A/N: Okay, for various reasons, I was becoming slightly disillusioned with the story I've been working on, "The Roads Diverge." So I decided I needed to write something completely independent of it—something short (but by chance anyone is concerned, I will still finished "Roads Diverge" at about the same pace I have been going). I originally thought about something humorous but I didn't feel very funny. So this is what came next. This is a highly…weird…piece, I think. It's kind of an AU for the end of TPM (yes, that scene really does fascinate me). To really understand it you have to read the entire thing. I realize that it gets pretty out-there for awhile, but to truly give it a try, you really do need to read it straight through or it will mean very little. I have a source of inspiration, but if I tell you, it might give it away, so I'll give credit where credit so due at the end. I would love to hear what you think of this, but somehow I don't feel this will intrigue all that many of you—this is a highly stylistic story. But, whichever way it goes, enjoy :)
Disclaimers: Sure thing, yo!
Occurrence at the Naboo Power Core
The flashing red blade electrified the air, heightening the already intense atmosphere to a nearly crippling level. Anticipation existed nearly tangibly, whirring and hissing as three lightsabers moved deftly through the air as if testing the conditions. It was time. The Queen and her party fled the other direction, avoiding the ominous red being that stood, waiting.
He had been training for this moment his entire life. Every lesson he had learned as an Initiate, every skill his Master had coached him on, every truth he accumulated from his days as a Knight, every inspiring wisdom he had gleaned from his apprentice—they all prepared him for this moment, this day, this battle. Never would he have imagined that he would be the one to be here—to be fighting the Sith. This person was already immortalized in Jedi lore, all he needed was a name. Would his name be Qui-Gon Jinn?
Such thoughts seemed unnecessary, and he had little time for them. Unconsciously communicating with Obi-Wan through the Force, they advanced together. The clash of electricity resounded through the thick air, tingling through his nerves. The battle between Light and Dark had begun.
Things like confidence and courage meant so little as the fight progress. The movement of the sabers and the steady peddling of feet danced to the rhythm of the Force, rising and falling in cadence with one another. The energy ebbed and flowed between them. So distinctly opposite from his evil opponent, Qui-Gon realized vaguely that in that moment of conflict they shared more in common than apart. They both fought valiantly and determinedly—their causes were pivotal and their inspiration was drawn from the Force. But the power and Darkness of the Sith unsettled Qui-Gon slightly.
The sheer ability of the Sith made Qui-Gon infinitely grateful for Obi-Wan's assistance. The young man by his side moved with a youthful ferocity which Qui-Gon had lost long ago. Yet Obi-Wan still fought of the Light, reassuring Qui-Gon that he alone did not face this Darkness.
Like an interpretive dance, the fight moved without their conscious knowledge, their cues coming from the Force. Slowly they weaved through the corridors until they sparred precariously on the catwalks surrounding the power core of the Palace. Intricately, they blocked and parried, advanced and retreated. The Sith was challenged by the two Jedi, and Qui-Gon tentatively dared to gain strength by his progress. But, as the Force shifted through them again, the momentum changed, and Qui-Gon's throat constricted as the Sith landed a kick to Obi-Wan, sending the young man falling off the catwalks into the thin air.
Without missing a beat, Qui-Gon showered the being with slashes and swipes, mentally checking to ensure his Padawan's survival. A weary but resolute response was returned to him, and Qui-Gon again focused every ounce of his being on the battle at hand.
The essence of a Jedi was the retention and defense of the Light. At the Temple, he had been indoctrinated in this, and, as an adult, he had embraced it fully and without reservation. But preserving the Light and battling the Dark were not the same things. As the pressure of his opponent's blade fell heavily time and time again on his own, he knew that more than ever. His previous brushes with the Dark side all paled in comparison to this moment. In this moment, his destiny would be realized. It only took a moment to make a hero, and it only took a moment to break a man.
So engaged in the fight, he nearly missed the force field coming to rest in front of him. His focus abruptly being changed, he found himself staring through the crackling red energy. Just beyond the haze, his opponent stalked. Dropping to one knee, Qui-Gon meditated.
In times of trouble he had always turned to the Force. It had always been his greatest ally and his deepest strength. It revitalized him and reinvigorated him. It was all he needed.
