Master Apprentice Archive What Dreams May Come Quick search:

E-mail:  dcoffin@omahasymphony.org   I'd love feedback!
Summary:  Qui-Gon is locked in a mysterious inner battle and refuses aid.  But Obi-Wan fears his master won't survive the ordeal alone....
Rating:  PG, non-slash
Category:  Angst, h/c
Disclaimer:  The Jedi belong to George Lucas.  I do this for love, not money.
Archive:  Wolfie's Den, Star Wars Hotline, Early Years, Padawan Journals, QJEB, M_A, any others that may want it
Acknowledgments:  To Marie, Padawan Li'Ann, and Cynthia Martin -- truly the most generous collaborators I could hope for.  I would dedicate this story to them, but that would be like giving them something that's already theirs.  Thank you so much for everything, my friends!

It was clear that something was wrong by the way Qui-Gon moved. When Obi-Wan joined him at the riverside for their customary evening walk back to the campsite, it was the first thing the young man noticed.

His master's movements were stiff, and slower, lacking in his usual loose, easy grace. Though he wasn't discourteous, he barely spoke. And, while silence wasn't exactly unusual for Qui-Gon these days, when he did speak there was a husky quietness to his voice that troubled Obi-Wan.

As the two Jedi hiked single-file up the uneven path through the trees, a loose scattering of pebbles brought Qui-Gon awkwardly to one knee. He was slow to rise.

"Master?" Obi-Wan came up behind him, placing a hand on his master's shoulder and extending the other in assistance.

Qui-Gon did not take the offered hand. He said, "I'm fine," but his head remained bowed, and he made no move to get up.

Frowning, Obi-Wan bent and removed his master's pack, shouldering it with his own. As he wrapped an arm around Qui-Gon to help him stand, Obi-Wan felt the unnatural heat of his body, even through the heavy cloak.

"Master, you're ill," he murmured. Obi-Wan's voice was soft with concern, but there was an unmistakably accusing tone to it, which was probably why Qui-Gon chose not to answer as he rose shakily to his feet.

"We're nearly there," said Obi-Wan, tightening his arm in support. "Lean on me."

Qui-Gon complied, which served to worry Obi-Wan even more, and the apprentice helped his master the rest of the way to the clearing where they had set up camp. Obi-Wan let the packs slide from his shoulder near the dead fire pit, and he eased Qui-Gon onto his bedroll on the ground.

"Thank you." The words were so quiet that Obi-Wan wasn't sure he'd actually heard them. Qui-Gon sat upright for a moment, out of breath and concentrating. Then he pushed away his padawan's steadying hand, carefully stretched out his long body, and lay still.

Obi-Wan watched his master closely while rummaging in his pack for the extra tunic he'd brought. He was shocked to observe Qui-Gon falling asleep almost instantly. Obi-Wan brought the bundled tunic to his master and gently lifted his head to settle it in place as a makeshift pillow. It would have to do. They had brought so very little with them on this trip.

Obi-Wan brushed the disheveled hair away from Qui-Gon's flushed face, and pressed the back of his hand to his master's forehead, then his neck. Oh, the fever was high.... Shaking his head, Obi-Wan pulled off his cloak and drew it over Qui-Gon's sleeping form, tucking it in warmly against the chills that would soon begin. Then he busied himself with building a fire.

This retreat had been Qui-Gon's idea. After two exhausting missions, both ending with harsh reprimands from the Council for his unorthodox actions, Qui-Gon had requested a brief sabbatical. He had not spoken to his apprentice of his profound frustration, but there really was no need. Obi-Wan knew the signs intimately.

The recent missions were difficult in other ways, too, the padawan reflected. Obi-Wan, now 22, found himself at odds with his master more often of late, and had begun to question more freely his master's methods. Qui-Gon urged Obi-Wan to speak his mind, encouraged him to debate on issues of contention between them, but as the frequency of the disagreements increased, both men had lost some the pleasure they used to find in their philosophical arguments. A polite remoteness between them had been the result. It pained Obi-Wan more than any heated dispute ever could.

Qui-Gon had made it clear to Obi-Wan that he was not expected to come along on this retreat, though he stopped short of commanding his padawan to remain behind. But Obi-Wan had respectfully requested to attend his master. He was grateful that, in the end, Qui-Gon had allowed it.

As Obi-Wan neatly arranged the tinder and wood for the fire, he thought about the past week here. Mindful of Qui-Gon's desire for solitude on this personal mission, Obi-Wan had kept a careful distance during the days. He made use of the time for self-directed training and study... but he had also kept a private, watchful eye on his master.

Arising before dawn, Qui-Gon spent each full morning in meditation by the river's edge. Obi-Wan had rarely seen him meditate so intensely for so many hours at a time; usually, the rigor of missions did not allow such a thing. It was strange, though. Obi-Wan seldom sensed the distinctive resonance in the Living Force that marked his master's deep meditations.

Each afternoon Qui-Gon gave to increasingly arduous physical pursuits -- climbing the sheer face of the cliff above the river; swimming vigorously against the swift, dangerous current; sometimes running full tilt through the forest for hours without rest.

Obi-Wan was quietly impressed by these punishing feats, but Qui-Gon's grim single-mindedness was disturbing to him. The young Jedi found himself wondering whether his master's endless running was a form of pursuit, or flight.

The fire crackled to life, and Obi-Wan sat cross-legged beside it, pensively studying his sleeping master. He longed to wake up Qui-Gon so he could ask when he'd begun to take ill, could learn how he was feeling. But, of course, slumber would be more beneficial to his master than an interrogation about his symptoms, so he let him be. Without conscious thought, Obi-Wan's hand strayed to his tunic, seeking the comforting touch of the river stone he kept near his heart. His fingers toyed with the smooth rock, as they often did when he felt anxious.

The fire's glow tossed light and shadow over Qui-Gon as he slept, and Obi-Wan watched the familiar features flicker from softness to severity and back. He wished, as he had repeatedly during the last weeks, that Qui-Gon was not so tightly shielded against him.

Obi-Wan sighed unhappily. "Master, where are you?" he whispered.

The sun was going down, and the young man wrapped his arms around himself. It would be cold soon. 

Qui-Gon had never struggled so hard in his life. Every muscle was strained to screaming, every fiber of his will fought for survival, but he knew -- he knew -- he was failing.

He loved this beautiful river. He thought he understood its flow, thought he knew every current and eddy. How could he have been wrong about that?

The water pulled at him, filled his boots, dragged at his heavy cloak and tunics. He focused on escape, on disentangling himself from the sodden fabric that twisted around his legs and arms.

The roaring rush of the water was abruptly muffled as he submerged, and his vision was obscured as his hair and hood billowed around his face. Fighting desperately with the weight of his vestments, he tumbled in the current, helpless. He pulled, he pushed, and he was dragged only deeper, ensnared.

The surface... where was it, which way was up.... He would need to breathe soon, very soon, and that thought made him instantly frantic for air. The water seemed so cold suddenly, and his numb and shaking fingers fought with his cloak, his belt.... The undertow clutched at him then, pulled at his legs like a living thing, yanked him downward with a jerk that brought his robe swirling around his arms and head.

Above him, through the churning darkness of water, weeds, fabric, and hair, he glimpsed light. He nearly gasped, and he felt the cold water pressing in at his mouth and nose, ready to fill him, ready to take him.

The light was there, up there, the surface was there... but it was growing darker, and he was falling farther away. The undertow sucked at his hips, his waist, it tightened around his chest.... He saw his own outstretched hand above him grasping toward the light, but he couldn't reach the light, he couldn't reach it, could he? He was falling, and the light was farther away than ever.

He was about to breathe. It would be over if he breathed, he knew. If he drank in this water, this river he had loved, it would fill him, it would take him, it would kill him. Would that be so bad?

He thought of Obi-Wan.

With a rush, he surfaced. 

Obi-Wan jolted upright as Qui-Gon's eyes suddenly opened. He was at his master's side in an instant, holding his shoulders as Qui-Gon gasped, drawing in a desperate breath, then another. The unfocused blue eyes shone with fever, and widened with a fear Obi-Wan had never seen reflected there before. The powerful body trembled, overtaken by chills and shock.

"Master...." Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's head in both hands and spoke urgently. "Master, it's all right, you're awake, you're--"

His words were lost in a rush of air as Qui-Gon's forceful shove knocked him off balance and he fell away, hard.

Qui-Gon pushed himself up on one arm and leaned there, panting and disoriented.

