Master Apprentice
Archive
The Shadow of Light
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ARCHIVE: MA - others should ask
CATEGORY: Angst, Q/other, POV, AU
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Major, major angst; character death
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: A twist of fate, too painful to be born, sends Obi-Wan out into the streets, looking for a means to ease his pain.
FEEDBACK: Absolutely - manna from the gods!!!
DISCLAIMER: All things recognizably Star Warsian are the property of the great bearded one. No copyright infringement is intended and no profits generated.
"Strength without hands to smite,
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light,
And Life, the shadow of death."
-- Atalanta in Calydon, Chorus -- Algernon Charles Swinburne
It's truly amazing what one can endure - when one must. And even more amazing that emotions guaranteed to rip one's heart into little bloody shreds can be concealed behind a foolish smile.
Of course, my Master might have seen it all - if he'd really been looking.
But he wasn't - and never would again. That much was terribly obvious.
He was much too engrossed in the delectable vision standing before him - and, even in the depths of my turmoil, I understood why.
Xanatos! I have no idea how long I had known the truth of it - only that it was a certainty that stayed forever in the forefront of my mind. Someday, whispered my insidious little mental voice, someday he would come back. He would realize what he had sacrificed for his little rebellion against authority, and he would come back.
Someday.
Someday, as it turned out, was today.
Xanatos - who was everything that I was not - and more than I could ever hope to be, including the original possessor of my Master's heart. And, despite my contentions to the contrary, I always knew that any claim I might have on Qui-Gon's affections would be best categorized as squatter's rights - valid only until the return of the original owner.
"Look who's come back to us, Obi-Wan."
In almost eleven years as his padawan, I had never seen that smile - not once. That smile that spoke of everything, suddenly, incredibly, being right with the world - and the galaxy - and the universe. That smile that trembled with love rekindled, smoldering no longer but bursting into bright, robust, passionate flame.
"Look who's come back to us, Obi-Wan."
Xanatos had stood within the circle of my Master's arms, his cheek against Qui-Gon's chest, his lips swollen with kisses, and favored me with a smile that my Master could not see - a smile that was filled with triumph, and more than a little contempt. I wondered then if it would have made any difference if my Master HAD seen it - but I dismissed the thought immediately. Of course, it wouldn't. This was Xanatos - the incredibly beautiful Xanatos, of the sapphire eyes framed by the sweep of long, thick, inky lashes, and the satin drift of obsidian hair, skin of honey-gold and full, sensual lips; Xanatos of the long, lean, beautiful body, possessing incredible grace, even in repose.
"Look who's come back to us, Obi-Wan."
The wonder and joy in his voice were like saber blades slashing deep into my soul - but I could not let him see that, now could I? He stood there, beaming at me without ever really seeing me, his hands stroking through that luscious mane of dark hair - and waited for my response.
What could I say?
"Oh, how wonderful, Master, that, after eleven years, we have reached the moment I've been waiting for - the moment when he - or someone - would come along and step into the place in your heart that should have been mine - but never was. Oh, how incredible that, having come this far and become accustomed to having you at my side, I am now to be left behind, to watch as you go forward with the one who really holds the keys to your heart"?
I don't think so.
"Welcome back, Xanatos," I said, very softly, as I slammed shielding down over my mind that Master Yoda himself would have found impossible to penetrate.
Qui-Gon, of course, wasn't really looking at me. Why would he? In eleven years, he had never really looked at me - looked at the boy beneath the surface, or the man the boy would become. He had always been too busy examining old hoarded images.
He said he had forgotten - that he had put Xanatos and all the hurt of that old betrayal behind him.
He lied.
And, even more pathetically, even when I nodded my agreement to his claims, I knew he lied.
I glanced at the panorama of Coruscant spread out beyond our window, and saw that the hour was growing late - that the sunlight was tinted with the old gold that announced the approach of twilight - and knew that my arrival had interrupted a reunion - a reunion of a very private nature.
"I - uh - apologize for barging in, Master," I managed to mumble. "I just needed to fetch . . . something from my room. If you'll excuse me . . ."
I waited for a moment, wondering if he'd ask where I was going. Hoping that he'd ask - but fairly certain that he wouldn't. Fairly certain that if I'd announced my intention to go orbital skydiving from one of the traffic-control satellites - a new rage among the young and reckless, with too much bravura and too little sense - he'd have simply murmured some non-sequitar and dismissed me from his thoughts.
As he obviously already had.
Xanatos, however, continued to watch me over my Master's shoulder, as he was swept into a crushing embrace. There was absolutely no mistaking the venal smugness in his eyes - and a trace of something else, something I could not identify - but it mattered not at all in the end.
I managed to nod to him, acknowledging my withdrawal from the field. We both knew that the better man had won the battle - and the war.
I strode into the sterile confines of my tiny bedroom, and changed the identifiably Jedi cape that I was wearing for a different one, similar in design but heavier and darker.
