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PART 41

For perhaps the first time in his long and meticulously documented life, Ki Adi Mundi did not feel like writing. He trimmed his quill and put away the parchment, steepling his fingers and settling back in his rickety chair to think.

Poor Kenobi. So earnest and so anguished. He would serve a lifetime's penance willingly for the chance to be a Knight. It was a pity indeed that he was not meant to be one. Kenobi's destiny was not to be that of his brothers in arms. He had a greater fate in store for him.

Even the most dubious point of prophecy, the unbelievably difficult healing... the boy had managed it on his own, and hardly seemed to realize what he had done. It was just another proof of the strong connection between Kenobi's life and Prince Jinn's.

Foretold when he was first brought to be trained, his destiny hung large in so many possible futures that it had been almost certain this day would come. Unusual when a foretelling was so strong. Unusual and powerful. Mundi suspected he would not have to see to Kenobi's removal from the monastery. The lad would probably arrive at the need to go on his own.

Still, it distressed him to see the lad's pain, and shamed him to know of his own part in causing it. While Kenobi certainly would have been upset to learn that his destiny lay elsewhere, it would have eased his conscience to know that his attraction to the prince was not merely the temptations of flesh proving too strong for him; vows were much harder to endure when hearts were involved.

The foretellings were never revealed to the novitiates who came to the monastery to be trained. Recruited or rejected when they arrived, based on the telling, it would have been tempting fate to give them any hint of what was divined. Instead, what was seen was written down in one of the order's most sacred books, to which only Pater Mundi himself and two others were privy.

That such a thing even existed was a carefully guarded secret; kings and other men would pay dearly for the possible knowledge of the future it held. At times like these, however, when one of his monks was suffering needlessly, it galled him not to be able to share what he knew, or at least what he possibly knew.

At the same time, who was he to judge whether or not this suffering and penance was not exactly what Kenobi needed to grow into the man he needed to be?

For that matter, a little suffering and penance would benefit Prince Jinn. Mundi had his own sources regarding the Prince's behavior. Kenobi might be shocked at the improvement in it since his advent at the castle. Goodness knows, Prince Qui-Gon had been a hellion and a rebel since the day of his birth. Always questioning rules and responsibilities, and with no firm hand to guide him into manhood. It was little wonder he was still wild like a youth. Obi-Wan balanced him well, even though he did not believe so.

Mundi summoned Mater Yaddle. "When Obi-Wan goes to take his penance on the mountain, see to it that the Prince hears of his going."

She nodded, her sage-grey eyes thoughtful. "He has already asked for Kenobi's return."

"They have bonded strongly, if unwillingly." Mundi nodded contemplatively. "It is well. They will have need of strength in the times to come."

"Will you insist he go with the prince?"

"No," said Mundi, allowing himself a small smile. "I shouldn't need to. Kenobi's sense of duty will not allow him to eschew this mission. He will choose to leave when the prince and his party do. I only wish he would come to realize he is not meant to be one of us as easily."

"We cannot tell him-" began Yaddle but Mundi held up his hand, silencing her.

"I am aware of that, but it does not make it any easier to sit and watch him suffer, saying nothing."

"Knowledge earned is far more useful than knowledge freely given."

"Thank you, Mater Yaddle," he replied dryly. In many ways he envied Kenobi his place outside of these cloistered walls. But regret, envy and yearning for what one could not have had no place in a life well-lived. Kenobi would grow to learn that as well.

PART 42

Qui-Gon paced the cell he had been assigned, twelve steps in one direction, turn, twelve in the opposite direction, turn, and begin again. A simple single bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe and two more chairs. How could anyone live like this?

He flung himself in one of the chairs, grimacing at the lack of padding on the simple wooden seat. The height of luxury. His guide, a young monk whose innocent face had made Kenobi look like a debauched satyr, had informed him that the guest rooms were far more ostentatious than their cells. He shook his head with disbelief as he looked around the stark room.

Ostentatious. It suddenly explained a great deal about his bodyguard's behavior. The castle and its inhabitants must have seemed so decadent to those changeable eyes. How could the boy have seen his father's court as anything but profligate, pretentious, drowning in its own decadence.

"Surely family quarters contain more luxuries than you imply," Qui-Gon protested, carefully keeping his voice cordial.

"Family quarters?" The young monk blinked, looking confused. "We live singly, Your Highness."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Singly?"

The monk smiled, helpful and the faintest touch condescending. "Yes, Prince Qui-Gon. Our work leaves no room for families. All novitiates take a vow of chastity upon entering the monastery, and we keep this vow until we choose to leave the order, or until our time comes to rejoin the forces of the universe." He looked at Qui-Gon with clear, guileless eyes.

"But..." Qui-Gon heard himself begin to sputter, and let his question die away.

"The entire monastery is our family, and serenity replaces passion. Our works give us purpose." He sounded almost as though he were reciting, matter-of-fact and completely without distress.

"What would be the penalty for breaking this vow?" Qui-Gon heard the question emerge with the intensity of a swordthrust, and his heart and breath hung still, awaiting the answer.

"Expulsion from the order." The monk frowned very slightly, confused by Qui-Gon's concern. "Exile."

"It seems strict." He felt his world spinning with shame, pieces of the puzzle that was Obi-Wan falling into place. He'd been a fool, and a crass one, at that.

"It is our way."

Qui-Gon nodded, letting the moment pass, moving to examine his desk, which held a quill, ink, and sheets of parchment.

"Your wife and son are housed in the next room," the boy told him.

"She's not my wife," Qui-Gon answered idly.

"Oh." It sounded choked and Qui-Gon turned to find a familiar expression on the unfamiliar face.

"I'm afraid our ways are quite different from your own," Qui-Gon told the monk. "I wouldn't make a very good monk."

The young man smiled through his blush and looked away. Qui-Gon realized suddenly he was waiting to be dismissed. On the verge of doing just that, he stopped and asked instead, "Would you be so kind as to show me where I could find Pater Mundi?"

"Of course," answered the boy, though he looked surprised. Qui-Gon followed him out of the room and down the hall.

"So why do padawans wear the braid?" he asked, breaking the eerie silence that seemed to fill the halls.

"It is a symbol of apprenticeship." The lad reached to trail his braid through his palm, smiling with pleasure. "When I was first accepted as an apprentice, my hair was cut short, except for this lock, which I was allowed to grow. Its length marks my devotion to discipline and the duration of my service to the order. One day, when I am found worthy to become a Knight, it will be cut from me by my mentor and master. Then it will become a symbol both of my success and of his, and he will hold it as a badge of honor."

"Oh." Qui-Gon knew he sounded nonplused, watching as the lad touched his braid with reverence. He remembered Bruck suddenly, and his own command for his young lover to braid his hair like Obi-Wan's. His face flushed with painful heat. No wonder Kenobi had shaved the offending braid away. He'd been an insensitive brute with Obi-Wan, disrespectful and indifferent to everything that made up his bodyguard's beliefs.

"And the beads in the braid?" This lad had two, but Obi- Wan wore three, two red and one yellow.

"Honors in service. Tasks accomplished with success and proper humility."

Qui-Gon brightened. Perhaps Obi-Wan would earn such an honor for having saved Qui-Gon's life with his healing. Maybe that was even the reason that Mundi had fetched him away.

"Here we are," said the young monk, interupting Qui-Gon's thoughts. He knocked on the door, even though it was open and waited until a quiet voice bid them enter, whereupon he escorted Qui-Gon into the small space.

"The Prince wishes to speak with you, Pater."

"Thank you, Wedge," Pater Mundi said to the boy who then bowed to them both and disappeared back out of the door.

