Warnings: Dark content -- this is not a fic of the warm happy
variety.
Pairing: Q/O
Spoilers: none
Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon find out that misunderstandings
can lead to more than hurt feelings.
Feedback: Pretty please, with sugar on top?
Disclaimers: The almighty Lucas owns everything. I own nothing.
Happy?
Notes: This would be the place where I get on my knees and
thank my beta readers, right? Here goes:
Kimberlite: Where to begin? You beta faster than anyone I've
ever met. You are the comma queen! This project would have died
out in Part 2 without your support, commentary and endless
patience. Thank you ever so.
MJ: Thanks for hours of irc plot development, encouragement
and the occasional reminder that verbs are good. Not to mention
the constant questions: Why did he do that? When did this
happen? Are you sure about this? Etc.
Fi: Thanks for sending feedback at exactly the moment when I
had decided to chunk this whole project in the trash. You have
Sithly timing.
VelmaDoo: There isn't enough thanks for you... seventeen years
you've listened to plot ideas, read snippets, tweaked dialogue
and provided coffee ice cream at necessary intervals. My only
regret is I didn't know you sooner so we could have been best
friends longer.
/ - denotes telepathy
"Please, Master Jedi. I don't think I can do this." Qui-Gon
Jinn heard the trembling voice penetrate the blank silence that
enveloped him. He resented the interruption, needing to ignore
the child's presence, her constant light, pulsating around
them. He closed his eyes, avoiding the steady glow of energy.
The soft artificial lights he had placed close to the wall did
nothing to push back the darkness creeping in around them. The
Jedi thought that perhaps nothing would overcome this feeling
of horror, that this time the Dark would win.
"Please, Master Jedi. Please let me go." The young girl's eyes
were dark and swollen from tears, her thin face freshly scarred
and bleeding. Seeing her misery, the tall man holding onto her
arm pitied her, briefly. Then he saw the pale, still form of
his padawan lying, unmoving, in the air before her. The violent
fury, which had been driving him towards this damned planet,
raised its head and consumed him, shoving aside any latent
sympathy.
"Let you go? Look at him!" he growled. Hunkering down beside
her, Qui-Gon grabbed her face, turning her to look at the
floating body. "I said, look at him!" Qui-Gon felt the crusty
scabs on her cheeks as they split and wet his fingers with her
blood. Her eyes, slick ebony marbles, held the reflection of
Obi-Wan within them like a flame, dancing with the tears. The
Jedi could smell the fear on her skin, bitter and
copper-bright. Shaking his head, he stood up and stepped away
from her.
Towering above her, he insisted, "M'lss, you can retrieve him
from the Web." Qui-Gon's voice filled with ice and a harsh
Force command bounced around the room, slipping through the
shattered walls to echo in the vast deserted building. "You
must. Now!"
Once the main room had been full of looms, of laughing wise
women, of light. Now, there were broken bunks, used ammunition
and spoiled rations, the evidence of strife accentuated with
the deep streaks of blaster fire and misshapen piles of rubble.
The small room where Obi-Wan lay was separated by a mostly
destroyed wall, lending a visual reminder of previous
boundaries. One huge loom dominated the area, holding a
mostly-completed cloth the color of moss and seawater that
seemed to pulse with Dark energy. Levitating gently beside the
Loom was the familiar shape of…
"Do it now, M'lss. NOW!" he roared.
The girl jerked slightly, her misery deepening and fresh tears
diluting the blood on her cheeks. Nodding her head slowly,
M'lss acquiesced. She moved slowly towards the Loom. Settling
herself on the stool, M'lss reached her tiny hands towards the
shuttle, picking it up gently, equal parts of reverence and
terror showing on her face. As she began to work, one of the
tight warp threads snapped, ripping the skin of her palm. Fresh
blood welled up, running over her fingers. Qui-Gon watched as
the first tiny drops dripped onto the fabric. M'lss never
faltered in her work, the only admission of pain a tightening
of her thin lips.
The deep blues and greens in the fabric swirled around the
first dark droplet, feeding off it, drawing it deeply into the
weave. The Jedi was stunned for a moment, watching the colors
darken and dance. The entire piece seemed to saturate itself,
feeding off those drops of blood. M'lss' eyelids drooped
slightly and Qui-Gon could see her brightness, her energy being
siphoned into the cloth as she slowly worked the weave,
modifying it.
A hunger emanated from the threads on the Loom -- a snapping
need to be fed, to be sated, to drink from that steady glow
that was M'lss. Qui-Gon felt his mouth water, his fingers
curling into fists at his side. Oh yes, there was a hunger
here.
Qui-Gon looked at this child bleeding herself into the cloth
and felt revulsion at what he was becoming. A bitter voice
echoed within his head, "Jinn, what are you doing? You're
killing the girl. She's only a child. This is not who you are,
Jinn. What would Obi-Wan say to you? What would he say if he
could see this?"
Deep within him, the darkness attempting to gain a firmer
foothold on his soul slipped slightly, revealing the honor and
serenity which lay hidden, buried beneath the weeks of panicked
searching and self-loathing. Qui-Gon gasped, holding on to the
vision of light, and began beating the encroaching darkness
away.
Disgusted with himself, Qui-Gon grabbed the girl and pulled her
away from the Loom, holding her close to him as he stepped over
the destroyed wall, moving into the main area. The child
screamed, striking out at the man that held her captive. She
fought fiercely, using nails and teeth, wailing. The Jedi
master held her firmly, not allowing her to hurt herself. "No!
Don't hurt me! I will free him. Master Jedi, please!"
