palpatine had taken too great a liking for the words of emperor and empire.
He was beginning to think that Palpatine might likewise bear watching.
He intended to watch very closely.
It was less than a fortnight later when Obi-Wan came to the heady conclusion that the time for hesitation between he and Qui-Gon was long past.
They'd spent every night wrapped together beneath warm blankets, fending off the chill of the midnight desert air. Qui-Gon had been the soul of honor during that time, delicate with care, never bestowing more than a chaste goodnight or good morning kiss upon Obi-Wan's forehead, followed by the occasional embrace, tender, warm and far too short.
But that was all going to end, Obi-Wan thought giddily one bright morning, watching as Tatooine's twin suns rose in the eastern sky. He wanted him, no more questions asked. Wanted to embrace and be embraced, wanted harsh kisses and soft caresses. Wanted to explore, to be explored, to give, to take -- to become lost in Qui-Gon's desire.
To become lost within his own.
The joy bubbled up in waves. To be able to feel desire again, true desire, the sort that made him shiver within its heat was a wondrous thing.
He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
Obi-Wan didn't want to question it too closely. Now was the time to simply enjoy, to revel in the sensation. It was hard not to smile, hard to keep his hands from trembling as he tinkered blindly with the components on his workbench later that morning.
The broad line of Qui-Gon's shoulders was distracting him in the most delightful way. Obi-Wan found himself imagining what it might feel like to be wrapped tightly within those arms, his Master's warm weight pressing down atop him, soft lips and roving mouth doing unimaginably wonderful things to him while he writhed beneath.
Bit back another shaky smile, especially when Qui-Gon turned and peered at him with a quizzical expression, one that slowly melted into a knowing grin. But he went back to his work, appearing for all the world completely absorbed in the task at hand.
The happiness between them was electric. Every movement resonated throughout the workshop and if any Force sensitives had happened upon them at that moment he'd be certain they'd have walked away with a smile on their face.
Finally, Qui-Gon rose and stretched his arms languorously, nodding toward their living quarters. "I'm going to be completely decadent this evening and take a hot shower," he proclaimed firmly. "I'm thoroughly sick of sonics."
Obi-Wan nodded. Swallowed hard past a dry throat. "That sounds good." Indeed it did.
"Close up for us?" Qui-Gon asked with a smile.
"Done," Obi-Wan replied, nearly falling off his stool in his haste to shut down shop and turn on the force fields that protected their business from predators of all species.
He heard the shower turn on and taking a deep, steadying breath, he followed his Master to the back quarters. The light waterproof shield was drawn and he hesitated only for a moment before pulling off his tunic, followed by his boots, then his leggings. Took another long inhale before simply drawing the shield aside and entering the shower, stepping carefully beneath the hot spray.
Found himself greeted with such a look of surprise, joy and heady desire that he almost wished for a holocapture as so to keep it for always. He smiled shyly in return and admired the sleek strong body before him with sun-bronzed skin shining iridescently.
He stood there for what seemed an eternity, unsure, but quickly melted into the tentative kisses that covered his face, his eyelids . . . the corners of his mouth. He was soon groaning with frustration, aching with need and tried to capture Qui-Gon's lips with his own only to be sidestepped, frustrated in his attempts.
He peered up through the steam, captured Qui-Gon's face between his hands and the look of fear in his lover's eyes nearly undid him.
"Please, Obi-Wan." Hoarsely. "You have to tell me now that this is what you want because if we continue this much longer, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."
Obi-Wan caressed the faintly stubbled cheek with a trembling hand. "This is what I want. He hesitated. "No, wait. This isn't what I want. This is what I need, what I must have. I need you Qui-Gon. I need you now, more than I've needed anything in my life." Another caress, this one tracing its way down the broad chest. "So don't you dare stop. Not now -- not ever again."
Heard a soft groan and Obi-Wan felt himself pushed back against the tiles, warm against his back. The soft lips and roving mouth he'd imagined were everywhere and he moaned, burying his fingers in the wet tangle of Qui-Gon's hair. Felt soap-slicked hands run down his chest and hips, teeth nipping at his collarbone, then worrying his nipples until he wanted to cry out with pleasure, even pull away at the sheer ecstasy of it all.
He was so hard he ached and he tried to wriggle out from Qui-Gon's grasp, desperate to reciprocate but his Master was having none of it. He finally gave in and let himself be cleansed beneath the cloudburst of kisses, arching into them, drinking them in like a deluge of water in what was once a desert. Cried out when Qui-Gon knelt in front of him and took him in and he soon felt nothing but the wet silk and heat that enveloped him.
Control abandoned him and he let himself go, closing his eyes and thrusting blindly even as the hot spray above turned cool, then cold against his eyelids. He was lost in a desert rainstorm he thought wildly, hopelessly lost with only the promise of blossoming life to come keeping him tethered to reality.
He came with a loud cry and his knees finally gave out as he slid down the shower wall, crumbling into Qui-Gon's arms. He felt kisses against shoulder, too many to count and warm water drip down his cheek, warm and salty, burning his lips, then being washed away by the cold spray above.
Looked into bright eyes, too bright in the soft lighting and his breath caught at the love that shone from them. Whatever may come ... whatever may follow he wanted to cry out, but the words refused to come. Instead he buried his face against Qui-Gon's neck and stayed there even when nothing was left but the warmth of the body next to him and the cleansing love that had finally set him free.
The reality of making love to Obi-Wan was surely more glorious, more joyful than any of the scant imaginings Qui-Gon had allowed himself. Still aching with his own need, he kissed Obi-Wan's mouth, his cheek, his eyelids, a hundred kisses that still didn't slake his desire to touch, to please.
He'd been given the grace of a second chance, he told himself and kissed Obi-Wan's throat, nuzzled it. "How I love you."
Obi-Wan's fingers twined in his hair, tugged his face back for another kiss. "Your turn." Huskily.
