Out of Silence

by Thia (thia@dreams-unlimited.com)



Archive: yes to m/a

Category: First-Time, Point of View: Obi-Wan, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-13

Summary: There are more riddles on Enteknis than the three given to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

Feedback: please, as detailed as you like. Flames will be laughed at. All else will be savored.

Disclaimer: All hail Almighty Lucas, who created this wonderful universe wherein we sport. We who write fanfic in it salute him, and pay him much money for merchandise, probably more than we'd spend otherwise, so he shouldn't sue, please. Enteknis and its inhabitants are mine.

Notes: This started as a doodle on my lunch break and promptly became a lot more complicated. Many thanks to Kitty for encouragement and beta-reading. See also the notes in 4/3.

(telepathy)



I have learned to treasure silence. Learn to quiet your mind, Master Qui-Gon says, and you can hear the Force speaking to you. Silent be, Master Yoda says more prosaically, and hear you will those things to which you have forgotten to listen.

We had been silent for five days together, my Master and I. No room for stretching or sparring, so we sat and waited. Beyond our bubble of quiet I could hear the soft thrum of the hyperdrive engines and the occasional whispers of the crew. They were intimidated by ferrying Jedi, perhaps -- or, more likely, by the same silence I found comforting. But I was too long past the need to fill the quiet with babbling to begin speaking now, and Master Qui-Gon has never been the sort to speak more than needed.

We sat together in the rear section of the spacecraft, he in a chair, I at his feet -- not out of deference so much as necessity, there being only one chair. I had my eyes closed, trying to focus on what my other senses told me.

(What else?) Master Qui-Gon prompted me, silent urging through our bond.

The engine, the voices, the faint rustle of clothing and movement; all these I had already marked. Attention to the moment gives knowledge, so the Masters taught. What else? I strained my hearing, trying to pick up what I was missing.

(Not outward,) my Master gently corrected me. (A Jedi must be aware of himself as well as his surroundings.) As if I were still a boy, he reached down and took my hand, placing it on my own chest and covering it with his hand. (Heartbeat, breathing, even the movement of your muscles.)

I nodded, opening my eyes, and smiled at myself. Each time I thought I had grown in my awareness of the Force, my Master would remind me how much I had still to learn. (Not only mine, Master,) I thought back, and reached up with my other hand to place it against his chest, feeling the familiar rush of heat at the solid feel of him, reveling in it for that moment. (Also your breathing, and through my hand your heartbeat.)

Qui-Gon said nothing, but only looked at me for a long moment. His heart sped up beneath my palm, and for a moment I thought -- but then his hand dropped away, and he leaned back in the chair, breaking physical connection and moment both. I accepted it, taking a deep breath and letting it out, allowing hope and disappointment both to fade into the Force. Now was not the time, obviously. No matter. I could wait.

"They've cut in the sublight engines," Qui-Gon said aloud, rising to his feet, and looking down at me. "We approach Enteknis."

"Yes, Master," I said, rising to my feet as well and going to the cabinet that held our robes.

"We must be careful."

I stopped and turned to look at him. "Yes, Master?" He could not be referring to what had just almost happened. Qui-Gon would not react so hastily. So I'd thought, at least.

He waved me on toward the cabinets. "The Enteknai asked for a Jedi, but gave no reason."

"Then why did the Council send us?" I said, opening the cabinet and taking out our robes.

My Master shrugged easily. "For their own reasons, Obi-Wan."

That meant either he did not ask or wouldn't tell me. I allowed myself a dramatic sigh as I handed Qui-Gon his robe, and grinned at his reproving glare and silent (Padawan!) Then the ship shuddered. We had landed. Time to pull up my hood and concentrate on the mission.

Three Enteknai waited for us on the landing platform -- humanoid in form, though whether male or female I couldn't tell. Their bodies were hidden in colorful flowing, shapeless robes; their faces by featureless smooth masks. My Master and I bowed to them in greeting, and they to us. Then one stepped forward and gestured as if to say, follow me, before turning and walking away from the landing pad. Qui-Gon followed immediately. I glanced at the other two Enteknai, who came around behind me and stood waiting, then followed also.

We walked along a narrow stone pathway, only wide enough for a single person. On either side of the path loomed trees to match the forests of Yavin, trees widely enough spaced to allow us to see quite a way into the forest. Birds called above me, and I began to relax. Though I walked on an alien world, the flow of the Force remained the same. Besides, I could sense no deceit in our companions, no glee as if they were leading us into a trap. Only a calm to rival that of my Master.

Except my Master did not feel calm. Something had disturbed the placid sea of Qui-Gon Jinn, and was still disturbing it. That moment just before we landed? It had only been an exercise, like hundreds of others we had done before. Perhaps he was concerned about the mission, though that was unlike him.

I had not puzzled out an answer to my satisfaction when we stepped into a Great Hall built of blocky stone, unornamented, unadorned. On a square dais near the center of the room sat a woman dressed in deep blue robes similar to those worn by our escort and the other Enteknai who filled the room. She alone did not wear a mask. Her hair was white, plaited in many braids tied off with vivid ribbons, but her face was unlined and youthful. I could tell nothing else about her; sense nothing through the Force, not even the supernatural calm of her subjects. I tightened my clasped hands, itching for my lightsaber, within my sleeves, and restrained the impulse to remind Qui-Gon to be careful.

Our escorts had faded into the crowd. Master Qui-Gon stepped forward, putting back his hood. "Our greetings, your majesty," he said. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master. This --" a gesture indicated me, and I took my cue to step forward and draw back my hood as well, "-- is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"A master and an apprentice," the queen said. She spoke in almost a monotone, voice sure but cold -- metallic, reminding me of a droid's voice. "Excellent. We had not expected so speedy a response to our request."

Qui-Gon merely bowed, then folded his hands inside his robe, waiting. I reached out through our bond, intended to whisper something into my Master's mind, but the words were driven out of my head by recognizable feelings of impatience emanating from him. Impatient? Master Qui-Gon? It seemed, at best, unlike my Master.

