Master Apprentice Archive Quick search:

PART 11

Obi-Wan sensed the lightening of the Prince's mood; something about the set of his shoulders indicated that he was unbending from the rigid anger that had possessed him in the wake of the poisoning. Obi-Wan knew better than to take it personally; if someone had tried to poison him, he would be out of sorts also.

Qui-Gon's attempts to convince him of Shmi's innocence only made him more stubbornly determined to maintain his suspicion. Who better to serve as a poisoner than the one person the victim trusted?

He dismounted in the Prince's wake, following his example and letting his horse touch its mouth to the clear water. After a brief drink, they walked the animals along the turf, its cool green muffling their footsteps. A fish leaped out in the lake, its silver body flashing in the bright sunlight. He realized that Qui-Gon had stopped, looping the reins around a low tree branch. Calmly he shed his cloak, then his belt. When the tunic also went, Obi-Wan blinked, realizing that his charge meant to undress completely.

He turned back to his horse, brushing the mare's mane and rubbing her nose. She nickered softly to him, nosing the sleeves of his robe and he dug into his belt for a carrot, feeding it to her and waiting for the telltale splash of the Prince entering the water.

It didn't come. Concerned, he was about to turn when a hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump. "Come on then, you'd better lose the clothing if you're going to join me in the lake," Qui-Gon suggested.

Obi-Wan turned, coloring as he realized the Prince was quite nude. Keeping his eyes firmly on Qui-Gon's face he shook his head. "I think I'll stay on shore."

"Nonsense. You're the one who insists on being by my side night and day. You taste my food for Sith's sake. What if I get a cramp? Or if what if someone is lying in wait beneath the water, ready to spring at me with a knife the moment you're out of range?"

"They'd have to have awfully good breath control," Obi-Wan commented drily.

"Maybe they've been practicing," suggested Qui-Gon, grinning, his hand still warmly curved over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"And I take it I am supposed to bring my sword into the water, the better to defend you."

"I would never ask a man to leave behind his sword," Qui-Gon responded smoothly, his voice a purr. Obi-Wan blinked, covering his surprise as he turned his back to undo his belt buckle. The Prince was right; it was his duty to stick close... but he was altogether uncertain what was really happening here. Perhaps, having lost several battles in his quest to rid himself of Obi-Wan's presence, the Prince was preparing to try a subtler tactic.

Well. If seduction was the tactic his Prince intended to employ, it certainly wasn't a tactic that had any chance of success. His oath of celibacy would see to that. Confident, Obi-Wan skimmed out of his clothes. He'd spent most of his life sharing communal privies and ablutions. He knew he had no cause for shame in his body; it was not the body that was shameful, but rather the thoughts of the mind that ruled it. "Is the water warm?"

"I doubt it!" exclaimed Qui-Gon, taking a single step back and folding his arms across his chest. The Prince watched him disrobing with casual regard, though there was definitely a glint of something else in his eyes.

"We could keep each other warm, if the need arises." The Prince spoke in a low tone, a genuine smile on his lips, the warmest expression he'd yet to share with Obi-Wan.

Despite his resolve, Obi-Wan found himself blushing under the warm regard. It seemed the Prince could be very charismatic, when he cared to be.

"I'm not afraid of a little cold water," he said softly as he slid his breeches from his hips. He could feel the caress of the Prince's eyes, and it warmed him-- with embarrassment. The first time he'd ever felt such a thing, embarrassment from feeling a man's eyes on his body. It shriveled his manhood, which he supposed was a good thing; there would be less of it to be chilled by the frigid lake water.

Perhaps that same water would cool the Prince's ardor as well.

He set out toward the lake without looking back, walking down a narrow sandy shore to the water's edge and walking in without slowing. It was cold as winter, sending aching spikes of sensation shooting through his skin.

"How cold is it?"

"It's quite pleasant," he lied, walking deeper.

The Prince snorted, not fooled. "That water is snow-melt from the Atrian Glacier," he commented dryly. "It could freeze the balls off a statue."

"At the monastery, we are far closer to the glacier than you," Obi-Wan commented mildly and launched himself in a full-length dive, cutting the water cleanly. Best to get the pain over with right away; then all his tender nerves would be numbed.

He shrieked underwater, bubbles rising, but the Prince would not hear him. He could practically feel his capillaries closing. When he rose, he flipped back his wet braid, staring a challenge toward the shore. "I thought you meant to swim."

He couldn't quite make out the Prince's expression from this distance, though he was pretty sure the smile was gone. He had to give the man credit, for Qui-Gon strode forward without a pause, not flinching in the slightest as he waded waist-deep into the water.

"Refreshing," said the Prince tightly, and Obi-Wan laughed, genuine pleasure rushing through him for the first time since he'd arrived at the castle. Ignoring the cold, he dove once more beneath the surface, cutting easily through the water. He could feel the Prince swim up to him, the large body displacing the water around him, and they broke the surface together.

He blinked water out of his eyes, taking a prudent step back. If cold glacier water didn't discourage the man... already Obi-Wan was near the point of uncontrollable shuddering.

"The water is invigorating, don't you think?" Prince Qui-Gon watched him closely. Of course. The big man had more body fat as well as more muscle than he, and could generate more heat. Whereas Obi-Wan, with his whip-slim, lean body, lost what reserves he had almost instantly.

"Quite." He managed to bite back the chatter of his teeth for a single syllable.

"You do not seem to be enjoying it." Qui-Gon lay back, floating lazily.

"I am a simple man, not given to luxuriating in decadent pleasures." The chattering of his teeth betrayed him, and Qui-Gon laughed.

"If you are given to martyrdom, self-flagellation, and denial, as many monastic orders are, then I would think that you should find this lake most pleasant."

"It is indeed pleasant, but there is no need to mortify sinless flesh." Giving up, he made for the shore.

"Is your flesh truly sinless?" Genuine curiosity, a note of surprise, and a swirl of water followed. Before he reached the shore, Qui-Gon was behind him, and he felt wet fingers trace up the line of his hip. He flinched and sidestepped, then doggedly resumed his progress toward shore.

"You've never known the touch of a man... or of a woman?" The Prince sounded shocked. Obi-Wan didn't gratify him with an answer. The warmth of the sun felt too good on his chilled skin, and he sensed he could not come out well in such a conversation no matter how he tried.

"I teased you earlier, true, but by the Gods, I didn't believe... at your age..." Qui-Gon's voice trailed away. "I was sincere in my offer. The castle has many willing maids."

"I shall arrange my own affairs," Obi-Wan informed him tartly.

"You're a fine lad, well-formed. It can't be from lack of offers," Qui-Gon mused, undeterred. "You are satisfactorily endowed, also. Perhaps your blood is cold."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, for the sake of being left alone. "Perhaps it is."

"If that is the case..." the Prince paused. "I assure you. It will be warmed."

Obi-Wan did not like the certainty in his tone, but there seemed no more to be said. His clothing had been left in a neat pile in the crook of the tree where they'd tied the horses and Obi-Wan slowly made his way there, enjoying the soft grasses under his bare feet and the sun's touch upon his body.

Innocent of the touch of man or woman, he nonetheless found deep pleasure in nature's caress. At the monastery it would not be usual to find one or several of the monks in the meadows and woods that surrounded the building, in naked communion with nature. At moments like this, his calling felt strong and true; he was close to the center of power inside himself, the part of him that connected him to everything.

A gentle touch startled him from his reverie as the Prince dried him with the soft velvet of his royal cloak. He stiffened as the material slid between his shoulder blades, moving sensuously down the length of his spine.

"Careful, little monk." The Prince's voice purred at his ear. "It would not do to insult his majesty by rejecting his aid."

His body twitched, and he recognized the first flicker of arousal with alarm. It was a result of everything combined; the events of the night before and all the talk of flesh and sex; his mind had become receptive to suggestion. He would have to remedy that in meditation. He snatched his tunic and patted himself dry quickly, in conjunction with Qui-Gon's touch, hindering the Prince as much as possible. He felt better once he'd stepped into his breeches and pulled them up again. The covering made him feel safe, and he turned.

Qui-Gon stood in the sunlight, his wet velvet cloak a rich puddle about his feet, basking in the light. Drops of water still clung to his body, streaming down from his wet hair. He too was a fine man, well-formed and generously endowed. No wonder Sira had taken such pleasure in him.

Obi-Wan turned back to the horses quickly, ignoring the chuckle his haste produced. Suddenly, his face went white. "Your Highness..." his voice commanded, and Qui-Gon stepped to his shoulder, teasing forgotten.

Obi-Wan slid his fingers under Sebulba's girth-strap, which had been cut at the base of the saddle. Nearly three-quarters of its width had been severed cleanly, and the remainder had frayed even further. It hung by a few tenacious millimeters of strained leather. "If it had broken while you galloped..." there was no need to say more.

"You have been here two days and already there have been two attempts on my life. That is more than in the entirety of the last year," Qui-Gon mused.

"All the better that I arrived when I did," Obi-Wan muttered, his face tense.

"Some might say it's cause to suspect you as the assassin."