He laughed softly, took the kiss and gave another. "Soon," he promised them both, kissed and licked the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat and got a small whimper of delight. Ran his thumbs over pale rose nipples that hardened to his touch, admired the lines of muscle, the proof of newly regained health. The compact body was . . . lovely, he kissed a spot between those nipples, nuzzled it. "You are so beautiful to me, beloved." Kissed the shallow cup of navel, the flat plane of hip, the seam where Obi-Wan's thighs joined his body.
Thanks be for the water recycler, he thought distantly, he could worship to his heart's content. Obi-Wan's shaft was still slightly thickened, it rose to his kiss and his Obi-Wan groaned, fingers tightening. "My turn, I want to touch you, my master."
"Qui," he murmured against warm skin and leaned up, kissed Obi-Wan's mouth luxuriously, felt strong arms pull him closer. He stood, lifting Obi-Wan with him, bent slightly and scooped an arm under Obi-Wan's legs.
Obi-Wan laughed in delight, warm breath against his mouth. "The water--"
Obligingly, and without breaking away from the kiss, he turned, allowed Obi-Wan to cut the tap, stepped out.
"I want to taste you everywhere," Obi-Wan murmured into his mouth.
He nearly stumbled, paused for a moment before moving toward the bed they shared.
When they reached the bed, he tumbled them both down, was freshly aroused and delighted by Obi-Wan's throaty chuckle. Obi-Wan wriggled from beneath him, turning the tables, straddled him and looked down, gazed heated, mouth still curved in a smile. "You're the one who's beautiful." A kiss on his throat and he lifted his chin, put his fingers on the sweet nape of Obi-Wan's neck, sighing in pleasure.
"Here," Obi-Wan murmured, "And here," another kiss further down the curve of his shoulder, "And here," teeth grazing one of his nipples and he felt the jolt to the base of his spine, growled and put an arm around Obi-Wan's waist, tried to pull him up for another kiss.
Obi-Wan resisted, nibbled at the other nipple, kissed the center of his chest. "And here." Moving down, and his arousal pressed hard against a slim thigh and abruptly he surrendered, letting Obi-Wan do what he willed.
"That's better." Approving tone, husky voice and Obi-Wan smiled at him in a way that made his breath catch. "I've wanted this so long."
"Oh, love," he whispered and arched up, leaned his head up for a brief kiss before Obi-Wan's explorations continued.
Heated skin against skin, and gods, he had wanted it too, had not allowed himself to think of it in recent cycles, too afraid of interrupting the obvious healing. Soft hair under his fingertips, getting long and longer, but the undone lock of hair, no longer worn in a braid, trailed down Obi-Wan's shoulder, tickled his belly.
So beautiful, and a warm mouth closed over him, he cried out softly, forcing himself not to arch up too hard; Obi-Wan's fingers trailed along his inner thighs and upward, cupped him with one hand while gripping the base of his shaft with the other, a silky tongue stroked his tip, pushing the foreskin back and gods, he was not going to last long, tried to pull Obi-Wan up.
Stubborn padawan that he was, Obi-Wan would not obey, and the intensity of his caresses increased, lips and tongue and fingertips. He gave up trying to warn, gripped the bedclothes tightly as pleasure overwhelmed him, roared out his joy as colors sparkled behind his eyelids.
Obi-Wan's mouth gentled, slow gentle licking and sucking and gods, he was still throbbing, still shuddering. This time he insisted, pulled Obi-Wan up into his arms, took a deep, luxurious kiss again, tasted himself. "You," he murmured, still a little breathless, "Gods, I don't deserve you."
Sweet smile. "You deserve better."
He pretended to swat the curve of buttocks. "That's enough of that." Smiling, and he got another throaty chuckle, Obi-Wan burrowed into his embrace happily.
More kisses and he felt languid in a way he hadn't felt in what seemed decades. Sated, but still needful of contact, and Obi-Wan clearly shared that, they lay tangled together like children, lazy and happy, laughing at nothing at all, sharing kisses that were all the more dear for having been postponed.
At length, Obi-Wan sat up cross-legged, beamed at him. "We need to eat something."
Qui-Gon chuckled, smoothed fingertips over the inside of one slim thigh. "I know what I'd like."
A grin and a blush. "I mean food."
He pretended to consider. "Let's see what we have that's cold."
Obi-Wan grinned again. "Not us, that's for certain."
"I'm nearly twice your age," he teased, "It may take me a while to warm again."
"I'll wait." Another pleased blush and Obi-Wan got off the bed, held out a hand.
All he had hoped for and wanted, he thought distantly and took the hand. He'd been given a second chance. He didn't intend to lose it.
The Gestar fighter had been doing poorly for the last three rounds, and Watto was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy.
Uneasy was probably an understatement. His belly was hurting, and he kept accidentally banging on the top of the dwarf's head in his growing despair.
Since the dwarf was also one of the strongest men in the box they shared, this was dangerous, and he had the mottling to prove it.
It had seemed like such a sure thing when he'd placed his bet, he told himself, watching with growing nausea as the Gestar reeled backwards under the onslaught of naturally armored fists. The Gestar were among the galaxies most easily enraged sentient species, the best berserkers to have on one's side in a brawl, and the most dangerous to face.
Except, perhaps, for the Razzoor.
A member of which race was now pounding the life out of the sadly depleted berserker.
Why the hell hadn't the Gestar's handler given him quinir? A good dose of quinir could turn a Herresian zrakethi into an enraged warrior. He could only imagine the effect it would have on a Gestar.
Maybe the Razzoor's handler had discovered the benefits of quinir.
It was one explanation, but explanations didn't matter.
What mattered was that he'd bet far more than he could afford to pay. He could only pray that he could stall Jabba the Hutt long enough to sell whatever liquid assets he could scrounge.
The Gestar stumbled back and the Razzoor's fists impacted with both the Gestar's windpipes, instantly crushing them.
Watto moaned and fluttered. He had to figure out a way to manage this. Had to.
He'd start by selling the boy and his mother.
Making his way out of the stands, he ducked beneath them to avoid the gaze of any of the Hutt's enforcers; with a little luck and natural cunning he managed to get away from the arena before he was discovered.
