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PART 31

With the trial over, Qui-Gon found himself at loose ends. Despite its importance, the judgment of Valorum had taken precious little time, leaving the long shank of the afternoon before them.

His father's valet had informed them that the king had taken to his bed and was under doctor's orders not to be disturbed. Qui-Gon would have liked to have spoken to the old man regarding his own recent brush with mortality, but, as always seemed to be the case, he was not his father's first priority. While he hardly begrudged his father his ill health, Qui-Gon couldn't help the twinge of pain that came with the knowledge that Yoda had made no attempt to personally verify his son's health.

"He is dying," Kenobi said softly from his side, "he has grown weaker every day that I have been here."

Qui-Gon grunted, letting the sound stand as his answer. Could the boy read his mind? Even several weeks ago he would have dismissed the thought as fantasy, but the hard, incontrovertible proof of his own healed body made the claim that miracles and magic were perhaps not the sham he had always believed them to be. He would have to make a visit to this monastery of Kenobi's; find out what manner of secrets these monks were hiding beneath their simple cloaks.

His chamberlain entered the room, disturbing his ruminations with a soft cough. "Would my lord be wishing to partake of the mid-day meal?"

Qui-Gon's stomach rumbled at the mention of food, reminding him that he had not eaten since his meal of broth and bread the day before. "I do believe we shall, Jabba, thank you."

The portly servant bowed before asking, "in the dining hall with your guests, sire?"

"It would serve you well to have them see you fit," Kenobi murmured at his side before he could answer. He sighed irritably. The boy was right, of course, but the last thing he wanted was to spend several hours trading barbs and quips while eating to excess. A simple meal in the kitchens was more his style.

"The dining hall will do fine, Jabba. And please, see to it that a messenger is dispatched at once to summon Shmi and her party back to the castle. We have been too long without her gentle hand among the spices."

He felt Kenobi stiffen slightly next to him, though the lad held his tongue. Once the doors closed on his chamberlain, Qui-Gon rounded on his bodyguard. "Our assassin is caught, what objections can you possibly have against my bringing my son and his mother home?"

"I am not so sure that our assassin is caught," Kenobi replied.

"If you had proof to save Valorum, you should have offered it at the trial!"

Kenobi shrugged, a look of discomfort on his face. "I have no proof. Just...a feeling."

"A feeling? You would have me delay my reunion with Shmi and Anakin based on mere feeling?"

"No, my lord," said Kenobi softly, eyes on the floor at his feet.

His uncharacteristically reticent demeanor gave Qui-Gon pause; the prince surveyed him quietly. Could it truly be that Kenobi was jealous? This time of Shmi? The thought troubled him, and he frowned.

"Your guests are waiting," Kenobi reminded him, and Qui-Gon sighed.

"It would seem the duties of royalty are never done."

"No," Obi-Wan agreed. "Your father bears the crown even now that he is dying."

"I always thought the kingship would be pleasant, and that I could do as I pleased," Qui-Gon abruptly admitted, his voice gruff.

Obi-Wan's eyes held sympathy; where once Qui-Gon would have rankled at it, this time he understood it came from the heart. "The king is owned by the land, and the people. Your father is remiss, not to have seen to it that you were thus taught." His bodyguard pointed the fact out gently.

"I dispensed with the tutors he engaged for me," Qui-Gon admitted, his voice a little bitter, a little ashamed. "I was... a headstrong lad."

"I always loved learning," Kenobi rewarded the prince's honesty with a personal admission of his own. "It made the times that I had to myself all the more precious."

"I was always bored as a lad." Qui-Gon firmed his jaw, uncomfortable with the frank talk between them. "My guests are waiting."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, and fell in behind him as they proceeded to the dining hall.

Mid-day meal was fraught with tension, the nobles gossiping and whispering among themselves of Valorum's treachery. And, Qui-Gon knew, of his own relationship with his bodyguard.

To his surprise, Kenobi appeared to care little about the talk which put him in the prince's bed, not coloring or stiffening in the slightest, even when it became obvious that they were the centre of some rather titillating conversation between three of the younger ladies sitting at the other end of the table. The boy calmly tested his food and drink for poison, apparently paying little heed to ought else. Qui-Gon knew better, knew those changeable eyes saw everything.

The prince didn't linger over his meal, nor did he chose to participate in any but the most desultory of conversations and as quickly as convention would allow, he made his excuses and left, Kenobi, his ever present shadow, in tow.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked as he led them down to the workout room in the cellar.

"My lord?" Kenobi's confusion answered the question for him, but Qui-Gon spelled it out anyway, curious as to why his innocent bodyguard was not embarrassed by the gossip that held him at its centre.

"Everyone is abuzz about the prince and his new bodyguard, how we are now lovers."

"It isn't true," replied Kenobi with a slight shrug.

"But they don't know that."

"But I do. And you do. Gossip is not truth and gossip does not make truth."

Qui-Gon shook his head, suddenly weary of wise platitudes and wishing Kenobi would simply relax and interact with him naturally. Perhaps some exercise would penetrate his reserve. "I would like to take an hour or so to practice the sword this afternoon," Qui-Gon suggested. "You were correct; I am soft. My loss in battle proves that. I would prefer not to repeat the experience."

"We should not practice too long today. I suspect you are still weak from loss of blood. But a short time shouldn't do any harm." Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully, a light of eagerness in his eyes.

Qui-Gon gestured that he go first and fell in behind, surreptitiously watching the sway of his bodyguard's slender hips. He looked well in the silks, and was almost growing to look natural and comfortable in them, as though he had always lived at court. While those spare, masculine hips were admittedly a prominent enticement, he was beginning to realize that this young man meant more to him than a willing bed-mate. In spite of his occasional annoyance with Kenobi's pronouncements, he knew that he would like to have him at his side as a counselor as well as a courtesan and defender.

They arrived in the practice room shortly and stripped to their breeches. This time Obi-Wan lifted a wooden practice blade and invited Qui-Gon to attack; the prince did, and they sparred together lightly, running through various forms at a fairly low intensity, just enough to build up a bit of sweat.

The light pace of the workout gave him a chance to admire Kenobi; he was beautiful with his narrow chest and ribs, his pink nipples and sharp, precisely curved collarbones. Qui-Gon felt fondness mingle with lust in his belly, and when Obi-Wan smiled, he realized his lips had curved in an expression of happiness. Their blades crossed once, then again, and Obi-Wan danced back, looking joyful. "You are doing well; there is no evidence of stiffness or weakness lingering from the injury."

"That is your doing," Qui-Gon responded earnestly, grounding the point of his sword and leaning on it. "I had no part of it."

"Are you tired?"

"A bit," Qui-Gon admitted. "Nothing that a few nights' sleep and good meals won't cure, I think."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I think in upcoming weeks we should find a staffmaster, and have you practice against him."

Again Qui-Gon nodded. "That is a fine idea."

They dove back into battle then, Obi-Wan flashing his blade up swiftly and Qui-Gon countering it, and went 'round the room again before Obi-Wan drew back. "I think that is enough for today," he judged, and Qui-Gon agreed, just starting to feel winded.

They mopped sweat away with clean linen towels and dressed again. Though it was a pity to have Kenobi's fine slender chest hidden, Qui-Gon thought he felt the boy's eyes on him while they cooled down, and he was pleased. Perhaps the endless sniping and disagreement were behind them at last.