"Please, your majesty, have a seat," Mundi told him. "I've just got to finish up this letter and then I'll be able to give you my full attention."

Qui-Gon sat in the only unoccupied chair and looked around. He probably shouldn't have been surprised to discover that this room was no larger than the living cells he'd noticed as they'd made their way here. There was no bed of course, and the desk was bigger, but this was no luxurious place of work. He supposed that Mundi's own cell was the same as all the others. Qui-Gon wondered how the man managed to command so much respect when there was nothing to set him apart.

His clothes were the same as Kenobi's had been, in fact Kenobi's had been newer and lacking the ink stains that covered Mundi's. The man wore no jewel or insignia, there was no air of superiority or command about him. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, a simple monk.

Qui-Gon inclined his head to him. "Thank you for the audience, Councilor."

"Pater Mundi will do, Prince Qui-Gon." Mundi continued writing. He had something of the same serenity Obi-Wan did, only polished to the consistency of finely blown glass. A bubble of purity around which any untoward happenstance or feeling would part seamlessly, leaving him untouched.

Mundi's pen scratched tirelessly as he wrote, his face a pure blank that made Qui-Gon feel uneasy. Would Obi-Wan look like that one day? Would he lose youth and beauty and capacity to care? Would a letter matter more to him than concern for people? It chafed Qui-Gon's independent soul. He wanted to think for himself, to do for himself... not to obey some arbitrary rule and strive for some impossible standard of self-denial.

Again, he had to remind himself that was a selfish viewpoint. He'd only just resolved to hold a new respect for Obi-Wan's beliefs; this attitude made a poor start for keeping that vow.

At last Mundi finished his letter, rolling the parchment and tying it with brown homespun string. Simple. Elegant movements that gracefully minimized motion. He set aside his quill and turned to Qui-Gon at last, folding his hands placidly. "I understand you have concerns about your bodyguard?"

"For weeks he has been my shadow and now he has been whisked away."

"Surely you do not fear for your safety within our walls? I can assure you that you and your party will come to no harm here," Mundi told him.

"I realize that, and while I appreciate your hospitality, especially in regard to my family, I would like to be on my way home. If you would return the boy to me, we will trouble you no longer." Qui-Gon surprised himself with his words, with the sense of urgency that colored them. What was driving him to be gone from this place as soon as possible?

Mundi waved his hand, clearly dismissing Qui-Gon's concerns. "A few extra people will not put us out, our numbers expand and contract regularly as our members come and go on various errands and missions. Besides, if you wish to leave with Padawan Kenobi, you shall have to wait until he returns."

"Returns?" Qui-Gon sat up in his chair, glaring at the calm monk. "He's gone? Where? Why was I not informed?"

"Informed? I'm sorry, your majesty, but that isn't how things work here. Nor is Obi-Wan beholden to you while he is within these walls -he does not need your permission to come and go. And his penance is not for you and I to discuss, rather it is a matter between he and his faith."

Qui-Gon sat back, struck speechless by Mundi's words. "Penance?" He inquired carefully. "For successfully completing his mission, protecting my life from harm, healing the most grievous wound I have ever sustained using all the resources of his body and mind... penance?" His voice had risen to thunder inside the tiny, echoing cell, genuine rage swelling in him.

Mundi sat as calmly as Qui-Gon had suspected he would when under attack, totally unstirred by the genuine distress his words had generated. It sickened Qui-Gon with impotent fury to realize he cared so little.

"It is not your place to judge whether a monk in my enclave requires penance or not. Nor is it given you the right to inquire why. If Kenobi chooses to share the information with you, he will do so. If not, you should respect the way of life he has chosen." Mundi observed as calmly as he might have commented on a cloud passing before the sun.

Qui-Gon stopped short with his mouth open, his next shout pre-empted in midstream. "Where is he, and what is he doing?"

He expected no answer, and was therefore shocked when one came without resistance. "He has gone to the mountain." Mundi tilted his head toward one side, indicating direction.

"When will he return?" Qui-Gon inquired sharply.

"If he returns, it will be in his own time."

Qui-Gon stood, his palm slapping onto the desktop with a sharp crack. "If?!"

Mundi sat back, lifting his chin to study the prince's expression. "If." Perfectly level.

"You cold-hearted bastard!" he ground out, voice almost choked with fury.

"It is not my place to interfere with the choices of the men and women who choose to serve the order."

"Choices of the...he chose this?"

"Only Padawan Kenobi knows what is in his heart, knows how deep his transgressions may or may not be. It is not my place to do more than guide."

"I'm going after him," snarled Qui-Gon, sick with the possibilities of where Obi-Wan's 'choice' might lead him and of his own role in blackening that innocent heart.

"I cannot stop you," Mundi told him, as calm and unruffled as ever. "It is not my place to tell you what is in your heart either."

PART 43

Obi-Wan's own cell was the same as every other cell in the monastery and yet, as he walked through the open door, he felt the welcome comfort of it wash over him. He hung his robe over the back of his chair and removed his boots, setting them at the foot of the bed. With a heavy heart, he folded himself into a lotus position on the cold stone floor.

He thought it would take time to achieve a meditative trance, but it was practically effortless. Whether it was the familiar room, the aura of his fellow brothers, or his desperate need, he was soon pondering the matter in the way thousands had before him. He let himself drift, feeling the familiar aura of home and the surrounding chill of the mountains. Their purity beckoned him from afar, a beacon to his weary soul.

The calm energies around him, usually so congenial to his spirit, felt oddly remote, and he wondered if someone had shielded him to keep him from contaminating his brothers and sisters in arms. The only other energy he could truly sense burning brightly was... he reached for it, then realized he was touching the Prince's aura, alive with fire and purpose. He'd never meditated to find Prince Qui-Gon before, though he'd sought him once at the very beginning, and sensed the pale shadow of this.

He hadn't been able to sense him so strongly at that time, though. And in truth, he shouldn't be able to touch the man's energy so readily now; the Prince had no training in these disciplines and he was not reaching out toward Obi- Wan himself in this half-limbo between body and spirit.

Obi-Wan found himself comparing the fire to the quiet chill of the mountains, its dance to their stillness, the soot of its burning to their white purity. He burned too, kindled by Qui-Gon's flame, alien to the people and the mountains he loved. Perhaps he needed to fill himself with the silent cold to quench its flames.

Obi-Wan rose, stripping himself and tossing his robe and tunic and trousers away. His boots clunked on the stone floor, and he lay spread on it, his penis chilled and withered by the hard surface. Yes. The cold was what he needed. But it was not enough; even as he lay there, his body warmed the surface of the stone, dulling its effect on him. He needed more.

Obi-Wan rose and took up his robe again, pulling it around his bare body. Leaving his boots, he slipped out into the hall and took the back way out of the compound, choosing his route to avoid as many people as possible. His bare feet made no sound as he traveled past the kitchens and the laundry room and he felt like a ghost, haunting familiar but no longer his own territory.

The thought gave him pause and when he reached the back gate, he turned and looked out over the buildings and courtyard that made up the monastery proper, that feeling of detachment returning as he surveyed his home. It seemed somehow foreign to him now and half closing his eyes, he could easily superimpose the Jinn Castle over its outlines. He felt a sadness pour through his body; was he so tainted that he could no longer call this place home?

With renewed determination he slipped through the gate and began the climb upward. He followed a path for some way, the tramped down snow cold under his soles. When the path ended at the outer reaches of the monastery gardens he looked up. The point he had in mind was a half-hour's hard work away, but it was remote and high enough that he would feel removed from all but the mountain and the sky.

