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Son of the Empire

by MrsHamill (thamill@cox.net)

Chapters 1 - 3 | Chapters 4 - 7

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was a long, tiring day, made longer by the early morning.  While Qui-Gon was used to long days on short sleep, his new relationship with Obion was, for some reason, draining him of his energy.  He looked forward to the third night of their 'Three Nights' and to the masquerade, but wondered if exhaustion would claim him before he could even kiss his love.

The Empress told Aliamon and Cliadle a censored version of the meeting with Plo Koon after Anikin and Maisen left for their classes, after breakfast.  Cliadle kept asking questions until the Empress told her a bit of what Plo had revealed, at which time Cliadle shocked everyone in the room.

"You didn't know his body wasn't recovered?" she said, obviously puzzled.  "I did, I thought everyone did.  Nadd was tossed into a volcano on Onderon, but Kun was spaced, and when they went looking for his body, they couldn't find it.  I thought you knew."

Obion was looking at his sister as though she'd suddenly sprouted wings, but Maul's expression -- once he got over his surprise -- was nothing but pride.  "I think, perhaps, you might like to help revered Jedi Koon, da'schal," he said, glancing at the Empress for confirmation.  She nodded after a moment.

"I can?  Oh, that would be wonderful.  I know the stacks better than anyone else, I'm sure I'd be able to help him."

"This may be a mistake," the Empress murmured.  Qui-Gon gave her a wry smile.

The Seneschal entered the room at that moment and Maul stiffened.  "Majesty, I need to go over the plans for the masquerade tonight, when you have time," Matrin said.  "Will the revered Jedi be joining us for the public ball or just the private one?"  He addressed the question to Qui-Gon, who frowned in thought.

"I really don't know, Jay, but I'll try to find out."  He sighed.  "I think I'm going to need to find a costume, assuming I'm going.  And I have to get back to my rooms to change."

"Your costume has already been delivered to your quarters, Master Jinn."  Matrin smiled.  "His Highness picked it out for you."

Qui-Gon looked at Obion, who had the grace to look abashed.  "Dare I ask?" he murmured.  Cliadle giggled.

"Jay," Aliamon said, "do you know if the costume I want has been finished?"  Qui-Gon frowned. Her voice sounded strange.

"Yes, actually, Highness, it has been."  Matrin turned toward her and smiled.  "It looks lovely.  If you would like to meet me at the seamstress' room in an hour, I'd be glad to help you with it."

"Thank you, Jay."  She turned to her mother.  "I've got to go, Mother, I'm meeting a few friends."

The Seneschal stayed in the room to talk to the Empress, but everyone else left.  Cliadle gave her father a fast hug and took off down the hall towards the main library, and Maul, after letting her go, turned to frown at the closed door behind him.

"I'll wait for Adi here," he murmured to Obion and Qui-Gon.  "Highness, you have a staff meeting scheduled later, and I believe Prince Bail has expressed a desire to join you for lunch.  Check your schedule before you do anything else."

Obion blinked at Maul, who had already turned away, then his face reddened.  "I'll be with Qui-Gon, but we'll be working out, nothing more."

He didn't sound very convincing, and Qui-Gon chuckled.  "We didn't get a lot of sleep last night, Obi.  Perhaps..."

With a half-hearted glare, Obion grabbed his hand and began tugging him down the hall.  "Is my whole family intent on embarrassing me this morning?"  He was trying for grumpy, but again, he wasn't very convincing at it.  

Qui-Gon couldn't stop thinking it was probably inappropriate to be this happy: at any minute, the Dhro could arrive and attack, there were more refugees arriving every day from Coruscant, and there was undoubtedly a Dark Force user lurking in the palace somewhere.  But Qui-Gon found it impossible to maintain a gloomy outlook when he had Obion by his side, which, by itself, was completely inappropriate.  But what the hell.  He hadn't felt this giddy since he was a padawan and realized what being a Jedi would mean to him.

"I do need to check in with Bellen," he said as they reached the cross-corridor where Obion's rooms were.  "I'm afraid I'll have appointments I'll miss."

"It's a holiday," Obion said with some exasperation.  "Not, of course, that's ever stopped people."  He chuckled, stretched up and kissed Qui-Gon.  "I'll meet you in your rooms.  I need to check in too."

All it took was that last thought to cement it; ridiculous or not, he would definitely wear it.  One-upmanship was not exactly a good trait for a Jedi, but he wasn't a very good Jedi, as Mace was so fond of pointing out.

"It's the traditional feast clothes of the old Freerangers, the ones that were the ancestors of the Sith," Bellen said, fingering the heavy vest.  "It's beautiful, isn't it?  I've never seen such lovely work outside a museum."

"It is beautiful, but I doubt I'll be able to give it the show it deserves."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Master Jinn.  But you'll have to do something with your hair... maybe I have some blue or white ribbons..."

"Ribbons?"

"Mm-hmm,"  Bellen walked back to the teleunit.  "I'll see if I can find some.  Now, then.  I've finished incorporating the changes her Exalted Majesty and you wanted into the treaty, and have it saved on datacrystal for you, do you need more than one copy?  Also, the revered Jedi Koon sent you a message about..."

To Qui-Gon's dismay, he had a busy schedule.  The Jedi wanted to meet with him on the Empress' proposal, the lunch request from Bail Organa for Obion included him, and the master of initiates wanted some of his time about Maisen.  Plo Koon had been so happy with Cliadle it almost sounded as if he wanted to take her as his padawan, and he wanted Qui-Gon to stop by sometime as well.  Though he'd be at the Jedi meeting, it sounded like he'd prefer to talk to Qui-Gon privately.

The Jedi meeting.  When had the Jedi become 'them' and the Sith become 'us'?  He had a feeling he knew what would happen at the meeting, since there was a quorum of the Council present on Corellia.  He just hoped Plo would be able to temper their feelings, their anger, feelings that they were, by rights and the Code, not allowed to have.  He was glad Depa Billaba had come to Corellia with the Council, as she was also a voice of reason.  The others would vote their conscience, but Mace Windu was the head of the Council, and what he said would be adhered to, generally.

Rousing Terrell from his stupor, he turned to Bellen.  "Would you call his Highness and let him know..."

"He's already called, Master Jinn," Bellen interrupted him with a smile.  "He says to tell you he'll see you at lunch."

"I'm just hoping I won't be lunch," Qui-Gon muttered.  "Sounds good.  Terrell, lead on... but if you have any fireproof clothing, I'd be grateful to borrow them."

Terrell thought he was joking, as did Bellen.  He wasn't.

Any other time, Qui-Gon might have found it amusing to meet with his executioners in the same small meeting room where he had faced down Roberd Palpatine, but this was not any other time.  He walked into the room to find everyone already there and waiting for him, and resisted the urge to tug his stola straight.

"Nice of you to join us, Master Jinn," Mace Windu said, opening the meeting and setting the tone.

"I apologize for my tardiness; I had a very early morning meeting with the Empress."

"I thought your secretary took care of making sure you had all your appointments up to date."

He would not descend to Windu's level, he would not.  "Yes, and she has just informed me.  What can I help the council with this morning?"

Before Mace could speak, Ka'Ran Da, one of the younger Council members, did.  "Master Jinn, since we are here, we would like a face-to-face with you on the progress you've made with the treaty.  We understand you believe it will be ready for ratification within a month?"

"Yes, I do.  A month or sooner.  Most of the Jedi's requests have been met.  I think you'll like the final outcome."  Before anyone else could speak, he pulled the datacrystal Bellen had given him from his belt pouch.  "This is the roughed in version, and, as you'll see, there is very little in the way of concessions required of  the Jedi."

They passed the cube around, each Councilor loading the data into his or her reader.  The room became silent as everyone perused the treaty, and Qui-Gon was pleased to note even Mace Windu looked sourly accepting.

"This is very good work, Master Jinn," Depa Billaba said.  She looked across the table at Plo Koon, and he nodded.  "I think I can speak for all of us: your work here has been even better than we expected."

"Thank you for your words of encouragement and praise," Qui-Gon murmured, bowing.  He pulled out a chair and sat, feeling more welcome suddenly.  "As for the Empress' last-minute request for an addendum, I assure you, it came as much of a surprise to me as it did to you."

"You expect us to believe that?" Mace Windu said, his voice incredulous.  "She didn't mention it to you before?"

"One of the things I've learned from my time here, Master Windu, is that the Empress is nothing if not unpredictable."  He sighed and shook his head.  "It's made things very interesting at times."

"Well, I have a great deal of difficulty in acceding to her request,"  Windu continued.  "You are a Jedi, not a Sith.  She has no right to ask you to be her minister, it is a conflict of interest."

"I think the primary reason we are all here is to agree that there are no such distinctions, Mace," Depa said.  "We were one, once; we can be again... if we are willing to set aside our prejudices."

Windu bristled, and Qui-Gon found himself glad it was Depa and not him at the end of that snit, for once.  

To his surprise, Plo Koon headed Windu's anger off at the pass.  "The last time we were unable to, it led to the Jedi-Sith war."  All eyes turned to him as he made his mild statement.  "We have long operated under the assumption that the war started because of the inherent differences between how the Jedi and Sith see the Force, and that it was caused from our battle with the Dark Force users.  That is not necessarily the case.  My studies in the library here have filled in gaps in the Temple libraries, and I believe I can point to other reasons."

"Explain."  Qui-Gon had the absurd thought that Windu's face was someday going to freeze in that scowl, and no one would notice.

"We have long understood that Kun and Nadd were able to influence large numbers of people, across great distances.  Some of those they influenced were not so much coerced as persuaded -- many came to their aid willingly, after a lust for power."  Those at the table were nodding; this was old news.  "We have also long believed that once Kun and Nadd were gone, their influence was also gone.  That does not appear to be so, after my studies.  I still have far to go, but I can make a preliminary report."

"How can you trust documents that are here, written by Sith who were at war with the Jedi at the time?" Depa asked, her face in a slight frown.  "Would there be no prejudicial slant to them?"

"There is, in some of them, and it is easy to spot," Plo conceded.  "However, several of the documents I've found were written by Jedi."

That caused a stir.  Even Qui-Gon was surprised by it, and he'd come to believe that much of what he thought he knew about the Sith, the Jedi, and their relations, was not inherently true.  

"Ulic Qel-Droma married Nominda Sunrider, who then became Nomi-Wan, the first empress of the Wan Dynasty, long before the end of the war against the Dark Force users.  This makes a great deal of sense; we have been told it was Sunrider's lightsaber that disabled Nadd sufficiently to kill him, and it was Qel-Droma who taught her how to build it.  But after the war was won, after Nadd was dead and Kun presumed dead -- and I will get back to that later -- the Jedi and the Sith were not at war.  The war between us seems to have begun when the Temple recalled Qel-Droma to active service and he refused to return."

Qui-Gon blinked in amazement.  Like the other Jedi, he had brought his preconceptions to Corellia, and now most of them were happily destroyed.  A quick glance around the table confirmed he was not the only one utterly astonished by Plo's revelations, and that gave him a measure of satisfaction.

When no one spoke for a long moment, Plo continued.  "I realize we are meant to return tomorrow morning to the Temple.  I'd like to stay, and I'm making a formal request to that effect.  The Empress has already agreed.  I have been introduced to a most learned assistant," he turned to Qui-Gon and bowed, "who I think will be of enormous assistance to me in this research, which includes investigation into the alleged Dark Force user currently suspected here on Corellia.  Actually, I would like to request the Council send Jocasta here upon your return, since no one is more knowledgeable of the Temple's books."

"This is fascinating news," Depa said, and several agreed with her, nodding or murmuring.  "I have no problem allowing Plo to stay.  In fact, perhaps we should send for Jocasta now, since Plo seems to be making such good progress.  And I would like to hear more about these mysterious findings about Kun."

There was significant debate on the issue, and Qui-Gon stayed out of it, letting others talk and get into fights over it.  He could feel the currents of the Force moving through the room, felt something akin to an undertow starting: something significant was going to happen, was happening, and he had a feeling it was a congruence, a vergence of some sort that was going to be a major pain in his ass, no matter what it turned out to be.

He wasn't going to leave.  When he arrived, he knew the Force intended him to be with the Sith, to help reconcile the Sith with the Jedi.  Now that he was here, he knew the Force would not be happy with his leaving.  He wouldn't be happy leaving.  In fact, the only way he would stay happy was to stay with Obion, and he was glad he had the Force backing him in that feeling.

Finally, they came to a tentative agreement:  Plo Koon would stay and continue his research.  He would prepare a resume of his research and present it to the Council before they left for the Temple, and they would, in turn, brief Jocasta Nu and request she come to Corellia to help.  The situation with the treaty and Qui-Gon's elevation to First Minister to the Empress was tabled, and Qui-Gon was told to continue as he was doing, since he appeared to be on the right path, and the Council appreciated his hard work.  Mace Windu was obvious in his dislike of the compromise.

Qui-Gon snorted in derision.  More and more he was realizing he served the Jedi less than he served the Force, and the Council was truly not as attuned to the Force as he was.  It made him both sad and angry, and wondered when it was that the Council had fallen so far back that they no longer served the Force but themselves.

But if he was no longer much of a Jedi, did that make him a Sith?

Skittering away from that topic, Qui-Gon left the Jedi Councilors to their arguments and went to lunch.

Terrell led him to yet another new place, a wide balcony that had a table and chairs on it, off of one of the Empress' sitting rooms.  It overlooked one of the many private gardens and was sunny and cheerful.

When he arrived, he found Bail and Obion already there, and Obion was hugging Bail tightly as the other man shook with emotion.  Immediately concerned, briefly wondering why he didn't feel jealous this time, Qui-Gon put his hand on Bail's shoulder.  "Bail?"

Obion's face was twisted into a mask of sympathy and pain.  "There have been rumors, filtered through Coruscant, that... that..."

Qui-Gon picked up on it immediately, his heart sinking; Bail's father and mother were dead.  "Rumors are usually just that: rumors.  If there hasn't been confirmation, then there's no reason to assume the worst," he said, pitching his voice low and earnest, squeezing the shoulder under his hand.  Bail was not much older than Obion and this had been a horrible time for them all.

"Melyta was in hysterics," Bail said, his voice thick.  "It was one of the refugee ships full of children from Coruscant that just landed.  The Seneschal took me aside and told me, and I thought we were speaking quietly enough but she overheard..."

"Dr. Pfelling is with her," Obion said over Bail's shoulder.  His eyes were filled with pain for his friend.

"It's just a rumor until we have confirmation, Bail," Qui-Gon repeated, slowly.  "There is no proof, because nothing is getting out of Alderaan save for that which the Dhro controls.  Don't assume the worst."

Bail swallowed heavily and nodded.  He took a deep, shaky breath and stepped away, his back to them, scrubbing his face with his hands.  "I know.  I know."  As he straightened slowly, Qui-Gon could feel him try to control his emotions.  Obion reached out and took Qui-Gon's hand.

Finally, Bail turned.  His face was still pale, his eyes still ringed with bruises, but he was calm.  "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon.  It's been a rather difficult time for us."

"I understand."  Qui-Gon reached out his free hand and clasped Bail's shoulder again.  "These are truly dark days.  But you are safe now, with friends."

"As safe as any of us gets," Obion added sadly, and all three of them sighed.

The Seneschal entered, pushing a cart before him.  "Luncheon, Highnesses, Master Jinn.  Shall I serve?"

Qui-Gon could tell Matrin had gone out of his way to tempt Bail to eat.  To everything placed on the table, Bail blinked and after a moment, looked actually pleased and almost nostalgic.  "You spoil me," he murmured, and Matrin smiled.

"It's my pleasure, Highness."  Finished off-loading the meal, Matrin turned the cart around.  "Just ring me if you need anything else," he said as he left them to eat.

Bail did eat, since both Qui-Gon and Obion did their best to distract him into it.  Finally, they were lingering over beverages -- tea for Qui-Gon and ale for Bail and Obion -- and talking of inconsequential things, trying to forget their heavy responsibilities for a while.

"I was so surprised to see you here, Qui-Gon," Bail said at one point.  "Obion told me the Jedi are working on a treaty with the Sith Empire?"

"Reluctantly, but yes," Qui-Gon replied with a smile.  "My posting was foreseen, and when the Empress reached out to the Jedi, it finally dawned on us that the Force was insisting we actually listen.  I've been hammering out the treaty for much of the last half year."

"It sounds like difficult work.  Haven't the Jedi and the Sith Empire been enemies for centuries?"

"Millennia," Qui-Gon said with a wry grin.  "No thanks to their absurd sense of humor, especially where costuming is concerned."

Obion nearly choked on his ale.  Spluttering and laughing, he batted Bail's hands away.  "You'll look fabulous in that costume.  And besides, it'll give Master Windu a fit."

Bail was shaking his head.  "You two are ridiculous.  So tell me, when's the wedding?" he asked facetiously.

To Qui-Gon's surprise, Obion blushed.  It was enchanting.  "Talk about putting Master Windu into fits," he murmured.  To his surprise, he felt nothing but the rightness of Bail's words.  And that, more than anything else, scared him half to death.

Obion had a meeting with Maul and General Skora before they could meet for their daily session, so Qui-Gon took the rare free time to visit the main library, a place he hadn't had time to explore thoroughly, though he would have liked to.  It was in a lower, mostly underground section of the palace, and it stretched for what seemed like miles.  He was lucky Terrell seemed to know it well, leading him confidently to the place where the oldest of the records were kept.  Qui-Gon kept his eyes forward and wished for blinkers -- his fingers itched to pick up some of the tomes he saw on the shelves they passed.

The area known as 'the stacks' was deeply within the massive room, in its own climate-controlled area.  There was an actual airlock one had to go through in order to get into it, which helped to maintain a precise temperature and humidity, and that airlock was carefully monitored by security cameras and the archivists themselves.  Permission was needed from them before entering, and there was usually one or two hovering about the place at any given time.  There was also a box containing disposable nitrile gloves at the entrance; anyone entering to read must first don the gloves to keep skin oils off the delicate parchments.  That explained why the ancient texts were so well preserved, and why they were such a draw to a scholar like Plo Koon.

Terrell waited outside while Qui-Gon entered.  He immediately heard voices -- Plo's deep raspy one and Cliadle's beautiful alto.  He followed them deeper into the room.

"...Wish I could go to Selonia and see it," Cliadle was saying.

"I think that could be arranged, young lady."  Plo's voice held a fondness that made Qui-Gon smile.  If Cliadle had been a bit younger (and wasn't a Sith), Plo would undoubtedly be making her into his apprentice.  "I believe Jocasta Nu, the librarian, will be coming here once my fellow Jedi return.  If there is any way to have the Temple library here, she is it."

"Of course, you'll have to contend with that famous temper of hers," Qui-Gon said as he rounded a corner and found the two of them, sitting at a table littered with scrolls, books, parchments, datacrystals and readers.   They were both wearing ridiculously bright blue nitrile gloves.

Cliadle looked up at his words and smiled.  "Master Qui-Gon!  Master Plo has been letting me help him with his research, it's just fascinating!"

"I don't believe that 'letting you help' is the right phrase, my dear young lady," Plo said.  "You have been of invaluable assistance to me."

"It sounds like you're going to miss our meditation session this afternoon, aren't you?"  Qui-Gon smiled at her consternation.

"I'm sorry, I -- I could go..."

"It's all right.  I heard from Aliamon before lunch, she can't attend either.  So Obion and I will just have extra time to work on forms."

Cliadle blinked.  "Ali said that?  She can't attend?"  She frowned.  "That's odd."

"Why?"  

"Oh... she just... well, I guess it's not, the masquerade is tonight and I think she's gotten a bit caught up, but then again, that's her.  She's been acting very oddly over the last few days, not that that's anything new.  Everytime she gets a new boyfriend..."  Cliadle kept frowning, though, as if in thought.

Resolving to speak to Aliamon at the party, Qui-Gon turned to Plo Koon.  "I heard you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Qui-Gon, I wanted to go over some of these things with you..."

What Plo had been investigating was the story around Kun's death.  He'd found several half-completed records that appeared to be the journals of someone: who, he couldn't say.  Cliadle thought it might be Nomi Sunrider, but there was no evidence to support her guess.

Plo asked him to try and find out more information on the Dhro and his cloned forces -- was there any evidence leading to their creation?  The Empress had different sources of information than the Jedi did, had she heard anything about this?  "This may be our most important clue to the identity of the Dark Force user or his apprentice," Plo told him.  

"I'll check with Maul, see if he has any information."  Qui-Gon craned his neck to look at the parchment leaves laid out before Cliadle; he wasn't wearing gloves and didn't want to touch it.  "Is that part of the text you're looking at?"

Cliadle nodded and turned the papers so Qui-Gon could see them better.  They were handwritten, in a spidery scrawl faded yellow with age.  "They were obviously removed from a book," she said, pointing out the jagged edges.  "We know she kept meticulous journals, hand written, and the dates correspond properly.  But there are leaves missing, there are pages and pages that appear to be missing, stuff that starts in the middle and seems to continue, but the continuation isn't there.  Not only that, but we can't always find where they were originally removed from either."

Qui-Gon blinked.  Leaves missing?  As if someone had deliberately removed part of the journal?

Plo must have discerned Qui-Gon's thoughts; he nodded, slowly.  "It points to a long-term plan, don't you think?  A systematic disposal of anything incriminating."

It was a chilling notion.  "Who is allowed in here, Cli?"

"Anyone in the palace, really.  Mother doesn't want history to be controlled, she wants us to learn it.  I used to live down here, practically, and there are archivists who maintain a lot of it, keep it in as good shape as possible."

So it could be anyone -- again, their clues were too broad.  "I'll check with Maul and let you know.  I don't suppose either of you could possibly be pried away from your research for anything as mundane as a party."

Cliadle giggled, glancing at Plo as she did.  "I really don't like parties that much anyway, and I never did try to get a costume.  Jay said he'd be glad to bring us food, Master Plo.  We can eat at one of the tables in the main area."

"Try to get some sleep tonight, Cli.  Your mother will not be happy with you if you stay up all night."

Qui-Gon left the two happily digging through ancient writings.  So preoccupied he was that he almost missed the commotion in the hallways when they emerged from the library.  Galer, Obion's page, went by at a dead run, back the way they had just been, but paused long enough to ask Qui-Gon to report to the staff meeting room at once.  With a dread feeling in his stomach, Qui-Gon hurried over.

The other Jedi were already there, as was Obion, the Empress and Maul.  The last greeted him with a grim nod.  "Long range scanners have reported the Dhro's automated task force heading this way.  We have also received notice, from the Jedi's intelligence, that the Mouth of the Dhro will be within hailing distance in two days."

Qui-Gon took a seat, surprised he was not surprised.  "Have we any information why the droid forces are massing?  That's contrary to his normal procedure, yes?"

"It is," Skora said in her gravelly voice.  Plo Koon hurried into the room and was quietly briefed by Ka'Ran Da.  Pages were racing in and out, bearing flimsiplast printout and datacrystals.  "We're not sure what this means yet.  Our armada is ready, but what our move should be is anyone's guess."  She glanced at Maul.  "I'm glad I was persuaded to set our ships at maneuvers away from the system."

"I think it's time for us to leave Corellia," Depa Billaba said.  "We need to return to Selonia and begin our own preparations.  We do not have the luxury of your particle shield, Exalted Majesty, but we do have other resources."

"The Empire extends its hands to the Jedi," the Empress said, her voice as grave as her eyes.  "With or without the treaty, we will come to your aid should you need it."