Not wishing to lose what ground they had gained, he suggested a game of chess followed by evening meal in the kitchen; there would be little chance of them being disturbed by any of the visiting nobles in those humble quarters. Kenobi agreed readily and they retired to the bright kitchen, sitting at the end of the table nearest the blazing fire.

During their meal, Qui-Gon noted that, like the evening before, Kenobi eschewed a plate of his own, nibbling instead from Qui-Gon's leavings.

They retired shortly after eating, Qui-Gon admitting he was more tired than usual. He kept to himself the hope that tonight Obi-Wan would come to his bed as more than just his bodyguard.

As they made their way through the droughty halls, Qui-Gon ran through several scenarios, searching for the best plan with which to seduce his erstwhile bodyguard. Arriving at his suite, he had to admit that seduction was probably not the best plan. Kenobi seemed to respond best to forthrightness and honesty.

He waited until the door to his sleeping chamber closed behind him, the waiting Sira summarily dismissed, by himself this time. "It's been a good day," he began.

"Not for Valorum."

"I meant, in fact, for you and I, we seem to have reached an understanding today and passed the afternoon in pleasant companionship."

Kenobi inclined his head. "I must admit that once one digs beneath the surface you are more than the arrogant dandy you appear to be."

Not quite the glowing assessment Qui-Gon could have hoped for, but he pressed on nonetheless, thinking the timing could not have been more perfect, as both men were stripped down to their breeches once more.

"You are a fine companion, Obi-Wan, and I have grown to appreciate you more and more the longer we are bound together." Qui-Gon removed his final covering and stood proudly before the boy, letting him get an eyeful of what was being offered. "It would please me a great deal if you would share my bed tonight, and my body as well."

Kenobi's hands froze at his waistband and he colored, but in the half-light provided by the candle, Qui-Gon couldn't tell if it was from desire, embarrassment or anger. His mouth opened once and then again and finally the boy took a deep breath; Qui-Gon could see that he was choosing his words with care.

"My prince flatters me a great deal," Obi-Wan began softly.

"But," prompted Qui-Gon shortly, disappointed anger stiffening his back.

"I cannot accept your offer."

"Cannot or will not?" But Kenobi had already turned away from him and was organizing his simple pallet on the floor next to the bed. "What are you doing?" demanded Qui-Gon. He could no longer tell the difference between shame, rejection, and anger.

"Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if I slept here tonight."

The boy would reject his offer and then his hospitality? Qui-Gon was nearly speechless with fury at the lack of trust that Kenobi's actions implied. "I hope you don't expect me to abstain," he bit out.

"My lord does as he pleases," responded Kenobi quietly as he slid beneath his sheets and turned away from the prince's bed.

Qui-Gon climbed angrily into his bed and took his shaft in hand, stroking roughly and spending his fury on himself.

PART 32

Obi-Wan was wakened the next morning by Qui-Gon's angry banging as the prince flung the wardrobe open and prepared to dress. Clearly the night's sleep had done little to cool his quick temper. Perhaps it was not surprising. They truly had shared a pleasant day together, and Qui-Gon had changed his approach. Perhaps he had even been playing by what he perceived as Obi-Wan's own rules: an honest, direct approach.

In either case, the Crown Prince of the Jinn Throne had never been denied; his whims had always been handed to him immediately, served up on fine silver platters. That explained his childish behavior; he had never learned to deal with being denied.

He would have to. Any ruler who could not learn that bitter lesson would never last long before his enemies toppled him, either from within or from without.

He rapidly pulled on his own clothing and was ready to follow when Qui-Gon left the room without a word. The prince stalked through the halls, his boots ringing angrily on the stone. Obi-Wan followed, a pace or two behind, prudence keeping his mouth shut. He was happy to realize that Qui-Gon was leading them to the kitchens; sitting at the prince's side in the large dining hall when he was in this mood would have been uncomfortable at the very least.

The prince served himself a large bowl of gruel from the pot over the fire, impatiently waving away the servants. He threw the bowl on the long wooden table, in front of Obi- Wan.

"Taking it out on the furniture will accomplish nothing more than scarring the wood," Obi-Wan told him mildly. Qui-Gon didn't answer, and Obi-Wan had to hide his smile at the look on the prince's face. He looked like the thwarted child Obi- Wan had compared him to earlier, with his arms folded across his chest and his lower lip protruding in a slight pout.

Sitting across from his prince, Obi-Wan took his spoon and tasted the porridge. It was good, though not as good as what Shmi made; there was no trace of foul play. He nodded and pushed the bowl back across the table, then decided he'd better get his own meal today. Qui-Gon didn't look like he was willing to share, even though he had enough for two, as usual.

He scooped out a much smaller bowl for himself and settled down to eat. Qui-Gon stared into his breakfast with a thunderous scowl marring his handsome features, his brow furrowed with annoyance. The silence weighed on Obi-Wan after a time, broken only by the scraping of their spoons and the bustle of the kitchen around them. Finally Obi-Wan leaned forward and spoke, trying to make his tone gentle and un-patronizing. "I'm sorry, but being angry about this won't change things. My decision is final."

Qui-Gon stared at him for a long moment, then threw down his spoon, splattering oatmeal on the kitchen table. He rose in a huff, stalking out.

Obi-Wan quickly gulped the remainder of his own gruel and pressed his bowl into the hands of a nearby maid. He started after Qui-Gon, the traffic in the kitchen slowing him down as the servers began to progress into the main dining hall. When he emerged, the Crown Prince was nowhere to be found.

Centering himself Obi-Wan reached out with his hearing until he could pick up low murmurings from the prince. He was no doubt readying Sebulba for a quick getaway and Obi-Wan rapidly made his way to the stables, intent on making sure the prince didn't leave alone. He could hear the grunts and moans of animals as he approached and as he scanned the stables as he rounded the corner only to be brought up short by the sight that greeted him.

Qui-Gon was there, but the prince was not readying Sebulba for a ride. Instead he had one of the stable hands shoved up against the far wall. The boy's arms were held above his head, one of the prince's hands wrapped around his wrists and his breeches were pulled down to his thighs. The boy's pale skin and shockingly white hair stood out, almost glowing, against the deep brown of the stable wall. Obi-Wan had noticed him before; his hair was most unusual, and he had an attractive, if sulky, face with a narrow chin.

Right now his mouth was open, the most astonishing moans coming out of it. Qui-Gon's hand was busy between them; Obi-Wan could not see clearly what it was doing but the overall meaning was crystal clear and he halted abruptly, feeling blood roar into his face hotly.

Qui-Gon lifted his head then, regarding Obi-Wan with feral triumph in his eyes, and drew back. Obi-Wan could see his erection, gleaming and urgent, and as though the world were slowing to a still, he watched Qui-Gon thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in his male lover. Heard the boy cry out wildly. Saw Qui-Gon's thick fingers knot in the long white hair, pulling the boy's head back.

The prince's mouth closed over the boy's greedily, swallowing the cries he was making, and one of his hands grasped the solid erection that jutted from the boy's groin. Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face as his penis hardened at the sight. He wanted to run way, or at least to turn his back to the spectacle, but he found he couldn't move and he stood there, rooted to the spot. He was aware that the prince was still watching him, eyes never wavering from Obi-Wan despite his activities.

The prince released the boy's mouth, allowing the soft moans and cries of passion to fill the air once again, while he sunk his teeth into a pale, creamy shoulder. Still he watched Obi-Wan, pinning him in place with dark blue eyes. Obi-Wan's mouth had gone dry and his breath struggled its way in and out of his chest. He felt shame, jealousy, rage and horror at all three of them: Qui-Gon and the boy for coupling like animals, with no regard for privacy and himself for not being able to turn away, for taking carnal pleasure in what he was witnessing.

