Preface: (Recap of Tears of the Force)
The Trade Federation meant to make a lesson of Naboo, or so it seemed, and had blockaded the planet, so Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn had been sent to Naboo to negotiate a settlement. While waiting to meet with the Trade Federation aboard their ship, his diplomatic ship was blown up. The Jedi escaped by hiding within the Federation's invasion army when deployed to Naboo, intending to warn both the Chancellor of the Republic and the Naboo themselves. However, all interplanetary communications had been severed. The only means of communication was to leave the planet.
The Jedi arrived in time to free the Queen and a small group of Naboo as the Federation's droids were taking them to a prison camp. They escaped the planet in the Queen's ship, but their hyperdrive was damaged and they were forced to an emergency stop for repairs.
They landed on Tatooine. While there, Qui-Gon Jinn found not only young Anakin Skywalker, a boy he believed to be the "Chosen One" of prophecy, but traces of his own long missing padawan.
It had been five years since Obi-Wan was kidnapped and mind-wiped on Phindar. In that time, Qui-Gon Jinn had not known if his young protégé was alive or dead. He had searched endlessly, and all but given up hope of ever finding the young man. He had tried to force away all memories of his padawan, unable to deal with the pain and uncertainty, until his old master had forced him to confront his feelings.
Each time Qui-Gon went on a mission, he hoped for a word, a glimpse, that Obi-Wan was alive, that he would find him. On Tatooine, he finally had.
Obi-Wan was a slave, still ignorant of his past. Qui-Gon was able to exchange a few words with Obi-Wan before his owner showed up, and the meeting started to bring back Obi-Wan's hidden memories. Qui-Gon tried desperately to find a way to free both Anakin and Obi-Wan, and get the Queen safely to Coruscant.
In the end, he had been forced to choose between Anakin and Obi-Wan, for he could only free one of them. He chose Anakin, and had to leave Obi-Wan behind when the small group finally got their ship repaired. They headed for Coruscant, where the Jedi Council refused to accept young Anakin for training, stating he was too old to begin training, but allowed young Anakin to return with the Jedi and the Naboo when the Queen decided to return to her planet and fight for her peoples freedom there. She had made her appeal to the Galactic Senate for help in person already.
On the return to Naboo, they made a stop on Tatooine at Qui-Gon's insistence. The Jedi was determined to free his padawan, and they were happily reunited. Obi-Wan's mind wipe had not really deleted his memories; the young Jedi had used the Force to hide them deep within his mind, to protect them. Qui-Gon's return had unlocked them, and returned Obi-Wan's lost memories. He was, again, a Jedi.
Together, the two Jedi fought what Qui-Gon believed to be a Sith as the Gungans battled the Trade Federation droid army, and the Queen and her band infiltrated the palace and captured the Trade Federation's viceroy. The Sith was strong and powerful, and in the battle impaled Qui-Gon through the chest. The young Jedi thought his master was dead and his grief threatened to overwhelm him.
There had been many tears shed. There would be more.
Chapter 1. Interregnum
Obi-Wan Kenobi's heart was broken. No pain, no ache, no sorrow had ever hurt as deeply as did this. His life had been taken away from him and given into the hands of those who had mistreated their slaves, only to have it given back by this man who had now had his own stripped from him.
And Obi-Wan Kenobi had been helpless to intervene. Forced to watch, a mere observer, as his master fought alone: he should have been at his master's side where the padawan belonged.
Responsible for his death, when he should have protecting him from such.
Qui-Gon would not blame him, had not blamed him, but the padawan blamed himself. Release of guilt into the Force might come, eventually, but not now. Not while cradling his master's body.
He kneeled on the slick, cold floor, holding his master in his arms as silent tears dripped down his face. His master – the one who had searched the galaxy for him, had freed him, and had died because of him. His teacher, companion, and beloved father figure. Now dead, dead in his arms, clasped to his heart.
It was his fault. He had, again, failed. He should have been at his master's side.
He had defeated the Sith, but at great cost – he had almost descended into the dark side by giving in to the lure of hot rage after he lost his master. If only he hadn't been knocked out of the fight, he thought – if only he had remained steadfast and strong, at his master's side.
