Master Apprentice
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XV
Obi-Wan sat up, his eyes huge as another jolt rocked the small craft. His mouth was suddenly very dry, and his hands shook as he yanked on his leggings and tunic, ignoring the ripped streamers of his silken robes that clung to the rough fabric and dangled from his elbow and down his back. He shrank back against the bulwark as he heard the port side lasers firing with low humming noises. He suddenly felt very small and very much alone.
Guided by some unknown instinct, he rummaged in the drawer for his lightsabre, clipped it to his belt and fled to the bridge. At least there, he would feel safe with his Master.
Running lightly up the corridor, he heard a blaster shot and felt a whirring past his right ear. He whirled around to see two seven-foot G'dlackian raiders closing in on him fast.
Terror moved his feet more than anything else. He simply ran, instinct propelling him forward at inhuman speed. He was a blur as he reached the bridge doors, slammed into them hard enough to make his head spin.
"Master!!! Open the door!!" he moaned against it, hearing the heavy footfalls approaching. // MASTER!! //
It wasn't fast enough. One of the raiders was raising his blaster. Obi-Wan froze, his mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes closed, waiting breathlessly. Then the red wall of his eyelids faded to tendrils of blue and green and silver. In a eternal moment, he melted into the Force that swirled around him like waves. His right hand moved of its own accord to grasp his sabre. He felt as though he were moving through water, each muscle a separate reality of its own. He heard the blast, felt his arms moving, his body spinning in the arc of the seventh kata. The hum of the glowing sabre was a melody, his body the instrument, all flowing into the churning ocean of the Force surrounding him.
Then there was silence. Cautiously, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The silvered tendrils of visible power faded from his dazed vision slowly. One of the raiders had slumped against the bulwark, the deflected blaster shot a smoking hole in his chest. The other lay, headless, at the boy's feet.
Obi-Wan choked, gagging at the cauterized neck. The raider's head was some four feet away, eyes still blinking in shock. The lips were moving.
His face drained of all colour and he sagged back against the door, then turned and began to bang on in furiously.
"OPEN IT!! OPENITOPENIT!!!!!" he was screaming, dancing backwards from the truncated corpse at his feet, pressing himself to the unyielding metal.
When it opened, he fell into the bridge and crawled toward the console, his whole body a live wire of panic.
// Obi, stop it. Ya canna lose it now! I canna help ya! //
"Master?" he reached out, his vision narrowing, spots of blackness dancing before his eyes.
Qui-Gon's face was utterly still in concentration. He laid his left hand in another depression of the console and the tall spire atop the Syrene turned to focus on the ship that had moved starboard. He took a long breath, closed his eyes and sank himself deeply into the Living Force.
Shaking like an autumn leaf in a gale, Obi-Wan looked up from the deck to see the power visible around his Master, the swirling wash of silver and green making the tall body indistinct as Qui-Gon gathered the Force within him. His left arm seemed a glowing shaft of light as he focused it through himself, through the Syrene, up to the crystal embedded in the spire. A shimmering bolt of pure Force energy poured from it to surround the attacking ship. Obi-Wan's eyes darted to the view screen, watched the searing light dancing around the raider ship. For a frozen moment, it wavered, flickering in endless movement, then blinked out of existence.
Qui-Gon sagged forward in the chair, his head drooping as the visible Force diffused around him and disappeared. Without stopping for rest, he reached his right hand down to its place on the console to activate the photon blasts aimed for the other ship. Obi-Wan could see how it shook with the effort of movement.
There were blasts from the corridor, pounding on the bridge doors.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice was a whisper, threaded with exhaustion.
// Yes, Master? // The boy's mouth was too dry for speech.
"Can ya cover the doors? They're usin' a boarding beam. I've got to get that other ship."
// Master no!! You'll kill yourself! //
"Just hold them off for a moment. Syrene'll help ya."
The ship's mechanical voice echoed in the small chamber. "Dulaan, shield are low. More boarders. "
"Where?" Qui-Gon's voice was harsh.
"Engineering deck and here."
"Cut air from Engineering and seal the doors."
"Calynide gas, Dulaan?"
"Yes, yes. Just get rid of =91em!" Qui-Gon was fighting exhaustion, his vision wavering as he struggled to get off a few good shots at the remaining ship. He cursed himself for a fool to have ventured this alone. Even one trained crew member would have helped.
Obi-Wan had risen to stand on shaky legs, his eyes glued to the doors. He struggled to remember his training, the katas, the movements, the meditations. But all he could do was watch those doors, hardly daring to breathe.
// Obi-Wan, relax. Let it flow through you. Don't fight. Be. // Even Qui-Gon's mental voice was rasping with weariness.
Slowly, Obi-Wan moved forward and to one side. If blaster shots came through those doors, he would draw them to himself, rather than risk them hitting his Master. He activated his sabre and closed his eyes.
He felt the doors open before he heard their slight whisper and his body exploded into motion, a whirling arc of blazing blue light. He sensed bolts rather than saw them, knew where they would fall and deflected them. A hissing to his left told him he'd missed one, that the delicate scroll work was damaged. He spared it a glance and barely registered that the metal seemed to melt and twist to repair itself. His body was tiring, and he knew he had to do something, anything.