When I returned to the common room, I averted my eyes quickly from the tableau on display for my edification - and the fact that it WAS a display, deliberately arranged for me - was confirmed by Xanatos's slow smile, and the wink he directed toward me, and the feral hunger glowing in his eyes. He had returned to claim what he wanted most in life - and nothing was going to interfere with his conquest. I was moving very quickly, so I didn't see much - but there was no way I could mistake what I did see.
Bare skin against bare skin was almost glowing in the liquid light pouring through the arched windows.
I made my exit with Force-enhanced speed - and then wondered where I was going.
I had planned to spend the evening in the company of my Master - comfortable in the routine we usually practiced; dining simply, some quiet conversation if he so chose, and then relaxing as he lost himself in his latest antique book while I studied, usually sprawled on the floor in threadbare, comfortable sleep pants.
That was obviously no longer an option - and something inside me whispered that it never would be again. He was my Master - but I grew more and more certain with every passing moment, that that too, would soon be no more than a memory.
A Master, after all, can only have one padawan, and Xanatos had never completed his training.
I walked into one of the smaller meditation gardens, thinking to center myself and release my dark emotions to the Force - but I quickly realized that any such effort was useless.
The little voice in my head was being particularly vicious today. "A REAL Jedi could do it," it said. I didn't bother arguing.
I was standing at the outer edge of the garden, gazing out into the traffic patterns that twisted and flowed through the darkening sky, when I was overwhelmed with a tidal wave of incredible passion - hot and blinding and needy . . . and not mine. Never mine.
I might have managed to deal with all the rest of it - but this was too much to bear. I could not endure the explosion of my Master's pleasure in the arms of his lover.
So I did something I had never done before - never even thought of doing before.
I closed off the link that bound me to Qui-Gon; closed it completely, so that he was no longer a presence in my mind, and was transfixed in that moment as I was flooded by a momentary flash of triumph before everything went dark. It required little thought to understand whose victory was being celebrated.
I went to my knees for a time, I think, as the terrible emptiness loomed around me. It had been eleven years since I was totally alone in my mind - and I had not expected it to be so excruciating.
I might have worried about the effect on my Master - but I knew that there was no cause for concern. I had closed the link - but he would soon sever it - and I doubted he would even notice it was gone.
He had a new bond now - stronger, brighter, more precious.
When I recovered some small semblance of control, I rose - and walked out of the Temple, fairly certain that it would not be just a temporary journey. If my Master released me from my padawan vows, no other would step forward to complete my training; I was far too old to form a new training bond with another Master - but still too young to stand for my trials.
Perhaps the Order had gained a new candidate for knighthood today - to replace the one it had lost.
I had an absurd urge to shriek with laughter, acknowledging the fickle twists of fate. After all this time, all the ridiculous assumptions and foolish dreams, I was going to be forced to face the final truth.
I would never be a Jedi knight.
I sat at the bar - and contemplated my future, and watched as another amorous admirer made his way through the crowd to drop a heavy arm across my shoulders and lean forward to whisper in my ear, proposing activities that were not only indecent but - as far as I knew - anatomically impossible.
"Come on, little Jedi," he hissed, almost licking my skin, "I never screwed a Jedi before - and I hear it's like . . . nothing else in the universe. I hear . . . you guys can go like . . . forever. And you taste . . . oh, gods, you taste sweet."
With a deep sigh, I waved my hand. "You don't want to screw me. I'm not worth the trouble. You'll find somebody better."
The drunk's eyes - already glazed - grew wider and glossier. "You know something, Kid? You're not worth the effort."
And he turned and waddled away, moving with that curious grace that the habitual drunk often exhibits.
Across the bar, a plasticene surface that no amount of wiping would ever render clean again, the twi'lek barmaid, with skin the lovely color of sunrise on Alderaan, regarded me with a rueful smile. "You're asking for trouble, Honey," she observed. "You're going to try that little trick once too often - on someone who's immune to it - and they're going to drag your pretty little ass out of here to show you that it doesn't pay to fuck with certain people."
"Yeah, yeah," I agreed. "The whole world is just dying to get a piece of my ass. In the meantime, can I have a refill?"
She hesitated, and I saw genuine concern in her eyes - but I didn't want genuine concern, not from anybody. What I wanted was the kind of drunken stupor that would eliminate the incredible aching void inside me - so I gestured again with the empty glass in my hand - and smiled as she poured my refill.
I had the ability, of course, like all Jedi, to nullify the effect of the alcohol I was pouring into my bloodstream - just as I could eliminate the effects of drugs or toxins - but I had disengaged that little mental discipline with the very first sip of Katarkan brandy. Still - I wasn't yet drunk enough to feel nothing - which was my aim.
"Oh, you sweet little beauty, you," said a husky voice behind me, as hands settled at my waist, and I felt myself spun around to confront a tall, broad-shouldered Corellian, with incredibly blue eyes and dark, curly hair. His eyes - really quite beautiful eyes - widened as he spotted my padawan braid.