Obi-Wan saw the glittering eyes begin to focus, and he cautiously rose to his knees and inched forward. "Qui-Gon," he said softly. "You were dreaming."

Qui-Gon's arm began to shake under his weight, and Obi-Wan reached him in time to catch him by the shoulders and lower him back down. His master's skin was blazing, but he trembled violently with cold. Obi-Wan pulled the cloaks tighter around the broad shoulders, then put a gentle hand to his face and met the confused eyes with his own steady gaze. "A dream, Master," he soothed.

Qui-Gon looked vaguely back at him for a moment. Then he nodded and closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan felt for the racing pulse in Qui-Gon's throat. He attempted to ease the master's agitation with a current of warming Force. He had done this only a scant handful of times in his years with Qui-Gon. There was almost never a need to offer this kind of assistance, and while it worried Obi-Wan, he was oddly grateful to be able to help his teacher as he had so often been helped.

Qui-Gon's heartbeat had just begun to slow when he turned his head, nudging Obi-Wan's hand aside.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. With effort, he ignored the rebuff and reached for the nearby waterskin. "Master, you must drink," he said firmly. "You've had no water, and your fever is very high."

"I'm... fine." It was no more than a whisper through chattering teeth, but Obi-Wan found himself very annoyed suddenly, and a little angry as well.

"No, Master, you are not fine," he said with ominous patience. "You're ill. Very ill, and you need water. Drink."

That tone had never gone over well with his master. Qui-Gon opened his eyes and looked at his padawan with weak reproach.

Obi-Wan returned the look. And his voice hardened slightly as he said, "If you won't allow me to help you, Qui-Gon, at least do me the courtesy of helping yourself. Drink."

Without waiting for assent, he slid his arm under his master's shoulders and raised him up. Qui-Gon slowly took the waterskin from him with an unsteady hand and managed a couple of swallows.

"Thank you," said Obi-Wan curtly. He settled his master back down, snatched the waterskin, capped it and tossed it aside. He knew he was being petulant, but weeks of cool distance from Qui-Gon had taken their toll. He felt useless, and he resented it.

He turned his back, grabbed a stick and gave the fire a few sharp stabs with it. "We need more wood," he said shortly. "I'll gather some. You should try to sleep, Master." Obi-Wan glanced over and saw his words had likely gone unheard. It appeared Qui-Gon was already sleeping.

Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. His bit of childish temper left him feeling foolish. With a sigh, he stood and fetched the strap he used to bundle firewood.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

The murmured words stopped him in his tracks. He looked back, but Qui-Gon gave no sign that he had spoken. The master lay on his side, eyes closed, brow furrowed; the draped cloak rose and fell with his rapid breathing.

Talking in his sleep, Obi-Wan supposed. He wondered idly what Qui-Gon thought he was apologizing for. Probably, he thought with a mirthless smile, for being sick, for displaying weakness. Off hand, Obi-Wan could think of several things he'd prefer an apology for -- foremost among them, Qui-Gon's stubborn efforts to shut his padawan out of whatever it was he was going through lately.

Obi-Wan had been reminding himself for a week now that this sabbatical was Qui-Gon's. This retreat was a personal one, and if Obi-Wan was feeling like an intruder, it was likely because he was one. But rationalizations did not make him feel any better.

Sometimes, Qui-Gon's distance made Obi-Wan feel like an unwanted twelve-year-old again. And that he could do without.

With a downcast glance at his master, Obi-Wan headed out of the clearing into the woods. 

When he returned a short while later, Obi-Wan felt much improved. His brief trek through the moonlit forest had brought him some measure of calm. It was hard not to relax with the gentle sighing of the cold air through the trees and the quiet, busy rustling of life in the bushes and dry leaves. The comfortable crackling and warm glow of the campfire, which Obi-Wan did not stray far from, spoke to him of home.

Obi-Wan listened to the eerily beautiful call of a solitary nightbird that sailed low over the treetops. It was easy to understand why Qui-Gon had wanted to come here. He hoped his master was finding the peace he sought on his retreat. Obi-Wan really had no idea if he was.

After laying some new wood on the fire and stoking it carefully, Obi-Wan went to sit near Qui-Gon. A touch to his master's burning brow brought a deep frown to Obi-Wan's own. The fever had worsened.

The apprentice removed his belt, then unwrapped the sash that circled his waist. He spilled some water onto the cloth and pressed it gently to Qui-Gon's face.

The nightbird called again, a lovely, lonely cry. Qui-Gon stirred, and Obi-Wan soothed him with a touch. But Qui-Gon's sleep was restless. 

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan." The words were torn from him as Qui-Gon struggled for a foothold he feared did not exist. His cramping fingers tightened on the thin vein of rock, and he clung tenuously to the cliff's side.

Above him he could see his padawan, so close to the summit. Obi-Wan strained for a look down at him, a bewildered frown on his young face.

One of Qui-Gon's hands slipped free suddenly and a shower of dust fell into his eyes. He winced, and felt the burn and scratch of the grit. His eyes began to water, and his vision swam. Hanging now from one arm, he blindly scraped his boots and bleeding hand against the sheer cliff, futilely seeking purchase.

The tether that connected him to Obi-Wan stretched taut between them, and Qui-Gon heard his padawan grunt with surprise at the sudden weight of him. But Obi-Wan strengthened his hold with determination.

"Master! Beneath you. There's a foothold beneath you!"

"I can't... find it, Obi-Wan," gasped Qui-Gon. The tether stretched dangerously, and Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan's frustration and fear as his apprentice scrabbled to maintain his position.

Qui-Gon felt the four stiff fingers that still clung to the narrow crevice begin to slide. His heart lurched. Four fingers. Three. He was losing his grip....

Two. Qui-Gon stared up through burning, tearing eyes. He could see his padawan slowly slipping, grasping for a secure hold.

One. Anguished, Qui-Gon groaned.

None.

Qui-Gon's body swung free, and the tether jerked tight with an audible hiss.

"Master!" cried Obi-Wan. Pebbles and dirt rained down on Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan frantically kicked at the cliff above him. "Master!"

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," breathed Qui-Gon. The tether went slack as both men fell. 

Qui-Gon's low moan startled Obi-Wan, and he pulled his hand away, guiltily dropping the wet sash in his lap as though afraid his master might catch him in the act of caring for him. When Qui-Gon's eyes flew open, Obi-Wan found himself bracing for another panicked shove.

But Qui-Gon merely gazed at him, eyes bright with delirium. Then with a harsh breath, he grabbed for Obi-Wan's hand.

Obi-Wan managed not to wince at the fierce grip. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and pressed their joined hands to his mouth. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered feverishly against their fingers. "I'm sorry, Padawan."

"It... It's all right," stammered Obi-Wan. "Master... it's all right."

Qui-Gon only tightened his desperate hold. Obi-Wan bit his lip against the pain, and swallowed hard with emotion. He hadn't been called Padawan in more than a week.

Obi-Wan fumbled one-handed for the damp cloth in his lap. "It's all right, Master," he repeated softly as he stroked the too-warm skin. When silent tears began trailing down Qui-Gon's cheeks, Obi-Wan wiped them away without a word.

Qui-Gon did not fall back to sleep, but Obi-Wan could tell he had little awareness of his surroundings. The fever seemed higher than ever, and the chills had not abated. His master had begun mumbling to himself.

Obi-Wan fought down his growing alarm and put himself to work. He built up the fire again, noticing as he did so that the night had gotten truly cold. He was grateful for the fire's warmth since his tunics hung open without his sash, and his robe was needed elsewhere. He fetched both waterskins, then dragged his bedroll next to Qui-Gon's and sat on it, realizing only then how much heat the cold ground had been leaching from him.

He drew Qui-Gon's head into his lap and brought a little water to his master's dry lips. Qui-Gon swallowed reflexively, then resumed his rhythmic murmuring.

Obi-Wan caught his breath. He recognized the cadence. His master was reciting the Code.

The incoherent whispers continued, but Obi-Wan could begin to make out the words now.

"... no emotion, there is peace; there is no ignorance, there is knowledge; there is no passion, there is serenity; there is no Force--"

Obi-Wan almost gasped at his master's mistake. Qui-Gon shook his head slightly and started the litany from the beginning... but the recitation came to the same horrible conclusion. "...there is no Force..."

"No!" Obi-Wan cried out in dismay. "No no no...!" He bent low over his master and chanted the words with him. "... no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death -- No, Master!" he cried when Qui-Gon misspoke again. "There is no death, there is the Force!"

