Master Apprentice
Archive
The Impasse
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Archive: M_A, anyone else, just ask.
Category: Angst, Action/Adventure, BDSM, Other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: I labeled this as BDSM just to make sure I wouldn't offend anyone. There is some mild bondage and the sex is somewhat non-consensual. (I know, I know, it's sort of like saying "somewhat dead," but you'll see when you get there.) There is nothing *too* extreme here. Also, while this is in essence a Q/O story, it does have Q/O/M sexual content!
Spoilers: None, pre-TPM
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are sent to help mediate a dispute on a remote planet, but things go wrong when Obi-Wan decides to take matters in his own hands.
Feedback: Yes, please, always. It does wonders to keep up the late night writing sessions!
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Tennyson
Rebellious, hot-headed, impudent little upstart! Qui-Gon Jinn bit back a few more succinct words and decided to merely sit and fume quietly at the utter recklessness of his young apprentice. Self-reliance and confidence in his abilities I wanted him to have, but this...
He abruptly rose and restlessly paced the small antechamber's marble-inlaid floor, realizing belatedly that sitting still and fuming weren't going to suffice after all, hadn't sufficed in quite some time. In fact, right now he felt that nothing less than taking his apprentice's pale throat in his hands and squeezing some sense into him were the only actions that would. Oh, he could manage his feelings well enough while in the midst of negotiations, the absolute necessity for reaching an accord allowing him to put aside his anger and despair, but during these periods of forced idleness...
His eyes filled unaccountably and he angrily closed them for a brief moment, flinging his head violently to one side as he struggled unsuccessfully to bring his rapidly shifting emotions under control. He swallowed convulsively. Force allow that I ever get that opportunity at all, he thought despairedly.
He stopped as his pacing brought him in front of a large, decorative glass window that graced one wall of the small chamber, resting his head against one of the sturdy curved panes and trying to disperse some of his worry and anger into the Force, much as the cool, smooth glass dissipated the heat from his anxious pacing.
He lifted his head slowly. Well, it hadn't worked especially well the last time he attempted it either.
He resumed his stalking, aware he looked vaguely dangerous but unwilling or unable to resume the mask of the calm, stoic Jedi Master. He feared this situation was already beyond his ability to mediate anyway, and at least the movement made him feel marginally better, the smooth, steady strides of his long legs venting some of his frustration at least into movement, if not action -- the action his whole being cried out for him to make, the action his protective instincts honed by years of association with the boy demanded he take.
He shook his head again and exhaled explosively. The same action he could not risk unless he intended to ignite a whole world into fire and bloodshed.
Damn the boy to all the Sith hells! How dare he risk his life like this!
His internal struggle and preoccupation nearly caused him to collide with a young Cerlonese diplomat attempting to get his attention before his eyes focussed outward and he became fully aware again. The young man stepped backwards to avoid the big Jedi's path, stopping when Qui-Gon did, but he inhaled a deep steadying breath when the almost predator-like gaze of the Jedi Master centered firmly on him. The young diplomat bowed deeply, breaking the searing eye contact hurriedly, and stepped backwards again, bumping hard into a pedestal behind him.
Qui-Gon used Force to steady the delicate sculpture threatened by imminent destruction from the tottering pedestal and made a conscious effort to calm his demeanor enough to allow speech to the young man. Frightening ten cycles off a lowly diplomat's life was not going to accomplish anything, and in any case the relative youth of this boy meant he couldn't be more than a Fifth or Sixth in the hierarchy. He closed his eyes and made another less-than-perfect effort to center himself.
He opened his eyes again after he felt he had achieved some level of calm and said merely, "Yes?"
The young diplomat had yet to raise his eyes up off the floor, and at the sound of Qui-Gon's voice he started minutely but made a masterful attempt to control his reaction.
Obviously, the stress of keeping the repressed violence at bay must still be manifesting in his voice. Pity that, but sometime over the last tenday he had ceased to find the outmoded sensibilities and somewhat brutal customs of these people quaint and pitiable. Now he found them merely contemptible, and as far as Obi-Wan...
"Yes?" he rasped again, at the ragged end of his erstwhile impressive patience.
"If it would please the exalted Mediator...?"
"What would please the exalted Mediator would be to have his apprentice back," he snapped in frustration, forcing again blistering eye contact with the diplomat, centering his whole imposing personality on this...visible, accessible obstruction to getting his Padawan back.
The young man returned his gaze with obvious distress, but he did not back down from Qui-Gon's anger nor make a hurried or ill-considered reply in kind. In spite of himself, Qui-Gon found himself quietly impressed by the young man's poise. With his people's lack of previous contact with the Republic, the boy was undoubtedly wary of what to expect from an infuriated Jedi Master, but he evidently had the strength of character to follow through with his assignment nonetheless. He also looked vaguely familiar to Qui-Gon, and he wondered briefly where he had encountered the young man before. He shook his head to clear it and did not pursue that train of thought further. This mission had been a maelstrom from the start, with its confusing and time-consuming strata of protocol and restrictions, and he had managed to see very little of this world, or even his own apprentice, before...
Qui-Gon sighed, rubbed his weary eyes, and replied more calmly, "I apologize for my rudeness. I assume you are here to take me to the First Arbiter?"
The diplomat merely nodded his head a fraction and watched his face warily.
"Then lead. I will follow."
The young man bowed his dark blonde head again in obvious relief and strode purposefully to the door, anxious, no doubt, to leave before Qui-Gon should change his mind.
As they walked down the long empty corridor, Qui-Gon watched the earnest young man in front of him attempting with some success to lengthen the strides of his much shorter legs to match the need for haste that obviously still radiated from Qui-Gon's body. The thick plaited braid of the diplomat's longish hair thwacked against his shoulder blades with his altered, accelerated gait.
As they reached the portal to the outside, the young man tossed his head to bring the long braid within reach, tucking it behind his right ear and attaching the end with a heavy, decorative clip to his tunic.
Qui-Gon stopped short in shock when he belatedly realized just why his current displaced anger had manifested itself, and bowed deeply to the young man, who looked at him with some confusion. The wide eyes and the need for approval, moreso than his physical appearance, Qui- Gon decided, reminded him more vividly of Obi-Wan. It is hardly this particular young man's fault that he should happen upon me just as I felt the need to beat some sense into my own apprentice's head, he thought bemusedly.
"I apologize again for my rudeness," Qui-Gon said aloud and bowed again to the young man. "I find I am somewhat...distracted by the plight of my apprentice," he finished.
The young diplomat's features softened somewhat in relief, and no little compassion, and he replied kindly, "There is naught to forgive, exalted Mediator. I am honored to serve."
The young man's eyes darted away and he chewed on his lower lip nervously, another mannerism that reminded Qui-Gon painfully of his absent Padawan. Qui-Gon watched in growing apprehension as the young man obviously struggled with a difficult decision. It had been Qui-Gon's long, painful experience that a diplomat in conspicuous distress could bode no good, especially since their very livelihood relied upon at least an outward projection of composure. The young Cerlonese met Qui-Gon's eyes at long last, and then he bowed his head and said formally, softly, but no less kindly, "I grieve with you in your Impasse."
Qui-Gon inhaled sharply, his heart beating frantically in his chest. Was it so serious then? Was there no hope? Dazed at all the implications of that one unadorned statement, Qui-Gon could merely repeat the ritualistic reply, "The Impasse shall be its own remedy." He locked eyes with the young man standing so dejectedly before him. "But you will forgive me, I hope, if I strive to make it otherwise?"