Obi-Wan went even whiter, his face pained. "That would make me a pretty poor assassin, having twice foiled my own attempts."

"It is as logical as suspecting Shmi, and perhaps more, for she has earned my trust over many years. You might be attempting to accelerate the process of earning trust for your own purposes." Qui-Gon moved to Obi-Wan's mount, unfastening its saddle. "We will ride together on Sebulba when we return to the castle. He is the stronger horse."

Obi-Wan nodded; the day no longer seemed as bright, and the woods were filled with shadows. When Qui-Gon hauled him into the saddle, he sat before the Prince with his mind racing, hardly noticing the strong warm arm that slid around his waist.

Qui-Gon clicked his tongue to Sebulba and they started back to the castle at a slow amble, Obi-Wan's horse trailing behind.

PART 12

The ride back to the castle took far longer than the ride out. Sebulba was a great stallion, but even he could not be pushed while carrying two men. The land was beautiful, the grass green with health, the trees reaching eagerly for the skies, but Qui-Gon barely registered it. He was angry again. Twice an assassin had struck and twice been thwarted. How dare this happen!

He'd only been half serious about Kenobi being the assassin, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility and the fact that he didn't know who to trust anymore bothered him greatly.

Kenobi seemed distracted, leaning against him in a way he wouldn't have thought possible of the stiff-necked monk. "Qui-Gon," the boy spoke his name quietly, but fiercely.

"What?"

"You musn't trust anyone. This is imperative. Not Shmi. Not myself, no one. Until we know who is behind these attempts it is your safest recourse."

He blinked, not prepared for the lad to include himself in his proscriptions. "I will keep it in mind," He began to promise, then he saw what had disturbed his bodyguard: the castle was seething like an anthill, guards and drudges waving their arms for attention as the horses neared the gate. "Something has happened." He spurred Sebulba for an extra bit of speed, one that would not be incapacitating since they were so near the end of their journey.

The babble of voices made it impossible to extract sense from any single report, but he picked out "Joram" and "west tower" and turned Sebulba's head in that direction, nudging through the mass of distraught domestics. There was a wide empty circle with a heap of rags lying in it at the base of the tower-- no. Not rags. A body. His nostrils caught the scent of death and blood; Sebulba tossed his head and whinnied with distress. He was a riding stallion, not a warhorse, and such things troubled him, but he could not rear with the twin burden he bore.

"Let's climb down." Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan down onto the cobblestones and together they approached the body. The Prince spied Anakin, twisting and turning his head to stare at the carnage in spite of Shmi's attempts to keep his face hidden in her skirts. "Take the boy out of here," he directed curtly. When she had obeyed, he turned Joram to his back, grimacing at the sight of the caved-in face.

"Dead men tell no tales." Obi-Wan lifted his head, glancing at the assembly and then up at the castle, where many faces gazed down from windows, embrasures, and parapets. "Joram did not work alone in this."

Qui-Gon nodded reluctant agreement. "Take the horses," he snapped, catching a groom's eye. "This must be reported to the King."

"If I could just have a moment to examine the body," Kenobi asked softly, "then I will accompany you."

Qui-Gon nodded, watching through narrowed eyes as Kenobi made a quick examination of the man, checking his bones and beneath the nails of his hands. He looked back up along the tower and nodded once to himself, but said nothing.

"Thank you."

Qui-Gon grunted and then turned to the stable hands, who were lingering nearby. "Take the body to the graveyard and give him a proper burial in Pauper's Corner." Turning on his heel, he headed for his father's chambers, knowing without looking that Kenobi had fallen into step behind him.

The King awaited them in his audience chamber, his hands clutching his cane on his knee. He looked old and careworn, nodding slowly when Qui-Gon recited the details of the day's events. "Your new bodyguard has arrived just in time," he commented soberly. "The two of you must take additional care." He rose and tottered toward his window, gazing down into the gardens.

"Since the birth of your son, many people see opportunity. Once they believed that when I left, you would rule and leave no issue. The loss of the future Queen encouraged the jackals to bide their time, believing that your childlessness would eventually leave the ascension open to question. But since the birth of your son..."

He stopped, coughing, and pulled a cloth out of his robe, wiping his mouth with it. "I am aging, and he is vulnerable. With you gone, it would be easy to eliminate me and then control Anakin. There would be no contest over power then."

"You'll live forever." Qui-Gon's confident tone didn't match the sudden pain in his eyes.

"Death is a part of me," the King stared at the bright beam of sunlight flooding in through the window. "You must be ready when it comes, my son."

"You have prepared me all my life for a role that I have increasingly grown to believe I would never fulfill. It's something I've hated you for, for a very long time. " The Prince watched his father as the old man slowly hobbled back to his throne. When he reached out and offered his father his hand, Yoda took it, letting Qui-Gon help him up the stairs of the dais. It was something the king had never done before. "You're dying, aren't you?" he asked.

Yoda nodded once. Eyes still bright with the light of intelligence held fast to his own and Qui-Gon felt his anger fade, his frustrations easing in the face of the hard reality. "I always harbored a secret hope that you would step down for me. Counsel me behind the scenes."

"Ready you were not."

"And now?"

"Now you must be ready."

Qui-Gon executed a deep bow, hair brushing against the floor. "As you command." He raised himself, searching for further words, and Yoda raised a gnarled hand. It shook with palsy, something that would have seemed unthinkable even a year ago. "Seek the assassin and protect my grandson," he spoke, the words more like a benediction than a command.

Qui-Gon nodded and turned, leaving without further words. He was aware that Obi-Wan bowed as well, and followed in his wake. Qui-Gon seethed with anger, his sorrow expressing itself as irritation. He swung his still-damp cloak angrily as they left the room. Once he would have forgotten his troubles in the body of a woman, turning to pleasure with eager passion. Today, choosing a woman would have felt petty and foolish.

"Your father is a great man."

"Shut up," Qui-Gon snapped.

"I grieve with you."

"If you will not be silent, you will share Joram's fate."

"An interesting comment. The crowd speculated that he had jumped rather than risk detection and capture. I believe he was pushed."

Qui-Gon glowered at his bodyguard, wondering if the man hadn't heard. "What brings you to believe this?"

"There was skin under his nails. He struggled with an attacker."

"Then we need only look for someone with scratches." Anger metamorphosed into keen purpose.

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan conceded, but Qui-Gon was already bellowing for the head chamberlain to assemble everyone in the castle for inspection.

It was like the questioning that morning all over again, the servants lined up and whispering fearfully amongst themselves as they awaited their turn at inspection. Unlike the morning, the Prince conducted the examinations himself, impatiently pushing sleeves up and collars down in order to inspect arms and necks. Kenobi himself was first in line, silently offering his skin for Qui-Gon's inspection. The Prince didn't have to look to know there would be no marks-- the boy had never left his side.

Two of the grooms sported cuts and bruises, but Kenobi quietly pointed to their shapes, comparing them to the fists of both men and it was quickly evidenced that they had come to blows early that morning. When all the servants but one had been examined, Qui-Gon turned reluctantly to Shmi, motioning her to stand before him in the patch of bright sunlight streaming through the casement.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, unable to meet her eyes. She said nothing, only stood quietly as he pushed up the sleeves of her dress and the pushed back the collar from around her neck. There was a small bruise on her neck and he fingered it sadly, immediately recognizing the fading circle as a mark of his own passion.

Her arms, however, bore several fresh scratches and he reared back in shock.

"Ani had a nightmare last night," she told him evenly. "You know how he gets until he comes out of it."

"I do," he said hoarsely. "He's a deep sleeper, and always been prone to nightmares."

"There are others in the castle," Shmi pointed out. "Nobles and courtiers." Her dark eyes rested on his.

"They will be examined as soon as they may be gathered." Qui-Gon felt the hoarseness in his throat. "I will find out who has done this. But until that time..." he stroked his knuckles down her cheek gently.

"Perhaps you would care for a vacation? You have always worked harder than you must."

"I will accept your offer." Shmi's eyes fell. "I look forward to the time when I may return." Qui-Gon leaned forward quickly, whispering in her ear, and she nodded without looking up.

"Everyone is dismissed," he spoke evenly, angry that the assembly had witnessed Shmi's embarrassment. "Return to your duties at once." He avoided Obi-Wan's eyes as they strode from the room.

"Was that wise?" asked his bodyguard, undeterred by his manner.

"She will take Anakin with her. If she is not here, she cannot be the assassin and he will be safe until we have found the person who is responsible for this outrage."

"Very well. I only hope the boy has a father to return to."

"That will be for you to ensure, won't it," snapped Qui-Gon.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Kenobi incline his head in silent agreement, the monk's damnable calm grating at the Prince's nerves.

PART 13

I didn't expect those fools to send him a half-trained boy as a bodyguard. His father has grown senile indeed to accept such a thing. It is all the better that they sent who they did. My influence may be stronger there than I had hoped.

The Prince and his new pet return in a single saddle, leading the second horse, but neither looks harmed. It is unfortunate. One of the problems dealing with underlings is that they tend to fail; they are cheap and easily replaceable for all of that, and I have many.