Obi-Wan was behind him, also trapped between the fields. The young man's attention had suffered greatly since his fall, and Qui-Gon knew he would never make it in time to rejoin the fight. Though physically capable of scaling the distance before the fields finished shifting, his emotions scattered too freely and recklessly to do so. It would be best if he had more time to recuperate anyway. Silently, he urged the younger Jedi to meditate as he did, but he had little effect, as he sensed Obi-Wan continuing to pace anxiously behind him.
Destiny and prophecy seemed so far removed from the moment, but yet inexplicably intertwined with it. He could not relieve himself of the burden of destiny as it weighed heavily on his actions and his decisions. But who was he to know his own destiny? Destiny is known by the Force alone and though it precedes the very existence of a man, it is realized only through the proceeding of his essence.
As the force field dissipated, he was already fully engaged in the battle once again. As if no time had elapsed, the two fated rivals fell into the same dangerous pattern of movements, the blades of the sabers singeing the air about their bodies, cutting deadly, accurately at the other. Obi-Wan, trapped behind the last field, was still held at bay, but was not inactive. His very presence encouraged Qui-Gon, though the instability of the younger man concerned him slightly. Then, in a flash of an instant, the Sith found a weakness and exposed it, catching Qui-Gon in the chin.
The blow stunned him momentarily, enough for the Sith to capitalize. He felt the unpleasant, searing sensation of a lightsaber through his flesh. Innumerable thoughts flitted through his head—thoughts of joy and thoughts of sorrow, triumph and tragedy, hope and despair.
In one moment, his destiny would be realized.
He sank to his knees, blinded and paralyzed by the surprise of the pain. But even as the other being seemed to sense victory, Qui-Gon realized it was not quite fatal, just crippling. He allowed himself the refuge of the floor, trying to assure Obi-Wan that his death was not imminent.
The young man, however, seemed unhinged by the injury. When the field shifted again, he flew out with fury, attacking with a rage that did not characterize the man Qui-Gon knew. And Obi-Wan's anger only fueled the Sith's energy, giving him more strength and more power.
Obi-Wan was going to lose—both the battle and his soul. Qui-Gon could not let that happen. He would not.
Gathering his fleeting strength, he hesitantly attempted to pull himself off the ground. The emotionality of the battle had heightened, and Qui-Gon sincerely doubted that either combatant knew of his condition anymore. Using this to his advantage, he called upon the Force. With this energy, he rose to his feet. Thumbing on his lightsaber, he approached the fray with a semblance of stealth. Obi-Wan took notice of him first, faltering slightly in consequence. As the Sith took advantage of Obi-Wan's distraction, the being plunged the saber into Obi-Wan's shoulder. Eyes wide, Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat as he stumbled backwards. The red menace sneered at the young man, moving in for the killing blow and to claim his victory.
His victory, however, was short lived. With the Sith's attention so wrapped in winning, he had neglected Qui-Gon completely and tuned his senses to ignore everything else except the young Padawan. With a skilled movement, Qui-Gon slashed out at the red being, catching him at the waist. Though Qui-Gon could not see the horned face, he could feel the shock radiating from the evil essence. The Sith wavered for a moment before falling to the ground, cleanly cut into two pieces.
Turning the saber off, Qui-Gon quickly turned his attention to Obi-Wan, who stood, clutching his arm, his face drawn in pain. "Master, I was sure you were dead," he panted.
Qui-Gon grimaced as he moved to help support Obi-Wan. "Not quite, Padawan," he said, taking up Obi-Wan's good arm.
Obi-Wan allowed himself to be assisted in this way, but not without some quip. "I do believe it is you who need an escort more than I," he commented dryly, nodding at the blackened wound in Qui-Gon's side.
"Perhaps you are right," Qui-Gon assented, his head feeling light and his side aching incessantly. "We shall support each other, shall we not?"
"Ah, yes," Obi-Wan agreed mockingly. "Two are better than one for at least we shall suffer together."
"You're being morbid, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon reprimanded him jokingly.
"Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan apologized, somewhat sincerely. "But coming so close to the Force is unsettling—it makes us forget who we are and what is important."
"Indeed."
Movement seemed out of sync with reality, but Qui-Gon trudged ahead with determination. Together, he and Obi-Wan limped slowly but steadily back up to the main levels of the Palace, hoping to find the Queen's plans successful—neither of them was in any condition to truly help fight anymore. Qui-Gon, in fact, was on the verge of collapse, and Obi-Wan fared little better.