"More than forgive, exalted Mediator, believe that I shall do all in my power to help." The young diplomat straightened to his full height and proclaimed defiantly, "I am called 'Drah'Nor.'" With that, leaving a stunned and mute Qui-Gon in his wake, he strode out the door and into the beckoning soft spring sunshine.
Qui-Gon, belatedly, keyed open the door and followed behind the young diplomat...no, Drah'Nor. After spending so long on this world, it was difficult to regain the habit again of referring to an individual by name. As he ducked his head slightly to pass under a stone arch not designed to accommodate someone of his height, he attempted to digest the intriguing implications of Drah'Nor's release to him of his use-name. Such a thing was normally considered only amidst close family ties and to those bound by marriage. He was, of course, neither to Drah'Nor. A message of some kind? Was the boy attempting then merely to secure Qui-Gon's notice? -- if so, he had succeeded admirably. And the ritualistic condolences...possibly...a warning? If this were indeed the case, it implied a depth to this young man that required further consideration, since he had in two simple sentences defied the two basic tenants which his people held most dear.
As they passed beyond the protection of the guest wing on the outskirts of the huge diplomatic complex, they came temporarily into the full brunt of the West Wind, the ceaseless wind that blew across the island continent for most of this turbulent planet's year. While warm from its journey across a broad expanse of temperate sea, and not quite gale force, it was still enough to make Qui-Gon stagger as he fought his mutinous hair's sudden desire to break from its bindings and swirl madly around his face.
He cursed inwardly to himself, and then staggered from more than the tumultuous wind as he fought back a hollow pang of painful remembrance. It had been one of the few happy moments they'd had since landing on this tiny backwater planet, and it had been their first encounter with this cursed wind. Obi-Wan had easily grabbed hold of his thin braid to keep it from whipping about and had laughed out loud at his Master's futile attempts to tame his unruly mane.
"Perhaps you should change your hairstyle, Master," he had said with his devilish half-smile as he swirled the tip of his Padawan braid in his Master's direction.
"And perhaps my Padawan should learn some manners," he had replied, and Force-swatted Obi-Wan's backside hard enough to cause him to yelp and lose his grip on his braid.
The wind had whipped the escaped braid back hard enough across Obi-Wan's cheek to elicit another yelp from his wayward apprentice, along with a glare in the direction of his chuckling Master. After that, Obi-Wan had adopted the local practice of the decorative braid-clips whenever he ventured outside. They had likewise both quickly discarded their loose outer garments or else run the risk of causing some injury to themselves, or at least suffer from the extreme lack of dignity resulting from limbs entangled in voluminous robes by the ever present, wretched wind.
He supposed he could have taken Obi-Wan's braid-clip before he left their chambers; the clip had sat forlorn and unused since his apprentice's rash actions these many days past. But, somehow, the concept of appropriating something that belonged to Obi-Wan for his own use implied that he was accepting the fact his apprentice would not be returning.
And that was a thought he chose not to dwell on for any length of time.
As he followed in the wake of Drah'Nor, he attempted to prepare himself for the upcoming meeting by re-suffusing himself in the now. The path between the guest quarters and the Arbiter House was a short one, although as in everything involved in this culture, nothing was done in straight lines. The people of Cerlon II were by nature a practical sort, in Qui-Gon's mind taking practicality to extremes, but their Planners took into account the inevitability of the constant wind and arranged their settlements and cities accordingly. Straight lines and walls were a challenge to the wind, they offered obstruction and resistance, whereas the graceful curves of all their buildings and structures allowed the West Wind's fury to go where it pleased yet eventually die out amidst the intricately tangled maze of benign arcs and curves. On any other world the squat buildings would have been considered unsightly, but to give them credit, these people had combined utility and necessity into an eye-catching array of soothing colors and graceful shapes, where archways and columns seemed to draw the eyes deeper into its twisting complexity without offering overt obstruction to the imperious wind.
Passive resistance was an art form to these people, not ordinarily detrimental, but it was when it appeared to be causing him the life of his most cherished apprentice.
As they neared the center of the complex, the wind had been tamed to a more manageable level, but it still intermittently snarled and twisted like a wild animal brought helplessly to bay. Random whorls of multicolored prismatic dust, spent leaves and contorted twigs spun in mad concentric circles only to sink back down to the ground in defeat with a sudden deflection of the air patterns caused by their passing.
He had actually thought this world beautiful when they'd first arrived, with its twisted low-slung trees contorted forever in the wake of the West Wind, each one bent and angled away from the wind's invariably molding presence. He had admired also the gnarled, stiff vegetation and the seemingly dainty flowers that survived the near constant gale through flexible stems and the tiniest of multi-colored petals that hugged the ground in their quests to survive.
But now...now the constant chiming of the impossibly sturdy yet intricately carved wind chimes seemed more of an alarm than the balm it had once been, and those same twisted trees appeared to be obstinately pointing away from the direction he needed to go, pointing away from his imperiled Obi-Wan, mutely persuading him to abandon his task and to bow to the inevitable as the rest of this blighted world did.
He had never been one to believe in the power of inevitability, and his features tightened with the firm conviction that this world was not about to change that.
They arrived finally at the main negotiation chambers of Arbiter House, and Qui-Gon again fought down a sense of unease, particularly given this, the most formal of the meeting venues as the First Arbiter's choice for their discussion. Given this culture's sense of propriety and symbolism, it did nothing to soothe Qui-Gon's fears.
The First Arbiter's greeting sealed that sense of unease. "I greet you, exalted Mediator, and wish you stillness and calm." The thin, aesthetic man bowed deeply in ritualistic obeisance to the bending of wills, finally rising again to meet the burning eyes of the Republic's representative. When no reply from Qui-Gon was forthcoming, he continued to his assistant without breaking eye contact, "Thank you, Sixth, you may leave us now."
There was a blatantly obvious hesitation on Drah'Nor's part, and the First Arbiter repeated more firmly, "You may leave us, Sixth."
"But, First, I believe..."
"You of all amongst us know you should have no part in this! You will leave." The First Arbiter's eyes locked finally onto his subordinate's and the young man stiffened, but finally bowed briefly and left the room, closing the massively ornate door behind him with a hollow clang that echoed like a death knell in the cavernous room.
The First Arbiter smiled tightly at Qui-Gon and waved him further into the immense hall, following the curve of the outside wall until they reached the formal meeting table at the opposite arc of the spherical structure.
There was no one else in the chamber. This one solitary fact disturbed Qui-Gon like no other.
"I had assumed we were meeting to further discuss the Contention. Where are the Proponent and Refuter?" Qui-Gon asked with deceptive calm, waving a graceful arm to indicate the empty room. "I would think that at least the two individuals responsible for this crisis would be in attendance."
The First Arbiter turned slowly from his absorbed attention with the scattered debris soaring past the huge, elaborately decorated plastisteel window and raised a mute eyebrow in reply to Qui-Gon's question. "I had thought it best that we hold this meeting in private. There is yet time to discuss the Contention, exalted Mediator."
The Arbiter looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if bearing news which he was reluctant to impart, or possibly it was merely the strain of arbitrating a Contention which held such a potential for destruction should he fail. The issue at hand involved the two largest, and most powerful, provinces on his planet and the situation had been escalating inexorably to a potentially devastating global involvement. In this, at least, Qui-Gon could sympathize with the stress this knowledge entailed. He had himself been in that position, far too many times to count as the Jedi's most sought after mediator -- was, in fact, sharing that position with this world. Only, this time, he had a far more personal stake in the consequences should he fail.