Yes, that was the ticket, he'd sell the boy and his mother in the morning. Offer that sum as earnest money.
He only hoped it would work.
They nibbled on cold fowl and bread and jelva slices, a tray on the bed between them, both as bare as the day they were born. Qui-Gon's appetite was scant, to be sure, but he kept Obi-Wan company, feasting more on Obi-Wan's clear happiness than on the food itself. At length, when Obi-Wan sprawled back on the pillows, he moved the tray to the floor, leaned over and kissed the inside of Obi-Wan's thigh.
Light fingers in his hair, carding it, a comfortable sigh. "Oh, that feels good."
"Good." He leaned further, lifted the quiescent shaft and closed his lips over the tip. Wide eyes and a gasp, almost a whimper and Obi-Wan surrendered to him, small sounds of pleasure and surprise. The flesh in his mouth thickened, firmed, and he felt his own body respond in kind. It was going to take longer for both of them this time; he was content with that, let the swollen shaft slide from his mouth after a time and moved lower, stroking his tongue over the crumpled velvet of the flesh below.
He still didn't know if Obi-Wan had been a virgin when Maul had raped him; it didn't matter. Whether he was showing Obi-Wan for the first time, or merely reminding Obi-Wan, it was important to him to give pleasure, the maximum pleasure, and not merely for Obi-Wan's sake. He wanted to eradicate the memory of his own helplessness, of his fury and arousal while watching; he wanted to feel Obi-Wan melt with desire and joy, wanted Obi-Wan to catch fire for him, really for him and not for imaginings used to get through something terrible.
To that end, he used his lips and fingertips to the best of his knowledge and skill until Obi-Wan, whimpering, pushed him back, kissed his mouth hard, nipping at his lower lip, driven to incoherent murmuring. He let himself fall back, tugged Obi-Wan atop him, kissed back, worried the downy lobe of an ear very lightly with his teeth.
"I want you inside of me." A little breathlessly. "I do, Qui."
He went still for a moment, cupped Obi-Wan's face one-handed. "Are you sure, love?" Soberly.
"I need you inside of me," Obi-Wan amended hoarsely. "Please?"
It felt as if he were standing in a desert wind, hot against his skin. "On one condition," he murmured, "And only one, Obi-Wan. That you must tell me to stop if anything hurts, or if it stirs any sorrow in you."
Obi-Wan licked his lips, turned his head and kissed Qui-Gon's palm. "I swear it." Softly.
He kissed warm lips, shifted away and off the bed. There was gel in the cupboard, he had it for Obi-Wan's fair skin, protection against the dual suns of Tatooine. It would serve another purpose tonight. He took a towel from the lower shelf, returned to the bed and stretched out, tugged Obi-Wan so they were facing one another. "Will you trust me, love?" Softly, smiling, rubbing a thumb over Obi-Wan's lower lip.
"With my life," Obi-Wan murmured and squirmed closer.
He lifted Obi-Wan's uppermost leg over his hip, stroked the curve of buttock lovingly. "Put your hands up, love," he whispered and reached within, extended a tendril of force and loosely wrapped it around Obi-Wan's wrists. "This is all for you, you must tell me if anything displeases."
Obi-Wan shivered. "I will."
He smoothed his palm across the underside of the raised thigh, shifted his hand to stroke Obi-Wan's hip. "I want to make you feel so very good," he murmured and reached down between them, teased the rampant shaft. "So you have to tell me."
Obi-Wan shifted, flexed against him. "I will." Breathlessly. "Oh, I will."
He smiled, took another kiss and reached for another tendril of Force, coiled it around Obi-Wan's shaft, a steady, firm grip. Small gasp, eyes that widened, and the slightest curve to Obi-Wan's mouth. "Is this why you keep drilling me on the Living Force?" Huskily.
He laughed softly, squeezed some gel out onto his fingers, stroked it over the ring of muscle, so exposed to him. "Well, it wasn't the precise reason, but surely, it's something rather enjoyable."
"Oh, yes." A shiver, and Obi-Wan arched up against him, against the Force. "Oh, gods--" Small hiss. "That feels good." Faintly.
He kissed Obi-Wan's mouth, his jaw, squeezed out more gel and stroked it in, sliding just the tip of his finger in and out, letting Obi-Wan become accustomed. More squirming, entirely satisfactory, and Obi-Wan's kisses grew hungrier, more needful.
Tight, oh, so tight, even with the conscious desire to relax--he added more gel, let his finger slide in more deeply, seeking the small spot, pressed against it lightly and got a gasp. "Gods!"
He went still. "All right?"
"Gods." Obi-Wan squirmed, bit his chin lightly. "Very all right."
He laughed softly again, nipped back and dipped his head to suck at one nipple, it hardened further against his tongue. A whimper escaped Obi-Wan's throat, slim hips moved involuntarily, the more so when he stroked inside again. "Oh, gods!" Tightly.
"Tell me," he murmured and moved to the other nipple.
"Oh, I can't--it's good, so good." Squirming again, small gasps. "I didn't think--Qui-Gon, please!"
"Shhhh," he murmured, warm breath making the nipple tighten further. Added more gel to his fingers and began to work the second finger in very slowly and carefully. "I'm getting you ready, love, so it's pleasurable for both of us. That's the idea, no?" Huskily.
A whimper was his only answer, and Obi-Wan pushed down against his fingers, arched forward against the Force that gripped his shaft.
"I want it to feel good for you, love," he murmured and nipped at the curve of shoulder and neck. "I want it to feel better than good."
"It does." Faintly and Obi-Wan's wrists moved. "Oh, gods, it does."
Both fingers inside, and he stroked them in and out slowly, until Obi-Wan's head fell back, exposing his throat. He leaned in and kissed that lovely throat, sucked gently at it, nipped, all the while moving his fingers steadily, slowly, in and out, stroking the pleasure zone with gradually increasing pressure.
Obi-Wan moved more frantically, trying to hurry the pace, finally whimpered again. "I'm going to--please, Qui."