He had never sparred aggressively. Always, his actions had been dictated by his Master's attacks. He wasn't sure he could attack. He could only try.
A microsecond to collect himself, then he whirled into the offensive, his sabre a blurred pinwheel of blue light flashing forward as he surged against the grouped raiders blocking the doorway. He closed his eyes, letting himself see with the Force and danced on the edge of a precipice of death. He stopped trying and simply spun with the motion of the bodies around him.He felt the blaster bolts that whizzed past him, felt the jar through his sabre as he deflected others, felt the slowed hum as it cut through flesh. There was no emotion, no feeling, only the reality of the Force and its movement through his exhausted limbs.
Again, silence descended like a shroud over him. Panting, he stood trembling with the buzz of the lightsabre in his hand. A flash of pain in his left leg made him wince, and he looked down to see the tear in his leggings, blood running down his calf to pool around his bare foot. Half a dozen raiders littered the corridor, most dead, some dying. Ignoring them, he forced himself to walk back into the bridge. The hot flow of his own blood was warm, wet beneath his feet.
He saw the back of the tall chair, moved forward warily, a lump of apprehension rising from the pit of his stomach. Qui-Gon was slumped forward over the console, his left hand still sunk into the spot that operated the spire. Obi-Wan checked the view screen.
The other ship was still there, quivering in a haze of Force energy.
He could feel the waning energy that course through his Master's body. As though in slow motion, he reached out, his hand pressed over Qui-Gon's. The Living Force flared up around them like silver flame.
// Master, help me!! Please, I cannot do this. I can't!! //
Qui-Gon's head lifted from the console, his eyes unfocused. He breathed out a long sigh, blinking. Then his right hand closed over Obi-Wan's. A long, shuddering intake of air made the broad shoulders shake. The silver tendrils of power poured through them both and Qui-Gon's head fell back, his eyes rolling as it coursed from him into the boy. Obi-Wan reeled forward against the console, fighting to keep conscious as he felt the Force ripping into his mind, his soul to flow into the ship. He could feel her hostility, her anger and his heart pleaded, begged for her help.
// Please, please, don't fight me. I'm only trying to help. Help him.Pleasepleasepleaseplease...//
He sensed the release, felt the bolt of energy rising and dazedly, watched the view screen as the second ship wavered in the ghostly light and vanished.
He sank to his knees, his head pressed against the arm of the chair, his hand slipping away from between his Master's. For a long, long moment, the universe dizzied and spun drunkenly. He heard Qui-Gon groan softly, and raising his head took such effort.
Qui-Gon had lost consciousness, his tall body slumped to one side, blood pouring from a blast bolt in his shoulder. Obi-Wan reached up, stricken. His Master's face was ashen, lips pale and parted as he struggled for breath.
// NOOoooooooooo! // He fought off a wave of panic and nausea.
"Syrene, is there an emergency kit in here?"
Somehow his voice registered a calm he was far from feeling. He shook his head to clear it and got to his feet. Gently, he eased Qui-Gon from the chair to the deck.
He touched the console gently. "Please, Syrene!! Please help me to help him."
The mechanical voice sounded sullen. "In the left banking. Compress the wound and use the bacta sheets. "
Moving as though in a dream, Obi-Wan did as she had told him, pulling off his tunic to bunch beneath Qui-Gon's head. His Master's thin shirt was soaked red with blood. Trembling so violently he could barely hold his hands steady, the boy placed the gel sheets over his chest, reaching with difficulty to get one under the big body to cover the exit wound. He knelt beside the prostrate figure in agony, his head bent low over Qui-Gon's chest.
// Oh, my Master please!! Please don't leave me here like this! Qui-Gon,don't! Don't you dare die on me!! //
XVI
Obi-Wan was beyond terror. He was beyond any kind of emotion now. His slender hands pulled gently at the remains of Qui-Gon's shirt.
"MmMaster?" his voice was barely audible.
Dazedly, he sat back on his heels and looked around him, then up at the viewscreen. Nothing but stars reached around the little ship, a spangled web in the blackness of space.
A low groan made his head snap back to focus on his fallen Master. Qui-Gon's eyelids fluttered open.
"Gone?"
Obi-Wan's voice rasped "Yes Master. Don't try to move, you're injured."
Qui-Gon ignored him and attempted to sit up, his face going even whiter with the strain. "Damn it!!" He managed to lift himself onto one elbow. "Obi, can ya take the controls? We're damned sittin' ducks out here like this."
The boy's face was nearly as white as his own, eyes dilated near-black, but he nodded. "Master, please lie still."
Qui-Gon sat up and glanced down at his shoulder. "How'd ya find the medpak?"
Obi-Wan had slipped into the tall chair and was eyeing the console, his lower lip quivering.
Qui-Gon shifted and managed to turn himself around to lean back on the console's banking. He looked up at the boy. "To yer right. Use the smaller one with your right hand."
Obi-Wan stared down at him, his eyes blank in sheer terror. "Master...I don't know..."
"Calm down!!" Qui-Gon groaned as he began to tear the remaining bits of fabric from his torso. "The course is already plotted. Just relax. Let it flow through ya."
Tentatively, Obi-Wan reached out and laid his shaking hand in the small hollow. Immediately, he felt the metal moving beneath his palm and fingers to cradle his hand.
