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PART 61

Yoda is mine.

The doddering fool stands looking out the window, eager in spite of all his protests for sight of the son he indulged like a grandchild. I could not have him more firmly tied to me if he wore chains. He will do as I ask; I need but lift a finger and he would jump, if I chose, to the flagstones below.

I do not think I will have him do so, at present. His obedience suits me. He is a useful pet, if not as pretty as some.

"More tea?" He accepts the cup and drinks deeply. Good-- the same liquid that once delivered the slow poison I intended for his fate now rejuvenates him. He sucks at it greedily, eyes riveted on the dusty road.

I can see them now... the fool prince in the lead. He will not be pleased, I think, to learn of the changes that have been made in his absence. With Valorum gone, it has been easy to have my way. With prince Qui-Gon, it has always been easy. Now it is not so easy.

The little whelp of a monk thinks to give him a backbone, and it might just be done. Qui-Gon Jinn is very much his father's son in spite of his dissolution, willful and stubborn, artful and clever when he chooses. And vulnerable. Terribly, deeply vulnerable, and ready to be played like a lute.

We shall see who can pluck a better tune on his strings, monk. Your refusal to take the power and influence you could gain from bedding him may yet prove your downfall.

"Do you see the boy?"

"No."

The old fool's spies were right, the boy is not with them. Unfortunately he's not dead-- my spies inform me he has chosen to remain at the temple under the tutelage of the monks.

Pity. He would have been useful to me here, but I am sure I can find a way to make his absence a boon.

I could tell Yoda the boy yet lives, but I shall not. It would not do to tip my hand so soon; he need not know of my network of spies. And aside from that is the delicious pain that emanates from him at what he thinks is his loss. It is like a balm to me, sad and mournful, it fills my soul like sweet air fills the lungs.

It is no less than he deserves; a true ruler cares little for the people, it is the land that should be his lover, as she will be mine.

I shall woo her with sweeping proclamations and wed her with horses and fires and men with long swords. A war to the south, to bring in a dowry with which to buy her; a war to the east to extend her borders to the sea; a war to the west to wipe that Crion fool and his bastard son from their holdings; and to the North... a war to rid the world of those ridiculous monks.

Yoda sighs wearily next to me. He is old and dying, ready to accept his death, all but willing it to himself; with each passing moment, I come closer to my goal.

PART 62

Prince Qui-Gon had rarely been happier to see his father's castle come into view over the horizon; Sebulba seemed happy too, picking up his pace as though anticipating his stall and supper.

Obi-Wan was sagging slightly at his side; the trip had been hard for him, though he was much less weakened than he had been. He had the cowl of his robe pulled over his face, as though he still felt he were disgraced, or as though he hoped to hide from something. Maybe from all the courtiers who assumed he was Qui-Gon's concubine.

Qui-Gon nudged his horse closer to Obi-Wan's. "We'll rest well tonight, Kenobi. It's not much farther."

Obi-Wan rewarded him with a smile and nod, too tired to waste words. They entered the gardens and started the circuitous route around the lake, where Qui-Gon had first made a serious attempt to seduce the lad. He crimsoned as they passed the spot; Obi-Wan never seemed to glance at it.

Obi-Wan had been beautiful naked, his nipples drawn tight with cold, his skin glowing pinkly, his hair slicked wet and the tip of his braid curling around the edge of one nipple. A waste. A horrible waste, to poison that beauty with guilt.

Qui-Gon sighed, more tired than angry. He felt beaten, as if they were returning to the castle in disgrace, the battle lost. His son had chosen to stay behind, his friendship with the boy's mother strained beyond all recognition, and the monk he'd hoped to bed, was in fact falling in love with, vowed to chastity.

At least they weren't dead. That thought had him sitting straighter in his saddle, renewed energy surging through him as though he'd been hit by lightning. The fact was that he had come close to losing all three to death's cold, impersonal hand. He hadn't. Certainly this alone was cause for thanks, if not celebration.

It was with this in his mind and heart that he spurred Sebulba on, pressing the beast to arrive at the castle with head held high, victory and not defeat, his companion. Obi-Wan kept pace, pushing his temple-bred mare to keep up with Sebulba's great stride, much as the monk himself kept pace with Qui-Gon when they walked.

The prince swept through the courtyard, bringing Sebulba to a stop below his father's chambers. "All hail, King Yoda," he called loudly and was rewarded by movement in the window of his father's sitting room. "We have returned, triumphant! The lady and my son were saved from the attack by the Telosians by our valiant Captain and his men. The Temple monks were most pleased to accept Anakin into their midst. My heir shall be educated by these men of knowledge. The land shall know prosperity and riches in the days to come."

He dismounted with a flourish, his entire party following suit behind him. He bowed deeply, the movement again echoed. "Your majesty, I salute you. We salute you." A glance over at Obi-Wan found the monk with a small, sardonic smile on his face, but Qui-Gon refused to let that ruin the moment. It felt good, snatching a victory from defeat.

Let Obi-Wan have his pleasures. Poor lad, they were few enough.

Yoda appeared at the window and looked down at him, blinking almost sleepily. "You will have Anakin sent for."

Qui-Gon blinked. "My father, this was a careful decision, made after intense thought. With respect, I shall not." He could almost feel Obi-Wan's mingled relief and worry, emanating from his bodyguard like a wave.

Bolstered by his support, Qui-Gon continued bravely. "I have had ample opportunity to study the monks, their ability to train a warrior, their knowledge of the etiquette and diplomacy and history required by a King. I believe Anakin could be in no better position to prepare himself for rulership of the kingdom."

He was surprised to realize that he did in fact believe that; it occurred to him that his reluctance to let his son stay had been more a reaction to Mundi and his own wish to have his son near than an altruistic desire to protect the boy. In retrospect, he didn't truly fear Anakin would adapt readily to monkish rules; he had too much of his father in him.

Yoda looked at him implacably, a palsy starting in his left hand; Qui-Gon watched with dismay as it spread up his arm. Yoda realized it in a moment and clutched his hand on the windowsill to stop it. His face worked with anger.

Qui-Gon saw a shadow pass, elusive but there, and he wondered who was with his father, which of his advisors conferred in secret with him. He ground his teeth together to keep from demanding the man to show himself. Instead, he waited in silence, head held high, for his father to either continue the conversation or dismiss him.

Yoda continued to stare down at them and Qui-Gon began to wonder if his attention hadn't wandered. Yoda had been ill when they'd left, was this further evidence of his failing health? The servants were growing restless, soft whispers and shifting feet filling the quiet that had fallen over the courtyard.

Qui-Gon felt suddenly the need to break the silence between them, to end the desperate waiting for his father to speak. There was less love between he and his father than he would have liked, but he had no wish for his father to be ridiculed, for his illness to become the subject of gossip.

"I will throw a banquet tonight, to celebrate my return and the victory of my guard against our enemies. I hope you are well enough to join us, Your Majesty."

Yoda turned, and after a moment, the heavy velvet curtain fell to cover the window from inside. A low, dismayed buzz arose among the servants, then they melted away; the courtiers followed with slightly more dignity. Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan, frowning worriedly; his bodyguard was pale and weary. His attempt to smooth things was poorly done not merely because his father had rejected it.

"I'm sorry," he spoke softly. "Let's hurry into the castle. You'll have time to bathe and rest before the banquet."

"It was a noble attempt." Obi-Wan sagged just a little; Qui-Gon offered his arms and Obi-Wan dismounted, nearly falling against him. Qui-Gon had to resist the impulse to wound the young man's dignity by scooping him up and carrying him inside.

He regretted respecting Obi-Wan's dignity by the time they reached the third level below his chambers; the flights of steep stairs were proving quite difficult for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon sent every servant they met scuttling with orders to fetch tubs, hot water, refreshing fruits and teas, fresh clothes-- anything he could think of to spare Obi-Wan the embarrassment of their eyes as he staggered doggedly up the stairs and to ready nice things for him.

As they reached the final hallway, Qui-Gon moved to swing the monk into his arms, dignity be damned, but Obi-Wan shook his head. "You give your enemies too much of a chance if they know how weak I still am."

Qui-Gon felt his jaw tighten, teeth grinding together as he kept his mouth shut over his words; at this rate he would have nothing of his teeth left. Unable to assist his bodyguard in any other way, Qui-Gon slowed his steps considerably, hoping the slower pace would help.

They arrived at his chambers without further incident and once the door closed behind him, Qui-Gon swept Obi-Wan into his arms and carried him to his bedroom. A bath was already waiting for them, steam rising from the water like mist over a river.

He sat Obi-Wan on the big wing chair and, shooing away the serving girls, began to undress him, making quick work of the layers of tunics and belts and sashes and laces, and pulling the heavy leather boots from Obi-Wan's feet. His bodyguard made no attempt to fight him, or insist on performing the task himself, testament to his exhaustion and Qui-Gon felt his worry increase.