"Shhhh," he whispered. "Slowly, love."
"I can't," Obi-Wan whimpered. "Oh, please."
"Shhh." But he kissed Obi-Wan's throat again, slowly moved his fingers out, wiped them on the towel and eased Obi-Wan to his back. "Are your hands all right, love?" Huskily, aching with need of his own. Obi-Wan's face was luminous, taut with desire; the slim body undulated for him, hips arching upward.
"Yessss, oh, please, do it." Obi-Wan licked his lips again, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth swollen from kisses. "Please!"
"Yes, yes," he murmured and knelt between Obi-Wan's legs, bent to take the straining shaft in his mouth. Sucked it gently, not wanting to push Obi-Wan over the edge yet, stroked the slim thighs and lifted each leg over his shoulders. Sliding his hands under Obi-Wan's buttocks, he lifted, sucked again and Obi-Wan twisted beneath him, moaning, making wordless pleading sounds.
Drawing back, he looked down at what he had wrought, felt a wave of heat. "Yes, love." Guiding himself, he pushed in, felt the tip of his shaft clasped and held.
Obi-Wan cried out and he stilled immediately.
Waited until Obi-Wan groaned and arched again, pushed forward, letting his hands pull Obi-Wan onto him. For a moment, all capacity for thought was obliterated, the pleasure was so intense. He let the intensity of sensation flow along their link, heard a strangled cry and Obi-Wan surged up to meet his thrust. Heat and gods, tightness and his Obi-Wan and he moved slowly, carefully, remembering to manipulate Force so that Obi-Wan arched into that clasp as well. He stroked every bit of skin that he could reach, felt the pleasure spiraling upward, reached further and felt Obi-Wan's pleasure with relief. "Is that good," he whispered, slowly moving his hips.
"You're killing me!" The legs tightened over his shoulders. "Oh, gods, Qui-Gon, it's so good!"
His skin was burning, his mind was burning, he turned his head, kissed the inside of one knee and heard Obi-Wan groan again, felt the flesh that sheathed him tighten.
Slow, slow, he told himself, but despite that caution, they both moved more quickly, hips thrusting harder, faster, and he kept stroking, kept touching, felt Obi-Wan's climax approaching with his own, along the link, which he had not expected. There were things, it seemed, that even a Jedi master might learn -- and that amazement was what tipped him over the edge.
He cried out, a roar of joy and, perhaps, victory, though not over Obi-Wan. Over himself, perhaps, but he wasn't capable of thinking of that.
Obi-Wan's wrists moved again, he cried out sharply, arching upward, and there was something hot and slippery pulsing between them. He could almost have sworn that he came again, just from that, and Obi-Wan cried out again, joy and pleasure, ecstasy and delight.
He couldn't stop moving, but he slowed, gasping, realized that he was dripping with sweat, that both of them were shiny with it. So lovely, so lovely and hot and gods, he let Obi-Wan's legs slip down, leaned over his lover, resting on his arms, kissed that lovely mouth and released the Force that clasped and gripped. Obi-Wan's arms twined around his neck, the answering kiss was luxurious, sated.
"Are you all right?" Softly, needing to hear it, despite the sensations that still sparked through their link.
"Are you mad?" Almost a comical tone, if not for the languid look, the puffy mouth. "Of course I'm all right."
He laughed softly. "But I needed to hear it, love."
A warm armful and Obi-Wan wriggled beneath him. "Now you know." Huskily. "Gods, that was wonderful."
"Was it what you needed?" Softly and he took another kiss.
A luminous smile. "Oh, absolutely." Mischief briefly sparked in Obi-Wan's expression. "Can we do it again?"
He laughed, put his face in Obi-Wan's throat and laughed harder. "Tomorrow," he finally managed. "I am almost twice your age, my beloved. There's a distinct disadvantage to having an older lover."
"Ah, but the advantages..." Droll tone.
He took another kiss, and then another, before reluctantly moving back to withdraw.
Obi-Wan sighed, but not unhappily, promptly pulled him back down.
He chuckled against warm skin. "It's a good thing you turned off the water, love, because we need another shower."
"Sounds wonderful." Lazy voice, wicked grin. "Tomorrow?"
He grinned back. "Tomorrow. That I can promise you."
"Then I won't pounce on you again tonight." Sober look and a long kiss. "I love you."
"And I you." Softly. "Never doubt it, love, I beg of you. I may not always be the wisest, but I am mortally certain that I love you more dearly than my life."
Long look, and then a blush. "Let's go shower."
Not quite the unselfconscious padawan he had once known, but then, their relationship had changed rather drastically.
Watching as Obi-Wan led the way back to the shower, he rather hoped he would be forgiven for thinking smugly that it had been a change for the better.
The morning was brighter, which was all in Qui-Gon's perception, he knew. It wasn't merely the physical satisfaction, it was everything. Obi-Wan--Obi-Wan had more than taken him by surprise, Obi-Wan had given him a priceless gift, the sight of his desire and joy and need.
He had feared he would never see it. That he would never have the opportunity to lavish physical affection on Obi-Wan, never have his heart's desire.
He walked over to Watto's shop, the hovercarry behind him loaded with the latest repairs, feeling lighter hearted than he had in what seemed an eternity. He'd gotten the warmest kiss before leaving, a look from those changeable eyes that promised a great deal once the day's work was finished, and a grin that held some of the mischief he had feared forever quenched.
It was a pity that Watto seemed not be having quite as good a day.
"I cannot pay you today," Watto told him nervously. "I have a little cash flow problem."
Qui-Gon frowned forbiddingly, even though at present they were still well provided for, between the fact that a few other dealers had also sent a few commissions his way and the cache of liquid capital left from the abbot's gift to him. "I thought we agreed that payment on delivery was the desired method of payment," he told Watto, his tone silky. "You insisted upon it, as I recall--I would have preferred advance payment."
If Watto had been humanoid, he would have been sweating. "Just a temporary problem," he told Qui-Gon nervously, fluttering a little. "I swear it, Quinn. If you like, you can hold those goods--" The door opened behind Qui-Gon and Watto looked that way, actually went a shade paler.