A flurry greets them at the gate. The death is already discovered, then. It is an advantage of underlings that they may be disposed of without regret. That does much to balance their tendencies toward failure.

The boy sits upright in the Prince's saddle, red-gold sun caught in his hair. I could not have selected a better distraction if I had made the choice myself. The Prince will crave him, of course. He has a taste for boys, though he does not often indulge it. I suspect he's already tried to find his way into the lad's breeches. The oath of celibacy that those pitiful fools take won't last long amidst the decadence of the court.

I pull my cowl back so that I can't be seen at the embrasure when they proceed through the courtyard below.

They move toward the west tower, not pausing to dismount. The lad is before Qui-Gon in the saddle, snuggled up against the Prince like a lover; I shall have to make inquiries to find out if it is so. I ponder the best way to obtain this knowledge... yes. She will know. She has always been among my most useful sources.

The lad sits in the saddle well, his lean hips pressed tightly into the cradle of the Prince's legs. He looks a sweet, toothsome bit; I wouldn't mind fucking him myself, though he might find it... unpleasant. Perhaps the opportunity will arise, after he has failed. I look forward to it. I think that I will enjoy listening to his screams.

They climb down warily, and examine the body sprawled ungracefully on the cobbles. Even from here I can see the blood smeared on the stones. Joram was a fool. Easily bought, easily disposed of. Most people are, once you learn their weaknesses.

The boy, Anakin, is with them, his mother pulling him to her, hiding his face in her skirts. There is my prize; once I have the father out of the way the new crown prince will be mine. The mind of a boy is so much easier to influence.

While disposing of a King is a more delicate matter than killing a Prince, I have made my beginning there as well. I am a patient man. The kingdom is within my grasp, I can feel it; she waits for me as a maiden waits for her true lover to take her to the greatest heights.

Soon, my beauty.

PART 14

Qui-Gon could not outdistance his persistent bodyguard, but Kenobi effaced himself after they arrived in his chambers, leaning against the lintel so quietly he might have been part of the furniture. He could not believe that he had just sent Shmi away. The one person he trusted most, the one who loved him most in spite of anything, and he'd been forced to hurt her.

He took a deep breath and began to write out orders for a suitable retinue. She and Anakin would require protection; ten guards should do. All battle proven veterans whose loyalty to the throne was beyond question... if anyone's could be in such times.

It was not that he would miss the sex; Shmi warmed his bed infrequently these days, occupied with raising their son. But he would miss her companionship, the knowledge of her presence and support, and the rare times when she came to his bed herself instead of sending a serving maid for his pleasure. He thought of the fading passion mark she wore, made by his mouth. It might be the last, and that grieved him deeply.

He rang the bell and Sira appeared with amazing alacrity.

"That was quick," commented Kenobi, soft-voiced from where he lounged. The girl grew pink, but bowed sweetly saying, "I knew my lord would need me and waited for his call." Qui-Gon turned to his bodyguard, eyebrows raised. Kenobi shrugged, but the Prince noticed that his eyes never left the girl.

Sealing his orders with wax and leaving the impression from his ring upon it, he handed the scroll to the girl. "These are my orders regarding Shmi's departure. They are to be placed directly in Captain Panaka's hand, is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," she replied, curtsying. Qui-Gon watched in amusement as she shot a glare at his bodyguard, but if Kenobi noticed he gave no sign.

"Do you plan on glowering at everyone who comes in contact with me?" snapped Qui-Gon.

Kenobi lifted his shoulder, an almost imperceptible shrug, ashout at the boy. "I shall come to supervise," he spoke darkly. "Return to tell the Chamberlain that I am on my way."

"Yes, Your Highness." He bobbed a bow and trotted away even faster than he'd come.

Qui-Gon swept a fresh, dry cloak around himself and set out, pushing through the door with a determined gait that looked as though it would as easily have carried him through the stone wall. Wincing, Obi-Wan fell in behind him. Life in this court was certainly entertaining, if nothing else.

Qui-Gon moved fast and by the time Obi-Wan narrowed the few feet of distance between them, he was already sweeping into the audience chamber. Indignant voices petitioned him immediately, and he overwhelmed them with a bellow.

"If you are innocent you have nothing to fear! Anyone who does not submit to this inspection is welcome to leave the castle, and then the kingdom!"

That silenced them, for the most part, and the Chamberlain sidled up to the Prince. "Your Highness, several of the nobles refused the summons."

"Send messengers to tell them to present themselves here within the hour, or their positions and properties are forfeit." Qui-Gon's cold order made the assembly fall entirely silent, blinking with shock; a few servants scuttled in and out, but that was all. Kenobi settled against the wall behind him and Qui-Gon turned to glare at him, but the boy seemed unconcerned, watching the room with hooded eyes.

Qui-Gon moved to stand next to him, affecting the same easy-going pose. "What do you think?" he asked, nodding at the assemblage.

"I think you haven't made any friends with this move."

"You think it was a mistake?" Qui-Gon was surprised. Kenobi certainly hadn't shown any more respect for the guests than he had for the servants.

"I think that a king needs to be a diplomat as well as a warrior," the boy replied and Qui-Gon felt his anger come to the fore again.

"You would lecture me on the points of rulership now?"

"My lord asked."

"How dare-" he closed his mouth abruptly as he realized he was yelling, all eyes turning toward them with undisguised curiosity. His attempt to calm himself was further hampered by the approving smile Kenobi seemed to be giving his efforts. He looked away from the infuriating monk, focusing instead on the assembled peerage.

Lady Ysidrine, whose spaniel had eaten the poisoned sweetbread, was weeping quietly on her husband's arm, while he petted her ineffectually, looking as if he would like very much to be crying himself. Several others bristled and glared as he caught their eyes. Only Palpatine seemed unaffected, his unctuous smile revealing far too many far too white teeth.

"I've tipped my hand," he said quietly, knowing Kenobi would hear him.

"I would say so, my lord."

Qui-Gon squashed the annoyance that rose at the boy's smug tone. "And what would you have done differently?"

"Something more subtle. Perhaps a private audience with each; a discreet search would have at the very least eliminated a number of them."

"I suppose so," Qui-Gon allowed grudgingly.

"Once again you have allowed your anger to best you," Kenobi said softly.

"Perhaps." Qui-Gon shot a sharp look at the boy. "Unless we are in fact chasing our own tails."

"My lord?"

"I have only your word for it that there was any tissue beneath Joram's fingernails. Perhaps we will find no scratches, because there are none to be found."

To his great annoyance, Kenobi's puzzled look turned into delight. "You're learning," he said softly.

PART 15

As Qui-Gon examined the nobles who had come, the missing ones filed in slowly, their faces blank and sullen by turns. Kenobi had been right; forcing them down here after accusing them outright had not been a wise choice. But it was done and there was nothing left but to conduct the examination.

He left the actual search to his bodyguard, instinctively knowing the boy's manner would put them more at ease than his own. A heavy silence blanketed the room, broken only by the rustle of cloth as each of the guests bared their arms and neck's for Kenobi's inspection.

Lady Assia demurred coyly, flirting outrageously with the boy, but he seemed oblivious, making her examination with the same efficiency as he had with the others. Valorum stepped up next, the first of those who had come late, after an initial refusal of the summons.

His face was nearly as white as his hair, his lips tight-set. He looked past Obi-Wan, fixing Qui-Gon with cold blue eyes. "I have been a loyal retainer to the Jinn family since I reached majority and replaced my father. I must say that I object to the indignity of this public search and to the unreasonable punishment that will be levied against us if we refuse to submit to it!" His voice shook with anger. "We are not servants for your bidding or your bedding, Qui-Gon Jinn!"

Obi-Wan bowed slightly before him, trying to soothe his wrath. "I have submitted to the same search, sir. We all must. Surely your service to the Jinn throne extends to cooperation in a murder investigation? These times are unpleasant for us all."

Valorum shoved back his cuffs angrily, displaying his bare arms. "I think Your Highness will regret this rash act," he spoke to Qui-Gon with acid in his tone. "You will find that you have damaged valuable alliances this day. It is a pity that you are such a thoughtless pup that half the nobles of the kingdom whisper you are unfit to follow in your father's footsteps!"

Qui-Gon stiffened, feeling the sharp words keenly. Valorum's family had indeed always been among the most loyal of his father's supporters. "I regret that you feel this way," he bit out through clenched teeth. "Perhaps one day you will see the necessity in the actions I have taken."

Valorum merely huffed, refastening his sleeves and his high-collared coat. "Good day, my Prince. I believe I shall retreat to my lands, where I am treated with respect. At least while I still have them!" He summoned his daughter with a curt snap of his wrist, and she finished displaying her throat and arms to Obi-Wan quickly, following in his wake.

That was the worst of the open hostility, but many other nobles stared at Qui-Gon while they were examined, Valorum's words echoing behind their cold eyes.

Palpatine alone seemed completely undisturbed by the matter, his unctuous smile as ingratiating as ever. "I must say, my dear Prince, you do have a flair for the dramatic."