"And a baby Jedi," he laughed. "What a package! Look what we got here, Rudd!"
His companion - Rudd, no doubt - was equally large - and equally interested.
I sighed - and spared a moment to wonder if perhaps I should investigate becoming a courtesan. Having been ogled, fondled, accosted, propositioned, and groped at least a dozen times up to this point of the evening, it appeared that I possessed the rudimentary qualifications for such a profession.
"Gentlemen," I said softly, "surely you can find something more interesting to occupy your time."
I waved my hand - and knew immediately that I would need to find a different solution. These men might be slightly incapacitated by drink - but they were not simple-minded, and no Jedi mind trick would redirect their obvious interest.
The first of the two - he of the incredible eyes - simply stepped closer and leaned forward until his face was bare centimeters from mine. "My name is Quelk, little Jedi. Why don't you tell me yours - cause I think we're going to be good friends. REALLY good friends - if you know what I mean."
I initiated a tiny little Force push - enough to move him away from me just slightly - but not strong enough for him to notice it, and I lifted my glass. "My name is Ben," I said - picking a name at random, "and I regret to inform you that I'm not . . . interested in what you're suggesting - but I'd be happy to buy you a drink."
He hesitated momentarily - and I saw him exchange glances with his companion, probably considering his options; then he laughed, loud and long, and clapped me on the back, almost hard enough to dislodge me from my seat.
"Excellent, little Ben," he replied finally. "If you're not looking for . . . companionship, maybe we can just be drinking buddies. OK?"
"OK," I replied, and gestured to the barmaid to pour for my new acquaintances. When I realized that there were more than just the two of them - five more, in fact - I wondered if my credit chit would cover the drinks being poured - but the twi'lek quickly dispensed the liquor as requested. When she looked at me, her growing concern plain in her eyes, I simply smiled - and finished my drink, only to ask for another.
At that point, she gave up - deciding that her efforts were misplaced, and wasted.
An hour later, I had begun to accomplish my goal; the emptiness within me had faded to a dull ache - and I had managed to ignore the increasingly intimate nature of the touches and comments offered by my new friends. Their kisses and caresses remained light - unthreatening - and seemed to be little more than innocent flirting - so I chose to shrug them off with a genial smile - and my companions seemed to accept my lack of interest with good grace.
All seven of them did find repeated excuses for leaning close and whispering in my ear - and if I hadn't a clue what they were saying most of the time, I put it down to my growing inebriation. I caught an occasional comment about things they would like to do to me, and the sweetness of my ass - but I reasoned - as much as I was capable of reasoning - that I was in a public place, in the midst of a crowd - and I was, after all, still Jedi, no matter how drunk I might get. And a drunken Jedi was still more than a match for any non Force user. I was not worried.
"Hey, Ben," said Quelk, who had quickly become my confidante and trusted companion, "what's a lovely little tidbit like you doing in a place like this - all alone?"
To my complete astonishment, I felt tears well in my eyes and roll down my face.
"Aww," crooned the big Corellian, "what's wrong, Baby? You can tell me. Maybe I can make it all better."
"Nobody . . . can do that," I replied, impatient with my own vulnerability.
He leaned forward then, and nuzzled at my temple - and something within me seemed to flex - and break. "It's all right, little Ben. Why won't you let me . . . make it better? Did somebody . . . hurt you? I could kill him for you - if you like."
"No," I said quickly. "No, you couldn't - and I wouldn't want it if you could."
"Who hurt you, Little One? Come on - you can tell me."
I drew a deep, shuddering breath. "No - I can't. I can't tell . . . anyone."
I felt his arms encircle me then - and found that the gentle nature of his touch was almost more than I could bear.
"Here, Ben," said Rudd, moving closer and holding out a brimming glass. "Taste this. It'll make you feel better. I promise."
In the back of my mind - in the place to which reason had receded - an alarm was shrieking - but I was beyond listening. I accepted the drink - some kind of bilious green concoction - and drained the glass, finding it both sweet and tart, with a dark, but not unpleasant undertaste.
"Excellent," said Rudd, with a wink and a smile. "Pretty soon, you'll be feeling better. We're all going to help you feel better - aren't we, Boys?"
And the seven all grinned and nodded - and moved closer until I was completely surrounded, cut off from the view of the other patrons of the bar.
I was not alarmed at first; they hadn't made any secret of the fact that they wanted to touch me - and the touches, while occasionally more intimate that I would have preferred, had not caused me any harm. So I simply smiled - and tried to ask them to move back a bit, to give me some space.
Tried - and found myself suddenly incapable of speech, and incapable of coordinated movement. I tried to stand - and found that my legs would not support me.
I looked at Quelk then - and saw the truth in his eyes - and cursed myself for a fool for not seeing it before.
This was no innocent drinking buddy; no easy going companion.