Obi-Wan's fingers were shaking as they stroked Qui-Gon's hair in an attempt to comfort. "There is no death, there is the Force. There is no death, Master, say it, there is the Force. There is the Force... No!"

Obi-Wan didn't want to hear it, could not hear the false words again, not from his teacher, not from this man. He moaned, and touched his forehead to Qui-Gon's. "Master, shhh... stop now... Master, don't."

The young Jedi pushed a trembling hand to Qui-Gon's temple, and without warning or consent he made Qui-Gon sleep. Such an action was inexcusable, he knew, but his heart was too full to feel guilt. The depth, the darkness of Qui-Gon's struggle devastated him, and he felt sick with anguish.

Obi-Wan gathered his master to him and held him close. But he knew, even as he whispered the Code into Qui-Gon's burning skin, that his sheltering arms could not truly protect him. 

The trees seemed to reach for him, their very roots seemed to rise up at him, but still Qui-Gon ran.

No moon shone tonight, and the darkness was unfathomable. Qui-Gon could not see the forest that stretched before him, could not pause to look behind. From moment to moment, his entire universe was no more than that which immediately surrounded him. And all that surrounded him was ever-changing, never-changing blackness.

The rasping of his breath and the beating of his heart were the only things he could hear. His aching muscles cried for him to stop, but he knew rest was not possible. He ran still harder, dodging swiftly but wearily through trees that were invisible in the night.

When he suddenly lost his footing and stumbled, he had a brief instant to reflect that, really, falling had been inevitable.

But before he hit the ground, strong arms caught him, and when he landed he lay in the embrace of his padawan.

"Master," smiled Xanatos. "I was waiting for you."

Confusion and revulsion surged through Qui-Gon. With a cry of fury, he lurched away -- and found himself still wrapped in the arms of his adversary. He was paralyzed and powerless.

Xanatos gave a low, indulgent laugh. His dark blue eyes blazed, glowing in the darkness. "Be still, Master," he crooned. "Don't fight. You're tired, and you can rest here with me."

The arms tightened, and a strange coldness bit bone-deep through Qui-Gon. He clenched his teeth. "I do not seek rest."

"Don't you? But, Master, you need rest. You yearn for it, and I can give it to you. Lie still." Icy hands stroked his face, his hair, and Qui-Gon shuddered as he shut his eyes. He was so tired.... but he had to move, he needed to run, he fought vehemently to make his body obey. His muscles would not respond.

"Oh, you're so weak!" Xanatos murmured with mocking concern. He cupped Qui-Gon's cheek and smiled down sadly. "You always were, you know. What a powerful master I thought I had once. What a strong Jedi you seemed to be. But the best lesson you ever gave me, my Master, was how truly foolish and limited you are."

Xanatos lowered his lips to Qui-Gon's ear and whispered. The soft breath sliced through him, and Qui-Gon shivered against his will.

"You think of me as your biggest failure, Master, don't you?" hissed Xanatos. "But I am your greatest success! I am what you made me. I owe all my strength to you. Your weakness taught me where true power lies. And it's not in the Light that you blind yourself with."

Qui-Gon was breathing hard with effort, trying intensely to focus his mind outward, but still he managed to shake his head in denial at the hate-filled words.

When Xanatos suddenly grasped his wrist, the Jedi's blood ran cold. "Oh, yes, reach out, Master," taunted Xanatos as he raised Qui-Gon's arm in a sweeping gesture. "Gather the Light to you as you taught me. Gather the Force. Can you feel it? No?"

Qui-Gon had been trying to do that very thing, had been trying to summon power from the living world that surrounded him. It was an act as natural to him as breathing -- but now the Force was eluding him, and he felt lightheaded, as though he were suffocating from the lack of it.

"Ah, Qui-Gon," Xanatos sighed with elaborate pity. "Has your Force abandoned you? Has it, Master Jedi?"

"Never." Qui-Gon was steadfastly battling the alarm growing inside him, and his whispered protest bore all the intensity of his struggle.

But Xanatos clearly found his conviction lacking, for he laughed, almost fondly. "Delusions can be so comforting, can't they?" Xanatos moved slowly, deliberately, pressing Qui-Gon's head to his chest with one icy hand, and sliding the other inside his tunics, to rest over Qui-Gon's heart. "Well, hold on, my Master. And while you search virtuously for the Light, I will show you the power of the Darkness."

When the assault came, Qui-Gon's body arched with shock. Electric, blinding pain tore through him. Even with his eyes closed tightly, he could see the brilliant blue-white energy that flashed from Xanatos' hands into his head and heart. The sensation was impossible for him to comprehend. His flesh was freezing rapidly, or burning slowly, he couldn't tell and it felt like both. It was alive inside him, in every cell, it was consuming him.... He couldn't remove himself from it. There was no place in his mind that the pain didn't reach.

Xanatos released him, and Qui-Gon collapsed, limp and gasping. The cruel hands were gentle now, softly soothing, as Xanatos whispered, "Only a fraction, my Master. Only a fraction of the power I possess. When the pain comes again, relax... it's worse if you fight it. But if you let go, if you give in... Master, you'll feel a strength you've never known."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, gathered what scraps were left of his consciousness and control, and tried to shield himself against the dread that crawled through him. He swallowed with difficulty, and, though he knew it was futile, he murmured, "Don't do this."

"Hmm," said Xanatos thoughtfully. "Is that a command or a plea? It doesn't matter, really." He shrugged, and his hands slid into place again.

Despair washed through Qui-Gon. He was unaccustomed to true hopelessness; he wondered if he'd ever really felt it before. He was unable to move, his enemy controlled him... and the pain was about to come again.

But the worst thing, the thing he could still not fully believe, was that the Force had forsaken him. The desolation, the emptiness, was unbearable.

He could almost welcome the pain. He was utterly bereft, the Light was gone, and if the pain, if the Darkness, could fill him, he would almost welcome it....

Xanatos' chest rumbled with amusement beneath Qui-Gon's head. Cold lips brushed his ear, and they whispered, "...I think I've already won."

The effect was immediate. Qui-Gon stiffened as the very core of his being rebelled against his tormentor's victory. A surge of fierce resistance pulsed in him, and he lifted his head --

• only to have it thrown back in agony as the pain ripped through his body and mind, and raced toward his soul.

His master's sleep had been fitful and disturbed, and Obi-Wan was delicately attempting to calm him when Qui-Gon suddenly arched within his arms. Obi-Wan pressed his hands more firmly against the blazing head and chest. He tried to hold his master still, tried to soothe him, but Qui-Gon thrashed beneath his hands and came awake with a furious cry. Bruising hands gripped Obi-Wan's wrists and flung them away, and the padawan found himself thrown toward the fire with an abrupt and violent push of Force.

Damn but Qui-Gon was hard to take care of, thought Obi-Wan fleetingly. He twisted and rolled in time to escape being burned, then dove back to his master and pushed his shaking shoulders to the ground to restrain him. "Master, be still," he said with a calm he did not feel. "Lie still now."

His words only seemed to inflame Qui-Gon, who brought his arms up and angrily broke Obi-Wan's hold. But the young Jedi was tenacious, and he grasped Qui-Gon's head in his hands. "Master, look at me. Look at me! Stop fighting now. Stop fighting me."

Qui-Gon's haunted eyes met with his, almost by accident it seemed, but once they connected, they held. The master stared at him in bewilderment as his distress slowly eased. Then, carefully, he said "Obi-Wan," as though pronouncing a name unfamiliar to him. He raised a hand and touched his padawan's face tentatively.

Obi-Wan smiled. He felt unaccountably happy about this tiny victory, and he nodded his encouragement.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly with relief, but when they opened again they were so clouded with pain and shame that Obi-Wan held his breath.

Qui-Gon looked away and began to push himself up determinedly, struggling to sit. "Obi-Wan," he murmured, when his arms wouldn't hold his weight.

"Master...." Obi-Wan shook his head warningly, and put a restraining hand on the Jedi's shoulder.

Qui-Gon was clearly troubled, and grasped Obi-Wan's sleeve insistently. "I need to... please, I need--"

"Shh, Master," Obi-Wan gently interrupted. "What you need is rest. You're very sick. Be still now, and--"

"Obey me, Padawan!" Qui-Gon said urgently. Obi-Wan's lips tightened, but after a second's hesitation, he did as he was told. He helped Qui-Gon sit up, then grudgingly assisted him as he struggled, swaying, to his knees.