Obi-Wan should have been grumbling, complaining that he was capable of undressing himself, that Qui-Gon was taking advantage of the situation. His skin should have been golden hued with a flush of color across his cheeks, not this ghost-like translucent white.

Qui-Gon tested the temperature of the bath, dipping in his hand as far as his wrist. It was perfect and he picked Obi-Wan up and carefully lowered him into the water.

PART 63

Obi-Wan sighed softly and let his head fall back against the edge of the tub. Qui-Gon pillowed it with one hand until he could fumble a towel into folds and slip it behind the lad's head. "I feel numb," Obi-Wan murmured, his voice a little thick.

"Just relax. The ride was too hard for you, and the stairs took your reserves." The hell with the banquet, he'd cancel it or make only a token appearance before he made the lad attend. "Would you rather have a servant wash you?" Qui-Gon hesitated, his hand on a scrubbing cloth.

"No, you." Obi-Wan sounded nearly asleep as the warm water worked to relax him. Qui-Gon hoped it would soothe the aches out of his bones and help him rest. He tried not to let the words lodge in his heart, resisting the impulse to savor them and treasure them. Obi-Wan didn't want Qui-Gon's hands on him, he just didn't want to display his weakness. Duty again. Duty and sacrifice.

He wet the cloth and wrung it out, then soaped Obi-Wan gently but clinically, wiping away the dust and travel- stains from his skin-- the grime that had settled into the seams of flesh and fabric that lay at his throat, the dust on his face, the sweat under his arms. He moved quickly toward the monk's genitals, wanting to get it over with, to allay Obi-Wan's fears regarding his treatment, though the lad had expressed none. He kept his touch impersonal and quick and felt himself relax when that portion of the task was done.

He continued down, pulling Obi-Wan feet from the water as he washed them. He found himself lingering here, wiping gently, but firmly enough not to tickle, between toes and along the bottom. It was a pleasant foot; the toes were slender but not overlong, the nails neatly trimmed, the skin soft but callused in spots from long hours of boot- wearing. Qui-Gon knew from experience these feet could be nimble, quick, ready.

Obi-Wan made no comment, but Qui-Gon could feel the weight of his regard and he reluctantly let his bodyguard's foot drop. He turned to continue his ministrations and met Obi-Wan's eyes. Still the monk made no comment and Qui-Gon could read no censure in the changeable orbs.

Picking up Obi-Wan's hands, he treated them to the same tender care.

At last he could delay no longer and, bidding Obi-Wan stand, he wrapped him in a large towel before lifting him from the tub and settling him again in the large, wing- backed chair. Picking up a plate, he filled it with a variety of foods, culled from the trays and returned to sit on an ornate footstool next to Obi-Wan's chair.

"I'm not really very hungry," admitted the monk and Qui-Gon frowned. Obi-Wan needed the food in order to keep his strength up.

"But I am," he replied at last. Comprehension dawned in Obi-Wan's eyes and he reached for a piece of the bread.

Qui-Gon watched him mouth it listlessly, chewing and swallowing without much interest. He felt bad about the ruse, but he really was hungry and it did him good to see his weary bodyguard eat.

Qui-Gon lifted a bowl of hot broth next. It was several spoonfuls before Obi-Wan realized he'd done more than taste and pushed the bowl away. Another bite of bread, from a soft wheat roll-- a different one than the first, so the lad could not complain, then a bite of squash and another gulp of broth to wash it down. Qui-Gon took the spoon and began to feed Obi-Wan, keeping him chewing and swallowing so that he could hardly keep track of what he'd tasted and what he hadn't.

He fed himself from the same spoon as Obi-Wan chewed, keeping his part of the bargain by only eating from bowls Obi-Wan had tasted. He half-fancied he could taste the lad's mouth in each bite, adding a poignant savor to the much-needed nourishment.

It gave him an appetite, and when Obi-Wan had eaten enough to be full, Qui-Gon finished off the contents of the tray himself under the lad's sleepy eyes.

"Rest where you are for the moment. I'll lay out our clothes for the banquet later." He hoped the food and some sleep would revive his monk by then; Obi-Wan had eaten listlessly during the entirety of their journey and had insisted on guarding Qui-Gon's sleep, which had to be responsible for his lack of energy now.

He opened the wardrobe and rummaged, tossing clothes out onto the long table. Green silks, black ones... a set of tunic and cloak Obi-Wan had brought, cleaned and pressed and ready for him to need them. He started to shove them aside, then took them in his hands and lifted them out, looking from them to his bodyguard.

Obi-Wan dozed in the chair, wrapped in a towel. His travel-stained linens lay crumpled near the tub, a twin to the clean clothes Qui-Gon held. Qui-Gon knew he looked slender and beautiful in them, at home and easy in a way he'd never been in silks.

Qui-Gon's throat closed and he laid out the brown cloak and cream tunic gently, as tenderly as though they had been the lad himself. He bundled up the unwanted silks and put them away. The gaudy fabrics diminished his bodyguard's beauty instead of framing it, by distracting from the simple honesty of his face and trying to render him a dandy. Like clothing a sturdy workhorse in a racehorse's gaudy trappings.

He went through his own clothing with less care, finally settling on a dark brown tunic and breeches that would complement his bodyguard's sober garb. It was not homespun, but it would do admirably and he would not seem a peacock next to Obi-Wan's clerical habit.

It would offer him an opportunity to display the changes he was experiencing; beginning as he meant to continue. There would be no more lavish but empty displays of wealth and splendor, no more childish demands and churlish behavior. He would cultivate the nobles instead of assuming he had their loyalty.

At the same time, he would not curry their favor like some boy or half-formed noble. He was the heir to the throne and would command their respect, remaining seated and letting them come to him.

The plan had other merits -staying put would allow Obi- Wan to appear completely well, no one would suspect that he was still weak. Not that the boy would let that stop him; Qui-Gon fully believed that should there be a sudden threat to his person, Obi-Wan would come awake from his slumber, sword at the ready. The monk had a devotion to his duty that put Qui-Gon to shame. He would never be able to imitate it, it just wasn't his style or nature, but certainly he could take a lesson from it.

It occurred to him, that they made a good pair, well- balanced between his own flamboyance and Obi-Wan's more sober nature. Perhaps they had lessons they could learn from each other. Perhaps in Anakin, such a balance between the temple and the castle could exist in one person.

PART 64

Qui-Gon waited as long as he could before waking Obi-Wan. He had already dressed himself, knowing that to call in a servant would immediately bring Obi-Wan fully awake. He had enjoyed the task; though he had dressed himself while they had been at the temple, it was the first time in longer than he could remember that he had done so at home.

He'd rather enjoyed it -the lack of hands fiddling and fussing, being able to take it at his own speed, which had allowed him to enjoy the way the soft silk fell over his skin, the way the cool material grew warm from his skin. He slipped into his boots and put on his sword belt. A glance in the mirror told him that he cut quite the dashing figure, at least to his own court-trained eyes. He wondered what Obi-Wan would see when the monk looked upon him.

Finally he could wait no longer, the sun having sunk well below the horizon. The banquet would be in full swing, awaiting only its guest of honor to begin the feasting. Resting on his haunches at Obi-Wan's side, he touched his bodyguard gently on the knee, assuming the unexpected weight would wake the boy.

He watched as Obi-Wan's chest and shoulders rose in a deep breath, his weary body stirring slowly toward the surface of consciousness. His lids tightened, lashes catching the light, then opened slowly, and Obi-Wan's hazy gray-green eyes brightened as a smile curved his lips.

Happy to see me. Qui-Gon couldn't breathe, knowing that such warmth on the verge of wakefulness was real. It could not be feigned.

Obi-Wan's arms stirred and he stretched, still holding Qui-Gon's eyes. "Is it time for the banquet already?" His voice was low and husky, throaty with sleep.

"I've chosen your clothes." Qui-Gon saw some of the joy dim and though anxiety rose, he couldn't help himself but feel anticipation over Obi-Wan's pleasure in his choice.

Obi-Wan glanced past him, a line of worry creasing his forehead, then saw the rough homespun fabric lying near the wardrobe on the surface of the long table, and he broke into a grin, re-energized, and bounced out of the chair in a way that reminded Qui-Gon of Anakin and left him chuckling.

"You want me to wear these?"

"I thought you would find them comfortable," he replied a little gruffly. "And I've grown used to them." Obi-Wan's eyes rested on him, he could feel it even as he turned away to fiddle with his scabbard and sword.

He kept his back to his bodyguard, ignoring the urge to turn and watch the lithe, smooth body disappear into the simple garb. Self-restraint was new to him and it pulled at him, impatience and the desire to turn and take what he wanted making him drum his fingers restlessly against his thighs.

But his patience was not without reward; Obi-Wan's fingers curled around his arm, squeezing briefly and the eyes that looked up into his own were filled with quiet, honest thanks. "Your subjects await you, my prince."