Qui-Gon walked over to a corner, gently sinking to the floor,
cradling them within his cloak. He refused to loosen his grip
on the girl, keeping her within the circle of his arms. The
tiny girl's struggles slowly ceased and the screaming changed
to a forlorn sobbing, her thin shoulders shaking. He could feel
an awareness within the fabric on the Loom reaching towards
him, tendrils of Darkness searching for the girl. Qui-Gon
tightened his shields around her, protecting her mind and body,
even after the searching ceased.
As the child sobbed, Qui-Gon rocked her slowly. "Shhh, little
one. No more tears now. It will be all right. I won't let
anything hurt you. It is all right now. I'm sorry that I scared
you. Shhh…" Slowly, the comforting words relaxed the
child. She glanced up into the large Jedi's face, her dark eyes
searching. The Jedi master calmed his features to project peace
and calm and regret for what pain he had caused, hoping to
reassure her. Qui-Gon could feel her touch within his mind, a
gentle fluttering which invaded, simply dancing along the edges
of his awareness. The Jedi Master did not fight this
questioning, but simply allowed her to assure herself. Finally,
withdrawing with a great sigh, the tiny face bobbed, nodding
and the child relaxed into Qui-Gon's embrace.
"Master Jedi? You are fighting the Darkness? Will you be
winning?"
"Yes, little one. I am fighting the Darkness. We will be
victorious."
"The Darkness is calling to you, Master Jedi. It is wanting for
you like it wanted the Young Jedi."
"Yes, M'lss. But I will not listen." Qui-Gon pulled back and
looked into the tired face of the child, emphasizing gruffly,
"And neither will you."
"Yes, Master Jedi. I will not listen. The Young Jedi does not
listen either. Although he is surrounded by lies, he is so
trying not to listen."
Qui-Gon fought not to grab M'lss' shoulder, to speed the
information for her. "Can you hear him, M'lss? Can he hear
you?"
"No, Master Jedi. But I can hear the whispers of the Marshon
D'lth. She is so sorry for what has happened. She did not know
the Darkness would come so fast or that she would be so old. My
poor Nan. She was eaten by the darkness and is gone and left me
to hold her seat." Voice cracking underneath the weight of her
tears, the child buried herself into Qui-Gon's arms and, having
nothing comforting to say, the Jedi Master simply held her
until she slept.
In his arms, M'lss was dead weight, breathing softly, her tiny
hands curled into his cloak. Even in her sleep, she was
tortured, and Qui-Gon softly gentled her dreams, rocking her
and crooning. As she slipped into a more relaxed sleep, Qui-Gon
could see her true age. If she were human, she would have seen
only perhaps seven or eight naming days. Her skin was a deep
rich olive color and her thin, delicate face was topped with a
head full of long, straight black hair. Two deep slashes marked
each side of her face, the ritual indication of her rank. The
tear tracks had left shiny trails in the blood and filth that
covered her face.
When she awoke, Qui-Gon told himself, he would find some
antiseptic, some bandages. He groaned at the evidence of his
too-close brush with Darkness. He had not even bothered to feed
this child properly, much less see to her medical needs or make
sure that she slept. She was so young, with so much on her tiny
shoulders. She had suffered so much, first at the hands of the
invading Almevii, then taking on the mantle of her people, and
finally in the hands of a furious Jedi searching for his love.
From the point that he had hidden his ship on this war-ridden
planet, Qui-Gon had been driven by a deep-seated need. His
padawan was missing, hidden away in this chaos and everything
within the master demanded that the situation be fixed.
The Jedi had come to the capitol, heart sinking at the sight of
the charred structures. Qui-Gon had visited the city before,
enjoying its beauty and peace. This shell held none of that
beauty, it was simply full of smoke and ash. The soldiers had
still been active and were surprisingly diligent. He had
managed to sneak into the town, heart blazing with fury at the
pyres, the dead bodies unceremoniously dumped onto flames.
Entering into a house that was still standing, Qui-Gon had been
surprised to find a small group, huddling together in fear.
They had explained that the city was empty, that the soldiers
had destroyed the Loom, and burned the resisters.
"We're going to the mountains, to find our Marshon D'lth, to
look for our families," one of the refugees had said.
The training bond he had shared with Obi-Wan had been broken;
he was no longer a presence in Qui-Gon's mind. Inwardly Qui-Gon
had raged, if the bond were active he would have his padawan,
not be following these battered war refugees towards their
spiritual leader in the hope that she could help.
The irony was, after days of searching, traveling north towards
the mountains with the tiny group, Qui-Gon had not found the
powerful wise woman he'd come looking for. Instead they had
given him a frightened child to help him find his Obi-Wan.
M'lss had simply led him back into the depths of the burned
capitol, to a huge, half-destroyed building, where Obi-Wan
remained, untouched.
The emptiness that had rocked Qui-Gon when their training bond
had shattered had become a sore place in his mind and he
worried at it, a tongue seeking out a hole in a rotten tooth.
Qui-Gon's eyes slipped to Obi-Wan, partially visible in the
other room, desperately needing to feel that bright presence
within his mind. The body, that body which he had touched,
stroked and then turned aside, was lying suspended in the air
beside the Loom, naked and exposed. Using his Force sense,
Qui-Gon could picture the tiny white lines of energy holding
him there, running through his body like wires, keeping his
physical form taut between floor and ceiling.
Standing, Qui-Gon wrapped M'lss in his cloak and set her on an
empty cot. After making sure she was settled back into a deep
sleep, he went to take a close look at his light, his beloved
padawan. "Do you still think he's yours, Jinn? After you sent
him away? After you turned him away?" Qui-Gon reached out a
finger, stroking the pale bottom lip.