With a slowness that spoke of the fever's ache, Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, rested his hands in his lap and, bowing his head, he assumed his posture of meditation.

Obi-Wan swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. Silently, he faced his master and knelt beside him. Then, careful not to agitate him, he loosely wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon to support and warm him.

His master was nearly shaking with tension and cold. When Qui-Gon swayed into him, Obi-Wan almost gasped, dizzied by the confusion and chaos emanating from the usually placid, controlled Jedi at his side. Not for the first time that night, he wondered what his master had dreamt to disturb him so.

Qui-Gon slipped uneasily into meditation, and the effort it took him to manage this simple task hurt Obi-Wan deeply. The padawan sighed with sorrow, and shut his eyes. For so long he had been denying his urge to help Qui-Gon. Out of respect for his master's privacy, and a clear understanding of a padawan's duty not to intrude on a master's spiritual quest, he had stood silently by.

His inaction chafed at him. For a while, he'd considered it a much-needed exercise in patience. He was well aware patience wasn't his strong suit -- Qui-Gon had certainly chided him for it enough times. But surely... surely these weeks of distance and separation had lasted long enough.

In fact, Obi-Wan decided, they had lasted too long. It was time to join Qui-Gon in his fight. 

Obi-Wan centered himself and sank into a meditative trance of his own. He could feel the heat of the fire at his back, the heat of the body that shivered slightly in his arms. He accepted the heat, soothed it into a comforting blanket of warmth around them both. He matched his breathing with his master's, and with great gentleness, he sought and melded with Qui-Gon's consciousness.

They had meditated together countless times, and Obi-Wan was familiar with the many landscapes of his teacher's mind. After weeks of Qui-Gon's adamant shielding, drawing near to his master in this way should have felt like a homecoming.

But now, he found Qui-Gon in a place that wasn't usual, that bore little of the serenity and beauty usually found within his master. Obi-Wan stood in a dark and turbulent place -- featureless, except for a frenetic swirl of light and shadow.

As though from a great distance, Obi-Wan cautiously waded through brilliance and gloom, approaching his kneeling master. Qui-Gon's aura, usually a deep, pacific green, roiled with illness and unrest. Touching the mind of one so troubled held certain risks to them both, and Obi-Wan was treading lightly.

"Master. I'm here," he announced softly. It was unnecessary. He knew Qui-Gon sensed his presence though he gave no sign of it.

He came closer. "May I stay?" His master remained silent, and Obi-Wan chose to take it as assent, though he doubted that was Qui-Gon's intention. He knelt facing Qui-Gon in a pose that echoed their physical forms, though he did not take the liberty of touching him.

He could feel Qui-Gon struggling beside him, working to command the Light and Darkness that surrounded them. Just as the Force was harnessed into some semblance of order, the Light collapsed and began whirling around them again, diffuse and disturbed.

Qui-Gon stiffened and tried again. And failed again.

Obi-Wan's stomach clenched with desperation. Never in his years with Qui-Gon had he witnessed this accomplished Jedi at such odds with the Force. His master's awful inability left the padawan unanchored and adrift.

When Qui-Gon again fought unsuccessfully to control the Force's flow, Obi-Wan felt his master's frustration and anger as though it were his own. The Light dimmed dangerously around them, and the shadows deepened.

Obi-Wan swallowed back his alarm. He set his mouth with determination, refusing to be helpless, and he stretched out his hand to the Force in supplication.

Instantly, the Light responded and began to spiral around them like a warm, living mist. The young man's heart surged with hope.

"...Leave me." Qui-Gon's words were slow and soft, but the cold fury behind them was unmistakable. The older Jedi hadn't moved, he was perfectly still, head bent, but Obi-Wan dropped his hand and stared at his master as though he'd been slapped.

"Leave... me...now."

Obi-Wan didn't respond, he couldn't respond. Slowly, Qui-Gon lifted his head and fixed him with a look both wounding and wounded. "Do not mock me," he whispered. "Leave."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened, then narrowed. Fierce emotion simmered in him, and he wondered, if he tried to speak, whether he'd burst into laughter, break into tears, or fly into a rage. Quickly, the padawan sought refuge in his training, in the training that had been given to him by the man whose eyes knifed into him now. Obi-Wan calmed himself with cool efficiency, as he had been taught so well.

"I cannot leave you," he finally said, with no trace of either defiance or apology in his voice. "I will not."

Qui-Gon swayed suddenly and shut his eyes. "I am your master," he grated. "And this battle is mine."

"I am your padawan," countered Obi-Wan evenly. "And I fight at your side."

Qui-Gon's breathing was quick and shallow, and he shuddered with the effort for control. "Not... in this," he managed hoarsely.

"In this, and in everything," stated Obi-Wan firmly. He lifted his chin, his features perfectly tranquil and resolute. His expression could not have been a purer tribute to his teacher.

Anger melted into despair on Qui-Gon's face, and, bending low, he turned his head away. His weary, ragged cry was nothing Obi-Wan had ever heard from him before, and it tore into the padawan's heart, threatening his composure. Beneath his master's bowed back, Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon's huge hands tighten into helpless fists. "Master," he breathed, reaching out. Obi-Wan clasped Qui-Gon's trembling shoulder with a steady hand.

The contact made them both flinch, as a surge of Force swiftly raced between them, the strength of Obi-Wan's conviction colliding fiercely with the power of Qui-Gon's dark distress. Both men wavered under the onslaught, and Obi-Wan instinctively grabbed Qui-Gon's other shoulder with his free hand, unsure whether he was bracing his master or himself.

It was as though a circuit had been completed. The current coursed through Obi-Wan's body and circled wildly in his mind. He gasped as all the anguish Qui-Gon had been shielding now rushed in on him with painful intensity. Suddenly, he saw everything, he felt everything -- the physical exhaustion and punishing illness, the mental weariness, the spiritual unrest... dreadful uncertainty, questions, doubts... doubts about the Council's wisdom, the Order's strength, his beloved padawan's trust.... And mostly, doubts about Qui-Gon himself -- his faith, his vision, his worthiness, his path. Doubts about his mastery of the Force, and his submission to it... doubts about the very Force itself.

Obi-Wan lifted his head with a cry, and found Qui-Gon's startled gaze on him. The deep blue eyes were wide, and eloquent with the shock and shame of being laid bare so completely. Qui-Gon was trying to pull back, but Obi-Wan couldn't release him. He was powerless to let go, as though he held a live wire that burned through him, seeking ground.

As Qui-Gon sank away from him, Obi-Wan felt himself following, descending rapidly. The primal fear of falling was electrifying. His vision blurred to nothing, a mottled, flickering stream of light and color rose up at him, and his body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable impact.

With jarring suddenness, the two Jedi fell out of meditation and into themselves. To Obi-Wan it seemed they'd slammed into solid rock. He groaned as he pitched to the side, but the sound of it ceased abruptly as his master toppled onto him like fallen timber, forcing the air from his lungs.

Obi-Wan lay stunned. He could hear Qui-Gon gasping, and he vaguely envied his master the ability to draw breath. It was so dark; he blinked, but his vision wouldn't clear.... He realized his face was veiled beneath a heavy curtain, warm and damp and smelling familiarly of his master. He rolled his head slowly from side to side, trying to shake off the long brown hair draped across his face. When Obi-Wan finally managed to draw in some air, he blew Qui-Gon's hair away tiredly, and lay still.

Qui-Gon was unconscious. He was a dead weight across Obi-Wan's chest, his head heavy on his shoulder. One of Qui-Gon's arms was trapped between them, and Obi-Wan felt an elbow pressing uncomfortably against his ribs. He was too tired to do more than wince at the discomfort. He couldn't summon the strength to move Qui-Gon just yet. Somehow his limbs had been drained of all strength. His mind was numb.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, wishing for a movement, a sound, any sign of life from his master. He reached up a leaden hand and groped weakly for Qui-Gon's pulse. The heartbeat seemed frightfully fast beneath the burning skin of Qui-Gon's throat, faster even than Obi-Wan's own. "Master," he said, calmly pretending the word would bring Qui-Gon back to consciousness. "I need you to wake up, Master. Please."

Silence. Obi-Wan bit his lip as the flame of guilt and fear flared brighter inside him. What had he done? He'd pressed his master, he'd interfered, and Force, the resulting psychic implosion had been... devastating. By the Light, what had he done? What kind of harm had he done?