Nodding, Qui-Gon led the way, seeing Obi-Wan fall into place a half-step behind him on his left side. He tried not to make too much of Obi-Wan's words, his bodyguard was merely giving him the honor he was due, but he could not stop the thrilling that went through him as the words 'my prince' echoed in his mind. It was with that gentle euphoria in his mind and heart that he arrived at the hall, more than ready to greet his guests.

All eyes turned their way as they entered, following each step as they moved toward the large feasting table. Qui-Gon sat regally and waved his arm, magnanimously indicating they should all sit. He knew what they were thinking, could read it in their eyes that they all assumed he and his bodyguard were lovers. He merely raised his head and looked imperially down upon them all. Let them think what they would, in any case he doubted many would believe the truth.

Obi-Wan seated himself last at the prince's left hand and Qui-Gon let his eyes range about. His father had not chosen to grace them with his presence. Fine; Qui-Gon would deal with that when time granted him leisure. Perhaps in the morning.

The other courtiers and nobles were all assembled, seated in their customary places. He scanned them with new awareness, looking for signs of friendliness or hostility, and met mostly with wary caution, except for a few, including that oily fool Palpatine, who had seated himself in Valorum's seat next to his ward, Amidala. Palpatine smiled at him with avuncular benevolence, his hand resting on Amidala's shoulder.

Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's tension next to him and rewarded the overture only with a solemn nod, concerned that the young woman did not meet his eyes herself.

The first course was served promptly and Qui-Gon ate only sparingly, knowing that Obi-Wan was too full to taste extensive amounts of food. He drank sparingly of the wine as well, even when others pressed it upon him, a slow parade of nobles rising to congratulate him on his successful journey.

"The whelps of Crion fled when they heard of your glorious coming!" Palpatine lifted his glass in toast, eyes going flinty over his cup when Qui-Gon failed to smile. "Surely we shall vanquish them easily should they dare further insolence."

"There is no need to borrow trouble." Qui-Gon heard the silence that fell, many nobles hanging on his words. "There are those here who share Crion's blood. Perhaps his progeny will be less thirsty for the blood of his kindred."

"Nevertheless, you would not want to appear cowardly, your highness." Unflappable, Palpatine lowered his eyes into his cup.

"Do you then equate war with strength and courage?" asked Qui-Gon, determined to appear as cool. "A wise man once told me that there is far more wisdom and courage in not going to war than in joining an enemy in battle."

"Are you sure the man was wise? The words sound to me like a man afraid himself to go into battle."

Qui-Gon smiled predatorily; Palpatine had fallen neatly into his trap. "Perhaps you can ask him yourself what was behind his counsel. The man in question is my father, the king."

Palpatine's smile grew wide and he raised his glass in Qui-Gon's direction as he inclined his head, but Qui-Gon could read the anger in the man's eyes; he had not taken kindly to being bested.

Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan stiffen beside him, knew that his bodyguard had seen the fury behind Palpatine's easy acquiescence as well. He knew that Palpatine was a dangerous man to anger; the duke had many well-placed friends, including Qui-Gon's own father, but it had been worth it to rattle the man. He simply didn't like Palpatine, didn't trust him, hadn't from the start. There was something about the duke that set Qui-Gon's teeth on edge and made his stomach curl.

He was beginning to wonder if they hadn't made an enormous mistake in ousting Valorum. Amidala chose that moment to look up at Qui-Gon with bruised, haunted eyes, and he swallowed at the accusation behind them, his fist clenching on the stem of his goblet.

Qui-Gon let the conversation lapse back to normal, buzzing at the assembled tables, and let several minutes pass before he summoned his chancellor. "I would know the present state of things with Amidala and Valorum's lands." He spoke quietly. "See to it that you are discreet in your inquiries."

"Yes, my prince." The man bowed obsequiously, then leaned in to whisper. "It is my personal belief that things are not as they should be in that quarter."

Qui-Gon nodded soberly, watching Amidala-- she had always been intelligent and observant, often quiet, but keenly interested in the world around her. Now she seemed withdrawn, her shoulders hunched, and did not take part in the conversation around her.

Qui-Gon pushed aside his wine. Suddenly, nothing tasted good anymore.

"Subjects of the Jinn Throne, I thank you for your courtesy and attendance this evening." Qui-Gon rose. "I drink your health, but my journey has been a long and weary one, and I shall retire. The minstrels will play and wine will flow as long as you wish, and let the first of you to seek his bed see dawn before you sleep!" The pretty words flowed well, but in his heart Qui-Gon was deeply troubled; Palpatine had never before seemed so openly arrogant.

It boded ill.

"Come, my bodyguard." He dropped his voice, not disguising the fondness or the tiredness he felt. "The intrigues of court will have to wait until the mo glanced back at Obi-Wan. To his surprised, the monk seemed fine, as if performing his duty had rejuvenated him in a way that the food and rest had not. Nonetheless, Qui-Gon did not attempt to engage his bodyguard in conversation and Obi-Wan, for his part, remained equally silent.

It was not the awkward silence of acquaintances or strangers, but the bearable, comfortable silence found between friends and Qui-Gon took heart in it. It was a simple thing to take such pleasure in, a silent walk through the castle with his bodyguard in step beside him, but he was beginning to learn that the simple things often brought with them a great deal more satisfaction. He considered that perhaps an old dog could be taught new tricks after all.

Despite appearances, a low, relieved sigh came from his bodyguard as they entered Qui-Gon's rooms. Still, the monk insisted on carefully checking the rooms before relaxing.

"I had a bad feeling about the banquet tonight." Obi-Wan muttered, lifting the sheets of Qui-Gon's bed one at a time and looking through them.

"I did also. Did you notice Amidala?"

"Among other things." Obi-Wan stifled a yawn. "Everything seems in order. Perhaps we can discuss it in the morning."

"After I meet with my father." Qui-Gon sighed and threw off his tunic, aiming in the general direction of the wardrobe and missing by several feet. He realized Obi-Wan was reaching under the bed for the dusty roll of blankets that made his meager pallet. "No, don't get that."

Obi-Wan blinked at him tiredly. "No?"

"I'm going to make some changes. You need quarters of your own, and I thought we could partition the room so that the only way into my bedchamber is through yours. But it's going to take time. Still, I don't like you sleeping on the floor," Qui-Gon told him directly. "I want you to take the bed. You're still recovering and you've had a hard journey. I'll call a maid for fresh blankets and I'll rest in the chair. I often sleep the night there if I fall asleep while reading."

He gestured toward his wallowed-out easy chair, its cushions stuffed with soft cotton batting.

"You won't rest well there," Obi-Wan protested half-heartedly.

"I'll rest better knowing that you rest well." Qui-Gon flushed and turned away. "Get in bed before you collapse." He pulled the bell rope to summon a girl, hearing the soft rustle of his mattress as Obi-Wan sat down. He couldn't believe the young man had acquiesced so easily.

A thump followed, and he waited for a second noise for a moment before he realized it had been too loud to come from Obi-Wan's leather boot. Qui-Gon whirled to find his bodyguard had crumpled forward off the bed and lay twitching on the floor.

"Obi-Wan!"

"Don't touch... mattress!" Obi-Wan forced out, then his teeth locked and his body arched, wracking itself in a terrible spasm.

Qui-Gon yanked the bell pull so hard the rope broke and slithered to the floor, sending the brass bell clamoring; he leaped forward and caught the lad, trying to keep him from injuring himself as he thrashed.

"Fetch a physician!" he bellowed at Sira the instant she appeared, and sent her scampering.

"Obi-Wan..." he pushed back one of the lad's eyelids and found the pupil contracted; at least he was breathing. Qui-Gon snapped his gaze up to the mattress, and saw a small glitter; reaching up he snatched the ground sheet away--and the mattress beneath was sparkling with the tips of needles, like a metallic porcupine, barely pushing above the surface of the cloth.

"Sith hells!" Qui-Gon spat. Given the placement, at least three had pricked Obi-Wan when he sat.

Obi-Wan spasmed again, a groan torn from his throat, and Qui-Gon suddenly had other things to think about as his bodyguard thrashed, muscles contracting mercilessly.

He yanked the monk's leggings down, turning Obi-Wan over to examine his backside. Sure enough three tiny puncture wounds marred the pale skin of one cheek, like the bite of a deformed snake. Each mark was surrounded by skin that was angrily red beneath the surface, the colour seeming to spread as he watched.

With another curse, Qui-Gon knelt and placed his lips over the first puncture wound. It was probably far too late, the poison was already affecting Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon cursed himself for being so slow to realize what was going on, but he sucked diligently at each wound, spitting out the liquid onto the ground next to Obi-Wan's shaking body.

"Obi-Wan?" he called out, but silence, loud and complete, was his only answer. Lying Obi-Wan onto his back again, Qui-Gon fumbled at his throat, looking for a pulse or any sign of life.