In a perfectly unreal way, Qui-Gon found himself greeted with the excitement of waning adrenaline as he and Obi-Wan stumbled by a group of guards. The guards, worn from the battle that scarred the marble pillars and intricate designs, took the responsibility of aiding the ailing Jedi, escorting them to the bustling healer's wing.
A mild triage center had been set up to handle the minor casualties at the Palace. The guards eagerly delineated the specs of the battle, how the Vice Roy was locked away in the Throne room and the droids apparently stood disable in the field. Everything was beyond success. It defied logic that all should work out quite so perfectly, quite so quickly.
But Qui-Gon devoted little attention to the sheer improbability and instead basked in the victory for all it was worth. After all, the Force's will shall be done. Surely the Force was with him. It would be with him until his dying breaths. It would be with him even beyond.
The medics tended his wounds as well as Obi-Wan's, who fell back against the bed in exhaustion. Qui-Gon, though physically and mentally strained, did not seek the refuge of the bed he sat upon. He had come too close to death to enjoy lying down in that manner. The very thought made him shudder.
As the detached joy encompassed his sense of time, he soon realized that he did not know how long he had been on the bed. His eyes drooped, but he forced them open, taking in again the scene around him. The action was less now as the casualties were treated and released or allowed to recover awhile longer upon the beds. Obi-Wan, on the bed to his side, had even slipped into a medicated sleep, his bandaged chest rising and falling as he breathed steadily. The young man was so alive, so vibrant. For a bizarre instant, Qui-Gon felt utterly separated from this vitality, viewing it objectively and outside himself.
He managed to avoid sleep as the Queen entered the room. She possessed an innate grandeur, even though she did not bear her ceremonial dress and ornamentation and her body bore the efforts of battle. For one so young, she not only exhibited a mature beauty, but an apt sense. After a brief discussion with the healers, she found her way to Qui-Gon.
"Master Jinn, I am glad to see you have survived," she said, a slight smile playing uncharacteristically at the corner of her lips. "Though not unscathed."
"It is a great pleasure to see you alive and well as well, Your Highness."
"The Trade Federation is retreating," she told him with due satisfaction. "We owe you a great debt."
"It is the way of the Jedi."
"Still, we have no way to make up the great service you have done us," she persisted. "With your assistance, we prevailed. I am utterly thankful you are here to share in this victory. What of your opponent?"
"He, too, has been defeated."
"What was his purpose?" she asked, her voice suddenly sounding distant.
The tiredness dampened Qui-Gon's senses, but he strove, via the Force, to control it. "His purposes are unclear, but they were undoubtedly Dark."
"Yes, yes," she said. "He is of the Dark."
The world took on an ephemeral quality. Perhaps he needed to sleep after all. "His power was great."
"But you defeated him," she stated so simply that Qui-Gon found it ridiculous.
"Yes," he murmured. "So it seems." A moment lapsed, perhaps more. Urgency abruptly flooded his mind. "I need to go."
"Go?" she asked wonderingly.
"Yes. We need to return to Coruscant."
"But you are not well."
"I am fine."
"But Obi-Wan is sleeping."
His thought shifted again. "Where is Anakin?"
"He returned with the pilots."
It did not surprise Qui-Gon. "I must see him."
"But you are not well."
Qui-Gon ignored her earnest pleas for his rest. Instead, he eased himself off the table, mindful of his injury which still ached. "I must see him."
"Wouldn't you rather stay here with Obi-Wan and recover? You can see him later."
"I must see him now," he insisted, and the Queen deferred.
He then found himself in the corridors of the Palace, winding his way at Amidala's heals. When he became convinced they had traveled in circles, he realized that he stood before Anakin, who beamed enthusiastically up at him.
"Master Qui-Gon," he was saying, brightly and giddily. "Master Qui-Gon, I didn't mean to, but it was great!"
"Ani…," he tried to speak but words seemed to catch in his throat.
"Did you see what I did, Master Qui-Gon?" Anakin continued without noticing. "It was better than the podrace on Tatooine—better than anything before. Am I going to be a Jedi?"