Belatedly I looked back at the queen -- assuming that was who she was -- only to find her studying us both with dark, inscrutable eyes. At last she leaned back in her throne. "You have been --" a moment's hesitation, as if choosing the right word, " -- asked...here to be tested."

Tested? I bit my tongue and swallowed back my startled exclamation, automatically releasing my indignation to the Force. Qui-Gon, more controlled, merely raised his eyebrows. "Your majesty?"

"We know your kind only through tale and rumor," she said, voice still clear and impersonal. "We have heard the Jedi are great warriors, and that we will not dispute, for we have seen your movements, how you carry yourselves, and the weapons at your sides --"

They had seen them? We'd not taken off our outer robes since we arrived. My palm itched again to check my 'saber, and I clasped my hands more tightly under cover of my sleeves. (Gently, Padawan,) Qui-Gon murmured through our bond. I didn't need the reminder, and sent back a pulse of (Yes, Master.)

"-- and all support the rumor," the queen continued, without notice of our by-play. "But we have further heard that the Jedi are wise, with knowledge not only of the mind but of the heart."

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. I re-centered myself, and paid closer attention.

"We prize wise ones," the queen said, drawing herself up as if proud of the fact. "But this we will not trust rumor to prove, nor simple observation. Nor may we leave it to chance. This we must test."

My Master cleared his throat. I could still sense the same faint roiling undertone of unease through our bond, but none of the confusion the words created in me. "Your majesty--" he began.

"You may return home, if you wish," the queen interrupted, voice more beautifully metallic than ever in contrast to my Master's richer tones. "To stay is only to answer three riddles. Nothing is forfeit if you fail. It is your choice."

"What do we gain if we win?" I asked, stepping up equal to Qui-Gon. Confusion and pride battled within me, despite my efforts to remain calm. 'If you fail'? 'Return home'? Surely the Jedi did not need to prove themselves again, planet by planet!

(Patience, Padawan.) Qui-Gon's voice was gentle in my mind. (I sense something more here than a mere riddle-challenge.)

(I sense nothing,) I grumbled back. But the emotion began to fade away.

"You gain the answers to the riddles," the queen said, smiling as she rose to her feet. She loomed over both of us, something I couldn't entirely ascribe to the dais: she was simply tall, taller than I was, nearly as tall as Qui-Gon.

I opened my mouth to object, but Qui-Gon stopped me with a glance. "So what are your riddles?" he asked the queen.

The queen's smile widened, and my heart sank. I had a bad feeling about this. "They are three," she said, her voice ringing through the room. I could sense the intense focus of the rest of the people, on us and on the words the queen was about to say, a silent pressure forcing my attention on her majesty.

"The first," the queen said, "is -- to know evil." I waited for the rest of the phrase, but she only paused a moment and then went on. "The second is -- to know good." Another calculated pause. "The third is -- to know your place."

She stepped forward, off the dais, and glanced around. Three of the masked people -- the same ones as before, different, I couldn't be sure -- emerged from the crowd and came to stand beside her. "Your Companions will escort you to your lodging," the queen said, waving them forward. "We shall await your answer."

Dismissed, clear as you like. My Master and I bowed slightly, turned, and followed our escorts out of the Hall by the same door we had entered. They led us off to the right, along a slightly wider stone path that mazed its way in and out of the trees, and finally to a building in the same style as the Great Hall we'd just left. It would certainly be a good place for thinking: we would be completely isolated here, not another building for ten minute's walk.

The Companions stopped at the door, and one gestured toward it as if to tell us to enter. My Master did so without hesitation and I followed more slowly, stopping in the front room to stare around, while Master Qui-Gon blithely headed inward to explore. After a moment, I turned back to our escort -- but they had not, after all, followed us in. I went to the door, opened it, and looked out. No sign of the three Enteknai.

I closed the door again behind me, frowning, and as if on cue my Master appeared in an inner doorway. "We seem to have been well provided for, young Padawan," he said cheerfully. "The kitchen is fully stocked, and the bedroom has enough blankets for both of us."

I hesitated for a moment, then burst out, "Master, how can you --" Be so calm, I thought, but bit it off. That was the wrong phrase, the wrong question entirely. Qui-Gon was not truly calm: even now, first meeting over with, I could still sense the disturbance within him, but he hadn't mentioned it and it was not my place to demand he explain himself. Besides, I wasn't certain I wanted to know. The mission had to come first -- and on that level, my Master was calm, his confusion and fear released to the Force, allowing serenity to rule. I needed to do the same. I stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to center again before going on. "The riddles as phrased are impossible, Master. I sense something very wrong here."

"A certain amount of deception, yes," the Master said calmly, turning and leading the way to the kitchen. "But not, I think, any more than can be accounted for by pride. The riddles are true: it's the Enteknai's reasons for them that we must consider."

"As well as the riddles themselves," I said with a bit of annoyance as I looked around the kitchen. Nothing I couldn't handle, I saw with some relief. The table was at a height better suited for someone of Master Qui-Gon's size, or the queen's, but I had half-feared to find them down at Master Yoda's level.

"The answers will come in time," my Master said, and I looked up in time to catch the hint of a smile at my grimacing. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Be patient, young Padawan, and trust the Force."

The easy touch and the familiar words soothed me, more than was probably wise. I grinned over at my Master. "Yes, Master. In the meantime, I shall be mindful of noonmeal. What sort of food did you find here?"




After noonmeal, without prompting we both retreated into one of the front rooms to seat ourselves and meditate. Not a shared meditation this time, not like on the ship: such was rare, and might distract from the mission. A childish part of me wanted to pout and whine and demand back that unity of mind and heart. I dismissed it. Later. Such desires need to be considered: this was not the first time I had recognized within myself a yearning hunger for more of my Master, more of his time, his love, his self. Such burning hunger was of the Dark Side, and damn distracting besides. Control and meditation kept the flame at lower heat. For now, I needed to concentrate on the riddles.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Allow the steady rhythm of breathing, the beating of your heart, the movements and life in your own body and all around you to fill your mind. Calm returned to me, and I turned my attention to the riddles we had been set. I didn't expect to solve them now, on my own -- but my Master would expect me to have thought about them. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge, I told myself. Breathe deeply and consider the riddles.