His feet had grown numb though the rest of his body was warm within the confines of his robe. The chill moved up to his shins as his first step from the path found him almost knee deep in the snow. He revised his estimate to an hour and decided the labor would make a good companion to the mortification of his flesh; he would scour the filth from his mind and body with sweat and ice.

The snow became less deep as the way grew steeper. Obi-Wan had to cling to the hillside in several spots, especially near the outcropping he was aiming for, but he completed the journey without mishap.

Removing his robe, he folded it neatly and laid it on a rock bared by the sun. That same sun danced over his skin, warming him despite the snow he stood in the midst of and for a moment he let his head drop back, enjoying the warm caress of the light. Then he reminded himself what he was here for.

Obi-Wan gazed down at the powdery snow enclosing his cold feet, and quietly lay down in a drift on the leeward side of the outcrop. He rolled himself in the pure stinging white until it coated his body, then burrowed his way into the heart of the drift, moving with slow patience. He regulated his breathing, sending his blood pulsing through the extremities of his body to protect them from damage, and once again slipped into the trance, losing himself in pure numb white.

The icy silence of the mountain owned him, slowly purging him of himself, leaving only a beating heart and the slow swish of cooling blood. He lay still and let the icy snow cradle him. It reached deeply into him, and he let it... it must wipe him clean. Slower and lower, he drifted into pure white oblivion. Unaware of time except in the rhythm of his slowing heart. Seeking the whiteness. Smothering out material concerns and converging on his life. All that must remain would be the spark of existence. Not the flame of lust, not the smudge of vanity or pride.

But as the cold drove him deeper, dangerously so, those things did not vanish. They condensed, wedded to the core of him... a part of him, a part of what kept him alive. One with the energies that moved him. And the pure white silence was his enemy, but he was too deep now; he could not stir himself.

Well, then. In serenity, he could find his grave, and in doing so, retain his honor. A vanity of its own, that small triumph, but it was all he had left as the cold white pressed hard against the fragile flame of his life, tempting him with surrender.

Eternity hung between beats of his heart, beckoning, calling with a soft, quiet voice.

The snow held him in the only lover's embrace he would know if he let go, the mountain cradled him like the mother he had left behind, so sure of his calling, of the deep seated need of his purpose. Had this truly been his calling? To come, to learn and grow and die, barely fully grown, not yet a Knight?

To surrender now would leave him pure, his vows unbroken.

And his duty undone. His duty to the order, to the prince, to himself.

Lost in that world of white, a heartbeat away from death's even colder embrace, he realized that he could not surrender. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps merely that same stubbornness that had borne him to the monastery in the first place, but he could not let go without fulfilling his obligations. At the very least he owed the prince the courtesy of informing him that a new bodyguard would be assigned to protect him; he owed himself and the order the courtesy of completing the task he had been assigned.

He had thought himself strong and capable and instead had discovered his flesh and spirit both to be weak, running from his duty like a frightened child the first time he was tested.

The wide world was suddenly his enemy, the snow trapping him beneath its crust and he struggled against it. He fought against the clinging cold, limbs flailing, searching for breath. He pushed and he strained against its hold, searching for the light, for air, and with a stunning suddenness burst from the snow, mouth open wide as he gasped for air.

He was shivering, his body wet, chilled and weak, like a babe newly torn from its mother's womb and he crawled over to his robe and wrapped it around himself. His circulation began to respond now that he was out of the chilling blanket of snow, but the sun was sinking low, and night winds were already rising, cutting at him with cruel teeth that would turn far colder than his snowbank when the last of the light faded from the sky.

He got up and began to stumble down through the tracks he'd made on his way up. His feet were numb, and in danger of frostbite... even the loss of a single toe would spoil his balance for fighting. He tried to hurry and fell in the snow, wetting his cloak. The wind pierced him even more keenly now, and he began to shiver, feeling his fingers lose sensation as well.

Sheer willpower kept him standing as the shadows stretched to eclipse the sun. A skiff of snow skirled down in front of his face, blown from the drifts higher up the mountain, stinging his eyes and wetting his cold face. Obi-Wan licked his lips, dry and cracking in the chill air. Another fifteen minutes. Perhaps twenty-five in his current condition. It would be dark by the time he returned.

He realized his feet were bleeding, cut by the cruel stones, a crimson crust of ice solidified around his heels and toes. He was leaving red-spotted prints trailing behind him.

He fell again, his robe growing heavy as the wet began to freeze into ice, weighing him down. He tried to get up and failed and tried again.

The cold had his limbs now, the icy pins fading, leaving behind lassitude and warmth. He knew, with sudden and simple clarity, that he wasn't going to make it; the mountain had won him after all.

PART 44

Qui-Gon strode from Mundi's office, following the corridor into the courtyard and searching for someone who could tell him how to find Obi-Wan. He could have asked Mundi, but first he would have had to suppress the urge to wring the man's neck, to make that calm face turn red and then purple, to watch as the dispassionate eyes grew wild and fearful. But then again, Mundi probably would greet death with that same equanimity and that would have maddened Qui-Gon even more.

He barely saw the beauty of the courtyard, the intricately laid stonework and the flowers that bloomed despite the snow surrounding the monastery. There were a number of monks enjoying the quiet of the courtyard, but they all seemed to shrink away from him and Qui-Gon realized that he was glowering.

With great effort he forced himself calm, to paint his face with a pleasant mask. It didn't seem to work, and he guessed they could tell the difference between forced calm and true serenity.

Suddenly he spied a young woman he'd glimpsed earlier with Obi-Wan, and veered from his path to confront her. "Padawan," the strange title came to his lips. "I am seeking Padawan Kenobi. I was told he had gone to the mountain. Can you help me?"

She blinked, displaying long lashes and liquid-brown eyes. In another time and circumstance he would have been tempted to flirt, to try to interest her in his bed. Now he only seethed with impatience. She glanced up at the darkening sky; already torches were being lit in the courtyard.

"Obi-Wan will return when he is ready," she spoke softly, but Qui-Gon could see a flicker of uncertainty behind her facade of calm. Good. The bastards hadn't destroyed her spirit yet.

"Night is falling," Qui-Gon pointed out. "Perhaps he has been injured and is unable to return. He might die in the cold."

"There is no death..." her voice faltered, and she clasped her cloak tightly around her body.

Qui-Gon shook rkness. She opened a gate in the wall, the sound of the latch loud as she raised it. "Follow the path to its end. Obi-Wan's tracks should be easy enough to read in the snow."

"Thank you," said Qui-Gon, glad that someone at least seemed to care about Obi-Wan's well-being.

"Good luck," he heard her call out softly as he held the torch high and started up the path she'd indicated.

The path seemed interminably long and by the time it disappeared beneath his boots the darkness was complete. He bent over the ground, holding the torch low, looking for Obi-Wan's tracks. He passed them by twice before deciding that the slender footsteps here could only be Kenobi's. "Sith!" he cursed as he realized the boy hadn't been wearing his boots.

The sense of urgency was back, tugging at him in a most unfamiliar manner, but he heeded its warning, following the tracks as quickly as he could.

He nearly tripped over Kenobi about forty paces in.

He sank to the ground, hands reaching out automatically. He cried out as his hands hit the boy's robe-- it was frozen solid. Fear ran through him; was Obi-Wan dead?

He had to break the limp body out of the ice-- the boy wasn't frozen yet, at least, though Obi-Wan was pale and cold, his bare feet bloody and crusted with ice. Qui-Gon skinned the frozen cloak off him and replaced it with his own ermine-lined one, wrapping his bodyguard tenderly.