Obi-Wan had changed since the last time Qui-Gon had seen him.
His hair was longer, the padawan braid trailing down beyond the
softness of the light hair, a beard covering his chin. He
seemed generally thinner, paler, the muscles still and lax.
There were dark bruises around his eyes, making him look ill
and his breath was shallow and ghostlike. Worst of all was the
layer of dirt and debris which had fallen upon Obi-Wan as he
floated unaware. A piece of rock, perhaps the size of a
fingernail, had landed on Obi-Wan's closed eyelid. The Jedi
Master stared at it dully for a moment and then carefully
snatched it off.
"Are you still mine, Padawan?" the Jedi master whispered
hoarsely. "Are you still mine?"
The Jedi's head dipped in sorrow as the memories rushed through
him, the brightness of their bond, the truth buried within
those green eyes. He slowly sank to his knees, his head
slightly leaning on Obi-Wan's bare flank. "Oh Obi-Wan," he
whispered, "can you ever know how sorry I am? How wrong I was?
How much I love you? Please come home to me, my Obi-Wan. Please
try."
As he sank into meditation, Qui-Gon never noticed the single
tear that slid down the pale cheek of Obi-Wan Kenobi, creating
a meandering path through the dirt and ash.
The problem was, Obi-Wan decided, that he couldn't quite
figure out if his eyes were open or not. He had been dreaming,
or at least he thought he remembered images of water and sky.
He had been safe, relaxed, maybe even happy.
Then, slowly, the dream had faded.
Obi-Wan frowned, confused and off-center. Where was he? Why was
he here, and why in the name of the Force couldn't he remember
how he had gotten… wherever he was? His head was
swimming and his brain was having problems focusing on anything
other than the fact that it was dark. That single fact he was
sure of… it was dark.
He sat there for a minute, or was it an hour? He couldn't seem
to concentrate, to remember. "Did… did I hit my head? Am
I at the healers?" He slowly sat up and tried to focus on his
surroundings. He seemed to be sitting on a floor; it felt cool
and smooth underneath his legs. He ran his hands slowly over
his naked body. His head felt more-or-less intact, his body was
sore, but seemed to be uninjured. No clothes, no cloak, no
belt, no lightsaber.
"Wait! Naked? No 'saber? In the dark? Where am I?" he thought.
He called out, but his voice simply disappeared into the
darkness, no echo, no real resonance, just flat noise that
quickly dissipated. Obi-Wan tried to calm himself, to blunt the
edges of panic. He reached out, seeking the calming influence
of the Force. Suddenly, a searing pain ripped his body and
mind, plunging him into a heated agony. If there had been any
light, an observer could have seen the padawan's body jerk, as
if grabbed by invisible hands, rise from his prone position and
hang, suspended.
Moaning, Obi-Wan struggled against the pain briefly and then
abruptly relaxed, losing himself to unconsciousness.
Obi-Wan came to slowly, his body aching and pain pounding
through his head. "What happened here? Where am I?" Slowly he
raised himself to his hands and knees, feeling his way around
his cell. He crawled in one direction until his hands hit the
wall, and then shifted to his left, following the perimeter
until he was exhausted. No windows, no doors, nothing. His skin
crawled with the blankness he felt encroaching upon him. He
couldn't sense the Force, couldn't feel that which had been
with him for as long as he could remember. "But, wait, there's
something out there," he thought, feeling a peculiar sensation
at the back of his mind. "Maybe if I…"
Again Obi-Wan opened his mind to the Force, probing towards
that tickle that was distracting him. Again his body was
plunged into unbearable agony and the gift of unconsciousness.
"Okay, " Obi-Wan thought as he opened his eyes once more,
"Obviously using the Force isn't my best option right now.
Focus brain, think. There's got to be an explanation - a force
dampener, an injury, something." Slowly, he stretched his legs
out, trying to discover the last thing he remembered.
"I remember the Temple. I remember Master Yoda. I remember
Bruck Chun. I remember Bandomeer and wanting to be with
Qui-Gon."
"Master! Qui-Gon!" The name rocketed through his mind, looking
for a bond that should be there, couldn't possibly not be
there. Desperately, Obi-Wan reached deep into the space in his
mind where his training bond should be, seeking the bright
light that was his master.
When he came to this time, lying on the hard surface of the
floor, Obi-Wan tried to relax his body. He could feel no wounds
on his chest or legs, but his body felt as if it were being
ripped apart. His head was on fire, blinding flashes of light
exploding behind his eyelids. The memory of the intense pain
couldn't be forgotten, and it left him shaken and frightened.
"Think back, Obi," he muttered. "How did you get into this
position? What's the last thing you remember?" Telling himself
to ignore the lack of light, the young man rested his cheek on
his hands. His braid fell over his wrist and he grasped it,
comforted by its smooth pattern.
Slowly, Obi-Wan let his mind travel back, judiciously avoiding
using the Force to help him. The memory that flashed into his
mind was crisp enough to see the cold lights of Coruscant as
they bled into the windows of the common room.
They had been talking in the common room. He and his master had
been sitting all evening, reminiscing about a mutual friend who
had been killed in a training accident. "Etmi was a decent man.
He used to tutor Xani in Xenobiology. He had a wicked sense of
humor."
Qui-Gon's eyes had been somber, looking over a glass of
garnet-colored wine. "Once he took Xani on a flying leap off
the tower in the Northern Gardens. Xani's face when they landed
was absolutely priceless. Etmi, of course, was in control the
entire way down."