This was a predator - and his eyes were devouring his next victim - me. When his mouth descended on mine this time, there was no gentleness, no nuzzling. It was obvious that his goal was to consume me, and as he broke the kiss, he bit down hard on my lower lip, drawing fresh blood.
I tried to fight them - but it was no contest - and I understood immediately what had happened. Even in a drunken state, I would have been a match for any one of them, and, armed with the lightsaber that was affixed to my belt, I might even have been a match for all of them. But I was no longer merely drunk; I was drugged - and a quick mental grab for the Force confirmed my worst suspicions.
They'd laced my drink with Tarcliminal - a drug that retards muscle control and severely inhibits access to the Force.
They hesitated only long enough to adjust their hold on me so that I could be carried from the bar without arousing undue suspicion - and for Quelk to put his mouth to my ear and make his little speech.
"So you're 'not interested' in what we want, little Jedi? Think your precious little ass is too good for the likes of us. Well, now you get to hear what WE think - and we don't give a damn what you want or what you like. We have a little score to settle with your kind - and, since you're the only one we've been able to grab, looks like you're going to pay the price - for all your fucking buddies. Call it payback - for what your friends did to the overseers in the mines on Quaratchi. You remember Quaratchi, don't you, Little One. Where your big bad Jedi came in to rescue all the poor little Yemulga tribesmen that had been forced to mine the yornda-spice. The poor little Yemulga - filthy, ugly little vermin - only good for serving their betters - but not according to your Jedi friends."
He paused then, just long enough to take a gulp of brandy - and the fury in his eyes grew more intense.
"They came to 'liberate' the poor Yemulga - and they killed all the overseers to do it. To free a bunch of filthy animals - my father and brothers were slaughtered like animals. So this is how it is, Sweet Little Jedi. You're coming with us now, to a nice, quiet, private little spot nearby - not up to your usual standards, I'm afraid - but it'll serve the purpose - because nobody is going to interrupt us. And then? We're going to fuck you, little Ben - every single one of us - and when the last one is done, the first one will be ready again. We're going to fuck you till you bleed - and then we're going to fuck you some more - in the mouth, in the ass. And, when we're all done with you, we're going to put your sweet little light saber up your sweet little hole - and carve the names of the dead into your skin - and you're going to take it all - and not say a word."
I must have made some sound then - a groan perhaps - because a hard, calloused hand closed over my mouth and nose, and I gasped for air that I could not draw. My last memory of the bar is of being lifted, and pulled toward the exit - and the crowd around us continued to party, a few even waving their farewells.
Then I passed out, from lack of oxygen.
Bringing us, inevitably, to now - to this moment. In the darkness of a garbage dump in an alley behind the bar.
They ripped away my clothes and tossed me across a rusted barrel, and I see them coming toward me, a vibro-knife in hand. Hard, brutal mouths claim mine, as others bite down on my throat, and my nipples, and I feel hard fingers close on my penis, and I wonder if that's what the knife is for. But, no - they have other ideas. As two of them pry my mouth open, I feel rough hands grasp my buttocks, and pull viciously to open me to the thick, pulsing penis that even now presses into me with a brutal thrust.
The pain is unlike anything I have ever imagined, as the knife slashes quickly across my tongue - and I am impaled from behind, feeling myself rip from the roughness of the penetration.
I am Jedi, I tell myself. I will endure - whatever I must, and I try to hold that thought as a huge phallus thrusts into my bleeding mouth.
And I find that I do indeed retain some measure of what I once hoped to be; I am Jedi enough, at least, to accept the fact that I will not survive this night. I am tempted to open myself to the Force, to simply slip away into darkness - an act I am still capable of accomplishing.
But I will not die a coward. Death will come when it comes. I will not fight it - but neither will I reach for it.
My last conscious thought is to wonder if my Master would have been proud of my final moments.
My fingers stroked through the silk of his hair - and I found myself barely able to cope with the intensity of the emotion coursing through me.
My Xanatos - here, in my bed, in my arms. How had I endured these long years without him? How had I ever managed to convince myself that life in his absence was worth living?
For so long, I'd had nothing. This - this was almost too much - a feast before a starving man.
He stirred beneath the brush of my hand, and I smiled to note that his morning habits had not changed in all these long years. He still wakes with a rampant erection.
When he rolled over, and covered my body, bending to capture my lips, I felt an exquisite happiness - a total contentment that was incredibly sweet and powerful.
My life had returned to me.
"Ummm," he murmured against my lips. "I thought I was dreaming."
"If this is a dream," I replied, nuzzling the soft hollows of his throat, "I wish never to waken."
He chuckled softly. "Your padawan would certainly be livid if you did that."
"My padawan," I answered, still besotted with the taste of him, "is NEVER livid."
His chuckle became a laugh. "Oh, Qui - still able to blind yourself to the obvious, I see."
I pulled back and looked up at him, noting something in his smile that I could not readily identify. "What are you talking about?"
"Your padawan," he said, peppering my face with little kisses between his words, "left here in a towering snit last night."