(I opened my eyes for a moment and considered my Master instead. The wailing, demanding child was silenced, and I might enjoy Master Qui-Gon's beauty with a clear mind. Beyond that simple enjoyment, of his form, his voice, his mind -- beyond that lay a tangled morass of emotion. My policy of ignoring it was working less and less well. Later, I promised myself again. I would consider that later, before it could grow and spill over into a mission. For now the riddles.)

To know evil.

To know good.

To know your place.

They seemed less like riddles than like philosophical precepts. I could vaguely recall a Telessin myth I'd heard, which claimed the first and greatest mistake the first man had made was to seek to learn the difference between good and evil. Now the Enteknai set the question as a riddle. How times changed.

My mind was wandering from the subject, and I pulled it back. The riddles. How did one know evil, or know good? A Jedi could sense many things through the Force, but not really that. We learned relativism in the creche. There was only the Force, the Darkness and the Light. The distinction there was clear enough, but my Master and I could scarcely go hunting for a Dark Side user to give to the queen: here, your majesty, is evil incarnate! Nor did I think my Master would approve of any kind of display of the Dark Side for the queen. Besides, I did not believe the queen sought a demonstration. Riddles placed in words were to be answered in words, were they not? And the idea of the Force, Dark Side or Light, did not begin to address the third riddle, the question of knowing one's place.

I was going around in circles, thoughts moving too quickly, and accomplishing nothing. Something tingled at the back of my mind, the answer, perhaps. But Master Qui-Gon had taught me that if I tried to pursue that tingle, it would only slip away. I would have to wait, and the Force would speak more clearly.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Allow the heart to beat more quickly, the body to rouse itself from meditation. I opened my eyes again, rose to my feet, and stretched, hearing my bones pop.

My Master remained seated, his legs folded and his eyes closed. For a brief moment I considered continuing my own meditation, following his example. But I was restless. Any attempt to settle down would be useless in this mood. I could explore this place we'd been given, and return when I sensed him rousing.



My first impression, of great age, proved to be only partially accurate. The main parts of the building -- the entry hall and the rooms directly connected with it -- were indeed old. My feet tread quietly on the cold stone, the sound of my footsteps swallowed by the cavernous angles of the ceiling above. The newer rooms lacked that subtle weight to the air. The kitchen held only a cozy feel, as did the nearly modern bathing facilities. And in a third room -- one of the original, the one where I had just left my master meditating -- someone had rendered the entire side wall transparent, a window out into the inscrutable green of trees and brush.

I wandered from room to room -- nothing so coherent as exploring, merely unfocused restlessness. The Enteknai had given us princely accommodations -- better than we'd often had. They were generous, for all their riddles, and despite being so insular. I'd noticed all the food in the kitchen was apparently native product, and a glance through the books in the library proved them all to be in a language I didn't recognized, presumably Enteknai. I made a mental note to ask Qui-Gon about it.

After a little while, the restlessness -- pacing around from room to room, observing the stillness of my Master, and still those riddles worrying at the back of my mind -- began to make me irritable. I betook myself into what I had called the library because of the full shelves that lined the walls, and drew my 'saber. I considered it for a moment, its soft humming filling the room, and then extinguished it again and put it aside. I didn't trust my focus in my current state of mind. The katas of the empty hand would be safer, and hopefully allow me the letting go I'd been finding so difficult.

The familiar rhythms took hold, flowing from one into the next. My mind began to clear at last, and as I finished the set, I paused, considering whether to ignite my saber and continue on. A ripple in the Force, just enough to get my attention, dissuaded me, and I turned to the doorway to the front hall to see my Master watching me.

"Padawan." I couldn't read the tone of his voice: some sort of warning.

"Yes, Master?" I looked beyond him, and saw one of our masked escort in the hall.

"We are summoned to evening meal, it seems," my Master said easily to me, and glanced at the Entekne. "Has my Padawan time to change?"

The masked figure bowed, and gestured toward the sleeping chamber. As well that he did: my exertion in the humid air had left me sweaty, my clothing clinging to me. I was also duly grateful I wouldn't have to have dinner with a queen while still in my traveling clothes.

It was the work of a few moments to retreat to the other room and change. I hesitated a moment, then clipped my lightsaber onto my belt before pulling on the over-robe. I left the hood down. I emerged to find my Master and the Entekne waiting in silence.

(Not very talkative, are they?) I thought into our bond.

Master Qui-Gon's expression did not change, but through the bond I sensed a complicated mixture of reproval and amusement. Then we both folded our hands into our sleeves and followed the masked figure back out and into the twilight.

We did not return to the same hall that we had seen before, but rather turned off the main path earlier, following a way that seemed little more than a break in the ground cover. I kept my eyes on the ground, and controlled my breathing. I was nervous -- not because of anything I sensed through the Force, only because I wasn't certain what to expect.

(Let go of your worry, Obi-Wan,) my Master sent, surprising me -- I hadn't thought I was broadcasting. (The Force will guide our actions.)

I sighed inaudibly, and raised my eyes so I could see my Master ahead of me, following our guide as surely as if he knew the path. I sighed again, releasing the familiar envy and lust to the Force, and hurried my steps somewhat to catch up with him.

The room into which we stepped struck me as eerie. Dozens of Enteknai, all wearing the silvery, full-face featureless masks we saw earlier, were seated along long tables with no plates or utensils or indeed food. Some few of them had discarded the loose robes in favor of skintight garb in even more gaudy colors, but I still could not tell if they were male or female -- their bodies had the smooth lines of a child. The room was lit from no obvious source, casting the whole scene in light only little brighter than the dusk outside.