The boy stiffened suddenly, a scream crossing his lips as milky fluid sprayed against the wall from his shaft. Obi- Wan broke free of the vice that held him in place and turned, fleeing around the corner, the sound of Qui-Gon's grunts and their bodies slapping together as the prince drove toward his own completion following him. He sank against the stable door, breath gasping harshly in his throat as he fought to bring his body and emotions under control.

This was more than he could endure; Qui-Gon had finally succeeded in driving him from his side. He was an unfit guardian for this man, and he could not bear any more.

King Yoda should feel great shame at having let his only son grow up like a barbarian, without regard for morals or dignity!

Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders slowly, ignoring the aching need between his legs. It would pass, if he gave it no attention. His desperate resolve was now complete. Though it might delay his knighthood by years, he must be free of this assignment. Why should he care for the fate of someone who rutted as casually as dogs in the dust?

He returned around the corner in time to see Qui-Gon pull his withering shaft from the boy. The tableau was largely unchanged; the lad was as comely as ever, his white hips as round. Qui-Gon's bearing as powerful, his body as impressive. But Obi-Wan felt dead inside, and none of it touched him.

"If you are finished, I would ask you to return with me to the library for a moment," he stated woodenly, keenly aware that it was the first request he had made of the prince on his own behalf.

Qui-Gon wiped himself with a cloth from his pocket and dropped it into the stable litter before tucking himself into his breeches. The lad dressed also, and Qui-Gon gave him a last, possessive look. "Next time wear a braid in your hair, like his," he commanded.

"If he does as you command, I will shave his head with my dagger," Obi-Wan heard himself say as though from a great distance. "This is a symbol of my order, a mark of honor, purity, and devotion, and your whore will not wear it."

The lad gave Obi-Wan a look that mingled hatred and fear, sidling away against the wall, his ragged work clothes still in disarray. Qui-Gon glared into Obi-Wan's eyes, and Obi- Wan returned the stare, unflinching.

"Bruck, you will do as I say. He has no authority to command you," Qui-Gon pronounced, his voice clear and brittle.

"Yes, Your Majesty." The stable hand scuttled away.

Obi-Wan stood stiffly, waiting for Qui-Gon to precede him back to the main building of the castle. The prince brushed by him and Obi-Wan fell into place a half step behind.

"You do not command my servants," Qui-Gon told him coldly as they made their way to the library. "You are nothing more than a servant yourself, one whom I have let get away with far to much in the past. You will find me less amiable from now on."

"I am not your servant," Obi-Wan corrected him, steel in his voice. "I am here as a favor to your father to protect you from harm." Not

that he would continue in the capacity of bodyguard to the Crown Prince for much longer; they were obviously not suited to each other and both their moods were likely to improve once Pater Mundi sent in a replacement. The prince could then carry on as he was wont to do, while Obi-Wan could return to the monastery and mortify his flesh, beg forgiveness for his sins, and return to the task of achieving his knighthood.

They arrived at the library, and Obi-Wan bowed formally to the prince. "If you would do me the honor of sending a servant for ink and a quill?" Qui-Gon snapped his fingers and the items arrived. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Obi-Wan sat down to write. Aware of the prince craning his neck to see, he began composing in the complicated calligraphy his brothers practiced at the monastery, knowing that Qui-Gon could not read it.

"What are you writing, and to whom?" The Prince demanded, his voice hostile.

"I am writing a report of recent events to the head councilor of the order," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "The failure of the assassination attempts and the exile of Valorum will be of interest to him. Your father authorized me to keep the order informed of my progress when I arrived, at Pater Mundi's request."

Qui-Gon looked a little surprised, perhaps even a little relieved. "Very well, then. Carry on." He slumped next to a thick tome lying open on the wide writing table and began to read, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish. "Do not take the morning," he commanded coolly. "There is much I wish to accomplish today."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Obi-Wan replied politely, and resumed writing.

PART 33

Revered Pater Mundi,

My stay at the Court of the Jinn Throne has been an eventful one. Almost as soon as I arrived, there was an attempt on the Crown Prince's life. His food was poisoned. Later someone cut his girth strap, and the suspect was found dead. I believe he was pushed from one of the high towers.

A more serious and almost successful attempt on the Prince's life was made several days ago. Duke Valorum invited the prince to visit his estates and during the journey his men set upon the prince and myself in an ambush. We managed to fight off our opponents, although the prince was grievously injured during that battle. I had not thought my healing powers sufficient to the task, but perhaps desperation lent me strength, for I was able to successfully heal the prince over several days.

I regret to admit that the ambush occurred due not only to the prince's arrogance but to my own neglect in insisting that we ride accompanied by guards on our way to Valorum's keep. My decision was partly due to complacency and partly due to inexperience, but the fact remains that I allowed the prince to endanger himself, and very nearly permitted disaster.

We have since returned to the court, and Valorum has been found guilty of treason and banished, his past service to the throne winning him a light sentence. The Duke protested his innocence to the end and I am hard pressed to disbelieve him. I have a terrible feeling that we have all been played like marionettes, dancing on the strings of a puppeteer.

The prince is not inclined to cope with such events in a reasonable or responsible manner; he resembles a spoiled brat of a sixth his age at best. He would have benefited from being raised in the early discipline in our order, but I fear that he has had none throughout his more than forty years of life. It has told poorly on him.

When I left you asked me to provide you with an estimate of his fitness to rule. I must say that the good qualities of the Jinn line are in him, but that they are displayed rarely at best. He is aware of the theories of good rulership, but would rather play at constant whoring than accept an iota of responsibility. I feel that someone older than I, with the full authority and training of a Knight or Master, would be required to reach him and teach him what he must learn before he will be a fitting ruler.

Worse, King Yoda appears to be failing fast. He has lost strength every day that I have seen him, and I do not believe he will endure another winter in this climate. He has developed a cough and has become confused at times, even making decisions amiss when his illness grips him. The need for someone who can take the prince in hand before his father passes is therefore all the more pressing.

I have saved my gravest news to last. I am ashamed to admit it to you, but must do so in order to begin the process of redemption. Having led a sheltered life since childhood among the purity of my brothers, I find that I am unprepared for the debauchery and moral decay of courtly life. With shame, I admit that I have been tempted by the prince's sexual advances, and have been helpless to prevent him from rousing my lust. I fear that I cannot resist my base desires much longer, and I would allow him to use me, thus losing the remainder of his respect and permanently forfeiting my chances at knighthood.

I have no wish to endure this final shame and failure, and not for personal reasons alone. The continued strength of the Jinn are all that lie between this countrysiday that my replacement will arrive swiftly.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan of the Order

PART 34

The prince responded with cool grace to Obi-Wan's stiffly formal request for a messenger to be dispatched with his letter, and the tone of that interaction forecast their association for the next several days.

Obi-Wan alternated between blank, empty indifference and sharp misery, keeping both conditions concealed behind a front of wooden efficiency. He ran from himself by renewing attention to his duties, only allowing the prince out of his sight for the time it took to make good his promise regarding Bruck's hair. He left the shorn locks on the prince's pillow, a silent testimony to the value of his word.