Windu looked much less antagonistic than normal; in fact, he looked downright morose.  Qui-Gon wondered where his temper had gone.  "On behalf of the Jedi Council, I thank her Exalted Majesty and the Empire, in the sincere hope it will not come to that.  The Jedi also thank her Exalted Majesty again for sheltering our children, the hope of the Jedi."  Mace glanced at Qui-Gon, but for once wasn't angry or upset... he just looked sad.  "We leave Master Jinn and Master Koon here in the Empire, in the hopes that diplomacy and study will solve which warfare may not."

"Mother, we can't cancel the masquerade.  This may be the last chance all of us have for some time to have fun, to forget what is coming.  It's important to the Empire that we don't allow this to change our ways."

"Obion..."

They were in the same sitting room near the balcony where Obion, Bail and Qui-Gon had eaten lunch, though the group was far larger and the hour much later.  The Empress' older children, Plo Koon, Queen Amidala, Prince Bail, Maul and General Skora were arranged around the room, and Obion was sitting next to his mother.  Qui-Gon stood behind them.  It had been an eventful afternoon, and now evening was approaching.

"He's right, Adi."  Maul's voice was soft and resigned.  "Don't cancel the party.  That not only sends the wrong message, it will spread panic."

"Whose side are you on?" The look the Empress gave Maul was half amused, half troubled.  She turned to Skora.  "If we do indeed have the masquerade as planned, will it in any way impact the troops?"

"No."  General Skora shook her head.  "My troops are in readiness, and wouldn't be attending anyway.  Have the party, Adi.  Just retire a bit earlier than normal -- your absence will end things."

The Empress looked down at her hands.  One of them was held tightly by her eldest son.  "Very well," she finally said.  "But first thing in the morning, we're moving the Jedi children to Mount Sunrider.  Ali, you, Anikin and Maisen will go as well."

"No."  Aliamon's voice was flat and hard.  "Cli is staying, Obi's staying, I'm staying too.  Send Ani and Maisen if you want, Mai is almost a Jedi anyway the way she's been behaving.  But I will not go."

Everyone in the room had turned the moment Aliamon began speaking.  Obion's jaw dropped and the Empress sat up straight.  This was so unlike the Aliamon Qui-Gon had come to know that he frowned, wondering why she had changed.  He'd had no time over the last several days to work with the elder heirs on their Force acuity, and it had seemed, lately, that Aliamon was even avoiding him.  

"You will do as I tell you, Eldest Daughter," the Empress said with a frown.  "Cliadle is staying only because Master Koon needs her; as soon as possible, she will be joining you."

"Mother, I'm telling you..."

"We will discuss this later, Eldest Daughter.  In private."  Qui-Gon could see both women's faces in profile and was struck by the similarities between them: both strong women with huge stubborn streaks.  He decided he wouldn't want to be anywhere around either of them for that little discussion, though he definitely wanted to speak with Aliamon one-on-one.  Soon.

Glancing back at Obion, Qui-Gon was surprised to see a frown on his face as he studied his sister.  Before he could ask about it, however, the Empress spoke again.  "Very well.  The masquerade goes as planned.  The Jedi have already left, and my Seneschal is even now preparing for the move to Mount Sunrider.  Padme, dear, I'd like you and Bail, with his sisters to accompany the children to the shelter.  There will be need for strong discipline there, and I don't think Anikin would forgive me if I sent him without you."

Queen Amidala colored slightly.  "I hate to be cut off like that, but yes, I'll go.  I understand and agree with your reasoning."

"I suppose I understand as well," Bail said.  His voice was sour but tired.  "Are we certain this shelter is safe?"

"As safe as any place on Corellia is," Maul replied.  "It has its own power generator and shield, as well as enough resources to last almost a century.  It has been used for millennia by the Sith as a last stand; it will hold against the Dhro.  It will only fail when all else has fallen."

"A pleasant thought," Obion muttered, and Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder.

"We shall then try to enjoy ourselves tonight, and let tomorrow do as it will."  The Empress swallowed and glanced over her shoulder at Qui-Gon.  "Don't the Jedi have a saying that we should all live in the moment?"

"Yes, we do," Qui-Gon said with a sad smile.  "We can do little to affect tomorrow, it will come, no matter what."  Once again, he squeezed Obion's shoulder, and smiled when Obi looked up at him.  Tonight was also the third night of their 'Three Nights' and Qui-Gon wondered what would happen.  He had hopes, but hopes could be dashed.

But there was a promise in Obion's eyes that gave him more hope, perhaps, than he had a right to claim.

There was no pulling into janitor's closets this time, though Obion did follow Qui-Gon back to his rooms.  "I have something I'd like to show you," he said, when Qui-Gon asked.  

Galer was already waiting for them at Qui-Gon's door; he was carrying a small box.  "Thanks, Galer, you're dismissed for the evening.  Enjoy yourself tonight."

"Thank you, Highness," Galer smiled at Qui-Gon and Terrell before dashing back down the hallway.  

Obion carried the box in and waited until Qui-Gon had spoken with and dismissed both Bellen and Terrell.

"So, what do you have to show me?"  Qui-Gon let himself be pulled down to the sofa and kissed, quite thoroughly.  "Besides this?" Qui-Gon murmured between kisses.

"I missed our workout time," Obion said breathlessly, then he groaned when Qui-Gon began kissing his neck.  "I've missed you."

"You saw me most of the day," Qui-Gon said, while privately agreeing.  Was this what love was?  Wanting to be near the object of your affections all the time, every day?

"And we're not going to the masquerade if we don't stop," Obion replied, though he showed no interest in actually stopping.  He had one hand tangled in Qui-Gon's hair and the other caressing the skin that showed in the V of Qui-Gon's tunics.  

Qui-Gon put his arms around Obion's waist and pulled him closer, until Obion was almost on his lap.  When he groaned again, Obion left his lips and began nipping along his neck, under his beard, tasting and sighing.  "Obi..."

"You taste so damn good..." Obion left off his assault on Qui-Gon's neck in favor of resting his forehead on Qui-Gon's shoulder, burying his nose in Qui-Gon's tunics, breathing deeply.  

They panted for a few moments, each trying to calm down.  Finally, with a last squeeze, Qui-Gon encouraged Obion to move away slightly, sit up better.  It was difficult, but he managed.  "I don't understand how this is possible," he murmured, smoothing Obion's hair off his damp forehead.  "I feel like a padawan, still learning to control my emotions."

"I've had love affairs before," Obion said, avoiding Qui-Gon's eyes.  "I know I told you, but... I even thought I was in love, once.  But it was nothing like this.  Nothing.  When I'm with you, it feels so strong, so right that it... it scares me, a little."

"You know you don't have to tell me anything about your past, love," Qui-Gon said.  

"I want you to know."  Obion looked at Qui-Gon, earnestly studying his face.  "I want to know everything about you, and it's only fair you should know everything about me."  He looked down again. "Mother and I have talked about love, sometimes, and she's talked about my father, and how much she loved him.  When he was killed, she said it was like a part of her died.  That's... that's how I would feel, if something happened to you."  He swallowed.  "And that's what scares me the most."  

Touched, Qui-Gon couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or cry.  Luckily for him, Obion spoke again before he could decide.  "We need to start getting ready soon.  But first, I wanted to show you this."  He opened the box and Qui-Gon gasped: nestled within, on a bed of blue satin, was a lightsaber.

"When did you have time?" he said incredulously.

Obion shrugged.  "It wasn't hard.  You told me a lot of what I needed to know, and after I looked at Nomi Sunrider's, I knew what to do."  He gave Qui-Gon a rather shy smile.  "It looks all right, then?"

Picking it up, Qui-Gon inspected it carefully.  He could see where the casing would still need some work, but that was mostly cosmetic.  He pressed on the release catch and the handle opened perfectly, showing the wiring and the cradles carrying the two different stones.  Gently, he pulled the Ilum sapphire out and looked carefully at its cradle, then did the same with the grossulite.  The points were filed perfectly and the internal wiring looked flawless.  Looking back up, into Obion's hopeful face, he couldn't hide his proud surprise.  "It looks perfect."

Obion beamed.  "I haven't tested it yet..."

"Good."  Qui-Gon carefully closed the casing and returned it to its box.  "There's a reason why we have specially shielded rooms for testing new lightsabers.  Even the eldest and most experienced masters can err in construction.  We'll need to find a place to test this, but it looks beautiful."

"You mean... it could blow up?"  Obion didn't look so much alarmed as thoughtful.

"Yes, it could.  The resonance between the crystals has to be carefully calibrated.  Now, on this one, I think you'll have no reason to worry, because these crystals have been used successfully before."  He closed the case and handed it back.  "We'll find a place to test it tomorrow.  Your mother would be very upset with me if I allowed your arm to be blown off."

Obion laughed.  He accepted the box, placed it carefully on the table in front of the sofa and launched himself back into Qui-Gon's arms.  Almost before Qui-Gon could think, they were horizontal, Obion on top of him, kissing him passionately.  Obion was wearing a loose tunic tucked into black pants -- with a tug, Qui-Gon pulled the shirt out and pushed his hands beneath it, seeking warm skin.  Murmuring his approval as Qui-Gon's hand swept up and down his back, Obion let his legs fall to either side of Qui-Gon's, which put one of his booted feet on the floor with a solid clunk.  They both chuckled, repositioned themselves a bit and kept kissing, let their tongues caress and taste and play while the heat between their bodies grew almost scalding.  Qui-Gon had the absurd notion the sofa would catch fire soon.

Things might have gone completely out of hand had there not been a knock at the door.  Obion whimpered.  "Not fair," he murmured.  The caller knocked again, more insistently.  "If it's Maul, I'll... I'll..."

"No, you won't," Qui-Gon said with a breathless chuckle.  "We have to get ready for the masquerade anyway."

With a huge sigh that made him sound like Anikin, Obion forced himself to move away, to stand, though he didn't let go of Qui-Gon's hand.  With the lack of heat on his body, Qui-Gon shivered in a sudden chill.  Obion straightened his clothes, helped Qui-Gon to a sitting position, then with another sigh, went to the door.  "Captain Sarin?"

The young officer wasn't smirking, but even from the sofa, Qui-Gon could see the twinkle in his eye.  Despite his attempt at recovery, Obion still looked freshly ravished and the look was definitely good on him.  

"Maul's compliments, Highness, I'm to be your bodyguard from now on.  I know it's not comfortable for you," he continued over Obion's dropped jaw and in-drawn breath, "but it's orders, Highness.  Lieutenant Dray here is to be the revered Jedi's bodyguard."

Now it was Qui-Gon's turn to be aghast.  "Captain, I assure you..."

Obion spoke at the same moment.  "This is absurd..."

Obion turned to Qui-Gon and they both burst out laughing.  With a shake of his head and a snort in resignation, Obion turned back to the guardsman.  "Maul's paranoia.  Mother is always complaining about it.  Very well, Captain.  You can escort me to my rooms, where I need to freshen up and change.  But first..."  Obion turned and walked back to Qui-Gon, very deliberately pulling Qui-Gon's lips to his in a last, hungry kiss.  "Soon," he whispered.  "Drop off a change of clothing at my rooms before you meet me," he added, and Qui-Gon was surprised to find himself almost blushing.

Lieutenant Dray was a pleasant young man who could bring himself to call Qui-Gon 'Master Jinn' but couldn't use his given name.  It was better than 'revered Jedi' though, so Qui-Gon left it at that.

Qui-Gon showered and freshened up before donning his costume, and surprised himself by actually looking forward to the dance.  On top of his costume lay a note and several blue and white silken ribbons.  The note was from Bellen, describing how the ribbons were to be placed in his hair; basically, he was to braid it loosely, twining the ribbons into the braid and using them to tie it off.  

It sounded absurd, but he knew Bellen would be unhappy with him if he didn't do it.

Within an hour, he was ready to go.  His provided costume fit him perfectly, but he found one thing disconcerting: the tightness of the pants meant he couldn't wear underclothes.  While that might be an interesting thing for later on, in the meantime, it was highly embarrassing.

He made up a bundle of clothing and toiletries and had Lieutenant Dray detour to Obion's rooms before they headed down to the public ballroom, where the party would start.  

It had taken Qui-Gon all of his tenure in the palace to explore the enormous place, and there were still rooms -- like the main library -- that he had only inspected cursorily.  The building was like a small city, and walking its corridors was sheer exercise.  He'd often overheard the palace maintenance staff jokingly request skates, carts, and even shuttles in order to properly maintain it.

The public ballroom, which was what seemed like leagues from the private wing, was a beautiful sight for the last night of Mummer's Fete.  Draped in billowing silks of gold, white, blue and green, the room was lit by enormous chandeliers.  Their light was reflected and doubled by the highly polished mirrors and floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked Corellia's capital city.  

Anyone who was anyone on the planet was at the public ball, which meant the room was jammed with thousands of people.  The Empress was on the throne in the middle of the room, on a raised dais against the wall, and for this occasion, she wore a beautifully ornate tiara.  Her dress was blindingly white with a blue and gold sash across her body -- the colors of the Clan  Kenobi, Qui-Gon had learned, were blue and gold.  Obion was sitting next to her, and as soon as Qui-Gon saw the heir, his mouth went dry.

He was wearing the same clothing as Qui-Gon, only his vest was blue-green and covered with shells and seed pearls.  He wore green and white ribbons in his hair, very much like Qui-Gon's, and while they looked absurd on Qui-Gon, on Obion, they looked splendid.  Or perhaps Qui-Gon was prejudiced.

The Empress saw him first, and a slow smile spread across her face.  She turned and drew Obion's attention to Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon watched the same smile blossom -- save that Obion's had a distinctly smoky air about it.  He rose and actually sauntered to the edge of the dais, where he hopped down, eschewing the steps and no doubt causing several nearby revelers to swoon.  Qui-Gon was almost oblivious to anything else, though: he stood and watched as Obion prowled towards him, hoping the room could stand the heat they were going to generate when they touched.  On the periphery of his consciousness, he heard the band begin to play the anthem of the Sith Empire.

"You look incredible," Obion said as he came to a halt just outside Qui-Gon's reach.  The look he gave Qui-Gon -- down, slowly, and even more slowly back up -- was incendiary.  

"Not as good as you look," Qui-Gon replied hoarsely.  

"Come up and do your duty to Mother, then we're going to dance."  Obion turned and there was nothing in the known galaxy that could have prevented Qui-Gon from following that perfectly formed ass.  The knowledge that Obion was probably bare under his skin-tight leather pants did nothing for Qui-Gon's composure.

The Empress was rising and her smile turned into a smirk as she saw them approach.  "Good of you to join us, revered Jedi.  I hope you had no difficulties with your costume.  It makes you look positively edible."

"Mother!"  Obion's scandalized and embarrassed outburst sent the Empress into giggles she could not control, though she seemed to try.

"I am so pleased I can still embarrass you in public, Eldest Son and Heir."  She took Obion's hand and squeezed it.  Mother and son exchanged warm, watery smiles, and Qui-Gon realized if they hadn't been in public, they would have embraced.  "It pleases my heart to see thee happy, my son.  May this happiness stay with thee in all the coming days of thy life and thy heart's life."

Her words, which had the air of a ritual about them, were accompanied by a huge Force surge that nearly knocked Qui-Gon down; he had a tendency to forget just how Force strong the Empress was.  He made a mental note to look the words up later, especially after seeing the puzzled and stricken look on Obion's face as he heard them.  But not now: the band was still playing, but the song was closing, and the Empress was reaching for his hand.

The last strains of the song ended to a huge, room-shaking hurrah by the occupants.  The Empress smiled and stood proudly at the edge of the dais, flanked by her son and Qui-Gon.  "Citizens of the Empire!"  Another loud acclamation greeted her words and she held her head high, every inch the regal Empress.  "This night is yours to take.  There will be dark deeds in the coming year, and the wolf is already at our door.  But this evening, we bid that wolf howl alone, leave us be, for we are the Sith Empire, and the Empire bows to no one!  So take this night, revel in it, and know your work tomorrow will be made all the sweeter by the joy you make tonight!"

A simple speech, but effective, and one that caused much cheering.  The band began playing and dancers began to move right where they were, with a great deal of noisy abandon.  The Empress turned and drew the two men flanking her together, putting their hands she held together.  "You are quite the matched set, you two.  Go enjoy.  Obion have you...  Oh, no."

The laughter left her eyes as she spotted something, and both Qui-Gon and Obion turned to see what it was.  Aliamon had just entered the room, on the arm of a flushed and distinctly unhappy Terrell Benk and followed closely by a palace guard.  Her costume was more not there than there, and Qui-Gon sighed.  

If she wanted to disappoint her mother, if she wanted to embarrass the royal family, she had definitely chosen the right way to do it.  Her costume consisted of wispy folds of cloth, in a lavender that most definitely did not match her coloring, strategically placed and pinned, buttoned or perhaps glued on, giving the impression the whole thing would come apart at any moment.  Though it wasn't his place to note it, Qui-Gon felt a wave of sympathy for the Empress and for the obviously mortified Terrell Benk, and anger at Aliamon for such a display.  

Her display was making quite an impression on the crowd: they gravitated towards her and her self-satisfied smirk told tales on what she wanted to accomplish.  Qui-Gon felt awful for the Empress, and decided (once again) to try and get a good conversation going with Aliamon as soon as possible.

"Mother, don't."  Qui-Gon was the only other one close enough to hear Obion speak, and he turned to see the Empress' expression flat and set.  "She's doing it on purpose.  Let her.  She'll only end up putting herself down."

"She is too young to..."

"She's older than I was when I lost my virginity."  Obion smiled sadly.  "Let it go."

The Empress shook her head.  "I don't know what's gotten into her over the last few days, she's been ignoring me or has been argumentative or worse.  Maybe it's just her age; though if that's it, then I pray I won't have to go through it with Cliadle."

"You won't."  They shared smiles.

"When did you turn into such a wise man, Obi?" his mother asked, cupping his cheek with one hand.

"My mother helped."

She laughed and, with one more sad and disappointed look at her eldest daughter, turned to go to her seat.  Obion grabbed Qui-Gon's hand again.  "I refuse to let my sister ruin this evening for me.  You and I are about to dance."

And dance they did... they danced in the public ballroom and then later, in the private celebration, only stopping to eat and drink to replenish their energy.  They danced even after Aliamon was removed (early, to her displeasure, by her mother and her security guards).  They danced until their guards were exhausted, until the band was forced to stop, until nothing but heat remained between them.

Qui-Gon noticed things other than the beautiful man in his arms, though. He noticed the faint air of hysteria among the throngs at the public party, and how often they turned towards the Empress, as if asking their mother if things would be all right in the morning.  He noticed the words of disapproval aimed at Aliamon and her costume, and, to his surprise, the air of approval and acceptance towards the Jedi in general and himself in specific.  He noticed how much the citizens of the Empire loved the heir, and how much that heir cared for his people -- and with a sentimental start, he realized it only made him love Obion more.

And he noticed how Obion would speak to others, but look at him.  How, when asked a question of political or governing importance, he would often ask Qui-Gon's opinion before giving his own.  He noticed how much Obion had changed in the months since Qui-Gon had come to live in the land of his enemies, and how much those enemies had made themselves into his people.

Finally, when it was very late, long after the first to leave but still before those who would party until the dawn, they collected their bodyguards and went back to Obion's rooms, arm in arm, and Obion's head was warm and familiar on Qui-Gon's shoulder.  Their guards did a sweep of the rooms, then left, promising to stay close by, something Qui-Gon still found absurd.  He was a Jedi master, after all, and should be able to protect himself.

Though, upon reflection, he admitted he hadn't done a very good job at protecting his heart.

It was different this night, and they knew it.  They had spent three long days and two short nights contemplating how different this night would be, and though Qui-Gon was surprised to feel nervous, he supposed that was normal, as well.  

Their bodies were familiar territory by now, but Qui-Gon's fingers itched to discover new terrain.  Obion turned the lights in the room down and, with a smile, removed his heavy vest.  Qui-Gon removed his as well... they were too beautiful to treat roughly.

But removing the vests meant they were only clad in skin-tight leather breeches and soft, low boots, and once Obion kicked those off, there was nothing left but to look, and Qui-Gon wanted to look his fill.  Obion was beautiful in the low light, his compact, wiry body gleaming with sweat from their exertions, his eyes shadowed and hot.  He was beautiful.  Beautiful.

"You don't have to just look, you know," Obion whispered.  "You can touch."

"So can you."

Could it be possible the enviro controls were broken, making the room even hotter?  Even though neither of them seemed to be able to speak in voices louder than a whisper, their bodies were shouting, leaning, reaching for each other, gravitating together like twin suns.  Bemused, Qui-Gon watched his hand reach out for Obion's, watched as the two touched and mated, fingers entwining.  Obion's skin was warm.

"Do you want this?" Obion asked, and instinctively, Qui-Gon knew he was asking far more than the words implied.

"Yes."  Closing the short distance between them took effort, but Qui-Gon managed.  He knew that to touch further, to feel that wonderful, soft skin, he'd have to get closer, even though it meant not being able to see as well.  Heedless of the thought, he bent his head and closed his eyes -- who needed sight when they had touch? -- and brushed his lips over Obion's, igniting every nerve in his body.  Obion moaned softly and the sound left Qui-Gon desperate for air.

They both stepped closer, and Obion wrapped one arm around Qui-Gon's shoulders, tugging on the back of his neck, and Qui-Gon encircled Obion's waist and drew them even tighter.  There was a leather-clad bulge pressing against his thigh, nearly burning its way through the leather, and it was his turn to groan when Obion rubbed against him, like a cat.

The feel, the taste; he had his tongue in Obion's mouth now, was pressing the shorter man to himself as though to glue them together forever.  Obion's body was trembling, a fine, almost unnoticeable thing -- or perhaps it was his own body trembling, Qui-Gon couldn't be sure.  What he was sure of, however, was that much more of this and he would come until he came apart.

"Wait... wait..."  Talking was difficult with your tongue in someone's mouth.  He used his hands to gentle Obion, to soothe as well as feel, and Obion groaned again.

"No..."  The sound was perilously close to a whimper.  "Don't want to wait, waited too long.  Now... now, please!"

"Oh... no... just..."  It was both their bodies trembling, Qui-Gon could tell now.  He tore their lips apart and buried his nose in Obion's hair, whispering into his ear.  "Want to go slower, need to go slower, won't hurt you..."

"You won't... you won't..."  Obion was gulping air roughly.  "Trust you... want you..."

"Sweet Force..."  With sudden resolve, Qui-Gon slid to his knees before Obion, needing to reclaim the moment, somehow, some way.  His shaking fingers worked at the laces of Obion's pants while Obion whimpered and alternated between petting his head and grabbing at his shoulders.  Finally, the knot was undone and the sweet-smelling leather burst open, the pressure from Obion's erection parting the folds of material.

The scent of leather and concentrated Obion was almost enough to bring Qui-Gon to a climax right there, but he forced himself back from the brink, grabbed himself through the leather and squeezed roughly.  When he felt more in control, he opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed and breathed in, slowly.  Obion's penis was rigid before him, the dark purple head peeking out through the foreskin and damp with pre-come.  It was as beautiful as the rest of him, and Qui-Gon had to taste.  It was something he'd only done once before, but he knew, he had to have the taste of Obion.

It was even better than he had dreamed.  Salty and sweet, made even sweeter by the mewling noises coming from above him, telling him he was doing well.  It was awkward; he wanted to make it so good for Obion, but in his enthusiasm he had forgotten how difficult it was.  