PART 66

Nothing. He felt nothing, no pulse fluttering against his fingers, no vibration of breath passing through the chest beneath his other hand. He stilled himself, praying for the first time in far longer than he could remember, that the gods, whoever they might be, not take Obi-Wan, not punish the innocent monk for Qui-Gon's own sins.

And then he felt it. There, faint, weak and slow, but beating beneath his fingertips was a shallow pulse.

"Live." Qui-Gon pressed his face to Obi-Wan's, not feeling the tears prickle and begin to escape. "I didn't get you back just to lose you now." Vaguely he was aware of Sira running back into the room in a flutter of skirts, of the castle physician hot on her heels, of the babble as they took in the needled bed.

He held Obi-Wan's body against his, stilling the weakening spasms against himself, as the physician used forceps to extract a needle and tasted it.

"Khrelait sap." He scratched into the pouch he carried, working around the Prince. "I'll need a drawing poultice. Go fetch it, girl!"

Qui-Gon just rocked Obi-Wan in his arms, hearing a low, painful keening and realizing it came from his own throat. Khrelait was deadly.

"You sucked the venom and spat?" Urgent voice in his ear. Qui-Gon nodded blindly, feeling the warmth in Obi-Wan's body. Obi-Wan's skin grew feverish quickly as the effects of the poison spread into his system. "It was the best thing you could have done. Meant for you, clearly. The guard is worth his weight in gold."

"Better if it were me." Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes closed, feeling Obi-Wan's pulse quicken erratically against his cheek. "Save him and you will never want." He was giving away too much, showing too much emotion, but he didn't care.

"I'll do what can be done."

Sira returned, pale and out of breath, the poultice clutched in her hands. She thrust it at the doctor.

"You'll have to give me room," he said gently but firmly, and Qui-Gon reluctantly let go. He moved back slightly, sitting on the floor, rocking slightly as he watched the doctor work quickly to apply the poultice to the affected area.

Obi-Wan moaned, and Qui-Gon shivered, watching the vibrant skin turn gray as life drained from his bodyguard by creeping increments. I'll kill whoever did this to you, and if you die, they will scream and beg for death before I end it. He'd never felt such rage, red-hot and overpowering, but through it he heard another moan, eloquent of pain, and an accompanying flicker of distress.

Mundi shielded Shmi and myself at the monastery. Perhaps this hurts him. Qui-Gon took a deep breath and struggled to banish the consuming rage. Plenty of time for it later, after he knew more of what would happen. He didn't know how to control his emotions so easily, so he let his thoughts dwell on Obi-Wan. Replace hate with love. Perhaps the love would succor the lad in the same way the anger seemed to hurt him.

Qui-Gon pictured his monk in his mind-- the joy he'd felt when Obi-Wan opened his eyes after nearly freezing in the snow fields. His pleasure in his bodyguard's recovery. The tenderness he'd felt at seeing Obi-Wan slumped wearily in the saddle.

He could almost feel Obi-Wan ebbing away, and somehow he reached for him, bathing himself in the dimming presence. Stay. Stay. Qui-Gon tried to feed the energy, focusing his own on it as tightly as he could, tightness welling in his throat.

Bitter, dark smoke seemed to choke him, and he clamped his lids shut, refusing to be moved, refusing to let its choking presence into him. He clung to his sense of Obi-Wan, ignoring the taint, and loved him stubbornly, battling fear and despair that threatened to creep in around the edges.

He was dimly aware of falling over, landing with a thump that threatened his concentration; if it had been anything else, it would have sufficed, but he was motivated more than even he would have thought possible and he refused to be separated from the tenuous connection between Obi-Wan and himself.

Voices drifted at the edge of his consciousness, and he caught enough that he knew the poultice had been applied, plantain and comfrey along with pure, clear water. For a long time he remained lost in the dark, swirling smoke, clinging to Obi-Wan. Eventually he realized that the smoke was beginning to clear, and he became aware of his body, sore and tired, and of the heavy smell of the comfrey, made sickly by the cloying sweetness of the plantain.

It was a plainly medicinal smell, bringing with it the dark memories of his childhood and furtive visits to the infirmary during wartime, where men lay dying. He had defied his father and his teachers to go, unable to keep away from the suffering and pain, knowing that it was his father's commands that had brought these men to this place. Knowing one day it would be his lot to command men to their deaths.

It occurred to him: if he could command men to death, why not to life?

He opened his eyes slowly, frowning as he realized he was alone with Obi-Wan, but as he stirred, the physician came into view, blinking sleepily. "Your Highness? Are you all right?"

"Fine," he muttered and waved the man off, feeling too insecure to do this with an audience.

The doctor slipped back into a soft slumber and Qui-Gon, feeling weak as a baby, crawled over to where Obi-Wan lay, still on the floor where he'd fallen. Qui-Gon understood the need to keep him still, but it galled him nonetheless to see his bodyguard relegated to the floor, not even the flimsy pallet to cushion his body this time.

Not entirely sure what he was doing, Qui-Gon placed his hands on either side of Obi-Wan's head and gazed down at him. "Live," he said, voice deep and as commanding as he had ever tried for. "Live," he repeated, with less volume, feeling foolish now.

Incredibly, Obi-Wan's lashes fluttered, then opened, and hazy blue eyes met his. "Yes," a breath whispered through his dry lips.

PART 67

Qui-Gon scrambled to fetch a pitcher, then was afraid to use it. "I'll fetch water," he offered, but Obi-Wan's head moved infinitesimally to the side. And perhaps it was best; Qui-Gon's legs felt shaky, as though they would not hold him.

He wondered if his attempts to give his own energy to the lad had worked; Obi-Wan's cheeks had a tinge of pink to them and there was definitely life in his eyes.

He lay down at his bodyguard's side and drew the young man into his arms, feeling weariness slide over him like a cloak. Obi-Wan's breath against his cheek echoed his bodyguard's promise, and Qui-Gon gave in to the need to hold him, nestling Obi-Wan tightly against his body, feeling as though his heart would burst with the combination of sorrow, joy, and tenderness inside it.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely, hardly aware of his words, then mortified by them, but Obi-Wan just smiled with sleepy comprehension and then let his lashes sink shut.

Qui-Gon was too weary to flail himself with guilt for the hastily spoken sentiment; his eyelids felt like lead weights had been attached. Letting his cheek rest against Obi-Wan's, he surrendered ungraciously to the weariness that claimed him.

PART 68

Obi-Wan woke once again in the prince's arms.

He stiffened for a moment and then memory came rushing back to him in a flood. He'd been poisoned, needles in the prince's bed, needles that he had not found. Thank the lifeforce he'd been the one to be pricked.

It had been an error of judgment on his part, believing that they had a respite, believing that the Prince's enemies would have waited idly in the time they were away from the castle. He wondered what other manner of trap lay waiting for the prince and vowed to make an extremely thorough examination of Qui-Gon's chambers as soon as possible.

He opened his eyes and looked on the prince's face. Qui-Gon looked tired, pale...and handsome.

He banished the last thought, focusing instead on the tiredness; he had been sure he was dying, could feel the poison in his veins, slowing the beating of his heart, and yet here he was alive, feeling no worse than he had last evening.

He couldn't be sure of course, the poison had been clouding his mind, but it seemed that Qui-Gon had fed him energy, cured him as surely as he'd cured the prince himself after they'd been set upon on Valorum's land. Such things should not have been possible, and yet... he could not deny that both he and the prince lived.

Of course, there was no proof that he had been dying; perhaps it had all been a product of his fevered imagination.

"You're awake!" Obi-Wan looked up into the face of the court physician. The man sounded surprised, confirming Obi-Wan's suspicions.

"Shouldn't I be?" He prompted the man for more information nonetheless.

"By all rights, you should not." The physician frowned, looking at Qui-Gon, who still had not yet stirred. "The Prince. Is he--?"

"Sleeping, I think." Obi-Wan could feel the steady rise and fall of Qui-Gon's breathing and the rhythmic thump of his pulse in his veins.

"Then it's true. You monks do have powers over life and death." The physician made a warding sign, his expression filled with awe. "You took poison enough to kill five burly men, monk. The prince tried to draw it from your body, but what remained should have been more than enough to slay you."

"It was meant for him." Obi-Wan realized he was stroking Qui-Gon's tangled, silvering locks, and made himself stop. "I am glad that it did not achieve its target."

"I don't think the Sith itself could kill you." The physician packed up his meager kit with a nervous laugh. "You'll be weak for a time. I had the maids bring another mattress, but doubtless you'll want to check it. As savage a trap as I've ever seen, and as deadly."

The physician gestured to one side, and Obi-Wan saw the mattress crumpled there, half-leaned against the wall. The deadly needles stuck out like serpents' teeth, winking viciously in the lamplight. It would have to be disposed of with care.