Qui-Gon just stared at him silently; he didn't care for the man's small talk even at the best of times. Palpatine's gaze moved to Obi-Wan's hands, just re-buttoning his collar and re-seating the lace fichu he wore. "It is a pleasure, as always, to serve the crown in any fashion possible, no matter how unorthodox."

"Does it not trouble you to be invaded in this way?" Lady Singh, still affronted at having to bare her upper bosom for Kenobi's inspection, growled softly. She stood waiting for Palpatine, and had not only refastened her own clothing, but had spread her long hair over her breast for additional cover, as though its exposure could be retrieved by double cover.

"What cause could I possibly have to take offense? I have no cause for guilt." Palpatine smiled at Kenobi, pushing up his immaculate midnight-blue sleeves of crushed velvet. "One should not complain when given an opportunity to prove one's innocence."

Inspecting both arms, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon and shook his head before assisting Palpatine in bringing his sleeves back down to his wrists. The man bowed briefly at Kenobi and turned with a deeper bow to Qui-Gon. "Now that I have been cleared, may I offer my assistance to my lord? I assure you that I can be very thorough."

Qui-Gon bit back his grimace of distaste. Despite the fact the man bore no scratches, the Prince didn't trust him. He could not conceive of a situation that would find him turning to the man for help of any kind.

"You're very kind," he replied, his tone cold, biting, "but my man and I shall manage."

"As you wish. If you should change your mind..."

Nodding, Qui-Gon waved him on with his hand, dismissing the man.

In the end none of the noble guests were found to have any scratches. Disappointed, but at this juncture hardly surprised that his foolish action had yielded nothing, Qui-Gon dismissed them all with a hope that they would forgive his rudeness and join him at the table for that evening's repast. They filed out sullenly, giving him sidelong glances.

Feeling at a loose end, he strode desolately through the grand stone hallways, slowly making his way back to his rooms. Kenobi kept up silently in his wake, a half step behind him. His boots rang out with every step, the stone beneath his feet worn smooth by hundreds of years worth of steps. It was hard to countenance that someone within these solid walls was trying to kill him. The castle had been home, playground, and refuge for his family for countless generations.

The world was changing rapidly these days, and not, it seemed, for the better.

By the time he reached his sitting room, his mood was black indeed.

A clatter of hooves in the courtyard informed him that Shmi and Anakin were on their way out of his life. He glanced through the drapes, spotting them riding amidst their guard, Captain Panaka taking the point position. His mouth turned down sourly. He was a Prince; he was not accustomed to letting the whims or acts of others rule his life.

"Very little has ever been denied you." The monk made the guess sound like a statement of fact, his tone somewhere between compassion and disrespect. The Prince's fist clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palm, but he declined to answer. "Perhaps being denied is a lesson you must learn in order to be fit for--"

"Now see here." Qui-Gon rounded on him, face twisted into a snarl of pain and fury. "You were hired as my bodyguard, not as a councilor or adviser. If you wish to remain, you will learn that there are times when you cannot push further with your impudence, and this moment is one of those times. So unless you wish to be turned over my knee and blistered like a child, you will be silent until I say you may speak!"

The monk blinked, then in nothing short of a miracle, closed his mouth. The thin-pinched line of his lips indicated his dissatisfaction, but he kept silent. Maybe he was wise, after all.

A soft whisper of wood on wood sounded behind them; he wheeled with fury to face the intruder, finding only Sira. She sank to the floor in an abject curtsey. "If I may be of service to my Lord..." she offered.

Qui-Gon stepped forward in three paces and caught her; she looked up with hot, willing eyes. Relieved beyond measure at the prospect of action and control, he accepted her offer with a will. He brought her arms over her head and rapidly trussed her skirt about them, exposing her flanks and her hips, tearing her underclothing from her. His bodyguard did not object as he took her to his bed, seeking surcease from his pain between her thighs.

PART 16

Obi-Wan turned his back as Qui-Gon tumbled the serving girl into his bed. Before, her slim hips and thighs had seemed scandalous and titillating, but now they only looked pale and obscene. He gritted his teeth, staring down through the window.

Shmi and her party had left the outer gates, and were trotting easily down the wide road that led out of the castle grounds. She sat straight and tall, her son on a tall pony next to her bay mare. He turned his head, glancing back at the castle, but her strong palm caught him and turned his eyes forward. She never looked back.

Obi-Wan resigned himself to listening, keeping his spine straight. The moral decadence at this castle was one of the things he found it hardest to acclimate to. Not Qui-Gon's shouting; that had perversely pleased him as much as Qui-Gon's questioning his word on the evidence that Joram was pushed.

Obi-Wan had read every political treatise he could find at the monastery and studied the art of governing carefully, and he knew that a King must have the ability to defend himself. If Qui-Gon had not had the strength to rebel against a mere bodyguard half his age, he would not have what it took to rule his kingdom.

He shook his head with dismay, remembering how he'd reacted to the sexual advances and touches, to the sound and sight of the Prince bedding his serving maid. He would have to keep himself pure; he could not allow that to influence him. He must resist carnal temptations. Succumbing would endanger his mission: to protect the Prince Regent, the bulwark of peace and prosperity in this kingdom, which had always been a shining example for the surrounding lands.

Obi-Wan sank to the floor and folded his legs to meditate, blocking out the sounds from behind him as much as he could, reaching for serenity. It made his stomach churn to think of how the Prince could so easily avow his supposed devotion to Shmi, and still be able to feast on the low pleasures of every maid in sight. He did not understand it, and yet Shmi seemed to know, and yet as far as Obi-Wan could tell she did not resent the girls he bedded... but her calm demeanor might be concealing another motive for murder.

This casual debauchery was appalling.

What was worse, Valorum was right. The Prince's fitness to govern was questioned far and wide throughout the kingdom, and his current behavior did nothing to bolster the confidence of anyone who knew of it. Pater Mundi had hoped Obi-Wan would be the burr beneath the Prince's saddle that startled him awake and finally made him grow up, but thus far it was proving a formidable task.

The sound of yelling and the clatter of horses' hooves against the cobblestones drew his attention back to the window and the courtyard below. Groomsmen and valets were running about, getting in each other's way as they tried to saddle horses and organize packs, carts, and carriages. It appeared an exodus had begun.

Obi-Wan leaned against the casing to watch the cluster of nobles by the great doors. Valorum, Lady Ysidrine and her husband Lord Perimar, and Duke Simpton.

Though Obi-Wan knew that their leave-taking boded the Prince no good, he was quite relieved to see them go. Fewer people in the castle meant fewer suspects and it would make his job of protecting the prince easier without so many people underfoot.

The Prince's chamberlain seemed to be pleading with them, but Valorum shook his head and strode to his horse, grabbing the reins and vaulting into the saddle. A word with his valet and he was gone, leaving his retinue and possessions to follow at a more leisurely pace. The sky had grown dark and promised rain before the day was over-- Valorum had been anxious to leave indeed to embark on a full day's journey with only half the day left.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he tried to puzzle out whether this was a sign of guilt or of innocence. A case could be made for either. Despite his protests, Valorum's skin had been umblemished; his objections could very well have been those of a man whose dignity and trust had been insulted. And, having been insulted, he chose to leave.

On the other hand, if he were guilty, perhaps he had believed himself beyond suspicion and was now beating a hasty retreat in order to reformulate his plan. The other departing nobles he dismissed as possible suspects. Perimar and Ysidrine had nothing to gain by the Prince's death; lady Ysidrine was the sister of the Prince's dead wife and their holdings were a gift from the Prince himself. They were as likely to be going out of fear for their own skins. Duke Simpton had been fawning over Valorum and any mention of the man's daughter Amidala all through their repasts; he was no doubt leaving in order to curry favor with the dour Valorum.

Obi-Wan sighed. They were no closer to the identity of the assassin now than they had been this morning just after the first attempt.

The first fat drop of rain hit the window as the last of the departing horses cleared the gate. Two boys pulled them closed and laboriously laid the thick oaken bar across them. They were secured for the night, against dangers from the outside at least.

The groaning behind him finally ceased; he glanced in the mirror and glimpsed Qui-Gon rolling off Sira, yanking at the belt that secured her skirt over her head and arms. She emerged, looking hot and sweaty, her hair tousled. Much of the curl had fallen out of the long locks. Qui-Gon smacked her hip impatiently. "Be about your duties now, like a good girl." His voice was still moody, his face grim. Obviously his attempt to achieve diversion had not satisfied him.

"Yes my lord." She purred the words contentedly, scrambling out of his bed to curtsey, her skirts falling around her legs once more. She left without hurry, hips swaying. Obi-Wan found himself watching her with irritation, glad that she would not stay the night.

He had not yet been given leave to speak, so he gazed at Prince Qui-Gon with calm but intent eyes, hoping his regard would goad the Prince to inquire what he had to say.

It did.

"What the Sith do you think you're looking at?" Qui-Gon snapped, closing his breeches. As permission went it was ambiguous, but for someone with Obi-Wan's self-confidence, it was enough.