Obi-Wan had nodded, feeling just a little nauseated. Etmi had
been performing one of the more acrobatic katas without anyone
to spot him. He had broken his neck, his lifemate feeling him
become one with the Force. "Yes, Master. He was a very
honorable man and a remarkable Jedi."
Obi-Wan remembered Etmi fondly. Etmi had been a younger knight,
willing to spend time with the padawans and initiates. He had
been meant to be a teacher. Etmi had bonded with Shalena a few
days before Obi-Wan had become a senior padawan. The ceremony
had been beautiful, the Force singing with the rightness of the
union.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan's eyes had filled with tears.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon had looked across the sofa, a frown
furrowing his brow, "what is troubling you so? Knight Seor
passed into the Force doing what he loved. The healers say he
died immediately."
"I know, Master." Obi-Wan had sighed silently, raising his
glass and drinking deeply of the slightly bitter wine, feeling
it warm his stomach.
"Padawan?" Qui-Gon's eyes never left his padawan's face.
"It's nothing, Master. "
"I don't remember 'nothing' ever making you hurt so much
before, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon had just looked at Obi-Wan with that
concerned expression. Obi-Wan had sighed again, knowing that
his master would simply continue to pester him until he came
clean.
"It's just… I can't get Shalena out of my mind. The look
on her face when I saw her at the Memorial this morning. The
pain she must be feeling… I can't imagine how she
manages to wake up every morning knowing he's gone." Obi-Wan
had blushed as his voice cracked in his misery.
Qui-Gon's voice had taken on a decidedly instructive tone.
"Padawan, that is a risk we all take. Being a Jedi is
not…"
"Please, Master. Spare me the platitudes. Her heart is broken,
Jedi or not."
"Is that all that bothers you, Obi-Wan?" The Jedi Master's brow
had creased as his frown deepened.
After a short pause, Obi-Wan muttered, "No, Master. I feel
jealous of Shalena, also."
"Jealous?"
"Yes, for as much as she has lost, at least she was able to
hold the one that she loved."
It had been Qui-Gon's turn to sigh. "Padawan, we've discussed
this."
Since the young man had reached adulthood, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon
had been in a continual tug-of-war over the status of their
relationship. Obi-Wan had known that Qui-Gon loved him, wanted
him, but the Jedi Master felt it was important that they wait
to explore the more personal aspects of their relationship
until Obi-Wan was knighted. Obi-Wan knew that, knighting or
not, his love for his master would never alter and felt waiting
was a waste. "Yes, Master. I think I'll just go to bed now, if
you don't mind."
"As you feel is best, Padawan. Perhaps tomorrow you should
meditate on your feelings."
"Yes, Master. Good night."
Obi-Wan had undressed and gone to sleep almost immediately. His
dreams had been filled with nightmarish images of Qui-Gon
fighting a horned creature covered in red and black markings.
Obi-Wan had been trapped behind a wall of glowing light and
forced to watch his beloved master fall to a monster with a
red-bladed lightsaber. The scream had seemed to echo within the
small space.
"No! No, Master! No!!!"
"Obi-Wan! Padawan! Wake up. You're dreaming. Come on, Obi. Wake
up."
Obi-Wan had thrown himself into Qui-Gon's arms, shaking
violently. "You were dead, Master. You were dead and you left
me alone."
A large hand had stroked his hair gently, comforting. "No,
Padawan. I'll not leave you, not now."
Obi-Wan had looked up, storm meeting sea, lips were almost
touching, Qui-Gon's breath caressing his cheek. The smell of
Qui-Gon's flesh had filled his nostrils and Qui-Gon's bare
chest was firm and strong. Obi-Wan had raised his chin,
allowing his lips to trail along Qui-Gon's cheek. The strong
hands had tightened around him, drawing Obi-Wan closer into
Qui-Gon's bare chest.
"Padawan…"
"One kiss, Master. We do not know how long we have. I'm only
asking for a single kiss."
Obi-Wan's world had stopped for a moment, as Qui-Gon's eyes had
searched his face in the night. Any ambient light had been
blotted out as Qui-Gon had dipped his head and captured
Obi-Wan's mouth, slowly wrapping Obi-Wan's padawan braid around
his large hand. The kiss had been gentle, but thorough. Obi-Wan
had opened his lips to allow Qui-Gon's velvet tongue to taste
him, to learn him. Qui-Gon had tasted sweet, his mouth hot and
firm.
When the kiss had ended, Obi-Wan had been lying on his bed,
Qui-Gon resting on his elbows above him. The Jedi master's hips
had lain, heavy and hot, between Obi-Wan's spread legs.
"Master?" Obi-Wan's hips had undulated gently, aching at the
feel of Qui-Gon's arousal sliding against his inner thigh.
"Obi-Wan… I…" Those full lips had crashed down,
stealing away his breath, sealing them together. Obi-Wan had
lain stunned for a moment, before winding his hands through his
master's long, soft hair. Qui-Gon's strong hands had stroked,
caressed, molding the soft skin beneath his hands.
Obi-Wan had sobbed into the devouring mouth engulfing him,
twisting beneath those fingers. Qui-Gon's flesh had been fire,
branding his soul as it covered him. Obi-Wan had finally known
the flavor of Qui-Gon, the feeling of him. Together the two men
had explored each other, saying nothing but the other's name.
When Qui-Gon had entered him, lights sparked behind his eyes,
the low, almost-pained cries of the man he loved filling his
ears even as Qui-Gon's seed had filled his body.
How beautiful it had been to finally be with the man he loved.