Apparently, however, he was doing well enough; with a particularly strong shudder and a garbled shout of warning or pleasure -- or both -- Obion went rigid and came down Qui-Gon's throat in pulses of hot, molten seed.  Reflexively swallowing, Qui-Gon found himself surprised at the bitterness of the taste, but knew it was a flavor he would grow old desiring.

Obion's knees buckled and Qui-Gon caught him, thankful the bed was near enough to put them both down on the edge of it, since his own knees felt none too strong.  Obion sagged against him and Qui-Gon gave in to temptation and kissed him again, letting Obion taste himself in Qui-Gon's mouth.  They ended up lying side-by-side on the bed, kissing languorously, and Obion's muscles were soft and lax but still strong enough to draw Qui-Gon to him.

"Not fair," Obion finally whispered as their long, sloppy kiss became smaller, affectionate pecks.  "You've already turned my brain to mush and I haven't had a chance to even touch you."

"You touch me," Qui-Gon murmured in reply.  "In every way possible, you touch me."

Obion smiled and in the dim light, his eyes glimmered.  "I want to touch you now, really touch you.  May I?"

"Always."

Rearing above him, Obion propped himself on one arm and looked down at Qui-Gon.  The young man looked thoroughly debauched and utterly gorgeous, and Qui-Gon lifted his hand to touch back but Obion caught it, tucked it down by Qui-Gon's side.  "It's my turn," he said with a devilish smile.

Qui-Gon had to grab fistfuls of the bedspread in order to keep from lifting his hands as Obion delicately explored him from the top of his head down.  Gentle fingers traced Qui-Gon's eyebrows and nose, along his cheekbones and around his eyes.  Bending down, Obion kissed then licked around Qui-Gon's earlobe, making Qui-Gon shake.

His beard, his chin and neck were carefully, thoroughly explored, with fingers and mouth, as was his arm and hand.  Obion apparently knew better than to lick or suck any of his fingers, which both disappointed Qui-Gon and relieved him.  Then Obion went back to his chest, and Qui-Gon tensed.

Delicately, Obion traced over Qui-Gon's right nipple with his fingernail, and Qui-Gon hissed, fighting to keep from arching into that soft touch.  "Tell me how you like it, Qui-Gon," Obion whispered.

"Harder," Qui-Gon managed to say through gritted teeth.  "You don't have to be gentle, pinch them hard, like... ungh.  Force, yes!"

"Like this, then?"  Obion pinched the tiny nub between his thumb and forefinger, catching it beneath his nail briefly.

Qui-Gon very nearly came.  "Stop... too much... Can't..."  He managed to catch Obion's hand as it went to the other nipple.  "You're going to make me come...  I don't want to come this way.  I want... want to come with you inside.  Inside me.  Please."

"Oh, ancestors," Obion muttered, ducking his head and closing his eyes.  "I don't want to hurt you either, Qui..."

"There's oil, there, on the table."  And there was, though Obion seemed surprised to see it.  "And I need to get out of these pants before I lose circulation to my lower body."  His gasping words cleared as he backed himself off the edge once more, promising his body a lovely, long fall, just not yet.

Obion chuckled breathlessly.  "I know the feeling."  They both sat up and Qui-Gon stole a long kiss before they began to peel themselves out of their pants.  

Both had gone without underclothes, just as Qui-Gon had expected.  It was a hilarious task getting undressed, and both of them laughed long and hard at the absurdity of the situation.  "Just another reason never to wear leather trous," Obion said at one point, taking a break from trying to peel leather from sweaty legs.

"But you look so good in them," Qui-Gon said, trying and failing not to laugh.

Finally, they were both bare, and Obion's erection was back to full strength.  As they stretched out on the bed, Qui-Gon took it in his hand, admiring the hot feel of it.  "You're younger than I am; I go off once and that will probably be the end of the evening for me."

"Oh, no it won't," Obion said confidently, though he also had an abashed smile.  "My first lover taught me... an erection isn't necessary to enjoy yourself in bed.  I see ten fingers and a tongue from here, and that's all I need.  Well, that, as long as they're attached to you."  

Obion's words were soft and earnest, and Qui-Gon smiled helplessly to hear them.  "My wise lover..."

"Your only lover," Obion growled, and now his smile was totally proprietary.  He looked Qui-Gon up and down and let his hand drift over hot skin and pinch a nipple again, apparently just to see Qui-Gon's reaction.  "Mine."

"Yours."  Qui-Gon brought his knees up and spread himself widely, wantonly.  "Please, Obion.  I need to feel you..."

"Yes..."  Obion quickly situated himself between Qui-Gon's bent knees and opened the bottle of oil, splashing a bit of it on the coverlet in his haste.  For a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, centering, calming himself.  "You will tell me if I hurt you," he whispered after a hard swallow.

"It'll be fine, just go slow," Qui-Gon replied, breathing deeply himself, telling certain muscles to relax and enjoy the ride.  And then Obion's finger was pressing into him and all bets were off.  

It was a revelation, a religion; it was the finest thing Qui-Gon had ever done, had ever felt.  He should have felt embarrassed at the completely childish noises he was making, but he didn't, he couldn't.  All he could feel was Obion, in him and around him everywhere, surrounding and claiming him.  Two fingers became three and it was tight, there was a slight pain, but he breathed through it, keeping his eyes on Obion, who was looking down at him with wide-eyed astonishment.

Then the fingers were removed but before he could mourn their departure, something else took their place.  Obion was shaking and he was shaking and there was something in his eyes, something that made them water, but he could still see through them, could see Obion's face grow slack with pleasure as he began to thrust, hitting the wonderful sweet spot inside Qui-Gon over and over and over...

The last thing Qui-Gon saw before his world went white and exploded was Obion's face, staring down at him with incredulous, almost disbelieving joy.

In the deepest part of the night, long after the moons had set and when even the stars began to dim, Qui-Gon had a dream which jerked him out of his sated, incredibly happy sleep.  His abrupt movement caused Obion to mutter and reach for him, pull him back down.  Qui-Gon went readily, not even remembering the dream save for seeing the malevolent glow of a blood-red lightsaber.

Qui-Gon woke feeling a little sore the next morning, but the smile on his face simply could not be erased.  For the rest of the day, every time he met Obion's eyes, they both smiled and had to look away before embarrassing themselves.  

When Obion's alarm woke them, they were still wrapped in each other's arms and ragingly hard.  Qui-Gon couldn't recall a time when he had woken so erect, though the company he was keeping must have helped.  They kissed good morning, then kissed hello, then kissed just for the sake of tasting each other, heedless of any morning breath.  Obion was beginning to grind himself into Qui-Gon when Qui-Gon had a sudden thought.  Acting quickly, he jumped out of bed and before Obion could squawk, tugged him out of bed as well.  He took them both to the 'fresher and turned on the water in the huge shower stall, getting them both into it and then pushing Obion up against the wall.

"I like the way you think," Obion gasped, then he groaned as Qui-Gon lifted him and encouraged Obion to wrap his legs around his waist.  Their mouths and erections were much closer to each other this way, and as the hot spray from several different faucets played over them, they kissed, hard and sloppy.  The slickness of the water on them inflamed Qui-Gon, and apparently did the same for Obion, for he began writhing and groaning, arching from the wall to bring his body impossibly closer to Qui-Gon's, trying to rub his erection against Qui-Gon's.

Qui-Gon had his hands under Obion's bottom to support him, and, breaking the kiss -- the better to see his lover -- he allowed one finger to rub gently over the entrance to Obion's body.  Obion's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets and his whole body jerked as he gave a strangled yelp and came, banging his head against the tile wall behind him.  It was a gorgeous sight, Obion in the throes of orgasm, and it was all Qui-Gon needed to push him over the edge as well.  He buried his face in Obion's neck and whimpered.

After a few moments, Obion's legs slid down Qui-Gon's and his feet landed with a plop on the floor.  He was able to support himself sufficiently, which was a good thing since Qui-Gon wasn't sure how much longer he could support them both; his own legs felt rubbery.  They held each other under the spray of water, simply hugging tightly, reluctant to let go even though they knew they had to.

"Tonight," Obion said, so quietly that Qui-Gon almost couldn't hear him, "will you take me?  I want to feel it the right way, Qui.  I want to feel you.  Please?"

To Qui-Gon's shock, at Obion's words, his cock twitched with a valiant attempt to rise.  That was indication enough, he thought, though he still had reservations -- he didn't know if Obion were actually over the pain of what Palpatine did to him.  "Yes.  Yes of course, if that's what you want."  He kissed the warm, wet neck beneath his mouth.  "I love you," he whispered, not sure and not caring whether Obion could hear him.

They were late for breakfast.  Too proper to hold hands in the corridor, Qui-Gon did take Obion's hand when they walked into the room filled with family, squeezing it once.  He wasn't sure who he was reassuring, himself or Obion, because as soon as they entered the room, almost everyone turned.  The Empress, Maul and Cliadle looked absolutely delighted at seeing them together, and Qui-Gon fought to keep his face from heating.  The younger children smiled and Ani had a hug for both of them, but Aliamon was sitting on a window ledge, turned away from the room and obviously brooding.  She didn't even turn as they came in and Qui-Gon frowned, remembering his pledge to himself the evening before.  Any suspicious behavior among the heirs should be looked into: the stakes with the Dark Force user were far too high.

They sat to eat and to chat, embracing the normality of the situation, aware that too soon, things would happen to take normality away.  Qui-Gon teased Cliadle gently, saying he was surprised to see her at breakfast since he figured she would still be in the library.

"Master Plo made me leave last night, and I wasn't really that tired," Cliadle said defensively.  Her words were ruined by a massive yawn, though, and even she laughed at that.  

With visible regret, the Empress turned to more serious matters.  She gathered everyone in the room around her -- Aliamon stayed on her window seat but at least turned to face the room.  "My loves, it pains me to do this, but I have to see to it you're kept safe.  The Jedi children and their tutors are going to Mount Sunrider this morning, and Maisen, Anikin, you'll be going with them."

Anikin immediately protested, but Maisen only blinked and looked thoughtful.  "I know, Ani my love, but I must ensure your safety.  And anyway, Padme is going, with the Queen, Bail and Bail's sisters.  All those females will need the steadying weight of a man's voice, and Bail will need your help."

The Empress' distraction didn't work well.  Anikin looked as though he were ready to cry at any moment.  "But, Mam... who's going to look after you if I go?"

Obion immediately knelt next to his half-brother, hugging him tightly.  "I'll make sure she's safe, Ani, I promise.  And Master Qui-Gon, and Maul, we'll all look after her.  We need you to help look after the Jedi children, Ani.  And Padme, and Bail's sisters."

Nodding slowly, Anikin's face was still unhappy.  "I don't want to go, Obi.  I'm... I'm scared.  Something's going to happen, and... and..."  He ripped himself from Obion's embrace and ran to his mother, climbing on her lap and hugging her hard.  The Empress looked distressed as she tried to soothe her son.

His comfort came from an unexpected source.  "It's all right, Ani."  Maisen was next to the chair, and her mother reached out to draw her into the embrace.  "It'll be fine, you'll see.  The tutors say the future is always in motion, and all we can do is our best.  This way, we'll both get to learn the dances, and pretend we're Jedi, like Master Qui-Gon."

It was the closest to crying Qui-Gon had ever seen the Empress get, as Maisen spoke  The family pulled together, and Qui-Gon was both surprised and incredibly touched that they considered him one of them, that they wanted him to be one with them.  He glanced at the window and saw Aliamon's face twisted in pain, but she would not join the embrace.

The day was long and tedious, with much to prepare for and pockets of frantic activity.  The Dhro's task force was, for all intents and purposes, stationary, and had not entered the Corellian system.  Skora, Maul and Obion had their hands full keeping tabs on it, since they wouldn't allow the Corellian forces to engage -- yet.  The children, well, Maisen and Anikin, were shuttled to Mount Sunrider, along with such guardsmen Maul trusted to keep them safe.  Qui-Gon heard about the argument of rather epic proportions between the Empress and her eldest daughter over the move, and was relieved not to have actually witnessed it.  The upshot was Aliamon was indeed going to Mount Sunrider, but not until Cliadle did.  Once again Qui-Gon tried to figure out when he would have time to speak privately with Aliamon, and once again hurtling events distracted him from it.

Qui-Gon did find the time to say goodbye to the children and the older Jedi embarking to Mount Sunrider.  He stood in the palace's ship port, watching the corvette depart for the mountain with something akin to trepidation, though he didn't know the source and again, had no time to examine it properly.  Anikin had hugged him fiercely before climbing aboard the ship, begging him to look after the Empress, and Qui-Gon had promised.  Maisen also hugged him, to his surprise, before boarding.  The ship that took them away left from the same place where the Jedi had landed and left, which was now the place where the Mouth of the Dhro would land.  

Plo Koon was grateful for the delay, since he and Cliadle seemed to be making excellent progress in their studies.  Qui-Gon visited at mid-day and ate lunch with them, as Plo updated him on the situation, both trying to find out what happened to Kun's body and who had been mutilating the archives.  Cliadle's bodyguard stayed with Plo's bodyguard just outside the door to the stacks, and since there was only one way into the room, that should have reassured Qui-Gon of their safety.  Oddly, it did not, but he had no time to examine the feeling.

The most difficult part of the day Qui-Gon was very happy to have missed: the funerary arrangements for Roberd Palpatine.  His family, Clan Sidious, showed up en masse with letters of protest to the Empress.  They (of course) blamed Qui-Gon for his death and demanded reparations from both the Empire and the Jedi.  Apparently, the chief family representative walked into the room fairly bristling with antagonism, but was surprised to find Maul standing next to the Empress and the Heir, his arms crossed, his face utterly impassive.  The Empress was using the intimidation factor of the throne, and had a smaller seat for Obion placed on the same dais.  By design, there had been no place for any others to sit.

The negotiations were over very quickly, once the representative realized the Empress was half a step away from demanding reparations from the clan for Palpatine's attempt on Obion's life.  Protests went under in the face of Maul's displeasure, and the clan finally settled for a state funeral and the return of all the lands Palpatine had held in trust or had turned over to the Empire.  

All this Qui-Gon heard second-hand from Obion and Maul.  They stole an hour in the day in order to test Obion's lightsaber, something that pleased Maul no end.  He had been thrilled to see Obion's 'saber, though Qui-Gon hadn't a clue why.  

They chose a room in one of the sub-basements of the palace, one Maul had modified years before with thick shielding.  When Qui-Gon concentrated and put a Force containment around the new 'saber, Maul frowned at him, then closed his eyes and concentrated as well.  Qui-Gon felt his shielding reinforced with Maul's less steady focus, and smiled.

The 'saber worked perfectly, igniting a spectacular dark purple blade.  Obion had placed the crest of Clan Kenobi on it, but there were still areas that would need improvement on the case, and Qui-Gon pointed them out.  "You'll probably want to go with a leather grip here, so that your calluses will develop properly."

"I'd suggest a bit more filing down here and here," Maul added, inspecting the handle as carefully as Qui-Gon had.  "The blade is beautiful -- what's it made of?"

"He re-used the stones from Nomi Sunrider's 'saber," Qui-Gon said, trying not to sound proud but failing.  "It's an Ilum sapphire and a grossulite."  

"Particularly apt," Maul murmured, and Qui-Gon shot him a puzzled look.  "I've got a few minutes before I have to meet with General Skora, Qui-Gon.  Would you like to do some free-form sparring?"

The smile on Qui-Gon's face grew.  "I'd love to."  

Qui-Gon and Obion were already dressed for sparring and Maul wore his customary leathers.  He took his 'saber from his belt and ignited one side.  "I can't dial down very far with both blades, so it'll have to be just the one."

"Some day, I'd like to spar with you when you've got them both lit," Qui-Gon said, igniting his own 'saber and bowing.

Obion stood to one side and watched them as they fought a mock-battle.  It took Qui-Gon a few moments to get used to Maul's style, but once he did, he found himself joyfully flowing into the Force and letting it take over his body.

Maul fought with the same intensity with which he lived, and threw himself into the bout.  Qui-Gon was hard pressed to keep up, but he did manage, though it was at a cost: he had the passing thought he was out of shape and would need to work out more.  They had just fought to a standstill when Qui-Gon heard a soft ping on Maul's belt.  Both were breathing hard, something that gratified Qui-Gon, and they bowed again after pushing away from each other and keying off their 'sabers.  Obion applauded.

"That was fabulous."  Obion gave them each a towel and embraced Qui-Gon.  "I can't wait to learn how to fight like that."

"Now that you have your 'saber, we can begin some of the drills."  Qui-Gon mopped his face again and smiled at Maul.  "Well fought.  I need to work out more."

"Same here," Maul replied, putting his 'saber back in its holster on his belt.  Qui-Gon could see how he had missed it -- the 'saber's hilt, being matte black, blended in perfectly with Maul's clothing.  "I have to meet with Skora, and Obion, you and Qui-Gon are expected at the special session before dinner.  There also may be a meeting with the Lord Mayor after dinner."

"Yes, I know.  Our schedules are frantic, and that blasted Mouth person will be here tomorrow."

"Have you received official transmission of this?" Qui-Gon asked, tossing his towel into a corner.  

"Yes, about an hour ago, there was a very polite message received."  Maul frowned thunderously.  "I have counseled Adi not to drop the particle shield, and you and I, Qui-Gon, will not be visible with her when she meets with the man."

"You don't want them to recognize you."  Qui-Gon nodded.  "But why put me in hiding too?"

"Because of the way the Dhro is treating Jedi," Obion replied for Maul.  "We don't understand it yet, and we've got to before we can show our hand.  If the Dhro finds out we have a treaty with the Jedi, we don't know what will happen."

Qui-Gon nodded again, looking between the two men.  "It makes sense."

"We'll go over everything tonight, after the meetings have been concluded."  Maul tossed his towel in the same corner.  "I've got to go.  I'll see you both later."

For the little time they had left, Qui-Gon took Obion through the beginning 'saber forms again.  They had used the staves, but there was a significant difference between wood and actual 'sabers.  They didn't have a lot of time, but did what they could.

Before going back to their rooms to shower, Obion pulled Qui-Gon in for a kiss.  "It would please me greatly if you would sleep with me, Qui-Gon... not just tonight..."  His eyes were hopeful and happy.

"I'd rather sleep with you than anywhere, Obion.  But I'm new at this... should I give up the rooms I had?"

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that," Obion said with a smile.  "Mother's told me it's always a good idea to have separate rooms, just in case.  I've never figured out what the 'just in case' is, but she's usually right."

Qui-Gon smiled and gave in to temptation again, kissing Obion.  "Should I move my things, though?"

"I would like that."

"I would too."  It took an act of will to get them moving again, rather than just standing and kissing forever.

In between meetings, Qui-Gon managed to get his clothing and toiletries moved to Obion's rooms.  Terrell and Galer helped, and Terrell dropped a bomb on Qui-Gon: he was volunteering for service in the armed forces.  Galer seemed as surprised as Qui-Gon was.

"Since you and his Highness are moving in together, I thought Galer could take over for me, as it were, if that's all right?"  He looked between them, and Galer broke the tableau by hugging Terrell.  

"Wow, Terrell, that's great.  I wish I could volunteer."

"You're still too young, Galer, but I'm not, well, just barely.  And Jay -- I mean, Sir Matrin -- he didn't want me to go, didn't want me to volunteer.  He'd be livid if you went too... you know how he gets when stuff doesn't go exactly right."  They were just done with moving Qui-Gon, and time was short for his next meeting.  "But I just had to do something, you know?"

"I know."  Qui-Gon put his hand on the young man's shoulder.  "Be careful, Terrell.  When do you need to report?"

"This evening.  Maul said I'm to be deployed to Mount Sunrider, to help with the children."  He took a deep breath and then squared his shoulders.  "You're due in the conference room, Master Jinn.  We'd better hurry."

The general staff meeting had turned into a war council, and the Jedi Council was attending as well, remotely.  General Skora gave her report on the location of the Dhro's forces, and strategy was discussed should the force move closer to Corellia.  The Jedi, Qui-Gon was surprised to learn, had decided to disperse on Selonia, leaving a skeleton crew manning the Temple itself.  The Council would be leaving the next day.

"We thought it best to not present such a large target," Ka'Ran Da said.

Maul was nodding.  "Very good idea.  We need to discuss how to keep in touch with each other without alerting the Dhro to your whereabouts."

The meeting, like the day, was long and made tedious by the minutiae of preparing the Corellian system for war.  Unspoken was the fervent wish that war would not come; would, in fact, skip their system altogether, not disrupt or take their lives.  The exacting meetings belied that wish.

Even dinner was a quiet, somber and quick affair.  The Lord Mayor was in attendance and Qui-Gon found himself dragged into the post-dinner meeting, as 'acting' First Minister to the Empress.  If the man had a problem with the Jedi, he gave no sign of it.  Most of the meeting dealt with discussion of evacuation plans.  Already, cities had been preparing for war, and many Corellians had already fled to other worlds -- Yavin, Hoth, Ord Mantell -- in the hopes that Corellia would indeed stop the Dhro and he would go no further.

It was exhausting.  But Obion dwelled in the back of Qui-Gon's mind, always there, always shoring him up with love and desire.  Qui-Gon bid a fond good luck to Terrell as the young man went to report in, and promised to carry a message to Aliamon from him.  And finally, after all that, after the meetings and the activity that would hopefully see them through the crisis, finally it was time to retire, and finally leave his omnipresent bodyguard and his new page at the door to Obion's quarters, finally he could seek his bed and his lover.

How odd it felt, to have a lover, to have someone who loved and needed him as much as he loved and needed.  He knew it was right between them, knew the Force wanted them together, wanted them to be a couple.  But even though he knew that, there were times -- during the interminable meetings, the exhaustive planning sessions where every contingency had to be anticipated -- there were moments when Qui-Gon doubted, when he sometimes despaired.  He was so much older than Obion, was a Jedi, was not worthy of such a beautiful and open young man.  He feared something would happen and their happiness would vanish like a puff of smoke.

Then, he would turn, and somehow catch Obion's gaze, and the only things that would vanish were his doubts and his fears.

It was quite late by the time Obion made it back to his rooms, and Qui-Gon had already gotten ready for bed and was reading in the sitting room.  Maul and Obion's bodyguard spoke to him briefly before letting him come in, and when he turned to Qui-Gon, his face looked so lined and careworn it seemed years older than his age.  Without speaking, Qui-Gon put his reader aside, rose, and took Obion into his arms, holding tightly and being held, trying to convey without words how much he understood, how much he cared.

Obion wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon, rested his head on Qui-Gon's chest and squeezed.  They stood there in silence for a long moment, and when Obion finally looked up, his face merely looked weary, not so old.  "Tomorrow is going to be very interesting, I think," he whispered.

"Yes."  Qui-Gon sighed.  "Come to bed.  Tomorrow will get here soon enough."

Nodding, Obion allowed himself to be led to the bedroom.  Qui-Gon removed his robe and, with a smile, knelt at Obion's feet and tugged off the soft boots he wore.  "You don't have to do that," Obion protested mildly.

"No, but I want to.  You've had a much worse day than I have... let me take care of you."

Obion closed his eyes and sagged, letting his chin hit his chest.  Taking that as a yes, Qui-Gon began to tenderly disrobe him, removing and setting aside each article of clothing until Obion was clad only in his undershorts, as Qui-Gon was.