"Several of your guests have decided to forsake the court's hospitality, my Prince." Obi-Wan tilted his head back toward the window. "Valorum. Ysidrine and Perimar. Simpton. They have departed, regardless of the rain." A flare of lightning crackled, briefly illuminating the interior of the room, and thunder rumbled angrily in its wake.

"Good riddance to them." Qui-Gon flopped back onto his pillow, staring up into the shadows of the bed canopy. "Nobles and courtiers are petty, self-interested toadies."

"Be that as it may, they are the bulwarks of consent upon which your right to govern rests," Obi-Wan spoke softly.

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment, his face working with pain, pride, anger, and regret as he stared blindly toward the canopy. "I know they are," he said at last. "I will sleep now." He sat up and drew the curtains tightly around his bed, leaving Obi-Wan to find his pallet and extinguish the candles.

PART 17

The Prince still seemed quite subdued and moody when he woke the next day. He washed quickly and seemed little disposed to engage in conversation, even as he waited for Obi-Wan to bathe and finish dressing.

They joined the company assembled at breakfast, and it was impossible not to note the absence of many faces who had been present the day before. Obi-Wan hoped that some of the nobles were merely relying upon their own foodstuffs due to fear of poison and that not all of those absent were planning to leave. One notable absence was King Yoda; Obi-Wan worried that perhaps his health was even worse than they'd guessed the previous day. He had missed several meals in a row now, preferring to remain closeted in his own chambers.

The Prince's silence seemed to permeate the castle, weighing down conversation and eliminating it. Even the servants held their tongues. Obi-Wan tasted each dish diligently; as an additional precaution he also used the Prince's silver and ate off his plate-- food was not the only place where poison might lurk.

In spite of Obi-Wan's increased care, there was nothing unusual about the meal set before them. The food was quite good, if not so delicious as that which Shmi had prepared and overseen.

One notable absence was King Yoda; Obi-Wan worried that perhaps his health was even worse than they'd guessed the previous day. He had missed several meals in a row now, preferring to remain closeted in his own chambers.

Even Palpatine seemed subdued, his usual forced joviality replaced by a sullen silence that Obi-Wan suspected owed itself to an evening of overindulgence in pleasures carnal as well as bacchanalian. Obi-Wan admitted to himself that he didn't like the man. There was something in his overly friendly manner that struck him as patently false, but he couldn't pin it down. The man was oily, slippery like an eel. It was there in the way he spoke and the way he ate, his tongue slipping from his mouth obscenely. Obi-Wan had hoped that he would be among the peerage that chose to leave, but the man seemed to be intent on currying favor despite the current climate at the castle.

The interminable meal finally ended without mishap, the entire assembly heaving a collective sigh of relief when the Prince stood. "I shall be inspecting the herds on the western plain and shall be unavailable for the rest of the day. My apologies." He spoke curtly and Obi-Wan was sure there wasn't a soul present who didn't understand that the Prince was not in the least bit sorry. Nor were they.

Following his charge out of the dinning hall, Obi-Wan heaved a sigh of relief to be done with the oppressive atmosphere. He didn't even reprimand the Prince for unwisely divulging his day's plans.

The Prince donned his riding habit wordlessly, and Obi-Wan opted to change into his robes, which had been laundered and tucked away in his nook of the chamber's lavish closet. It felt good to be out of the clinging silks, free to move. His robes were cooler and less ostentatious, letting him feel more like himself again. It was a relief.

They rode out from the castle in the opposite direction from their previous foray, into the rolling plains where the royal herds wandered more or less freely. After they had ridden past the fifth knot of grazing cattle, the freshness of the expedition dimmed; even having to trot to escape a lumbering, angry bull did not restore excitement or enjoyment into the day.

Obi-Wan squinted up at the sun wearily, wondering how long until they would return. He heaved a sigh of relief when they turned away, but their return to the castle failed to provide relief from the oppressive silence and boredom.

The head groom informed Prince Qui-Gon that a dozen more nobles had left during his absence; Qui-Gon merely grunted and retreated to the Royal Archive, where he spent an interminable hour scratching in his journal with a quill. Obi-Wan tried to read, but the scratching irritated him; he realized he was nervously awaiting another crisis: an attempt on Qui-Gon's life, an argument, a startling revelation... anything.

"What is there to do for amusement in the castle?" he inquired abruptly, interrupting the Prince's writing.

Qui-Gon raised his eyes slowly, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly interesting specimen of insect. "There is a wine cellar and there are willing maids," he drawled. "I have observed that you partake sparingly of the former and not at all of the latter."

"But surely there must be more to do than ride and write. At the monastery, we drew, studied, trained, made things..."

"It is not seemly for a king to engage in manual labor. I was a particularly poor student at art. Even you do not find the books in this library engaging." Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan's dismayed stare with a challenging one of his own.

"Cooking?"

The Prince's level stare never faltered.

"Needlework?"

"You mock me," Qui-Gon's mouth pinched with annoyance; Obi-Wan's gaze was drawn to his thick, sword-callused fingers and he shook his head, contrite.

"What do you do to pass the days?"

"I hunt for sport. Maids and wild game." He looked back down to his journal. "And sometimes men."

"Criminals?" Obi-Wan ventured. Qui-Gon vouchsafed him a hooded look, but said nothing. He resumed writing.

It took a moment or two, but Obi-Wan blushed when he realized to what the Prince was referring and he was glad the man's attention was once more upon his scroll. He would have to work on suppressing that reaction; Qui-Gon showed no signs that he would stop baiting his bodyguard.

The young monk was beginning to understand though how the Prince could be such a contradiction. Obviously groomed to take his father's place as ruler, he had spent countless years waiting to assume those duties, with little enough to do to fill his days outside of honing those skills. Obi-Wan could not imagine filling all his days with the banal and meaningless tasks they had indulged in this day. He had to wonder if he would have fared any better under time's hand had their positions been reversed.

The same man who could be arrogant, petulant and spoiled, had hefted a child into the air, catching him on the way down, had fiercely defended the mother of his child when suspicion had fallen upon her. And, in the face of the king's frailty, had displayed the heart of a son, not waiting for his father to die, but wanting to see him live. Valorum's judgment of the Prince had been correct, to a point, as had his own initial estimate, but perhaps it was also true that both fell short of the man's full character.

Only the test of time could prove Qui-Gon's mettle and it was his job to ensure the prince had that time.

His eyes fell again on the Prince, squinting now as the sun disappeared, night creeping in through the windows, bringing darkness with it. Qui-Gon certainly looked the part, even if his behavior did not. Tall and regal, his bearing spoke of supreme confidence bordering on arrogance and even out of his fine velvets and silks, he cut an imposing and impressive figure.

Obi-Wan turned back to his books hastily, glad of the encroaching darkness that covered his blush. Where had that thought come from?

PART 18

Several days passed in much the same manner as the last, uneventful and tedious. Obi-Wan remained on the keen edge between tension and boredom, waiting for the next attack, one that never came. He slept badly, tossing and turning as his thoughts replayed each word spoken by Valorum and Shmi, each motion they made examined from every nuance. It was beginning to look more and more as if one of them were responsible for the attacks against the prince.

He felt as sullen and crabby this morning as the prince appeared -both men remaining quiet as Sira tended to her master and Obi-Wan dressed himself, once again choosing the more familiar and comfortable trappings of the Order. The prince made no comment and swept from the room, Obi-Wan at his heels. The old stone halls seemed as out of sorts as their inhabitants, damp and chilly this morning. A cold breeze added its own misery.

They arrived at the dining hall to discover only two places set at one end of the great table. "All the guests have departed, m'lord," said Kitster, a swart, toothy lad about Anakin's age. "And his majesty has chosen to eat in his rooms."

Qui-Gon dismissed him with a sharp wave, the boy running from the room as if eager to leave its oppressive atmosphere.

Obi-Wan was about to suggest that they break their fast in the warmth of the kitchen, but a single look at the prince's face had him swallowing his words. He diligently tasted each dish and drink as it was set on the table, but otherwise chose not to eat. The prince's appetite seemed equally sparse.

rs of his lips.

"And here I had believed that it was you who was more likely to warn me of the dangers of vanity," the Prince commented.

"One man's truth is frequently another man's vanity," Obi-Wan returned, enjoying the verbal sparring nearly as much as he anticipated the workout.

"Talking with you is like dancing with a porcupine," Qui-Gon grumbled, and took up his spoon to finish his oat porridge.

"Some might say governing a kingdom has similar qualities."

"You sound like a fussy nursemaid I had as a boy. Depa never let an opportunity pass to skewer you with some tidbit of sage wisdom. I believe she concocted half of them on the spur of the moment."

"A clever thinker can always find appropriate words." Obi-Wan sat back, his smile trying even harder to escape.

"I wish Depa were still in the castle. I would love to see her bandy wits with you." Qui-Gon wiped the inside of his bowl clean with a bit of biscuit, then popped it into his mouth.

"It is more likely that we would join forces and use our combined wits to hone yours," Obi-Wan admitted, and this time the mischievous smile broke free.