He had slowly returned from his orgasm to the beautiful music
of his beloved's slow, deep breathing. That night, Obi-Wan had
believed that nothing could separate them.
Qui-Gon had proven Obi-Wan wrong.
As Obi-Wan had slept, Qui-Gon had moved to his own bed in the
early morning light, leaving the younger man to wake shivering
and half-convinced that the night before had been a phantasm.
Only the scent that clung to the sheets and the stretched
soreness he felt had assured Obi-Wan of his master's
lovemaking. Obi-Wan had called to his master through the bond.
/Master?/
/Get dressed, Padawan, and come and break your fast./
/Master, are you.../
/Hurry, Obi-Wan. I would speak to you before your first class./
Sitting at the table as Obi-Wan appeared from the 'fresher,
Qui-Gon had faced his padawan, a sad, defeated look on his
face.
"Master?"
"Sit, Padawan. I..." Qui-Gon's eyes had been tired and he had
seemed older than he had been hours before. "We... last
night... it was a mistake."
Obi-Wan had sat down hard, feeling as if he had just been given
a slight electric shock. He couldn't have spoken, responded,
his mind had been whirling as the broken edges of Qui-Gon's
words had penetrated his confusion.
"... I do care for you, Padawan, but... "
Suddenly, Obi-Wan had imagined Qui-Gon's expression as he had
thrust into Obi-Wan's body, face taut with pleasure.
"...loss of control unbecoming..."
Obi-Wan's hands had become suddenly cold, the feeling seeping
out.
"... only a padawan learner..."
The chairs in this room had never felt so hard before, had
they?
"...the only time..."
He had shifted on the chair, biting back a wince at the slight
soreness he felt.
"...too young to understand your own..."
Obi-Wan had noticed a darkened patch of skin, a passion mark
from the night before.
"... not risk our position as Jedi..."
Qui-Gon's tunic had been stained, a splash of cha marring the
cloth's perfection.
"... duty..."
Obi-Wan had watched those lips moving, remembering their touch
on his cheek, on his wrist, on his hip.
"...obedience..."
Obi-Wan had fought to keep from protesting as Qui-Gon had
explained that the night before had been a stolen pleasure.
"What we have done is not wrong, Padawan, but it is not favored
either. We must keep this… extracurricular activity to
ourselves."
The cool tones in Qui-Gon's voice had sliced Obi-Wan deeply.
"Remember," Obi-Wan had thought, "He does love you, want you."
Steeling himself against the disappointment, Obi-Wan had not
protested, simply nodded and said, "I would do nothing to
comprise you, Master."
The following days had seen Qui-Gon distance himself steadily.
Obi-Wan had ached for a word, a touch, some sign that his
master still knew he was alive. He had tried to remain a
top-notch padawan, giving Qui-Gon no reason to complain,
pretending, at his master's insistence, that nothing had
changed. Obi-Wan had made an honest attempt to follow his
master's orders in the hopes that Qui-Gon would warm to him. No
matter what he had tried, Qui-Gon had continued to distance
himself.
One night, in the wee hours, Obi-Wan had woken to the brutal
fact that his master's mind was no longer a constant presence
within him. The space where Obi-Wan had felt his master's
consciousness was blank, empty. The distraught padawan had
pushed mentally, searching for the familiar presence. Deeply
concerned, he had rushed to Qui-Gon's room, running into the
half-dressed form of one of the younger knights.
After the knight had left, Obi-Wan had launched into a brutal
fight with his master, lashing out in betrayal. Qui-Gon had met
every accusation with stoic disregard. Finally, Obi-Wan had
brought out his big guns, fighting desperately to crack the
chill façade that had slowly taken up residence in
Qui-Gon's eyes. "Qui-Gon, Master, please," he had whispered. "I
love you."
Qui-Gon's response had been quick and brutal and Obi-Wan,
stunned from the missing bond and his master's harshness, had
retreated. The next several days had simply consisted of
survival. Obi-Wan had buried himself in his training and his
classes. He had stopped going to their shared quarters,
choosing to sleep in the gardens, avoiding the chance that he
might meet the knight who was apparently his master's new
lover. Avoiding, if he were honest with himself, the blank,
distant look on his master's face.
One evening, depressed and exhausted, Obi-Wan had walked into
the main dining hall and had seen his oldest friend and
confidant, Bant, studying for an astrophysics exam.
"Obi, what's wrong? You look so sad." His best friend's large
eyes had blinked at him, darkening with concern.
"It's nothing. Just busy with classes, you know…"
"Right - and I'm a bantha's butt. C'mon Obi. I'm your friend. I
know something's going on. Now, cough up, boy!"
"There's nothing to cough up. I'm just concentrating on my
studies."
"Well then, why don't you get that great hunk of a master you
live with to study with you?" Bant's face flushed gently as she
teased.
"Bant, he - he has company this evening."
"Company? But I thought you two were…"
"Well, apparently 'were' is the operative word in that
sentence."
"What!" Startled, she had looked around at the slowly filling
dining hall. "Come on, Obi. This isn't the place to talk about
it. Let's get out of here. We'll go find somewhere quiet, have
a few drinks and you can tell me everything." So Obi-Wan had
allowed his most trusted friend to drag him out of the Temple
and down to a quiet bar where he had spilled his guts.
Obi-Wan had sobbed as he described the recent fight and the
look on his master's face to Bant. "He was so cold, Bant. He
wasn't my master at all! And what he said…" The drawn
young man's voice had trailed off as he rested his forehead on
his arms.
"Obi? What did he say?"
"He said I was just too involved, too young, too intense. You
know, the 'There is no passion, there is only serenity' thing.