//YOU!//
He could hear the venom in Syrene's voice, feel her jealousy. He struggled to rein in the sob building in his chest. Fear, pain and disbelief were robbing him of coherent thought.
"Please please!! He can't. He's injured. Help me!!!" He didn't even realise he had spoken aloud, much less that he was talking to an inanimate object.
Qui-Gon's voice cut through the blanket of panic beginning to enfold him.
"Syrene, don't be such a bloody bitch!! I'm down on the deckin' with a blaster bolt through my bloody shoulder. Now help the lad!"
// Will he be all right?// Obi-Wan heard the ship's metallic voice in his head. He nodded, breathlessly.
// Yes, but we've got to get moving. There might be more raiders. //
The pooling metal surged around his hand and he could feel the ship pulling the Force through him.
"Relax, Obi...let it go. You're the river..." Qui-Gon groaned again as he struggled to his feet, swaying with the effort. "Just let it flow, Obi. I'm goin' to the sickbay for a moment. Will ya be all right, boy?"
Obi-Wan nodded, biting his lower lip in concentration. He could feel the ship's every buffet as Syrene coursed through the still blackness of space. His face broke into a smile. This was wonderful. He was flying, really finally flying a ship. He had always wanted to fly. Indeed, he hadn't lied at all when he had told Qui-Gon how he used to sneak out of receptions and parties to watch the pilots of the pleasure cruisers in awe. He'd been caught more than once, and was severely punished the last time when he'd been found sitting on a co-pilot's lap, one delicately manicured hand on the navigation bar. Good little padawans were not supposed to ignore high dignitaries who had spent a small fortune for their company and run off to giggle with the pilots on the bridge. Obi-Wan was grinning at the memory.
// Did they really punish you? //
Startled out of his reverie, he heard Syrene's voice in his mind. He realised she must have seen every thought.
"Yes. I got quite a beating for that. This is fun!!" He no longer worried about talking to the ship.
Syrene, for her part, seemed more curious about him than angry and jealous now. The ship's mental touch was a tickle inside his head, decidedly different from the Force-sense of another person. He let his own awareness guide the little craft around a small pocket of debris, fully enjoying the weaving motion and the prickle of anticipation as he sensed each small obstacle.
He was so engrossed in flight that he didn't even feel his Master binding the still-bleeding wound on his leg. He glanced down, his face a small flame of pleasure. Qui-Gon grinned up at him.
"Ya're a natural at this. Why'd they never let ya fly?"
Obi-Wan grinned back at him. "We were just talking about that!"
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "We?"
Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled in a giggle. "Syrene and I. I got a hell of a whipping the last time I skipped out on a formal luncheon to sneak up to the bridge."
// Poor Obi. But it was worth it, wasn't it? //
The boy burst out laughing at Syrene's wry comment. Qui-Gon simply shook his head. "Now I suppose I should be jealous, ya fickle female!"
Obi-Wan turned his head. "Master, are you all right?" He had been so wrapped up in his pleasure, he'd nearly forgotten the raiders and the fight. His memories surged back up, making him feel nauseous.
// Focus, boy. Keep yer focus. // Qui-Gon's mental touch reached deeper, calming him. "Concentrate on flight. Keep aware of here and now. The past can take care o' itself. And yes, I'm fine. Do ya want to take her into hyperdrive?"
The boy's eyes widened, his whole face alight with a dazzling smile. "Can I? Really?"
"Sure. We'll get there a whole lot faster, that's f'sure!" His Master laughed. "Left hand, the upper one, there." He indicated another of those shallow depressions.
Obi-Wan reached out his left hand and felt the metal pooling around it.
// Syrene? Is it ok? //
// Of course, silly. The course is plotted. And once we're in hyperdrive, you can tend to him. He's not as fine as he wants us to think. //
// I know. // Obi-Wan could feel his Master's fatigue, despite his dancing eyes and his grins.
He felt a sharp tug at his Force-senses, then gasped aloud as he felt the intense drain on him. The ship's metal wings folded back and she surged into hyperdrive. The intensity of it left him trembling and panting as though he had come. The thought made him blush and Qui-Gon laughed aloud, quite aware of what piloting Syrene could be like.
"Dulaan, we're on autopilot now. I will inform you when we are ready to drop back to normal speed."
"Thank you Syrene. Fer everything."
Obi-Wan left his right hand in place for a moment and let his mind reach out to the ship. // Thank you. //
// Of course. Be good to him. //
// I will. //
Reluctantly, he took his hands from the console and stood up. "Let's get some rest Master."
For a moment, he paused at the bridge doors, afraid to view the evidence of the raiders on the other side. His stomach lurched, remembering that disembodied head with its moving lips and shocked, blinking eyes. A shudder ran through his slender frame. Qui-Gon grasped his shoulder gently.
"It's all right, Obi. Don't worry."
The boy took a long, deep breath. Hells, he thought to himself. If I could do it, I should be able to look at it. He didn't see his Master's knowing smile over his head.
When the doors opened, he walked calmly through them without a trace of fear.
XVII
"WOOOOOOOHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" the screams echoed against the lake canyon's green hills, cupping the sound and spilling it into the blue sky. The scream preceded a huge splash into the dark water, sending fireworks of foam into the afternoon.
"I've gotcha naow!!" Koll ran headlong off the long rock overhang at the eastern end of the lake.