"You are…the Chosen One…"
"Yeah! The Chosen One!" he exclaimed. "Are you going to train me?"
Anakin's voice, discombobulated and distorted, wafted in the air, nearly an unconnected entity from his small frame. "I promise," he tried to reply, but realized he could no longer tell if he was speaking. Maybe he should go back to the healer's wing…perhaps some sleep would do him good.
"Do you really?"
"I promise," he said again, the world tilting uncontrollably. No, he could not go back to the healer's wing. His condition did not matter. All that matter was moving forward, continuing onward. He had to keep going. He had to train Anakin. He had to get back to Coruscant.
"Thank you, thank you!"
Qui-Gon tried to focus on the boy, whose features blended into the surroundings. He was thirsty—and his side hurt. It hurt more than he remembered. The sharpness and intensity of the pain protruded into his consciousness more concretely than the tangible objects around him. He had to get back to Coruscant. He had to train the boy. His destiny awaited him. "Come," his voice mumbled as his feet lurched forward, stumbling.
"Master Qui-Gon, are you sure you shouldn't be lying down?" Anakin asked from behind him.
"I must return to Coruscant," Qui-Gon attempted to explain. "My destiny awaits."
It was then he realized the Queen had not left. She stood, watching him, worriedly. "Master Jinn, you are not well. You should go lay down again."
"No," he grumbled, trying to push his way past her.
"What of Obi-Wan?" she then wondered.
Qui-Gon hesitated, leaning against the wall. "The boy must be trained," he mumbled.
"But Master Jinn, you are not well."
Anakin was gazing with concern into his face. His large eyes looked compassionate. "Are you okay, Master Qui-Gon, sir?"
"Yes, Ani," he assured him feebly, advancing unsteadily forward.
"Will I really be a Jedi?"
"It is your destiny."
"Master Jinn, you are not well," Amidala told him again. "And what of Obi-Wan?"
He was so tired. His body craved rest, it craved sleep, but his mind protested violently. "The boy must be trained."
The hallway stretched before him interminably but he proceeded desperately down it. He felt himself fading, slipping away from reality somehow, and he could not stop it. He could no longer feel anything—his limbs moved without his knowledge, his heart beat emptily—the only truth was the searing pain radiating from his wound. Then Obi-Wan stood before him, his eyes rimmed with tears. "Where are you going, Master?" the young man asked, his voice lilting.
"The boy…," he tried to explain.
"Do not leave, Master," Obi-Wan beseeched him.
"My destiny…."
"I do not want you to leave."
He tried to study Obi-Wan more carefully, to assess and understand the young man, but he found his focus lacking. "I must return to Coruscant."
"But you are not well, Master Jinn," Amidala told him, taking her place next to Obi-Wan.
"Will I really be a Jedi?" Anakin could not keep himself from wondering, seeking affirmation continually.
"Do not leave me, Master!" Obi-Wan's voice drowned them in its desperation.
Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. He could not answer all these voices. He could not explain himself to any of them. He was fighting a losing battle. "I…I…"
"You are not well."
"I can't wait to be a Jedi!"
Unable to deal with them, Qui-Gon tried to move past them, but found himself sinking slowly to the ground. Perhaps his injuries were severe after all. "The boy…my destiny…I must return to…Coruscant."
His vision tunneled irrevocably and the darkness beckoned. The pain practically consumed him now. Only Obi-Wan's desperate voice broke through his faltering mental state. "Do not leave me, Master! Do not leave me!"
Defeat stalked him. His eyes began to shut. Perhaps he would rest just a short while. Then he would return to Coruscant, then he would train the boy.
Obi-Wan's voice—"NO!"
The Sith pulled the saber from his abdomen, and Qui-Gon, mouth open, eyes wide, fell to his knees in mortal disbelief. The fatal wound overtook him quickly, and he dropped lifelessly to the ground, for all intents and purposes, dead.
THE END
Okay, okay, weird, I know. It's kind of a knock-off of a short story I know called "Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" (roughly—I don't remember exactly) by Ambrose Bierce. But I haven't read that for…like…three years maybe?...so it's not a very intense knock-off. But it's one of those stories that just lingers in your head. So much so that I decided to do my own version of it. It is no where NEAR as good as Bierce's story, but the concept intrigued me, and this is the result. So hope I pulled it off decently—Thanks!