Pulling down the sheets, he helped Obion under them then stretched out next to him.  Without a sound, Obion rolled into Qui-Gon's arms and held on tightly.  They were both half-hard, the mere proximity to each other causing some arousal, but Qui-Gon could tell Obion was too tired to do much more than cuddle.

"I wanted..." Obion breathed against Qui-Gon's breastbone.

"I know."  He ran his fingers through Obion's lovely, fine hair.  "There's no hurry.  Tonight, we need to sleep, I think, and shore up our reserves."

"You're probably right."  They both sighed, and Qui-Gon felt his lover falling deeper into sleep's embrace.  "Tomorrow..." Obion mumbled as he drifted off.

Qui-Gon waved the lights off and settled down, still holding Obion tightly.  "Tomorrow," he whispered.

In the deepest, darkest hour of the night, Qui-Gon once again woke with a jerk of movement, another nightmare claiming his rest.  This time, Obion was not in his arms, and was, instead, curled into a ball at the edge of the bed.  The twitches and whimpers Qui-Gon heard told him all he needed to know.  With gentle touches and soothing thoughts, he pulled Obion back into his embrace, rubbing tense arms and legs gently, murmuring nonsensical words of comfort.

Finally, Obion sighed and slipped into a deeper, safer sleep.  Shortly thereafter, Qui-Gon did as well.

The man who called himself The Mouth of the Dhro was tall, at least as tall as Qui-Gon, who was used to being the tallest human in a gathering.  He had thick, white hair and a salt-and-pepper beard that covered his upper lip and chin but nothing else.  His voice was absolutely beautiful, cultured, urbane and serene, but that was not what bothered Qui-Gon the most.  What bothered him most was the man bore a lightsaber and was intensely Force-adept.

Standing with Maul in a room just off the major throne room, a room that was shielded as tightly as he and Maul could make it, Qui-Gon watched the action through the panel secreted in the wall.  He would have thought the Seneschal would have been present as the Empress' herald, but instead she was using the same young man who had acted as translator to the Jedi during their initial encounter with her.  He stood, straight and tall in the livery of the Sith Empire, bearing its standard, at the foot of the dais where the Empress sat on the throne, waiting for the delegation to approach.

The Empress was dressed in the colors of Clan Kenobi, with the white and gold of Clan Sunrider on a sash across her torso.  Across her lap lay the scepter of the royal house of Wan, a short, heavy thing of white marble with gold leaf embellishments.  Obion, as the Heir to the Empire, stood at her left hand, also wearing the sash and the colors combined.  He was an imposing presence, standing with his legs planted and his arms crossed before his chest.  They wore identical expressions of nothing and could have been chiseled from stone.

The room was devoid of furniture save for the throne at one end.  There were guardsmen present, of course, two at each end, and though they looked ceremonial, Qui-Gon was willing to bet they would be able to spring into action at the blink of an eye.  There was also a camouflaged door to the room from the shielded room; Qui-Gon could feel the tension in Maul, and wondered what it would take for the man to use the door, even if it meant showing himself to his enemies.

With a start, Qui-Gon realized Obion had his new 'saber on his belt, next to an oddly nondescript dagger in a sheath of dark blue leather.  

The delegation from the Dhro -- the Mouth of the Dhro and two aides of some kind, who both wore 'sabers -- finally made it across the long room and to the dais.  As they approached, the Empress' herald struck the marble floor with the butt of the standard three times.

"Who comes seeking an audience with her Exalted Majesty, Mother of the Sith Empire, the head of the royal House of Wan, Empress Adi-Wan of Clan Kenobi; and her son and Heir, bearer of the Sacred Blade, Lord of the Mountain, Obion of Clan Kenobi?  Speak your business and your purpose before approaching further!"

The mysterious man smiled and bowed, though not nearly enough to show the proper reverence.  The Empress' face did not change.

"I bring greetings to the Empire of the Sith from my master, the Dhro.  Consider me to be the voice of the Dhro, in this and in all other ways; I speak for him."

Silence fell in the room as no one spoke.  The Empress continued to regard the man standing before her through hooded eyes, and did not speak or even move.  Neither did Obion.

Finally, the man spoke again, though Qui-Gon sensed he was more amused than discomfited by the silence.  "The Dhro seeks this audience in order to open a dialog between us.  The autonomy of the Sith Empire is in question, as the Dhro wishes to add it to the galactic hegemony he is creating."

After another long silence, where Qui-Gon could almost feel the ice forming, the Empress spoke.  "The autonomy of the Sith Empire is never in question.  The Sith Empire bows to no one.  The Dhro may do as he wishes with others; the Empire stands alone."

"Ah, but that may be a problem, Empress.  My master has..."

Qui-Gon's attention was suddenly ripped from the drama unfolding before him when a tendril of something very faint reached him.  A tendril activating a bond which should not have been there.

Maul put his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder and frowned a question.  "Something..."  Qui-Gon breathed.  "I need to go check."

"Be careful."

Nodding, Qui-Gon took a moment to ensure his shields were firm before slipping out of the room and hurrying down the hall.  The Mouth of the Dhro had appeared in a single small ship holding minimal crew, and only he and the two aides had been allowed outside the landing area.  The palace's port, while attached to the palace, was nevertheless almost half a mile from its heart.  It took Qui-Gon long, breathless minutes to make his way to the area, and with every step, his certainty grew -- Xanatos was on the planet.

He knew he had to hurry, he knew the Mouth of the Dhro would not be long in his 'negotiations' with the Empress, but he had to confirm what his heart told him.  Finally, he stood outside the port where the Dhro's ship had landed, just inside the perimeter of guards Maul had created.  Holding his breath, he released just a bit of his shields, plucking the slim tendril he felt, and waited.  

It wasn't a long wait.  On the ship's ramp appeared a familiar dark-haired figure, holding an unlit 'saber, looking about in confusion.  Spying Qui-Gon, his eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped.  After a quick look around -- no one was watching, the guards knew Qui-Gon and knew he had Maul's clearance -- Xanatos nearly ran to him.

"Master?  What the hells?"

"Xani."  Qui-Gon reached out and embraced the young man who was as loved as a son to him.  "My Xan.  I knew it was you."

"What are you doing here?" Xanatos returned the embrace briefly, then he pulled away, once again looking around before shaking Qui-Gon gently.  "This is Corellia, dammit, you're supposed to be safe on Selonia.  What are you doing here?"

"I live here, we have a treaty, we've joined with the Sith against the Dhro, but what are--"

"You have a WHAT?"  Xanatos almost choked himself trying to hold that bellow in.  "You can't," he snarled, his hold on Qui-Gon's biceps painfully tight.  "The Jedi and the Sith are enemies, dammit, what kind of idiotic thing is this?  You're not supposed to be on the same damn side, you're not supposed to be here!"

"Why?  Xan, what's wrong with that?  We're all on the same side, what do you mean we're not?  You've been sending updates to the Temple, we've seen them..."

"It's not that simple," Xanatos ground out.  "There are things you don't know, Master.  This changes everything. Damn, damn, damn."  Abruptly, Xanatos let go of his arm to run his hands through his hair.  "Are there any other Jedi here?"

"Yes, but--"

"No buts.  You have to leave, you have to get back to the Temple, now!  Today!  You don't understand, the Dhro--"  Their conversation, such as it was, was cut short by the sound of people approaching: the Mouth of the Dhro must not have been able to keep the Empress happy for very long.  "Shit, that's Dooku, I can't...  Get out of here, Master, Qui-Gon, please!  Dammit, I need to know you're safe!"  Xanatos drew him into a swift, hard embrace, just as quickly breaking it.

"I am safe, Xani..."

But there was no more time.  Xanatos shoved him into an alcove and pushed him down, hidden, then ran to the ship to greet the Mouth of the Dhro, who did not look around at all before boarding.  Xanatos gave Qui-Gon one last look and tugged gently on their bond before closing it along with the airlock of the ship.

Stunned, Qui-Gon watched as the ship lifted and disappeared into the sky before turning and walking thoughtfully back to the palace.

"I don't understand."  The Empress' voice was filled with her confusion.

"I don't either!"  Qui-Gon paced the flagstones of the garden before the bench on which sat the Empress and Obion.  In his mind, he again ran through the aborted meeting with Xanatos, trying to figure out what had just happened.  "If you had only kept him talking a few moments longer..." he muttered.

"I'm sorry," the Empress said, her voice wry and tired.  "Had I known, I would have done my best.  Perhaps we could have traded recepies or something."

"I know, I know.  I'm sorry, I'm just..."  

Maul, who stood behind the bench, sighed.  "Hints and allegations, half-spoken warnings, veiled threats.  I hate this."

"You're not alone there."  Qui-Gon stopped pacing and stretched one arm behind his head to rub his neck.

"Come here."  Obion stood and took Qui-Gon's hand, tugged him to sit on the bench.  Switching places with Maul, Obion began rubbing Qui-Gon's neck and shoulders.

"He said nothing else?"  Despite the seriousness of the question, the Empress smiled at her son and his lover.

"No.  Nothing I could consider of any consequence.  Just that I had to get off Corellia and back to the Temple.  That this 'changed things.'  What things?   Why?  I... uh."  Obion had hit a particularly tense spot and was working hard on it.   "You're going to have to stop that if you expect me to make further sense," he mumbled, his chin almost in his chest.

"You're too tense.  You need to meditate."  Gentling his massage, Obion turned it into a caress.

"And when do I have time for that?"  All four chuckled briefly.  "I'll try.  I wish I'd had more time with him.  At least he looked fine."

"Do you think you blew his cover?" Maul asked.

"I pray I did not."  They sat there in silence for a bit longer, and Obion's hands finally stilled but did not leave Qui-Gon's neck, even after he straightened.  "I should let Plo know what happened."

"I'll go," Maul said.  "I want to ask him some questions on Force control, what can and can't be hidden."  He glanced at the Empress.  "I think none of us were surprised at this mouth person being so Force-sensitive."

"You know, I think I might know his name," Qui-Gon said with a frown.  "Xani said 'Dooku', as if it were a name.  Ask Plo if he recognizes it.  Perhaps we should send a message to the Temple, too, to see if anyone there recognizes it."

"All right."  Maul again glanced at the Empress.  "Everything is in readiness.  We merely have to wait, since I'm not allowed to make the first move."

"No, you're not," the Empress said firmly.  "I will not put my people in danger by provoking a fight.  If it is coming, let it come -- but I will not invite it."

"She's right, Maul," Obion said softly.

"I know she's right.  I don't have to like it, though."

Qui-Gon snorted.  "We're all stuck doing things we don't want to do.  I need to get back inside, check with Bellen for my schedule.  I'm sure I have other things I don't want to do lined up for me."

"You have a staff meeting in an hour," Obion told him as Qui-Gon rose.  "To discuss that person's 'offers'."  Obion shook his head.  "I want to find time today to spar, if possible.  We both need it, I think."

"I'd offer to join you, but I don't think I'll have time."  Maul gave his hand to the Empress as she rose.

"There is no more time left," she said.

Time did seem to be at a premium.  Qui-Gon spent the day in meetings, on the teleunit, offering advice to various court functionaries and working on the treaty.  By the end of the day, he was exhausted but  in desperate need of physical exercise.  He hadn't found the time to meditate, and felt it keenly.

Obion caught up with him on the way back to his rooms after yet another round with the Empress' ministers on the Jedi treaty.  "I've managed to get out of dinner tonight, Mother's all but canceled it.  I can have Jay send us some dinner in my rooms; let's go work on some forms.  If I don't, I'm afraid I'm going to kill someone."

"Only if I get to pick who it is," Qui-Gon replied with a weary sigh.  Lord Blelling had been particularly particular on the treaty negotiations, and Qui-Gon was nearly at his wits' end.

"You can pick who I kill if I get to pick who you kill.  Come on.  Let's change and go."

Exercise did help.  Obion ran through all the forms he'd learned to date, saving the ones with 'saber for last.  He was doing well enough that Qui-Gon started walking him through the katas which were a step below sparring.  

While picking them up handily, Obion kept overcompensating: the weight of a lightsaber was negligible compared with the weight of the kind of sword Obion had learned to fight with.  Qui-Gon stopped them frequently to adjust Obion's footing and stance, to make sure he was lifting correctly, and not over-lifting or over-reaching.

After two hours, they were hot and sweaty and wanted a break.  "Do you feel sufficiently worn out yet?" Obion said, breathing heavily.

Qui-Gon simply nodded as he sagged against the wall, he didn't think he'd catch his wind for at least a week.

"Shower, then food.  I told Jay to bring--"

The door to their impromptu workout room burst open to admit a grim-faced Maul.  "The Dhro has set up a blockade around Selonia."

"Can it be broken?"

"Without going to outright war?  No."

"Dem..."

"Adi, you want me to break this blockade, fine.  I'll do my best.  But I'm telling you right now, it'll be at a cost you won't want to pay.  Because if we break through this droid armada -- and that's a big if -- then the clones will come looking to mop up and we won't have any reserves left."

The Empress made a frustrated and furious sound.  "We have promised the Jedi we would come to their aid should they need it."

"So?  Do they need it?  The blockade is in orbit, we've had no reports of landings.  None at all.  It's almost as if they want to just keep the Jedi where they are."  General Skora snorted and threw herself back in her chair.  "I don't understand it.  Maybe you should call them up and ask."

"We aren't going to break the blockade."  Maul's voice was soft but firm.  The Empress glared at him but he just let it bounce off.  "So far, there has been no need to come to the Jedi's aid.  Demmer is right, there's been no landings, no offense other than the blockade.  Selonia is self-sufficient.  We have no cause to fight at the moment.  So, we wait."

"How long?  How long do we wait, Maul?"  The Empress smacked her hand on the table, hard.  Her frustration level was swamping the room.  "Do we wait until they start landing and killing Jedi?"

"Adi, we don't know what their intention is -- this is new behavior for them, and there's no telling what it means.  Until we understand it, we must assume the Jedi are all right."  He took her hand, which was balled into a fist, and encouraged it to relax.  "I don't like it either."

"This goes against every instinct I have," the Empress muttered.  Looking up, she pinned Qui-Gon with a glare.  "You haven't said anything, revered Jedi.  What do you counsel?"

He had been afraid she would ask that, because he didn't know how to reply.  Obion caught his gaze and nodded, reassuringly.  "Most of me wants to break the blockade and get my people off Selonia," he said slowly, thinking it through, trying to be objective rather than subjective.  "But logically, Maul and General Skora are correct.  Focusing on one thing might mean we lose all."  He sighed and looked down.  "We should wait."

Swallowing heavily, shaking her head, the Empress finally relented.  Her hand, still held captive in Maul's, opened finally.  "I hate this.  I hate this.  Very well.  We wait.  However..."  Now it was General Skora's turn to be pinned, "at the first sign of landing -- the first sign, Dem! -- we act.  Is that clear?"

Demmer Skora nodded.  "I understand, Adi.  And I don't like it either, it was my promise to them Jedi as well, not just yours."

"I know."  It was the most passion Qui-Gon had ever seen from the Empress, far more than he had come to expect.  He felt for her; she was in an untenable situation -- they all were -- and every step made was probably wrong.  There was no escape; the damn Dhro had them in a box that was closing tightly.  "Write up the orders over my seal.  Maul, you're privy to this as well.  I want updates every five hours; sooner, if things begin to happen.  And I want long-range sensors on Selonia at all times."

Nodding briskly, General Skora stood and left the room.  The Empress brought her free hand to her forehead and rubbed hard.  "I'm getting another one of those damned headaches."

"I'll have Dr. Pfelling bring you another of his potions," Maul said, bringing the Empress' hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss.  "It will be all right, da'mrow."

"Maul, you give me hope where there is none."  She turned to look at Qui-Gon and Obion.  "You two stink like a locker room.  I think showers and food are due all around."  Maul helped her to her feet and they left, followed by Obion and Qui-Gon.  

Obion stayed silent, let Qui-Gon be wrapped in his thoughts all the way back to their rooms, where Matrin had indeed left food in warmers for them.  With a smile, Obion pushed Qui-Gon into the bathroom, giving him the first go at the shower, which Qui-Gon gratefully took.

He was torn, at such a loss for the right thing to do that it actually frightened him.  Why would the Dhro be doing this, this blockade of Selonia?  It broke all patterns he had, until now, kept to.  And what was worse, Qui-Gon was almost positive it had something to do with his meeting Xanatos.  Deep inside himself, he asked the question Maul was too circumspect, to caring to ask: could Xani have been subverted to the Dhro?

As the water beat down on him, soothing some of his pain away, he leaned his hands on the wall and dropped his head.  Could Xanatos have turned?  If he had, could Qui-Gon kill him if necessary?  His mind wanted to shy away from that thought, but he wouldn't let it.  If Xani had indeed turned, turned away from the Light and was under the control of the Dhro, it would be a mercy to release his spirit to the Force.  Xani, his Xani, the bright, beautiful boy he had raised, would not want to walk in Darkness.

But if he hadn't changed, if he was still on the side of the Light, then what did all this mean?  Why would Xanatos have been so upset to find Qui-Gon on Corellia, why would he have been so adamant about Qui-Gon leaving, returning to Selonia?  If Qui-Gon had immediately left, he would have been behind the blockade.  Is that what Xani wanted?  If so, why?  And why had the Dhro broken with routine for the Corellian system?  Why set up a blockade around Selonia and not around Corellia?

Turning away from the thoughts whirling in his head, Qui-Gon washed himself automatically, just moving on autopilot and giving his mind a rest from racing around in circles.

Before he had quite finished, Obion appeared in the bathroom.  He stripped out of his underclothes and opened the shower stall door to join Qui-Gon.  "I was afraid you'd gone down the drain," he said, hugging Qui-Gon tightly.

"Sorry, sorry," Qui-Gon replied, burying his face in Obion's neck and returning the hug.  "Thinking too hard."

"Difficult to do on an empty stomach.  Go get something to eat, I'll be right out to join you."

Nodding, Qui-Gon let Obion take his place.  He wrapped himself in towels and wandered into the sitting room, where Obion had put out plates and utensils.  Still bemused from his circular reasoning, Qui-Gon sat, served himself something hot which smelled delicious and proceeded to swallow it, without once tasting it.  Whatever it was filled a hole he didn't know was there, though, and brought him more awake.

Obion joined him as he had promised, and Qui-Gon stood to take care of his hair and remove the towels, swapping them for his robe.  He came back in time to see Obion, also wearing a comfortable-looking robe, stack the rest of the dishes on the rolling tray and put it by the door.  "Jay will have someone pick it up tonight."  He smiled and the temperature of the room rose several degrees.  "I think we have an appointment, Master Jinn."

Pleased to have something to divert him, something as wonderful as Obion, no less, Qui-Gon smiled as well.  "Do we, Highness?  I wasn't aware of it."

"Yes, we do, and yes, you're aware of it.  Tonight you have promised to take me, and--"

The teleunit pinged.  Obion, who had reached Qui-Gon, grabbed some of Qui-Gon's robe and leaned his head down, groaning.  "Ancestors in hell.  I'm going to have that thing tossed off the east tower."  Not letting go of Qui-Gon's robe, therefore towing Qui-Gon behind him, Obion stalked to the teleunit and slapped the key.  "Yes?"

Maul's face appeared.  "Sorry, Obion.  It's not serious, and I'm not going to keep you, but I wanted to let Qui-Gon know, we've had two Jedi ships approach us, looking for sanctuary.  I've directed them to Mount Sunrider, and have asked Captain Phipps, who I have in charge there, to let me know who's aboard."

"Sanctuary?"  Qui-Gon blinked and looked down at Obion's frown.  "They couldn't get through the blockade."

"Or didn't try." Maul nodded.  "The Council must have commed all your at-large field ops before going into hiding, telling them to come here as a backup.  I just wanted to let you know, as you might want to go out to the mountain soon to brief them.  Or debrief them."  He smirked.  "Since you and Plo are the acting Council here..."

"Don't tempt me, Maul, the Council is upset with me enough as it is."  Qui-Gon chuckled and Obion laughed.  "Thank you for the heads up, though."

Maul's smirk turned into a smile and he reached for the cutoff.  "Wait," Obion said suddenly.  "How's Mam?"

"She's all right.  Dr. Pfelling gave me another one of his pills to give her, and they always put her right out.  I'll stay with her again tonight.  Don't worry, Obion."

"Thank you, Maul."  Obion's face lightened and he cut the transmission.  "Good.  I don't like these headaches she's been getting."

More than willing to divert Obion from his worry, Qui-Gon reached out and took his hand.  "Where were we, Highness?"

Obion smiled widely and once again grabbed the front of Qui-Gon's robe.  "Right about here, I think," he said before pulling Qui-Gon down for a kiss.

Hot.  That's what they were together, that's what Qui-Gon felt every single time they crawled into the same bed with the same intent.  Hot.  Obion's skin was hot and flushed, and his kisses were flame.  His eyes even seemed to catch fire when Qui-Gon wasn't looking, so that they burned Qui-Gon's skin wherever they gazed.  It was a burn he found he loved.

They stretched out together on the big bed in what was rapidly becoming their bedroom, after dropping robes on the chair, and just kissed, for a long time.  Qui-Gon pulled Obion on top of him and hummed appreciatively at the weight draped over him.  Obion kissed him like it was the last thing he would ever do, kissing with passion and with gentleness and with love, always love.  Qui-Gon didn't know how he could stand much more of it.

With a tipping movement, Obion rolled them back over so Qui-Gon was on top.  Obion moaned as his cock was trapped between his belly and Qui-Gon's flank, a hot brand searing Qui-Gon's flesh.  Obion tasted so good... felt so good and Qui-Gon dived into his mouth, sucking and licking and feeling everything he possibly could.  It felt so good.

Since he was now on top, Qui-Gon decided to take control and get a little of his own back: while youth and inexperience had definite advantages, age and cunning would always win.  Gentling his kiss, taking his tongue from Obion's mouth, Qui-Gon began a series of tiny pecks along his jaw, his upper and lower lips, his cheek.  Obion wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon and squeezed, but Qui-Gon didn't let it deter him.  "I mean to taste every inch of you tonight," he whispered into Obion's ear, before licking all around the lobe and biting gently, and was gratified at the reaction he got.

He said every inch and that's what he meant.  Starting at Obion's temple, Qui-Gon began tiny, licking tastes of every bit of flesh he could find.  It was damp at Obion's temple and on his neck, under his hair.  His collarbones were treated to long tongue swipes, as were the insides of his elbows and his palms.  Qui-Gon carefully, gently took each of Obion's long fingers into his mouth and sucked on them, just to see Obion's face grow flushed and his breath shorten.  Then he placed those hands down at Obion's sides and murmured, "Keep them there."

With Obion's hands out of the way, Qui-Gon began working his way down Obion's chest, stopping almost immediately at a tiny, hairless nipple which was already sporting a peak.  He decorated it with little cat licks and tiny bites, each one wringing a cry from Obion, then moved to the other, giving it the same treatment.

Moving down further, he found the ticklish spots on Obion's stomach and had to put his own hands over Obion's to make sure they stayed where he wanted them.  He did not bypass the furiously erect penis, but only gave it one small kiss of promise before moving down, licking at Obion's testicles and thighs and kissing the tight skin of his knees.  Reaching the end of his prize, he very deliberately kissed and lightly sucked on each toe before looking up.  "Turn over," he said, and his voice sounded husky to his ears.

There was something he had always wanted to try, something he thought would feel so good but he had never before had a real lover, someone he could trust to do it to him or let him do it.  It would also show him if Obion had any lingering doubts or resevations about being taken, so soon after his disastrous liaison with Palpatine.  Kissing his way up the backs of Obion's legs, he stopped briefly at the backs of his knees then moved up further, gently spreading Obion's cheeks.  There, nestled in the middle of Obion's body was a small rosy pucker that looked...