Obi-Wan dangled limply in his arms, and Qui-Gon turned, staggering back toward the monastery compound as quickly as he could manage. He'd stir those complacent bastards within an inch of their very souls if that's what it took to get help for Kenobi.

He staggered up to the wooden door and kicked it hard, heedless of pain in his toes or scuffs on his riding boot. "Bring healers and hot water! Immediately!"

The door swung open immediately to reveal Bant. Her hand rose over her mouth as she stared in horror at Obi-Wan's blue lips and his white face, fingers and toes mottled with the onset of frostbite. She scampered out, raising an alarm cry; Qui-Gon stalked in and detoured into the kitchens, laying Obi-Wan out next to the embers of the supper cookfire.

He cradled the lad against his chest, choked with grief, watching snow finally begin to melt out of Obi-Wan's hair and lashes, pale bloody pools of water about his feet. He was afraid to chafe the damaged toes and fingers for fear of causing even more injury, so instead he reached for a discarded kettle of thin soup and trickled it through Obi-Wan's lips in small doses, hoping to warm him from within.

A few scuttles of coal thrown onto the fire in between spoonfuls of soup, and soon the kitchen was sweltering, sweat popping out on his brow, but Obi-Wan remained pale and still. His heart barely fluttered against Qui-Gon's palm, beating too slowly and too faintly. Qui-Gon swore viciously, not giving a damn about the monks and padawans who had begun trickling in.

"Warm blankets," he snapped. "We need to wrap him. Where are the healers?"

They put blankets in the bread-ovens, heating them as quickly as possible, and soon the acrid smell of singed wool permeated the air, but Qui-Gon didn't notice it, wrapping Obi-Wan and then re-wrapping him in freshly heated blankets.

Then Pater Mundi was there, and another councilor whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember. The councilors laid hands on Kenobi and began ministering to the frost damage on his toes and fingers, chanting soft prayers for focus.

He let them do their work, but refused to relinquish his position, standing guard over his bodyguard, glowering at the two monks as they went about their healing.

It seemed to take a terribly long time and neither of them looked particularly hopeful when they were done. But surely frostbite was a simple matter when compared to his own injuries that Obi-Wan had healed. Surely Mundi and the other councilor were far more adept at such matters than the mere student his bodyguard had proven to be?

"Well," asked Qui-Gon as they finished, "is he going to be all right?"

"We've done what we can," Mundi responded quietly. "It should be enough."

"Should be? You aren't trying hard enough. I know what you can do," Qui-Gon pulled open his blouse, showing his unmarked belly. "I was dying and now there isn't even a scar."

Pater Mundi came around and examined him closely, then closed his eyes, pressing his hand against the skin where Qui-Gon indicated the wound had been. Qui-Gon could feel something touch him inside, the way silk slid over his skin. It stopped when Pater Mundi moved away again.

"Remarkable," said the monk. "I knew he had healed you, but there isn't a trace left to indicate you were hurt in the first place. It is outside of the breadth of our experience."

Qui-Gon felt his eyes narrow. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Quite simply that you should be dead. From his description of the wound, I doubt that even our best monks trained in the healing arts could have saved your life... and yet Kenobi did."

"How?"

"I have no answers for you, your majesty. You must do as we all do along this life--journey and discover your own answers."

"And Obi-Wan?"

"When he wakes he will have to decide for himself. Pulling him off the mountain like you did didn't change the fact that he must make his own decision."

"I saved him," said Qui-Gon.

"And what if he didn't want to be saved?" countered Mundi.

"He was halfway down your Sith-damned mountain, trying to get back here," Qui-Gon replied very quietly, feeling his anger at the man's coldness begin to rage within him once more.

"Then you made the right choice. Trust that he too will make the correct choice when he wakes and resign yourself to abide by his decision."

Qui-Gon watched him turn and glared at the straight back, but soon turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, who lay as still and as white as a corpse.

PART 45

"Then you have done all you can for him?" Qui-Gon demanded.

"We have." Mundi turned back to answer and slipped his arms into his sleeves. "There are no better healers in the monastery."

Qui-Gon nodded shortly, then bent and hefted Obi-Wan bodily into his arms. He stalked out of the kitchen without further words, plowing through the large assembly of monks and padawans, heedless of polite etiquette. The warmed woollen blanket around Obi-Wan felt rough and scratchy; Qui-Gon yearned for gentle silks and cottons to wrap his bodyguard in, but he had none.

None but the fur of his ermine-lined cloak, and it was already wet and bloody. The rough homespun fabrics the monks provided would have to suffice.

Shmi appeared as he stalked into the main hall, leading him with quiet grace toward their sparsely furnished suite of rooms. Her lined brow was tight with distress, but Qui-Gon hardly noticed, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's waxen face. "Thank you," he managed as she pushed the door open, dismissing her from his mind.

She lingered, pushing back the blankets on the narrow cot so Qui-Gon could place Obi-Wan on it, building up the fire, sending a padawan for more coal. Anakin poked his head in, subdued and worried; Qui-Gon managed to spare him a reassuring smile, even though he felt his own low spirits keenly.

"He's still cold." Shmi laid her callused palm on Obi- Wan's forehead.

"I'll warm him then," Qui-Gon snapped, scratching at buttons and buckles. "Useless fools don't care whether he lives or dies. I don't see why he's so loyal to their misguided ways." He threw his clothes onto the floor and slipped into the cot at Obi-Wan's side.

Shmi lingered at the door, and he became aware of her gaze as he drew Kenobi's pale, chill body close to him, twining their legs, bringing Obi-Wan's arms around his chest. Qui- Gon glanced over his shoulder at her, and she smiled a small, sad smile, slowly backing out of the lamplight, shadow taking her slender form. "Care for him well," she whispered, and Qui-Gon felt a pang of guilt, but not enough to abandon his bodyguard and go after her. Not nearly enough.

"Obi-Wan." He whispered, hearing the door click shut behind him, roughing his beard against the smooth, still cheek. "Wake for me, Obi-Wan." He nuzzled a kiss against the unmoving face, brushed his lips across soft red-gold lashes, tender eyelids, the perfect nose and the smooth brow.

He denied himself Obi-Wan's lips, lingering over them merely to feel Kenobi's breath ghost forth and brush his mouth, the reassuring ebb and flow promising that the lad still lived.

He moved to the boy's ear, nuzzling it tenderly and calling softly, but Obi-Wan remained unconscious. At length he resigned himself to it, to a long night of not knowing if the cold would relinquish its hold on his bodyguard.

He had never been a very patient man.

PART 46

Obi-Wan drifted, warm and cozy; he couldn't remember ever being quite so warm. It was an illusion, of course. He'd heard enough stories of men freezing to death that he knew that you believed yourself warm and happy, at peace: the cold's gift in exchange for your breath.

The warmth that surrounded him moved, shifted slightly, and a tendril of cold slid along one of Obi-Wan's legs. His eyes shot open; illusions didn't move. He was at the monastery -he would recognize the heavy gray stone of the wall in front of him in his dreams. It wasn't his own room, but it was a room within the sanctuary of the walls of the order.

The thick cotton and wool blankets that covered him were also familiar, their weight, their texture. What was not was the heat at his back, and around his waist and tangled with his own legs. He looked down at the arm across his waist, recognizing the brawny arm and the thick wrists upon which sat large hands that could be surprisingly delicate. The prince.

The very naked prince.

And he too was naked; he could feel the heat of Qui-Gon's body against his back, coarse hairs tickling the backs of his legs, and Qui-Gon's legs twined with his own. The soft beard was tickling the back of his neck, as was the come and go of the prince's breath.