Qui-Gon avenged himself by summoning Bruck to his bed that night, and that night thereafter, their noisy couplings keeping Obi-Wan from rest. Each night he lay in silent misery, staring blankly at the ceiling as lust washed over him, hardening his penis painfully, making his breath catch in his throat and his heart thunder in his ears.

It might as well have been himself in that bed, receiving Qui-Gon's lust, for all the purity he maintained... his mind eluded control, picturing every move, imagining the caresses that produced every moan. His body tingled with frustrated hunger and his heart hardened with resentment and self-loathing.

Now that he and Sira shared common ground, she tried to cultivate him, offering to help him dress in the morning, contriving excuses to brush his arm with her soft breasts. Obi-Wan realized he wanted her as well, though his pride rankled at the notion of taking Qui-Gon's leavings. Sira could plainly sense his frustrated desire and after a few days of trying to pique him to action, she began to taunt him with her body, bending so that her breasts swayed loosely in her bodice, shadowed nipples visible to him. Or by getting her gown wet to the waist while bathing Bruck and the prince, her curves lasciviously highlighted by the thin wet fabric.

Obi-Wan suffered mutely, no longer offering advice or counsel to the prince as they wandered through the long days. If Sira was an annoyance, Qui-Gon was a razor-burr under his saddle, walking about his chambers unclothed, spending more time carousing with Bruck than Obi-Wan would have thought a man could find possible.

Qui-Gon barely paused to take his meals, and there was no talk of sword practice. Only the endless slap of flesh on flesh and chuckling murmurs, soft cries, or open laughter. Bruck had begun to taunt him as well, following him with heavy-lidded eyes and, once going so far as to suggest that Obi-Wan join the two of them in the prince's bed.

Obi-Wan had chosen not to answer, treating the boy to the same tight-lipped silence he favored the prince with. If he had not made a vow to vouchsafe the price's safety, he would not have waited for a replacement before returning to the monastery. Each moment brought him closer to breaking his vow of chastity and he knew that were he to come, all would be lost.

His body betrayed him at every turn, urged to it by the prince and his servants. One night Qui-Gon had both Sira and Bruck in his bed and Obi-Wan had watched in fascinated horror as the three of them writhed madly together, Bruck riding Sira and Qui-Gon riding him, the prince's thrusts setting the rhythm of their coupling.

Late that night, Obi-Wan curled up into a ball and wept, his body aching from its constant denial and lack of sleep, his heart confused and broken. He prayed that Pater Mundi had taken his missive seriously and even now was dispatching another brother to replace him before it was too late.

PART 35

Qui-Gon lay in his tangled bed and watched the rays of dawn creep along the wall, feeling rather like an elderly dog that has just found itself at the bottom of an enthusiastic, squirming puppy-pile. Young slender limbs lay tangled around him, too many to sort out which belonged to whom. He was sticky, sore, and aching. His eyes felt grainy and his head ached from too little rest, and he thought he might have worn all the skin off his penis, judging by how raw it felt.

And what had he gained from all of it? Nothing. Obi-Wan was increasingly remote, quick and efficient, but the fire that had moved him since the first day was no longer there, not in banked anger or in sharp wit. He was silent and withdrawn, and no amount of torture or taunting stirred him any longer.

Moreover, no amount of sex play satisfied Qui-Gon any longer, either. Not when every kiss was given dreaming of Obi-Wan's narrow, expressive lips. Not when every thrust was into the wrong body. Not when every inch of sweet skin against him had the wrong perfume. If he could have his bodyguard just once, and quench this insatiable longing... then he could get back to normal, move past this senseless obsession.

He untangled himself and rose, padding to the nearest window and opening it, letting in a wash of cool, refreshing air to begin purging his chambers of the reek of too much sex. Obi-Wan did not stir, sleeping in his pallet on the floor-- which was now pressed up against the far wall, as distant from the bed as he could get and remain in the room.

Faithful, upholding his vow. No matter how it might pain him.

Funny, how he had sought that pain; he had struck out at the boy the surest way he knew how and instead of gratification had felt shame at any signs of pain Obi-Wan let escape. Not that the monk had let much show, but occasionally a flash of pain would cross his eyes and Qui-Gon could read it in the stiff back that presented itself during his own energetic activities in the royal bed.

The boy had saved his life, had indeed brought him back from the dead, for surely no one else could have saved him after such a wound as he suffered at the hands of Valorum's henchmen. And this was how he repaid that kindness.

He was like a boy who kicked puppies or pulled the wings off flies, just because he could. He could picture the shame in Shmi's eyes when she learned of his behavior, see how she would hide Anakin in her skirts in order to keep his father's behavior from him.

Qui-Gon stiffened as he thought of the mother of his child; surely at least a week had passed since he'd sent a messenger telling her to come home. That was more than enough time for her to have walked the distance, let alone traveled it on horseback.

"Sira!" He turned to the bed and roused the girl, shaking a shoulder and not caring to which whelp it belonged.

Her head lifted from the pillow and heavy lidded eyes blinked at him. "My lord?"

"Was that messenger dispatched to fetch Shmi?"

"I'm not sure, my lord."

"Then you'd better find out. Now!" She scrambled out of the bed, tripping on the bedcovers and searching frantically for her night-shift. She fled down the servant's entrance, still pulling the simple gown over her head.

"What's wrong?" Kenobi's voice was low, emotionless, the boy already making his way to Qui-Gon's side.

"I am a tin-plated fool who deserves to be laid over a nurse's knee and beaten with the flat of a sword." Qui-Gon spat the words bitterly.

Obi-Wan did not agree or disagree, folding his arms and waiting for an explanation.

"While I am wasting my days and night in the arms of sluts, Shmi and Anakin are missing, and I do not even notice!" He struck his leg with the flat of his palm, poor punishment compared to his guilt. "Why did you not mention them, Kenobi?"

"I had no knowledge of how long it might take a messenger to reach them, or for them to return," the quiet reply came back to him, devoid of emotion. Qui-Gon felt himself deflate, shame bowing his proud shoulders. The words were true.

"Bruck." He spun, unconscious of his nudity, stalking toward the bed. "Are you still lying there like a rotten log? Haul your lazy carcass down to the stables. Saddle two horses and load them with provisions, and if you spread word of it to anyone, I'll do to your jewels what Kenobi did to your hair. Move!"

The boy nearly collided with Sira as he left. She had returned, out of breath and still dressed in only her night- shift. Her eyes were wide and the curtsey she made was hurried. "Oh my lord, the messenger was sent seven days ago and just now his horse has arrived back without him, covered in blood!"

Qui-Gon staggered slightly at the words. Kenobi's hand appeared on his arm, the gesture oddly soothing, and Qui-Gon felt his panic recede. "We have no way of knowing where upon his journey your messenger lost his life. It will not help Shmi if we assume the worst."

He nodded at the boy's words and turned back to Sira. "Tell Bruck to saddle a dozen of the guard's horses and wake Lieutenant Olie. We will not walk into another ambush undefended." He could feel Kenobi give a slight nod at his side and felt inexplicably pleased at the unspoken approval.

"We leave in 10 minutes."

The girl nodded and took off at a run.

PART 36

It actually took them closer to an hour to begin their journey, but when they did, they were well-prepared and made good time, trotting briskly under a bright sun. A jingle of harness accompanied their steady progress, making the party sound almost gay, but in spite of the pleasant sound, every face was grim.