The physician looked down at the sleeping Prince, cradled protectively in Obi-Wan's arms. "Have a care for both your lives, lad. He..." the doctor paused, looking afraid. "He must survive. His father... already he lives beyond the time when he should have lain down to die, and I cannot explain it, just as I cannot explain how you live." He looked frightened abruptly. "Maker willing, the prince will not have to take his father's throne for many years yet."

Before the man could leave, Obi-Wan found his tongue. "You must not tell anyone what has transpired here this night. If you value his life as you say you do, you will not breathe one word of any of it to anyone. Not even the king himself."

"I am not in the habit of divulging my patients' cures to others."

"See that you take special care not to this time."

Hastily the man fled, leaving Obi-Wan to frown and think on his words, waiting for Qui-Gon to wake.

Could this strange near-symbiosis between them be what Master Lucas had been hinting at when he'd suggested that Obi-Wan might not be destined to become a monk of the Order? Was there some special link that drew him and the prince together?

He could vaguely remember the prince speaking of love last night; had Qui-Gon said the words or had they been products of his dreams? Was this why he felt so drawn to the prince, why his vows seemed so hard to keep the further away from the temple he went? He shook his head. Perhaps their destinies were entwined, he could not deny that, not anymore. It looked more and more as if his life would not be spent at the temple; his destiny as a Knight had never seemed so far away.

Try as he might, he could feel no great sadness at the thought.

Still, that didn't mean he had to give up the ways and morals that had sustained him his entire life. His vows had been made to himself as well as to the Order, and he would not break them just because his dreams were not going to be fulfilled.

This court could use an example of a more frugal and less self-indulgent lifestyle, beginning with the prince himself, though Obi-Wan had to admit that the man's sojourn at the temple seemed to have left an impression. It remained to be seen how strong and lasting an impression it was.

PART 69

His head felt as though it had been used for an anvil. Resisting the temptation to move, knowing it would only make things worse, Qui-Gon cautiously opened his eyes. How much ale did I drink and what lad have I brought to my-- He blinked as his eyes focused, startled to realize he held... Kenobi.

Thoughtful blue-green eyes moved about the room; his bodyguard hadn't yet noticed he was awake. Memory rushed back in an instant, and he shifted, embarrassed by what he'd done and said-- and Obi-Wan's eyes locked on his. Incredibly, the lad's mouth curved up in a smile, and his body failed to stiffen with rejection of their closeness.

"I had wondered if you would sleep away the morning." His hand moved to brush back a lock of Qui-Gon's long hair. "A bad time we had, and I wonder if you had the worst of it."

Qui-Gon frowned. "But it was you who took the poisoned needles."

"And you who gave your strength to sustain me through the attack of the poison, until the antidote could work."

Qui-Gon knew the words for truth even as Obi-Wan spoke them, and he turned his head into the gentle brush of the lad's fingers, feeling almost shy.

"It is not possible, but you did." Obi-Wan's expression held affection and exasperation, mingled together. "You must not do that again, my prince. If you tried and failed, I could draw you down into death with me."

And I would go more willingly than stay. Qui-Gon lowered his gaze and rolled away from his bodyguard, feeling bone-deep weakness suffuse his body. He had, indeed, given all that he had, perhaps even more than the lad needed.

He could feel Obi-Wan roll to his feet and then blankets were tucked around him. "Let me check the chair and then you can sleep a little longer somewhere more comfortable than the floor."

"We couldn't move you," said Qui-Gon, feeling strangely guilty about Obi-Wan having to sleep on the floor after he'd specifically informed the lad he wouldn't have to anymore.

"It would have spread the poison more quickly," agreed Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon watched, fascinated, as his bodyguard essentially took the chair apart and carefully poked the cushions for any deadly traps.

"I'm not taking any more chances," Obi-Wan told him. "Everyone and everything is suspect until proven otherwise." He fixed Qui-Gon with a serious gaze. "Everyone, my prince. Even Shmi, even your father. Until the culprit is found."

Qui-Gon nodded. Given the events of the past few hours, he could not argue with his bodyguard's caution. His own bed had been booby-trapped with deadly poisoned needles. For the first time since Obi-Wan had keeled over it really occurred to him what that meant and he felt anger roll through him.

Someone -one of his trusted staff- had either needled the bed themselves, or at least conspired to allow it to happen. One of the people who served him day in and day out had turned to the enemy. Was offering false loyalty, was serving him with a smile and then looking to stab him in the back. It made his blood roil.

He looked again at Obi-Wan who was arranging the covers on the chair. His bodyguard had come into his home and had turned his life upside down, had refused his requests and denied his wishes, but Obi-Wan had always dealt honestly with him. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Obi-Wan looked at him, startled.

"For coming back," continued Qui-Gon. "Despite the way I have treated you, you have dealt fairly and honestly with me and your presence is appreciated."

Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable. "It is my ..."

Duty, Qui-Gon finished mentally for him, trying not to let his hurt at that show. Obi-Wan came back to him and helped him stand, slipping beneath his arm to support him as he carefully walked the few steps to the chair. He was feeling quite exhausted by the time he reached it, but he couldn't mind too much; he rather enjoyed Obi-Wan fussing over him.

The chair felt good, a lot easier on his back than the hard floor. He watched with weary interest as his young bodyguard went over the new mattress with a fine-toothed comb, peeling back the sheets, sniffing it with care, striking it heavily with the flat of his sword.

He nearly protested as Obi-Wan climbed on, then bounced heavily, moving back and forth across the surface of the bed. He'd rather sleep on solid flagstones from now on than lose the lad to another assassination attempt.

At last Kenobi seemed satisfied, handling the sheets and shaking them out, then remaking the wide bed. "It is safe to sleep on, Your Highness. But..." Obi-Wan hesitated, then lifted clear, determined eyes to him. "I will sleep between you and the doorway, between you and danger. If someone comes in, they will have to pass me before they may harm you." He hesitated again, cheeks flushing slightly. "If you wish to... copulate, I will search the bed, and then your lover, and I will wait on the floor until you have finished."

Qui-Gon reddened also. "I believe I can set my desires aside until the crisis has passed."

Obi-Wan looked at him and in that moment Qui-Gon could see how tired and shaky the lad still was; just as weary as the previous night before he'd been poisoned, if not worse. Clearly only adrenaline and the few hours of sleep he'd managed were holding him upright.

"I will not hold you to that - it may be some time before the culprit is found and then he must be dealt with." Obi-Wan looked down at the floor between them. "And it may be some time after that before I am willing to trust that you are safe and be willing to look at other arrangements."

Qui-Gon waved his hand dismissively. "We can meet each step as we take it. I wish to make your job as easy as possible from here on in."

"As you wish," replied Obi-Wan with a short bow. "The bed is safe, Your Highness, unless you would prefer to remain where you are for the moment."

"No, the bed looks good," said Qui-Gon, pushing himself up and making it to the bed under his own steam. He lay down with a heavy sigh, bones and muscles stiff and aching from the night spent on the floor.

Obi-Wan crawled in beside him and, feeling content and safe, Qui-Gon once more let sleep take him.

PART 70

I wait patiently for my little spy to finish with her duties before she flies back to me. I am eager to hear what news she brings of the prince's health. Has he ended his days in the bed he so thoroughly used?

I enjoy the irony of his bed being the instrument of his death, though I doubt it has even occurred to the little bitch. She is rather dim and were it not that the prince made frequent use of her rather obvious charms, I would have chosen another as my arrow.

I while my time away imagining what it must be like, to lie in bed, where one is supposed to be safe and find comfort and rest, and instead to be stabbed by the prick of a hundred tiny pins. Death would be swift, almost merciful. I spit into the fire and imagine instead that he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and received only a single prick, perhaps two.

Yes, a slow, lingering death, made even more so by the sweet boy attempting to suck the poison from his body.

Thinking about such things makes me hard and I let my legs spread, stroking myself through the heavy silk of my robe. Where is that girl?

At last a soft knock sounds and I bid her enter. She comes in and makes her way to my chair, sliding to her knees in front of me. I scare her and yet she finds me equally intriguing. Both make lovely tools for controlling her-- she works for me on half-made promises. She will hang prettily for my treason, such a perfect little pigeon.

I slide my hand beneath her chin and raise her face. "Well?"

"The bodyguard took the poison." She says it fearfully, but I smile; with him out of the way the prince will be much easier to control and perhaps his death will become unnecessary.

"Did he die slowly?"

"He isn't dead yet, and the physician said it looked as if he might live."

I frown and she cringes, as well she should. While I cared little which of the two died, to have them both live, that is a setback for they will be on their guard more than ever and perhaps even Sira's usefulness is coming to an end. I will have to use her sparingly lest she is discovered before I wish it.

"I'm sorry," she says, simpering. I wave my hand, silencing her.

"There will be other opportunities. As long as you keep me informed." She nods vigorously, eager to remain in my good graces.