One table was set apart, at the far side of the room, crosswise to the rest of the tables. At it was seated the queen. When she saw us crossing the room, she rose to her feet. "Jedi," she said. "You will honor me with your guesting."

Qui-Gon bowed, as did I. Our escort guided us up to the high table, then vanished: I looked around, but could not see whether it sat down at one of the other tables or merely left the room by some nearby door.

My Master and I sat on either side of the queen, and then the meal began -- faceless servitors, bringing various meats and dishes on trays to our table. Qui-Gon and I exchanged looks, and I took the trays, reaching out with the Force each time to confirm we would not be poisoned in the eating. My Master only watched me, and did not offer to take the chore. He wanted me to have the practice, I told myself, but it did rankle a bit.

There was no talk at all. My Master said nothing, and I could think of nothing to say, while the queen occupied herself solely with eating. The people at the lower tables were equally silent, but every time I looked down at them, they were either gazing fixedly down at their hands, or staring up at the high table. I could sense no hunger, nor envy of our food, not even curiosity. All they did was stare.

(What is going on?)

(Patience, young Padawan.)

When the seemingly endless meal was over, the silence shifted -- a waiting, an expectancy. I looked over at the queen, but she had sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. My Master looked thoughtful as he glanced around. Then a noise behind me made me turn.

One of the masked Enteknai had come up behind me, and was staring at me, head to one side. Its robes swung as if it was shifting its weight back and forth between its feet. Then it abruptly reached up, to hair I had not seen or noticed or something before now, and began braiding a slender plait. It only took a moment to recognize the beginnings of a Padawan braid.

I was on my feet without knowing how I got there. I looked back over my shoulder, beginning to half wonder, half hope this was all some sort of vision or hallucination. But my Master's eyes were wide and his face tight with some barely controlled emotion, and the queen abruptly opened her eyes and looked beyond me. In her eyes flashed silver metal like the masks, and her white braids stirred as if caught in a wind I couldn't feel, or as if they were living. I turned back and the Entekne was gone, without a sound to mark it.

The queen rose to her feet. "Until the morrow, Jedi," she said, and turned on her heel to glide out of the room. The effect was of vanishing between one breath and the next: I absently wondered where the hidden doors were as Qui-Gon and I stood in belated courtesy.

I half-expected the rest of the court to be gone, too, when we turned back around, but instead we found them standing courtesy on us, and our escort waiting at the far door. I glanced over at my Master, and saw his shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh of his own before he turned and headed around the table. As I did the same, I reached out for him through the Force. The confusion from earlier had returned, stronger than before, but above that was calm reassurance, and a quiet (Not now.) I quieted myself, and followed in silence back to our lodgings.

I half expected something as soon as our masked escort had vanished back into the shadows beyond our door -- a discussion of what happened, a wise lesson extracted from the chaos of my fear and bewilderment, at worst a scolding for the terror I felt even now as a cold draft around the edges of my mind. But Master Qui-Gon said nothing. Instead, he hesitated a moment in the front hallway, then headed directly back to the sleeping chamber. I reluctantly followed: I was not particularly tired yet, despite my exercise earlier, but neither was I in any mood to remain alone.

He sat on the bed and watched me as I paced back and forth. At last I gave up and began to strip down for sleeping. I tossed my tunic on the chair and looked up to find my Master giving me a sharp look. Doubtless he could sense my mood through our bond. But he said nothing, neither aloud nor in my mind, and when I reached out in the Force I could only sense a overwhelming weariness.

I stopped and frowned over at him. We'd not been that active today: what could have tired him out so? I opened my mouth to ask, and then changed my mind. I would not press him, not with my own focus and mood so uncertain. Tomorrow we would have time, I assured myself, and I laid down on the large bed beside my Master, intending to meditate before I fell asleep.

No matter how I composed myself, regulated my breathing, or attempted to focus my mind, it would not settle. I was too well disciplined to toss and turn, but the impulse to do so tugged strongly at me. At last I did what I should have done at first: I allowed my mind to choose its own path.

I saw again the Entekne at dinner. The polished surface of its mask flattened in my imagination, as it reached up and began to plait its hair in imitation of mine, so that I could see my startled expression reflected in this new-made mirror. A moment's pause, while it finished, or abandoned, the slender braid, and then it stepped back and its mirror-features changed again, becoming that which they reflected, until I saw my double standing there. Even its robes had darkened to the browns of my Jedi clothing. It smiled at me, a flash of white teeth, then turned and strode from the hall. I knew, somehow, that he went to our ship, that he would take my place. I tried to reach for the Force, and found only that suffocating calm. I turned back to appeal to my Master, but he was gone, with the not-me, and the queen sat in her chair, white hair/snakes writhing, and laughed, the sound echoing, echoing, dark coldness rising to fill the room...

"Obi-Wan!"

I pulled myself out of the dream with a sharp jerk, and opened my eyes to find my Master leaning over me, shaking my by the shoulder, eyes worried. "Obi-Wan," he repeated, letting go of my shoulder. "You were --"

"Dreaming, yes, Master," I said, pushing myself up to sitting position and reaching for my shaken control. The flame in the lamp leapt, and I jumped like a startled goat, blinking the sleep from my eyes. "I...had not realized I'd fallen asleep." What did that show of my control?

"It's been a long day," Master Qui-Gon said, squeezing my shoulder. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through me, and I looked up at him. If he'd felt my reaction, he gave no sign of it; his hand remained on my shoulder, beginning to massage tense muscles.

"I'd no intention of making it a longer night," I said, allowing myself to relax into my Master's direction as he sat up and gently tugged me around to face away from him, his big hands heavy on the knotted muscles of my back. "I apologize, Master."

"Not even the Jedi can govern their dreams, Obi-Wan," he assured me dryly, and we were silent.

The silence, and the warmth of my Master's hands on my back, lulled me into a half-doze. Live in the moment: he'd told me that more often than I could count. For that moment I did, not thinking of anything more than warmth, light, safety, the presence of the one I loved, and the Force around and within us both.