"I have held my own more than once with you in a battle of words," Qui-Gon growled at him. Obi-Wan inclined his head, admitting the point, and admitting to himself that his efforts at bringing the Prince out of the mood he'd sunk into in the wake of Joram's death and Shmi's departure.

Silence fell between them again and Obi-Wan actually jumped as the prince's chair scrapped against the floor. Shaking his head at his own inattention, he stood and followed the prince from the room.

The area set aside for the prince to hone his various physical skills proved to be underground. They followed a dark, curving staircase, the Prince's torch sputtering in the damp, threatening at every moment to be blown out by the wind. At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow hallway that branched in 4 directions. Obi-Wan wondered what else was here below the castle, but with the Prince's ill-humor, he decided not to ask at this time.

They took the leftmost turn and had not gone very far when the hall opened into a large room. Using the torch he'd brought, Qui-Gon lit a number of candles fitted into mirror-lined recesses and the room soon glowed with the warm yellow light of a thousand candles. Obi-Wan peered about with interest, recognizing some of the contraptions that littered the room, while the purpose to others left him totally baffled. The prince wasted no time, quickly stripping down to his boots and leggings and attacking a burlap bag, filled with Obi-Wan knew not what, that was suspended from the ceiling.

Obi-Wan undressed more slowly, using the time of preparation to breathe deeply, bringing oxygen to his muscles and then slipping easily into a routine of bends and stretching designed to ready his body for the work of exercise. He was stiff, just the faintest bit awkward-- it had been too long since his last practice, and too long before that spent on the road in the cold and the damp. He tucked the first joint of his fingers under his toes and was stretching out the knots in his shoulders and spine when his eyes were abruptly caught and held by Qui-Gon's own warm-up. The Prince finished flogging the bag and stood for a moment with his wooden practice sword clasped over his head in both hands, the right on the hilt and the left on the blade.

His shoulders flexed, muscle rippling in daunting waves. Somehow, Obi-Wan hadn't noticed before how daunting the man's sheer bulk could be. He was tall, easily half a head taller than Obi-Wan himself, and very broad-shouldered, with a sturdy but not too heavy frame. He was softer than Obi-Wan, probably a testimony to his life at court and its customary dissolute pleasures at the table.

His waist was narrow, emerging from rough linen trousers that had fallen to hang low on his hips as he swatted the training bag. He was shining slightly with sweat-- further evidence of a soft lifestyle, but Obi-Wan knew sheer strength and stubbornness would carry him long after he grew exhausted. His chest was dusted with hair, bronze speckled with silver like the long hair that fell about his shoulders, clinging slightly in the sheen of perspiration.

For a moment Obi-Wan let himself speculate, picturing the man in armor-- the Prince Regent's heavy golden helm wrought in the form of a lion's snarling mouth, its bared teeth the face-guard, its mane flowing down in waves to protect the prince's neck. The heavy gold-chased plate that he would wear beneath it, sinuous with overlapping scales to move and flow with his body. Greaves and cuisses would hide the powerful, rangy forearms and the taut-muscled thighs, terminating in sturdy tempered leather gauntlets and high boots... he would be a shining sun on the battlefield. His troops would see him as long as he sat his warhorse, and they would rally to his splendor.

The monk gathered his wits, realizing that the Prince was staring at him expectantly, predatory amusement in his eyes. He looked smug, his shoulders lifted with pride. Obi-Wan hastily cast about for a way to salvage the situation; he'd let too many of his thoughts show in his admiring gaze. "You are soft," he commented, lifting his own practice sword and gesturing at the Prince's abdomen, which was smooth but not defined, as Obi-Wan's was.

"You are already sweating, and you are not even armored. What if your land went to war? You would be expected to lead the troops. Could you even lift a sword, wearing heavy plate?"

Some of the gleam left Prince Qui-Gon's eyes, replaced by a flicker of hurt, then cold steel. "I could fight longer in heavy plate than you, I will wager."

"I wear leather armor and do not fight from horseback," Obi-Wan countered. "I am fast enough to wear leather. You are not. Also, you are too important to take that risk. You may choose not to spar with me if you will, but you should practice more often, and for a longer duration." He paused. "That sack you thrash does not provide much opportunity to hone your combat skills, though you may practice forms against it."

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. "I did not say that I feared to spar with you. I said that I preferred to train alone."

"Training alone leaves you vulnerable to the tricks and wiles of others; you do not learn to anticipate strategies not your own."

"I have done just fine up until now," snarled Qui-Gon. "I have bested the finest swordsmen in the land, and successfully led the battle against the Hutt barbarians to the south."

"That was almost 15 years ago," scoffed Obi-Wan, "and the Hutts are notoriously lazy, slow, and dim."

"You are the most upstart servant I have ever had the misfortune to know," said Qui-Gon, voice grown dangerously soft. "I have had men flogged for less."

"It is the fact that you have had no one to challenge you that has left you soft and dulled, my lord," replied Obi-Wan, warming to the battle of wits, more comfortable now that he had something to focus on other than the Prince's half-dressed body.

"And you would be my whetstone?" Qui-Gon laughed. "Rather a tall order for a little monk."

"It is not size that makes the measure of a man, but his deeds that do."

"My father has a similar maxim. I find it interesting that it is only small men who dismiss stature so readily."

"And only unimaginative men who put stock in size," countered Obi-Wan.

"Are we here to train or argue?" asked Qui-Gon.

"Either makes a change from the tedium of the last few days," admitted Obi-Wan.

"I won't argue with that."

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon in surprise, almost shocked to see the warm expression on the prince's face. Their eyes locked, Obi-Wan noticing the way the candlelight danced in the dark blue of the Prince's eyes. He felt an unfamiliar surge go through him, tightening his chest. Abruptly he turned to the sawhorse at his side and put his foot on it, leaning over to stretch out his leg muscles. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breath was short.

Obi-Wan hoped he wasn't coming down with something, it would be much harder to protect the prince if he were sick.

PART 19

Qui-Gon woke with the dawn, alone in his bed as he had been since he'd sent Shmi away. It wasn't that he had ever been faithful to her, or that she'd expect this bout of celibacy, but without her ready companionship, his other liaisons seemed empty, as indeed they were; warm bodies that filled his bed but otherwise left him unmoved.

The room was cold, but by the sound of it the damnable rain that had fallen for nearly a week had finally stopped. A soft ray of sunshine struggled to make its way through the heavy brocade curtains, lighting the room. He glanced over at the pallet, finding Kenobi still abed and indeed, asleep. The boy usually woke as he did, some innate sense telling him that his charge was up, so Qui-Gon enjoyed the chance to examine the boy unnoticed.

An uneasy truce had grown between them over the last few days, born of a combination of immediacy, boredom, and grudging respect-- on both sides, he'd wager.

With the end of their overt hostilities, Qui-Gon found himself once again ruminating on the benefits of bedding the boy. If nothing else, the seduction would provide a diversion, not to mention there was something quite delicious in the deflowering of a virgin. And Obi-Wan found him attractive. Ever since their first day in the training salon, he was sure of it. He'd turned to catch the boy watching him, wide-eyed, with a look that had to mean desire, though his little monk was probably too innocent to recognize it for what it was.

He licked his lips, stretching luxuriantly. It had been too long since he took a man, since he'd felt the hard strength of another man's erection clasped inside his palm. Too long since he'd felt the thrill of conquest in bending a strong male body over and occupying it with his own. Obi-Wan had a beautiful voice; the prince thought it would sound well gasping in shock and pleasure.

He was whip-slim and pretty, but yet definitely masculine, just the sort of man Qui-Gon liked to bend to his will. His body stirred and he clasped his shaft in his fist, letting his eyes play over his young bodyguard. Light poured in, gilding the lad's pale torso, gleaming in the fine hairs on his arms. He'd squinted his lids against it, turning his face. His parted lips looked sweet and vulnerable.

Qui-Gon stroked himself idly, feasting his eyes on the young vision. Really, he should have the lad given a proper bed. Perhaps a trundle bed that would fit under his own... at least as long as they needed such a thing.

Obi-Wan's eyes blinked open, his face crinkling against the light as he shut them again. Qui-Gon continued stroking his erection, feeling the lazy build and surge of his pleasure, enjoying the knowledge that Obi-Wan would soon notice. Perhaps exposure to frank, unembarrassed sexuality would enhance the growth of the monk's own sensual awareness.

Obi-Wan sighed and flung away his blankets. Without looking in Qui-Gon's direction he scratched his chest, yawning and stretching. He was as beautiful and tempting as a satyr, observed unseen: Qui-Gon quickened his strokes, his breath coming faster.

Obi-Wan rose, kicking his blankets into a semblance of order, then untied his sleeping shirt and tugged it off over his head. Qui-Gon's eyes widened and he licked his lips, surveying the lad's bare body. He could almost feel how the smooth, rounded hips would yield to the pressure of his hands as he parted them to press himself between.