The first lick nearly brought Obion completely off the bed.  The second had him moaning and trying to spread his legs further: Qui-Gon helped him get to his knees then dove in for more.  It was everything he thought it might be, and amazingly, he found himself nearly coming just on the taste and the reaction he was provoking in Obion.

He alternated long swipes of his tongue with little, sucking kisses that had Obion gasping and crying out in pleasure.  When he pointed his tongue and tried for a deeper penetration, Obion began rocking back and begging, incoherently, for release.  "Go ahead," Qui-Gon said, briefly removing his tongue.  "You can come when you want, my love, whenever you want."  Then he went back to his tasting and waited for the explosion.

With a shrill keen, Obion came, spraying all over the bedspread and thrusting his bottom back on Qui-Gon, still begging for more.  Slowly, Qui-Gon stopped, gentling a trembling Obion carefully, urging him to roll over.  Utterly sated, dazed and limp, Obion stretched out on his back.  His legs were splayed, his face was red and his eyes were half-closed... he was utterly gorgeous.  

The bottle of oil was on the bedside table and Qui-Gon called it to him.  While Obion was still limp from his tongue-fucking, Qui-Gon quickly slicked up two fingers and gently penetrated Obion, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach, trying to keep him loose and aroused.  His penis, still half-hard, stirred sluggishly at the careful preparation; Qui-Gon was taking no chances, making certain that Obion felt nothing but pleasure in their coupling, that he wouldn't hurt Obion as Palpatine had done.  "All right?" Qui-Gon asked, removing his fingers and adding more oil.

"Gods... yes..."  Obion was not exactly articulate yet, though he managed slurred speech, and Qui-Gon meant to keep him that way.  The passage he was readying was loose and becoming slick with the oil he was spreading, but just in case, he hooked his fingers to try and locate Obion's prostate.  A raw shout told him he'd found it, and he ruthlessly massaged it, watching Obion's erection return full-strength as he did so.

By the time Obion was again begging, Qui-Gon was up to three fingers and all seemed ready.  He removed his fingers and urged Obion to his side, spooning up behind him in memory of his own first time: he knew the position would make it easier on Obion.  When he did enter Obion finally, it was so good, so hot and tight, he found himself having to solve complicated hyperspace formulas to keep from instantly coming.  Obion's erection flagged briefly, but Qui-Gon managed to stay still for a long moment, waiting until his sheath inside Obion's body adjusted before beginning a long, slow withdraw and an even slower return.

"Sweet ancestors," Obion gasped.  "So good... so fucking, fucking good... Feel you..."

"You are so tight and hot," Qui-Gon whispered into Obion's ear.  "I wish I could stay like this forever, joined with you, inside you..."

"Want it too..."  Obion was managing to move back a little with each long thrust, meeting them eagerly.  "Touch me, Qui, lover, touch me, please..."

Qui-Gon let Obion guide his hand down, wrapped his hand around his lover's rigid and quivering erection.  A few pumps and Obion was coming again, clenching around Qui-Gon, drawing Qui-Gon's own climax out of him ruthlessly.  

Burying his face in Obion's hair, Qui-Gon tried to keep from thrusting harder but he couldn't, Obion's body was so welcoming, so needy that he had to thrust, had to push harder and harder until he was seeing the stars that were hidden behind the particle shield, felt he was one of them with the heat and the wanting...

A long time later, Qui-Gon finally slipped out of Obion's body and they both sighed.  "That's how it's supposed to be," Qui-Gon murmured into Obion's ear, kissing it gently.  Obion merely whimpered in response, and Qui-Gon couldn't prevent his smile.  "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Sweet ancestors, no."  Obion's voice was still slurred from their activities.  "You couldn't."

"I never would want to, but it's always possible," Qui-Gon corrected him gently.  "I only want you to feel pleasure, Obion.  Always."

In response, Obion simply pushed himself further back into Qui-Gon's arms.  They lay like that for a long time, resting, simply being with each other.  Then Obion moved his leg and grimaced.  "There's a wet spot of rather epic proportions here," he murmured with a chuckle.  

"Let me get something to clean us up," Qui-Gon said.  He gave one last kiss to the ear beneath his mouth then rolled up and went to the 'fresher for a towel.  It was the work of a few moments to clean them and the bedspread up, then he dropped the towel by the bed and climbed under the covers with Obion, waving the lights off.

"Thank you," Obion said, pushing back until he was spooned with Qui-Gon again.

"Mmm... my pleasure," Qui-Gon said.  

Obion snorted.  "Mine too."

"I hope so."

"Oh, yes."  Reaching back with one arm, Obion found Qui-Gon's and brought it over his stomach, holding it in place.  "Very much.  Thank you."

"For what?"

"For... for loving me."

"You are eminently loveable," Qui-Gon retorted, tucking his free arm under his head.  "I'm not sure what I did to earn your love, which god I pleased so much to make it so.  If I did, I'd make sure to offer a sacrifice to him or her."

"Ridiculous man."  

They were quiet for a bit, then Qui-Gon recalled what the Empress had said the evening of the masquerade, and his resolve to ask Obion about it.  "What did your mother say to you the other night?  Before we danced at the masquerade.  It almost sounded like a benediction."

Obion shifted restlessly.  "It..."  He made a slight, frustrated noise.  "It's something from the writings of Qel-Droma; the letters to his and Nomi's children," he finally said.  "I'm... not sure why she said it."

"It was beautiful."

"So are you."

It was Qui-Gon's turn to make an incredulous noise.

They lay quietly entwined for a long moment, and Qui-Gon was almost asleep when Obion spoke again.  His voice sounded dreamy, more asleep than awake.  "Stay with me.  I want you to stay with me.  Forever.  Even in the Force, like Nomi and Ulic."

Qui-Gon smiled.  Off to one side, his rational mind observed his reactions and made acidic comments upon them, but he was too happy, too sated and well-loved to care.  "Of course I will.  You'd have to banish me and even then, I wouldn't go."

"Good.  Won't banish you, ridiculous man.  Want you to stay.  Stay forever."

Qui-Gon hummed his approval and slipped over into sleep so gently he never knew when he crossed the line into dreams.

In the deepest part of the night, when all was quiet and very little stirred, both Obion and Qui-Gon were yanked from peaceful sleep by a shrill scream they heard only in their heads.

POPPA!

Barely aware he was moving, Qui-Gon was out of bed and into a pair of shorts and his robe before he was completely awake.  Obion seemed to be doing the same, and they both grabbed their 'sabers before rushing from the suite.

They startled the guardsmen who were on duty, though Obion simply bellowed for both of them to follow.  They made a straight line for the big library and the stacks, for they both knew whose voice it was they had heard.  Maul beat them to the room; they saw him as they entered, running for the back.  The two guardsmen who were supposed to be on duty were lying in two heaps on the floor, obviously dead.  When they entered the stacks, the first thing they saw was Plo Koon, also on the floor, with a gaping, blackened hole where one of his two hearts would be.  His lightsaber was still in one hand, unlit.

The room was a mess; it was obvious a battle had occurred.  Paper, parchment and pictures were strewn everywhere, and some looked burned, as though whoever had done this had tried to eliminate more evidence by simply burning it.  Cliadle's mental scream and their swift reaction to it might well have been what prevented the entire room from going up in flames.  

In a corner of the room, Maul knelt, Cliadle in his arms and held like a baby.  He was almost weeping as he rocked his daughter, and Qui-Gon feared the worst.  He swallowed hard and walked to his friend, crouching next to him and looking closely at Cliadle.  She was rigid, her eyes were open and staring but she was not dead, she still lived, and Qui-Gon breathed a bit easier.

"Cli?  Cli?  Oh, ancestors, she's not dead, tell me she's not dead!"  

Qui-Gon stood and grabbed Obion tightly.  "She's not dead, Obi, she's not.  Whoever got Plo didn't get her -- at least, not with a 'saber."

"She's not dead but she's not alive either," Maul said, in thick voice that trembled.  "Da'schal, babe of mine, please talk to me, talk to your Poppa..."

Crouching again, Qui-Gon reached out and closed Cliadle's eyes, then left his hand on her head as he forced himself to calm and center.  He looked for the bright flame of Cliadle's aura, and he did find it, but it was muted, darkened, as if...

"She's retreated into herself," he said, recognizing the symptoms.  "It's like catatonia.  Someone or something frightened her so much, or perhaps attacked her mind, and she retreated.  We just need to call her out of herself."  Easy to say, hard to do.

"How?"  Maul raised his anguished eyes to Qui-Gon, who put his hand on Maul's shoulder.

"Get her out of here.  Take her up, somewhere safe--"

"Mother!" Obion's voice was frantic.  "Maul, is Mother safe?  Is she--"

"I left guards with her," Maul said, rising with Cliadle cradled tenderly in his arms.

"Guards like the ones out front?  Whoever did this... We have to get back to Mother!"

"Yes... go... no, wait..."  Maul seemed at a loss for what to do -- a first, and an indication of his extreme pain and confusion.  He looked around the wrecked room and Qui-Gon perceived his intent.  

"Take her up to her mother, quickly.  Obion and I will stay here, see if we can figure out what happened.  Send more guards down here but get her out and keep her and the Empress safe!"  

The tone of Qui-Gon's orders broke through his indecision, and Maul nodded in relief.  He hurried out, still bearing Cliadle, and Qui-Gon heard him ordering the guardsmen to stay where they were.  "We need to look, Obi.  We need to find out why they were attacked now, what they were close to finding..."

"Yes.  Yes.  Whoever did this, he must have known they were close... why else do this now?"

"Exactly.  It looks like Cliadle saved the day, else this whole room might have burned."  He took Obion's arm.  "Come help me."

Plo Koon was a very methodical person.  He kept meticulous records of his research, both by hand and by recorder.  The recorder was smashed along with the datacrystal in it, but beneath the short stack of books to one side, Qui-Gon found his hand-written notes.

"Keep watch, with both your eyes and your Force-sense, Obi," Qui-Gon said, sitting at the table.  "My Kel Dor is rusty; it's going to take me a bit to translate the information.  But whoever did this is still out there,  and Plo was not a warrior to take lightly.  Even taken by surprise, he would have put up quite a fight."  Rest in the Force, my friend, he thought sadly before forcing himself to pay attention.  Grief could come later, when there was more time.

It did take him several long moments, but finally he figured out what Plo had been working on last, a history they had found which was mostly intact, complete with pictures and holos.  It looked to have been written by Nomi Sunrider's chief of security, a name Qui-Gon didn't recognize.  Since the history was written in an older version of Corellian, even that took a while to get through.

Translating laboriously, aware the clock was ticking, he tried to skim the information, tried to get the most out of it as quickly as possible.  Obion stood at his back, watching the door, and Qui-Gon could feel his tension coiled about the room.

Turning the page, Qui-Gon stopped short and forgot how to breathe.  "Gods."

"What?  What?"  Not willing to turn away from the door, Obion backed up and darted glances at what Qui-Gon was looking at -- a flatpic, faded with age but still clear.  The legend beneath it read 'Exar Kun, apprentice to Freedon Nadd.'  

The subject of the picture was apparently in motion as it was taken.  Kun had a blood-red 'saber in his hand and was in the process of turning towards the pictographer.  He was a tall, thin man, and his face had a scar which began at his left eyebrow and cut down to his upper lip -- it only made his scowl more frightening.  His hair was red and cut short, and his eyes were green.

He looked exactly like Jaydon Matrin, the Seneschal to the Empress.

"Oh, shit," Obion breathed.

As they practically ran through the library -- their guardsmen in tow, Qui-Gon still clutching the book with the damning picture -- Obion kept repeating, under his breath and with an increasing hysteria, "Not possible... not possible... not possible..."

Just before they left the library, Qui-Gon stopped to let Dray and Sarin precede them and grabbed Obion in his arms, squeezing tightly.  "Obion.  Stop.  He's been with you all your life, of course you don't think it's possible.  That's natural.  You can't look at him as your friend Jay any longer; look at him as someone who has been hiding behind a mask and trying to hurt your family."  Obion swallowed hard and turned his panicked eyes up at Qui-Gon, who nodded slowly, willing calm to his lover.  "He's not the person you thought you knew, Obion.  Just concentrate on that."

The green look on Obion's face subsided as he took deep breaths and steadied himself on Qui-Gon's aura.  Finally nodding, he pushed away from Qui-Gon and they continued up through the palace which never had never before seemed so huge.

They didn't expect to run into Matrin, but Qui-Gon kept his 'saber in his hand anyway, kept himself on the alert, kept watch for a shock of red hair over a traitorously benign face.  Obion stayed close to him, carrying his own 'saber.  Once they hit the main corridors, they did break into a run, grateful there was no one around to see them.

When they reached the Empress' quarters, their guardsmen joined the two already on duty and both Obion and Qui-Gon burst in, calling for Maul.  "In here," they heard, and they both dashed into the bedroom.  

Maul was on the Empress' bed with her and Cliadle, who was still catatonic.  "I've sent for Dr. Pfelling," Maul said, absently caressing Cliadle's hair.  The Empress was sitting up, her back propped on pillows, and she held Cliadle tightly, crooning nonsense.

"We have something to show you," Qui-Gon said.  Both Maul and the Empress looked up and their eyes were filled with anguish and anger.  Wordlessly, Qui-Gon opened the book to the worn flatpic and held it out.

The Empress' face went dead white and she clutched at her daughter.  Maul's eyes grew wide, then he narrowed them and his lips thinned into a tight line.  Qui-Gon could feel the room roil with his anger, could see Cliadle -- even unconscious as she was -- spasm from it.  "Stop."  Maul looked up and glared at him.  "Control, Maul.  Being that furious at him only makes you descend to his level.  We will have to be in control, here.  Cliadle, at least, demands it."

Maul's jaw worked and his hands clenched into fists; he dropped his chin to his chest.  Qui-Gon could feel him try to center, try to release, but it wasn't working and finally, Maul rose and stalked to the other side of the room.  Without a word, he hit the wall so hard he punched a hole in it; Qui-Gon winced, thinking he'd heard bones crunch.

"Are you all right?" Obion asked, not moving.  

Maul nodded in reply, then leaned his forehead on the wall.  He felt much calmer to Qui-Gon.  "I'm sorry, Adi."

"For what, Maul?"  The Empress' voice was angry, tear-filled and passionate.  "For not forcing me to do something about him?  For allowing me to denigrate your feelings about him?  For loving me and our daughter?  Or just for putting a hole in my wall?"

By the time the Empress finished, Maul was on the bed beside her and was wrapping one arm around the two on the bed.  The hand on his other arm was already beginning to swell.

"What in heaven happened here?"  Dr. Pfelling was at the door, blinking in shock.  He wore a robe over some garish pajamas and bore a small case.

"Cliadle has been the victim of a psychic attack, we think," Qui-Gon said, taking control of the situation.  "She needs a mild sedative, then I can try to bring her out.  Maul needs a pain-killer and probably a bone-knitter for his hand."

"I'm fine," Maul said, but Pfelling was having none of it.

"Fine? Yes, I'm sure you are, with at least three broken bones that I can see from here."  Fishing in his case, he pulled out two hyposprays, fitting bottles to each.  "I see what happened to Maul -- what has happened to Cli?  You said she was attacked... by whom?"  He put one hypospray to Maul's neck and the other to Cliadle's.

"Jaydon Matrin," Obion snarled, and Pfelling's head came up and his jaw dropped.  "He is a traitor to the Empire who has killed two guardsmen, revered Jedi Koon, and attacked my sister.  His head is now forfeit."

Pfelling's eyes grew bigger with every word Obion uttered.  Finally, his face flushed and his jaw set, he said, "Don't look to me to stop you!"  He muttered some invectives under his breath before  closing the case he carried with a decisive snap.  "Maul, you need to come with me to the infirmary for that hand."

"I'm not going anywhere," Maul snarled, but Pfelling cut him off.

"If you want to continue to protect them, you most certainly are, and now."  Pfelling grabbed Maul by his shoulder and pulled.  As he left the room, a still-protesting Maul in tow, they could hear him muttering about finding his sword and disbelief that someone he trusted so much could so deeply betray that trust.

"I'm going to alert the guard and set up a perimeter.  Not that there's much hope he'll still be easy to find."  Obion, sparing one quick glance to his sister, turned and stomped to the Empress' teleunit.  

Qui-Gon sat down on the bed next to the mother and daughter.  "She's relaxed?  She feels less tense in her muscles?"

"Yes."  The Empress nodded, then gently kissed Cliadle's forehead.  "Cli, my angel?  Can you hear me?"

"Let me try," Qui-Gon said, brushing Cliadle's thick hair out of the way.  He put one hand on her head and closed his eyes, centering himself and looking for the bright golden aura that signified 'Cliadle' to him.  It was hiding, understandably, and he knew he had to tempt it out, make it feel safer before it would come back.

Sinking into a deeper trance, feeling the Force buoy him, Qui-Gon walked in chilly darkness calling for Cliadle.  Far, far ahead of him, he saw a faint light which seemed to disappear when he looked right at it.  He walked more quickly, still calling, trying to tease her consciousness into responding.  Deeper and deeper he wandered into her psyche, calling and begging her to return.

With a light that was blinding after all the darkness, someone -- Obion! -- joined him on the dreaming plane.  Their voices, combined, were loud and insistent, and the tiny flame so far back, so very wounded, responded.  It flickered and danced warily, but they were insistent, projecting their love and their worry for Cliadle, for that little flame, until it began to draw closer.  Slowly it approached, to their words of love and encouragement, until finally it burst and flew directly at them.  They caught it carefully and joyfully.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes to find himself in a four-way embrace consisting of himself, Obion, Cliadle, and the Empress, all wrapped around him and each other, all of them crying and rocking together.

It was near dawn.  Cliadle was in a natural sleep next to her mother on her mother's bed.  Obion was stretched out on the sofa in his mother's sitting room with his head in Qui-Gon's lap.  They both had their 'sabers, and though Qui-Gon dozed at times, he set himself to wake instantly should something happen.

The door opened and Maul slipped in, his hand in a modified splint that looked like a glove.  "Cliadle?"  he asked, seeing Qui-Gon's open eyes.  Qui-Gon saw his own Lieutenant Dray behind him, in the hall.

"She's fine.  Go in and join them, you'll need to rest too."

"Only for a moment," Maul replied, but his feet were already carrying him into the bedroom.

Obion murmured and shifted, then with a start, his eyes opened.  "Shh," Qui-Gon said, caressing his face.  

"Was that Maul?" Obion asked thickly.

"Mm."  Qui-Gon nodded in reply, but left his hand where it was, on Obion's cheek.  "I sent him in to join them for a little sleep before dawn."

"As if he would."  Obion cleared his throat and nestled himself deeper into Qui-Gon's lap.  "Thank you for rescuing her."

"You did a lot of it."

"Still."  Qui-Gon smiled at Obion's words, running his fingers through Obion's tangled and sweaty hair.  "Will she be all right?"

"She's a strong girl.  She'll be fine."  After a moment, Qui-Gon added, reluctantly, "It's Aliamon I'm most worried about now."

Obion frowned and blinked at him, then Qui-Gon watched his awareness dawn.  "Oh, ancestors."  He took a deep breath and released it slowly, obviously fighting back panic.  "You're right... she's..."

"I've been meaning to check on her for days now, but everything kept getting in the way."  He let his head thump back on the cushions, reluctant to meet Obion's eyes.  "I was so wrapped up in your blatant contamination, I let her more subtle one pass.  Once we determined that Palpatine was not the Dark Force user, I should have known, should have done... I thought... I thought she was just not as strong in the Force as you.  Damn."

"It is not your fault.  You couldn't... couldn't have known."  Obion closed his eyes again, then they snapped open.  "The children at the mountain!  He was involved in that too..."

"I know.  But what can we do?  We bring them back here and we're just one big, broad target."  Qui-Gon sighed.  "I don't know what to do in the face of this, Obion.  This is far more than just treason, far more than simple treachery.  This man has stabbed at the very heart of the Empire: through Palpatine, he was trying to control you, through Chun, he may have been trying to control Aliamon, and who knows, he may have even been behind your father's death."

"He was."  Maul stood at the door of the bedroom.  As he spoke, he closed it gently and moved into the sitting room to take a seat.  "I always suspected him.  But Adi wouldn't listen, he was too much her friend and confidant.  I should have worked harder to expose him.  I should have done something more..."

Qui-Gon sighed, releasing his frustration and guilt to the Force.  "'Shoulds' are in the past.  We need to worry about now.  We need to think what to do now."  Qui-Gon deliberately pitched his voice low, aiming the words at both of them.  "Obion has already alerted the guard."

"How many of them are under his control?" Maul asked, slumping in his chair.  "My own damn men, and they won't even realize they've been subverted."  

There was a large, beautifully carved wooden clock in the Empress' quarters with a heavy brass pendulum which swayed back and forth with each sonorous, echoing 'tick'.  It was soothing; it was hypnotizing; it was reminding them with every single swing how much time was passing, had been lost.  Plo was dead, the rest of the Jedi unreachable, unable to help from behind that thorny wall of unmanned ships.  The Force was quiescent, irritatingly so, content to let them handle this little bump in the road instead of being the overbearing, persistent nuisance it had been for so long.  Qui-Gon resigned himself to figuring out the problem on his own, hoping the Force would graciously intervene if he went too far off.

The clock went 'clunk' as another hour passed and Qui-Gon sighed.  "It's nearly dawn.  We should be figuring out what to do."

"I'm open to suggestions," Maul said.  He sounded as exhausted as Qui-Gon felt.  "I feel surrounded -- the Dhro on one side, that mutinous, traitorous gundark on the other.  He knows the palace far better than any of us; he could be anywhere."

"Start with what you know."  Obion's voice was soft and Maul's head came up.  

"What?"

"Start with what you know.  We need to search his rooms, where he usually goes.  Who's his second?  We have to talk to everyone in the palace, make sure they all know."  Obion pushed himself reluctantly off Qui-Gon's lap and sat up.

"Don't tell them he's a criminal," Qui-Gon said, with sudden inspiration.  "Tell them he's been exposed to something, that he's sick, in the mind and body.  We need to get him under control quickly, for his own health and everyone else's."

"Sick with me wanting to remove his head, but yes, that's good."  Obion smiled crookedly.  "You have good ideas."

"The staff should be just coming on duty," Maul said, nodding.  "Yes, that is good.  I'll head down to the kitchens.  Obion, you and Qui-Gon go to housekeeping.  I'll leave Sarin and Dray here for Adi and Cli -- I'm as sure about them as I am about anyone."

Within an hour, the entire palace was looking for Jaydon Matrin, convinced he had some kind of plague he must be saved from.  Only a select few knew the truth, and even then, it was censored.  None of them wanted anyone else to know they were dealing with a clone of Exar Kun -- panic would spread and would simply lead to more confusion.

Maul had three separate teams of men searching for Matrin, each set starting at a different point of the palace and working laboriously across it.  It could easily take a week for a thorough search of the sprawling palace.  He kept in touch with them by means of a radio link, and an earpiece took up permanent residence in his ear.  He would frequently pause in a conversation with the Empress or others, and make a reply in his hand-held.