Then a cold wind blew through my mind -- from without, from within, I couldn't tell -- and once again in my mind's eye I saw the Entekne wearing my face, taking my place, reaping the rewards I had earned: my knowledge of the Force, my knighthood, my Master. I straightened convulsively, away from Qui-Gon's massaging (caressing?) hands, shivering in that non-physical chill.

At last I turned to face Master Qui-Gon. His hands rested on the blankets, nearly vibrating with tension I needed no bond to sense, and his expression carefully blank, only his eyes betraying a surprised wariness of my behavior. We stared at each other for a few moments, while I searched for the words to explain myself, and -- not for the first time on this mission -- found none.

"We should go to sleep," I said at last. "There's things to be done tomorrow."

"Rest, then," said my Master. "I'll tend to the lamp."

"Master?"

"Rest, Obi-Wan." He reached out as if to push me down on the bed, but hesitated before actually touching me. I lay down without the prompting, and turned on my side to face away from both the light and my Master, still in my bones feeling that dreadful cold.

Evil. Darkness. The Entekne that had worn my face.

But was it the Enteknai -- or myself?

I closed my eyes, but did not sleep.




I have rarely passed a more miserable time than the following day.

My Master refused to discuss the riddles we had been set. "The Force will guide us, Obi-Wan."

"It might guide us better if we had more choices, Master."

"Do not close your mind with pre-conceptions, young Padawan."

"It's not pre-conceptions, Master, it's simple practicality!"

Qui-Gon merely took another bite of his breakfast and pretended that prevented him from answering me.

Likewise, he shook his head to my suggestion of more active training. "You didn't sleep last night," he reminded me, as if I had forgotten. "I will not risk your safety with lightsabers."

"If I sit and meditate, I may fall asleep!"

"That might be as well."

I could not dispute him about sparring -- my focus was entirely off. The combination of the nightmare and my sleepless night had left me in a mood I could not seem to shake and which resisted all my attempts to release it to the Force, a mood edged with the nightmare vision's frozen terror. Fear is the path to the Dark Side, so Master Yoda is fond of warning. But the remembered warning did not help dismiss the fear.

It threw me off balance. A Jedi's life is simple: see a problem and seek the solution. Rare -- or at least rarely talked about -- are the occasions where you are the problem. Release it to the Force, I told myself: there is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no control, there is Darkness, at this rate, I thought irritably. But I refused the cold that wouldn't leave me. There had to be another explanation. I would not allow it to be otherwise.

In the meantime...I would stay with my Master.

He caught me staring a dozen times through the day. For the most part he only smiled, or raised his eyebrows in silent question, then returned to his meditation or his reading when I shook my head: no, I wanted nothing, only to be silent company for a while. When my own restlessness grew too great, I would pace around, but always I returned. The silent storm on his sea had only grown, and his company was no longer as peaceful as it once had been -- but, for the moment, perfect calm reminded me too much of our hosts. I preferred this sign that my Master was not always a perfect Jedi, even by his own lights.

A bittersweet pleasure, this. It gave me quiet hope, a warmth that held even against the chill of my mood otherwise. I had become madly infatuated with Master Qui-Gon Jinn before I had been his Padawan a week, and rather than attempt to release the emotion to the Force, or allowing it to interfere with my training, I chose to sublimate it. Either it would die a natural death from neglect, or it would grow into something real, something that could stand the test of time and reality until I became a Jedi Knight and we no longer trod the treacherous ground of Padawan and Master. Until recently, it had worked well.

Even such relatively pleasant thoughts as these could only create cracks in the ice. As the day wore on, I clung to my Master's presence as if I were a child again, and dreaded the evening, when we would have to return to the hall, and to the Enteknai. They would summon us again. It was inevitable.

Our escort did not knock when it arrived that evening. Master Qui-Gon was frowning over one of the readers in the library, and I was sprawled in a chair turning my lightsaber around in my hands and determinedly thinking of nothing, when a faint ripple in the Force made me look up. An Entekne stood in the doorway, hands folded into its sleeves, watching us from behind that damnable mask. All the cold terror, the nightmare images I had spent the day trying to dismiss, returned.

"Time for the evening meal, Master," I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded.

"Mmm." Master Qui-Gon put down his reader, glanced around, and then scooped up his robe, tossing me mine from where it had been on the chair next to his. I caught it and swept him a bow, smiling. He only raised his eyebrows. "Put on the robe, Padawan."

The moment's laughter vanished as we followed our guide out the door. I felt as if I were in free-fall -- what would happen at the dinner? What if I saw that same Entekne again? If the mirroring did occur again, could I be certain I would not panic, or worse, strike out?

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. Cold comfort that night. I could ask the questions of myself, but didn't dare seek the answers, much less tell either questions or answers to my Master as I should. I kept my eyes on the ground, and sought the inner peace which would allow me to reach out for my Master's mind.

The night echoed exactly the one before. Once again we passed through silent Enteknai seated at empty tables; once more we ate without speaking, served by silent, faceless, identical servitors. I stared down at the sweet that ended the meal with a feeling of sick dread congealing in me. If I looked up, I would see it. If I didn't look up, then perhaps --

(Padawan.)

I pushed away the bowl of sweet, and looked over at Qui-Gon. But he gave no sign of wishing to speak to me: he, too, had his attention focused on his bowl, slowly eating the sweet. Quicksilver cold froze me, and slowly, slowly I turned my head to the other side.

The Entekne standing there did not look the same -- too tall, though I could not swear to it, and long hair falling loose to just beyond its shoulders. It tilted its head to one side for a moment, bird-like, then drew itself up to full height and reached up, pulling part of the hair back into a simple ponytail.

Qui-Gon.

(Qui-Gon!)

I looked back, believing for a moment that my Master had vanished and been replaced by this -- this thing. But Qui-Gon looked up, startled at my mental shout, and frowned at me; the queen sat forward with a sharp glare, braids swinging with her movement -- and when I turned back once more, the Entekne wearing my Master's form was gone.

"I know what I saw, Master!"