Obi-Wan and the prince rode amidst the group of soldiers, and Obi-Wan did not even have to insist on the precaution. Prince Qui-Gon fastened a hawklike gaze on the horizon, his face stern and set with pain, an effect that somehow managed not to be spoiled by the fresh love-bites at his throat.

Obi-Wan felt better now that they were out of the castle, the fresh air and sunlight raising his spirits out of the deep funk he'd fallen into during the days of torment in the castle. It was a valuable lesson in the stupidity of having let his emotions run away with him; that was all.

Only the state of the messenger's horse and the absence of the messenger himself kept Obi-Wan from being overjoyed by traveling and seeing new things. He knew the prince must be cursing the decision to send Shmi and Anakin away from the protection of the castle and he wondered if Qui-Gon would blame himself or Obi-Wan for that decision. He had a feeling, given the current state of affairs between them, that the prince would happily lay that mistake at his feet; one more reason to abhor his bodyguard.

Obi-Wan swallowed his sigh and gave himself a mental shake; he had fallen into the habit of melodrama ever since the prince had been attacked and it had to stop. He was a padawan learner, on the verge of becoming a Knight of the Order, not some simpering heroine in a long drawn out love ballad. His duty was to protect the prince and it was about time he performed that duty without distraction.

His mood improved once more, he scanned the woods around them, refusing to fall into another ambush; he would not fail Qui-Gon again.

The countryside remained stubbornly silent around them, and his vigilance went unrewarded as the long day waxed, stretched, and waned, the evening shadows lengthening on the ground. They passed the estate boundary marker, which the guards noted with a low mutter but without slowing their pace. It was a relatively small estate compared to Valorum's, and before the sun had sunk all the way behind the horizon, the manor house was in view.

They crossed a final ridge and cantered down into the valley that formed the grounds. It was growing dark, but Obi-Wan's sharp eyes picked out ominous signs-- flowerbeds and bushes had been broken by hooves. A great many of them, it seemed. A curl of smoke rose from the house, but not from one of its chimneys. Obi-Wan saw the prince notice it too, and he spurred his horse, recklessly bullying through to the front of the procession, then starting to gallop forward.

"After him," Obi-Wan snapped curtly, and they thundered in his wake, abandoning the winding path to ride across the hoof-pocked lawns. Obi-Wan reached the gate just ahead of the prince and rounded his mare, bringing Sebulba to a halt. The prince glared at him, but Obi-Wan held his gaze fast, refusing to be moved.

Seconds later the guards caught up with them, once more circling the pair and they moved forward as a unit. The horses began to balk as they neared the house, Sebulba especially, pawing the ground and tossing his head, eyes rolling back as Qui-Gon urged him forward.

"Halt." Obi-Wan called softly and to a man, the soldiers stopped. Closing his eyes he reached out with his sense of smell, ignoring what belonged and gasping as what was left flooded his nose. Blood. "Leave the horses," he ordered as he slid off the back of his own mare. Given her head she trotted quickly back to gate, coming to a stop just within its boundary. The other horsemen followed suit, only the prince remained seated, his expression hard and closed, but Obi-Wan met his eyes calmly, one hand on Sebulba's briddle, keeping Qui-Gon from moving forward.

With an impatient noise, the prince dismounted and Obi-Wan let the horse go.

The evening boasted an unnatural silence, the fading light throwing long shadows across the ground. To a man, they unsheathed their weapons, approaching the manor with caution. The prince stiffened and then stopped as they neared, his eyes glued to the door. Obi-Wan pushed his way to the front of the formation; the door was slightly ajar and a symbol had been deeply branded into it.

A broken circle.

"What does it mean?" he asked, moving back to the prince's side, for surely Qui-Gon had recognized it.

"It is the sign of an old enemy," Qui-Gon replied. Obi-Wan waited silently for him to continue. "My father has long had an alliance with Telos, the Kingdom north east of us." Obi-Wan nodded impatiently; he hardly needed a lesson in politics nor history.

"King Crion's son Xanatos," Qui-Gon paused to spit on the ground, "and I have clashed in the past. Every now and then he crosses the border and commits some crime in the hopes of annoying me. This isn't the first time he's taken lives, I just pray--" the prince bit off the words, face tight.

Obi-Wan laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling inadequate to offer comfort, yet knowing he could not do more in the company of the guards even if he trusted himself to. "We won't be able to go on tonight. We've lost the light and can't track them. Let the men search the manor by torchlight, and we'll follow any tracks at dawn."

After hastily dismounting from their horses, the soldiers slipped in through the unbarred doors, entering in groups of two. Soon torchlight could be seen flickering behind darkened windows, but there was no other sign of life. Together Obi-Wan, the prince, and a small honor guard led the tired horses around the house to the stables... and discovered the source of the smoke. The wooden building and its adjoining hay barn had been burned to the ground, and all the horses were missing.

The prince's jaw locked; without a word he turned and led them back around the easternmost wing of the manor back to the front lawn. "The lawn is flat and the horses can graze at their tethers," Qui-Gon bit out, each word as cold as if it had been carved in marble. "We will camp."

Obi-Wan nodded, and helped fasten the horses out on metal picket pins, spaced widely enough that the stallions would not fight. The honor guard began laying out the tents for bivouack.

"Start no fires," Qui-Gon snapped curtly. "We don't want to provide targets for archers. There will plenty of time for hot rations later."

The men settled in with hard tack without any of the good-natured grumbling that one would normally expect from such a crew. The somber situation obviously weighed heavily on them all. The manor floors had been covered with blood, though no bodies had been found and aside from Shmi and Anakin, who all here would have known, there were bound to be comrades of these men among the dead. It was a grim crew that settled in to sleep as best they could, three men a shift guarding the small camp.

Obi-Wan lay, relaxed, but ready, beside the prince. He could feel the stiffness of Qui-Gon's body and he watched the prince surreptitiously from under half closed lashes.

Qui-Gon's eyes gazed, unblinking, at the stars; who knew what was going through his mind?

Obi-Wan ached to offer comfort, but the words that rose to his lips tasted like bitter ash and he suspected they would fall on deaf ears; Qui-Gon did not want his comfort. There was little more that he could do than to offer prayers to vouchsafe Shmi and the prince's son, and he did so, adding one or two for the prince.

Obi-Wan finally let his eyes close and forced his body into a light sleep; he would be no good to the prince in the morning if he wasn't rested.

PART 37

The damage looked even worse in the strong light of a clear dawn. Smoke still rose in wisps from the ruined stables, and the house looked empty, windows like hollow eye-sockets.

Qui-Gon wrapped himself in his cloak, foregoing breakfast among the men to approach the house, looking for any indication that Shmi and Anakin might have survived. He found none, no matter how often he paced through the echoing halls or how carefully he examined the master bedroom.

All that remained of Shmi was her silver brush and the gray-touched brunette hair caught in its teeth. He glanced back at the guard Obi-Wan had sent with him, resenting the man's stolid presence at his back. He would have preferred to be alone with his pain.

Holding the brush, he ran his hand over the soft bristles. The sensation triggered memories: Shmi sitting in front of him as he brushed through the long hair, their arguments regarding the suitability of her wearing it down; pain and laughter mingling as she spanked him with it, the sharp cold slap of the silver side and the soft scrape of the bristle side. Moments like that one became rarer and rarer after Anakin had been born and she'd been promoted to Mistress of the Kitchen.

Their duties and responsibilities had kept them apart more often than not, though he had to admit that if he had been in love with her instead of merely loving her, he would have let nothing keep them apart for any length of time. Still, she had been his most constant companion and they shared a deep and abiding love that spoke of friendship and caring and he had sent her away. To her death by the looks of it.