Obion asked Galer to bring breakfast to the Empress' quarters, since he wasn't sure who else they could trust.  They didn't want to leave Cliadle alone, not for an instant, and when she woke -- screaming from a nightmare -- they knew that was the right thing to do.  Maul stayed close to her and to the Empress, clearly torn in his duty: on one hand, he wanted to keep them with him, on the other, he knew that Matrin needed to be found as quickly as possible.

The only people he seemed to trust unconditionally, other than the Empress, were Obion and Qui-Gon, who were themselves targets.  At one point, he confided in Qui-Gon that the he whole situation made him feel very schizophrenic; he wanted to protect those he loved and cared for, but he couldn't protect them unless he was away from them, hunting his enemy.  Qui-Gon didn't know what to say to such a confession; he felt strongly the same way Maul did.  The thought of something happening to his family -- his family, what a lovely, terrifying thought -- nearly paralyzed him, as well.

He finally decided the confusion was intentional on Matrin's part.  The bastard knew what he was doing, and had his hooks firmly in place.

One of the few outside their circle whom Maul decided to trust was General Skora.  She was Force-blind, something Qui-Gon had suspected, and they both hoped that meant she'd be at least partially immune to Matrin's mind tricks.  When they brought her into the Empress' apartment and told her what happened, she grew very quiet and her face turned to stone.

Finally, she turned to Qui-Gon.  "I don't know about this Force, never felt it, don't rightly know what it can do, what he can do.  But I know who Kun was.  More important, I know what he was.  And if the Seneschal is a clone of Kun, then he's going to be able to do all the stuff the books say Kun did, isn't he?"

It was the longest single speech Qui-Gon had heard her make.  "Yes, we have to assume so," he replied.  "He has far too many people in the palace under his control to make us feel even remotely secure."

"Then it seems to me that we need help from your people, Master Jinn."  She nodded and glanced at Maul.  "Let me go see what I can do to break through that blockade, Maul.  If this man is Kun reincarnated, then we're going to need all the help we can get."

"Don't try to bull your way through," Maul cautioned her.  "See if you can create enough of a diversion that you can land and pick up a few members of the Council.  Let me give you their coordinates..."

After that, they only had to deal with Aliamon, which was bad enough.  When Qui-Gon reluctantly pointed out her behavior over the last few days, he could tell that no one wanted to face it, but everyone knew it was true: she was under Matrin's control, if not all the way, then close to it.  When she was summoned to her mother's rooms, she appeared with a pout worthy of her youngest sister.  "If this means you've changed your mind about me going to the mountain, you can forget it," she said as she walked in the door.  "I'm not going."

Qui-Gon and Obion had been ready for her, ready to really see her as she entered the room.  The contamination was there, though it was far more subtle than Obion's had been.  It wasn't blatant, wasn't comprised of the obvious dark streaks as Obion's had been, but instead was more a shade of gray, like dingy laundry.  It confirmed what Qui-Gon had concluded... Palpatine had been the one to try and get control of Obion, not Matrin.  Which meant that Palpatine was Matrin's apprentice.  But what if he had another?

Regardless, he felt almost overwhelming guilt that he had allowed it to get this far with Aliamon.  He was supposed to be on the lookout for just such occurrence, and he had failed to notice it when it was right under his nose.  Obion must have picked up on his feelings, for he squeezed Qui-Gon's shoulder.

"Your sister was attacked last night," Maul told her.  He was standing behind the sofa in the Empress' rooms, and his voice was as flat as his expression.  "Revered Jedi Koon was killed in the attack."

"Attacked?"  Aliamon looked confused and petulant.  "How could someone be attacked in the palace?  You've got those damned guards following us everywhere we go!  That's ridiculous."

"It's true, Ali."  Cliadle appeared at the door to her mother's bedroom, wrapped in an old, worn quilt.  Her mother was nowhere in sight. "It was Jay.  He killed Master Plo and tried to burn the stacks down."  Cliadle looked awful, her face was evidently pale even under her dark coloring, and her eyes were red.

Normally, Aliamon would have been running to her sister, trying to comfort; Qui-Gon knew how close they were.  But now, she merely stared at her sister belligerently, her hands on her hips.  "Are you crazy?  Jay killed that old, dried-up Jedi?  And attacked you?  What did you eat for dinner last night, Younger Sister?  I think we should call Dr. P."

"Ali."  At Obion's word, she turned her frown on him.  "Do you remember when we were learning how to meditate with Master Jinn?"

"Of course I do.  Waste of time."

"No, I want you to think back to one of those lessons.  Cliadle asked about my aura, said it was different.  Do you remember?"  Qui-Gon was impressed; Obion was inserting a calming influence in his words, almost like a Force suggestion.  It was normally something that required a lot of practice to pull off successfully.  A quick glance to the sofa, where Cliadle was now sitting -- her father standing behind her and also watching carefully -- told Qui-Gon that both of them felt it as well.

"What about it, Obion?  Can you get to the point?"

"You do remember it, yes?  Remember how Master Jinn said there was something wrong with my aura."  Aliamon was clearly not listening, though she waved for him to continue.  It was hard to see from the angle and the distance, but Qui-Gon thought her eyes looked unfocused.  "You saw it too, I know you did, remember?"

"I suppose, though it was really a waste of time, Obion."

"No, it wasn't, because he found that someone had been influencing me, contaminating my aura."

"Oh, yes, that mythical 'Dark Force user'.  Really, Obion."  She giggled, a high-pitched, almost hysterical sound.  She blinked rapidly as she looked around, and Qui-Gon could feel her trying to fight the conditioning.  

"It's not a myth, Ali, it's the truth."  Obion reached out to touch her arm but she yanked it away.  "Jay is that Dark Force user, Ali, he's been--"

"Stop it."  Aliamon backed away until her shoulders hit the wall, pressing her hands to her ears.  She frantically looked between them, seeming as much like a trapped animal as a human.  "Stop it stop it stop it!  Listen to yourselves, you're all sounding crazy!"

"We're not," Obion said, pitching his voice very low and not coming further towards her.  "Ali..."

"Aliamon."  The Empress appeared from her bedroom, wearing a robe.  She was still pale but looked very determined.  "Eldest Daughter, you must listen to us, to me.  You are under the influence of someone we both trusted, and that trust was misplaced."

"Mother, that's crazy.  Jay loves us, he does; he wouldn't want to hurt us."

"Then why would he attack your sister?  Why would he kill Master Koon?"

"No, no, you're wrong," Aliamon's respiration was up and Qui-Gon could almost see her heart hammer.  "You're all wrong, all of you!  Get away from me, you freak!"  The last was directed at Maul, who approached her with his hand out.  Without warning, Aliamon shoved Maul aside and dashed for the door, breaking through it and the guardsmen standing there.  Sarin grabbed hold of her, her arm and around her waist, and she shrieked and clawed at him, completely out of control.

"Let her go," Obion said, and Sarin did, glancing at Obion and Maul as Aliamon stumbled briefly before dashing down the hall.  When her bodyguard would have followed, Obion signaled him to stay put.

"Obi--"

"We can use her to find Matrin."  Obion's voice was a dull monotone as he interrupted Cliadle, and Qui-Gon could tell how much it cost him to speak.

"Obion, how could you, she's our sister..."

"Cli, we need to find Matrin.  Ali is under his control.  We've both enough of a bond with her that we can track her down with our minds."  His jaw worked and he wouldn't look directly at anyone.  "I've read up on our ability too, Cli; I know we can do this.  At least this way, she might lead us to him."

"She might also get killed!"  Cliadle had tears running down her face, and as Qui-Gon watched, she roughly dashed them away with the back of her hand.

"We'll all be killed if we don't find him."  Obion looked at Maul, who nodded slowly.  The Empress closed her eyes and moaned softly, and Cliadle went to her.

It was ridiculously easy to track Aliamon.  Cliadle had the closest ties to her; logically, she was the best one to seek her sister's Force presence.  Qui-Gon had grave reservations about the entire situation, reservations he knew Maul shared, but what could they do?  Obion was right, they were all dead if they didn't find and neutralize Matrin now.  They had no way of knowing what else he had accomplished during the years and years he had been working in the Empire.

Once Cliadle managed to ground herself sufficiently, Qui-Gon was able to help her focus to locate Aliamon's aura within the palace.  The guardsmen Sarin and Dray accompanied them, keeping a lookout for problems, and Maul would frequently pause the whole group to take a transmission via his earpiece as his other search parties checked in with Aliamon's whereabouts, after he had asked them to check for Aliamon as well.

The hardest part of it was that the Empress would not remain within the dubious safety of her quarters, but insisted on joining them.  Maul had pulled her into her bedroom to argue the point before they had set out.  Even with the door closed, everyone in the sitting room could hear the Empress tear strips from Maul, and could hear him giving back as good as he got.  Obion winced several times, but Cliadle was strangely sanguine about it.  

She wrapped her arms around Obion's waist, unabashedly leaning on her step-brother.  "It's all right," she murmured.  Qui-Gon was never far from Obion, and she included him in her comments.  "Mam once told me that sometimes, the more people fight, the more they love each other.  It doesn't make much sense to me, but I know Poppa never seems to mind it when she rips into him like she's doing."

"The problem is, I can see both sides," Obion replied, equally softly.  He hugged Cliadle tightly.  "She shouldn't go, she should remain here and safe, but if it were me..."

The door was abruptly thrown open and a grim-faced Maul emerged, stalking across the floor to the door of the suite.  The Empress, with an equally hard expression on her face, followed him.  Maul threw open the door and motioned for them all to come along as he all but stomped down the hall.  Qui-Gon was gratified to see the Empress stay well within the group, and hoped all would be well.

He still had misgivings, however, grave misgivings that he had to chalk up to the danger of the situation.  To do otherwise would be to give into panic.

They followed Aliamon through the palace on a round-about course.  She didn't appear to be going anyplace specifically, and Qui-Gon could feel her pain and confusion clearly.  They followed, trying to stay far enough behind so that she wouldn't know they were there and would lead them, without guile, to Matrin.  Cliadle had to stop several times to calm herself before continuing; they all gave her the time, aware of the burden they were putting on her.

When Aliamon stopped running through the palace, Qui-Gon figured she had finally run out of steam, perhaps becoming exhausted by her inner turmoil.  They were very near the huge public ballroom that Qui-Gon remembered well from the Mummer's Fete masquerade.  The ornate throne had been moved back in there after the Mouth of the Dhro's visit -- that was the normal 'storage' place for it, no other room had the proper amount of space available.  

Cliadle emerged from her fugue, shaking.  "She's in there, she's not moving, but Poppa, she's really hurting, I can feel her!"

"I know, da'schal, we--"  Maul interrupted himself, putting one hand to his earpiece.  Whatever he heard must have been bad, for his eyes grew wide and Qui-Gon could see his jaw clench so tightly it almost creaked.  "What?" He snarled, obviously making an effort to keep his voice down.  "How did that happen?  Deny them landing permission!  Tell them to go back--"  Obion was staring at Maul, who glanced up finally.  "Anikin has apparently stolen a ship and is landing at the port."

"He's what?"  Both Obion's and Qui-Gon's jaws dropped.  They glanced at each other but were completely at a loss.

"Fine, fine, that's all right, they didn't give you any choice.  But don't you dare let him off that shuttle.  I'll be there to personally deal with young Master Anikin as soon as I can."  He glanced up at Obion and Qui-Gon.  "We're just outside the Grand Ballroom, north door, and I need backup.  Team yellow, team green, call off your search and join us here; yellow, take the south door."

There was another headache growing behind Qui-Gon's eyes.  "What in the world is that child doing?" he murmured as he rubbed his head.

"I can't believe he got away from... Oh shit!  Where's Adi?"

At Maul's words, Qui-Gon and Obion both turned.  The Empress had been just behind them a moment ago, now she was gone, and the guards escorting her crumpled even as they turned to see them.  Qui-Gon's incipient headache exploded into full-scale warfare, and it was all he could do to contain a cry.  He barely noticed that Obion, Cliadle and even the guardsmen left standing with them did the same, suddenly clutching their heads.  Maul was wincing and looking about in confusion.

"It's Matrin," Qui-Gon gasped.  "Find Aliamon and Adi!"

Obion stumbled as he turned towards the Grand Ballroom, and he grabbed the doorframe to steady himself.  Qui-Gon tried to support him, tried to breathe deeply to dispel the attack, but it was too powerful for him to do much more than think.  He could see the Empress now, she was in the ballroom, reaching out to Aliamon, who was backing away from her, shaking her head.  They were speaking, but the pain was such that he couldn't make out the words.  He wanted to call to them, wanted to run in there and grab Adi and get her out, get both of them out -- the Force was battering at him, trying to get through the pain to get him to act, do something, anything...

Maul stumbled slightly then managed to stand straight.  He drew his 'saber and stalked into the room, the way his jaw was working and the sweat standing out on his forehead giving proof to his internal struggle to overcome the compulsion.  Obion moaned and Qui-Gon tried again to shove the psychic attack away, but all he managed to do was touch Obion.

Before Maul got very far into the room, the sound of running footsteps made Qui-Gon turn: it was Anikin, at a dead run, trailed by Maisen and Terrell Benk.  "Mam!" he screamed as he crossed the threshold into the room.  

Maul turned and grabbed him as he tried to pass.  Their momentum was such that they crashed to the floor, Maul hitting harder as he turned to cushion Anikin's fall.  As Qui-Gon watched, Aliamon turned her haunted eyes to them before whirling and dashing out the far door.  The Empress tried to follow, but with a small cry, she collapsed.

Then the world went up in flames.

Later, much later, they would determine that the bomb had been embedded in the throne itself.  It was, thankfully, a shaped charge that mostly blasted up and out towards the windows, so the overall damage was actually minimal; the ballroom ceiling and the floor above it were the hardest hit.  The Empress' collapse actually helped preserve her life -- had she been standing when it went off, they would still have been picking up pieces of her years later.

As it was, she was buried under half a ton of rubble, but there was no shortage of volunteers to help dig her out; the explosion had drawn nearly everyone in the palace to the ballroom. all of them offering to help dig for the Empress.  Qui-Gon would forever equate the combined smell of explosives and tears with that awful morning.  The sunshine pouring in through the shattered windows seemed sacrilegious to him.

Dr. Pfelling was there, having already treated Anikin, Maul and Obion for superficial wounds, when she was found, trapped by a support beam.  She was alive... barely.  Maul was utterly silent, and had been since the explosion.  He dug frantically, with his bare hands if he had no other way, and ignored everything said to him in his single-minded purpose.  He was the one who managed to toss away a large piece of wall and expose the Empress.  He knelt at her head and gently felt around her neck for damage, for blood, for a pulse.

She looked fine.  She was unconscious, covered with dust, dirt and ash and there was a gash in her forehead that looked nasty but not life-threatening.  From her bust down, however, they could see nothing; she was buried beneath wreckage and a large metal strut.  Then she began to cough, and bloody foam appeared on her lips.

Pfelling gently shouldered Maul aside to examine and give her injections.  Maul moved enough so that the doctor had access to the Empress, but never stopped touching her.  Anikin, Cliadle and Maisen clung to each other very near the worst of it, near where their mother was lying.  The woman they called 'Nanny Brom' was with them, trying to soothe them but she was weeping as well.  They could see their mother, but didn't know the extent of her injuries.  Qui-Gon was much closer, and he had to swallow against the pain that rose in his throat.

Three burly guardsmen, under Obion's direction, began to use a lever to shift the metal beam pinning her down, but as it moved, she came to and cried out, weakly.  

"Stop," Pfelling said sharply.  "Someone, give me a light, please?  Adi, can you hear me?"

"Yes..."  The Empress' voice was weak and she coughed more foam.

"What do you feel, child?" Pfelling asked her, peering along her mostly buried body.

"Nothing," she whispered.

"Nothing at all?"

"My... my head hurts... Maul?"

"I'm here, da'mrow."  Qui-Gon almost couldn't hear Maul's voice, it was so soft.

"Tell... Obi..." She paused and coughed weakly again.  Dr. Pfelling looked up at Maul and shook his head slowly.  "Get... get the blade..."

"No... He doesn't need that. He's not going to need that.  We're going to get you out, now.  It'll be fine."

"No..."  Her eyes were cloudy as she looked up at Maul.  "No, too late..."

"Please don't do this.  Don't go where I can't protect you, da'mrow, please... please don't..."  Maul's voice was steady but there was a note of hysteria beneath it.  

Next to Qui-Gon, Obion breathed in sharply at his mother's words and began to tremble.  He turned to his brother and sisters, and when he spoke, his voice was strange.  "Anikin, would you please fetch the dagger for me?"

"NO!"  Anikin broke from his sisters' and nanny's arms and made to dash to his mother's side.

Obion caught him as Maul had done earlier and held him tightly; they were both weeping.  "I'm sorry, Ani, I'm so sorry... I didn't protect her, I failed you..."

Maisen tugged on Qui-Gon's stola.  "Tell Obi I've gone for the blade, Master Qui-Gon?  I'll be right back."  She seemed remarkably composed, even while there were tears streaming down her face.  To Qui-Gon's shock, he realized she was dressed as a Jedi initiate.

Unable to talk or even think coherently, Qui-Gon nodded and watched Maisen race out of the room, carefully avoiding the work crews and others, who had come to help but were now realizing help was too late.  Many of them were openly weeping as well.  Qui-Gon turned back and saw Cliadle had once again gone to Anikin and Obion.  He walked to the three of them, uncertain whether his presence would be a welcome thing in their grief.  Dr. Pfelling was talking quietly to Maul, but Qui-Gon didn't have to hear it, he knew.  She was dying.  Her aura was fading with each rasping breath she took.

He touched Obion's shoulder and was relieved when all three of them turned to him, drawing him into their circle, as private as they could be among the destruction and the crowd of helpers.  "You all need to see your mother," Qui-Gon murmured, touching each of them gently.  "You... you need to..."

Obion took a gasping breath, closed his eyes and whispered, "We need to say goodbye."

"Mam..."  Anikin was mostly incoherent now.  He released Obion in favor of Qui-Gon.  "Master Qui-Gon, help Mam, please help Mam..."

Going down on one knee, Qui-Gon pulled the boy into his arms, patting his back soothingly.  "Ani, you have to be brave, now," he said, thinking even as he said it that it was ridiculous.  "Your mother..."

"She's dying," Cliadle said, her voice shrill and panicked.  "She's dying and it's all Ali's fault!  It's all her fault!"

"No," Obion said firmly, grabbing Cliadle's arms in a bruising grip and giving her a shake.  He must have noticed how others close to them reacted to that, and modulated his voice.  "Don't think like that, Cli, that's how he wants you to think.  Put it out of your mind now.  Only Mam counts now."

Cliadle dissolved into sobs again and hugged Obion hard.  Then they turned and walked to the small knot of people hovering around the area where the Empress lay pinned.  Maul was still sitting at her head, and in fact had gently pulled it into his lap.  Her eyes were open but she was fading fast.

"I've given her enough painkillers where she'll feel nothing," Dr. Pfelling said to Obion.  "You..."  He swallowed hard.  "You need to get..."

"Maisen is getting it," Obion said in a dead voice.  He took Pfelling's place at his mother's side, Ani and Cliadle next to him.  "Mam?"

"Obi?  Is... is Cli with you?"

Cliadle had to clear her throat before she could speak.  "I'm here, Mam.  Ani is too."

"Ani, my love.  All my loves.  Where's Mai?  Is Ali there?  I can't see..."

"Mai will be here in a moment, Mam, and Ali is here too."  Obion's voice was steady as he lied to his mother, but tears began flowing, unchecked, down his face again.  "Maul is here, and Qui-Gon."

"My whole family," she whispered.  "All together.  I love all of you, so much... Obi, you need..."

"Mai is fetching it, Mam."  At Obion's words, Ani began to cry harder.  Maul reached out to touch the boy and Anikin clung to his hand.

"Oh... Ani... I'm so sorry..." she murmured, then coughed, producing more bloody foam.

Maisen returned, gasping from her run, clutching something close to her chest.  "Obi..."

"Mai.  Thank you, Youngest Sister."  It was the same nondescript dagger sheath Qui-Gon had noticed Obion wearing during official events.  It held a simple knife, honed very keen by the looks of it, with a plain leather grip.  He pulled it out and swallowed hard -- he was still trembling visibly.  "Mam?"

"It is time," she whispered faintly.  "Kiss me, my family..."  Kisses were mingled with tears, but each one of them, including Qui-Gon, kissed her cheek and murmured words of love and goodbyes.  Maul stayed in his position, stroking the Empress' hair back from her forehead gently, and would not look up.  The cut on her forehead had already closed.  "Now, Obion..."

Carefully, gently, Obion reached out with the dagger and put a very small cut on her left shoulder, where her dress had been ripped away; it bled sluggishly.  His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse but steady.  "I demand my birthright from you, my superior, by claiming your life, as is my due.  No more will there be an Empress of the Sith, for I take your name from you with this stroke and claim my rightful place."

"By this stroke, you take your birthright and my life," Adilene of the Clan Kenobi breathed.  "Hail, Obi-Wan, Emperor of the Sith."  Her unfocused eyes were closing for the last time, but a small smile lingered about her mouth.  "Rule well, my son; know I love thee and will be with thee forever."  With those words, ending in a soft, barely there sigh, she was gone.

So passed Adilene of the Clan Kenobi, Empress of the Sith, head of the royal House of Wan.  Maul carefully put her head down and tenderly smoothed her hair back again before bending and kissing her cold lips one last time.  His shoulders shook with emotion, but when he finally looked up, his eyes were dry and dead, and Qui-Gon shivered.

Dr. Pfelling noted that as well, when he looked up from the Empress' body.  But he only said -- loud enough for most to hear -- "Hail, Obi-Wan, Emperor of the Sith."

Those who heard repeated it as they wept.

Dr. Pfelling finally had to sedate Anikin before the boy went into complete hysterics.  Once he was out, Obion carried him tenderly to his mother's rooms and stretched him out on the bed.  Cliadle, also recovering from the many shocks of the day, joined him.  They left the rubble of the Grand Ballroom to others, and Dr. Pfelling took control of the Empress' body.  There was still no sign of Matrin or Aliamon, though that was perhaps logical, since the entire palace was in a state of panicked shock.

When Qui-Gon saw that Obion was getting Anikin and Cliadle settled, he returned to the sitting room.  Maul appeared to be gearing up to berating poor Terrell Benk when Maisen interrupted.  "Maulie, it wasn't Terrell's fault," she said, tugging on Maul's leather surcoat.  "Ani woke up really early this morning with a terrible nightmare.  He came in my room and told me we had to leave to see Mam, right away.  I told him no, that he wasn't supposed to go, but he went anyway."

"I'm not sure how me managed to elude me, Sir," Terrell said.  His eyes were anguished.  "But her Grace alerted me and we managed to get on the shuttle before he took off.  All the way here, I tried to get him to turn back, but I didn't want to hit him, didn't want to hurt him, and I think that's the only way I could have stopped him."  He swallowed hard then straightened, visibly forcing himself to look Maul in the eyes.  "I take full responsibility for what happened, sir; the children were under my protection at that time and I failed you."

Maul slumped and turned away.  "I knew I'd regret teaching that child how to fly," he muttered under his breath.  "It's not your fault, Benk.  Damn."    

Qui-Gon could feel the waves of despair and exhaustion coming from Maul, and decided to step in.  "Maisen, thank you for clearing that up for us.  You did well, my dear."  Maisen allowed herself to be pulled into a hug and she clung fiercely.

"Ani's dream was about Mam, wasn't it, Master Qui-Gon?"

"Yes, probably so," Qui-Gon allowed.  