I pushed him up then, and studied his face. "Xan - Obi-Wan has never been in a 'snit' as you put it, in his life."
He rolled off me then, still grinning. "Really? In that case - where is he?"
"He's . . ." I rolled up then to a sitting position, stretching out through the Force and finding . . . nothing. Not even a trace of the Force signature that had been present in my mind for over ten years. "I don't know where he is." It was an admission that I found strangely hard to make.
"He's off pouting somewhere," said Xan, obviously pleased with himself. "He's lost you - and he knows it. Just as he knows there's nothing he can do about it."
"Lost . . . me?" I sounded as confused as I felt. "What do you mean?"
He reached out then and put his arms around me. "Surely you noticed," he whispered, his face buried in my hair. "Our bond . . . renewed itself. As it was bound to. And you can only have . . . one bond, my Master. Surely you know that."
"Of course, I know it," I snapped, "but . . ."
It seems ludicrous to say such a thing now - in the full light of reason - but it was not until that moment that I realized what I had done.
I leapt to my feet, panic shrieking in my mind. Xanatos was my life - my heart - but, oh, Force, what had I done?
I had known the bond with Obi-Wan would need to be severed - but I had believed that there was still time; that I could prepare him for what needed to be done, that I could make it easier for him.
And when I realized - at that exact moment - the full extent of what breaking that bond meant - my heart seemed to seize up inside me.
Obi-Wan would not complete his training; he would not become a Jedi.
Oh, Force - what had I done? For ten years, he had filled my life, asking nothing from me, giving everything he had.
And now - I had destroyed him.
And all I could do was wonder how I had failed to realize it before.
I turned to look down at my lover - and was overwhelmed with a blast of pure realization. He had known; he had savored his victory as I destroyed a boy who had been guilty of nothing more than offering me his life - and his heart.
For I had always known what was inside my padawan - the feelings that he never acknowledged, never mentioned.
Obi-Wan had always loved me - and I had repaid his love with betrayal.
"Come back to bed," said Xan, his fingers moving to caress his hardness, his eyes smoldering with desire.
Swiftly, knowing myself to be the worst kind of a fool, I knelt beside the bed and took his hands in mind. "Force help me," I said, fighting for control, "I do love you. Beyond all reason - and if this is the price I must pay to have you back in my arms, then so be it. But know this, my devious Love. I know what you did; I know that you knew what WE did to him - and I will not soon forget it - or forgive it. He is . . ." my voice broke in a sob, ". . . he is better than both of us - and we will surely someday be held to account for the pain we inflicted on him. I love you - but I don't like you right now - no more than I like myself."
To my astonishment - and rage - he smiled. "Always the philanthropist - the willing sacrifice. He's just another pathetic lifeform - another stray that you took in, while you were dreaming of me. Come here - and I'll make you forget he ever . . ."
I rose then, swiftly, unable to listen to another word. The light of morning pouring through the transom seemed to pool around my beloved - but I saw only darkness - and knew it to be a reflection of what resided in my own heart.
Obi-Wan! The name was a desperate cry inside me. I must find Obi-Wan.
I could not make it right; nothing would ever do that. But I could make it better.
I dressed quickly and headed for the door, my mind flailing, reaching for something that refused to be found.
The door opened as I approached - and I plunged through, almost colliding with Master Yoda and Mace Windu. I was puzzled momentarily, wondering why I had not sensed their presence.
Then I recognized that both were heavily shielded - to a degree almost unheard of within the confines of the Temple - and that both moved with a terrible weariness, as if they had fought the Sith themselves - and lost.
There was a brief silence, as I waited - and fear swelled up within me, causing my lungs to struggle for a decent breath.
"Masters?" I found myself unable to say more.
"Come with us, you will," said Master Yoda finally - and I had never heard such a wealth of sorrow in such simple words.
"My . . . padawan?" I was stalling - and I knew it - but I was not entirely certain that my legs would support me.
Mace merely nodded.
"What . . . where . . ."
"Come quickly, you must," said Yoda, and it was not lost on me that he had yet to meet my eyes.
"What's he done?" I asked then, relieved to be able to put a full sentence together.
And the great citrus eyes lifted then, and I could not entirely control the shudder that shook me. "Dying, he is," came the answer.
I closed my eyes then - wanting to deny it, wanting to argue, to refute what could not be true, what I would NOT accept - but I couldn't. For somehow, on some level, even with the link between us closed and shuttered, I had known.
And I had been too enchanted, too entranced, too deep in the passion of sex with my lover, to acknowledge it, or take any action to change it.
Obi-Wan was dying - because I couldn't keep my penis in my pants when he needed me.
Darkness took me then - and I realized as I sank into it, that it would always retain a place in my soul. My light was gone; it was dying with my padawan.
Master Healer Phremt - a zabrakian whose fierce countenance was balanced by the kindness of his eyes - sighed heavily as he stripped off protective gloves and turned to face the Jedi Master who stood - weaving slightly - before him, leaning against the supportive hands of Master Windu and a young man the healer did not recognize - a beautiful creature with ebony hair and cerulean eyes.