With sudden desperation, Obi-Wan embraced his master and buried his face against the back of Qui-Gon's head. "Master," he whispered. "Oh, Master, I am sorry. Forgive me. Wake up and forgive me." Behind his tightly shut eyes, Obi-Wan saw again Qui-Gon's horrible expression of shock and violation as his unshielded anguish was torn from him.

Obi-Wan wanted to shrink from the terrible knowledge of his master's dark doubts, doubts about everything he should be most certain of. As his arms tightened protectively around Qui-Gon, his throat tightened with sorrow. With some surprise, Obi-Wan realized he had enough physical strength left to cry.

No.... Oh, Qui-Gon. The young Jedi shook his head in useless denial. No, this couldn't be. This was his master! Force help him, how could this be? Obi-Wan knew now, he knew this retreat was not merely a time for rest and reflection. He had seen too much to deny it.

He knew now that Qui-Gon faced The Void.

Obi-Wan had learned of the affliction from his master, years ago. The Void. It was the whispered name for something nameless. A crisis of faith, a spiritual nightmare, a terrible eclipse of the soul that left some Jedi darkened, some mad, some dead by their own hand. Some were left out of touch with the Force, impaired in a way that Obi-Wan knew would be worse than death to most Jedi.

It was a trial visited on relatively few in their Order. In fact, theories existed that this ordeal was an honor of sorts, granted to those chosen by the will of the Force. This was a trial that didn't have to end in failure, Obi-Wan reminded himself fervently. It didn't have to, Qui-Gon could come through this strengthened, purified, realized... he could! He would.

But first he needed to wake up.

Obi-Wan wiped wearily at his eyes. This night had been so long already. And dawn was still hours away. The fire was dying again. The ground was so cold beneath his back, and Qui-Gon was radiating an absurd amount of heat. Force, even his hair is hot, thought Obi-Wan as he pushed some damp strands from his cheek.

The elbow in his ribs was beginning to hurt in earnest now, and Obi-Wan shoved half-heartedly at his master's shoulder. "Qui-Gon, could you get off me, please?" he said politely. There was no response of course, and Obi-Wan sighed, giving his master a last quick embrace before gathering his strength to move.

He grasped Qui-Gon's shoulders and, with a burst of extreme effort, he rolled to the side. Qui-Gon flipped neatly onto the rumpled bedroll, and Obi-Wan pushed himself up unsteadily, rubbing his sore ribs. Wincing, he leaned over and touched Qui-Gon's brow, noting the tension in his master's features, even while in the grip of unconsciousness.

"Did I hurt you?" he murmured. "Wake up and tell me."

Obi-Wan pressed his fingers to Qui-Gon's temple, searching for the familiar psychic presence of his master. He was ready to pull back in a second, afraid of triggering another cataclysmic connection between them. But he had to know what damage he'd done.

Carefully, he reached out with his senses, trying not to flinch when he made contact with the mind he sought. What he felt was... muted, and confused, but.... it was Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan closed his eyes gratefully. Qui-Gon was there. He breathed a prayer of thanks.

Obi-Wan straightened and rolled his head, working his stiff shoulders. He struggled to his feet and stretched, staring at the sky as he did so. The brilliant sparkle of millions of stars shone through the swaying branches above. For a week now, he had gazed at those same stars each night. They always made him feel impossibly small and insignificant. And they made him feel very alone, too. Sometimes he had looked across the fire at his master, and wondered how his closest companion could seem so far away. As untouchable as the stars.

Obi-Wan shook himself, and took a deep breath. He dropped a few more logs on the fire, which grew into a hearty blaze. He took a long drink from one of the waterskins, and splashed a bit of water on his face to clear away the haze still settled around his mind.

Then with renewed strength and purpose, he sat down beside Qui-Gon. He helped him to drink, carefully bathed his skin with the cool, freshly dampened sash, and then took one of Qui-Gon's large hands between his own.

He gazed down at the shadowed face of his teacher for a long moment before speaking. "Master," he said. "Listen to me. You have been shielding from me for weeks now. I've accepted that, and I've respected it. Though I think you know it wasn't easy for me."

Obi-Wan made an unnecessary adjustment to his master's coverings. "It was my duty to stand aside. I know that. But... I know the challenge you face now, Master, and Force forgive me if I'm wrong, but I will not let you face this alone."

Obi-Wan paused, and smiled down at his unresponsive master. "If you'd care to wake up and argue with me, I'd welcome that. Wake up and tell me this is your battle to fight. Rage at me for intruding. I did, you know. And I saw your mind. I saw your heart. Maybe I even saw your soul, but I hope not, Master, because it was so dark and so hopeless, and Qui-Gon, I know that's not you. That's not you, that's not real."

Obi-Wan caught his breath sharply and pressed Qui-Gon's hand to his heart. "I know you," he whispered slowly. "Things may not seem clear to you now, but you are going to find your way. You must."

The river stone in his tunic gently began to warm beneath Qui-Gon's hand, and Obi-Wan sighed at the sensation. It felt as though his heart would melt.

"The Force is with you, Qui-Gon," he said. "It's been your guide your whole life long, your master and your servant. You may not feel it right now, but I can. It's there. It is not lost to you." He smiled. "You accessed it a little while ago, remember? You Force-pushed me. Nearly incinerated me in the campfire. That should give you some hope, right?"

Obi-Wan reached out a hand and swept the wet sash across his master's forehead, down each cheek, and along his throat. As he worked, he spoke softly. "You're going to have to wake up and fight now, Master. If you can't fight your illness, if you can't fight the darkness, then wake up and fight me. Fight your padawan. I know you can find the strength for that. You always do. Oh, I would enjoy one of our debates right now. I would. In fact, I'd give anything, I'd--" He broke off and cleared his throat, which was uncomfortably tight.

"Master. I saw what you think," he said quietly. "I felt what you feel. I know that, with everything else, you have doubts about me. You think I don't trust you? You doubt my regard? Wake up and tell me so. We'll debate that. It will be quite an argument, and Qui-Gon, I will win it. There may be no other dispute I could win with you, no other battlefield where I could best you. But if we argue about the strength of my devotion, Master, there is no way I will lose."

Obi-Wan watched the firelight play over Qui-Gon's features, which were as tense and closed as ever. He went very still. "Or maybe...," he whispered, "...maybe I should promise not to fight with you anymore. Come back, Master, and I'll promise you that."

His eyes dropped to the hand he held, and he was silent for a while. "What is it you need?" he mused. "How am I to help you? Is it dark where you are?"

The padawan frowned, contemplating. "'The Force illuminates your path.' You've always taught me that. But you can't see the Light now, and Master, I don't know how to help you. Oh, I need you to tell me what to do. Please tell me what to say."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and brought Qui-Gon's hand to his cheek. He breathed slowly, in and out. "Everything I am," he said after a time, "anything I have to give, was given to me by you."

He opened his eyes and looked at Qui-Gon's face, then studied the strong hand, curled like a sleeping child's, which he held cradled in his own.

Obi-Wan reached into his tunic and withdrew the river stone. Beside him, the fire danced, and the stone seemed to glow like a jewel, warm red within shining ebony, catching the light. He placed the stone into Qui-Gon's palm and reverently folded his master's fingers around it. Closing his own hands around the loose fist, Obi-Wan lowered his head and began to pray to the will of the Force. 

Qui-Gon stumbled again, and this time he fell. Rocks and thorns bit into him, bruising and cutting his flesh. He couldn't take time to feel the pain. Crawling through the blackness, hands reaching out before him, he clumsily felt his way. He was headed... somewhere. Where was not certain, but he knew he needed to leave here. Wherever here was. He nearly laughed.

The cold was beginning to take its toll. His thoughts were slowing down, limbs stiffening with the chill. A traitorous part of his mind was whispering, urging him to stop, to lie down and allow the cold to claim him. He supposed he shouldn't listen to that. Doggedly, Qui-Gon scrambled ahead.

A fallen branch, unseen and un-sensed, lashed across his jaw and carved deeply into his shoulder. He flinched, overcompensated, and was punished with a jagged slash down one thigh. Gasping with pain, he felt blood begin to well, then slide down his leg to pool in the leaves. He was leaving a trail. Whatever was pursuing him would find him.

Qui-Gon lurched forward in sudden panic, hitting his head on a tree. That brought him to a halt finally, and he sat with a groan, propping himself dizzily against the trunk. The rough bark scraped into the skin of his bare back. It hurt, and he sighed with resignation. Drawing his knees up and resting his cheek on them, he rubbed tiredly at his sore head. Tangled hair brushed against raw, bleeding shins and clung there.