"What we see is shaped by our perceptions, Obi-Wan. You are accustomed to my wearing my hair in this style, so you associated it with me." As if to accentuate his words, Master Qui-Gon reached up in eerie mirror to the Entekne, and untied his hair. It fell loose around his shoulders, silver and dark gold, so soft to the touch -- no. Was he trying to distract me? It wouldn't work, I vowed.

"It's more than that, Master. Have you been able to sense anything from them, except a monumental calm the likes of which Master Yoda would envy? Have you been able to sense anything at all from the queen? There's something more here, something they are not telling us!"

I'd waited until our escort -- guide, jailer perhaps -- had gone before I'd attempted to tell Qui-Gon what I had seen. He had heard me out, then shaken his head and denied it. Now it was all I could do to hold on to my temper.

"The answers will come to us in time," Master Qui-Gon repeated, the level sound of his voice salt in the raw places of my mind. "Be patient, Obi-Wan."

"I'm not sure we have time," I said, throwing my outer robe haphazardly across the room. It landed on the bed-covers, then slid off to puddle on the floor.

Behind me, Qui-Gon sighed. "I sense no such pressure," he said, crossing to pick up my robe. "Are you certain of your focus, Padawan?"

"I am certain, Master," I said, the words taking a not entirely intentional sarcastic twist in my mouth. "They've asked us to dinner twice now, and I don't think it's merely a matter of hospitality." I folded my arms over my chest, feeling a tightness there as I watched him move, as if something were about to break. "On the third night they will ask for answers, answers which we do not have."

My Master looked down at the robe in his hands, then laid it more carefully across the bed. "You lack faith, young Padawan," he said. He did not look up, but his voice was frighteningly steady. "You must trust the Force."

"How can I trust the Force to provide answers to questions which have none!" The cold rose up within me, choking off my words. I shivered and tried to calm myself. My Master was not the enemy; why was I so angry? Why had the Entekne taken his form tonight? What sort of warning had that been? "There's too much we do not know," I said aloud, regaining some measure of control.

"Perhaps we don't need to know everything, Obi-Wan," Master Qui-Gon said, turning back to face me and folding his arms over his chest.

"There is no ignorance; there is knowledge," I muttered, feeling frustration surge again.

"We will know what we need to know," my Master said, raising his eyebrows at me. "You must be patient, Padawan. I think we have nothing to fear."

"For how long?" I could hear the rising temper in my own voice, irrational, out of control, no matter how much I slowed my breathing. The pressure rose in my chest; I hugged my arms more tightly around me. "Until we give them the answers -- and then what? Master, you didn't see the Enteknai!"

"I did not see them as you did, no." He remained still there by the bed. I could almost see the cold gulf between us spreading, a visible thing. Why couldn't he see it? The Enteknai, it must be. "But I sense no danger."

"There is nothing to sense -- they've closed themselves off, from the Force itself perhaps." I shivered again. "There's nothing on this blasted planet except shapeshifters and cold!" I reached out in a temper, grabbing for my robe, so cold --

Qui-Gon's "Obi-Wan!" stopped me short, but not as much as the pained bewilderment in his eyes -- or the cold, the terrible chill I'd just felt as I'd reached out with the Force.

Light and Darkness. It was summer here, and humid. Why was I so cold?

What had I nearly done? How could I have let myself go this far? I was supposed to be a Jedi, trained to recognize the Dark Side when I saw it. And instead...I'd entirely missed the gaping maw about to close on me, the yawning emptiness that had pressed at my heart. Just a little more, just a very little more....I was abruptly very conscious of the lightsaber hanging by my side, too easy to hand.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice, carrying no fear, only concern. "By the Force, Obi-Wan!"

I began shaking, and turned to my Master. His eyes were dark and concerned as he tentatively crossed the room and reached out toward me.

Two steps and I was in his arms, clinging tight -- not like a child, but as a man tried nearly too far. He held me as tightly. For the moment we were Jedi second. First we were teacher and student...friends more equal than I had realized. The pressure in my middle eased, then slipped away without my hardly noticing it.

"You cannot blame yourself, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said at last, and through the bond I could feel only understanding.

"It was my own fault, Master," I objected, stepping back a pace but not breaking the embrace. "I should have been able to let go my fear and anger."

"I should have seen how close you were to the Dark Side," he said, shaking his head. "Instead, I remained wrapped up in my own concerns until nearly too late."

I opened my mouth to protest: he'd been preoccupied with the mission, nothing of which to be ashamed. Then I remembered, and shut my mouth again. The underlying unease I had noticed, and dismissed, more than once. "What concerns?"

Qui-Gon looked up sharply, but his gaze softened almost immediately. "On the way here, on the ship, both of us were...closer than is our wont."

My hands tightened on his arms as I remembered -- listening to his heartbeat, the enjoyment I'd taken in touching him. I opened my mouth to say something, apologize for making him uncomfortable, then shut it again when Qui-Gon continued.

"It is common for a padawan to become infatuated with his Master."

"It is not infatuation," I murmured, daring to reach out and lay one hand on his shoulder, as he'd so often touched me. The tangled coil of emotion within me seemed to unwind with that touch: I'd been right, it had grown and changed without my notice.

Qui-Gon raised his hand to rest atop mine, a reassuring gesture. I wasn't certain whether it was intended to comfort me or himself: I could still feel confusion through the bond, a struggle for words.

"It is likewise common for a Master to become attached to his Padawan," he said at last. "I had assumed it was nothing more than that. Then -- on the ship, I sense in you a man's lust, a man's attachment, not a boy's."

I hardly dared move or breathe. Why hadn't I seen this coming?

"I thought to say something, but the mirror of your thoughts made me look at mine." Another long pause and then, with extraordinary gentleness, he tugged me toward him. "It is not an easy path, for a Master and Padawan to walk."

"I know," I said, stepping forward of my own accord and raising my face. "I know." I raised my hands to grasp his head and tangle my fingers in the coarse silk of his hair, so I could tug him down where I could reach him. He was too tall, I thought in mild exasperation -- and then he bent.