Qui-Gon extended his senses to his utmost, striving in muted desperation to determine the motivation behind the First Arbiter's words. Again, without much success. While the Cerlonese were not entirely Force-blind, they were exceedingly hard to read, especially those with extremely well-ordered minds such as the First Arbiter. Still, he sensed something was...not right and there was that oblique warning, if it were such, from Drah'Nor.
A sudden, fleeting impression sprang into Qui-Gon's mind as certain actions of the First Arbiter coalesced into meaning. "Ah, I believe I see." Qui-Gon paused significantly, "And, am I still?"
Faint puzzlement from the man across from him. "Still what?" he inquired, with a quizzical tilt to his dark head.
"Am I still 'exalted Mediator'?" Qui-Gon replied firmly. At the quickly muted start from the First Arbiter, Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and continued, "For if I were not still Mediator, you would be under no obligation to allow me to take part in the negotiations, or even to keep me advised of how those negotiations were progressing." His voice lowered dangerously, "Am I correct in my summation, First Arbiter?"
The Cerlonese's pinched face became even tighter in his obvious anger. "It was a mistake to bring the Jedi to our world in the first place!" he hissed. "Your apprentice could very easily cause a war the likes of which we have not suffered in generations if he should disregard our customs and refuse the remedy of Impasse!"
"Obi...my apprentice may be young and not of your world, but he would never seek to avoid the consequences of his actions," Qui-Gon replied in weary resignation.
"Your apprentice is reckless," the First Arbiter countered hotly as he paced restlessly amidst the multicolored bands of filtered sunlight, "and takes far too much upon himself in disregard of his Elders."
I forbid you to move, Padawan!
Since at the moment Qui-Gon was in anguished, wholehearted agreement with that particular statement, he had no immediate reply. He took a deep breath and asked painfully, "And my earlier question?"
The First Arbiter stopped pacing and studied Qui-Gon closely, no doubt seeing the haggard face, drawn, sleepless eyes and the myriad of other visible changes brought about by Obi-Wan's current predicament. The First Arbiter turned away abruptly, rubbing his eyes and visibly attempting to regain control of his own temper.
There was a long silence. "Ambassador..." the First Arbiter began.
Qui-Gon drew a long hissing breath inward. The change in his title-name was more than sufficient information, but he had to know, had to. "My apprentice?" he rasped.
The First Arbiter turned at last to face him fully and straightened his care-worn shoulders. "Ambassador, I have asked you here to formally absolve you of the responsibilities of Mediator." He must have seen the dawning fury in Qui-Gon's stiffening features for he continued firmly, "You must know that you are no longer fit to Mediate this Contention. Your very response to your apprentice's actions..."
"....has become almost instinctive in me after five years of his Apprenticeship!" Qui-Gon glared at the man standing across from him, the man standing between him and his Obi-Wan. "You could not expect me to stand idly by while the one I have sworn to protect put himself in that sort of jeopardy."
"What I expect has nothing to do with this!" The First Arbiter stepped closer into Qui-Gon's personal space, and though tall for his race, he was still forced to crane his neck backwards to meet Qui-Gon's eyes. He did not let Qui-Gon's size, or Force skills, or the precariously tight hold the big Jedi had on his emotions deter him as he continued purposefully, "What I know is that your apprentice made the Offer, it was accepted by both sides, and if you interfere, you will most assuredly escalate a conflict which is already on the brink of exploding into something I do not even wish to contemplate! The First Arbiter was breathing heavily, obviously angry, but at such close range, Qui-Gon detected also the sincerity and desperation in his strained voice and manner.
Qui-Gon broke the eye contact first, in misery, "This I know also, First Arbiter." Another pause. "And my apprentice?" he asked yet again.
The Arbiter closed his eyes, seemingly in conflict with himself, or with how much he should say. His words were almost too quiet to hear, once he finally spoke. "Ambassador, know that I am not a cruel man, but by necessity I must sometimes be a harsh one, I fear." He moved to stand once more by the mammoth window, suddenly unable to meet the Jedi's anguished gaze, staring out into a sky that had darkened suddenly with one of the many spring storms that tumbled off the turbulent sea. "You must understand that this system we have developed has served us well for countless generations. Over those generations, we have but rarely needed to resort to the...penultimate of its process, but even when we have, we are all aware that its alternative would be...far more costly."
He turned to face Qui-Gon again, his face this time shrouded by the darkening clouds gathering outside. "This is a harsh and difficult world in which my people have chosen to live, and sometimes it forces us to take as much as it gives." He paused again. "I am sorry, Ambassador." He bowed his head and added, very softly, "I grieve with you in your Impasse."
"This had better be good, Qui-Gon. For once, I wish you could find it in yourself to contact me when I hadn't just managed to fall asleep." Mace Windu stretched and tried to coax some coherence into lethargic, sleep-deranged brain cells.
"I need you here, Mace," was Qui-Gon's only reply. His voice sounded...strained somehow. Then it sank in. Here? The Council had just recently sent Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to...
"Here? You mean Cerlon?! That Sith-forsaken planet clear across the galaxy in what I'm sure is the armpit of the Universe? That here?"
There was only a barely whispered, "Yes."
Mace cursed bitterly and in as many languages as he could remember, until his mind blearily focussed on the fact that his caller was using audio only and he froze abruptly in mid-curse. The last time he had gotten a communication from Qui-Gon with no visual was when Xanatos...
Whatever it is, it must be bad, really bad. "Qui, what is it? What's the matter?"
"Mace, I need...it's Obi-Wan..." Battered, broken voice.
Oh, Force.
"Qui-Gon Jinn, put me on visual, now please," and he inflected his best Council member's authority into the demand. Not that it had ever helped with this particular Jedi Master before, but...
He was thus both pleasantly, and as it turned out, unpleasantly surprised when Qui-Gon complied.
Mace tried to remember when the last time he had seen Qui-Gon Jinn looking so drained...or so lost, and he determined with a shudder that he didn't really want to remember. Qui-Gon's attention appeared to drift as if he were listening for something, and Mace had to snap a brusque "Qui-Gon!" to get his attention back to the holoprojector. "What about Obi-Wan, is he injured? Is he..." Mace didn't even want to follow that thought, knowing how Qui-Gon doted on his apprentice, not to mention how fond Mace was of the engaging young man himself.
Qui-Gon shook his head, seemingly unable to expend the energy to reply. "Just come, Mace, please. And...hurry."
"But..."
"You're about to become the next exalted Mediator to Cerlon II."
The lithe, blond-haired young man and a rather subdued child struggled against the steep grade of the grassy hillside as they neared the top of the cliff-side summit. As they reached the top of the lonely, desolate hill, they both lowered their stance instinctively to avoid being swept away by the unchecked West Wind soaring off the ocean far below. They both knelt down to lie on their stomachs and let the near gale force wind tear at their clothes while they stared pensively at the savagely churning sea.
They could hear little over the crashing surf and keening wind, just the far-off hunting cry of a streamlined jharong as it circled endlessly on the rampant gale in pursuit of sustenance.
Here was the point where flailing wind and thrashing water met most harshly against a defiant land mass. It was nearly deafening, it was volatile, it was dangerous...and it was the most peaceful place that Drah'Nor knew.