Turning his head, Qui-Gon saw two of the Hutt's enforcers. So, the wind came from that quarter, he thought, appalled. "No, I think that's unnecessary," he murmured and keyed the hovercarry to land. "I'll stop back tomorrow."
The enforcers took up position on either side of the door, eyeing him as he approached. He nodded politely--it didn't do to forget courtesy with the Hutt's private army, not unless one wanted to lose a few litres of blood and perhaps a few limbs--and went out, felt the skin on the back of his neck prickling.
Anakin hadn't been in the shop, he realized and wondered about that small blessing. If there was going to be violence done, at least the boy was somewhere else. He kept an eye on the lane as he walked away from the shop, heard a sharp cry from within and kept walking.
Watto's not so secret vice was gambling. He bet lavishly on the pod races, private and public bets, and Qui-Gon was willing to hazard the guess that Watto had lost and lost badly. Hence the cash flow problem and the enforcers in his shop.
It was damned fortunate that this last commission had been fairly trivial, requiring little outlay on his part, so the loss of payment was small.
He didn't see Anakin, even though he turned toward the small house the boy shared with his mother, and as he approached he felt a wave of disturbance in the Force.
It froze him for a moment, he reached along the link he shared with Obi-Wan, but felt only the same unease he felt. In two long strides, he reached the door, found it had been smashed in. "Anakin!"
No answer. Kicking aside the shards of the door, he stepped in, felt the residue of fear and anger in the atmosphere, saw the broken dishes, the overturned table. "Anakin, it's Quinn!" Hoping against hope that the little boy was hidden. But there was no answer and his worry increased.
Hurrying back to his own quarters, he tried to assure himself that slaves were valuable, that the boy and his mother might be sold, but not harmed. Mentally calculated their financial surplus, wondering what the asking price might be.
Prayed that he would be in time.
Watto trembled before Jabba the Hutt, nearly incoherent with terror. "You do not have enough to pay me," Jabba told him and shifted his massive body slightly. "Not in your shop, not with all your goods. Unwise."
"But give me time," he whined, or tried to. The words came out choked and thick, and they had pinioned his wings, the pain was agonizing. "I will repay you."
Dispassionate eyes, each the size of his head, gazed at him. "Yes, you will." And then that awful laughter.
He shivered convulsively, praying that it wasn't what he feared, but as they began to drag him toward the center of the floor, he knew.
There was a struggle at the back of the room and the brat was dragged forward bound and gagged.
Somewhere farther back, his mother screamed, screamed and went silent with a strangled sound.
He shrank into himself, only glad that it wasn't him. They were slaves, only slaves.
"Your shop will be destroyed." Jabba watched incuriously as others among his entourage worked to drag a huge brass container filled with glowing coal to one side of the room. "Your goods will be destroyed. Your slaves will be destroyed." The eyes came back to him and he shuddered. "You will be destroyed."
Shmi Skywalker was dragged out before Jabba, her eyes wide and staring, her skin pallid with shock.
With horror, Watto realized that they had used razcuffs on her, that she had struggled. Very little blood, but her hands were gone and the only sounds she made were tongueless, terrified gabblings.
Anakin's struggles renewed when he saw his mother, but to no avail, he was swiftly controlled, fastened to a metal rod that was hoisted over the firebowl.
Bowing his head, Watto prayed to all the gods of his ancestors, and to any others he had encountered in his travels through the galaxy. Please, please, please, let him be spared, let this all be a part of instilling fear in him, please, please, please....
He closed his eyes when Shmi was thrown, spreadeagle, to the floor in front of Jabba, shut out the sounds Anakin began to make, shut out the other sounds as Shmi was mounted by the first of Jabba's thugs.
He shut everything out but his prayers, but even those failed him. As the smell of roasting flesh grew stronger, the floor beneath his feet began to open, and he could not lift himself, fell helplessly into what he knew was certain death.
It seemed as if his cash flow problem was going to be solved after all.
Obi-Wan had felt the boy's anguish; it screamed out to him through the Force searing hot, slicing past his shields straight into his soul. It shocked him, the sheer ferocity of it and he reached out, trying ... trying to absorb some of it, trying to locate its source, trying to do anything, anything at all.
Closing his eyes, he felt for the child through the Force, in desperation he stepped past the Light into the Gray. It was an ancient, forbidden place, too close to the Dark for comfort, but he refused to feel fear. Refused the accept the recriminations of the teachings that had kept him tethered to their falsehoods for far too long.
For he, as his beloved Master before him, was Jedi no more.
Instead he held onto the words of the Abbot who bade him not to think of the Force in terms of Light or Dark, black or white, Good and Evil. It was the presumptuousness of an ancient and sickly Order that would kill him in the end, not the Dark Side as he'd been warned.
Hadn't Yoda proved that to them all?
Stumbling blindly he made his way past the miasmata of the boy's torment and threw a despairing line out to the child's soul. Grasped it, tethered it to his side through the Force and felt the pain on the other end disappear ... evaporate, dispersed into the Grayness, this horror that would not have been accepted by the Light.
But in the end, Obi-Wan knew it was useless. Too intense, and the spark of life was gone all too soon. But with that fading spark came a new revelation.
That he alone among the Jedi had stood within the center of the Gray.
And survived.
Slowly, the Force mists faded and Obi-Wan found himself peering into the dull light of his and Qui-Gon's shelter. Felt his Master's presence beside him; his cleansing, healing immediacy surrounding him. He turned, looked up into the dark blue eyes, wide with worry, then with wonder at what Obi-Wan knew he must have seen in return.
"Padawan," his Master breathed. "What ... what ..."
"The child is dead." Dull voice, almost an echo of itself, seemingly coming from a far away place. "But, yet ... yet ... " He rose abruptly. "We must leave this place Qui-Gon, and quickly. Something has happened and I understand so very much now. But this ... this is not the place for it. I've seen our Path and we cannot fail." Turning, Obi-Wan gently caressed the frost threaded beard. "It is all right, love. I have not lost my mind, no it is just the opposite. I have finally come to my senses."