He refused to focus on Anakin, refused to even consider the possibilities; Shmi would have moved all of heaven to keep her son from harm and he had to believe that she had succeeded, even had it meant her own death.

A commotion from outside broke his reverie and one of the guards came barreling into the room. "My lord, the monk has found tracks leading away from the house!"

"Of course he has. You think Xanatos flew here?" he snapped.

"The tracks were clearly made by horses emerging from your stable, my lord. Two of them, both heavily weighed down."

Qui-Gon's heart leapt and started a rapid tattoo as he led the way out of the cottage. Two horses, both weighed down they must have been carrying at least two people apiece and Qui-Gon could not imagine any of the men Panaka had hand- picked to guard Shmi leaving her or Anakin behind; if they had left, the boy and his mother had been among them.

Qui-Gon cursed aloud; if he hadn't been so distraught by the house the previous evening they might have found the tracks and followed them without delay. Heavily loaded horses would have no chance of escaping from Xanatos's fleet cavalry.

"We ride after them!" he roared, bursting out of the house, discovering that Obi-Wan had anticipated his order. Camp was already nearly broken and loaded; his team of elite guards were waiting on horseback. Qui-Gon didn't pause to sulk, vaulting onto his horse with impatience and kicking it into a gallop. Obi-Wan led, his smaller mount fleet. He pointed out the tracks to Qui-Gon and they thundered along beside them taking care when possible not to trample them underfoot in case they had to retrace their steps.

After several miles, Obi-Wan reined his mount close to Sebulba's shoulder. "I believe I know where they are bound, Your Highness." He nodded toward the mountains. "The tracks do not falter, and there is little sign that they were seriously pursued. Perhaps they escaped cleanly."

Qui-Gon nodded and accepted Obi-Wan's guidance as they headed out of the woods. The soft scree of the hillside they climbed had held prints, but when they topped out, frozen ground showed no signs of passage. "You're sure?"

"It is the only possible refuge in this direction, and Panaka knew of it." Obi-Wan flickered his eyes toward Qui- Gon. "I advised him to seek help there at need."

Qui-Gon felt the anger that he'd been pushing away surge to the forefront. Again this man, this monk, had put his nose in where it didn't belong. That having a destination in mind might have saved Shmi and Anakin was beside the point, if Kenobi had advice to offer Panaka in his protection of Shmi and Anakin, he should have offered it through Qui-Gon himself.

"And where exactly did you suggest to my captain of the guard he take my son and his mother?"

Obi-Wan pointed north, into the mountains and Qui-Gon followed the line of his arm. Squinting, he saw the chimney smoke first. Following it down, he could barely make out the outline of a group of buildings, nestled in the side of the mountain. "My home."

PART 38

Obi-Wan spurred his horse, at once both eager and reluctant to be home. This vista was as familiar to him as his own skin; already he could nearly smell the plain unleavened bread baking in the ovens. He glanced at the prince, who remained dumbfounded in the face of Obi-Wan's revelation.

They rarely allowed men to come this close to their solitary abode; already Obi-Wan had signaled the emergency to two layers of sentries, though he suspected no one had noticed. Even the prince had been too preoccupied by his thoughts to notice the additional tracks that joined to those of the horses they pursued. It was perhaps a forgivable error under the circumstances, but yet again it underlined the prince's unreadiness to lead soldiers into serious jeopardy.

His emotions defeat him. Obi-Wan reflected soberly. He must learn to control them and not to let them control him.

It was good advice, and not just for the prince; he'd been letting his own emotions get the better of himself lately. His control over his body was practically non-existent, the fact that he had not completely broken his vow of chastity was quite a miracle.

He looked up at the monastery; it was still quite far away, but memory readily supplied the details his eyes could not yet make out. The mountain wind cooled his cheeks of the flush of shame that went through him as he thought of confessing to Pater Mundi. And even worse, at failing in his task, at disappointing not only the order itself and their leader, but especially Brother Lucas, his mentor and teacher as well as himself.

A little voice insisted that he could do this task, that he should make his confession, do his penance and return to the Jinn Castle in order to fulfill his duty. However, he knew that the sweet mountain air and the nearness of the familiar surroundings were fortifying him, giving him false courage; he would be alone again if he returned home with the prince.

Not that he had any choice in the matter anymore. He had already made the large part of his confession and imagined that Pater Mundi would not allow him to return even if he wanted to. That was if...he was allowed to stay. He felt a surge of panic go through him at that and it took several minutes for him to calm himself.

He was banking on the order's forgiving nature, hoping that they would give him a second chance, even if it meant that he would be well into old age before being given another chance at knighthood. It was the only home he knew; he had felt the calling young-- a mere infant of two when he'd left his parents' home and started out toward the mountain. His father had found him at the end of the day, feet blistered and sore, more than four miles from their home. He had screamed and kicked, furious to be brought back. In the end his father had saddled their old mare and Obi-Wan sat in front of him, pointing out the way until they reached the monastery.

Most of the story he had picked up from the monks, but he could still remember the feeling of sitting in the saddle, his father's chest warm and safe against his own back, joy filling him with every step the horse took toward his new home.

"How long will it take us to get there?" The prince's voice broke him from his reverie and Obi-Wan realised the man was galloping next to him now, Sebulba easily keeping up with Obi-Wan's smaller mare.

"We'll be there in time to share evening meal with the brothers."

"And do you think we will find Shmi and Anakin there among your brothers?" The prince's voice was quiet, neutral, but Obi-Wan could read the tension in his posture, knew that Qui-Gon was suffering an agony of hope and despair.

"I am almost certain of it," he answered, coming as close to telling Qui-Gon what he'd made of the tracks as he could. Most outsiders believed, as Qui-Gon had, that the Jedi Order were a group of book worms who spent their days studying and gardening. While those activities certainly counted among those they performed, they were by no means the width and breadth of their knowledge or abilities.

Obi-Wan was an excellent swordsman, but there were several in the order who could still, on occasion, beat him. And while in that area he excelled, he was only a passable tracker compared to most of his brethren. Likewise there were those among their number who were master strategists, those whose skill at information gathering was surpassed by no one; all in all they were, as a collective, an elite and highly trained force.

They had to be, for they preserved ten thousand years of history within their walls; kings, dynasties and borders had come and gone in that time, the Jedi alone had survived. Not even Yoda knew that and he knew far more than most outsiders.

Reassured by his words, Qui-Gon was giving him a speculative look. "I've wanted to come out here for awhile now," he told Obi-Wan. "See why you're such a stuffed shirt."

Obi-Wan bridled at the description. He opened his mouth, retort ready, but the call of a snow dove and the echoing reply of its mate reminded him of his duty and his resolve; the haunting sounds were ones he had not heard since leaving the monastery. There was no need to trade barbs with the prince; if Qui-Gon thought him a stuffed shirt then so be it.

"My home is a marvel of architecture, the buildings are built right into the mountain. I look forward to showing it to you." He had to fight to keep his smile from his face when Qui-Gon shot him a suspicious look, the prince's surprise at his words a worthy reward for his own restraint.

"Aren't you worried I'll ferret out all your secrets?" asked Qui-Gon.

"On the contrary, I think only good could come of you learning our ways. Calm, patience, tolerance, temper

"I thought you had gardens?"