He came here when he was most troubled, most disturbed, because the wildness of the elements seemed to make the petty problems of mere humans seem...insignificant. But not today. No, not today.
"Wind take it!" he muttered venomously.
The little girl turned her liquid brown eyes to his face. "Mama told us never to swear," she said solemnly, attuned nonetheless to his mood.
He closed his eyes and let some of the anger and frustration drain from his features before he turned to face his tiny tormentor. He smiled lopsidedly at her and said simply, "So she did, Sprite, so she did."
The young child nodded her head slightly in a perfect, unconscious imitation of their mother regally accepting an apology, and in spite of himself, Drah'Nor laughed. He reached out a hand to tuck a dancing, stray lock of hair away from her beatific face and stroked her cheek fondly.
She cocked her head at him when he removed his hand, then looked down to worry at a moss-covered stone in front of her, seemingly entranced by its shape and texture.
"What is it, Sprite?" Drah'Nor asked, knowing the answer but knowing also that she needed to speak of it herself.
She looked long and hard into his eyes before she finally asked, "Do you love him?"
Shocked speechless by this unexpected question, he reared up on his elbows and was nearly tumbled back down the hill by an overly exuberant gust of wind. Catching himself quickly, he elbowed himself back up the few meters he had rolled and used the time to gather his scattered dignity and equally scattered wits.
She was still waiting for him, still waiting for his reply in her patient, serene manner that totally belied someone of her tender years.
Impossible to be less than honest to that beguiling stare. "I don't know, Sprite. I think I could, very easily...if we only had the time." He finished the last with difficulty, swallowing once or twice in an effort to control himself.
Now it came, finally, the question he had thought she would ask before. "Will he die?" The lilting voice was softer now, less sure of itself, and he was not sure if it was the pain in that voice or the question itself that tore at him more.
"I don't know, Sprite," he repeated tonelessly, eyes casting back over the bleak, unforgiving sea. "I just don't know."
That fact that Qui-Gon Jinn was standing alone on the landing pad to greet him was enough to put Mace's already tumultuous motions into yet another tailspin. He had gotten so accustomed to seeing Qui-Gon with his ever present, much smaller "shadow" that he looked almost incomplete without the young apprentice by his side.
As he descended the ramp, he realized also that it wasn't merely the exhaust from the transport's repulsor jets that was forcing Qui-Gon to keep a strangle-hold on his hair, for as he stepped off the ramp he was nearly swept away by a steady, shearing wind. He didn't have much time to get accustomed to it either, because Qui-Gon grabbed hold of his upper arm and practically dragged him away from the din of the still shrieking sublight engines of the transport and towards the dubious shelter of an outcropping of the oddest collection of buildings Mace had ever seen. He found it difficult to walk with any semblance of dignity while being pulled in one direction by a very distressed Jedi Master, while at the same time having his feet constantly entangled in robes he found to be, in a word, highly unsuited to this planet's wind-tossed weather.
Mace sighed. That'll teach me to skip over the "Climate and Temperature" section when reading the mission brief. It's been way too long since I've been a field operative.
As they started along a narrow, winding stone path that eeled its way between buildings whose walls curved and undulated like waves at a seashore, Mace attempted to get enough of his breath back to ask a question. "Qui-Gon," he finally managed, "do you mind telling me what in all the nine Sith hells is going on here?"
"Abrupt and to the point as always, Mace."
"Well, when you've been knocked out of a sound sleep, sent countless light-years in a drafty, vermin-infested transport to the backside of nowhere, and you don't know why, then maybe you'll come out sounding like the Voice of Reasoned Inquiry, too."
"Drafty?"
"Stop evading me, Qui. Out with it."
A deep sigh came from the man still urgently pulling Mace along like so much superfluous baggage. "I'm not sure where to start."
"Well, I assume it won't be from the beginning since we appear to be in at least some degree of hurry here."
A brief smile appeared on Qui-Gon's haggard face, and he said softly, "You were always good for me, Mace."
"Obviously not good enough." Mace smiled back in fond remembrance, then continued briskly, "Speaking of what's good for you, just what exactly has happened to Obi-Wan?"
Mace shook his head in amazement at the look of puzzlement on Qui-Gon's face, who was quite obviously not making the connection. He still wasn't consciously aware of it, then? Love may not be blind, but it sure looks like it could hit Qui-Gon over the head with a gimer stick and get away with it.
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, but asked merely, "You've read the mission brief?"
"Most of it, yes," Mace answered wryly, grabbing hold of a wayward flap of wind-tossed robe. He sighed again. "At least I don't have hair to worry about anymore."
Qui-Gon smiled all too briefly again, but then his voice lost all of its previous half-teasing tone. "Then you're aware of the details of the Contention we were sent here to mediate."
Mace caught glimpses of what appeared to be their destination amidst the twists and turns of the winding, tree-lined walk. It was easily the largest in this overlarge complex, a quasi-oblong building which appeared to be spherical at one end and vaguely convex on the other. He used the time examining the structure to consider his reply. "Yessss." He ducked his head quickly to avoid a wayward, wind-tossed branch from a particularly aggressive, low-slung tree. "The Jedi were contacted by the Thallon province because they felt the issues too difficult to resolve and feared it might end in Impasse." Mace caught the barely controlled flinch from Qui-Gon and narrowed his eyes. "Something, I believe, that has not actually happened for three or four hundred standard years."
"It is happening now."
Grief, despair, utter, abject self-hatred.
Mace blinked. He had not realized they still shared an open mind-link, but then, stress...
"Qui-Gon..."
Qui-Gon's voice was almost mechanical now, as if he had to bury all emotion to be able to speak. "The Impasse, as always, is chosen when it appears that no headway is being made in the negotiations." He smiled wryly, "I assume it is done to allow the Proponent and Refuter a chance to refocus, seeing as they now would have more reason than ever to reach settlement." His face darkened angrily. "If I had done better in my role as Mediator, it would never have come to this," he said bitterly.
Mace stopped suddenly and pulled Qui-Gon around to face him. He snarled practically in his face, "Damn it, Qui, it was you who always reminded me that it was impossible to succeed in every mission. 'People die, Mace, try as hard as we can, sometimes we simply cannot change that fact.' What is so different this time?"
"Because this time..." He looked away, over Mace's head, into the distance, into the future, Mace was not sure which, but he was sure of one thing: Qui-Gon could handle galaxy-shattering crises like most people handled getting dressed in the morning, and to see him at such a loss...
Mace was about to say something, anything to try to help his friend in his distress but was interrupted by the booming intonation of what sounded like some sort of mammoth gong. It was difficult to tell where the sound originated from -- the wind carried it around and through and above the low-slung buildings, and yet it seemed also to resonate somehow in the ground, a vibration not unlike a gentle groundquake. Gentle maybe, but it galvanized a stricken Qui-Gon into instant, almost frenzied motion.
"Come, Mace, we have...he has...run out of time."
As Qui-Gon started pulling him again towards the large building in the center of this urban maze, Mace in frustration blurted, "Blast it, Qui, would you please tell me what's happened to Obi-Wan?"
"It is actually very simple, Mace. Obi-Wan is the Thallon's Impasse, and that sound was the Tone of Discord. It means, my friend, that the negotiations have failed, and that Obi-Wan is about to die."