"Obi-Wan ..." His name sounded as a warning.
"It is all right, beloved. We are ready to make our Journey," he insisted gathering his robes, feeling strangely light, as if he were walking a few inches above the sandy ground. "Except for one thing we must take care of ..."
"And that would be?"
A howling tendril of rage spiked within Obi-Wan and he securely leashed it to his soul, absorbing it with an astonishing ease. Let it speak through his voice and through his eyes. "We must first pay a visit to our friend the Hutt."
Chapter Twelve: Serenus
A glimmer of peace
The look of surprise was forever imprinted on the dead creature's face.
Huge eyes, a slackjaw mouth, even a bit of a furrow creased into his forehead conspired to give him a dubious look of incredulity. Dead, I can't be dead he seemed to be insisting, but the lack of a living body below his neckline said otherwise.
Yes, Jabba The Hutt's cook was dead and his head had been placed neatly in the center of the dish that had most offended the great tyrant of Tatooine. The fried wjkaiw seemed harmless enough, but as soon as the loud belch had echoed past the main chamber into the kitchen, the cook's fate had been sealed.
Along with all of his assistants.
The heavy lidded gaze of the Hutt traveled away from the pallid countenance of his late chef and took in the rest of his court. Scantily clad dancers were gyrating for their lives as hardened criminals of every species drank, fought or simply brooded in darkened corners, huddled and in hiding, not only from the reach of authority, but from the giant, bloated presence that overshadowed them all with the darkness of pure malevolence.
A few no doubt wondered if they might be safer imprisoned in Tatooine's infamous labor camps, working the burning moisture fields of the Lower Wastes until it either rained or they dropped dead, but for the most part, they took their chances in serving the Hutt -- as mercenaries, bodyguards and, on more than one occasion, paid assassins.
They were an ugly, dangerous bunch, and Jabba was well pleased with them. And when he ceased being pleased with them . . . well, there were plenty more where they came from.
His aide-de-camp, a slender creature with the unlikely name of Bilo Milo entered and bowed low before him. "Mighty Jabba, there are two humans at the door requesting audience with Your Excellency. Shall I send them away or have them killed?"
Jabba pondered for a moment before lazily lifting a blubbery thumb and tilting it downward.
"It is done Your Excellency." Bilo motioned to a pair of assassins and they silently followed him out the palace courtroom.
A moment later there was the sound of a furious battle and blaster fire followed by a shrill scream. The sour smell of burnt flesh wafted through the court and there was a moment of silent dread, before a raucous bout of laughter rang out.
The laughter quickly ceased when Bilo returned, not with the thugs he'd left with, but with two cloaked men flanking him on each side. He looked dazed, and stumbled up to Jabba's throne with a bewildered expression outlining his features.
"These are the two gentlemen I spoke to you of, Your Excellency. I brought them in, just as you requested." Hazy, confused tones.
Jabba's lip curled dangerously. [Idiot . . . ] he hissed in his native Huttese. He glared at Bilo, then turned his gaze to the two men, his ire growing when they loosened their cloaks and he spied the lightsabers hanging from their belts.
Jedi.
Jabba felt a distinct stab of indigestion roil through his belly at the sight of them. He hated Jedi, no, loathed them would be a better word. The Huttese were naturally Force sensitive beings, able to detect this strange power in others, but for some reason unable to wield it for their own gain. Some scientists had blamed it on a peculiarity in their genetic make up, but the Jabba was more inclined to believe it was a full-fledged conspiracy of these Jedi and their ilk to rob them of their rightful place. . . as rulers of the galaxy and beyond.
He glared at the pair, an older one who hung back, characteristically stone faced and a young one who stood brazenly before him, possessed with an insulting lack of fear.
The young Jedi's voice was low, but his contempt was barely disguised. "Your welcome leaves something to be desired, Mighty Jabba." The title was spat out and the young one's eyes were flashing.
His tone was one that Jabba had never heard before, at least not from a Jedi. It was nothing like the smooth diplomatic tones most Jedi employed during their "negotiations" with him, negotiations that had the bad luck to fail each and every time. The fools feared anger, that much Jabba knew, and it had always pleased him to enrage them right before they fell either to the blasters of his henchmen or into the jaws of his favorite pet, the hungry Rancor that lived beneath the courtroom floor.
But this one, this insolent little whelp of a Jedi seemed neither angry nor afraid. He was merely . . . insolent.
[Jedi scum,] Jabba rumbled in Huttese. [You have invited your own death by coming here as you are.]
The young Jedi shrugged, his eyes never leaving Jabba's. "Strange you should think so, since I was invited here by your actions. As for death, I would take care if I were you. It stands staring over your shoulder, not mine."
Jabba's eyes turned huge. [You will not be the first Jedi I have destroyed, fool. Nor will you be the last.] The Hutt's corpulent body was shaking with fury; folds quivering and undulating with sheer rage. His tail lashed out and hit Bilo Milo squarely in the stomach.
"You offend His Excellency," Bilo cried, his teeth chattering with fear.
The Jedi's gaze didn't waver. "He offends me." Disinterested voice. "He offends me greatly. He offends the air surrounding me; the mere sight of him offends me." Calm, deadly eyes. "Tell me something. This evening I heard a child crying out to me, crying out for me to help him, to save him from terrible anguish. You wouldn't happen to know where this child is, would you?" His frightful gaze swept the room. "Would any of you?"
The court was silent.
"It is as I thought. The stench of death fills this room, but it is a clean, welcome smell compared to that of the living filth that surrounds me." The young Jedi's face and bearing was composed, but something; something about him was different from any Jedi who'd ever stood in front of them before.
Something different . . . and dangerous.
Jabba's eyes narrowed. [Silence, Jedi scum,] he murmured via the Force.