He said he wanted us to curb this unfortunate relationship.
That's what he called my love, Bant, an unfortunate
relationship!"
"But, Obi, surely you're mistaken. People can see the bond
between you. I know he loves you…"
"Bant, he's shielded against me. I can't feel him anymore."
Bant had frowned deeply, fingers tightening around her glass.
"Obi! He's shielded against your bond? But why, Obi? I don't
understand."
A harsh sob had broken from the padawan's bowed head, "Bant,
he's taken another lover."
"No! The bastard!"
Obi-Wan had simply nodded. "Oh, Bant, I'm just so tired."
"Bartender, bring my friend here another drink. He needs it."
Late that evening, Bant had helped an emotionally wrung-out,
completely exhausted Obi-Wan to the quarters he shared with his
master. She had been trying to be quiet, but when that beige
door slid open, she had been confronted by Master Jinn,
standing there, an angry thundercloud hovering around him.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon had started.
Bant interrupted, "Hello, Master. I was just bringing Obi home.
He isn't… he isn't feeling very well."
Qui-Gon had sniffed the air and raised his eyebrows
sarcastically. "Is that what the younger generation is calling
intoxication these days?" Before Bant could reply, Qui-Gon had
motioned for her silence with a hand. "Just give him to me,
Padawan. I'm sure your master is worried about you."
Qui-Gon had then grabbed Obi-Wan and dragged him none too
gently into their quarters, shutting the door in Bant's face.
Qui-Gon had not said a word, just placed Obi-Wan on his single
bed, saying, "We'll talk in the morning."
Obi-Wan remembered the next morning, his head throbbing and his
mouth dry. He had quickly hit the 'fresher and dressed, trying
to be ready for whatever punishment Qui-Gon would mete out.
His master had been sitting at the table, sipping his morning
cha, the image of calm. "Good morning, Master."
"Padawan."
"Shall I fix you something to break your fast?"
"Sit, Padawan. We must discuss last night."
"I am sorry, Master. I…"
"Sit."
Obi-Wan had perched on the edge of his chair as Qui-Gon began
to rant, his low voice cool and distant. "I understand that
young people need to relax, but returning home, incapable of
rousing yourself for duty? That is absolutely inappropriate."
"Funny," Obi-Wan had thought to himself, "you haven't even
mentioned that I haven't slept here in days."
Opting for obedience instead of defense, Obi-Wan had lowered
his eyes. "Yes, Master."
"I did not expect such irresponsible behavior from you. I
thought we had grown past this childish nonsense…"
Like a bolt of lightning, Obi-Wan's frustrations had come to
the fore. "Damnit Qui-Gon! Stop treating me like a child! Yes,
I had a few drinks. Okay. I'm sorry. "
"Sorry isn't good enough, Padawan. At what point are you going
to take control of yourself, act like an adult?"
Obi-Wan had bent down, glaring into Qui-Gon's face. "You didn't
think I was a child when you had your dick in my mouth. I don't
remember you singing me a lullaby when you fucked me..."
"Enough." The Force-command behind that word had rocked Obi-Wan
back on his heels. "Go to your room and mediate."
"What? So you're sending me to my room! Fuck you, Qui-Gon!"
Qui-Gon had risen out of his chair, his eyes flashing. "I've
already allowed you to make that mistake, boy. Now, meditate.
We will speak when you're calmer."
Dismissed like a child, Obi-Wan had dragged himself away from
his master, tears beginning to form behind the clouds in his
eyes. He had meditated for hours, the room dark as he had
opened his eyes, rising out of the deep meditation. He had
heard his master's voice in the next room.
"…must be done, Mace. I cannot train him like this. We
must break the training bond…"
Break the bond? How could he? Obi-Wan had rocked back and
forth, wrapping his arms around himself. He had done it. He had
driven his master away. Was this the end -- to lose their bond,
to leave his home, his love? Obi-Wan had dropped to the floor,
shaking.
After a long moment, Obi-Wan had looked up and brushed the
tears from his cheeks. He had avoided the bond, which lay
quiescent, an itching blankness within his awareness, accepting
Qui-Gon's need for privacy. He had ached, wanting to deny the
emptiness, which seemed to scream of how little he was worth to
his lover.
Obi-Wan had straightened his tunics and looked around the room.
Sitting on his desk was a holograph of Qui-Gon and him at a
'saber competition. Qui-Gon's long hair was flowing around his
face and Obi-Wan had seen the pride glistening in his master's
eyes. Obi-Wan had felt a hurt anger flare within him. "I am a
good padawan, a worthy man," he had whispered. He had deserved
the encouragement he had received and he deserved love.
Obi-Wan's back had straightened and he had picked up the holo.
"I will not be refused that which I deserve, Qui-Gon. And I
will not let you destroy us, Master." Slowly, Obi-Wan had
gathered up a few things and headed towards Master Yoda's
rooms, leaving so as not to disturb his master.
The green, gnomish master had opened the door to his room with
a grimace on his wrinkled face. "Padawan, know the time, do
you? Very late, it is."
"Yes, Master Yoda. I'm sorry. Please, Master. I need to talk to
you."
The ancient master's ears had twitched as he peered at the boy,
then he had shrugged, "Come in. Have cha, we will and talk."
Obi-Wan had talked and talked, admitting everything except the
fact that he and Qui-Gon had been lovers. At the end, when the
young man had told the elder that his master didn't want him,
Yoda had frowned deeply, ears drooping. "Odd, this is, Padawan
Kenobi. Sure you are of Qui-Gon's intentions?"
"Yes, Master. Please, isn't there somewhere I can go…
something I can do to make this right? Please, Master, please."