They were actually already in the disturbingly non-linear interior halls of what Mace belatedly recognized from the mission brief as Arbiter House before he could find his voice again. "Qui-Gon, that's not possible. The Impasse must be a close family member of either the Proponent or Refuter, or else the whole purpose behind the Impasse is moot."
"Evidently not," came the strained reply from his companion. "As long as the Impasse is approved by both sides of the Contention, a familial relationship is not required." Qui-Gon used a gentle Force push to warn away the approaching Guards, obviously not prepared to waste precious time on matters of mere protocol. "I have had that fact very thoroughly explained to me."
"But, Qui-Gon, it makes no sense!" Mace struggled to keep up with the slightly longer legs of the determined Jedi Master, whose eyes were burning with an interior fire that Mace hoped, fervently, would not break through to the outside. "The Impasse is executed only upon failure of negotiations -- their whole purpose is to give the negotiators an incentive to reach an Agreement, and...to ensure Edict should that fail. If Obi-Wan is not close kin, or have some other similar importance to either side, what purpose would it give to allow him in such a role?"
"It was the Thallon province that requested the Jedi's assistance, and their desire to develop ongoing relations with the Republic. They know that publicly executing a Republic citizen, and a Jedi at that, would be...disastrous for their plans." Qui-Gon continued bitterly, "No doubt the Eirolase are aware of that as well."
They were nearing the door to what Mace presumed to be the main mediation chamber, and Mace grabbed Qui-Gon by the shoulder to ask him the most important question before he could barge through. "But, how, Qui-Gon? How did Obi-Wan end up the Thallon's Impasse in the first place? It is not a position that can be forced on any individual, this I know for fact!"
"Oh, it was most decidedly not forced, Mace. It was Obi-Wan's choice..."
Qui-Gon's hawk-like gaze held Mace's for a brief moment that nonetheless seemed an eternity and Mace was shocked to see, and feel through the remnants of their much earlier bond, that anger had at least temporarily displaced the fear and distress in Qui-Gon's turbulent emotions.
"...and the insubordinate, insolent child disobeyed me to make it."
The mediation chamber was in marked contrast to the last time Qui-Gon had visited this room. Now, instead of echoing silences, the immense room was packed with the citizens of both provinces, here to witness either Agreement or Edict. Given the previous sounding of the Tone of Discord, that decision had undoubtedly already been made, but Qui-Gon was determined that he would succeed in this. He refused to let Obi-Wan die because of his own shortcomings -- his failure once to adequately Mediate the Contention, and his failure twice over for improperly training his brash apprentice in the Tenants of Obedience.
I forbid you to move, Padawan!
I'm sorry, Master. I must.
He shook his head to clear it and strode unimpeded into the massive chamber, Mace close behind him. So close, in fact, that Mace nearly bumped into him when Qui-Gon stopped cold before reaching his intended goal of the conference table.
"Obi-Wan..." he murmured, and Mace edged around the broad shoulders of his oldest friend in an effort to see what had caused Qui-Gon to stop so suddenly.
It was a heartbreaking tableau that manifested itself to them, and even prepared for it, Qui-Gon had to settle his own roiling gut before he could continue. It was merely a hologram, though life-sized, and Qui-Gon knew in his heart that Obi-Wan was actually secreted far across the ocean somewhere amidst the Eirolasian Islands. Yet, still knowing this, Qui- Gon could not keep from taking a few helpless steps toward him none the same.
Obi-Wan was ritually bound, kneeling between two alabaster pillars, bare to the waist, with his head lolling disturbingly forward. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, Qui-Gon knew he was too late, too late, and his hands clenched helplessly at his sides in his raw agony and despair. Mace gripped his arm...in comfort, in warning, he didn't know and didn't care, but then his desperately searching eyes saw that Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan! was shivering in the slanting, wind-driven rain of an early spring squall. He tried again, as he had tried countless times since his apprentice had given himself as Impasse, to reach Obi-Wan's mind...but whether it was the distance involved in reaching as far as the northern islands or merely that Obi-Wan was drugged, he could not reach the boy.
"He has not been harmed, I can assure you of that."
Qui-Gon started at the First Arbiter's words and wondered, not for the first time, if there were those among the Cerlonese who had at least some measure of Force ability. It also demonstrated his measure of distraction that he had not even sensed the First Arbiter's approach.
"The Impasse is allowed to remain conscious and aware. It is their right, as the decision was theirs to make," the Arbiter reminded him and pointed with a small jerk of his chin to the young woman kneeling in almost an identical pose to Obi-Wan behind the nearly deserted conference table. She was clothed in a pale yellow shift, looked to be not much older than Obi-Wan's 19 years, and Qui-Gon felt a momentary chagrin that he had managed, with his concern for Obi-Wan's plight, to forget that there was another Impasse, one who was doomed to suffer the same fate as his apprentice.
His eyes returned almost as if forcibly drawn to the hologram of his Obi-Wan, who was now shuddering abjectly in the merciless cold northern rain. Qui-Gon's hand twitched in an almost instinctive response to aid his apprentice, longing to stop the shivering by wrapping himself around his gentle, compassionate, yet infuriatingly obstinate Padawan.
Qui-Gon suddenly rounded on the First Arbiter, such that the heretofore unflappable Arbiter moved back a step in response. "I move to reopen the Contention." His deep voice filled the immense hall with no need for artificial amplification, and a rolling murmur followed his not totally unexpected pronouncement.
"You...you cannot. We have been through this, Ambassador," he said, not unkindly, laying a sympathetic hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "From the moment your apprentice stepped forward to Offer himself as Impasse, he accepted the risks of this possible outcome." He continued more firmly, shaking his head, "Besides, you have clearly demonstrated to all that you cannot remain unbiased in this situation. The decision has been witnessed and the Tone sounded." He paused again, searching even in his own distress to offer some degree of comfort. "His death will not be without meaning, Ambassador. He is averting a war."
The First Arbiter gave him another regretful look and then raised his voice to be heard by all. "The Impasse shall be its own remedy!" The waiting crowd solemnly repeated the ritual words, and as the echoes of several hundred voices died around the immense chamber, the Arbiter continued more softly, "And may the blood of their passing seal the Edict, thus preventing the shedding of even more innocent blood."
There came a soft, ardent keening from the watching crowd as the First Arbiter motioned to the Proponent, a solemn, white-haired man of late middle years who slowly, so slowly, approached the Eirolasian province's Impasse, a wickedly curved knife clutched in both hands so hard that his knuckles gleamed white against the obsidian blade. His eyes were filled with tears that flowed unashamedly down his face as he gently placed the ceremonial knife to the unadorned throat of the young woman kneeling there.
Qui-Gon's eyes darted to the conference table and the surreally floating image of Obi-Wan. He clenched his fists in helpless despair as he watched an eerily matching scene, an equally wicked-looking knife held loosely in the hands of a short, regal-looking woman with red-blonde hair streaked with gray. The Thallon province Refuter quietly approached his bound and helpless Obi-Wan, placed a regretful hand on his head and gently smoothed his wet, bedraggled braid to hang once more in its proper place behind his right ear. She glared at the holoprojector in defiance and then pulled a flap of her outer cloak to cover the naked, shuddering shoulders of his Padawan. She then briefly caressed his cheek before finally taking up once more the obsidian dagger, her face set in an intense grimace of distaste and abhorrence, but she held its blade nonetheless firmly against his apprentice's bare throat.