"Surely you can do something," said Master Jinn, his voice barely audible.
The zabrakian didn't want to be needlessly cruel - but he believed it was much more sadistic to grant false hope than to offer his honest assessment.
"Master Jinn," he said in his surprisingly soft, cultured voice, "you need to understand what he endured. If I could, I would spare you this - but you will never accept reality until you know it all. Based on the evidence we've managed to piece together, he was raped - repeatedly - by at least six different men, both anally and orally. He was beaten, with both fists and blunt instruments. Every rib is fractured; both arms are broken, as well as one leg, and there are fractures in his lower vertebrae and his pelvis. They cut out his tongue - severed several fingers - and, when they were finally done using him, they inserted his ignited lightsaber into his anus - not enough to kill him, but enough to inflict pain such as you and I can't even imagine. They also - I'm sorry but you must understand - carved letters in his skin. Even if everything else could be mended - the blood loss alone would kill him."
He paused for breath, noting that the Jedi Master had gone as white as bleached paper. "He was drugged, so he had no access to the Force to help him either fight them off, or manage his pain. Frankly, I don't know why he didn't simply surrender himself to the Force - and spare himself the agony they put him through. I'm sure he knew . . . forgive me for being so blunt . . . that he would not survive this."
Qui-Gon Jinn took a deep shuddering breath. "He didn't surrender himself - because he's Obi-Wan Kenobi - and he's never run from anything in his life."
The healer sighed and nodded - and wondered how many padawans would be able to endure what this boy - once so beautiful and so full of promise - had endured.
"Can I see him?"
Healer Phrempt rubbed weary eyes with the heel of his hand. "I'm not sure that's wise, Master Jinn. He's not . . . he doesn't look - like himself."
The towering Master stepped away from the support of those around him, and fixed the healer with a determined stare. "He is my padawan - and he will NOT die alone. You tell me there is nothing to be done - but there IS one thing to be done. Before he . . . goes, he will know that he is not alone."
The zabrakian nodded - feeling through the Force that this was the right thing to do.
When both Master Windu and Xanatos moved as if to accompany Qui-Gon, he gestured for them to remain where they were.
This responsibility was his alone - and he would brook no interference.
The room is very dim; there is, after all, no reason to raise the illumination for Obi-Wan's sake. He will not notice - will not see.
Will never see again.
A last gesture from his attackers, perhaps - one that the healer elected not to mention, as it seems hardly to matter in the light of everything else.
They blinded him - by gouging out his eyes - those beautiful, sea-change eyes.
I make it to the edge of the bed before collapsing to my knees, and I sit and look at what they did to him - and cannot understand how any sentient being could do this to another human being, much less one as radiantly beautiful as my Obi-Wan.
He is not beautiful now.
He is a mass of bruises and lacerations - bloodied and mangled and swollen and torn, with arms and legs at strange, unnatural angles, and skin burned and charred and, in some places, ripped from his body.
The healers have not tried to reset bones or straighten limbs, knowing it to be useless, and fearing that, somewhere within the confines of his mind - where he has retreated, it might yet cause him pain.
There will be no more pain; they have made certain of that. The solution that drips into the IV attached to his arm is a pale lilac in color, and I don't bother to ask what it is.
Obi-Wan will be gone - very soon. There is no point in prolonging his agony - or ours. And I am struck with a sudden thought; is it his pain we seek to ease - or our own.
And I know that I do not WANT my pain taken from me. After all, I earned it.
I move closer, and extend one hand to caress the side of his face - and I cringe to note that his jaw is broken as well.
A sound behind me alerts me to the fact that I am not alone, as I wanted to be. But when I turn, and see that it is Master Yoda who stands behind me, watching me, I haven't the heart to protest.
"What will I do?" I ask, in a whisper. "How will I live without him?"
Yoda moves forward, and lifts himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes lingering on the broken face of my beloved padawan. "Too bad, it is," he says, "that learned it too late, you have."
"Learn what?" I am barely coherent, barely able to understand his words.
"This," he says, with a gesture toward Obi-Wan's battered body, "was the legacy you should have left for the Jedi. Too late, now, it is. Too much, he endured. Owe him peace, we do. Up to you, it is, to provide it."
"What must I do?"
He looks at me then - and I can feel his disappointment, his sadness - but I know he will never speak of it. "Little time, have you," he answered. "Waited for you, he has. The reason, this is, that he did not allow himself to join the Force. Say good-bye, you must - and open your heart. Lie, you cannot, for he will know. You must allow him to see . . . whatever is in your heart. Owe him that, you do."
"But . . ."
Yoda sighs. "Even now," he whispers, "even now, you cannot give him what he always wanted. Even now - your love is reserved for another - who is unworthy. Even now."
I want to deny it - but I can't. "One does not choose who to love," I sigh. "If I could have loved him - in the way he wanted - don't you think I would have?"