"Come on, then, and get me!!" taunted a dripping Obi-Wan as he tread water lightly, pushing his wet-dark red hair out of his face.
Another bloodcurdling shout, followed by a splash split the whirring insect-quiet of the afternoon. Late summer breathed out all its treasures here in a rush to win the race against impending autumn. The mild air was thick with the scent of grass and late blossom, of ripening fruit and the promise of colder days.
Qui-Gon stretched his long legs out under the great tree by the shore. He swung his left arm around experimentally, shrugging the kinks out of it. Mace had settled next to him, watching the flashing bodies in the lake with a smile.
"Hard to remember they're both so young, isn't it?"
Qui-Gon scowled. "They should be left to be so. It's a crime to make 'em grow up so fast."
Mace shrugged. "What can we do? It's the way of things, now."
"Tha' doesn't make it right." He raised his head at another volley of shouts and laughter. "He'd never have been like tha' four months back."
Mace leaned back against the tree trunk, pouring them each a goblet from the pitcher near his feet. "And you!! I could cheerfully have your greying head for that last stunt!!"
"Oh, stop yer naggin'!! I managed, didn't I?"
"Thanks only to him!!" Mace retorted. Qui-Gon only grinned at him.
"Ah, ya should've seen him fight!! Made me damned proud o' the lad!"
"And damn near got you both killed!! Are you out of your mind, Qui-Gon, to put yourself, worse, to put the boy in such danger!?"
There was a long uncomfortable silence between them. When Qui-Gon finally spoke, his voice was low and hard.
"It was a calculated risk I had t'take. It's gonna get worse before better, Mace. We'll all be facin' more than we know. I do na think the Senate will stir itself much. A mere blip or two that the negotiatin' teams can take care of. What I'm worried about is the Republican Guard. We're gonna be up against an army of genetically engineered fighters. And we know that wi'all our abilities, we're not bloody immortal!"
"But to risk him so soon..."
"He did just fine. I knew he would. And I needed him to decoy Meryck."
"Nevertheless," Mace replied. "You should have had at least a few crew members."
Qui-Gon grimaced. "More idiots to pay off!!" He dismissed the thought with a wave. "It only dilutes the profits and runs a worse risk of informers.No, Mace, I'll na have any more betrayals. The last was bad enough."
"True..." Mace's smooth brow furrowed. "The amount was staggering for a short run. How did you get Meryck to agree?"
"I dangled a few carrots." came the mild reply. "And planted a few seeds."
"What?"
Qui-Gon's teeth always seemed to grow huge when he smiled like that, Mace thought. It made him look like a big, hungry feline, lounging by a forest pool, waiting...
"I planted comlines all through out Meryck's place. I've a notion he's playing at both sides and mean to catch him out."
Mace raised an eyebrow. "Were you raised by wolves?"
Another predatory grin as Qui-Gon pushed his sweat-damp hair back. "Na, just a coven of Sith witches in league with the fey folk."
Mace grinned back at him. "Speaking of Sith witches, how's your sister?"
His friend just groaned and lay back into the sweetgrass. "A hag, as always. If you're wantin' Maera Dubh, you'll have better luck not tryin' through me!"
Mace's expression grew thoughtful. "You should make amends with her. She'd be a powerful ally."
"She a miserable, deceptive, evil bitch an' I want naught t'do with the wretch!!"
"In other words, she's just as devious as her charming brother."
"Bugger off, Mace. I don't want t'hear it."
A slight breeze ruffled Qui-Gon's hair. His eyes were trained on the horizon, always aware, even in the slumber of a summer afternoon. Koll and Obi-Wan were sitting on the rock ledge, legs dangling. It did not take any kind of Force-driven sense to know that they were stuffing themselves on the bucket of blackberries for which they had braved the brambles earlier. The dappled sunlight softened his face to an almost pensive expression.
"What in all that's holy are you thinking of, Qui? You look almost melancholy."
"I remember being that young. A long time ago." He shot Mace a rueful smile, rotating his stiff left arm again. "I don't mind tellin' ya that bolt took the starch out o' me."
Mace sniggered. "Are you confessing to age, my friend? To, how shall I say it, a lessening of your formidable strength?"
"Sarcastic bastard you are! And yes, I'm na gettin' any younger. It was past time. I'm just glad our friends at temple found him at all."
Mace shook his head infinitesimally. // Hush. No place is safe for that talk. Even here.//
Qui-Gon yawned. //True. Annoyin' but true. I've intercepted nearly all his little reports. They were goin' to a certain Senator Dariall, but I'm quite sure it's a blind. I'll find out.//
Mace refilled their glasses and took a long draught. The shadows were darkening over the lake as the sun dipped lower. Its rays flooded the ground with streaks of dark gold, spangling the mist rising off the surface of the midnight water.
"You should go there."
"Go where? That bloody industrial hellhole?"
// Be serious, Qui. We need information. The layout of the place, the spaceport, the security.//
Qui-Gon sat up and skimmed a rock across the water. "I willna do it!! I hate the sight of cities."
//I know. But so soon? I was hopin' to give him a few more months' training.//
"Well, you know best, but the boy might be homesick. You might have a little compassion for that."
Qui-Gon's ears pricked up. Yes, there, behind them in the tall grass. Not very subtle, he thought sourly.