Obi-Wan had felt his control slipping.
"Calm yourself, Padawan. Go you will to Larquis. Meet with the
Marshon D'lth, you will. Stay for two weeks, release your
anger, and meditate on your path, then return you will and fix
this mess with your master. Understand, do you?"
"Yes, Master. Should I inform Master Jinn?"
"No. Many things I need to say to my padawan. This I will
include. Today, rest here you will and in the morning, leave."
So, the next morning Obi-Wan had been on a ship bound for
Larquis, a tiny, isolated planet. During the trip, Obi-Wan had
studied the information Master Yoda had given him. Larquis was
covered in lush landscapes and the people were, for the most
part, peaceful farmers and artisans. They produced fine
liqueurs and were known for their textiles. As he studied,
Obi-Wan had found that a Jedi was always stationed on Larquis
for research purposes and that healers…
Suddenly, Obi-Wan was thrown out of his memories, opening his
eyes to the darkness. He felt someone, something nearby. He
reached to feel along the floor around him - nothing. The
tickle along his neck was back, driving him to distraction.
What was that he felt?
He could feel something reaching for his mind and he
automatically reached back. When the pain hit his body, he
tried to transmute it, to release it into the Force as he had
been taught. The pain doubled, then tripled onto itself.
Obi-Wan slammed his head back and screamed his way into the
darkness.
When M'lss woke up, she saw the Master Jedi, kneeling beside
the man her Nan had been trying to save. The Master's long
silvered hair trailed over his shoulders, wild and untamed. His
tunics were marked with the burns of close blaster fire and
blood - her blood. When she had first seen him, he had looked
fierce and frightening. Now he simply looked as lost as she
was.
M'lss shook herself softly. She could not afford to feel sorry
for herself. She was the Marshon D'lth for her people. She was
a Weaver. Her eyes had been dry when Nan had been taken by the
soldiers, when they had taken Nan's body and thrown it into the
flames, when the soldiers had taken the working looms and
crushed them, none of these times had she cried. But when her
mother, dying from a wound underneath her breast, had taken
M'lss' chin and carved two deep grooves in each cheek, marking
her as the new Marshon D'lth, she had cried out under the
weight of her new role.
M'lss looked past Qui-Gon to the floating Jedi beside the Loom.
A Dark man had traveled with the soldiers, one whose heart
reflected no light, but instead seemed to draw it from where he
stood. When he had entered, Nan's hands had fallen from the
Loom and her brightness had dimmed. This man had stroked the
cloth and M'lss had heard generations of her people scream at
the violation. The colors within the cloth had changed then,
turning into dull brown and black moldy spots. The Dark man had
forbidden the soldiers to touch the Loom or the Young Jedi.
M'lss still couldn't believe that none of the soldiers
questioned his command.
Those soldiers had come in like swarms of flies, covering the
land, destroying vast fields and killing indiscriminately. The
people of the N'shar were peaceful, long-lived, spending
centuries developing their art and their minds. They had fallen
in great numbers against the weapons of the armies. None who
had stood to fight had survived. Homes had been burned;
children had been thrown into burning pits.
M'lss, although only as tall as the Master Jedi's waist and the
youngest of Nan's grandchildren, was still almost eighty
standard years old. She had watched her land long enough to
know how serious this trouble was. She did not think her people
would survive this invasion, nor was she sure they would
welcome this darker, harder life. She came from a universe of
art and beauty, but not of survival.
Before the Master Jedi had come, she had hidden with her
mother's kin, living in the deepest parts of the forest, where
most were too frightened to travel. They had crept into deep
caves under the ground, huddling together for warmth and
comfort. M'lss had rested there, stayed there watching as her
mother died and she became the spiritual leader of her people.
M'lss had felt the approaching of the Master Jedi before he had
come into the camp. He had appeared, an angry-looking, shiny,
swirly light that fluctuated wildly. Tromping through the mud,
the Master Jedi had been monstrous, gigantic, towering over the
tallest of them. His voice had been loud and rough, tearing
through the false peace they had been trying to cover
themselves with.
"I have come seeking the Marshon D'lth. I have need of a Weaver
to heal great wrongs which have been committed. I am a willing
and able participant in the Weaving." The girl had felt her
heart break when the Jedi had said the formal words of request
and the people had opened up a path to her.
"I… I am the Marshon D'lth," her voice had sounded so
tiny, so fragile in her own ears.
"No, child. I have met with the Lady N'sha. I must speak with
the Weaver immediately. My… my padawan is…"
M'lss had seen the pain surrounding the great man and had
marveled that it echoed the sorrow living in the Jedi caught
within the Web. "You speak of the Young Jedi."
M'lss winced as she remembered the great swoop Qui-Gon had made
as he yanked her to his eye-level. "Yes, child. I speak of the
young Jedi. Where is he?"
"He is woven into the Web. He sought healing for his heart."
"Where is he?"
"He is in the deserted city, the burning city. He is with the
Great Loom."
With that, Qui-Gon had simply thrown her over his shoulder,
ignoring the screams of her tribe, and had dragged her through
the night. M'lss had tried to keep her eyes closed, for the
Master Jedi looked like some nightmare creature meant to keep
the younglings in their beds. His bright light had darkened,
too, as they'd moved through the forest. M'lss had forced
herself to be as silent as she could, not wanting the Darkness
to notice her.