Obi-Wan looked up then, no doubt feeling the keen, purposeful edge of the knife and knowing his time was short. His eyes searched around almost frantically before he found his Master. Those expressive eyes were wide and Qui-Gon feared it was more than rain that was rolling down his cheeks, but he did not struggle, did not plead. He was still shivering as he slowly raised his chin, but he locked eyes with his Master and mouthed, "I'm sorry." As the Thallon province's ruler regretfully gripped his head tighter, Obi-Wan swallowed once convulsively but did not try to move, nor did he remove his gaze from his Master's face.
Qui-Gon felt himself unconsciously drawing Force around him in an effort to do something, anything to stop what he knew must follow. He felt the cry of anguish building inside, knowing he had caused this, knowing it was his fault, his fault that his beautiful apprentice's life was to be cut so short, knowing it was from his shortcomings as a mediator and a teacher. He was hopelessly unfit to be allowed to train a Padawan, but he could at least do all in his power to save this one, this one who had become so important to him...
He heard a muted gasp from one of the diplomats, and all took a wary step backwards from him, no doubt feeling the tension gathering around him in crackling, flaring waves of Force energy. The Force was strong on this world, strong in him, and he nearly glowed with that power combined with his own indomitable strength of will. He could not allow his apprentice to be taken from him, he would not.
He felt again Mace's hand on his arm, but this time it gripped painfully and swung him around with all Mace's formidable strength. "Control, Qui-Gon," he hissed in a menacing whisper. //Or do you care not that you tread dangerously on the Dark Side's path?//
It was more the shock of Mace mind-speaking him than his words that finally focussed Qui-Gon onto the dark man scowling furiously at him. //Mace?// he questioned. It had been a decade or more since they had been intimate enough to use mind-speech and it distracted him briefly from the shocked tableau around him.
//Perhaps if you have finished wallowing in self-recrimination and regrets, you'll see fit to provide me with the information necessary to find a solution to this problem...other than blasting this hall and everyone in it to oblivion.// Mace's thoughts were biting, but the emotions behind them contained only an odd mixture of compassion and urgency.
Qui-Gon stepped back in dismay. //Mace, I would never...//
//I don't think you yet realize the lengths you will go for this boy, Qui.// He continued aloud, pitched to carry to the Cerlonese hovering nervously around the conference table, "Help me find another way."
Qui-Gon glanced briefly around the chamber where the stricken white-haired Proponent was single-mindedly stroking the bright auburn hair of the Eirolasian Impasse, and then over to the hologram of Obi-Wan, where the dazed but thoughtful Refuter was carefully not making any further moves to complete her part in the Offer of the Impasse.
Qui-Gon locked eyes again with Mace and then, through their link, gave him the details of the negotiations to date, the principles of the Contention, and the information he possessed on its ramifications. It did not take long given that the issues, though grave, were straight-forward, and by Cerlonese tradition, the individuals involved in the actual discussions were few.
Mace stood thoughtfully for a moment, absorbing the information Qui-Gon had given him, then he nodded briefly and walked serenely to where the First Arbiter attentively awaited the outcome of their muted confrontation.
"First Arbiter," Mace said, drawing his cloak of Jedi authority and command firmly around himself. "I am Second Councillor of the Order of the Jedi Knights and respectfully submit myself as Mediator to this Contention."
The Cerlonese diplomat bowed briefly, and replied formally, "I greet you, Second Councillor, and wish you stillness and calm." He cast a wary eye towards Qui-Gon, who stood silently staring at the hologram of his apprentice, staring like a man facing the loss of his sole source of light and heat and comfort. The First Arbiter continued tentatively, "I respect your Order and your intentions, Second Councillor, but I fear there would be little else you could accomplish that we have not already tried."
Mace gestured to the silently weeping Proponent who was now holding the Eirolasian Impasse tightly in his arms, and said merely, "It would seem that there are many here who would have little to lose by trying, First Arbiter."
The First Arbiter shook his head in frustration. "I cannot make that decision! The Impasse has already been reached and it would require..."
"...a seconding by the parties involved in the dispute." A young man with long blonde hair stepped up to them, a petite girlchild who appeared no more than five or six clinging tightly to his hand. The young man continued, his mellow voice reverberating through the suddenly shockingly still chamber. "I hereby request the Second Councillor as Mediator to our Contention!"
Amidst the uproar that followed the young man's declaration, Mace recognized him from Qui-Gon's memories as a Sixth Level Mediator named Drah'Nor. Mace sent Qui-Gon a brief request for more information and received only a sense of puzzlement in reply. Obviously, Qui-Gon was unaware of Drah'Nor's level of involvement in the Contention, or even that he was involved at all. Curious.
The child he recognized without need for additional prompting from Qui-Gon's hurried mental briefing. She had once been the Thallon province Impasse.
Mace could understand now why Obi-Wan had Offered himself in her stead. The boy was heart and soul a caring and compassionate young man, and this tiny girlchild with the deep brown eyes and air of innocence nonetheless carried the weight of her people's future in her manner and bearing. It was a difficult combination for anyone to resist.
The First Arbiter's eyes burned with indignation at the severe breach of protocol and a situation rapidly accelerating out of his control. "You do not speak for either party," he said as he pointing an accusing finger at his Sixth. "You are biased in this Contention and were ordered to stay from these proceedings altogether!"
Drah'Nor's voice exuded calm and reconciliation as he replied, "You are most correct, honored First, and I apologize for my intrusion." He bowed deeply to his superior and continued, "I ask merely to speak briefly to the Refuter and seek her council in this."
The First Arbiter stared hard into the eyes of his Sixth, opened his mouth to make a sharp reply and was startled into silence by a gentle tug on his tunic. He glanced down into a pair of beseeching brown eyes.
"Please, First Arbiter?" the young girlchild asked softly. She turned to stare at Obi-Wan, whose icy shivers had long since passed into the intermittent rolling shudders of incipient hypothermia. She trembled as if in physical communion with the young Jedi, and said simply, "He is in my place."
When the First Arbiter made no immediate reply and simply stared as if lost in the young girl's plea, Mace interjected calmly, "Surely it would cause no harm, First Arbiter, seeing as the protocol has already been interrupted..."
The First Arbiter exhaled explosively, then stepped back in ritual acquiescence. He bowed his head briefly to his Sixth and answered, "As long as you are brief, it will be permitted." He raised piercing dark eyes to his assistant and added, "But I will allow no further interruption of this ceremony...we both know there is far too much at stake."
Drah'Nor bowed his head in response and turned to the hologram of Obi-Wan and a patiently waiting Refuter. "Greetings, Mother," he began, and both he and the young girl bowed deeply.
"Greetings, my Children," the Refuter replied as she swept back a lock of dripping red-blond hair. "You of all people know you risk much in interrupting these proceedings, Eldest."
"'In ancient times past, those who attempted to change the outcome of the Impasse were routinely put to death, and so order was maintained,'" replied Drah'Nor, obviously quoting from a text.
The Refuter's face lit briefly as she smiled benignly at her son. "At least I know you have not wasted the opportunity for learning in your new post." A sudden gust of wind staggered her briefly and as Obi-Wan moaned in misery, she moved slightly in an attempt to shelter him from the worst of its effects. She looked down sadly at Obi-Wan and pulled his body closer to hers before continuing, "But you must be quick, Eldest. I have no wish to delay this longer than necessary. This one has already suffered much for our sake." At the soft sound of distress that came unbidden from the watching Qui-Gon, she inclined her head to him and continued, "As well as all those dear to him."