// And he'll know the place inside-out. Better than any of our people there except the ones we cannot spare.//
"Oh, all right, ya're worse than a mother hen!! I'll give the lad a treat and take him home for a spell. He could use it." Qui-Gon stared out over the lake with inseeing eyes. "He's becoming a rowdy."
The last low sparks of the setting sun glinted, shadowing the lines around his eyes, his mouth.
// He's beginnin' to ask questions, Mace. How much can I--//
// Not yet! Not yet. We just can't. Yet. //
XVIII
Obi-Wan felt as though his lungs would burst. His chest was burning and his eyes began to swim with tears. A little longer...just a little. He exploded upwards, out of the water, dragging air into his deprived body. The rush of it made him faint and he swayed for a moment before Qui-Gon caught hold of him.
"Easy now. That was good. Nearly fifteen minutes. I didna expect so much. Take it easy, boy. Slowly. Breathe slowly or you'll just pass out."
The world spun around in circles, but Qui-Gon's arms were solid and warm. He clung to a stray lock of hair, his entire body trembling. Slowly, he spiraled back to earth, his face buried against Qui-Gon's chest.
As if apart from himself, he inhaled deeply, smelling the warm laundry-soap--and-sweat-scent of his Master's robes. Beneath that, the sweet, warm smell of his Master's skin, the tickling feel of the long hair clinging to his damp face and shoulders. A shift of focus, just a tiny nudge, and he could feel himself pressed against those hard thighs. Obi-Wan's head tipped back and he sucked in a long breath.
"Ooooh Master..." he murmured into the rough fabric of Qui-Gon's tunic, his head cresting against the big hand cradling it. When he looked up into the crinkled, laughing blue eyes, his own were hot and predatory.
He didn't dare speak. It had been three weeks since their return from the ill-fated raid. Part of him was crowing with triumph. The other part had watched in agony as Qui-Gon had lain wounded and half-conscious for days. His fingers twitched, remembering days of sponging off that tall, fevered body; of endless bandage changes; of watching frantically for any sign of returning sensibility. There had been a span of some fifteen hours when it was an unsure thing at best. The boy's face had gone haggard, bleak in limpid fear.
Too tired and too anguished to weep, Obi-Wan had accepted one thing as fact in those hours: he loved the big man who owned him. Never mind that he was a barbarian, never mind that he couldn't begin to comprehend the subtleties of fine etiquette. None of that mattered. The only thing he had been desperate for was those blue eyes laughing into his, that face freed of its warp of pain.
Only Koll knew how he had fled to the lake when Qui-Gon's fever broke, curled up underneath the big tree in a dry-eyed miasma of gratified anguish. Together, the boys had wept for their near-loss and clung to one another in a haze of relief. In the morning light, they had separated with stammers, each returning to his chores, flush-faced and shy.
Three weeks without that strong body claiming his own...Obi-Wan's arms tightened around his Master's neck.
"Easy!!! Easy, lad!! Ye'll strangle me f'sure!!" Qui-Gon laughed down at him.
The grey-green eyes darkened to near-blue, burning into his own with want. He tipped the fire-flushed face up to his.
"Yer doin' well, love. Very well." Qui-Gon's eyes measured him for a moment. "How would ya like t'go home?"
Obi-Wan started, pulled back for a moment, confusion evident in his look. "Home?"
"To Coruscant? Would ya like it?" Without waiting for the boy's response, he continued, his voice a little distant and dreamy. "I've never seen it up close." He grinned down at the vibrant face straining up to his. He claimed its lips in a wet kiss.
"Oh, aye, I've been there. But I've never seen all its high-life. Tell me, imp, could ya show me how the fine folk there amuse themselves." he teased, pinching the round rump to make the long, slender legs twine around his hips.
Obi-Wan leaned back in his Master's arms. "Who cares!!! They don't have this." His last words were swallowed in a devouring kiss.
For a moment, Qui-Gon might have pulled away, then allowed himself to be sucked into a vortex of hot, wet lips. The boy's arms wound round him like sucker vines, his hands clinging to the long hair.
"Master, please..." his voice was a hoarse whisper. Qui-Gon took him by the shoulders and held him at arms' length.
The big eyes were hot and dangerous, a flush burning across the slanting cheekbones, the small straight nose. His lower lip trembled, ripe and lush as perfectly- ready fruit. The long legs tightened around his waist; hard sex pushing against his stomach insistently.
This was an Obi-Wan he had never seen before, alight with passion, insistent and needy. Gently, he disentangled himself from the slender limbs.
"Get yerself cooled off. I'll be in our rooms f'meal. Aye, lad?" Qui-Gon's blue eyes had darkened to near-midnight, dancing.
For a moment, the young face was bereft, paling to show the nutmeg sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Then his eyes deepened to blue-green, laughing back at his Master's.
"Oh, all right!! I've already told Mairteth what to make!. And I don't want to leave, Master."
Qui-Gon gave him a swat on the backside. "Three laps around the lake, then in wi' you, ya impudent brat."
>By the third lap, Obi-Wan had conquered desire and was painfully aware of his burning leg muscles as he traversed the lake's perimeter. He remembered to tread water for a good five minutes until his breathing returned to normal and his body stopped its shuddering with the hot release of exercise. Laughing, he swam to shore and toweled himself off. He wound the towel around his waist, grabbed his clothes and headed up the path to the castle.