Obion came back into the room and sagged onto the sofa, looking as worn out as all of them.  Maisen released Qui-Gon and scrambled onto the sofa to hug her brother.  "Obi?"

"Hello, Mai," Obion -- Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon would have to remember, he was no longer Obion, he was Emperor Obi-Wan.  At that thought, Qui-Gon found himself breathing deeply to release more emotion.

"I'm sorry about Ani, Obi," Maisen said.  "Master Qui-Gon said the nightmare that woke him up this morning was probably about Mam."

"Most of this day has been a nightmare, Mai, so yes, I'm sure he's right."  Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Maisen and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Where's Ali?"

Obi-Wan swallowed.  "That's a long story, Mai.  All you need to know at the moment is that Ali is very sick, and so is Sir Jay.  We'll explain it all later, but for now, don't trust either of them, they're not being themselves."

"They're both sick in their heads?" Mai asked, her little-girl eyes far more shrewd than Qui-Gon would have given her credit for.

"Yes, after a fashion.  If either of them contact you, make sure you tell us right away."

"I will."  She snuggled down next to her brother and closed her eyes after a yawn.  "I promise."

"Mai?"  Maisen dragged her eyelids up as Qui-Gon spoke.  "I think you should lie down with your brother and sister for a while.  It's been a very rough morning."

"All right," she said, allowing herself to be picked up, which, in and of itself, said a lot about her exhaustion level.

Qui-Gon carried her into the Empress' bedroom and put her on the bed next to Anikin, so that the boy was flanked by his sisters.  They were asleep, but their sleep was not a restful one; Qui-Gon took a moment to use the Force to soothe them, to deepen their sleep.  With a sigh, Anikin relaxed further.

Returning to the sitting room, Qui-Gon made sure to keep the bedroom door ajar, then took a seat next to Obi-Wan, taking the new emperor's hand.  "I'm sorry," he murmured.  "You were right, I had no idea, and I apologize all over again for my harsh words on the rite.  I was wrong."

Obi-Wan shook his head and closed his eyes, but he didn't remove his hand from Qui-Gon's.  "I should have talked to you about it.  I should have told you about the time when the Kenobi clan took the throne and scepter from the Walachav clan, about Dai-Wan and the dagger she used to kill Mla-Wan."  He sighed.  "Should, could, would.  All too late now."

"No, it's not too late," Qui-Gon murmured, pulling Obi-Wan to him and wrapping him in a hug.  "We have years and years of being together.  You can tell me all about it later, right after we kill Matrin and save your sister."

Any retort Obi-Wan would have made was short-circuited by Galer entering the room, looking as shell-shocked as the rest of them, but trying hard to maintain normality.  "High... I mean, Exalted Majesty?  There's a crowd of people to see you, sir, about the... the Empress' death."

Obi-Wan groaned.  "Flaming ancestors.  I don't want to deal with this now, there's too much else going on..."

"You have to deal with it now," Maul said flatly.  "You are next on his agenda.  We need to get you established as quickly as possible."

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked, frowning at Maul.

"He's got Aliamon.  He's... he's gotten rid of the head of the Empire, he tried to control you and failed, so his next logical step is to kill you so Ali can take the scepter.  He'll probably have her do it."

Intellectually, Qui-Gon knew that Maul's words were true.  Intellectually, he understood the need for Obion -- for Obi-Wan's -- immediate acknowledgment of the passing of the throne and scepter.  Emotionally, however, it was a completely different story.

He gave Obi-Wan's shoulder a squeeze.  "I'll help.  You need to speak to them about the mourning period, the funeral arrangements, and about Matrin's treason.  See if we can get some of them in here, Toor and Blelling, at least, and we need a report on Skora, to find out if she made it down to Selonia."

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his head.  "Yes, you're right, of course."  Briefly, he rested his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, then straightened.  "Galer, have Lords Toor, Blelling and Sallish come in, please."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of work, which was probably better than sitting around waiting for Matrin's attack.  Maul kept them all confined to Adi's quarters, which was fine for the Empress' children; still in shock, they didn't want to leave the comfort of the rest of their family.  Various court functionaries scurried in and out, and the search teams continued looking for Matrin and Aliamon, to no avail.  Maul snarled into his radio link frequently, and personally inspected everyone that came into the suite.  

The situation was made light-years more difficult by the fact that Jaydon Matrin was the Seneschal to the Empire: he coordinated everything, he knew where everything was, and his closest assistants were almost fanatically loyal to him.  They didn't believe he could be the traitor to the Empire that Maul and Obi-Wan said he was, even if he were sick.  They didn't want to work for another, only him.  Qui-Gon appointed himself to work on that problem, and enlisted Bellen to help.

The only time Maul turned into a human being, as opposed to a functional automaton, was when Cliadle spoke to him.  She was the one that nagged him into eating, into resting, into continuing to live.  If Cliadle hadn't been there, if she had been killed in Matrin's first attack, Qui-Gon feared that Maul would have simply gone after Matrin until both were dead, for he would have had no reason to live further.  Qui-Gon mentioned his theory quietly to Obi-Wan at one point, and Obi-Wan nodded soberly in agreement.

Dr. Pfelling arranged all the funeral rites, including getting the Empress' body prepared for viewing.  There was to be a three-month official mourning period and the body would lie in state for five days so that the population of Corellia could come to pay their collective respects.  The Grand Ballroom was hastily repaired sufficiently to become a mourning parlor.  The draperies hung for the occasion, in the colors of the Clan Kenobi and in mourning black, hid much of the devastation.

Obi-Wan had to make many decisions, and frequently glanced at Qui-Gon for help and advice.  He decided to keep his old rooms, but further decided they would all stay in his mother's rooms until such time as Matrin was found or killed -- he was well aware that made them into one large target, but on the other hand, it was easier to defend one suite of rooms, and no one had any wish to leave the Empress' quarters, where he spirit seemed to linger.  The formal announcement of his court could wait until after the internment, and Lords Toor and Blelling concurred with this.  However, the depth of Matrin's treason had to be discussed with the cabinet, even if Obi-Wan still withheld the information about him being a clone of Exar Kun.  There was still no need to foment panic on that type of scale, it would only complicate things.

They caught catnaps on the sofa or on the Empress' bed as needed; in other words, just before they collapsed.  Their grief was exhausting and was made worse by the knowledge that the Empress' killer was still out there, still aiming for them.  The younger children, finally let into the secret of what they were fighting, had no wish to wander the palace looking for a place to sleep.  After hearing and absorbing the story of who Jaydon Matrin really was, Anikin became very grim-faced.  The young man who replaced the loving child was far too old for his years, and he no longer reached out to touch everyone in the room.

Not willing to trust anyone else with the mission, Skora had reported that she had landed on Selonia, but after that, they lost contact with her.  There was still no movement of any kind in the blockade, though, and that gave them courage.

The day had been so busy with everyone coming and going that Qui-Gon felt sure Matrin wouldn't make a move yet, unless he planned on blowing up the entire palace.  That thought gave him pause, and even though the Force was still quiescent, he spoke to Maul about setting up explosive-detection sweeps, just in case.  Between everything going on, the palace was busier than a hive, and that made them feel safer... for the moment.

By late afternoon, they were exhausted, and well aware that the coming night would be the ideal time for Matrin to strike.  No one had seen Aliamon all day, though most of the palace was looking for her -- Cliadle's comment about her in the Grand Ballroom had gone through the palace like wildfire and  Qui-Gon wasn't sure if that was helping or hindering them.  Even though everyone in the palace and perhaps half the city was looking for both Matrin and Aliamon, they remained at large, lost, absorbed into the woodwork.  Despite Plo's conviction that their enemy, clone of Kun or not, was not as powerful as either Kun or Nadd, he was quite powerful enough to hide his presence effectively.

The three of them, Maul, Qui-Gon and new Emporer Obi-Wan, all agreed on one thing; they would not use Cliadle to try and find Aliamon again.  She put up a brave front, but they could see the nerves that jangled beneath her surface calm.

Hoping to wake himself up, Qui-Gon managed to get away from his duties long enough for a shower and a change of clothing.  As he was standing under the spray, letting it pound into his too-tense muscles, the door to the stall suddenly opened and Obi-Wan stepped in.  "Didn't I say before that you have good ideas?" he asked, the weariness in his voice beating out all attempts at humor.

Qui-Gon simply gathered his lover into his arms, holding tightly.  They stood like that under the spray together until Obi-Wan took a deep breath and released it as a sob.  That one small noise was it, it was all he would allow himself for now, and a moment later he sighed and pulled away enough to look up at Qui-Gon.  The water pouring down on them hid a multitude of weaknesses, and washed away whatever tears were on Obi-Wan's face.  After a nod, an acknowledgment of whatever he looked for, he closed his eyes.  After a few more moments, Qui-Gon finally leaned down and kissed Obi-Wan very gently.

With a harsh moan, Obi-Wan put his hand to Qui-Gon's neck and pulled him down further, opening his mouth to Qui-Gon's kiss, deepening it ruthlessly.  Qui-Gon let him, recognizing the hunger, knowing it would help Obi-Wan to take what he needed, what Qui-Gon was willing to give him.  Obi-Wan moved almost in desperation, rubbing himself against Qui-Gon, biting and sucking on Qui-Gon's lips, pulling their bodies so close that not even water could come between them.  

Obi-Wan was hard, as was Qui-Gon, but it was an arousal born of desperation as much as desire.  No matter how he rubbed himself against his lover, Obi-Wan couldn't find that one spark to send him over into ecstasy, and his movements became increasingly erratic.

"Shhh, shhh," Qui-Gon said, rubbing and squeezing Obi-Wan's buttocks, slowing his movements.

"Can't..." Obi-Wan moaned, trembling.

"Like this, then."  Sliding down Obi-Wan's body, Qui-Gon went to his knees and swallowed Obi-Wan whole.

Obi-Wan shoved himself back into the corner of the shower stall and leaned against the wall, trembling and gasping as he watched Qui-Gon's mouth on his erection.  "Oh, gods... yes..."  His head thumped against the wall and he grunted as Qui-Gon hollowed out his cheeks, sucking strongly, not trying to prolong the experience, for that was not what was needed; relief was.  "Touch... touch yourself, Qui... want to see you come, oh gods... yes..."

Incapable of refusing anything Obi-Wan told him to do, Qui-Gon turned his body enough so that he could stroke his own erection, pumping it with the same single-minded purpose he used on Obi-Wan.  Despite the circumstances -- or perhaps because of them -- it didn't take long for Obi-Wan to climax, flooding Qui-Gon's mouth with his bitter seed.  As if that were the catalyst, Qui-Gon came as well, and his own semen was washed down the drain with the tears they shed.

Obi-Wan slid down the wall to his knees, embracing Qui-Gon again.  They clung to each other like drowning men to a piece of flotsam, unwilling to face any more pain, knowing that it awaited them just outside the glass doors to their tiny, humid haven.

Maul had sent for two of the Jedi tutors earlier in the day, with the idea that the Jedi might be able to protect where regular guardsmen could not.  They landed well before nightfall, and once briefed in the situation, they became all business, more than willing to wait with the younger heirs while Maul and Qui-Gon went hunting.  The one bump in the road was the new Emperor Obi-Wan, who, like his mother, would not stay under guard but insisted upon accompanying them.

"May I remind you, Exalted Majesty," Maul said through gritted teeth, "that your mother died because she would not take my advice to stay safe and insisted on accompanying us?"

"I am all too well aware of that, Maul," Obi-Wan said calmly.  "As I know you are.  But I must remind the two of you, this man has not only killed a member of my family, he has tried -- and succeeded! -- to subvert us, he has taken us for fools, and he has made us afraid to sleep in our beds.  He is my enemy, his head is forfeit to me, and  I will not allow you to take him on alone, if for no other reason than to make sure you are there for Cliadle should her rank become elevated this evening!"

Qui-Gon was impressed by the volume Obi-Wan managed to achieve by the end of his tirade, and chuckled wearily.  "Give in, Maul.  There are some battles not worth fighting."

Maul took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.  When he opened them, they were shadowed with pain.  "Obi..."

"This is something I need to do, Maul.  Trust me on it, please?"

They stood in silence for a long moment before Maul grudgingly gave in.  "Stay with us."

"I will.  I swear."

They were dressed in dark clothing and each one carried a blaster along with his 'saber.  It was full dark, during a period of mourning; the search teams had been called off, and the palace staff had been told to stay in quarters.  The only ones moving in the palace should be the three of them, Matrin and Aliamon.  As a starting point, they went to the Grand Ballroom, which had been partially cleaned up, and each of them centered and relaxed, as best as possible, before turning to the Force for guidance.

They still could not locate Aliamon's aura, and assumed that Matrin was continuing to hide her.  There was another possibility no one wanted to mention; they had to comfort themselves with the thought that Matrin wanted Aliamon on the throne, what was left of it, and wouldn't hurt her.

Grounded -- as best they could be -- and centered, they asked the Force to direct their steps.  There were secrets to the palace that evidently even Obi-Wan didn't know about, for some of the doors which opened to Maul he looked at in deep surprise.  A building as old as the palace, at least a millennia old, perhaps more, was bound to have secret doors, tunnels and chambers, and a man like the Seneschal was bound to know them all, better even than those who putatively owned the place.

The Force led them on a winding, partially hidden course to the parts of the palace reserved for various staff, such as housekeeping, kitchens, and janitorial, the places Matrin would have known best.  Just off the main kitchen was a huge garden considered a part of the palace; regimented rows of vegetables grew there and a large greenhouse sat next to it.  It was near the port which served the palace, and as they passed into the garden, Maul suddenly stopped and held up his hand.

He still retained the earpiece and even though he had specifically called all searches off, he kept in touch with the guards and the armed forces: he was hoping to hear from General Skora.  As he listened, Qui-Gon could feel his anxiety rise.

Finally, he turned to them.  "Aliamon was just seen, in Adi's rooms," he said, his voice carrying his frustration, though he spoke softly.  "She escaped before anyone could catch her.  But that's not the worst: that damned Mouth of the Dhro person was just spotted in-system and is heading right for us, asking for parley again."

Stunned, Qui-Gon's jaw dropped.  "Just now?" Obi-Wan demanded in a hiss.  "I knew it, I knew they were linked.  If Matrin is Kun's clone, then that fucking Dhro is Nadd's."

"We don't know that," Maul replied, his tone preoccupied.  "We won't know it either, until after we get Matrin."  He glanced back at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed.  "Why would Aliamon have gone to Adi's rooms?"

Qui-Gon was at a loss, and spread his hands helplessly.  "I don't know why any of this is happening, Maul.  The whole situation stinks worse than the Malastarian fish market in summer."

The blinding headache caught him and the others off-guard.  They knew, by this time, what it meant: Matrin was trying to hide something from them, trying to cut them off from the Force.  Obi-Wan staggered and reached out to Qui-Gon for support, but since Qui-Gon was suffering along with him, it didn't do much.

Breathe deeply.  Breathe.  Come on, breathe, dammit!  Qui-Gon kept up an internal dialogue trying to win himself free of the awful attack, forcing his body to respond to his conscious volition.  He beat back the pain as best he could, trying to ignore the rest of it in his almost panicked need to guard himself and Obi-Wan.  He managed to get it to the point where he could hear the Force, at least partially, and was almost immediately deafened by its warning.

Qui-Gon turned and grabbed Obi-Wan around the waist and bore them both to the ground just as a blaster bolt cut through the air where Obi-Wan had been standing.  All the air was driven from his body with an oof and he couldn't move for a moment, stunned.  Obi-Wan recovered quickly, rising to a crouch, his 'saber already in his hand and lit though his face was still a grimace of pain.

Fighting off both the headache and the pain in his solar plexus, Qui-Gon managed to get to his knees, drawing his own 'saber as he looked around.  Maul was nowhere in sight.  "Back to back," he gasped to Obi-Wan, and was gratified when Obi-Wan turned, pressing against him.

The garden was dark; the swirling colors of the particle shield making it even darker.  The bulk of the palace, behind them, was merely a larger and darker black than the garden.  "Where is he?" Obi-Wan muttered, and Qui-Gon could feel him struggle to dispel the psychic attack.

"We have to be close," Qui-Gon replied, equally sotto voce.  "He's got to be here somewhere.  Where's Maul?"

"I... I don't know..."

"I suggest you put your weapons down, gentlemen."  The voice was Matrin's, though it seemed harsher.  It was coming from the kitchen entrance and they turned.  A light over the kitchen doorway flared to brilliance and they saw Matrin, casually leaning against the doorjamb, Aliamon propped against him.  He held an unlit 'saber to her head with one hand; the other held a blaster, pointed at them.  Aliamon didn't appear to be conscious, though she stood on her own.  She had the dagger Obi-Wan had used on his mother clutched in one hand.  "I think I hold all the cards here."

"Matrin, you fucking shit, let her go."  Obi-Wan's voice trembled, but only slightly.

"I don't think so.  I have plans for little Ali, here, you know."  He caressed her body lewdly with the blaster, though she didn't react.  "I would have rather had you, exalted majesty, and if it hadn't been for that idiot Palpatine, I would have."  He chuckled and it sent a shiver down Qui-Gon's spine.  "He wasn't supposed to actually fall in love with you, you know.  He was useless as my apprentice, but there you go.  You get what you pay for."  

"Matrin, let my sister go.  You want me, fine.  One on one."

Qui-Gon's head whipped around.  "No, Obi!  You're not ready for that," he hissed.

"Listen to your lapdog, exalted majesty," Matrin said.  "You don't really want to fight me.  You want to join me, as my apprentice."

The attack against Obi-Wan must have increased, for Qui-Gon could feel more than hear him moan, and he slumped.  "Stop it!  Let him go, Matrin," Qui-Gon snarled.  

"Or you'll what?  Stupid little Jedi, not even knowing what you have.  I know.  Power.  I know the taste of it, the feel of it... it's wonderful."  He narrowed his eyes.  "I know you want it too, Obion.  You want far more than the little bit your worthless mother controlled.  I can give it to you -- I can, and I will.  Join me."

Obi-Wan was breathing hard and Qui-Gon wished with all his heart that he could help, somehow.  It took a while (where was Maul?) but finally Obi-Wan straightened.  "No."  His voice was steady and strong and Qui-Gon's pride threatened to overwhelm him.  "You do not know what I want.  I know what I want, and I want you dead, you self-serving, lying rancor bastard."

For a split second, anger swamped the garden as Matrin reacted to Obi-Wan's words; it made both of them groan in pain.  Then Matrin relaxed again and laughed.  "Fine, whatever.  Your slut of a mother has other children... if little Ali here doesn't pan out, I can always get Anikin.  Or  Cliadle, perhaps... though a half-breed does nothing for me personally."

Get ready.  It was Maul's voice and Qui-Gon heard it only in his head.  Suddenly, the pressure eased and he struggled to his feet; behind him, he heard Obi-Wan do the same.  Get ready?  Ready for what?  Where was Maul?  Why wasn't he incapacitated?  Was it him helping to dispel the attack?

Stalling for time, still trying to figure out what was going on with Maul, Qui-Gon said the first thing that popped into his head.  "You have nowhere to go, Matrin.  No one trusts you any longer.  Let Ali go."

"Why would I do that?  I'm going to have her kill Obion -- oh, excuse me, Obi-Wan -- and take the throne and scepter.  Then I can raise Anikin to be the kind of Sith legends are made of."  He smiled, and it was the cold smile of a reptile.  "We're going to be glorious."

"Over my dead body," Obi-Wan snarled, bringing his blaster up and taking shaky aim.

"Precisely, exalted majesty, precisely.  And if you pull that trigger, I guarantee you'll kill your sister."

"Better she were dead than under your control!"

Matrin made a sound Qui-Gon had never before heard a human make -- animalistic and filled with rage, it was a sound he hoped to never hear again.  Not letting go of Aliamon, Matrin pulled his 'saber from her head and lit it, pointing it towards them.  "Fine, we do this the hard way."

Even as he moved, the lights in the kitchen behind him came on, blindingly bright, accompanied by a metallic crash.  He twisted quickly, trying to keep his 'saber pointed outside while bringing his blaster up and pointed inside, but in doing so, he let go of Aliamon and she crumpled to the floor at his feet.

A blaster bolt from somewhere behind Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan flashed by with deadly accuracy to the hand with the blaster, causing Matrin to drop it with a cry.  "Get Ali!"  Maul roared as he flew past them, aiming straight and true for his enemy, who was frothing in rage as they met.

Aware his position was less than tenable, Matrin left the doorway and Aliamon in order to meet the new challenge.  Their blades -- one the serene blue of the sea and the other red as blood, red as betrayal -- clashed, and in the mingling of light, Qui-Gon saw Matrin snarl, could feel him fill with and broadcast nearly overpowering rage.  "You!  You perverted freak, you will not stand between me and my prey!"

Obi-Wan went to one knee again, crying out with the pain Matrin broadcast.  Almost incapacitated himself, Qui-Gon dragged Obi-Wan back to his feet and stumbled the short distance to the kitchen door and Aliamon.  There was another figure in the room, and Qui-Gon nearly despaired; if Matrin had another accomplice, they were in no shape to take him on.

To his overwhelming relief, it was Terrell Benk who was crouched at Aliamon's side.  "Master... Master Jinn," he gasped, trying to hold his head and pick up Aliamon at the same time.  "What's happening?  What... how..."

"It's Matrin," Qui-Gon choked out.  "The pain you feel is a psychic attack... we need to get Aliamon to safety..."

"Can't... move..." Obi-Wan went back to his knees as another black wave swamped them with agony.  How was Maul withstanding it?  No one, not even Nomi Sunrider, had been immune to Kun and Nadd's Force acuity, yet there was Maul, in the garden, fighting like an avenging angel, moving faster than Qui-Gon could see.  Barely able to move at all, Qui-Gon keyed off his 'saber but kept it in his hands.  He went to one knee and wrapped his arms around the three younger people, hoping, praying Maul would defeat Matrin... because if he didn't, they were all dead.

Maul lit the other half of his lightstaff and stepped up the pace, something Qui-Gon didn't think possible.  Matrin's face was a rictus of fury as he countered every move Maul made, still trying to gain control of everyone in the area.  A rattle behind him made Qui-Gon turn to see some of the larger pieces of kitchen equipment begin to move, and he pulled all four of them aside in time to see a large cask go flying out the door towards Maul.

Meeting that challenge easily, Maul began levitating things as well, smaller but more deadly things that Matrin was having a tough time deflecting.  Slowly, very slowly, the pain in Qui-Gon's head lessened as Matrin turned more and more of his attention to the fight with Maul.  They were all over the garden in a fight the likes of which Qui-Gon had never seen or even dreamed of before.  The combatants were moving so fast now that all he saw were three streaks of lightsabers in a dark area under the colored swirl of the shield.

Footsteps behind him made him whirl, igniting his 'saber.  Captain Sarin ran into the room, goggling at them and the strange battle outside the room.  "Master Jinn?"

"Stay down, man," Obi-Wan rasped, struggling to his knees.  "Maul needs no distractions."

"That's Maul?" Sarin asked, kneeling by them.  Aliamon whimpered and Terrell helped her sit up.  "Who..."

"He's fighting Matrin.  I've never seen such an incredible sight..."  Qui-Gon looked down as Obi-Wan pressed himself back into his embrace.  

"My head doesn't hurt anymore," Terrell said, also peeking around the door.  "Did Maul do that?"

"I think so."