He was so disoriented, unsure of where he'd been or where he hoped to go. Qui-Gon stared hard into the night, but of course saw nothing. Shuddering, he wrapped his arms around his knees. Maybe he should let the cold steal over him.... A steady drop, drop of blood fell from his shoulder to the dry leaves. The rhythm was mesmerizing.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again, the damp air clinging to his lashes like tears. He had been able to see once, he was fairly sure of that. He hadn't always been blind.

Naked, unprotected from the cold air, he shivered again. Whatever darkness was stalking him was surely coming closer, and Qui-Gon tried to decide if he cared anymore. He was tired of running. So tired of trying.

"Let me go," he said wearily. Absently, Qui-Gon wondered to whom he spoke. Surely he could give up if he wanted to. Who was to stop him?

Sighing, he shut his eyes once more, knowing there was no need to open them again.

His hand flexed suddenly, startling him, as a curious warmth began to grow in his empty palm. Fingers folding around the heat almost involuntarily, he felt the energy build. He frowned, finding the warmth soothing, but... distracting. Insistent. Demanding an attention he didn't want to give.

Anger and confusion began to stir within him, and he threaded his hands into his hair. Folding himself up tightly, he tried to close himself from the intrusion. He tried to hide.

"Let me go," he whispered with fierce determination. Qui-Gon was being summoned, he could feel it, and the resentment it stirred within him was almost unimaginable. All he wanted was rest! Shoulders shaking, he realized suddenly that he was weeping. It infuriated him. "Let me go!" he cried yet again, and despite his fury he was aware he was pleading. Hands clenching in his hair, he sobbed freely now, in pure frustration. Salty tears stung his wounds.

Inexplicably, and much to his despair, Qui-Gon found himself struggling to his feet. Why did he have to move, why? Wiping the tears from his eyes, he began to walk. He longed to stop, to lie down and sleep and never get up. But still he kept walking, even quickening his pace, reeling helplessly from one obstacle to the next in the darkness.

His hand was thrumming with an energy that was alive, and he held it to his chest as though wounded. He felt no pain from it, but the warmth was so intense, so overwhelming... and so sweetly comforting he thought his heart would break.

As he pushed blindly through the trees, Qui-Gon suddenly realized that he had a destination. He was no longer aimlessly fleeing, but was being drawn toward... something.

The nature of his desperation changed. He knew that warmth and light awaited him somewhere, and his heart and soul ached, seeking solace with a passion he hadn't remembered he was capable of.

Qui-Gon pressed forward, ignoring the pain and the clawing branches that tried to hold him back. The warmth was spreading through him now, burning from inside. He could feel it outside as well; the gentle touch of warmer air on his skin, the scent of a distant fire.

He heard a murmuring voice and knew he was nearly there. The effort to keep moving was exhausting, and he moaned softly with apprehension, fearing fatigue would claim him before he reached his destination.

As the soft voice grew gradually clearer, Qui-Gon staggered through the trees, driven with need.

And then the adrenaline surge that had spurred him on abruptly ebbed. Trembling first, then shaking, his body failed him and he collapsed, finished. His mind cried out silently in despair... he had come so close....

He lay waiting for the tremors to subside. Tears trailed down his cheeks, and he lacked the strength to wipe them away. They drained from him as surely as his blood, leaving him weak and depleted.

His arm lay stretched out before him, the sweet, strange heat in his palm slowly beginning to fade away. As his body quieted, he heard more clearly the voice that had drawn him onward. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift, listening wearily.

The voice was soft but earnest, and somehow familiar. A slow sigh escaped Qui-Gon's lips as the quiet murmuring lulled him. The tension and urgency coiled within him began to ease, replaced by a listless, bittersweet sorrow. His mind seemed to float, carried away by the soothing rhythm of the voice rising into the cold air. Gradually, Qui-Gon came to recognize that his name was being spoken.

The chant began again, and he listened with dreamy curiosity. A crackling fire punctuated the words, which were breathed fervently into the night.

"...May the Force, which creates Life and is created by Life, protect the spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn. May the Force, which grants all knowledge and wisdom, enlighten and strengthen its servant Qui-Gon, and bring him peace."

The chanted words were as familiar to him as the speaker's voice -- both seemed to echo from his past. These were words of ritual, lovely and sad, like the voice that spoke them so reverently. `Peace...,' thought Qui-Gon. His mind tried to grasp the idea, but it eluded him and he didn't pursue it.

Qui-Gon floated higher, listening as the rite was repeated yet again. His body seemed far away now, and very unimportant. He was glad to leave it behind.

Abruptly, the captivating chant came to an end, broken by a soft cry of grief and fear. The sound stung Qui-Gon, and he experienced a sudden longing to reach out to his unseen companion, to ease the despair he recognized in that voice. If only he could see....

No sooner had he wished it than a faint shimmering of light appeared. Qui-Gon looked down with wonder as the glow first brightened, then diminished, leaving a hazy circle of illumination beneath him.

He saw a shadowed figure, a young man bent over, rocking gently in distress. He was clutching the hand of a still form that lay beside him. It was another man, and with detached interest, Qui-Gon realized it was himself. Impassively, he observed the body. He knew it was dying. He could sense the heart beginning to slow, could almost see the shallow breath disappearing like a mist....

Qui-Gon watched as the kneeling figure stretched out a trembling hand, ghosting a frightened touch against the pale lips of the body that lay motionless there.

"No...," whispered the boy, then more firmly he said, "Qui-Gon, no!" He began a new chant then, ardent and determined, spoken quickly and with forced composure. "Return, faithful soul, by the Force that created you, by the Force that sustains you, by the Force in which you have your being...." The voice thickened with emotion and nearly broke.

Qui-Gon's soul ached for this despairing young man. Somehow, he knew this solemn rite, and he focused urgently, willing the grieving petitioner to find the strength to continue.

"...by the Realized who have gone before you," persisted the tremulous voice, "...by the Liberated who guide you, by the Jedi who serve beside you, by --"

With a choked sob, the ritual words were abandoned. "...by the padawan who needs you," whispered the boy, and he bent lower, touching his head gently to Qui-Gon's. "...come back... Master...."

`...my padawan,' thought Qui-Gon with wonder. `Obi-Wan...' The name came to him like something from a dream. `Obi-Wan....' It pulled at him, and he suddenly experienced an imperative need to draw near, to reunite with the bearer of that name, to return.

"Please," Obi-Wan was saying. His eyes were closed, his voice wavering between pleading and desperate calm. "Please, this is my teacher. Give him strength. He has dedicated his life to you... he has earned peace. It cannot be your will to take him now! Please, he is so good, he is so tired... help him. He's slipping away, he's leaving me now, I can feel it!"

Obi-Wan lifted his anguished face toward the sky. Qui-Gon gazed down into his shining eyes, but the boy was looking through him, beyond him, pleading with something unseen. "Take me," he said urgently. "Take me instead, do anything you want with me, but help him. Help my master. He's needed here."

Qui-Gon was disturbed by the words. The earnest appeal touched and troubled him deeply. He yearned to reach out, to silence the offer of sacrifice before it could be heard and honored. The moment hung suspended. Qui-Gon watched as his padawan finally dropped his eyes in defeat and bowed low, burying his face against his master's neck. His long braid lay draped across Qui-Gon's chest, and the boy pushed it aside as he placed a shaking hand over Qui-Gon's fading heart. "Then give him back to me," he whispered. "Please."

`....yes,' thought Qui-Gon. `Please.' His request made, he opened wide his mind and offered up his spirit, to be taken or released. With perfect submission, he prepared to accept the will of the Force. Whatever it would be.

In a flash of blinding fire, Qui-Gon's soul was consumed. He felt the universe spin. A great sighing rush of wind swept around him, swept through him, and he was soaring, awed and humbled by a power more vast than he had ever learned to comprehend. The embrace of the Force was fierce but tender; Qui-Gon offered no resistance and was carried like a child in its arms. He was exhilarated yet calm, filled with a sad, aching bliss... never had he touched greater power, or felt more sweetly lost to himself.

When the stars at last stopped whirling and all motion ceased, for a moment there was only silence. The first thing Qui-Gon heard was the quiet rustling of the fire. The first thing he felt was Obi-Wan's warm tears against his skin.

Qui-Gon drew a breath. Reaching up, he slowly stroked Obi-Wan's hair once, then rested his hand on his padawan's head.