"Bend over," Qui-Gon mouthed silently, and bit his lip with pleasure when Obi-Wan did, reaching for his discarded breeches and doublet. His legs were slightly parted, revealing his well-proportioned but quiescent shaft, his soft-furred testicles, and the faintest hint of the portal to his body. Sith, yes. To bury himself there...

Perhaps he made a sound, a small groan or gasp of anticipation, or perhaps the boy's intuition warned him; in either case Obi-Wan froze and then snatched his blankets, straightening abruptly. Obi-Wan's eyes widened in shock and affront; he clutched the blankets clumsily around himself. Qui-Gon continued stroking, brushing his thumb over the broad tip of his cock to spread the drop of moisture that had welled.

He regarded Obi-Wan with lazy, catlike contentment, never pausing. "Continue dressing," he suggested huskily. "Your body pleases me."

Obi-Wan sputtered, blushing beet-red. "You are like a dog in the barnyard! You would mount anything that moved!"

"I would mount you, if you would come to bed with me." Qui-Gon ignored the lad's distracting tactic. "We have nowhere to be and nothing to do. What could be better than to spend the morning abed, learning the pleasures I can teach you?" He shifted so that the bedcoverings fell away further, and let his legs part, flexing the muscles in his thighs. Obi-Wan stood riveted, like a deer at point, pondering which way to flee, his eyes fixed to the prince's moving hand. Qui-Gon slid his other hand under his balls, rolling them gently. They were tight, drawn up against his body, anticipating release.

"I will not come to your bed," Obi-Wan looked desperate in spite of the firm resolve in his words.

"I think you will, in time," Qui-Gon promised him, hearing the low growl of pleasure behind his words. "And when you do, I shall spread you open and have you like a girl, and you will cry out and writhe as Sira does, when I have her. I know that you've listened, and I know that you wonder. What would it be like? How would it feel to sink your flesh into a woman's, how would it feel to spread your knees and be taken?"

Obi-Wan's mouth opened, but no words came out, only a desperate flicker of his pink tongue. His eyes darted away, his expression hunted.

"And after I take you, I think I will let you take me, so that you can know the pleasure of burying yourself inside a lover," Qui-Gon continued, relentless. "I will go on my knees before you, would you like that? Would you like to hear me make such cries?"

"You flatter yourself." Obi-Wan stuttered, his cultured voice stripped raw.

Qui-Gon reached behind himself, aware that the lad was still able to see him in the periphery of his vision. "I think that I will... imagine that now," his breath grew short as he slid two fingers inside himself. "Your body inside me. You would... ride me well, and hard... and fast, with the same fire... as when you fight! Ah!" His head fell back as he came, pulsing over his fist and onto the satin sheets.

He sank back, sated, heavy-lidded eyes watching Kenobi. The lad was trembling and he clutched his blankets desperately before his body, his eyes fully turned away now, crimson from head to toe. "My lord mocks me."

The words were so softly spoken that Qui-Gon wasn't even sure he'd heard them. Kenobi turned, his spine straight and rigid, his tension visible even through the blanket that covered him.

"And my bodyguard insults me," he replied, still lying comfortably against his pillows, none of the usual steel behind his words.

Kenobi turned again at that, still crimson; his eyes now flashed with life and fire. "It is not my duty to provide my lord with a bed partner," he said fiercely. Kenobi stalked to the door, hand on the handle before he stopped, stiff shoulders slumping slightly.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Regretting your vow to be my shadow, little monk? Should I absolve you of it?"

Kenobi turned at that, face again calm. "I assure my lord that I shall not break any of my vows while in his service." The towel dropped from Kenobi's body and though he was still as red as a ripe fall apple and his gaze did not meet the prince's, he efficiently dressed himself under Qui-Gon's watchful gaze.

The prince wondered what had brought about the new resolve that now filled Kenobi along with the familiar calm. The reminder of his duty to vouchsafe the prince's body, would be Qui-Gon's guess. But he'd had the boy for a moment, trembling and eager, no doubt confused about the unfamiliar feelings coursing through his body. He would let the matter drop, for now, but this was not the end of the matter.

A successful campaign required patience.

They ate breakfast in the kitchen, as had become their habit ever since they'd begun to train together in the room beneath the castle. A board, with an on-going game of chess, lay between them.

It was Kenobi's move and Qui-Gon sat back, eating warm gruel and salt pork, watching as his bodyguard concentrated on the board, the tip of his tongue appearing between his lips. Despite his calm demeanor it was obvious the boy was still distracted by the morning's events; Qui-Gon would have him checkmated in three more moves, making this the only game he'd won handily against the monk.

The clatter of hooves from the courtyard interrupted their game and they both turned as a lad, dressed in the gray and blue of Valorum's house, ran in. He bowed deeply, touching his forehead to the floor. "I have an invitation from my master, for the Prince."

"Go on," said Qui-Gon, waving his hand impatiently. The boy pulled a scroll from his belt and, unrolling it, began to read.

"To his royal majesty, Crown Prince of the land, from your most humble servant Valorum. I most humbly beg your forgiveness for my behavior while I was a guest in your home. Obviously stress and nerves prompted me to speak in a manner unbefitting a loyal subject of the kingdom. It would honor me greatly if his majesty would visit my lands and avail himself of my hospitality so that I might prove my continued loyalty to the crown. Your most humble and abject servant, Valorum."

"Well," said Qui-Gon, somewhat appeased by the tone of the letter and the invitation. A week at Valorum's estate could be fun; the man had an excellent game preserve and a fine winery. "Tell your master we shall join him presently."

"If I may inquire, my lord, as to the number of your retinue?"

"Just my bodyguard and I." Qui-Gon spared his Kenobi a glance as the boy made a choking sound.

"Take some bread and wine for your return journey," he offered magnanimously. Valorum's man bowed low again and followed one of the serving maids to the pantry.

"Must you tell all and sundry your traveling plans?" hissed Kenobi.

"I am the Crown Prince, I do what I want," replied Qui-Gon. Surely this morning had taught the boy that, if nothing else. "Leave the game; we will depart as soon as the horses are saddled."

PART 20

It felt good to be back in the saddle after days of rain and even better to outside of the confines of the castle. Sebulba's hooves rang out gaily, the stallion's body moving beneath him. Kenobi, on his own horse, rode next to him. The boy had said nothing more after his protest in the kitchen and Qui-Gon couldn't decide if he missed the insubordinate barbs or preferred the quiet.

At any rate, he was happy to have the boy beside him, and he realized with a start that he had grown used to Kenobi's constant presence, to the point that he expected he would miss the boy when his services as bodyguard were no longer required. Perhaps if Kenobi proved to be as good between the sheets as Qui-Gon imagined he could be, he would keep the boy with him at the castle, set up in his own rooms next to Qui-Gon's. It had been a long time since Qui-Gon had had a courtesan set up in the lavishly appointed rooms, preferring, for the most part, the variety and simple enthusiasm of his servants.

The promised warmth of the morning sun was fulfilled, the day growing warmer as they rode. If they continued at this pace, they would arrive at Valorum's estate before nightfall. Already they had passed the boundary that separated his holdings from the castle's ample land.

He occupied himself pleasantly, watching dappled shafts of sunlight play in the boy's hair, picking up its red highlights. Kenobi insisted on leading the way, watching behind every tree and boulder as though the squirrels or hedgehogs might leap out to attack them. Qui-Gon smiled complacently, amused by his diligence. Perhaps he would be equally devoted in bed; that kind of determination was definitely an asset in sucking cock. There was a pleasant thought. Kenobi's narrow, mobile lips wrapped around his--

A zinging noise intruded, like the annoying whine of a mosquito or a hornet. Kenobi jerked on the reins of their horses, glancing sharply about, and Qui-Gon's eyes found the quivering blue-and-white-fletched shaft protruding from an oak at the same second Kenobi slapped Sebulba's haunch sharply, startling him forward. More arrows whined like a swarm of angry bees, but they'd started sharply, so the archers missed their mark.

"Ride hard for Valorum's keep!" Obi-Wan fell behind, spreading his cloaked arms to try to cover the Prince's back. Qui-Gon glanced back, the wind of their passage stinging his eyes. Several hundred paces behind them, a group of twenty or more mounted soldiers had emerged as though from nowhere. Qui-Gon spied a dark opening in the green and realized they must have been concealed within the face of a gentle hill that he and his bodyguard had passed only minutes ago. It must have been hollowed out from within, the earth carefully collected and taken away. Probably the main entry was on the far side of the hill, where his bodyguard's eagle eyes could not have reached. They had lain concealed behind a turf-covered portal, waiting.

Seeing that they had missed, the mounted archers were tucking away their short bows, drawing swords and spurring their mounts forward. Twenty against two, and still a quarter day's travel to the keep. Qui-Gon cursed, reaching for his broadsword. "We'll have to stand and face them!" he shouted. "We can't run forever."

"Let us find favorable ground, then!" Obi-Wan urged his mount to more speed. "We have to reach cover or they'll pick us off at their leisure!"

"It seems you were correct about divulging details of our traveling plans," Qui-Gon admitted bitterly, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins.

"I hope that there is a next time, so that you may put the lesson to good use!"