The young Jedi smiled, a terrible smile, one that chilled the onlookers straight to the bone. "You will not silence me, Hutt. There was a child here, and while dead he may be, I can hear him calling to me still. His blood cries out to me; it cries out from the very walls and floor of this corrupt den you call your palace." A slight trembling crack in his voice. "And I will not ignore it.
[SILENCE!] roared the Hutt finally, motioning sharply with his bloated fist. The senior members of his entourage readied their weapons.
The young Jedi's mouth turned up, displaying that same deadly smile. "It is I who will silence you, not so Mighty Jabba -- your actions have inflamed within me a knowledge that nothing can withstand. Prepare yourself, for as you did not spare an innocent child and his mother, I will not spare you."
Jabba stared at him, enraged, and astonished at the Jedi's confident proclamation. In the distance he heard a faint echo of doors and window shields buzzing, then slamming shut, while further below, another door was slowly grinding open.
The young Jedi raised his hand in Jabba's direction. Closed his eyes and the room held its collective breath.
Nothing.
Jabba's rumbling, belching laughter could be heard echoing throughout the silent hall, and his courtiers began to join in, nervously at first, then loudly as the seconds ticked by without event.
But then . . . it began.
The Hutt's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head as he felt the terrible pressure within building. It was emanating from his core, squeezing, then expanding cruelly. He roiled in agony, his stunted arms flapping at his sides uselessly and he struggled against the Force driven power that was alternately constricting, then ripping him apart, making him feel as though he were being turned inside out.
Blue ichor dripped from Jabba's eyes, then spewed from the sides of his gaping mouth. He roared in anguish, gave off a final gasping wheeze of pain before he fell back against the oversized pillows that made up his throne, the bright Huttese blood dripping from every orifice.
Then, he merely, and horribly, exploded.
The young Jedi stumbled back, his arms raised, shielding himself from the offal. The elder caught him by the arm and dragged him away, past the shocked onlookers, so mesmerized with horror by the spectacle of Jabba's demise they seemed unable to move.
Until they heard the roar that emanated from the back scullery.
Panic erupted as a huge, razor-toothed Rancor invaded the hall, and Jabba's courtiers pounded uselessly at the shield-locked doors and windows, screaming for help.
The Rancor took its time picking through the howling wriggling masses of flesh, the bright bursts of laser fire merely infuriating him into a greater frenzy. The crazed, starving beast reached down and snapped blindly, devouring whatever was unfortunate enough to come directly into its path.
The departed chef's head was the first item on its menu.
But not the last.
Qui-Gon had counted on his ability to sense danger through the Force to cover him when he returned briefly to what had been their home for just a few months. He'd had little choice, really, there were things they needed there, and he'd hastily packed what he could carry, including what they had of cash.
He'd sent Obi-Wan to the ship, joined him quickly and found the younger man nearly sagging with exhaustion, had hastily prepared a pallet and urged Obi-Wan to rest.
Now, as he sat at the navigation console, there in the deeps of space, he considered their next destination. It was not an easy choice; they now had the dual problem of avoiding whatever was left of the Hutt's organization, as well as avoiding Republic territory and Jedi forces.
An old memory drifted across the back of his mind, looking for a place to settle, an old post mission briefing with Mace Windu, so many years past that he had to snatch after it and examine it closely.
A planet. Not Republic, and not Outer Rim, far from well-traveled ways. From their current position, it was a journey of at least seven ship's days; he thanked the Force that he had kept the ship ready for flight, despite the fact that they had not used it since their arrival. Supplies in plenty, and if he could remember the coordinates--even if he could not, he rather thought he could get close, given Mace Windu's description.
He did a few quick calculations, chewed at his lower lip for a moment, and then entered coordinates into the navcomp. Glanced back to see Obi-Wan still asleep and set the autopilot on before moving to sit at Obi-Wan's side.
He did not know what had happened, not really. Oh, he knew what had happened in the physical sense. Somehow, Obi-Wan had imploded Jabba the Hutt, had set the Rancor free to devour the Hutt's entourage.
He had not moved, had not spoken, had not done one thing to stop Obi-Wan. The stench of charred human flesh was too strong, sickening him, grieving him. And Shmi had been dead, her neck twisted at an odd angle. There had been no sign of Watto, which rather argued for the Rancor having already had a meal.
He had watched without protest, without any action whatsoever.
But he had sensed no taint of darkness. It was the in-between space, between the Light and the Dark sides that he felt, even though he could not truly access it.
His padawan was the Chosen One. His lover was the Chosen One. Reaching out, he touched Obi-Wan's cheek gently. "We are going to Qatur, my beloved," he whispered. "A place I have never seen. We shall have to be careful, but I believe we will be safe from both the Hutt and the Order."
Obi-Wan stirred, murmured in sleep. Not the immobility of a near coma, as he had seen on the journey to Tatooine, but natural sleep.
Energy must needs come from somewhere, and this had come from his Obi-Wan. And thus, Obi-Wan needed replenishment. He let his fingers touch the hair, now so very much longer than it had been in years. He would have to make sure that Obi-Wan ate heartily upon waking, to complete the replenishment, he thought vaguely and then grief struck him, grief for the child and the woman, who had been helpless against their fate.
Watching his lover sleep, he wept for them, wept for all of them.
The prophecy about the Chosen One was an old one; the trouble was that so many of the prophesied died at the hands of those who opposed them.
He wept silently until weariness assailed him and he lay down with Obi-Wan.
And then, at last, he slept.
The weight of his Master sleeping in his arms had been a welcome change, one that Obi-Wan had borne lightly for the past four nights in a row. Usually, it had been the other way around, with himself curled tightly in Qui-Gon's embrace, not willing to disentangle himself from the strong protection of his lover's arms.
But protection was no longer a thing he either craved or needed.
He was beside Qui-Gon because that is what he wanted -- wanted with his entire heart and soul. And this knowledge freed him, freed him to be generous with a strength that was purely his own and surround Qui-Gon with the safe haven of his embrace -- a warm place where he now could take his rest.
He kissed Qui-Gon's forehead, smoothed away a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto his cheek. How oddly fragile his Master looked while asleep, his features peaceful and much younger looking than his years would suggest.