He'd deliberately avoided thinking about what lay between the prince's legs and belly, but then Qui-Gon shifted, murmuring in his sleep and his shaft, hot like a poker from the fire, pressed tightly against Obi-Wan's naked buttocks. His own shaft lay quiescent between his legs, lax and flaccid against his sac; he supposed he should be thankful for that at least, but he could think of only one reason why he would be in bed, naked, with the Prince.

The fact that he had no recollection whatsoever of how he arrived at this place had very little bearing on the fact that he was indeed here. He drew a shuddering breath, wondering how he had passed from his resolve to do penance into the prince's bed so seamlessly.

He felt his eyes sting, and something deep inside his soul shivered... with joy. Shameful, secret joy. Nothing had ever felt so purely, sinfully good as sharing the prince's bed.

Qui-Gon stirred, and Obi-Wan felt himself shifted to look up into concerned blue eyes. He lay very still, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to confess that he didn't remember.

"You're awake," Qui-Gon whispered. His lips curved suddenly, his hands moving to frame Obi-Wan's face. "I didn't believe you would wake."

Obi-Wan blinked. That didn't sound like they'd had sex. He licked his lips, realizing they were cracked and painful. "What happened?" His voice rasped.

"You went out in the snow. You nearly died." Qui-Gon pulled his long, lean body back, separating them. "I warmed you myself." His voice turned a little gruff, a little abashed. "The healers weren't sure you would recover."

Obi-Wan blinked, memory nagging at him vaguely-- the vast white silence beckoning, the spark of flame that was his soul ebbing. A final view of the faraway walls of the compound, knowing that he could go no further. He frowned, and Qui-Gon's face mirrored the expression.

"You will need to drink." Qui-Gon lifted himself from the bed, mindless of his nudity, rushing about to place the kettle on the fire himself, preparing a mug with sugar for tea. His anxiety over Obi-Wan's condition was more than evident in the urgency of his movements.

Obi-Wan watched him, torn between astonishment, disorientation, and faint but unmistakable disappointment. He brought me back from the brink of death, just as I did for him. Our lives are twined, he realized, blinking. And that was what Pater Mundi had refused to tell him. It was what he'd tried to escape when he went into the snow. There would be no leaving His Highness Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi- Wan must instead find the reserves of strength within himself to do his duty and preserve his purity.

Qui-Gon turned back to him and Obi-Wan fought to keep the blush from his cheeks. He felt unnerved by the prince's sharp stare and searched frantically for some topic of conversation. "The last thing I remember was seeing the glow of fires from the monastery. I thought I'd fallen."

"You had. When I found out where you'd gone, I went after you myself," Qui-Gon told him, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. One of the prince's large hands rested over his forehead. "You've warmed up pretty well."

"You shouldn't have followed me," Obi-Wan said after clearing his throat.

"And why not?" growled Qui-Gon.

"I was led by my conscience to take my penance on the mountain; I had to make the decision to stay or return myself."

The prince was standing again, a thunderous expression on his face, and Obi-Wan found himself shrinking back involuntarily.

"You'd rather be dead?" Qui-Gon asked and Obi-Wan had never heard his voice sound quite so cold.

"No, I had chosen to come down from the mountain. It is not my time; I have a mission I must fulfill."

"Then it was a good thing I came after you," Qui-Gon told him brusquely.

"Only if you understand why you shouldn't have followed me. What would you have done if you'd found me further up, deliberately burrowed into a snowy grave?" challenged Obi-Wan.

"The same thing I did."

"And that is why it was wrong for you to follow me."

"You're just like the rest of them," said Qui-Gon. "Blast you all, you stupid, selfish monks. You act as if giving up when living gets tough is honorable. I may have rough edges and few scruples and very little finesse, but at least I know that when something goes wrong you keep soldiering on. Choosing to die is no choice at all."

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't."

The whistle of the kettle forestalled any more conversation and Obi-Wan watched as the prince brewed the tea with sharp efficiency. He thought about getting up, but his limbs felt water-weak, so he lay still and let Qui-Gon make tea for him, watching the prince pour steaming water and lash the sugar into the tea before bringing it.

The prince had to slide an arm behind his shoulders and prop him up, which embarrassed him badly, but the warmth of the arm and the tea both felt good. He shut his eyes, letting the warm sweet fluid trickle down his throat, glowing richly in his belly. He could feel the sugar beginning to work its way out into his starved body, his head swimming a little with weariness. It would be days before he was strong enough to ride. Prince Qui-Gon would either have to wait or go without him.

He finished the last swallow, swimming in warmth and weariness, his lashes heavy.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice seemed to drift from far away.

"Hmm?" He felt the softness of the bed against his back, the linen of the pillow rough beneath his cheek.

"Why the penance?" Qui-Gon sounded troubled, but he was drifting. "Did you truly want to die?"

Dreams had him, and he was floating; his mouth would not answer his mind's call. Just as well. Obi-Wan surrendered to the tide of sleep, knowing that this time he would wake well, safe, and warm.

PART 47

Qui-Gon watched as his bodyguard's face grew lax, smoothing out in sleep until he could have been made of wax but for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was disturbed by their conversation, brief though it had been. These monks seemed to hold little value on life, especially their own. Qui-Gon himself loved life, perhaps with a little too much vigor, but when death finally arrived for him, he would not feel cheated, his life unlived.

Not that he didn't have regrets, but what good did it do to wallow in them?

The ideal they seemed to hold themselves up to; the calm, serene perfection. It was inhuman. He supposed he would never have an answer out of Obi-Wan for his question, but he was not a foolish man. He should be able to figure things out for himself. Mundi had mentioned penance. What was there for Obi-Wan to feel penitent for? For allowing Qui- Gon to be injured, perhaps, but surely that was no call for suicide. Shmi and Anakin's near escape were not adequate explanations either. Obi-Wan had no formal responsibility for them.

It had to be the vow of chastity. Obi-Wan was a young man, healthy and in his prime-- Qui-Gon's inconsiderate and even deliberately cruel sexual antics had probably roused the boy's lust. Religious fanatics, no matter what sect, rarely seemed able to cope with the needs of the body. Disproportionate levels of guilt, punishment of disobedient flesh... his mouth set hard.

He did not understand the compulsion to deny the body, and suspected he never would. But if Obi-Wan was determined to remain chaste to satisfy the demands of his order, it was churlish of Qui-Gon to torment him and taunt him with what he could not have. Not to mention foolish on his own part to continue to desire the boy; Obi-Wan had nearly killed himself doing penance, he was hardly going to turn around and rescind the vow now just because Qui-Gon wished it.

There had been moments during Obi-Wan's tenure as his bodyguard when the two of them had enjoyed each other's company. Obi-Wan was good for him, he could admit that; and it wouldn't hurt the boy any to continue to get a glimpse of the real world in which Qui-Gon walked. It would be a good match, even if he would have to continue to find solace for his body's needs elsewhere.

He had to have faith that Kenobi's return from his self- imposed penance indicated a willingness to return with Qui- Gon to the Jinn Court. If that was not the case, then Qui- Gon's task was clear -convince the monk that his mission was not yet complete, that he could not abandon Qui-Gon now.

A soft knock interrupted his contemplation. "Come," he called out imperiously. It made him smile to realize that his voice did not disturb Kenobi's sleep.

Shmi's worn hands landed on his shoulders. "How is he?" she asked softly.

"He'll live."

She gently squeezed his shoulders. "Will he return with us?"

"I will not leave until he does."