Business concluded I let my robe slide open, revealing my current need. A sly look comes into her eyes. "I could help you with that, m'lord," she tells me coyly.

"Hands and knees."

She hastens to obey and I ruck her skirts up, entering her unceremoniously. I slide in easily, far too easily for my pleasure; she is too much of a slut to require foreplay and I wonder if the prince realizes how loose her legs really are.

I rip open her top and pinch her nipples, kneading her breasts with some force, but she appears to be enjoying it. She is moaning and carrying on as if she were near orgasm and anger flashes through me.

She dares to attempt to fool me? I shall show her where her feeble attempts will get her and enjoy myself to the bargain.

I grab her ass cheeks and spread them as I pull out, my next thrust is into her back passage and she screams. Oh yes, that was real.

And she is tight here.

Gripping me, and now the pleasure is mine. I ride her hard as she writhes and twists beneath me.

So, it seems the prince saves this for his boys. Not that I can blame him. I can imagine Kenobi beneath me, and my arousal spikes.

He would truly fight me and it would take all my strength to hold him down, to successfully ride him to the end. Already this cheap girl thrusts back against me and has started her false litany of ecstatic screaddenly I'm tired and can not suffer her presence for another moment. "You will report to me as soon as there is any change."

"Of course, m'lord." Her voice is steady, calm, and for a moment I wonder if I have been too quick to label her dim. But as she lingers, making sure I get an eyeful of her breasts hanging from her torn blouse, I know I have not.

It is such a trial to be a genius among this rabble.

Never mind. Soon I shall rule and all will bow down before me.

PART 71

Obi-Wan Kenobi awakened again to a day he should never have seen. His disposition was, perhaps, unsurprising given recent events-- he was warm and cradled in strong arms, tucked under a stubbled chin. He let himself have the leisure of staying there for a long moment before he drew back and remembered duty.

A scan of the bedchamber revealed nothing amiss; everything was as they had left it when they stumbled to bed together. He had remained on the outside even during sleep; the motions that had resulted in him waking in Qui-Gon's arms had not overcome his sense of duty.

He glanced at the prince; Qui-Gon looked better, his features not so drawn and careworn this morning now that rest had restored some of his natural vitality. Obi-Wan lay back on the pillow, relaxing now that he was separate and apart again, thinking hard.

The needled mattress could have been meant for either of them. Most of the court thought he was Qui-Gon's catamite; what better way to leave the prince defenseless and distracted than to rob him of his trusted bodyguard and lover? It might even be reasonable to expect that Obi-Wan would enter the bed first. An intelligent assassin would have considered the possibility carefully.

Obi-Wan frowned, frustrated. An intelligent assassin indeed. After so long, they still had no concrete clues to the identity of the person or persons who had targeted Qui-Gon. That annoyed him; he felt as though he weren't doing his job in more ways than one.

Qui-Gon murmured something next to him, reaching out; his large palm fell on Obi-Wan's side and he stilled, settling back into sleep. The assassination attempt had troubled Qui-Gon indeed. Obi-Wan frowned. His memory was foggy in places, hazed over and riddled with holes from the poison... but he could admit now that he had been well when Qui-Gon held him close and whispered love to him, voice fierce and broken.

Love.

Obi-Wan gazed up at the vaulted stone ceiling. Qui-Gon had never spoken of love to Sira or Bruck, or even to Shmi. Not in Obi-Wan's hearing, at any rate, as far as he could recall. What did love mean to a spoiled princeling? Or to a half-reformed prince who would be king, struggling to grow up, near too late?

Perhaps much. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps somewhere in between. Certainly Qui-Gon cared for him, to be so concerned for his well being and to struggle so hard to adapt his behavior to please Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan knew nothing of love; he'd never been raised to expect it, and thus had never pondered its nature. His affection for his fellows, the respect he held for Master Lucas, the loyalty and reverence he felt toward the Order... perhaps all those things contained elements of love, but Obi-Wan knew none of them were like the love one was supposed to hold for a mate.

Love.

Was what he felt for Qui-Gon Jinn love? He felt affection for Qui-Gon, exasperation with him, fondness and a certain measure of contempt. Loyalty and reverence too, though it might seem contradictory. Protectiveness. How was one to tell esteem for a comrade from the feelings for a lover? It baffled him; he had no compass for it.

He did, however, have the counsel of his teachers to fall back upon. For thousands of years the Order had preached patience as a virtue, as a goal, and Obi-Wan knew that it was sound advice for him now.

On the subject of his becoming a knight, Obi-Wan had never known patience, always eagerly reaching out toward his path, to embrace his destiny. Now that he was no longer sure what his destiny was, it was much easier to step back, to take a wait and see approach to the matter. Everything would be revealed in time, if he could keep both himself and the prince alive.

Qui-Gon stirred again, the hand at Obi-Wan's side squeezing and then sliding with gentle sensuality down to his hip. The long fingers wrapped around his hip and drew him forward. His resistance brought Qui-Gon's eyes open and he was released immediately. Qui-Gon retreated to the far side of the bed.

"Sorry," said the prince, voice gruff, rusty as if unused to such apologies. Obi-Wan knew very well he wasn't.

"You were asleep," he offered. "The movement was unconscious, and had I been Sira or Bruck, or whoever, I'm sure I would have responded readily."

Qui-Gon grimaced, but made no comment.

"As this is to become a permanent arrangement," continued Obi-Wan. "At least until we are sure that we've caught the right culprit this time, we shall have to become used to waking up in each other's arms. I believe it is quite within man's nature to gravitate toward a warm body that shares his sleeping space."

Qui-Gon's bark of laughter startled him and Obi-Wan drew his dignity around him as if it were a cloak.

"I don't think I've ever heard it put quite that way," said Qui-Gon on another chuckle before sobering. "You believe this is related to the attack on Valorum's estates."

"Yes."

"And the attack on Shmi and Anakin?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "On the surface there's nothing to link the two and Crion is not known to have any allies in the kingdom, however, it would be wrong to dismiss the possibility. Certainly, that attack resulted in your being away from the Castle for some time..."

Qui-Gon frowned, considering the possibilities. "It seems likely that the needled mattress would not be the only action this assassin has taken in our absence."

"I think we should expect the worst," Obi-Wan agreed. "Certainly your father seemed predisposed to judge us ill at our return."

"We must speak with him as soon as possible." Qui-Gon frowned. "Best to know what we're up against, if we can."

"We must tread cautiously," Obi-Wan warned. "Yoda is still king of this land, and his word is law. No matter what guides his thinking."

Qui-Gon bit his lip and nodded. "I would not lead an uprising against my own father."

"The needs of the land and the people often require desperate measures, Your Highness. But it is not my place to judge you or to dictate what you must do. Only to offer advice and counsel, and to protect you as best I can should need arise."

"I am glad you're still alive so that you can perform your duty." For once there was no resentment in Qui-Gon's eyes as he mentioned Obi-Wan's duty.

"As am I," Obi-Wan replied, and their eyes held for a long moment.

"I suppose we must face the day," Qui-Gon muttered at last.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, and slipped out of bed to make way for his prince.

Together, still moving with care and feeling the days in the saddle and the weakness of Obi-Wan's brush with death, they dressed to start the day.

PART 72

It felt odd moving through the echoing, empty hallways of the castle, as though unseen eyes watched them everywhere. Obi-Wan supposed it was merely a healthy dose of paranoia. He'd never felt so certain before that someone was trying to kill him. And he'd never felt so uncertain of what might happen if they did. The monks taught that the spirits of Knights lived on to counsel their descendants, but if Obi-Wan was not to be a Knight... he shuddered, a chill creeping down his spine. His essence would at least pass into the life-force and be of use in building other things.

Something, though... something felt amiss in the castle, a strange sense of darkness that he had not sensed before... or perhaps he had; its taint felt familiar, nagging subtly at the edges of his consciousness. Perhaps it had always been present, but had strengthened in their absence. It served to provide an additional warning, as though any more were necessary.

He heard the steps long before they encountered anyone. Two people, headed in their direction from the right corridor they were about to meet up ahead. Obi-Wan visually checked the hall behind them and then slipped in front of the prince, not standing directly in front of him, but able to assume that position with a single small step.

"Two men approach, Highness," he said softly in explanation. He could feel Qui-Gon stiffen beside him, knew the prince's hand had fallen to his sword. Obi-Wan himself had one hand on his own sword, the other was ready to flip out the dagger he'd hidden in his sleeve.

The booted footsteps drew nearer, the fine swish of cloth sliding over the marble floor giving away the fact that one of them was a noble.

Both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had assumed a casual post by the time Palpatine and his manservant rounded the corridor. For a moment Palpatine looked surprised to see them, but soon he was his usual obsequious self. Obi-Wan held back his shudder of distaste.