The great hall way empty when he padded through, lifting his feet instinctively against the chill of a late-summer's evening on the flagstones.
Lightly, he ran up the steps to his Master's quarters.
He paused at the first floor, hearing a voice from within one of the long-unused rooms. Silently, he crept closer, ignoring the goosebumps on his arms and the chilled dripping of his hair down his back.
"He plans on taking the brat home."
Obi-Wan flattened himself against the wall, ears straining for the slightest sound. "No, I don't know when. I will alert you, Master."
Obi-Wan melted into the shadows to watch Zath emerge from the dusty room, shoving a comlink into his tunic. The boy's eyes were hard and steady and purely, entirely green.
Obi-Wan luxuriated in the bath for so long Qui-Gon had actually asked if he was growing gills. Reluctantly, he finished his shaving and oils, threw on his pale peach night-robe and emerged to torment his Master with a flurry of pallid silk, damp-dark hair and heated eyes. He settled himself in one of the comfortable chairs that had been installed before the low fire and filled his Master's plate with delicate nuggets of noodle and meat-filled dumpling.
Lifting the food-sticks, he slid onto Qui-Gon's lap, holding a tender, steamed morsel to his lips.
"What..." Qui-Gon swallowed the delicacy. "in hells do you think you're doing?" He laughed, pulling the silk-clad slenderness close.
"Zath. Comlink. Downstairs." the boy breathed into his ear as if seducing him. "Reporting trip to Coruscant."
Qui-Gon's hands became iron and held Obi-Wan away from him. "Are you sure?" he hissed.
Slender hands ran seductively along his cheeks and he leaned in close. "Of course I am. Should I keep watching?" he sighed softly against the ill-shaven neck. "Oh, Master..." his clever hand moved lower, pulling up on the considerable erection in his Master's leggings. Qui-Gon groaned. Those long fingers wrapped themselves around his cock, pulling ever-so-gently. He looked up into the boy's eyes. They were hot, alive, green-blue coals burning in a flushed face of desire. There was no denying that hunger.
"Take me, damn you. Take me!!" Obi-Wan's voice was a hiss of violent need. His hands parted Qui-Gon's sleep-robe as he steadied himself above the stiff evidence of his owner's desire. Lowering himself onto the shaft of his Master's want, he moved back and forth, his whole face burning.
"Oh, please....please my Master. Damn you, FUCK ME!!! C'mon, fuck me hard!!" He was rocking back and forth on Qui-Gon's lap, his hands reaching down between the splayed, long legs; fondling the heavy balls; testing the place where his Master disappeared into himself.
The young flesh enveloped him, swallowed him whole as he bucked against the silken softness of Obi-Wan's skin. He felt the soft inner vortex take hold of him like a vice.
"Yesssssss...." he hissed, cupping the round buttocks, fingers bruising the pale skin as he thrust violently into the strong young body. Obi-Wan arched back, pushing himself down deeper and deeper, as though trying to bury his Master inside his clenching-hot self. His hand grasped the long hair, yanking hard to pull his Master's face to his and sucking him into a bruising kiss.
" I love you, damn you. I love you." the lilting voice hissed against Qui-Gon's kiss-swollen lips.
He exploded, arching up to pierce the tender hole he penetrated, hands fierce on the pumping hips to hold the lad steady. He heard a long, low moan of satiation and realised, with a dim shock, that it was his. The boy's arm were around his neck, lips seeking and desperate against his throat.
"Oh, my master. My beloved. My own."
Qui-Gon sank into sleep, clinging to the soft warmth above him.
XIX
Leaving for Coruscant was easier said than done. Qui-Gon refused to budge until he felt fit for more than a "mucky little bit o'shite" as he so eloquently referred to their mishap. That meant two more months of training so intense that Obi-Wan despaired of walking, let alone katas or swimming. That last delirious night when he had discovered both Zath's treachery and his own aggressive hunger was a dim memory in a world of fierce physical trials and ever-deepening hours of meditation and Force-use. There had been little time for leisure of any kind, much less using their big bed for more than exhausted slumber. Then, there was the harvest to consider. Qui-Gon oversaw vast sweeps of acreage and, typically, found it difficult to leave it to outsiders or even his own people. He was responsible for many, many people and took it as a personal point of honour to make sure they were well-supplied for the harsh Remwara winter. Thus, Obi-Wan learned to thresh grain, haul fodder, and herd animals. He balked entirely at the slaughterhouses, and, once his Master saw how pitifully sick he'd been, was grateful to be relieved of that duty. That was Qui-Gon's only concession to his delicate, Inner-Rim upbringing. He was a part of the castle family now, and expected to work just as hard.
In the end, it was almost four months before Qui-Gon was satisfied that his people were cared for and his body healed. By that time, the winter had arrived in a blistering hail of sleet. Obi-Wan was shocked at the violent change of season. Summer had been a heaven of sweet grass breezes and soft rain. Autumn blew more fiercely, its downpours hard and long and chilly, consoled by the glowing bronze-gold of the fields, of flame-coloured trees. Just as suddenly, it grew achingly cold. The wind howled in the castle flues, blowing ash about the Great Hall. They spent much more time there for warmth, every member of the household huddled close to the great fireplace, almost as tall as Qui-Gon himself.