"I will be brief." Drah'Nor bowed again. "I ask formally of our ruler that she reopen the Contention with a new Mediator."
"I'm afraid little would be gained but a postponement of the inevitable, Eldest." The Refuter shook her head in sad denial. "The honorable Proponent and I have argued this problem in private, in the public forum, and lastly in formal Contention...and have made no progress whatsoever. The blood debt must be honored to avoid open warfare between our peoples, and short of Agreement, I fear the Impasse is all that will resolve it peacefully."
"Perhaps...it will be different now." Drah'Nor gestured to the white-haired Proponent, who knelt next to his Impasse, the ceremonial dagger clutched still in one hand. His tear-filled eyes lifted and latched with new resolve onto the discussion before him.
"I find..." The Proponent's voice quavered slightly, but it still held the strength and authority inherent in a ruler of his years and experience. He started again, "I find this more difficult than ever I could have imagined. And now I wonder..." The Proponent dropped the dagger and gripped his young, trembling Impasse to him in a determined hug. "...Now I find myself wondering if anything is worth my daughter's life." He looked up into the thoughtful eyes of his people's enemy and continued, "I would ask for a reopening of the Contention, if it would also be the Refuter's wish."
The Refuter smiled widely, stroking Obi-Wan's rain-slicked hair with one hand. She threw the curved blade with all her strength, and it struck the marshy ground a mere meter in front of the holoprojector. As the Blade of the Impasse quivered at last to a standstill, the Refuter replied firmly, "It is my wish!"
Qui-Gon Jinn restlessly paced the small antechamber's floor, once again trying to vent uncertainty and frustration into motion. It seemed so much worse than the last time he paced these marble floors, for at least before he had had the illusion of control over the situation. Now he had none such, banished to the guest quarters, forced to wait on word of the single most important decision he had ever waited upon. Before, his frustration lay in the fact that he had options, but dared not take them. Now...now he was a mere bystander while Obi-Wan's life still hung in the balance.
You brought this upon yourself, Qui-Gon Jinn, he thought bitterly. Behold the stoic Jedi Master, calm and in control in all situations. Stoic, until someone should threaten the life of his Padawan...
He increased the rate of his nervous pacing. He should trust in Mace, he had, after all, called him here for his assistance...
His self-admonishment did him no good, considering that he found he could and did trust Mace with anything and everything, except the life of his precious Obi-Wan.
As the interminable afternoon waned on, he found he could no longer contain his mounting anxieties. What if Mace failed? What if the two factions simply were too far apart to come to Agreement? His heart rate quickened at the inevitable consequences while his brain conversely, obdurately refused to consider those same consequences.
One fact, however, seemed to crystallize sharp and true in his thoughts, a fact he had known intellectually ever since he had urged Mace to succeed him as Mediator:
As a non-participant and no longer involved in the Contention, he would not even be allowed in the chamber to witness Obi-Wan's death.
It was agony enough that he could not touch Obi-Wan's mind, could not be with him physically, could not hold him, comfort him, succor him...but to not even be allowed to see, to be seen, to be with, even if only as a hologram...
Would I even know the moment when Obi-Wan died?
He moaned as his heart twisted into an searing, painful incandescent knot, and all of a sudden the strain was too much. The fading light scattered through the rainbow windows irritated him, the ceaseless drone from the constant wind irritated him, and this entire wretched planet irritated him, if possible, even further. In frustration and without thought, he whirled suddenly and punched an innocent and unsuspecting wall hard enough to put an indentation into the elaborately carved stone surface. As if coming out of some kind of a fugue, he stood and stared at the desecrated wall and his bleeding hand in dumbfounded amazement.
"You keep that kind of self-mutilation up, and you'll be on the Council for sure -- we thrive on that sort of thing."
"Mace!" Qui-Gon turned and gripped his friend's shoulders so hard that he winced. Qui-Gon continued in a rush, "Is it finished?...Have they come to Agreement?...Is he safe?...Oh, Force, he's not...? No, please tell me he's not...He can't be...Why didn't you mind-speak me?" He paused just long enough to gulp enough oxygen to continue and then shook Mace so hard that he fell backwards against the wall before he could regain his balance. "Why don't you say something, damn it?!"
Mace looked down pointedly at the blunt, overlarge fingers buried like grappling hooks into his arms. "I will, if you can bring yourself to let me live long enough," was the acerbic reply.
Qui-Gon abashedly released his friend and waited in agonized silence, fingers twitching nervously as if they longed to return to Mace's shoulders, or better yet, his throat. Mace had put on his bland, imperturbable Councillor's mask, and Qui-Gon knew from long experience that he would not be able to push his friend into anything so long as he was firmly entrenched in that role.
As the silence dragged on, Qui-Gon came to the sudden realization that the news could not be bad -- his oldest friend would not leave him in the dark about something he knew would cause Qui-Gon so much pain.
Mace suddenly smiled brightly, obviously reading the dawning comprehension on Qui-Gon's face, as well as sensing the bright swirl of burgeoning emotions leaking from the powerful Jedi Master. "Aha!" Mace said cheerfully, "I see you can figure some things out without resorting to physical intimidation." He pulled Qui-Gon into an embrace, adding slyly, "And Yoda said you couldn't be trained..."
"It's over?" Qui-Gon asked brokenly, suddenly in dire need to hear it confirmed aloud.
"He's on his way back now," answered Mace. He released Qui-Gon and stepped back. "Actually, Agreement was reached some time ago, but..."
Qui-Gon had started away, unable to remain still with the sudden lifting of the weight of suspense and despair, but at Mace's words he spun around, his eyes narrowing once again in blossoming anger. "Why didn't you..."
//Let you know sooner?// Mace finished for him. At Qui-Gon's terse nod, he continued, //I think you know me better than that, Qui.//
Mace's mind-voice sounded hurt, and Qui-Gon relented slightly. //Why?// he asked again, calmer this time.
//I was hoping you'd be able to tell me, Qui, considering you've been on this...pleasant planet longer than I.// Qui-Gon felt a mental shrug come from the Councillor. //I tried reaching you -- got nothing but some kind of...static, I guess you could call it.// Mace continued aloud, "It started to clear when I was finally able to take my leave of the Arbiter's chambers and neared this room." He shrugged. "A Force dampener of some kind?"
Qui-Gon shook his head wryly. "If so, it's awfully selective considering some of the...damage I was able to inflict on our quarters when..." He cut that thought off at Mace's knowing smile. "Well, I guess it would explain why I was never able to reach Obi-Wan through the training bond if it affects only mind-speech."
Mace pursed his lips thoughtfully and said, "Well, I don't sense that it is directed...or malicious. I think we can safely mark it
down as just another charming quirk to this planet." Mace paused for a moment. //Besides, Qui, it may simply be the Force's way to spare you.// At Qui- Gon's sending of puzzled inquiry, Mace continued, //If the worst had happened...// He met Qui-Gon's gaze and held it. //I'm not quite sure you would have...let go...if you had been in Obi-Wan's mind when he died.//
Qui-Gon found he did not need to consider that statement long before he replied. //Oh, I'm very sure, Mace, very sure indeed.//
It was very nearly nightfall, and Qui-Gon's disposition had not improved in the interval hours. They had returned to their suite of rooms to wait, yet again, but Qui-Gon appeared to be thoroughly tired of waiting.
"Where is he?" Qui-Gon asked, again, to no one in particular.