M'lss looked towards the Loom which sat covered in threads
bound with energy. For centuries, Nan had worked the energies,
allowing those with deep wounds within their souls to rest, to
awaken with a new clarity, a sense of purpose. The Jedi Healers
had come to add their energies to the Web, to learn the skills
that Nan had nurtured. The Healers had spent hours watching Nan
work, studying the cloth that she removed from the Web. The
cloth was priceless to the healed, giving comfort in times of
trouble and focus when hearts were unsettled. M'lss kept her
cloth, a sunny yellow shot through with touches of purple,
tucked deep into her tunics, next to her heart and could not
remember a time before she had worn it.
When the Young Jedi had come, M'lss had felt his anguish.
Although his face had been calm and stoic and his energies had
been bright, he was stained with deep red scars of hurt. To her
newly trained eyes, his pain had been palpable, devastating in
its intensity.
He had entered the chamber with Healer K'thia. M'lss had
listened to the conversation, sitting next to her mother,
slowly working a tiny weaving in soft pinks and moss greens.
"Lady N'sha, I am honored." The Young Jedi had bowed deeply.
"Your master, Yoda, he says you were sent here to find your
peace in the Web." M'lss' eyes had widened as the Young Jedi's
energies dimmed drastically. This word --master -- had sliced
him to the bone. He is a strong one, though, M'lss had thought.
His eyes had never wavered, his face unaltered.
"I have come seeking the Marshon D'lth. I have need of a Weaver
to heal great wrongs which have been committed. I am a willing
and able participant in the Weaving." His voice had been soft,
sorrowful as he spoke the traditional request.
"K'thia," Nan's voice had been sad also, "ready him for me."
"So soon, Lady? Should I not give him time to rest, to
prepare?" The Jedi Healer had focused her large eyes on Nan,
questioning.
"This one has waited too long for healing and I sense
some… anticipation from Master Yoda. He will enter now.
Ready him for me, K'thia."
"Yes, Lady. Of course."
M'lss had known this Young Jedi was in training, much like she
herself was. Mother had explained that the Jedi used their
energies differently, but always walked in the light of the
Web. M'lss had been intrigued by the Jedi, by the focus of
them.
M'lss hadn't seen the Jedi again until he had been laid out on
a cot, covered in a light blanket. Healer K'thia had knelt next
to the Young Jedi, saying, "Remember, Obi-Wan. You can just
relax. The Marshon D'lth will guide you into the pattern. It
will be effortless. Your soul will rest for a few days. After
you enter into the Web, there should only be peace."
The Jedi had looked nervous and K'thia had stroked the side of
his face. "Just remember, once Lady N'sha starts, don't reach
for the Force. Your energy will be involved within the weave
and you mustn't try to interfere."
"How long?"
K'thia had chuckled, "Two days, maybe three. Your metabolic
functions will be considerably slowed. Don't worry, I have
spent weeks in the Web."
M'lss had gone up to him and smiled. "Young Jedi, it is like a
deep sleep after a sickness. You simply drift and then awaken.
My Nan will be here for you if you get scared or if you awaken.
I promise you, you will be safe."
"Thank you…"
"M'lss. M'lss N'sha."
"Thank you M'lss. You are a great comfort." Then he had
grinned, the dimple in his chin deepening. His mossy eyes had
closed, his body had relaxed and when Nan had come, his
energies entered into the web effortlessly.
"A few days," M'lss thought, "I promised him he'd be awakened
in a few days. Instead, when Nan would have been removing him
from the Web and K'thia would have been assuring his health, we
were being invaded."
M'lss didn't know why the soldiers had come, whether they had
followed the Jedi's ship or had just chosen those days to
attack. She still didn't understand why Nan hadn't run, hadn't
taken the Jedi out of the Web. Nan had simply kept weaving for
him. "There have always been soldiers," Nan had said, a
stubborn set to her chin. "They will simply take what they want
and then they will leave."
M'lss sighed deeply. Nan had never been so tragically wrong.
The soldiers had come and kept coming in ever increasing
numbers with their blasters and their droids. They had
destroyed the fields and when K'thia had gone to contact the
Jedi for help, the soldiers had taken her head.
Nan had kept weaving, tying the Young Jedi down firmly in the
Web, saying simply that she was protecting him as well she
could from the coming Darkness. When M'lss had seen the first
soldiers entering the Temple, their blank, pale faces hidden
behind black armor, her mother had dragged her away, cursing
Nan for her stubbornness. The soldiers had destroyed the
training looms, they had killed the men, they had burned Nan,
but they had listened to the Dark man and they hadn't touched
the Young Jedi.
M'lss looked carefully at the Young Jedi's energy strands. He
was beginning to integrate into the Weave. M'lss had seen that
happen before, when a wound was so deep that Nan simply
"unraveled" their souls, releasing them to the gods. M'lss knew
the Young Jedi's pain was bearable, that he wanted to live. No,
this one was trying to wake up.
Nan had said that if someone, especially an outsider used to
controlling their own energies, had been trapped in the Web too
long, they would become aware and begin to fight to free
themselves. Nan had said that the person would die if they were
not released.
"The problem isn't releasing the Jedi," M'lss thought, "I think
I might be able to do that. The problem is the Darkness within
the weave. I don't know how to free the Jedi without trapping
that darkness within him." Every moment those fingerprints of
Darkness spread, the longer the Jedi stayed in the Web, the
more he would remember and the more he would fight to be free.
Now, here M'lss sat, leader of a dying people, expected to cure
one heart-crazed Jedi Master and one Jedi she would lose either
to the Web or to the Dark.
"Oh, Nan, please. Please help me. I'm not ready for this. I
don't know what to do." M'lss curled herself into the Jedi
Master's cloak and sobbed, hands wrapped around herself in
comfort.
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