During one of these evenings, Obi-Wan was stretched out on the floor, teaching a dice-game to Ara and Koll, when heavy banging on the enormous doors startled him violently. Qui-Gon didn't even turn around: he simply waved the doors open and rose with a sigh, putting his pipe down to turn and face their soggy visitor.
"Hello Mace."
//Not here.// he glanced briefly at Zath, who was studying the fire a little too pointedly.
Without another word, the two men disappeared up the steps to the Tower room.
Only Obi-Wan noticed Zath, whose eyes darted up and back rapidly.
An hour later, the servant rose and slinked halfway up the stairs, only to be called back down by a shriek from Mairteth in the kitchen. Koll and Obi-Wan ran, parting the leather curtains to see an entire flock of bats wheeling around the arched ceiling, knocking into the strung herbs and hanging pots. Somehow, the small window high up in the wall had come undone and was flapping wildly in the wind.
Zath trudged into the storeroom for the ladder, cursing under his breath. Mairteth waved her apron about, screeching, while Koll and Obi-Wan climbed up on the table to open the great skylight.
Only Ara, a small shadow by the stoves, caught the grin on Obi-Wan's face in the low firelight.
Three days later, Obi-Wan settled himself into the pilot's seat of Syrene, his smile so broad Qui-Gon thought it would split his face in two.
"Are ya that happy t' go home, lad?" Qui-Gon teased gently.
Obi-Wan had not been surprised when his Master had insisted on taking Zath with them, as well as two crew members he'd never met, and Mace. He knew enough court intrigue to understand the concept of keeping one's enemies close.
"I don't care about home!" He settled down, his right hand hovering into position on the gilded console. "I get to fly!!"
"That ya do, but do you know how t'take off?" Qui-Gon was lounging against the bulkhead, arms crossed.
Obi-Wan bit his lip and glanced up. "Well, no. But I figured Syrene'd help and..."
His Master shook his head and leaned over the high-backed chair. "That's right. Now, left hand here." He moved the smaller hand into a place, down and to the left.
"Greetings, Dulaan. Obi-Wan." The pleasant metallic voice echoed a little in the golden bridge. "View screens up." The hangar appeared suddenly all around them.
"Revving engines." Obi-Wan's toes curled in his rough traveling boots at the warm hum and gentle vibration. "Course plotted, Obi-Wan?"
Syrene had addressed him as the pilot in charge and it made his face glow, but her question made him droop in dismay and he turned to Qui-Gon, a furrow dug deep between his even brows.
The Master shook his head with a laugh. "Don't take on so!! I've already plotted it, Syrene. Check the number five datalog."
"Right, Dulaan. We are ready for take-off."
"All right, Obi-Wan. Pull through your left hand." The boy's questioning look earned him a smack to the back of the head. "Use the Force, ya dimwit." Qui-Gon was laughing softly.
"Oh. Right. Sorry." Obi-Wan's face flamed. He centred himself, taking a long breath and felt the engines' purring grow deeper.
"Now, " Qui-Gon's voice was low, next to his ear. "Let it flow through you to the right. Direct it an' let yourself be part of it." The purring became a roar and the delicate craft moved forward, emerging from the hangar. "Good. Good. Now, take your left hand away and let it soar. See it." The rough voice deepened, softened almost seductively. "C'mon, lad. Fly for me."
Obi-Wan's face was set and intense, eyes wide but focused on a place deep inside himself. The little ship gave a lurch to glide up into the rain-sodden skies and out into the thinning bands of atmosphere. Then they were surrounded by the star-sequined blackness of space.
Obi-Wan turned brilliant eyes to his Master. "Before we go into hyperspace, Master, I have one question."
Qui-Gon stood back and arched an eyebrow at him. "An' what's tha'?"
"What in the world does 'Dulaan' mean?"
Obi-Wan stared in shock to see his Master's face flood with colour until he was positively scarlet.
"Hmmmm..." Qui-Gon took a long breath. "It's a old language from Remwara's far western provinces. That's where the metal is mined."
"So," the grey-green eyes shone, almost silver in the lights, "what does it mean?"
Qui-Gon sighed again. "It used t' be dealanach." He shrugged. "Times and tongues change. It means 'Lightening. Flamin' coal.'" he murmured. Then he glared at the boy. "An' if ya start laughin', I swear I'll give ya a beatin' you'll never forget. "
//He gets so silly, doesn't he?// Syrene's voice sighed into Obi-Wan's mind.
It took every bit of his training, both in etiquette and control, to keep for dissolving into a fit of merriment.
Fortunately, the jump to hyperspace and its nearly-erotic effects turned the tables enough to restore Qui-Gon's humour.
Obi-Wan was almost pouting. When he had been on Coruscant, pouting used to be a favourite method of getting his own way. In his case, it usually had worked, but he'd never dared to try it on Qui-Gon. He had a bad feeling it would only have earned him a load of ridicule. They were near their destination and about to drop out of hyperspace.