"That question," says Yoda, "only you can answer. But, if nothing else, you must let him know that he was not a failure - that he would have been a great Jedi knight. Give him that, you must - or fail him completely."
"How . . ."
"Close your eyes - and go to him. Purged the drug from his system, they have. Hear you, he will - if you hurry."
I draw a deep breath, knowing what I must do - but unsure if I can do it. Can I center myself, and release myself into the Force, allowing it to carry me where I need to go? Can I . . . find him? Can I still touch him?
The answer comes swiftly - and I realize that Master Yoda has played some role in smoothing my path, in helping me to attain that which I could not attain on my own.
It is a beautiful setting - green and bathed in golden light, strewn with bright flowers and lush with life - a meadow in which birdsong blends with the splash of a nearby brook, and the air is warm and redolent with the fragrances of springtime. Obi-Wan's manifestation of the Force.
He is sitting on the bank of the stream, his face - his beautiful, untorn, unravaged face - turned up to the sun as he dangles his feet into the crystalline water. I draw near, and feel my breath catch in my throat as he opens his eyes, and I am swept into the blue-green loveliness of their depths. Sunbeams dance in the copper softness of his hair, and the auburn sweep of his eyelashes.
"Hello, Master."
I fall to my knees at his side, and stretch out my hand to caress the lovely cleft of his chine. "My Obi-Wan."
"I'm glad you came," he says softly, almost timidly. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Why would you think that?" I ask, my eyes drinking in the perfection of his beauty.
He shrugs slightly. "Because I know I've never been what you really wanted - and I . . ."
"Stop," I say sharply. "Just stop. You're wrong, and I . . ."
His smile is slightly lopsided. "In this place, Master, only truth is possible."
"You believe I didn't want you?"
He nods. "Yes. I've always known I was a poor substitute for . . ."
"Look into my eyes, Padawan," I say quickly, "and listen to me - for I swear to you that I speak only truth now."
He looks at me, and I am almost undone by the single tear that clings to lower lashes.
"It's true," I admit, "that I did not want you as my padawan in the beginning. And it's also true . . . that I have loved another for all these long years. I wish it could have been different - but that is not a choice one is allowed to make. However, this you must know and understand, my padawan. Despite the fact that Xanatos has always been in my heart and my soul - I have known, almost from the very beginning, that he did not deserve either my love or my loyalty. If life were fair, those things would have been reserved for you. The fact that they were not is MY failure - not yours."
"Stop, Master," he says then, looking down into the crystal rush of water, "you have been my mentor, my teacher - and my inspiration. And I don't need declarations of love or devotion - or anything else. I only needed . . ." he turns then to look into my eyes, ". . . to tell you that none of this is your fault, and to say thank you - and good bye."
I cannot stifle a sob then, and I am suddenly aware that there is a great stillness growing around us. "Don't leave me, Obi-Wan," I implore, knowing it is already too late. "You should have been my legacy; you were the best of me - the light of my life. I can't . . . I won't go on . . ."
"Yes, you will," he assures me - and I feel his hand touch my face - but it is already no more than a shadow of what it should be. "Now you will have what you have always wanted - and I rejoice for your happiness. I love you, Master."
And he is gone, and I am alone - a bitter, lonely, foolish old man, without hope, without honor.
Master Yoda sits on the side of the bed, and his hands are braced against the chest that rises and falls no more, and, for some strange reason that I don't think to question at that moment, Xanatos is standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable, as Yoda leans forward and touches his lips to pale, mangled hands.
It is rumored that no one has ever seen him cry.
Until now.
He has been knighted posthumously, of course. No one could have deserved it more - but something within me says that he would have been amused by all the pomp and circumstance, and the solemnity of the ceremony.
And now, he will be consigned to the ages, in the crucible of flame - and I stand and look at his profile amid the fire, and still find it almost impossible to understand what has happened. I remember standing beside the bed, and looking down, and knowing he was gone - yet, somehow, expecting him to open his eyes and smile at me.
It was then, as I tried to compose myself, that I noticed that his attackers had not been content with inflicting physical pain; they had been proficient in the mental and emotional varieties as well.
They had severed his padawan braid.
It resides now in the pocket of my robe, retrieved from the filthy alleyway where he was left to die.
His murderers have not been found - but it is only a matter of time, I think, due to the information provided by a young twi'lek barmaid. I spoke to her - and I can't help but wonder what it was she saw when she looked at my padawan. It is obvious that he touched her in some way - but she's volunteered nothing beyond her account of the evening at the bar.
Still, I believe he must have touched her; he did that, you know. He touched a lot of people. Special, was my Obi-Wan. His life was tragically short - but incredibly rich. It is a terrible irony that he died believing himself unloved - when, in truth, he was loved by many more people than he knew.