"We do, the land directly around the monastery is kept clear during the growing season and we have learned what plants grow best in the snow during the off-season." Obi- Wan was saved from having to explain exactly how the brothers kept the winter at bay for an entire growing season by a shout from several of the guards. He and Qui- Gon reined in their horses.

"Look, more prints!" shouted Olie, pointing at the light covering of snow that easily showed the tracks they were following. "The horses we follow were joined by others, looks like four at least."

PART 39

"They are safe, my lord." Obi-Wan kept his voice calm, the soft tone penetrating the loud ruccus far more efficiently than if he had bellowed. The guards and the prince grew quiet, faces turning expectantly to him.

"You say that when we have proof before our very eyes that they were waylaid by riders. What game are you playing?" the prince demanded.

"Those are not the tracks of your enemy. They are the tracks of an escort from the monastery."

"How can you be so sure?" demanded Qui-Gon, though there was a thread of hope in his voice now that had been absent earlier.

"No one gets this close to the monastery unless we allow it."

The prince laughed, his men joining in. "Unless you allow it? A bunch of monks?"

"Begging your pardon, Kenobi, but the idea of a bunch of monks chasing off a band like the one that torched the estate back there is comical," Lieutenant Olie told him, still chuckling.

"Believe what you will," replied Obi-Wan. "But the party that left the Prince's estate will be discovered, safe and sound, at the monastery. It is my fondest hope that Shmi and Anakin are among their number." Turning his horse, Obi-Wan resumed his gallop, anxious to be home among the men he knew and understood. He could hear Qui-Gon and his guards jesting as they spurred their horses on to catch up to him.

It rankled.

That shamed him; had he really been away from the monastery so long that he had so little control over his emotions - there was no place for pride amongst the order. And it hadn't been so very long at all, scant weeks; it appalled him anew, just how much the decadence and degradation of the court had affected him.

Already Obi-Wan could see a welcoming party assembling at the main gate of the compound, and he guessed that it would contain members of the council. Pater Mundi, Pater Tiin, Pater Koon and Mater Yaddle were easily recognizable as he neared the gate. "Padawan Kenobi." Mundi greeted him coolly.

He reined his horse and dismounted, aware of the disrespect of appearing seated before councilors. Obi-Wan led the horse forward and stepped into Pater Mundi's embrace, feeling tears sting bitterly at the corner of his eyes. He was unworthy of it.

Pater Mundi lay a calm hand against his cheek, some aura of his composure seeping into Obi-Wan, helping him regain control. "You and your companions have been expected. We had foreseen your arrival."

The prince arrived next; taking a look at Obi-Wan, he also dismounted. "Pater Mundi, his highness Prince Qui-Gon, heir of the Jinn Throne." Obi-Wan was pleased Qui-Gon had followed his example. Another unpredictable manifestation of diplomatic acumen.

Mundi impassively regarded the soldiers who formed their guard.

"We come in peace," Qui-Gon explained courteously. "These men were here for my defense during our journey, as we had reason to suspect foul play and outside attack on subjects of my kingdom."

"Men of war must surrender their swords to enter our enclave," Mundi spoke in his cool, measured voice. "Is this agreeable to you, Prince Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon's hands went to the buckle of his sword belt in answer.

Obi-Wan supervised as the guard surrendered their swords. He would see to it that Qui-Gon was guarded at all times in the monastery, by himself or by good men and true.

Pater Mundi finished introducing Qui-Gon to the other councilors, and Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon's agitated impatience in the set of his spine even though his face and words were quite polite. He could tell Pater Mundi saw it too, watching Qui-Gon keenly though unobtrusively. "Now that the courtesies have been observed, I believe there is a reunion you are anxious to make." Mundi gestured calmly and the great gate swung open.

A flash of gold hair darted through, and Qui-Gon shouted. "Anakin!" The boy barreled into his arms and Qui-Gon swung him around, holding him tight, then buried his head in the boy's hair. Again Obi-Wan was aware of Mundi watching the tender reunion and judging it minutely. He hoped his superior had come to the same conclusions Obi-Wan himself arrived at regarding Qui-Gon's affection for his son.

Then Qui-Gon's eyes locked with Shmi's as she stepped through the gate, dignified in her plain skirts with her long silvering hair coiled at the back of her neck. Qui- Gon held open his arms and with a gentle smile, she walked into them. Obi-Wan watched as they hugged warmly, realising that the love between them ran deeply, though it no longer burned with the passion that had produced Anakin.

Anakin watched them, rolling his eyes, but he waited a moment or two before interupting the embrace.

Obi-Wan felt himself smile as the boy tugged on Qui-Gon's breeches, his willingness to wait any longer for more of his father's attentions at an end. "We were attacked!" exclaimed the lad, though he didn't sound in the least upset by the notion, quite the opposite in fact.

The prince picked the boy up again, holding him in one arm, the other slung over Shmi's shoulder. "I know," he told his son. "We saw the manor. I was very worried about you and your mother."

"It wasn't that scary-- it was kind of neat," Anakin proclaimed with an air of ease only the young could manage. "We were getting ready for bed and all of a sudden there was this terrible yell from outside and men dressed in black came crashing in through the windows and the door. We couldn't even see their faces. Most of the guards started to fight them, but Cap'n Panaka and Sergeant Antilles took me and mom out the kitchen window. Lieutenant Tarpals was there with two horses and we all got on them and started riding. When I looked back I could see the stable was on fire. I've never seen anything like it!" Anakin's childish voice had risen during his tale and he all but cheered.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but closed it again before saying anything; it was not his place to chide the boy, not that he expected Qui-Gon would. The prince surprised him, his voice quiet and serious as he addressed his son. "Men lost their lives in that battle, Anakin. They lost them protecting you and your mother. They had families who will be as upset about loosing them as I was when I thought that you were among the dead."

Anakin blinked at him, looking surprised. Obi-Wan wondered suddenly if anyone had ever advised Qui-Gon so helpfully, with an eye toward making him grow as a man.

"Yes, sir." Anakin's exuberance dimmed to a thoughtful, more respectful demeanor. "I'm sorry, sir."

Qui-Gon ruffled the lad's hair, then pulled him into another tight hug. Shmi smiled quietly, looking tearful, and she bent to gather them both into her arms. Obi-Wan stepped back, feeling suddenly ill-at-ease, not really a part of this tableau. An interloper. Temporary, unworthy. His heart ached; he let himself feel the pain, hoping it would help him learn his place.

Pater Mundi's keen eyes cut toward him, judging him as insightfully as they had judged Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan flushed slightly and drew himself into a posture of perfect serenity. If that was all he could do, he would do it.

Greetings finished, they entered the gate and strolled through the courtyard. Obi-Wan's brother monks and fellow padawans eyed him curiously even as they came to take the horses to the monastery stable.

"Perhaps now I will learn why you wear a braid." Qui-Gon was at his elbow and Obi-Wan hadn't even noticed his approach. Being back at home was no excuse for dropping his guard, and he flushed again.

"It designated your bodyguard as a Padawan of our order," Pater Mundi spoke smoothly. "He did not share his rank with you?"

"I did not think it mattered." Qui-Gon sidestepped the question. "My father's trust that you would send the best person for the job is complete." Nevertheless, Obi-Wan could feel the curiosity in the gaze that Qui-Gon turned his way. Coupled with the disapproval he could feel emanating from Pater Mundi it made him feel like a small boy caught in a lie.