Syrene had been on auto-pilot for much of the trip, but Qui-Gon had spent so much time locked in the common room with Mace that he had relented to Obi-Wan's bored yawns and longing looks. He detoured to give them an extra day's journey at time speed. Hiding his grin beneath a beard growing wild again, he chose a small debris field and let Obi-Wan spend a whole day prowling around obstacles, dodging small asteroids and playing in flight like a fledgling bird. His grin grew wider: it had been well worth the day's time. Obi-Wan was not so much a flame that night, but a wildly blazing fire.
'Funny, ' he thought to himself, making his way to the bridge where he knew he'd find the boy, hunched over the console, staring out the viewscreen with rapt eyes. 'If I'd the sense to be embarrassed...even Syrene might've blushed!'
He watched from the door of the bridge for a moment.
Obi-Wan's long-fingered hands were wandering over the console, clearly in communion with Syrene, soaking up all the nuances of flight like a sponge. The Master's blue eyes crinkled in a wry smile. ' Hate to make him stop, but we've got t'land. An' if I have to listen to anymore strategy meetins', I'll be drinkin' too much when we do!!'
Qui-Gon regretted that so much of the trip had been spent in long hours with Mace and his crewmen, both relatives well-acquianted with his plans. That, and keeping a sharp eye on Zath and the comlinks had made it a less than enjoyable cruise. His greatest pleasure had been the young man's delight at having command of the ship. 'An' thank all the ghods, Syrene likes him or I'd have had my hands full!!'
Obi-Wan turned from the console. "Master, I've learned so much!! Syrene's told me nearly everything!!"
"That's wonderful, love. Now, ya have t'go change. I'll land 'er."
It gave Qui-Gon an odd wrench to see the vibrant face fall. "I'm sorry, lad.
But you've got t'get yourself ready. It won't do f' you to come home looking like the tinker's child."
Obi-Wan sighed. He thought about pouting, nearly did, but it would shame his Master if he descended the ramp dressed in his worn tunic and leggings.
//All right, Syrene. We need to descend to time speed.//
The ship's voice was teasing. // It's ok. After all, there's a trip back, isn't there?//
The boy grinned. "True. Thanks, Syrene."
He rose from the console and smiled at Qui-Gon. "I'll go and change, Master."
Qui-Gon watched him leave with an almost wistful smile.
"Dulaan? Ahem. Pay attention to the orbit, you silly man!"
Obi-Wan ran lightly back to their quarter's and reluctantly pulled out his traveling clothes. He had not so much as looked at them since his arrival at Remwara so many months earlier. He threw the three robes on the bed and pulled out the great traveling cloak in its tissue wrappings with a moan.
After a quick trip to the sonic,clean and freshly shaven, he sat at the dressing table and carefully replaited the heavy braid hanging over his right shoulder, then brushed the rest of his hair well.
'Ugh.' he thought. 'I'll need to put it up down there.' It was considered absolutely gauche for a Padawan with a Master to let his hair loose. It took him a few minutes to even find where he'd stashed the long pins. Carefully, he pulled the tawny locks up as simply as possible, savagely wishing he could chop it all off, except for the braid. When he'd finished , the heavy mass was twisted into a tail and piled on the back of his head. He just refused to even attempt the usual elaborate styles without a proper dresser. He glanced at himself in the mirror. It look a bit , well, peasanty, but would have to do.
He glared at the makeup. A lick or two here, a little kohl around the wide eyes, a brush of colour on his lips...
No, no, no, no, no. His skin was so bronzed from being outdoors!! It made him look like a painted tavern harlot. He scrubbed the colour away, leaving only his eyes ringed delicately as possible. It still made him grimace.
A lurch meant they had landed. Oh, he had taken too long!! His stomach fluttering with panic, he yanked the first solid pale silken robe over his head and struggled to pull it down over his shoulders.
A horrible, wrenching rip and the back seam of the robe tore open. Obi-Wan gasped and stood still, staring at the filmy over-robes in terror. Maybe he could hide it under the cloak? He wriggled a little more and it tore across his chest. It was supposed to fall below his instep, but hung just above his ankles. What in all the ghods had happened to it! The twin outer robes were merely decorative and whisper-thin. He couldn't go out like this!!
His eyes blurred for a moment. All his other formal clothing was in the transport cases. His Master would be coming to fetch him any second. He stood there, shaking. Then his face set and he pulled the torn robe off his body. His hair tumbled out of its pins and he cursed, pulling them out and tossing them onto the dressing table. Just then the ship's comlink in the room buzzed.
"Obi-Wan, get movin'. Meet us at the ramp now!"
He went back to the dresser and got out his best cream-coloured tunic and leggings. Once dressed, he glanced down at the high-soled sandals and shrugged, sitting down to pull on his boots.
He pulled his hair back into a neat tail, then turned to consider the heavy silken traveling robe. Its gaudy brocade was...he groaned, then a sly smile spread across his face. He turned it inside out to display the plain brown silk lining. Slinging it over his shoulders, he took a long breath and looked at himself in the mirror. Horrible, peasant class, and utterly right, it would do until he could get to the transport cases and a proper dresser. Determined chin thrust out, he squared his shoulders and strode out of the room.
Unconsciously, as they descended the ramp into Coruscant's controlled climate, he tucked his hands into the sleeves.
Mace pulled at Qui-Gon's arm, dark eyes startled.
//By all the ghods, he looks like the ancient...//
Qui-Gon's face was impassive, but the blue eyes burned hot.
//I told you he was the one.//