The Temple is a somber place these days. A bright, lovely presence is gone from us - and there is no laughter in the hallways. Even in the crèche - where he often volunteered his time to work with the youngest initiates - there is uncertainty and sorrow, as the littlest ones ask for their 'Ob-wan' - and cannot understand why he does not come to them.
And now - in the depth of night - we gather here, to say good-bye, to look at him once more - and to remember.
It is not a quick process - the cremation of a body. Not until the wee hours do the flames subside to mere embers - and still I wait.
His ashes, I have decided, will be taken to Alderaan, and scattered on the winds over the sea cliffs. It was one of his favorite places, rich in life and the Force, and incredibly beautiful. And, I recall, with a lovely sweep of ocean, exactly the color of his eyes.
In the end, there is only myself, Yoda - and Xanatos - and I am touched to note that he has stayed throughout the evening. He has been strangely quiet, of late - and neither of us has felt any urge to resume our physical relationship. That, I suppose, will come, with time, but I am somehow relieved to conclude that, despite his cavalier attitude, he has been affected by this tragedy.
Even he was touched, in some way, by my padawan.
The last ember darkens, just as the first pale wraith of light glimmers on the eastern horizon - and Xanatos steps forward as I retrieve the urn which will house this pale drift of ash that is all that remains of that blithe and lovely spirit.
"Do you believe in poetic justice, Master?" says my lover - and I resist the temptation to admonish him for speaking at such a moment. Silly of me, of course; Obi-Wan is certainly beyond caring.
"In what context, Xan?"
He shrugs. "Perhaps irony is a better word. Do you appreciate irony?"
I continue with my task, and note that Master Yoda is still with us, and is watching us from the shadows on the other side of the bier.
"I suppose I do," I answer. "Why?"
He moves closer then, and is staring into the ashes, his eyes dark and far away. When he speaks, it is barely audible. Little more than a whisper.
"My plan was perfect, you know. Perfect. It worked exactly as I had foreseen. It did exactly what I intended it to do."
I straighten then and turn to face him, the urn still clasped tight in my hand.
He continues, in that same ethereal tone. "I knew that your reaction to me - your rebonding with me - would drive a wedge between the two of you. That it would destroy your relationship with him. And I knew that, him being the man he was, he would step away - and give you what he believed to be your heart's desire. He would not stand in your way. I knew that."
He smiles and when he lifts his eyes, I am amazed to see them awash with tears. "Such a noble soul. So giving. So . . . beautiful."
"What are you saying, Xan?"
"Do you know how long I waited - how long I dreamed of that moment? The moment . . . when the bond between the two of you would be broken? Years, Master. Years, and then more years - waiting, planning - dreaming."
I sigh then, and wish he had waited longer to express this. This is not the time or the place for him to voice his satisfaction at what we have gained - not in the face of all we have lost.
When he laughs, I am aghast - at both his insensitivity - and the bitterness of it.
"You incredibly arrogant ass," he says suddenly, firmly. "You still don't see it - do you? You were so wrapped up in what YOU wanted - that you never once really looked into my heart - any more than you ever looked into his."
"I don't understand," I say - sounding, no doubt, as lost as I feel. "What are you . . ."
"It was HIM, you fool. For years, it's been him. I saw him first when he was just a child - but I knew, even then, what he would become. I always knew. I didn't come back here for YOU. You broke my heart, Master." The last word is spoken with bottomless venom. Then his voice softens, and I hear the tears in it. "He would have - made me whole. Once your bond was broken, once your betrayal was complete, he would have seen you - and the Jedi - for what you are - and he would have come to me. He would have seen how much I loved him - how much I needed him. He would have been everything I ever wanted. I have loved him since the first day I saw him - though I fought it for years."
He turns to face me now - and I wonder how anyone can endure such terrible pain, and I wonder which of us is more damned.
"Shall we share a drink, Master? To celebrate our great victory? Between the two of us, we destroyed the only light either of us could ever have hoped for."
He turns then, to walk away, and I try to restrain myself. I try not to say it, but I can't resist it. "What about . . . us?"
He does not look back, does not even hesitate. "There is no us, Qui-Gon. There was only him - and together, you and I killed him. Should we get together for a farewell fuck, do you think?"
He does pause briefly now - and look back at me. "That's all it ever was, you know. It meant no more - than what they did to him - and I will remember it exactly that way. While you and I were enjoying our little fuck - they were destroying the only thing that was good and decent in our lives."
"Xan, I . . ."
"Good-bye, Qui-Gon. Better luck with your next padawan. Maybe you'll finally get lucky. Maybe you'll finally find the one who's meant to be your legacy."
He looks once more towards the bier. "Good-bye, Little love. I wish . . ."
But his wish - like all the promises that were reduced to ash on this night - is lost on the rising wind.
And I? I stand here alone - and finally know what I've done, what I've lost.
For the first time in my life, I find that the Force holds no answers. It is suddenly as cold and empty and meaningless as everything else in my life.
There is no light; there is only solitude.
The day dawns - but all is darkness.
FINIS