"Your Highness!" Palpatine swept a low bow and then rubbed his hands together. Obi-Wan guessed the man meant the gesture to indicate pleasure at this meeting, but couldn't help but feel as if he and the prince were the main course at a banquet in the Duke's honor.

It certainly didn't put him at ease; there was something about Palpatine that made the hair on his arms stand on end.

"Palpatine," responded Qui-Gon flatly.

"It is an unexpected pleasure to see you and your man both looking so well. I was shocked to hear of yet another attempt on your life. And we were all so sure that with Valorum exiled your problems were over!"

The man gave them both an oily smile. Obi-Wan refrained from commenting and was pleased when the prince kept his own comments to a simple "Thank you for your concern."

His thoughts were buzzing though; the only way Palpatine could know was if someone told him and the only people who knew what had happened were the physician and Sira. He himself had asked the physician to keep quiet.

"Do you suppose Valorum still has supporters? Though I can assure you that I have his daughter well in hand and you'll have no trouble from that quarter. There's also no love lost between Crion and yourself. I must admit I didn't think the man had the balls to attack you in your home though, especially not on the heels of his attack on your consort and your heir."

Obi-Wan kept his face impassive and his body still, not an easy task when every one of his instincts were shouting that this was their man and he should do something permanent about it.

Qui-Gon was similarly calm at his side, though the subtle tension in the prince's broad shoulders let Obi-Wan know that the significance of Palpatine's comment had not escaped him.

"It strikes me as odd that no attempts have been made on my father's life," Qui-Gon intoned distantly. "Only my own, and that of my family and friends." Qui-Gon's eyes turned sharp as lightning, boring into Palpatine. "Does this not seem strange to you, Duke?"

"The King grows old, your highness." Palpatine's eyes never flickered, though his mouth curled downward with rueful apology. "I have always found it my privilege to advise and serve him, but perhaps there are those who believe the firm strength of his ruling hand is balanced by its short remaining duration."

"I am glad indeed that you are not among them." Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shuffle his feet in response to Qui- Gon's sharp words. "Particularly since I have determined that once I am King, your voice will no longer carry a gnat's weight at court."

Palpatine recoiled; this time anger flickered in his eyes. "Indeed, I have always wished your father's reign to last to its utmost." He sidestepped the insult neatly, trying to mask his loss of composure. "And now it would seem that I should continue to offer prayers for his continued health. If you will excuse me, I shall do so." He glided away with icy grace, the snap of his heels crisp, betraying his fury.

Obi-Wan waited until he vanished. "What the Sith are you up to?"

"He should not have known." Qui-Gon's face was white and pinched. "I would not have him target my father for an early death, Kenobi. I will draw Palpatine's wrath to me."

"And a fine job you have made of it. As though we needed another enemy!" Obi-Wan shook his head sharply, exasperated. "But you're right, he should not have known. Only the court physician and Sira..." he paused.

"What?" Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not here," he said softly. "Your library is just ahead -we should be able to talk there."

As they walked, Obi-Wan ran over what he knew. Sira and the doctor were the only ones who knew about Obi-Wan's being poisoned and he himself had requested the physician's silence. Which meant that Sira was the one who had told Palpatine, which led him inevitably to the conclusion that Sira was their spy and Palpatine their traitor. In retrospect, Sira's collusion made a lot of sense; she had free access to the prince's rooms, indeed to his bed. She could easily have been the one to plant the needles, or at the very least let in the person who had.

Palpatine's involvement also made sense; it was clear that the man was ambitious, he'd had the king's ear for quite some time. How long did it take before a man like the Duke wanted to be more than just an advisor? With Qui-Gon out of the way, and with the King's failing health, a regent would be appointed to oversee Anakin's reign. Not unlike one had been appointed to supervise Amidala.

He shivered. All in all it was rather insidious.

Arriving at the library, he made a thorough search of the place and wouldn't let the prince sit until his chair had been carefully examined. "We can't be too careful at this point," he said by way of an apology for the delay, but Qui-Gon waved it aside.

"I put myself in your hands. It has been made abundantly clear that the threat is no illusion."

Obi-Wan nodded and waited until the prince was seated. He stood close by and spoke quietly, voice clear and steady. "I believe, your highness, that I know the identity of your enemy, as well as one of his collaborators."

PART 73

"I told the physician to speak of no one about my illness. He seemed inclined to obey; I found him very sympathetic to our situation." Obi-Wan's eyes flared with anger and excitement, a sight that sent breath out of Qui-Gon's lungs with almost as much force as his bodyguard's revelation. "Only he and Sira knew, Your Highness, unless others entered the room while I was unaware?"

"No. No, they didn't." Qui-Gon's fists clenched. "Sira." He breathed her name, rage and hurt thickening his throat.

Obi-Wan nodded, his face compassionate. "I believe she should bear our first scrutiny. There have been other times as well, when she... distracted you, from urgent business."

Qui-Gon felt his cheeks heat, and he rose, pacing with agitation. She and Bruck had bewitched him, and Shmi had nearly paid with her life as a result. Yes. "I am a fool."

"There is no denying you were played as one."

Surprisingly, he found himself chuckling. Anyone but his bodyguard would have tripped over their own feet to tell him he wasn't a fool. The honesty was refreshing, especially when it was paired with compassion, of which there was a generous layer in the solemn eyes that met his own. "And pulling Sira's strings..." he prompted, though he had himself divined the answer.

"Palpatine."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreement.

"There was no other reason for Sira to have told him," Obi-Wan continued. "And he has much to lose if you become king, even before you rubbed his nose in it earlier."

"And he is likely realize that he has mis-stepped when it becomes apparent that others do not know." Qui-Gon frowned. "He will be on guard."

"Then it is time to let others know." Obi-Wan's smile widened irresistibly into a grin, and he reached for a bell-rope. "Fetch the chamberlain," he commanded the girl when she arrived moments later. She curtsied and scampered out. "We will have an announcement made regarding my unfortunate incident."

Qui-Gon felt his lips curve up in a smile. "You are devious. Is it a skill taught at the monastery?"

"If logic is devious, then perhaps it is."

"Word will spread like wildfire," Qui-Gon mused. "If Palpatine did not go straight into company to inquire the opinions of others...

"There is a good chance of it, I think. You infuriated him so badly he's probably still working to regain his composure. Or..." Obi-Wan's excitement dimmed visibly. "Or perhaps he has gone to your father."

Qui-Gon felt his fists clench, heard the crackling of his own knuckles. "I will kill the man myself on the day his treason is exposed," he vowed. "I should kill him now."

Obi-Wan tilted his head, considering it. "We must expose his treachery first."

PART 74

The courtiers in his father's council chamber were whispering among themselves of the needled mattress when Qui-Gon arrived and the call of his name turned the room into a hushed wall of eyes, with his father standing at the window, staring out across the land.

Qui-Gon knew it was a bad sign when King Yoda failed to turn to him; so many times before his father had greeted him with open arms, or with a stern and forbidding stare... but never with rounded shoulders, his entire bearing eloquent of hostile dignity, even when a cough racked his narrow, age-bent shoulders.

Never before had Yoda refused to turn and greet his son.

Palpatine was there, face bland and eyes glittering, standing several yards away from the King. Qui-Gon forced himself not to glare at the Duke. As Obi-Wan said, better not to tip their hand. Not even with Sira, though it would be difficult to bear her presence as his servant. Still, they could use the girl as she had been used against them.

Surely his father had heard of the attempt on his life, of his bodyguard's near death. It seemed impossible that not even platitudes were crossing his father's lips. How could their relationship have deteriorated this badly in the time he was not even at the castle?

His eyes narrowed and it took all his will power not to turn his regard back to Palpatine. While the man had always had a voice with his father, never had one person alone advised the King. Yet since his return from the temple, Qui-Gon had seen no other at his father's side.

"Your Majesty," called Qui-Gon, making an elegant bow and then dropping to his knees. Beside him Obi-Wan automatically followed, dropping gracefully down. There was a murmur among the crowd and then they scrambled to follow suit; at odds with the king or no, he was still the crown prince and if he were bowing, they had to as well, perforce.

Palpatine alone had not gone to his knees and Qui-Gon turned to him, raising one eyebrow, but saying nothing. With an ill-concealed sneer, Palpatine slowly dropped to his knees as well; eyes glittering with rage.

"Your Majesty," Qui-Gon called again and his father slowly turned.

Qui-Gon had to catch his breath to keep from exclaiming. His father was pale, almost green from sickness, and the skin dropped around his face, leaving his eyes overlarge. The king blinked slowly, looking around the room with surprise and when his father's eyes met his own, Qui-Gon believed the man had no idea who he was.

Indeed, his father seemed a stranger in that moment, almost someone Qui-Gon had never seen before. An unimaginable departure from the kindly father who had held Qui-Gon on his knee as a lad. Still, there had always been a distance in his father, a remoteness... and it had grown worse as he aged, but now.... Now it was as though the King was all that there was left, and the father had never been. And worse, the King was not the same one Qui-Gon and the land had always known. His father looked hard and brittle, closed completely inside himself.