Obi-Wan gasped softly and lay still, as if he didn't dare move. "Master," he breathed.

"I'm here."

With a small, tortured sound of hope and disbelief, Obi-Wan buried his face more deeply against his master's shoulder. The warm hand he had pressed over Qui-Gon's heart tightened, fisting desperately in the cloth of his tunic.

His padawan's exhaustion was as palpable to Qui-Gon as his own, and he could feel Obi-Wan fight for the strength to lift his head. When Qui-Gon finally managed to open his eyes, he saw Obi-Wan looking down at him, his gaze stunned and bright with unshed tears. Obi-Wan swallowed hard, seeming to search for words. He blinked, then hastily brushed one of his own tears from where it fell on his master's cheek.

When Obi-Wan spoke, his voice was hushed and uncertain. "Are you... are you... thirsty?" His eyes widened at the words, as though they surprised him.

Qui-Gon shook his head slightly in answer. He frowned, suddenly distracted by the familiar heat of the river stone still clasped within their joined hands. The stone... he remembered.... Qui-Gon stirred, and felt Obi-Wan's fingers tighten around his own. He looked up hazily, studying his padawan with fragile concentration.

"Should I... Master, what should I.... do...."

Qui-Gon silenced him with another faint shake of his head. He reached up, nearly touching Obi-Wan's face before his hand fell. "Sleep," he said. His voice was ragged, almost soundless. "You should sleep now."

Obi-Wan nodded. "All right," he whispered. He seemed dazed, unable to move, and Qui-Gon tugged very gently on the braid that trailed within his fingers' reach. Obi-Wan lowered his head to his master's shoulder.

His padawan sighed quietly, and Qui-Gon could feel the tension slowly drain from the exhausted body next to him. The master's own consciousness was slipping away, and he almost smiled, finding that he welcomed rest. He closed his eyes in sweet, weary release. Before he allowed himself to sleep, he pushed at one of the rumpled cloaks draped over him, until it lay atop Obi-Wan. 

Pulling his robe closer around him, Obi-Wan turned his face away from the sunlight that dazzled his tight-shut eyes. Just a few minutes longer, he thought. I only need to sleep a few minutes more....

His eyes snapped open. He jolted awake with a curse, heart in his throat. Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon was-- Obi-Wan took a few panting breaths and blinked his tired eyes.

Qui-Gon was stretched on the ground at his side, sleeping peacefully.

A tentative touch to forehead and cheek assured him the fever had gone. And -- he couldn't resist the urge -- a lingering press of his fingers to the strong throat reassured him that Qui-Gon lived.

Obi-Wan released a long breath, and rubbed his face with his hands. The robe slipped from his shoulder as he sat up, and he caught it, realizing as he did that his master must have put it on him.

He looked down at Qui-Gon's worn face, and it was as though everything around him fell away and was lost in silence. A thrill whispered through Obi-Wan, a ghostly, humbling fear, as the realization stole over him: his master had survived the Void.

In the dappled sunshine, with the bright song of birds carried on the breeze that stirred around them, the long night seemed no more substantial than a dream. Qui-Gon was very pale, his beard and eyelashes appearing darker than usual. His drained features bore the imprint of his ordeal, but even so -- his face was more serene at this moment than it had been in weeks. In months.

Obi-Wan's heart ached. How long had his master stood at the yawning edge of darkness, how long had he stood there alone? He shut his eyes in pain as he considered all that he had seen and felt during his clumsy effort to reach Qui-Gon in meditation. Guilt cut him sharply inside. Should he have acted sooner? Should he have interfered at all?

And if he had been less taxing to his master in the first place, a more supportive apprentice and companion.... Obi-Wan couldn't finish the thought.

When he opened his eyes, he started. His master was looking at him, his gaze clear and calm. Wordlessly, Qui-Gon opened his hand and held out the river stone.

Obi-Wan hesitated, as though confronted with incriminating evidence he wished he could deny. He accepted the stone, his fingers brushing Qui-Gon's palm diffidently. The stone warmed to his touch, as it always did, and he slipped it into his tunic without comment. With a pang, he wondered what Qui-Gon remembered of the previous night.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat uncomfortably and reached for a waterskin, carefully sliding an arm beneath his master's shoulders. Qui-Gon drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with an unsteady hand. He nodded his thanks, and said, "Padawan?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Help me to the riverside."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "Master...."

And then Qui-Gon smiled at him, a slow sweet smile of such utter purity that Obi-Wan dropped his eyes, startled and abashed. "Yes, Master," he murmured.

He helped Qui-Gon sit, and after a moment, he helped him to stand. Obi-Wan could feel his master's muscles trembling, but he swallowed his protest and concentrated on taking as much weight as Qui-Gon would allow.

Their walk down the steep path was slow, and Qui-Gon leaned heavily on his padawan as they carefully made their way. The master was distracted, absorbed in the sights and smells that surrounded them. He seemed forgetful of his physical weakness, and Obi-Wan stopped several times, feigning a need to rest when his master would have pressed on.

At last they reached the river's edge, the grassy spot beneath the young, silvery-leaved trees where Qui-Gon had spent each morning of their sojourn here. As he slipped from under Obi-Wan's arm and sank to his knees, Qui-Gon looked at his surroundings as though they were utterly new to him. Sunlight flickered in the leaves above, and sparkled on the surface of the water that flowed smoothly by. He breathed deeply and appreciatively, and Obi-Wan again saw the quiet smile.

"It's good to be here," Qui-Gon said softly. He closed his eyes and settled his body for meditation. "Obi-Wan. Thank you for bringing me back."

Obi-Wan hesitated, unsure how to respond. He swallowed, and finally whispered, "Yes, Master." 

The setting sun bathed the sky with a deep lavender glow, and Qui-Gon lay still, looking up into the swaying branches overhead. One by one, he watched the stars begin to shine. Beside him, the fire crackled quietly, and he listened to the sounds of Obi-Wan tidying up after their evening meal.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, examining with wonder the still unfamiliar sensations of physical comfort and spiritual peace. A bird called overhead. The breeze stirred his hair and kissed his skin. He held very still as fresh emotion swept through him again, sweet and almost unbearably tender.

Since his awakening three days ago, the Living Force seemed to burn within him so purely and brightly that he sometimes felt his heart would break. He cherished the feeling. He knew this exquisite aftereffect of his ordeal could fade away and leave him, so he savored each moment, giving himself fully to the rapture and the pain.

During these days of recovery, he had come to realize how accustomed he'd grown over the last months to an ever-present numbness of mind, body and soul. He remembered initially dismissing his growing anguish as self-indulgent, ruthlessly ignoring his decline until he'd found himself in a place darker than any he'd ever imagined. By then, he was beyond knowing how to release himself, to fight his way through the prison walls of misery and despair that had risen around him. Outside those walls lay his faith, his vocation, his strength and serenity, all he knew and treasured and needed. Outside those walls lay the Force.

And now, somehow, he was free. It was not so much that he'd escaped, he realized. More like the walls had collapsed around him. The ruins of his prison still surrounded him, stony and treacherous, but he was climbing his way through, slowly clearing a path beyond the rubble and debris. Likely, there would always be residual obstacles in his way, and he would need to watch his steps carefully. But perhaps that was not a bad thing. If he were mindful, they would serve to guide his way. They would remind him of where he had been, and of where he needed to be.

He sighed thoughtfully, and heard Obi-Wan's movements immediately halt in response. Qui-Gon winced. After a moment of frozen silence, Obi-Wan resumed his task.

His young apprentice had been invaluable to him over the last several days. Watchful and solicitous, he had aided Qui-Gon when even the simplest tasks exhausted him. Obi-Wan was there to help him up whenever he stumbled. He was there to gently remind his master to eat or drink whenever Qui-Gon became too absorbed in the vibrant world around him to see to his own needs.

Qui-Gon was deeply touched by his padawan's tireless assistance. But he was concerned, too. Though faultlessly attentive, Obi-Wan seemed withdrawn. And a far sight too docile for Qui-Gon's taste.

Even more troubling was the awed reverence he continually glimpsed in Obi-Wan's downcast eyes. Though Obi-Wan watched him constantly, Qui-Gon tried to remember if his padawan had fully met his gaze even once over the last days. Always, the deferential half-bowed head. He was tired of trying to communicate with Obi-Wan's hair.

There were times now when the world around Qui-Gon became limned in light... every blade of grass, every silver eddy in the stream. All the hidden perfection of life was laid open to him with a clarity that pierced his heart, wounded it, and made it ache with love.