Shmi stood quietly for a few minutes, her dark eyes thoughtful. "I have never heard you speak so of another." Her fingers trailed lightly over his upper arms.

Qui-Gon drew a slow breath. "Perhaps not." He looked up at her, suddenly ashamed. "I am sorry, Shmi, for all that I have not been to you."

"You have always belonged to the Kingdom. And you have given me the greatest gift my life has ever known: Anakin." Her smile forgave him even as it cheered him. "I would not ask for more. When you bought me and brought me to live in the Jinn Palace... then freed me and gave me a son... then gave my son your name..." this time her worn face broke into a truly beautiful smile.

Qui-Gon lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into its palm, feeling tears sting at the corners of his eyes. "And you have given me great gifts as well. Our son, your love and support..." He stroked her slim arm through the rough homespun of her sleeve. "I have always cherished you, and always will."

"Love him well, my Prince." She bent and laid a kiss on the side of his temple.

"As much as he will allow," Qui-Gon muttered gruffly, a little embarrassed.

"Have faith. And patience."

Another knock interrupted them and Shmi went to the door, stepping aside to allow Pater Mundi entrance.

"How is he?" asked the monk and Qui-Gon exchanged an amused glance with Shmi before she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

"I didn't think you cared." Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest and remained seated.

A single eyebrow rose, but otherwise, Mundi's face remained as much a wax statue as Kenobi's pale countenance.

"Just because we do not choose to go charging about, yelling and shouting to the winds, does not mean we are heartless."

"The life you choose is not life at all, it is a half-life, you live as if you were ghosts, leaving nary a mark on the world around you," accused Qui-Gon. Mundi's smile surprised him.

"You say that like it is a bad thing instead of something to be aspired to."

"I cannot imagine living like that."

"And as Prince you should not. You will one day be King-- by definition you will create the history it is our order's duty to record. We do not work against each other, your majesty, but in tandem."

"And him," said Qui-Gon, nodding toward Kenobi. "What role does he play?"

"That is for Obi-Wan to discover; he must find his own path. No amount of rhetoric or shouting will change that. All we can do is support or hinder his efforts."

"And you believe I have been hindering them." The implicit accusation stung; perhaps more so because he had come to the very same conclusion himself earlier.

"Not at all," Mundi said, surprising him again. "He cannot find his path own path if he is not aware that the one he is on is not the only one. Before the mission to your court, Obi-Wan held a very narrow view of the world and his place in it. Growth can be painful, but without it one withers and dies. I see you're surprised to hear me speak thus." Mundi's smile had grown. "Good. I like to think that we might have a thing or two to teach the world as well."

Qui-Gon abruptly realized that he'd forgotten to dress after rising; he'd been in such a hurry to give Obi-Wan his tea that he hadn't even thrown a tunic over his shoulders. Only the corner of a blanket lay over his lap. He flushed, meeting Mundi's eyes with dignity. The coal fire had made the room so warm that he hadn't even noticed the lack. "My bodyguard's well-being comes before my vanity," he commented quietly, and rose to dress calmly. "I regret if I have violated a modesty taboo."

"On the contrary. Your priorities in this matter please me." Mundi politely averted his eyes to Obi-Wan while Qui- Gon pulled on his tunic and trousers.

"I plan to leave the monastery with Shmi and my son as soon as possible. When do you think Obi-Wan will be well enough to travel?"

Mundi returned his gaze to Qui-Gon's face again, still maintaining his maddening mild demeanor. "Perhaps you should discuss that decision with him before discussing it with me."

Qui-Gon stiffened at the rebuke; every step forward with this man pressaged two steps back. As it so often had with Obi-Wan himself in the past few weeks. "Of course," he replied, resolving again to be more considerate of his bodyguard's beliefs, indeed, the boy's way of life.

"I would appreciate it if you would let me know should there be a change in Obi-Wan's condition and in the meantime, if there is anything you or your party needs, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you." Qui-Gon dearly wished he had been able to make the words sound like as much as a dismissal as Pater Mundi had. He prayed that Obi-Wan recovered quickly; he did not relish spending too many nights under this roof.

PART 48

Prince Qui-Gon's prayers were answered, at least in part. Before night fell, Obi-Wan awoke again, and this time he seemed much recovered.

Qui-Gon bustled about, heating the thick vegetable soup that Shmi had brought from the kitchens to his room, and helped Obi-Wan sit up and eat. The lad kept his lap covered self-consciously with the bedcovers. Qui-Gon assumed that the return of his modesty indicated a return of strength; he must be feeling far better.

Obi-Wan ate three bowls of soup before he stopped, his lithe belly noticeably taut and full. Qui-Gon smiled, feeling tenderness swell in his throat. Kenobi avoided his eyes, folding his hands in the bedcovers.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, I would like to have my clothes returned now." Obi-Wan's cheeks were slightly flushed with embarrassment.

"Why?" Qui-Gon took the bowl and set it away to be cleaned later. "You don't need to go anywhere, and the blankets should be enough to keep you warm." Indeed, the room was quite toasty.

"I want to return to my own cell."

Qui-Gon stiffened, confused and hurt. "It's more comfortable here, surely. And there's no need to worry... I've had a second cot brought. You'll sleep on your own."

"That was kind of you, but I would be more comfortable in my own cell." Obi-Wan responded obstinately. His gray eyes flickered up to Qui-Gon's face for a moment, judging his expression, then back down to his folded hands.

"You've hardly recovered--"

"I will walk through the corridors naked if I must."

"You don't have to go that far," Qui-Gon told him grudgingly. "I will send someone for your uniform." And in the meantime he could work to convince the boy he'd be happier staying where he was. Where Qui-Gon could keep an eye on him and make sure the boy didn't try to get back up that stupid mountain.

"What happened to the one I was wearing?" Qui-Gon stiffened at the note of suspicion in the monk's voice, but continued to the door.

"Find Kenobi some clothing," he ordered Tarpals. His guard had taken to the habit of taking turns standing guard at his door.

Tarpals saluted smartly and said "Yes, sir."

Turning back to Kenobi, Qui-Gon let the door close behind him, once again sealing the two of them in. "They had to be removed so you could be warmed. I hope they went into the fire, but who knows what your brothers have done with them."

"Nothing so wasteful I would imagine," replied Obi-Wan softly. "Even if they are unwearable, there are plenty of uses for fine cotton."

"Fine? It's as coarse as a bramble patch."

Obi-Wan said nothing, though his silence spoke volumes.

"If we were at the castle I would have you lying amid the best silks and the warmest wools. You would want for nothing in your recovery."

"The only thing I want is to return to my cell where I may make my recovery on my own."

"Yes, I understand that." Qui-Gon answered impatiently. He forced himself t to do so." Qui-Gon hesitated. He'd offered promises and apologies before; why should the young monk believe him now?

"I am a willful, stubborn man. Perhaps my tutor Depa was right when she said my head was thick of bone and not of brain." Qui-Gon shook his head with frustration. "I have not even been allowed to carry my sword within these walls, and have nothing to swear on." He got up, pacing with agitation. "Nonetheless, I swear to you that I will not ill-treat you again."

Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan's calm, judging gaze with a penitent one of his own. "I understand now why you refused me. Perhaps if you had told me of your vow, I might have acted differently, but that is no apology or reassurance to you, I know." He moved to the bedside. "Come back to the castle and stay by my side, and I will respect your vows and your ways to the utmost of my ability. I cannot promise never to stumble. But I promise to try, and to learn from my errors."

"I will give you my answer in three days," repeated Obi- Wan.