"All Hail King Yoda," Qui-Gon commanded, and the others in the room echoed him.

"All hail!" They touched their fingers to their foreheads, bending forward reverently.

"I owe him my life a dozen times over for his forethought and wisdom in sending to me a Monk of the Jedi Order as my bodyguard. He has preserved my life that I may do my father's will and follow in his footsteps."

Laying it on a bit thick, perhaps, but a compliment nonetheless, both to Yoda and to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon lifted clear eyes to his father's clouded ones.

Yoda regarded him impassively, and his hazed eyes lifted, looking past Qui-Gon's shoulder as though seeking anchor. Whatever he saw seemed to galvanize him, he drew breath and lifted his chin. "You return to me without your son and heir. You return to me with a worthless kitchen drudge. You return to me with a half-trained kitten who cannot claim the title of a Knight, a kitten you have made into your catamite. You return to me with tales of Xanatos and Crion, left unfought and unpunished for their effrontery in raiding my lands. You return to me with nothing."

Yoda's throat cleared obscenely, a patch of glistening wet landed on the floor in front of Qui-Gon's knee. "Go from my sight."

Qui-Gon raised himself to his full height, aware of the shocked stares of the courtiers. "With all due respect, my father, I hope that you will consider the possibility that you have spoken rashly."

Qui-Gon could see faint nods out of the corner of his eyes, and saw his father noting them too, his bearing growing even stiffer with anger.

"You tread on thin ice, my son. This audience is over."

Qui-Gon was left with his tongue in his mouth, heavy with words unspoken, as Yoda turned away and waved for a servant. "Bring tea." That easily, the King dismissed him from his mind, his shoulders relaxing as he looked away out the narrow window toward the green horizon.

He could still feel the heavy stares of the audience. Some he knew were hostile, others sympathetic. Palpatine looked down on him with barely veiled triumph. And he could feel compassion and strength pouring from his bodyguard.

As he stood, those assembled followed suit like a wave of colored flags blowing in the wind. He stood straight and tall, letting none of his anger and pain at his father's ill treatment show. Another bow to his father and he strode from the room, his bodyguard following in his wake.

A courtier bowed as he passed, the first, but not the last as the others followed and he left the hall with his dignity intact. Somehow it paled in comparison next to the large gulf that had grown between he and his father.

PART 75

Qui-Gon woke slowly, feeling warm and content. He was wrapped around Obi-Wan's naked body, his hard length pressed against the monk's buttocks. For a moment he let himself believe that they really were the lovers they were pretending to be. He rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan's head, letting the the hair of his beard tangle in Obi-Wan's short hair.

Four days of this charade, four days of going to bed naked next to his equally naked bodyguard, four days of waking up in each other's arms, aroused and needy and wishing it were not all a sham.

With a sigh Qui-Gon shifted, rolling onto his back and staring with unseeing eyes up into the dark canopy that topped his bed. Both he and Obi-Wan were fully recovered from the poisoning incident. They seemed almost to feed off of each other, as if being in the other's presence generated energy and well-being.

They had kept their recovery quiet, spending most of their time in Qui-Gon's rooms, trying to figure out what Palpatine's next move would be and how to expose him.

And talking.

Qui-Gon had never made an attempt to get to know any of his paramours, except to some extent Shmi; certainly he'd never known them unless he was already bedding them. It was a novelty to delve into his bodyguard's bright and crowded mind.

In the morning's quiet, he could hear Sira's light tread along the servants' passage and he moved to wake Obi-Wan so that the monk was aware when he was kissed; merely a display for Sira's benefit, he wished it was instead his right as Obi-Wan's lover.

Obi-Wan's lashes flickered open and sleep cleared from his eyes gradually. He nodded permission and Qui-Gon leaned in, suddenly aware that he was trembling as he let his lips drift across his bodyguard's narrow mouth, as delicately as the touch of a butterfly.

Obi-Wan lay quite still, not responding, and he could hear Sira draw nearer, so he let his mouth settle, licking along the seam between Obi-Wan's lips, making it look good-- but it tasted good, too, the faint salt of Obi-Wan's sweat on Qui-Gon's tongue, and he felt himself pull Obi-Wan nearer. His balls ached and his erection screamed for attention as Obi-Wan's arms slid languorously around his shoulders, the sweet mouth still unresponsive, and Qui-Gon nearly sobbed, wanting more but holding back-- and then Obi-Wan's mouth opened.

Qui-Gon dove in, unable to hold back, his tongue exploring eagerly in a place that had always been forbidden to him. He slid his hand behind the lad's skull, moving for a better angle, drinking deep from a well he could never touch again. Then Obi-Wan's tongue stirred shyly, touching his, and he couldn't remember that it was a ruse; all he knew was the sweet touch of that tongue and the gentle, awkward motion of the lips crushed beneath his.

Qui-Gon gasped into the kiss, lightning shooting wildly along his spine, and came against Obi-Wan's slender thigh, agonizing, blissful spasms. He collapsed, his cheek sliding along Obi-Wan's, a crushing burden of shame already materializing from nowhere to settle on his heart.

Obi-Wan was breathing heavily, looking at him with wide eyes, and he couldn't read the emotions that played there, making the changeable eyes appear blue and then green and then blue once again. A blush of color stained Obi-Wan's cheeks and his gaze flicked to the foot of the bed.

Following that gaze, Qui-Gon was startled to see Sira standing there with the hint of a smirk on her face. He'd forgotten she was coming, had indeed forgotten that the kiss itself was a ruse for this serving wench's benefit. "Ah, Sira," he managed to say in a light tone. "A bit of breakfast only -something light. And then we'll be wanting riding clothes. We're going to have a picnic by the lake, take in a bit of sun. Perhaps you could arrange for a nice basket for us as well."

Beside him, Obi-Wan shot him a glare.

"Ah, yes," added Qui-Gon, as if he'd just remembered an important detail. "Perhaps you can keep it quiet-- we really aren't up to socializing should others get it into their heads to join us. The ride itself will no doubt be taxing enough given Obi-Wan's lingering effects from the poison."

"Yes, m'lord," she said as she went to the wardrobe and began to pull out clothing.

Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan. "All right?" he asked loudly. "She won't tell anyone, our private tryst is still private."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan replied. "I don't want anyone to know how weak I still am. If they think I am too weak to properly defend you, your enemies are likely to take advantage and make another attempt on your life." Obi-Wan's hand reached up and slid across Qui-Gon's cheek, making him close his eyes. A rumbling noise of pleasure gathered in his chest and was slowly released.

"It is only a matter of time before one of these attempts succeed and where would I be without you, my stallion?" asked Obi-Wan in a loud whisper.

Qui-Gon nearly ruined the whole thing by giving away his surprise at Obi-Wan's words. As it was, his eyes flew open, meeting the amused glance of his bodyguard.

"I'll just get your breakfast, m'lord," Sira told him and then, with a small curtsey, left.

"My stallion?" questioned Qui-Gon once the sound of her footsteps had faded.

Obi-Wan's blush deepened. "It was the best I could come up with," he said shyly.

"Well, I'm sure it sounded suitably besotted to Sira," he replied with a chuckle.

"I hope we didn't lay it on too thick." Obi-Wan chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "About me still being weak, I mean. Palpatine is very intelligent-- the worst thing we could do is underestimate him."

"Sira's not the brightest bauble in the basket though. I doubt she's giving him word-for-word reports. As long as she's convinced you're not yet recovered, that's what she'll report. I expect he'll use this opportunity to send another crew of soldiers after us, perhaps send them ahead to ambush us."

"Hopefully he'll take the report of my weakness to heart and only send a few to do the job, nonetheless we should take a dozen of your guard with us."

"I think we should move more subtly," Qui-Gon countered. "A man or two, maybe three in concealment is enough-- Panaka and two hand-picked companions should suffice. We don't want to show our hand too early."

Obi-Wan blinked at him. "There is much in what you say, but I would not risk you." He sounded determined, but a little hesitant.

"Together, you and I could fight a dozen men and triumph." Qui-Gon smiled involuntarily, picturing how they must look fighting side by side.

"That's no reason for risk," Obi-Wan grumbled.

"Raising a small army against a Duke without my father's consent is rather more than risk," Qui-Gon pointed out dryly.

"Very well." Obi-Wan sounded dismayed. "But you must promise, my prince, that if it comes to a choice between my life and your own... you will preserve yours. Or I will not agree." He lifted his chin firmly, eyes cool grey and stubborn.

Qui-Gon hesitated. "Very well." He could not leave the land to Palpatine, no matter how much the alternative might cost him. "It will not come to that," he tried to reassure them both. Obi-Wan shrugged, but seemed satisfied.