Matrin was tiring, Qui-Gon could feel it.  He was getting desperate in his search for ways to defeat Maul, who seemed able to fight all night, if necessary.  Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly and concentrated, grounding himself to let the Force back in.  It came to him clearly, helping him create a shield around their little party to keep Matrin from using them against Maul.

When the end came, it did so suddenly.  Matrin slipped and went to one knee.  Maul tried to skewer him, but Matrin was just fast enough to avoid it.  He wasn't fast enough to avoid being badly burned, howver, and had to struggle to get to his feet.  His movements hampered, Qui-Gon could feel the fear he was now projecting rather than anger, and Maul used it to his advantage.  Luring Matrin into an over-extension on a high riposte, he slammed the hilt of his 'saber into Matrin's chin, stunning him long enough to drive his lightstaff right through Matrin's heart.

Eyes wide and protruding, Matrin looked down as Maul pulled his blade out.  His mouth opened as if to speak, then he toppled, like a great tree, face down into the mud of the garden.

Maul staggered back several paces then collapsed to one knee.  He left his 'saber lit, though, as if not believing that Matrin could really be dead.  Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Sarin got to their feet and hurried out into the garden, Qui-Gon going to Maul's aid while Sarin and Obi-Wan went to Matrin.  Qui-Gon was not surprised when Obi-Wan ignited his 'saber and beheaded Matrin's body.

"He's... dead...?"  Maul was gasping, and in the light spilling from the kitchen, Qui-Gon could see numerous burns and bloody marks.

"He's dead," Obi-Wan confirmed, joining Qui-Gon at Maul's side.  "His body will be burned.  There will be no more clones of Exar Kun, not from him, at least."

Maul keyed off his 'saber and Qui-Gon helped him stagger to his feet.  "You need Dr. Pfelling," Qui-Gon murmured, and panting, Maul nodded his agreement.

"How did you do that?" Obi-Wan carefully put his hand on Maul's shoulder.  "How were you able to fight him when we couldn't?"

"I don't know..."  Maul's breath was coming gentler now, and he was wincing as various aches and pains checked in.  Qui-Gon knew once the adrenaline wore off, he'd be in significant pain.  "I could still feel him trying to control me, but I managed to shake it off.  I commed Benk and then waited for the distraction."  He shook his head, carefully, and looked in confusion at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan  "I don't know how I was able to fight him like that, to kill him."

"You were able to kill him because that is what you were made to do," said a new voice, a faintly familiar, cultured voice from the door to the kitchen.  They turned to see the Mouth of the Dhro standing there, Xanatos at his side.  "You have fulfilled your purpose, Maul.  Congratulations."

"Shit," Maul muttered, trying to straighten and take a ready stance.  His body obviously had other ideas.

Beside them, Sarin whispered, "That's what I was coming to tell you.  They just landed."

"How?"

"I don't know!  We didn't give them clearance, we didn't open the shield window, but it opened and they landed nonetheless."

"I apologize for the deception in getting us down on the planet," the man said.  "After we spoke with your General Skora, we thought it best to come down immediately to help eliminate Kun's clone.  She was good enough to give us the access codes to land."  He raised an eyebrow in the corpse's direction.  "It seems you had the situation well in hand regardless."

"Help?" Obi-Wan demanded.  Qui-Gon and Maul spoke at the same time he did:  "What are you talking about?"  "How did you get to Skora?"

Xanatos glanced up at the Mouth of the Dhro.  "I think perhaps I would be the best choice to get things started, Count Dooku."

"Be my guest, my boy."  The Mouth of the Dhro gave Xanatos a benevolent smile which he extended to those in the garden.  "Xanatos has been of invaluable help to us, Master Jinn.  You have every reason to be proud of him."

Shocked, stunned and utterly flummoxed, Qui-Gon could only stand in place with his jaw hanging somewhere around his knees.  Xanatos carefully picked his way over the ground to Qui-Gon, embracing him warmly.  "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more the other day, Master."  Qui-Gon returned the hug, sensing only truth and happiness in his former padawan.  "I would like to present Master Dooku, who has been trained as a Jedi and who has trained several successful padawans to knighthood.  I can assure you all, we are genuinely on your side, though it will probably take several days to get the whole story squared away."  He glanced at Maul and winced.  "I think you need a physician, Maul.  Please don't consider us as a threat; we are here to help you."  He chuckled.  "Honest."

Though his natural paranoia was obviously slowing his movements, Maul finally did stand down.  "I want to know what you meant by that statement," he demanded, his voice raw.

"You will know, soon.  But now that the garbage is dead, we have time.  Let's go somewhere more congenial, though we need to get that body and any other DNA into a secured location."

"I can handle that," Sarin said, as confused as the rest of them.  

It took more than an hour, a period of time that was mystifying, exhausting and eye-opening.  To Qui-Gon's surprise, it wasn't all that late when Maul finally defeated Matrin, and many in the palace were still awake, though they were mostly in the dark about what had happened in the kitchen garden.  Maul was looked at by a tutting Dr. Pfelling, who also gave Aliamon a once-over before sedating her into sleep.  She was not physically damaged, but was in emotional shock.  

Obi-Wan updated his ministers on what had happened, and requested some of them come to the briefing that Dooku, formerly known as the Mouth of the Dhro, promised, but not until late the next day.  In that evening, they sat in Adilene's sitting room, drank tea and ate nutrient bars, and tried to figure out what had just happened.

Maul was bandaged and in a dressing gown, sitting on a divan with his daughter next to him.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sat together across from them and Dooku sat with Xanatos on the sofa.  Maul had been shooting Dooku little puzzled glances all evening, and Qui-Gon wondered if he were still feeling any threat from the two men.  Qui-Gon did not.  He could still feel the Force quite clearly, he did not feel the least bit compromised, and he felt no trepidation, no worry at all.

It was about to drive him insane.

"Let me begin at the beginning," Dooku said, and Xanatos laughed.

"If you begin at the beginning, we'll be sitting here until the sun burns out," he said with a smile.

Dooku waved his hand.  "Flippant child.  Very well then, let me begin a bit further in than the beginning.  About two hundred years ago, a Jedi master discovered a cabal with a plot to bring back to life two of the most evil beings our galaxy had ever known -- Freedon Nadd and Exar Kun.  When those two were killed, over a millennia ago, we had thought that would be the end of it.  It was not."

Sighing, Dooku took a sip of his tea.  "While the DNA trace from Nadd, who reputedly fell into a volcano on Onderon, was virtually nonexistent, Kun's body was never recovered after he was spaced, and was, in fact, picked up by his supporters."

"We know that," Obi-Wan said with a frown, "well, at least the first part.  Though it took a lot of research to uncover it."  He smiled at Cliadle and she half-smiled back, too engrossed in the story.

"Kun and Nadd did not act on their own," Dooku continued.  "They had help from various agencies, independents, those for whom love of power is a way of life.  When the two were finally killed, their helpers -- many of them -- survived.  They went underground, preserving Kun's body as best they could until a method could be found to resurrect him, clone him.  Bring him back.  It was over five hundred years later that they found a method: a small, very faraway planet called Kamino whose denizens had been refining the art of cloning to nothing short of miraculous."

He sighed.  "The Kaminoans had never heard of Kun, never knew of the devastation the man had caused.  All they saw was a challenge, one that was to bring them quite a bit of wealth.  There were several false starts, but finally, close to fifty years ago, they managed to make one hundred clones of Exar Kun, clones that were a near perfect copy of the most dire enemy our galaxy has ever known."

"One hundred?!"  Obi-Wan sounded incredulous.  Dooku's voice was hypnotic and it was late, but those words made everyone in the room sit up.  "You mean there are ninety-nine more Matrins loose in--"

"They're all dead, Emperor Obi-Wan.  The one here -- Matrin? -- was the last one."  Dooku's voice was stern, then turned rueful.  "He was the best of the bunch, unfortunately.  While they were all as potentially powerful as Kun, some were harder to train than others."  He sipped his tea again.  "This was the plot that Jedi Master uncovered, almost two hundred years ago.  He did not know how close they were to success in achieving their aim, but the Force told him he was running out of time.

"Unfortunately, when he told his fellow Jedi about what he had uncovered, they did not believe him.  He was forced to leave the Jedi in what, we believe now, was partly influenced by one of the failed Kun clones -- and yes, we've destroyed all of those as well.  But there were enough of them around to ensure that the plot would be a success, once it officially got underway."

"You mean there was a clone of Exar Kun in the Temple?"  Qui-Gon didn't know what to think: on one hand, it was so obvious, but on the other...

"Three of them, actually, though not all at the same time.  Their mission was to destroy records that were kept in the Temple library so that no one would be able to notice the strange resemblance certain Temple workers had to Exar Kun."  Xanatos shook his head sadly.  "Since the Jedi wouldn't speak to the Sith, and vice versa, they never bothered with the records here, until the clone moved in."

"Once the best clones had matured, they were sent into the Allied Worlds with specific missions," Dooku said, picking up the narrative again.  "They worked hard, getting into places of trust and subverting people.  They never took direct control, preferring to act behind the scenes.  Thus, when we were finally in a position to find them, we found they had built up walls of responsibility, were buried under layers of hierarchy.  Unfortunately, quite often the people they had suborned could not be turned back, and had to be killed.  Even beloved people..."  Dooku rubbed his eyes.  "Queen Amidala's father was so far gone, it was better for him that he died.  It's been so very difficult at times, and that one, the whole fiasco on Naboo, that was one of the worst."

"But what about Poppa?" Cliadle asked, taking her father's hand.

"No one could withstand a Force-psychic attack from Kun, or from Kun's clone," Dooku said.  "It was only through the most extraordinary set of circumstances that the originals were killed at all.  We needed a weapon, someone who could withstand such coercion.  We went back to Kamino for that."  Dooku turned to Maul.  "They were so very upset about what they had unwittingly unleashed on the galaxy that they worked feverishly to design someone who would be Force-sensitive, but be able to resist a Force compulsion.  Someone who could find the clones, almost like a hunting canine, no matter where they were.  Someone..."

"Someone like me," Maul breathed, his face stricken.

"It took them decades and many, many spoiled prototypes before you were finally created, a hybrid of human and so many other types it's quite insane.  They weren't even certain that they could recreate the exact sequence to create another like you, and when you disappeared...

"You were brilliant, Maul."  Dooku glanced at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, then turned back to Maul.  "You found them all, one at a time, and destroyed them.  Unfortunately, the last one fought much harder than the others, and you were badly hurt.  We found his body, we found your blood, but nothing else.  You disappeared, and we didn't know where to find you."

"He was here," Obi-Wan whispered.

"Apparently so.  You never checked in.  When you never contacted us..."

"I didn't remember," Maul said, rubbing his head.  "I didn't remember anything but getting away and the Dhro.  I thought I had escaped the Dhro, but I hadn't, had I?"

"Ah."  Dooku nodded.  "That clears up a number of questions.  The fight must have been almost cataclysmic, we knew you were badly hurt but not how badly."

"He was almost dead when he got here," Obi-Wan said.  "And he never liked Matrin.  So much makes sense now..."

"A part of you recognized your enemy, Maul," Dooku said softly.  "You knew what you were supposed to do, at least on some level.  Since we didn't have you, and weren't sure we could ever have anyone like you again, we went ahead with phase two and began the mop up of their followers, hoping to find you eventually, dreading facing the last clone if we did not."

"The Dhro's conquering force..." Obi-Wan gaped in astonishment.  "You've been..."

"We had no choice," Dooku said.  His face fell.  "We could not leave anyone alive who might do the same damn thing again, somewhere in the future.  It didn't matter if they had been subverted or not, we could not risk any chance of it happening again."  He sighed.  "There have been many deaths we have regretted deeply, but which we knew were necessary.  We're still hoping that the taint on the head of the Council, Master Windu, can be erased.  We don't know yet, though it's no where near the level of some we've encountered."

His head whirling, Qui-Gon slumped back in his seat.  This was a fundamental paradigm shift: the Dhro was not a megalomaniac, but rather...  "Wait a minute," he said.  "You said a Jedi Master had uncovered this -- is that the Dhro?"

"Yes, it is," Dooku nodded.  "My master, who trained me to be a Jedi.  He could not use his real name, because the Jedi would recognize it and he feared that would compromise the mission.  Instead, as we encountered Jedi, we tested them to see if they had been compromised, and if not, they joined the mission.  We have been a Jedi Temple in absentia for more than fifty years, now."

"You mean all those Jedi who disappeared..."

"Most of them are alive, Master," Xanatos said.  "Like me. I went to Telos hoping to get some information, and I certainly found some -- more than I bargained for."

"It wasn't until quite recently that we realized Xanatos was not acting for the cabal but instead, acting on behalf of the other Jedi."  Dooku smiled at Xan.  "We couldn't tell at first, so kept him in the dark.  Once he was let in on the secret, he became one of our best operatives, always feeding the Jedi just enough information to keep them on their toes."

"So now what?" Maul demanded.  "I've killed Matrin for you, is that it?  Is there anything left?"

"Thankfully, very little," Dooku replied.  "Or a lot -- depending on how you see it, on what you want to do.  You were our weapon directly against the clones, Maul.  You are no longer needed in that capacity.  However," he added, with a glance to Cliadle, "you seem to have found a niche here.  And we can take you to Kamino to have those extra strands of DNA removed, if you'd like, turn you into a full human."

It was too much, just too much information, and Qui-Gon couldn't take it any longer.  He stood.  "I think I've just reached my limit.  I feel the overwhelming need for some sleep, and I am going to take it now."

"I think that's a great idea, Master," Xani said, also standing.  

That seemed to break the jam and everyone stood, stretching and yawning.  Maul and Obi-Wan got into a heated discussion in a corner, and Cliadle looked as though her fingers were itching for a stylus again.  There was a tug on Qui-Gon's stola, and when he looked down, he found Maisen and Anikin.  He went to one knee.  "Xanatos, I'd like to introduce you to my friends Anikin and Maisen.  Xanatos is my former padawan and is now a Jedi knight."

"I know, we were listening."  Anikin's face was pale and dark circles ringed his eyes.  "Is it safe now, Master Qui-Gon?  Is it all over?  What's going to happen now?"

Qui-Gon pulled Anikin in for a hug, sharing with the boy the Force's happy song.  "It will be all right again, soon, Ani.  I promise.  You'll see."

Despite Qui-Gon's best intentions, the clock showed him it was far on the other side of midnight before he could get to his bed.  He moved without thinking through Obi-Wan's quarters, disrobed and after a hasty wash, all but fell into bed.  His exhaustion worked against him, however, and he found himself simply too tired to fall asleep.  

He tossed and turned for a while, missing something but not sure what it was, until at last the door opened and his lover came into the room.  That was it.

Obi-Wan slumped on the side of the bed and Qui-Gon pulled himself upright.  "Obi?"

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"  Obi-Wan's voice was a dull monotone -- he sounded far more exhausted than Qui-Gon felt.

"No.  I was just lying here trying to figure out what I was missing."

"Did you figure it out?"  

"Yes, I think I have."  Qui-Gon got up and walked around the bed to kneel before Obi-Wan.  Tugging gently, he pulled Obi-Wan's boots off and set them aside, waiting for the expected, usual protest.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."  Qui-Gon stood and worried the shirt Obi-Wan wore over his head, then urged him to stand long enough to get his trous unfastened and off his hips.  Once Obi-Wan was naked, Qui-Gon gently pushed his lover to the bed, crawling in after him.  Obi-Wan was still preoccupied, not awake but certainly not asleep, and Qui-Gon spooned up to him, sighing as he found his place in the universe at last.

"I can't believe it's over," Obi-Wan said.  Qui-Gon might have missed those whisper-soft words if he hadn't been listening.

"I can't either.  Though I'm glad it is."

"Is it?  Is it really?"  Obi-Wan twisted in Qui-Gon's arms until they could be face-to-face.  "What if he's lying?  This Dooku, we don't know if he's even speaking the truth.  We don't know if he's truly on our side.  After all the death and destruction the Dhro has brought to the galaxy..."

"If he's lying, if he's an enemy, we'll fight him," Qui-Gon said simply.  "We'll fight him together, and we will win."

Obi-Wan looked like he wanted to argue, looked like he wanted to become upset and fearful, but he was simply too tired.  "It's not that easy," he whispered.

"Yes, it is."  Qui-Gon tucked Obi-Wan's head under his chin and tightened his arms.  "After going through so much, we think, this can't be the end, it can't be that simple, that easy.  It wasn't, and it's not.  It's just that now it's over, we expect the resolution to be as complex as the path we took to get here."

They were silent for a long time, and Qui-Gon finally found himself drifting.  Now that he had his lover in his arms, he felt complete, felt that the end truly was at hand.  If only Adi had been alive to see it...

"I miss Mam," Obi-Wan mumbled.

"I do too."

Finally, they drifted off.  And the next morning they began the messy job of living again, facing it, as always, together.

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER:

"It gives me great pleasure to introduce Maisen Kenobi, Jedi Knight.  Step forth, Knight, and take your rightful place at our side."

As her master, Xanatos T'Crion, cut through her braid, Maisen began to smile, and as she was introduced to the host in the Council chambers, that smile turned into a beam.  The assembled guests applauded and cheered, swarming her under with their heartfelt congratulations.

Her brother, Jedi Knight Anikin Kenobi, with his wife, Senator Naberrie of the new Republic and their baby twins in tow, was the first to get to her and the first to hug her.  "You see?  I told you you'd make it!"

Maisen laughed outright as she hugged her brother, then released him to hug her sister-in-law and her niece and nephew.  Then she was claimed by her sister, Aliamon, and her husband, Terrell.  She hugged Ali carefully, mindful of her sister's huge belly.  "You'd better have this one soon before you pop, Elder Sister," she said, still giddy.  Her niece, Ali and Terrell's first daughter Amilene, tugged on Maisen's stola until she got picked up and spun around.

"There she is," said a familiar voice.  "Abusing her relatives as usual."

Maisen put her niece down and turned to her eldest brother.  "Obi!  I was afraid you wouldn't make it!"

"Are you joking?" Emperor Obi-Wan grabbed his youngest sister in a bear hug which she enthusiastically returned.  "I wouldn't miss this for the world!  Besides, I had fifty credits riding on you."

"Against you, I think," said a dry voice and Maisen was claimed by another member of her family.

"Maul!"  The dark-skinned, dark-haired man hugged Maisen and didn't try to hide his emotion.  

"So proud of you, Mai," he whispered in her ear, and she wiped at tears.  "So very proud."

"Thank you," she murmured back.  "Couldn't have done it without you."  

They pulled apart and were absorbed in the party atmosphere which was loud, loving and happy.  "Everyone..."  Mace Windu had to shout to be overheard, but he always did have good lung power.  "The party is in the next room where there is, in fact, more room!"

Laughing, the revelers -- a good portion of which were Sith and from one family -- allowed themselves to be herded into the huge reception room off the Council chamber.  Maisen was on the arm of her eldest brother and she looked around in confusion.  "Where's..."

"In the library," Obi-Wan said, and Maul, on the other side of the new knight, groaned.  "Since Jocasta's death, she's been busier than ever, making sure the deletions have all been cataloged.  She swore that she'd be here for the ceremony, but you know your sister."

Maisen rolled her eyes and accepted the glass of punch Anikin handed her.  "She'll be here eventually, she always shows up."

"As long as there's food," Anikin agreed and everyone laughed.

Cliadle did show up shortly thereafter, and looked around cautiously as everyone laughed to see her.  There was dust in her hair which was falling out of its coif, and a smudge of dirt on her nose, but she was still happy to wish her sister well.

Obi-Wan partially removed himself from the revelers by perching on a window ledge.  He felt such a glow of happiness at his sister's accomplishment: the spoiled brat, the self-centered child of his youth had matured into a composed (well, mostly composed) and responsible young woman, only the second Sith in modern history to become a Jedi knight.  A stunning achievement.

"You owe me fifty credits."

Trying to hide the smirk that he knew was showing anyway, Obi-Wan made a show of thinking it over.  "I suppose that's true," he allowed, then leaned back into his consort's embrace.  "What took you so long?"

"I was stopped by every Jedi not invited to the party and grilled.  The first Jedi to turn Sith since Ulic Qel-Droma? I should be cast in wax and placed in a museum."  Obi-Wan laughed out loud, and his consort, Qui-Gon Jinn, kissed him.  "It's good to see Mace again, isn't it?"

"He's definitely mellowed in his old age," Obi-Wan agreed.  "Unlike some Jedi I could mention."

"Then we won't mention them."  They both chuckled before Qui-Gon continued.  "Time for your speech, I think."

"I hate speeches."  Obi-Wan let his smile grow, though, even as he spoke.  Using the spoon he had picked up from the buffet table, he gently tapped it against his glass, calling for attention.  "I have been reminded that it seems I am due for a speech," he started and was interrupted by catcalls from his family.  "Not even the Emperor of the Sith gets any respect around here," he groused with good nature, and the assembly -- most of them Jedi -- laughed.  "Twenty years ago, if someone had told me I'd be standing here watching my youngest sibling become a Jedi knight, I would have had that person committed for being insane.  Then I watched my consort take my younger brother, Anikin, as his padawan, and watched as Knight Xanatos took my youngest sister as well, and I thought, well, miracles do happen."  

Smiles became wider and watery as Obi-Wan spoke, and his hand was clasped warmly by his consort.  "It has been a tumultuous fifteen years, hasn't it?  So many changes, so many lost, so many found.  The Empire now stands with the Jedi, striding towards a future we have all worked so hard to bring about."  He raised his glass in salute to Padme Naberrie, who swallowed hard and nodded back.  Obi-Wan had to swallow himself, but finally found his voice amid sniffles and smiles.  "We are the Empire, and the Empire bows to no one," he said, finally, finding his strong voice again.  "But neither do the Jedi.  The Sith and the Jedi are once again one, bowing to no one, leading the way.  My sister and my brother merely herald the peace that is, even now, spreading to all the Allied Worlds, our nascent Republic.  

"We are the Empire; my friends, my family.  And we bow to no one but each other.  To Jedi Knight Maisen Kenobi: long may she live to be a terror to those who perpetrate injustice!"

A rousing cheer -- and surreptitiously wiped eyes -- met his words as Maisen was once again swamped by well-wishers.

"Excellent speech, Exalted Majesty," said his consort.  "Short and to the point."

"Thank you, revered Jedi," Obi-Wan replied.  "I keep thinking about..."

"I know."  

"If only she could be here, Qui-Gon... think how happy she'd be."

"She is here, Obi," his consort and First Minister replied.  "Don't ever doubt it."

They stood to one side of the party for a bit, then Obi-Wan stiffened.  "Oh, shit, Yoda just walked in.  Hide me!"

"Hide you?!"  Qui-Gon laughed down at his lover.  "You're the head of the Sith Empire, Obi, I think you can take on one tiny, wizened Jedi master."

"You don't understand," Obi-Wan hissed.  "He's been after me to send Amilene here as an initiate!  She's my damned Heir, Qui-Gon!"

"You'll manage to get out of it," Qui-Gon assured him with a smile.  "At least by the time Aliamon's baby is born.  By the way, have you spoken recently to Cliadle?  She found out what the word 'Dhro' means, you  know."

"She did?"  Obi-Wan blinked in surprise.

"Yes, she did.  It's Dagobahn.  It means 'frog.'"

As Jedi Master Yoda, formerly known as the Dhro, stumped his way through the revelers, he wondered what the Emperor of the Sith could possibly find so amusing that he would be doubled over in mirth.  

He shook his head in fond exasperation.  Children these days.

end