He'd told himself he'd kept his rank secret for fear of losing what respect the prince did hold for him, was the truth that he had suffered from Pride? The joy he felt at returning home faded somewhat; the list of his sins was growing long indeed.

PART 40

Pater Mundi assigned several padawans to show the prince and his retinue to their quarters. "I hope you will forgive me your highness, but I have a number of matters to see to," the old monk said with a simple bow. "You will attend me, Obi-Wan."

"I understood that Kenobi was a part of my staff now," protested Qui-Gon.

"I can assure your majesty that you are safe within these walls. You have no need of a bodyguard while you are with us."

Pater Mundi did not wait for an answer, instead turning and heading calmly toward his office. Obi-Wan glanced at Qui- Gon, noting the prince's frown at being so summarily dismissed. When Qui-Gon turned to him, Obi-Wan also bowed and with a soft "your majesty," hurried to catch up to Pater Mundi.

Knowing he was in disgrace, Obi-Wan pulled the cowl of his robe up over his head to accept and acknowledge his shame. He followed Mundi gracefully, burning with shame every step of the way, feeling eyes follow him. Shame. A definite symptom of foolish pride.

When he arrived in Pater Mundi's small cell, his superior was already seated at its spindly desk, tapping the parchment of Obi-Wan's letter against his thigh. "Your letter was most illuminating, Padawan Kenobi." He unrolled it and scanned its words. "It tells me much that you intended, and perhaps things that you did not."

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling his face crimson. It had been easier to confess his weakness in an abstract forum, on paper, than it was to admit it in person. "The prince has it in him to be a good man, but I do not have it in me to guide him." The words tasted bitter like ashes.

"Has he bedded you?" Mundi's words were so calm their import was nearly lost on Obi-Wan. He blinked and then felt his face go even hotter.

"No, Pater. I have not succumbed to that temptation." Yet. Light send that it could never happen now. He was safe again.

"What course would you choose for your future?" Again so calm, as though Obi-Wan's entire life did not hang on the words.

"I would take penance. Solitude, mortification of flesh, fasting to increase spiritual purity. I would renew my studies and work to regain my place within the Order. I want to be a Knight." Obi-Wan heard his voice quaver with the last sentence, the depth of his emotion coming out.

Pater Mundi nodded thoughtfully. "Only you can know the depths of your heart. Only you can choose your path to wisdom." He turned half away from Obi-Wan and tucked the scroll away, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and beginning to write.

Obi-Wan blinked, realizing that he'd been dismissed. Mundi's coolness did not bode well for his chances of re- acceptance. "Pater, I come to you penitent."

"Do you?" The murmur was distracted. "You may begin your penance, if you wish."

"Does that mean you will allow me to stay?"

Pater Mundi's head came up at that, his sharp gaze cutting through Obi-Wan as it always had. "Does your willingness to make penance depend on my answer?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then I suggest that you begin your penance and meditate on what path you must follow."

"Yes, Pater," replied Obi-Wan. He sat stiffly in his chair, wanting nothing more than to turn from the penetrating scrutiny and leave, but there was still one matter that it was his duty to follow through on.

"Was there anything else," Pater Mundi asked dryly.

"What about the prince?"

"What about him?"

"Will you assign him a new bodyguard, one who is better suited to the task?"

"Why do you care?" Obi-Wan suspected there was more to Pater Mundi's question than met the eye, but he didn't dwell on it.

"I have not yet been relieved of my mission to protect him. It is therefore my duty to make sure that when he leaves our borders, he is protected." Obi-Wan swallowed as he waited for the monk's answer, both dreading and anticipating his release from his duty to Qui-Gon.

"The prince and his party will stay as our guests for a few days. When they are ready to leave, I will assign someone as his bodyguard if you are still bent on refusing to continue with the assignment."

Obi-Wan relaxed, relief filling him. "Thank you, Pater." He rose and bowed deeply, burying his hands deep in the sleeves of his robe. "I will begin my penance."

The scratch of Pater Mundi's quill was his only reply and Obi-Wan made his way quickly from the cell, hoping to remain undisturbed as he made his retreat. It wasn't to be, though; as he reached the courtyard several of his fellow padawans greeted him.

While they were encouraged to commune with the world that surrounded their walls, this was mainly limited to nature and most padawans never encountered people outside of the monastery. Everyone wanted to know what the Court of Jinn was like, what the people were like, dozens of questions peppered him.

By contrast, Obi-Wan didn't want to discuss the food at court or the King's health or Prince Qui-Gon's habits and foibles. Most certainly not the latter. He decided that the first portion of his penance could be a vow of silence.

Bending his head, he refused speech, passing through the mass until a single pair of feet appeared in front of him and refused to move. He lifted his head to find that he was facing one of his best friends, Bant. Her eyes were thoughtful and she grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him away, rescuing him from the throng.

"You've been away such a short time, and yet your eyes have changed," she commented quietly as they hurried down the stone hall toward her quarters. Obi-Wan realized suddenly that Bant was female, and blinked. She was taking him to her bedroom, and yet she was innocent of what that might mean to an outsider... and of the associations it had for Obi-Wan now.

She was as different from Sira as the day from the night. As different as Obi-Wan had once been. Now he hung somewhere in between, perched miserably on a razor's edge.

He went with her nonetheless, and decided that a vow of silence would be as much an indulgence as a penance. Not a good way to begin his retraining. Bant's cell was small, with only a simple bed and a wooden desk and chair, like his own, like they all were. Even Pater Mundi's chamber boasted no more room or amenities.

He stood in the doorway, hands buried in the sleeves of his robe to keep from fiddling, watching as his friend sat on the edge of the bed. Finally she rolled her eyes. "Just sit down, Obi-Wan," she said, pulling the chair out from the desk.

He did so, suddenly feeling more comfortable in the familiar surroundings. He tried to gather his thoughts, thankful as she waited patiently for him to begin.

"It was nothing like what I expected. Nothing like I could have ever imagined."

"It's changed you," she suggested and Obi-Wan nodded.

"It was a test of my character and I'm afraid I have made a very poor showing."

She shook her head compassionately, her big brown eyes sympathetic. "Obi-Wan, you were always one to demand the impossible of yourself, and then condemn yourself if you didn't achieve it. Surely it isn't as bad as you think."

"Bant..." his voice trailed away. He couldn't describe what had happened to him without allowing it to contaminate her purity.

"The outer world is beautiful and seductive. It's unimaginably insidious. It gets inside you and eats you from the inside out, before you ever know it's come inside. A sword won't defeat it... and that is the only true defense I know. I have our order's teachings, but all they serve to do is show what a failure I am."

She shook her head, baffled. "Others have gone out and returned to us unchanged, Obi-Wan."

"Then perhaps it is a flaw in me, and only in me." He speculated miserably. "If that is so, then it is so. I will be glad that no other could be so easily corrupted."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, voice soft.

"I am to begin penance immediately and I can only pray that Pater Mundi will allow me to remain with the order despite my failures."

She looked shocked. "Surely it is not as bad as that!"

Obi-Wan shrugged, again not wishing to contaminate her with the specifics.

"Have you broken your vows?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I may as well have," he replied quietly, knowing the words to be true, though he had not until now completely admitted it to himself. He smiled sadly at Bant, watching as her mouth opened on a silent 'oh'. "I should go, I have a lot to think about."

His friend just nodded, brown eyes large and wet with unshed tears.

He headed toward his own cell, hands folded back inside his sleeves, for warmth this time; he'd never felt so cold in these familiar halls, or so alone.