"I wish you would stay and let me care for you. It is the least I could do considering all that you have done for me and the unkind payment I meted out in return."

Qui-Gon noted the flash of anger that appeared in Obi-Wan's eyes before the boy controlled himself. "I have already told you that I wish to return to my cell. It is well and good for you to say that you would have acted differently if you had known of my vow, but my refusal should have been enough. You have always had your own way and cannot fathom being refused. Even now as you profess being changed you attempt to circumvent my protests and have me stay with you rather than return to my cell."

"I will endeavor to do better." Qui-Gon threw himself into his chair and regarded Obi-Wan from beneath lowered lids. The boy was really quite lovely, even in illness; two spots of color rode high on his pale, ghostly white cheekbones, and the silly haircut was beginning to grow on the prince.

The soft pink tongue came out to lick at pale red lips and then Obi-Wan raised his ever-changing eyes to Qui-Gon's face. "You have a lifetime of getting your own way to overcome. I will allow that you are making the attempt. Thank you."

Any comment on Qui-Gon's part was forestalled by a knock at the door. "Come," Qui-Gon called and turned to watch Tarpals escort in a young monk bearing clothing for Obi- Wan.

Qui-Gon took the garments and closed the door again before laying the clothes next to Obi-Wan. Without a word he turned his chair to face the fire and sat in it, giving the monk his privacy.

PART 49

Qui-Gon could hear Obi-Wan moving about behind him and the sound of cotton moving over skin. It seemed to be taking an innordinate amount of time for Kenobi to get dressed, but finally the boy cleared his throat. "I'm ready now, thank you," Obi-Wan said softly.

Qui-Gon turned and had to bite his lip from making one last attempt at getting his bodyguard to stay where he was; Obi- Wan was paler than ever, if that were possible, and though Qui-Gon might have imagined it, he thought he saw the boy sway slightly. "Will you allow me at least to carry you back to your cell?" he asked gently, not wanting to pierce the air of quiet dignity that surrounded Obi-Wan.

"I can make it on my own." The boy's chin lifted and determination shone in the changeable eyes.

"I'm sure you can," agreed Qui-Gon. "I was rather hoping to avoid adding several days onto your recovery time."

"I am feeling quite strong. Your ministrations have been quite effective." Obi-Wan's eyes met his, serious and clear. "Thank you for saving my life."

Qui-Gon could feel his own eyes widen in surprise, but he recovered enough to acknowledge the quiet thanks. "We are in each other's debt."

The moment hung quietly between them and Qui-Gon was loath to move from it, enjoying the rare serenity between them, but then Obi-Wan did sway slightly. Qui-Gon strode to the door, eager to be on their way as he was filled with determination to see that Kenobi made it to his cell under his own power.

They made it out into the hall and started through the corridors, Panaka's men trailing them quietly... but far from unobtrusively. Not many people traveled in the halls with battle-scarred veteran soldiers as escorts, after all. Obi-Wan directed them through the maze, moving slowly but without assistance, his face growing paler as they proceeded. Qui-Gon was relieved when the young monk half- turned, his hand settling onto a rope doorknob.

He hung onto the bit of rope furtively as he turned his face to Qui-Gon. "Thank you." Obi-Wan's voice sounded weary. "You can find your way back?"

Qui-Gon reassured him, though in truth he wasn't certain of that at all. Every inch of cold stone corridor and rough- hewn wooden door looked alike to him.

"I will rest now." With dignity, Obi-Wan pushed the door inward, his slim hand resting on it as he moved through and closed it behind him.

Qui-Gon stood for a moment, feeling exhaustion and tension in his own body now that Obi-Wan was no longer before him to occupy the majority of his concern. At length he turned to his men, who stood impassively awaiting orders. "Well?" He asked sharply. "Does anyone remember how to get us back where we started?"

Nervous, sheepish glances were exchanged. Shaking his head with disgust, Qui-Gon started stalking back the way they had come, resolving to ask for directions only if he must.

After disagreements over direction at the next four corridor junctions, Qui-Gon was forced to admit they were hopelessly lost. He only hoped their hosts wouldn't take offense if he blundered in somewhere he didn't belong-- with his luck, it would be the female initiates' bathing area.

With typical chance, now that he'd admitted, if only to himself, that they were indeed lost, there wasn't another soul to be found. Only moments before the corridor had been teeming with people, monks and initiates alike coming and going busily through the hallways. Now the place was silent and deserted, the doors that lined this hallway closed, shutting him out.

He felt suddenly very cold; he'd known he didn't belong here in this pristine and ordered world, but lost among the stone hallways, that fact was more apparent than ever. He glanced back at his honor guard, the three men obviously pretending not to notice just how lost they were. He decided to go to the end of this corridor and turn right at the juncture he could see; maybe they would run into someone and he could ask them for assistance. If not, he was going to have to start knocking on doors.

He was barely at the end of the hallway when a small tow- headed form came barreling around the corner and into his legs. Qui-Gon reached down to steady the boy, surprise filling him when he realized it was Anakin.

"Sorry, Father. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"You seem to be quite at home here," said Qui-Gon, eyeing his son's white leggings and tunic -the uniform worn by the youngest initiates.

"There hasn't been much to do, so I've been 'sploring and stuff," said Anakin apologetically.

"I don't suppose you know how to get back to our rooms from here, do you?"

"Of course I do! Wanna see?"

"Certainly," replied Qui-Gon, falling into step beside his son. Anakin's hand slipped into his own and the boy skipped along, making up in speed what his short legs lacked in distance. "Is there a reason you're wearing that uniform?" Qui-Gon asked casually.

"My clothes were dirty and we left the manor so quickly we didn't get to bring anything with us, so I only got that one outfit. These are pretty comfy for playing in. Mom sure looks funny in pants though."

Qui-Gon realized that their arrival at the Temple had been anticipated for both Shmi and Anakin to have been dressed in their regular clothes. He wondered briefly if these monks had such accurate powers of foresight before remembering Obi-Wan telling them they had been observed long before they had arrived.

It was hard to imagine these quiet and peaceful monks defending their walls from attack, and yet he had seen Obi- Wan in the midst of battle, had fought, and lost, one on one against him. He realized that even now, having seen Obi-Wan here among his fellows, the boy didn't seem to belong here. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

"Don't grow too comfortable here, lad. We'll be leaving soon," Qui-Gon told him, thinking wistfully of the luxury of his castle rooms and the fine food from his own kitchens.

Anakin flashed him a look of dismay. "But I've made friends!"

"I'm sorry, Anakin." Qui-Gon tousled the blond head. "You have friends as the castle as well."

"They all treat me funny." Anakin scowled. "Here, I feel like I belong. Nobody thinks I'm different because..." he fell silent, but Qui-Gon could hear the final statement anyway, as clearly as though it had been shouted aloud.

"Anakin..." he hesitated, feeling pain swell in his chest. "You are different, my son. One day you will be King."

Anakin looked sulky, his lower lip sticking out. "I'm not a king! I'm a person!"

"Most kings are," Qui-Gon told him softly. "But the state rarely permits you to be just a person." He was a fine one to talk, spending his time doing exactly as he pleased. Qui-Gon sighed.

Anakin didn't respond, his brow drawn low with unhappiness. Qui-Gon followed the boy's considerably less exuberant lead until Anakin stopped; blinking, Qui-Gon realized they must be in front of his quarters... the room had an actual doorknob.

"Thank you for your help, Anakin." Qui-Gon turned to his guards. "Tarpals, I want you to go and guard Obi-Wan's door. Make sure he rests, and that he is fed and kept warm. I want no harm to come to him. Anakin should be happy to lead you back."