They pounded along the grassy verge of the young-timber forest, splashing in and out of creeks recklessly with a clatter of iron horseshoes on rock. Qui-Gon bit his lip, praying neither horse picked up a stone; a lamed mount would leave them at the mercy of their pursuers. He cast about desperately for shelter, relying on knowledge of the terrain gained from a lifetime of visiting his retainers.

The forest was far from thick enough to provide adequate cover; Valorum had timbered this section of his estate perhaps fifteen years ago. The young trees had grown high enough that leaves and branches provided no screen, and their slender trunks gave little shelter.

"They're closing the distance. Their horses are fresher!" Obi-Wan warned, the wind tearing at his words.

"There is a burial ground not far ahead with high stones and vaults where we may set our backs." Qui-Gon angled his horse into the woods, their pace slowing unavoidably as they wove in and out among the trees.

"And it will be convenient for all concerned if we do not survive the attack," Obi-Wan quipped darkly, but he followed. A brighter area of light was soon visible not far into the forest, and they arrowed toward it, lightly jumping over rotting logs from unsuitable trees that had been felled when the wood from the previous forest was harvested. The new trees had been planted in regular rows, which helped-- but it helped their pursuers as well.

The soldiers were also entering the woods, and were once again within bowshot. A few arrows zinged, and Obi-Wan's gelding whinnied shrilly, staggering. Obi-Wan was thrown, landing heavily on the loam and staggering to his feet. Cursing, Qui-Gon jerked Sebulba's head around and bolted back for Obi-Wan. He leaned down and his bodyguard caught his arm on the fly. He swung the lad across the saddle like a sack of grain and kicked the stallion, who burst forward and into the clearing where the tombs lay.

"Don't come back for me next time!" Obi-Wan snapped, unable even in the midst of battle to resist the temptation for argument.

"Don't let your horse get shot next time, then!" They tumbled off Sebulba and Qui-Gon slapped his haunch with the flat of his blade, sending the stallion leaping away, skittering between the tombs. He and Obi-Wan dove between a pair of large sepulchers. In the narrow alley there was barely enough room to swing a blade, but they were shielded from arrows except for a few degrees of arc directly on either side.

"Now we hope their leader is overconfident," Qui-Gon panted, wiping dirt and sweat from his brow. "If he sends his men in after us, we may have a chance to survive. If he puts archers in the woods and they keep plugging arrows at us, we're dead men."

Obi-Wan nodded morosely, accepting his assessment. "Whoever arranged their concealment was a fine tactician," he commented flatly, rolling his shoulder with a grimace of pain. "I saw no traces of earthmoving or hoofprints. That dugout was prepared well in advance."

"Are you injured?" Qui-Gon frowned. Kenobi had taken a hard fall.

"I'll have a bruise. I hope it's the worst I have to worry about."

Qui-Gon nodded, fingering his sword to test its edge, his knuckles white on the hilt. "The soldiers are wearing livery," he told Obi-Wan tightly. His bodyguard lifted curious eyes. "Valorum's."

Obi-Wan swore softly and drew his own blade. "We have walked into his trap like fat pigeons pecking at grain," he observed bitterly. "I am a fool."

There seemed little response to make, so Qui-Gon set his back to Obi-Wan's and together they watched the narrow strips of forest visible from beyond their shelter. The tension of waiting drew tight; they could each hear footsteps beyond the tombs, sticks and grass crunching and rustling as their enemies closed in.

"You are surrounded. Surrender!" a rough voice called.

"We will not," Qui-Gon informed him evenly. "If you wished to parley you would not have fired before talking."

A muted rumble of conversation greeted his statement, and at last two men stepped to block each side of the alley, bearing drawn swords.

"Well, apparently their commander is as much a fool as I am," Obi-Wan commented dryly.

"That is a comfort," Qui-Gon responded, equally tart.

The men advanced, swords leading. Qui-Gon sized up their skill; not the greatest, but the superior numbers were daunting. He could feel Obi-Wan's shoulders and back working against his as the monk engaged his man; Qui-Gon too was soon pressed to battle. His longer arms and the size of his sword hampered him in the enclosure they had chosen, and he was hard pressed to defend against his smaller opponent in spite of the man's inferior skill.

Then a clatter resounded, nearly simultaneous with a curse; Obi-Wan faltered behind him and something eclipsed the sun. Qui-Gon squinted up as quickly as he could and swore: men atop the tombs, raining bricks and bits of masonry down on them. A piece scratched his cheek and dust stung his eyes.

"Are you holding up?"

"We've got to get out of here," Obi-Wan muttered. Qui-Gon agreed; now that they were tangled up with the bulk of the attackers, an archer would have trouble finding a clear shot that did not menace one of his comrades.

"That is apparent." Qui-Gon battered back his opponent's blade, using the force of his weight to push the man in front of him. Obi-Wan followed a step at a time, his own sword still ringing as he clashed with his opponent. Once out, they would have to face all the attackers at once, but it was better than having stone blocks dropped on their heads.

His persistent advance took his man off guard, and Qui-Gon slipped his blade through to bite into stomach and ribs. He did not pause to consider his kill. "Ware obstacles," he warned Kenobi; two men closed in as he stepped out of the alley.

With freedom to swing, he could use his great strength to batter back the men in great sweeping blows, but he lacked his bodyguard's subtle form and quickness. One of the men stumbled and he pushed through the unexpected gap, dashing with Kenobi into a small thicket of waist-high tombstones. Back-to-back again, they battled on, the terrain hampering their attackers.

This time Qui-Gon was beset by a man with a broadsword like his own, a more even battle. It gave him breathing room to glance about, and he spotted the leader, a short squat man, burly, with a jagged splash of red and black tattoos crawling over his cheeks and forehead. The man stood waiting, fingering the hilt of his blade, and displayed snaggle-teeth at Qui-Gon in a vicious smile.

He feinted, leading his opponent in, and dispatched him. All in all, he had taken out perhaps four men; Obi-Wan with his quickness and grace had taken perhaps six more, judging by a quick glance around the burial site. Half their opponents, and neither of them badly wounded yet! Qui-Gon threw his head back and laughed, feeling lust for battle surge through his veins. It did much to dispatch the weariness that had been creeping up on him slowly; he was soft, as Kenobi had observed.

The men atop the tombs had scrambled down, and they advanced now with caution, respecting the teeth he and his bodyguard had shown in the first half of the battle.

Time seemed to slow and then still as they fought, the sun burning down through the branches onto them, making sweat stream into Qui-Gon's eyes. He cursed and wiped his face with his sleeve, stabbing another attacker. The leader continued to watch even though he was down to four men; bodies piled deep around the pair and blood was beginning to make the ground slick with mud where they stood.

Then the leader stepped forward. The man waded in calmly even as two more men fell.

"He'll be the best of them," Qui-Gon warned and Obi-Wan grunted; even he had begun to breathe hard.

"Been waiting... for us to tire." Kenobi sliced the throat of the man he fought and Qui-Gon felt the warm spatter, but did not let revulsion slow him. His opponent did not possess the same wisdom, stepping back with horror. Qui-Gon dispatched him with a backhanded cut that sent his head rolling.

He felt Kenobi falter, his heel sliding out from under him in the bloody muck on the ground, and whirled without pause to meet the leader, his fist on the hilt of the sword connecting solidly and sending the man flying backward. He rolled and rose, glowering at Qui-Gon, who stood over Obi-Wan. The bodyguard groaned, clutching at his head in the same place where the thrown brick had struck him earlier; apparently he'd hit a tombstone on the way down.

Qui-Gon waded forward, his glare promising death, and the leader retreated, regaining his balance, a mocking grin spreading across his face. "You will suffer for this insolence," Qui-Gon promised.

The leer never changed; Qui-Gon blinked as his attacker tossed his sword away carelessly and reached behind a pillar on the nearest tomb. He blinked when the man withdrew an iron-shod oaken staff and twirled it between his hands expertly. It made a moaning sound like a damned soul as it cut the air.

Qui-Gon swallowed, then waded in. Legend held it that the first king to hold the Jinn throne, the greatest swordsman ever born in this kingdom had only been defeated once-- by a man with a staff.

Kenobi was climbing to his knees, shaking his head to clear it, as Qui-Gon attacked the tattooed leader fiercely, spinning and twisting, using all the cleverness and speed and strength he had to muster. The man led him a merry chase, thwarting his blows almost effortlessly after the single lucky strike. He darted behind a plinth and Qui-Gon pursued him, only to catch a nasty blow to the shoulder that drained all feeling from his arm, leaving it numb.

He staggered and the other end of the staff snapped up, catching his chin. His head exploded with a riot of dizzy pain. Suddenly there was a dagger in the leader's hand; it dove at him and cut in with an explosion of agony like nothing he had ever felt. He fell to his knees, a mocking laugh ringing in his ears. He dropped his sword. Clutching desperately at his belly, he tried to hold his insides in, the world beginning to fade around him.

The last thing he was aware of was Obi-Wan leaping over his fallen body like an avenging angel, his blade glittering in the sunlight.

Then there was nothing.