When Qui-Gon looked at his padawan, this tenderness became so keen it left him weak. Once, he'd pulled the stunned boy into his arms and held him, rejoicing silently.

Obi-Wan was struck silent for hours.

Respect and obedience from his padawan were expected. Qui-Gon would accept no less. But worship... he couldn't bear it.

With a little guilt, Qui-Gon pondered the distance that had grown between him and Obi-Wan over the past months. It had sincerely disturbed him at first -- until he'd become so trapped within his prison that even the tension in his dearest relationship had ceased to attract his notice.

And now a different kind of wall separated him from his padawan. It was not an improvement.

Qui-Gon shifted a bit, stretching muscles that had tired too easily during today's brief swim in the river. He rolled to his side, and Obi-Wan instantly asked, "Do you need anything, Master?"

He stifled a sigh. "No, Padawan, I'm very well," he said patiently, closing his eyes. "Please, rest now."

"Yes, Master." He heard Obi-Wan lay out his bedroll and obediently lie down, but even after the young man lapsed into stillness, Qui-Gon could feel the weight of his hooded gaze.

It had to stop.

Without opening his eyes, Qui-Gon said gravely, "Padawan, I would speak with you."

Obi-Wan immediately rose to kneeling. "Yes, Master?"

Qui-Gon pushed himself up and sat, observing the young man across the fire from him, gray eyes downcast and reverent. "Obi-Wan," he began. "Our time here has been... difficult for me. I want to thank you for the care you've shown. I feel well now, and nearly whole, and I think I owe much of that to you."

Qui-Gon paused, watching. His padawan flushed in the glow of the fire, and then almost imperceptibly his bent head shook in dissent.

With an inward sigh of exasperated affection, Qui-Gon said wryly, "Obi-Wan, if I say I owe my health to you, then I do. Don't disagree with your master."

The look of distress that darkened Obi-Wan's face made Qui-Gon's amusement fade before it could reach his lips.

Obi-Wan lowered his head still further. "No, Master, I wouldn't presume," he said, and Qui-Gon straightened, surprised. He wouldn't presume to disagree? Since when?

"Padawan," he began seriously, and when Obi-Wan stiffened, prepared for a rebuke, Qui-Gon suddenly thought he understood. The abiding reverence, the unfailing deference... whether his too-docile padawan felt himself unworthy, or felt Qui-Gon too fragile, Obi-Wan was clearly afraid of him now. Afraid to challenge or upset him.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes tiredly. He'd known his padawan was worried and wearied by his master's trial, but this submission? Oh, this could not stand.

He wanted his Obi-Wan back.

Qui-Gon gathered himself, then fixed his padawan with an austere and determined look. "Obi-Wan," he began again in a deceptively stern tone, "while I must thank you for your dedicated assistance of late, something has been troubling me since... that night." He knew he didn't need to clarify. Obi-Wan's solemn nod told him he was understood.

"The devotion you so eloquently expressed does you much credit, my Padawan, whether or not I am deserving of it. Nevertheless--"

Obi-Wan's head snapped up, his startled eyes meeting Qui-Gon's for the first time in days. "You... you remember?" he breathed.

Qui-Gon held his apprentice's gaze across the flames, bracing himself as emotion flooded him again. "I remember nearly everything," he answered softly. After a deep breath and a moment's pause, he resumed his role. "You did an admirable job of entering my consciousness," he said lightly. "Invited or not."

The barb caught. Obi-Wan winced, and shifted uncomfortably.

"As your master," continued Qui-Gon smoothly, "I feel I must take exception to your methods, well-intended as they were. Your psychic intrusion aside, I find I was most intrigued by your... negotiations. We've discussed this before, Padawan. The Force is not a personal consciousness. You cannot bargain with it, or change its mind. It is energy. It isn't an individual. Perhaps you've forgotten our conversations on this issue?"

A familiar frown creased Obi-Wan's brow. He opened his mouth, then took a breath and closed it again.

Ah, thought Qui-Gon. Good.... He lifted an eyebrow. "You disagree."

"Master, it's not my place--"

"Do you disagree?"

Obi-Wan was clearly struggling. "Master," he finally managed, "in the last week alone you have been places and seen things -- and know things -- that the Force may never reveal to me." He looked at Qui-Gon, and when he spoke again his voice was hushed. "You went into the Void and survived. If you tell me that's how it is, then I believe you. Who am I to argue with you?"

There was a pause, and this time it was Qui-Gon who dropped his eyes. Obi-Wan's veneration suddenly shamed him, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "The Void is aptly named, Obi-Wan. Emptiness and obscurity are its only features. If I have gained any wisdom or insight, it is merely a clearer understanding of my own vast ignorance." He spread one large hand on his bent knee and studied it thoughtfully. "If the sages are correct, I have never been closer to the Force. But I assure you, I have never felt more forsaken."

A twig snapped within the fire. Qui-Gon glanced over, staring silently into the brilliant flames until they began to blur. When he closed his eyes, the brightness still burned and danced for him. "But Obi-Wan," he murmured. "What I feel sometimes now... the ache, the inexpressible beauty?" Qui-Gon sensed his padawan's nod. "I promise you, Obi-Wan, it is a pale shadow of what I felt at the end. For a time, I don't know how long, I thought the Force was claiming me. Padawan, it was...." Qui-Gon grasped for words, but at last could only sigh. He shook his head. "I don't believe I am able to describe it. Even to you."

When he finally looked up, his padawan was gazing at him, appearing as awed and speechless as the master himself felt. Qui-Gon smiled. "You're too far away, Obi-Wan," he said. "Be beside me. I've been alone too long."

Obi-Wan reached for another log, laid it on the fire, then rose smoothly to his feet. His movements were casual as he sat down beside his master, but Qui-Gon could feel his pleasure keenly and knew with a pang that much of it stemmed from a loneliness the young man had suffered for some time.

Still, he was a little surprised when Obi-Wan took his hand. "Qui-Gon?" he said quietly. "I thought I was watching you die. I thought I was watching you leave me."

"No, Padawan." Qui-Gon's fingers tightened around the hand laced with his. "Oh, no, Obi-Wan, I was always with you. Always."

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes on their joined hands. They sat silently for a while, then Obi-Wan spoke. "Master," he mused. "When you felt the Force was claiming you, did you wish to stay?"

Qui-Gon thought for a moment. "Yes, Obi-Wan, I did. I felt I needed to."

"Did you ask to stay, Master?"

"I believe I did, yes. If it was the will of the Force."

"I see." Obi-Wan slanted him a look. "So. You made a request of the Force, and you submitted to its will. That sounds rather like an acknowledgement of its personal consciousness to me, Master."

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed as he met his padawan's glance. Then he laughed, happily, something he couldn't remember doing for months. "No!" he laughed. "No, you won't get me to admit that."

"But, Master, the Force has a will! How can you argue--"

"Of course it has a will," Qui-Gon interrupted pedantically. "It has a predetermination to seek balance, and to battle entropy, but it is energy, Padawan, pure and simple. It is not an individual."

Obi-Wan made a low, frustrated sound. "You speak as if there were no room for debate. Philosophers have argued about this for ages! Yon-Hut Dao said that true communion with the Force could only be accomplished through the medium of a sentient soul. What could possibly be more personal than that?"

Qui-Gon lifted his chin, considering. "A classic argument," he granted. "But unfortunately it lacks foundation. Yon-Hut Dao was insane."

"Master!" gasped Obi-Wan. "Yon-Hut Dao was a revered Jedi prophet, and a great man!"

"Prophet," grumbled Qui-Gon, shaking his head. "I have little use for prophets. Too much time spent dreaming and too little spent living. To truly learn, one ought to keep focus--"

"--on the here and now," finished Obi-Wan impatiently. "You know, Master, if you start lecturing me about the Living Force, I will point out that the Living Force is by definition alive, and I will prove my premise with your own words."

Qui-Gon laughed delightedly and suddenly kissed the hand he held. "Oh, Obi-Wan, I have missed you."

Obi-Wan looked up, startled and pleased. His eyes smiled a challenge. "I missed you more."

A nightbird soared overhead, and together they listened to its echoing call. Qui-Gon glanced up at the sky. The stars looked so close, he felt he could touch them. He wanted to touch them.

Qui-Gon breathed in the clear cold air, and slowly released it.

"Obi-Wan," he said quietly. "It's almost time to go home."

The End