Anakin perked up suddenly. "Can I go and watch after Obi- Wan?" He beamed, bright as the sun again. "I like talking with him."

Qui-Gon considered. It would be a discreet way to have a watcher right in Kenobi's room. "You will need to watch him carefully. He was very ill and nearly died. He will need rest and sleep, not idle chatter."

"I'll stay with him and make sure he rests and eats," Anakin nodded earnestly. "Mom will see that the kitchens send him a special dinner."

"Very well, Anakin. When you need to leave, find Tarpals and he will send a guard to replace you at Obi-Wan's door." Qui-Gon smiled, contented with the situation and relieved by Anakin's restored good spirits. Perhaps things were going to turn out well after all.

PART 50

Qui-Gon punched his pillow and rearranged his covers once again. He didn't understand what these monks had against basic comforts-- surely one was better prepared to serve if well rested?

The fact that his bed was probably considerably more comfortable than those of the monks themselves, did little to relieve him. No wonder Obi-Wan had been happy with the simple pallet on the floor -it would have still been softer than what he was used to.

Despite his tiredness Qui-Gon was having trouble getting to sleep and it wasn't just the state of the bed, though he forcefully cleared his mind and tried to get his thoughts to die down. He'd almost managed when he heard the door open and close and soft footsteps approach his bedside. His eyes widened with surprise as he looked up and found Obi-Wan standing next to the bed, hands already working to remove his clothing.

"What are you--" the boy's hand pressed over his mouth, cutting off his words.

"Sh. This isn't the time for talking," Obi-Wan said. He removed his hand slowly and Qui-Gon remained quiet, watching as Kenobi continued to take off his clothes. He was mesmerized by the slender yet capable hands as they undid catches and ties and slid material from skin. He could still feel the imprint of Obi-Wan's hand against his lips, warm and soft.

He didn't understand what the monk was doing; aside from the obvious, there remained the question of what Obi-Wan would do once he was naked and why he was doing it. Kenobi, it appeared, was not going to enlighten him. Obi-Wan let his leggings drop to the ground and stood for a moment, a statue of marble in the moonlight.

Qui-Gon watched, fascinated and hopeful, as the boy leaned forward and pulled back his covers, sliding into the bed without a word. Hissing as the compact body settled on his own, Qui-Gon let his arms automatically come up to circle Obi-Wan's back, holding him.

This was a shocking, unexpected windfall. Whatever his conscience dictated, his body was extremely reluctant to pass up the opportunity. His penis hardened with painful enthusiasm, and Qui-Gon moaned, bucking up. No matter how hard he thrust, it wasn't enough: maddening.

Obi-Wan's glowing eyes stared down at him, hot and seductive. The tempting braid tickled at his cheek. Sweat began to break out all over Qui-Gon, dampening his body. He heard himself moan softly.

"Obi-Wan." A plea in his voice, lust and yearning and joy. He slipped his arms around the slender back, pressing the lad's smooth chest close. So good. So exquisitely right. Obi-Wan's mouth melted hot against his, just as sweet and wonderful as memory whispered. Qui-Gon opened to it, feeling his helplessness in the face of the determined assault.

Yes. Yes. Anything Obi-Wan wanted. Everything.

It seemed Obi-Wan wanted everything, and possibly more. His sword-callused palms swept over Qui-Gon hungrily, stroking along sides and flanks, teasing as they avoided his needy shaft.

"Please," Qui-Gon panted, aroused beyond bearing, needing more of Obi-Wan's delicate touch. Shockingly skillful-- where had he learned such things? Qui-Gon would have expected him to be tentative, even clumsy-- but such thoughts were driven out of his head as Obi-Wan moved down his body, tongue tickling at his navel and then tracing lower.

He arched his hips, wanting that sweet tongue on his shaft, that hot breath to mingle with the heat of his need, but Obi-Wan only teased him, light, barely there licks that left him gasping and trembling for more. His legs were pushed apart and up until he grabbed them, holding himself open. He gave a shocked yell as Obi-Wan's tongue found his opening and drove its way inside. The motion was repeated until he was writhing and whimpering, riding the lad's tongue with abandon. Nearly sobbing with need, he begged Obi-Wan for more, begged to be ground beneath the supple body.

Obi-Wan rose over him, aligning their shafts, and pumped them quickly, several long strokes. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to yell, but no sound came out, his breath stolen entirely by the shock of feeling that coursed through him. It felt incredible, that Obi-Wan could be so certain and so aggressive, taking what he wanted from Qui-Gon, giving insane amounts of pleasure in return.

Qui-Gon panted, sweat dripping from his forehead-- he hadn't let anyone do this to him since he was a far younger man, but he wanted Obi-Wan, needed to feel the boy's possession. Needed the reassurance that Obi-Wan loved him, wanted him, and would not leave him.

He lifted his knees, mutely begging to be penetrated, and Obi-Wan looked up, meeting his gaze with a delightful expression of pure, wicked pleasure, then bit the inside of his thigh lightly and pulled back enough to hook Qui-Gon's legs over his shoulders.

Qui-Gon clenched his fingers in the rough cotton bedding, trying not to whimper with anticipation. So good, so sweet-and then Kenobi was in him, so easy-- too easy. Qui- Gon wanted to feel it, hard, so he linked his ankles behind Kenobi's back and drove himself onto the hot spike of the lad's erection.

He cried out, a strangled guttural howl from the deepest core of himself. Hot as the blade of his one-time assailant, sweet as his little monk's kisses, a pure and powerful wave of sensation rolled past pleasure and left him soaring. "Yes. Yours!" he gasped, wishing he could taste the sheen of sweat on Kenobi's forehead.

As if reading his thoughts Obi-Wan leaned forward, forcing his legs back, his knees nearly to his ears. It changed the angle of penetration, the thrusts sliding deeper, moving over his prostate with delirious accuracy. Another kiss of liquid fire filled his mouth and then he had his chance, swiping his tongue across the lad's forehead. The taste of Obi-Wan filled him, slaked his thirst as if it were the waters of the purest mountain lake; his mountain monk, pure and true.

Obi-Wan continued to ride him hard, pushing deeply into Qui- Gon's body, each thrust following the last with increasing speed. The boy grinned down at him, moving faster still, thrusting harder, he was an animal, hungry and ferocious. Qui-Gon's head thrashed from side to side. Close, he was so close.

His mouth was covered once more, this kiss taken from him by force, stolen from him as if it were the greatest treasure he had to offer. He let it go eagerly, offering up another and then another to the thief of his heart. Obi-Wan pressed a final swipe of tongue across his mouth and then Qui-Gon heard him speak in a voice that sent a shiver down his spine into his passage.

"Come for me, my sweet prince, come on my cock."

The last word was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, but he was too close and came anyway, hot fluid jerking from his shaft almost painfully. His eyes flew open even as he was still shuddering from his orgasm, to find himself quite alone, one hand wrapped around his penis, the other three fingers knuckles deep inside his body.

A dream. It had been nothing more than the overheated workings of his brain while he slept.

He cleaned himself up miserably, suffering the loss of what he'd briefly believed to be Obi-Wan. Guilt gnawed at the edges of his mind for having disrespected Obi-Wan's vows so badly. Even inside the privacy of his own mind, it was a violation.

He would have to discipline himself better, learn control. It would not do for him to repeat such a performance with Obi-Wan sleeping only a few feet from his bed-- what if he moaned the lad's name aloud? That thought made him wince with shame, and it drove the vestiges of sleep from his mind, leaving him staring up into the flickering firelight shadows of the ceiling until morning dawned.