Mace deigned to answer him, again, with the same reply as the other ten previously. "Qui," he said with a sigh, "you know the protocol, he was an Impasse, he survived, their people survived, and he has to be honored as such by the Thallonese. You know how firmly these people adhere to their traditions. They will eventually return him to us." Mace sighed again and settled himself more comfortably into the chair he was lounging in. "Besides, I don't think you should be seeing Obi-Wan at all in your present frame of mind."
Mace calmly steepled his fingers and braced himself for the explosion.
After a brief stunned silence, he got it.
"What in all the nine Sith hells are you talking about, Mace!?"
Mace waved an expressive hand in a "Don't you think you've answered your own question?" gesture and got up to pour himself a drink. If he was going to be glowered at, he wasn't going to be glowered at thirsty.
Qui-Gon followed him into the small serving area, forced to wait while Mace calmly and carefully poured himself some of what the locals loosely called "fruit juice." Mace decided he was going to need it tonight. He finished the drink, waited a moment for the burning in his esophagus to abate enough to allow speech, then turned to find Qui-Gon waiting with a little less than his customary patience.
Mace decided to answer the unspoken question...and ignore the glower. "Qui-Gon," he started reasonably, "you need to look at yourself. I doubt you've slept more than a few hours in the last tenday, you've been through a great deal of emotional upheaval, and..." He paused significantly. "...you're going to undo all my hard work if you go off and kill your apprentice yourself."
"The boy very nearly got himself killed disobeying me. He must be disciplined in some manner."
Mace threw his hands up in disgust. "Disciplined, yes. Instructed further in the Tenants of Obedience, yes. Brought in front of the Council considering the depth of this fiasco, a resounding yes. Hells, you can even force him to attend one of Master Sumat's lectures on Wookiee genealogy if you're really torqued at the boy. But, Qui-Gon..." Mace stalked back out into the common room, suddenly at a loss for words. He turned abruptly and pointed an accusing finger at Qui-Gon's chest. "I wouldn't do to a Sith lord some of the things that have been coming across our link these last few hours!"
Qui-Gon had the grace to look at least moderately chastised, although his face never lost completely the tightness that alluded to his continued concern and displeasure with regard to his Padawan. Mace watched as Qui-Gon made a determined effort to slow the rate of his breathing and likewise his rampaging emotions. The big Jedi finally turned his back on his friend and walked the few steps to an oval, floor-to-ceiling window that faced out into the small, deserted courtyard beyond. As he stood and watched the dusk gather in burnished reflections of gold and vermilion on the arched and domed alabaster walls, he said simply, "I nearly lost him, Mace."
The distant echoes of the wailing West Wind were almost deafening in the stagnant silence that followed that one brief, inescapable statement. Qui-Gon bowed his head and continued almost inaudibly, "I'm...not sure I could go through that again."
Mace sighed. "Qui-Gon," he said reasonably, "Obi-Wan is a good Padawan, and you have done an excellent job in his training."
Qui-Gon snorted softly and turned his head slightly away from the darkening window. The red-gold light of the setting sun was rapidly deepening into a lurid crimson as it outlined the planes of Qui-Gon's face, and Mace stared in consternation as the harsh glow made the moisture running down Qui-Gon's cheeks appear more like rivulets of blood than the mere trails of tears.
Entranced, Mace nearly jumped when that quiet, velvet voice abruptly said, "I only wish it were so, my friend." Qui-Gon turned back to the window and clasped his hands behind his back, and Mace was faintly surprised that he didn't hear bones break with the tightness of that grip...as tight as the strain in that so-familiar voice. "I have taught him to speak his mind, to question, to not follow so blindly in my every footstep. How, then, do I teach him the consequences of disobeying an order which must be obeyed?"
At a loss himself, Mace strode forward and simply laid a comforting hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak when he felt that shoulder stiffen suddenly. Following Qui-Gon's flint and steel gaze, he watched as a small group of figures approached through one of the crescent-shaped archways beyond. Through the gathering gloom, Mace recognized the austere figure of the Thallon Refuter, her two children...and Obi-Wan.
The group stopped halfway across the tiny courtyard as Obi-Wan turned to the short-statured woman next to him and bowed deeply. There was a flash of light reflecting the last of the sun's rays from the Thallon ruler's ring of office as she placed a hand on Obi-Wan's head in benediction. Mace could not hear her words through the remnants of the swirling wind outside, but he could see her smile as the hand moved from Obi-Wan's head to briefly caress his cheek in obvious thanks and farewell. Obi-Wan straightened from his bow and then staggered briefly as a tiny, dark-eyed bundle of capricious energy impulsively wrapped itself around his leg. Obi-Wan knelt and hugged the little girl back, then tilted her chin up and said something that made the child smile brightly in return before she threw her arms around him again.
Mace could feel every muscle in Qui-Gon's body tightening, but something held him here, waiting still, allowing Obi-Wan the chance to say his good-byes.
The Refuter bent down and unwrapped her youngest child from the Impasse's waist, straightened with the girlchild in her arms and walked away through the archway with a final nod of her red-blonde head.
The first of this planet's many moons -- small and bright, with an overly aggressive revolution around its primary -- had already began its climb over the low-slung buildings as the last of the sunlight finally faded from the graying walls.
Mace watched as Obi-Wan turned to face the remaining figure standing with him in the windswept courtyard, watched as Obi-Wan shook his head in sad negation at something that Drah'Nor asked him. The young man moved closer and spoke again as Obi-Wan uncharacteristically stared down at the grass-covered ground, a restless foot helping the wind and the ever-brightening moonlight stir the rain-soaked tendrils into a riot of miniature, chaotic prisms.
Qui-Gon pressed himself closer to the darkened window as if straining to hear the muted conversation outside, but the combination of a structure designed to withstand this planet's wind, as well as the contrary wind itself, held no consideration for the mere wishes of one agitated Jedi Master.
Mace returned his attention to the two figures outside and drew in a long, steadying breath as Drah'Nor carefully unfastened the decorative clip binding his long braid and stepped yet nearer to Obi-Wan. As the wind unwound his long, now unbound braid, he gently grasped Obi-Wan and slowly, as if not to frighten, leaned in closer to Obi-Wan's face. The Cerlonese wind, almost as if in a game now of its own choosing, gently wisped Drah'Nor's golden hair up around his face, so that in its capriciousness it actually blocked the moment when Drah'Nor's lips met Obi-Wan's.
Mace felt Qui-Gon straighten to his full, impressive height and was altogether too aware that the wind had not quite concealed enough. Qui-Gon's hand moved to spread a broad palm across the intervening window, and Mace watched as that palm slowly curled into a fist as the moonlit encounter ended with Obi-Wan pulling out of Drah'Nor's light embrace. Mace felt through their link as Qui-Gon's hard-won calm disintegrated into something suspiciously resembling a jealous rage, though he was sure the big Jedi would not recognize it as such.
Obi-Wan stepped back as Drah'Nor moved to rekindle their kiss, but he nevertheless took the offer of the tentatively presented braid clip, and with a last look behind him at the silently standing Drah'Nor, turned to make his way inside.
As Qui-Gon whirled abruptly to meet his wayward apprentice at the door, Mace thought furiously as the ghost of a plan firmed definitively in his mind. Reckless, yes, and definitely unorthodox, but...
Placing a staying hand on Qui-Gon's chest, he sent, //I've got an idea...and for the sake of any unborn children I may yet have, please don't kill me before you hear me out...//