Obi-Wan lay back and contemplated the serenity that filled him for the first time in months, perhaps for the first time in his life. His vision had opened a universe, one that he'd never imagined before, one that was uncharted and unknown, but strangely, he felt no fear. It was an inner world ripe for discovery, and he, along with his love would make the journey together . . . on the Path that had, for whatever reason, been laid at his feet.
That was perhaps the best part of all.
Obi-Wan knew that peace came at a price, usually a terrible one, but felt prepared. The road had been mapped out, mostly likely long before he was born and all that remained was to follow. And trust. Letting love be his guide.
He pressed another soft kiss against Qui-Gon's brow and closed his eyes, settling back into a dreamless, tranquil sleep, unhampered by visions, enhanced only with knowledge, determined to keep the man beside him as warm and as safe as he himself had so often been kept.
He was finally ready. For whatever may come . . . for whatever may follow.
The place they set down was like the Steppes country of Naringard, so very like, in fact, that Qui-Gon felt the faintest nostalgia for his times there.
"It's the right place," Obi-Wan murmured.
He'd been full of these cryptic utterances since Tatooine, Qui-Gon had found, and had learned to simply let be, to simply allow things to flow. What choice had he? Fear could not rule him, anymore than it could rule Obi-Wan, but his lover had found a delicate inner balance, there was no trace of fear at all in the changeable, lovely eyes.
He wished he could say the same for himself.
There were times, after lovemaking, that he had risen and gone to the small sanitary unit on their ship, stared at himself in the polished steel of the bulkhead and seen fear in his own eyes. Fear for Obi-Wan more than himself, but still, he was only human and he did not want to die.
Did not want to lose Obi-Wan to whatever fate the Force decreed.
Aside from the cryptic statements, Obi-Wan was quietly loving, occasionally subdued and grieving for the small boy who had been his friend, and for Shmi. He would not speak of Anakin, except on one ship's night after love, his head pillowed on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "He would have been very strong in the Force. I wonder if that's why Jabba had him killed instead of selling him."
Very softly, sorrowfully, and Qui-Gon's throat ached. "Perhaps. The Hutt was known to be able to detect those who could access the Force, beloved."
Gentle fingertips had moved on his chest, and then there was a brush of warm lips, but no further words about Anakin or his mother, none at all.
"The right place," he repeated. "Well, we're here, that's certain. I'd like to use the sensors, fine tune them to give us some idea of the terrain and the inhabitants."
Obi-Wan leaned against him, smiled solemnly. "I know where to go, Qui. We'll be fine."
His stomach roiled a little. Please, let him not lose Obi-Wan to this, please, he prayed. "Very well." Evenly. "I'll get our packs together."
"I'll help."
But even the smile that followed him did not ease his heart.
The rainy season was upon them, of that the old woman was sure.
She wrapped her gray cloak more tightly around her scant, bent frame and took another sip of hot tea, sighing as the liquid warmed the last bit of chill away. Gazed out of the window of her cell-like quarters, peering out over an endless expanse of dense forest, ancient and peaceful.
The hills of the lower valleys would soon be shrouded within a mist of water-bearing fog and indeed all of Qatur would be replenishing itself with the cleansing power of the falling rains, she thought with a satisfied smile. Qatur was unusual as it had but one constant temperate climate, except at the poles, and even they were warmer and more hospitable than those of many others.
If only she could say the same for the peoples who lived there.
She leaned back in her chair, and didn't move when a low knock sounded at the door of her chamber. Her lone attendant, a thin, nervous looking creature rose to answer it.
Returned to her mistress's side and leaned in closely, her voice low and respectful. "Sister Adaylia is here, my Mother. She wishes an audience."
The old woman nodded. "Let her show herself, as she is welcome."
A younger woman, also wearing a long gray cloak, emerged from the shadows. Bowed deeply to the crone before removing her hood and revealing dark hair shorn to the scalp, her face pale with exhaustion.
The old woman acknowledged her with a small gesture. "How now, Daughter? What news of our young guests?"
"The children are settled for the night, my Mother. I'm sorry to report that our task grows more difficult as the days pass. The little ones cry incessantly for their keepers at The Temple and the older ones are growing suspicious and secretive. The young men in particular are becoming bolder... rebellious. We may soon have our hands full."
The old woman tapped her fingers against the chair arm, her gaze wandering back to the shaded forest outside.
"I don't know how long this can last, my Mother, especially taking into account our situation which is, as you know, precarious to begin with."
The crone shrugged. "We shall persevere as long as we must, Daughter. But, take heart -- in truth I don't think we will have to wait much longer." Another sip of tea. "Did you feel it this evening?"
The younger woman's brow furrowed. She shook her head, puzzled. "It, my Mother? No. I ... I felt nothing unusual. Should I have?"
The old woman chuckled. "There was a great disturbance in the Force, child. Surely you couldn't have missed it. Nearly knocked me from my seat."
The younger woman looked shocked, but immediately composed her features. "The Force does as it will, my Mother. I do not presume to read into its movements nor its mysteries. That is not my place."
Another hoarse laugh, dry with age. "I suppose that's the proper way of dealing with it. For now anyway. But change is coming, Daughter, of that have no doubt. Oh yes, great change indeed."
"I never doubt your word, my Mother. But of these children . . . " Desperate tone, as if trying to retrieve the old woman from a dangerous reverie.
"He is on his way, Daughter. I am almost sure of it this time." Thoughtful, faraway voice. "And when he comes, we shall no longer have cause to fear."
The younger woman bit her lip, her head bowed in defeat. "Yes, my Mother."
"Then we, the Ancient Ones . . . the Oldest of All, at last shall have the peace promised to us by our ancestors." A long sigh. "What a glorious day that will be child."
"Yes, my Mother." The younger woman bowed, raised her hood and departed the room unnoticed.
"Such a glorious day." The creaking voice faded away and the crone smiled hazily, lost in her own thoughts. "Such a glorious day indeed."
On to Book III, Part 2