Our first kiss was remarkably chaste, all things considered, no more than the light brush of lip against lip, mind against mind. He raised his head and we looked at each other for a moment. I suspect I was grinning, since he smiled just a little, and then bent again.

This kiss was not chaste. It was wet and messy and entirely un-Jedi-like, tongues in each other's mouths, minds an incoherent revelation of heat and hardness as we devoured each other. He tasted of spice and sweetness, of warmth and musk. But I drew back, breathing hard, and after a second's hesitation, he did as well.

(Slowly,) I thought into our bond. (My control is not --)

(Mine as well, young Padawan.) Qui-Gon's mental 'voice' was dry. (We must take this slowly indeed.) The words carried wistful overtones; not merely the overpowering physical attraction, but --

Love.

Qui-Gon loved me.

Of course he did. I was an idiot twice over for not noticing before, and so was he. I nearly laughed aloud with sheer relief.

"This is not a matter for amusement, young Padawan," Qui-Gon informed me, though the corner of his own mouth quirked up, and I could sense in him as well the giddy relief of an unseen burden, put aside.

"Of course not, Master," I said, unable to stop a smile.

Qui-Gon shook his head, a reluctant smile of his own on his face. "Come, Obi-Wan. The night has been long enough - and we both need our sleep." He bent and picked up my robe -- on the floor yet again - and dropped it neatly over the back of a chair, before easily allowing his own to fall from his shoulders, catching it and draping it likewise. A telltale sidelong glance proved he was very aware of my watching him.

"Tease," I said, removing my lightsaber from my belt and laying it on the bedside table before lying down myself, toeing off my boots.

"Sleep, Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon reprovingly, but he also smiled as he moved around the end of the bed and lay down beside me. I could feel the warmth of his body, almost too warm, in the night's fading summer heat. But it was a wonderful change from soul-freezing chill, so I was disinclined to object.




I woke alone, drifting awake on a haze of contentment. A test of the bond elicited the information that Master Qui-Gon was in the kitchen, preparing noon-meal and waiting for me to wake up. My hazy attempt at an apology was brushed off. (You needed the sleep,) he said. (I needed the time to think.)

I caught the echoes in that thought and winced. A mere 'I'm sorry' wouldn't begin to cover last night...well, that part of last night.

(You cannot take all the blame, Padawan,) Qui-gon reassured me. (In my preoccupation, I dismissed your fear.)

I rolled to my feet and stretched, before moving to the door through to the kitchen from the bedroom. "And I should not have focused on that fear, I know," I said aloud, leaning against the door-lintel and watching Qui-Gon busy himself. "The Council would be ashamed of us both."

Qui-Gon paused and gave me a gently reproving look. "The Council has faced Darkness before, Obi-Wan."

I smiled, and pushed away from the doorway, leaning over the counter to snitch a bit of food. "Yes, Master. But nightmares aside, that doesn't explain what the Enteknai were doing."

"I believe they were trying to offer us a hint."

"A hint?"

Qui-Gon picked up two full plates and turned to face me. "I think so, yes. I spent the morning in the library --" He was leading the way to the meditation room. I followed. "-- and found some histories, which I ran through the translator."

"A hint," I repeated, trying to make sense of it. If that image had not been meant to give me nightmares -- "Then...to know evil --"

"--is to look within yourself," Qui-Gon said soberly, gracefully seating himself with his plate, and handing me mine. "Though I doubt they intended to single you out, Obi-Wan. We have both tread far too close to the Dark Side."

I nodded slowly, controlling a shiver and allowing the shadow of my terror to flow over and through me, back into the Force. We had both been afraid; I of my nightmare images, he of more real but no less paralyzing what-if possibilities -- and fear, as Master Yoda was so fond of saying, was the path to the Dark Side. But we were both moving beyond those fears -- with help. "And to know good is to look within others." Qui-Gon's form, last night.

"Yes," Qui-Gon said, his eyes soft as he looked at me over his plate. "Which leads us to the final answer."

I raised my eyebrows and him, my mouth full. (We've only been here two days, Master. There's been no clue for the third riddle, not that I recognized.)

"The answer is all around us, Obi-Wan, in the calm that so irritated you -- not to mention in the histories I referred to." Qui-Gon's smile was rueful.

"Do you mean to say these were traditional riddles?" I asked in rueful exasperation of my own.

"For them, perhaps," Qui-Gon said, a faint reproof in his voice and through the bond, enough to make me duck my head in acknowledgment. "According to their records, the Enteknai were once a human colony who came out here in search of isolation."

"They certainly found it," I murmured, remembering the unusually long hyperspace journey here.

"They had reason," Qui-Gon said, putting aside his empty plate. "They sought to become one mind -- one heart -- one being."

"No individuality allowed," I remarked. "Only the tasks given creating a difference between one and another. That explains a great deal." The masks, the robes, the silence... "No wonder they wanted easy solutions to questions like that."

"Perhaps," Master Qui-Gon said, frowning at the thought. I caught a flicker of confusion that anyone would do such a thing, rapidly released. "The solution may not have been so easy: I believe they only just accomplished the union."

"All of them?" I tried to imagine such a thing -- an entire people, sharing all their thoughts, all their emotions, as they would have to in order to create a single group-mind. It made me dizzy. I had a hard enough time before the Council, knowing myself exposed to all the Masters there. An entire planet? Not holding anything back? "I see your point , Master. To them, to know your place is to give your all in whatever circumstance you find yourself."

"Precisely."

The air eased. The answers felt right -- the answers to the questions, at least. But if they were right, and these people had achieved a one-ness with themselves and the Force any Jedi would envy -- "Master?"

"Yes, Padawan?" Qui-Gon picked up his empty plate and rose to his feet.

I chewed my last forkful. (Why ask us the riddles in the first place? Why test the Jedi?)

He gave me a serene smile. "Why, I imagine they will tell us when we give them the answers."

"Yes, Master."

"And in the meantime, we both need practice sparring."

"Yes, Master." I suppressed a grin as I rose to take my plate to the kitchen and rinse it, allowing myself the shiver of delicious awareness as I passed Qui-Gon in the doorway.

(Concentrate, Obi-Wan.) The reminder rippled with amusement, taking away its sting.

(I am, Master.) I ducked into the sleeping room, where I'd left my lightsaber.

(On the here and now, Padawan.) The feel through the bond was dryer, though still warm with love. (Not on what might -- shall be.)

(Yes, Master.) I returned to the meditation room, and bowed to Master Qui-Gon. I was ready -- more focused than I'd been since before the mission.

Together we ignited our 'sabers, and began.




That afternoon was glorious. Master Qui-Gon seemed infinitely amused at my good mood. "There is still the Council to face, my Padawan," he reminded me.

'When has fear of the Council ever made you change your mind, Master, or me mine?" I tossed him a local fruit, and bit into the one I'd kept for myself. Juicy and sweet as an Alderaan pomerin -- perfect. I met Qui-Gon's eyes and bent my head to lick the juice from my hand.

"Padawan." His voice had deepened into a low rumble.

"Master?" I took another bite to hide my smile.

He must have sensed it regardless, for he put aside his uneaten fruit and leaned back against the table by which he stood, folding his arms across his chest and looking at me, not as a master looks at a student, but as a man looks at a lover, or a potential lover. For a moment I felt exposed, even vulnerable, before that gaze. I took another bite, and rose to my feet to stretch. This was Qui-Gon. He could look as he liked.

"There is only an hour or two lacking until night-meal," Qui-Gon said, and I stopped short. The glitter in his eyes, and the vibrating tension along our bond, told me not to push him any farther, as much as his earthen-dark voice did. "I would prefer to allow this to take its time -- not rush it into an hour's space."

Protective as always -- over-protective in this instance. "I had not intended to rush things, Master," I said, and took the last bite of my fruit with as innocent an air as I could manage, feeling the juice drip down my wrist.

"Padawan." The word came out in a growl, and I heard Qui-Gon's voice in my mind. (This is not a matter for teasing, Obi-Wan.) Under the words lay a hint of the empty chill with which I'd become all too familiar, not anger but fear -- all the fears that he had fought these past days, was still fighting to let go.

"I'm sorry, Master." Not for the teasing, but for my own carelessness. I'd been blinded by my own glance into Darkness; just because he hadn't been as spectacular about it as I had been didn't mean his battles with himself were any less strong. I couldn't find any adequate words, and instead poured into our bond my sorrow, my repentance, and equally strong my belief in him and in this newfound thing between us. I crossed the room to stand in front of him, reaching out with my clean hand to cup his face. "So," I said at last aloud. "Slowly."

Qui-Gon eyed me with wariness not entirely in jest. "Slowly."

"Slowly can be interesting."

He turned his head to kiss my hand, eyes smiling. "You are a tease, Obi-Wan."

I thought of several things I could say to that. But instead I leaned forward and replaced my hand with my mouth. We had an hour, after all.




The formal dinner lasted for far less time that evening -- or, more likely, my perception had changed. Without nerves or nightmares clouding my eyes, I could see differences in our hosts and servitors: a centimeter's difference in height, a style of fold in a robe, a turn of motion, all served to mark individuals, after all. Despite the masks, and the universal calm, they were no longer a faceless monolith.

The meal ended, and an expectant hush fell as the queen turned to Qui-Gon, eyes wide and waiting. He exchanged a glance with me --

(They've a sense of drama, Master, that's for certain.)

(A sense of timing, at least.)

-- and then repeated, first the riddles, then the answers we had discovered. I breathed deeply, centering myself as I listened. What now? Explanation? We could hope so.

"The tales spoke aright," said the queen, her voice betraying no emotion good or bad. "The Jedi are indeed wise."

"Thank you, your majesty."

She sat back in her chair, looking over at me. "We apologize for any distress we may have caused, Padawan Kenobi." She looked back at Master Qui-Gon. "When first our people became one and emerged from our seclusion, we began to think wisdom had left the galaxy. The only ones who came were those who sought to take all we had for themselves."

(Pirates?)

(Politicians, more likely.) Qui-Gon's mental voice was rueful.

"But the Jedi have proven themselves able to understand," the queen went on. "We ask this of your order -- to be our buffer. The Jedi may come, or those for whom the Jedi pledge that they have the wisdom of the Three Questions."

"I will ask the Council," Qui-Gon said smoothly. 'But I believe they will agree to your request."

(Prudence, Master?)

(We tread close enough to the edge already, my Padawan. I will not push too far now, and have you taken from me.)




The rest was mere formality. We were seen off the following morning by three Enteknai, though I still couldn't tell if they were the same three. I watched the planet recede from the viewport with a certain amount of relief. Even with all explanations and understanding, I'd still prefer not to visit Enteknis again.

"Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master," I said, turning back away from the viewport.

"We're about to jump into hyperspace. You need to strap yourself in."

Five days in hyperspace to Coruscant. Five days before Master Qui-Gon had to face his fears in truth as I'd faced mine. In the meantime -- we would take it slowly.

Five days of silence, of mind-to-mind, this time knowing what to listen for.

This would be fun.

I have learned to treasure silence.

-finis-

feedback, please? thia@dreams-unlimited.com

(hr)

If-you-enjoyed-this-story reading: 'My Anakin' (and 'My Obi-Wan') by Laura JV, with their gorgeous portrayal of the 'perfect love and perfect trust' that appeals to me about this pairing.

'Snake Oil,' by Martha, a gen Sentinel story that's likewise kinda about perfect love and perfect trust, and an incredibly well-written not-for-nighttime spookfest as well.

And just for the heck of it, I'm going to thank analise for 'A matter of control,' the very first Q/O story I read and the one that sold me on the slash, and Ruth for writing the very first slash fanfic I read, period, and thus setting my feet on the path of infamy (g).

-- Thia, September 1st, 1999.