He would face his regrets, his failure later. Now belonged to his master. Now was the time for tears, now was the time to mourn the one he loved more than life itself. Later, he would put his grief behind him, accept and release it into the Force.
Yet even as he grieved, deep within himself he knew Qui-Gon was at peace. A Jedi faced death as he faced life, with acceptance and courage. A Jedi did not fear death, for to be at one with the Force was to be a part of everything, and everyone left behind. Qui-Gon was now a part of Obi-Wan.
This knowledge should have brought Obi-Wan peace in turn, but peace would not come.
His grief was deep and personal, and he would have to come to terms with it, even as the Jedi within him sought to accept it and transform his grief into acceptance.
He drew on that newfound total connection to the Force he had found as he hung by two hands in the melting pit as death clawed at his feet waiting for his arms to weaken and drop him into its waiting maw; drew on the Force to stop the shivers creeping up his spine.
It had saved him from the Sith; it would have to steady him as he grieved at his fallen master's side.
Here alone, he would allow himself to indulge in that grief for a brief moment; allow his chest to constrict with pain, his throat to tighten, and his eyes to blur with his tears. Here, he would allow himself to be a man before he was a Jedi and accept the pain, before he released it into the Force and found the strength to be a Jedi again.
"I'm so sorry, Master. I failed you," he breathed as he wept, closing his eyes against the pain. "How I wish…I could trade places with you. I love you, you know."
Obi-Wan brought his eyes back to Qui-Gon's clammy and pale face. The eyelids lay closed, hiding those brilliant icy blue eyes. Closed? It gradually sunk in on him – Qui-Gon's eyes were closed. Closed – not staring in the vacant stare of death! He had seen death too many times not to know.
Qui-Gon was not dead!
Quickly switching his attention from his grief to his master, the young Jedi laid his forehead against that of the older Jedi, not wanting to let go the hold his hands had on Qui-Gon, but needing to touch, to seek within. A flicker of Force reached out and found a wavering flicker within the still body. Qui-Gon was dreadfully hurt, but alive.
Obi-Wan gently lowered the man's body to the ground and grabbed for his comlink, thumbing it to "broadcast on all open channels." At a minimum, it would reach the nearest medical center and enforcement agency; they kept a line open at all times. It was standard protocol on all Republic planets, ratified by treaty.
He would invoke Jedi authority under that same treaty. His words would be given immediate priority, even on planets that had never seen a Jedi.
"This is a Jedi declaring a medical emergency. Send a healer right away to –," he looked around, "Theed hangar - the melting chamber across the power station from the hangar. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, human male, needs urgent medical care. Repeat, this is a Jedi calling for immediate medical assistance."
He thumbed off the button, and added desperately, softly, "Please…please hurry."
Both their cloaks were back in the hanger; he had nothing to shield Qui-Gon from the cold floor. At least he had no need of bandages to staunch blood loss, for a lightsaber wound such as had pierced his master's chest would have cauterized the entrance and exit wounds.
Qui-Gon Jinn would not bleed to death. Infection and organ failure were his enemies.
He quickly unfastened Qui-Gon's belt to allow him access to the wound. He hesitated: should he remove the tunic entirely and leave the man lying on the cold floor or push under the clothing layers using his senses and fingers to guide him? Obi-Wan decided on the second option.
With one hand he gently slid the tunic up and away from the broad chest. Coarse chest hair was curled and brittle, singed from the intense heat and it flaked at the touch of his hand. Tendrils of wispy smoke wafted from the blackened skin edges surrounding a hole half as thick around as the young Jedi's arm.
With his other hand Obi-Wan fumbled in his belt for the medkit sure to be there – Qui-Gon would have presented him with a freshly stocked belt with the latest and best of everything. There was a small vial of bacta within, and he uncapped it and poured it, red and viscous, into the terrible wound. The smell, sweet and cloying and mixing with the smell of charred flesh filled his nose, and he stifled the urge to sneeze.
With hands that didn't dare to tremble in their task, he slapped a pad over the open wound and affixed it in place.
No one had yet come to Qui-Gon's aid. His comlink remained silent. For now, it was up to him, and him alone, to assure his master's survival. He would not allow himself to fail at this.
"Please, please Master…hang on, just hang on…please," he mumbled as he worked, hardly aware that he was mouthing a silent plea to the Force.
He carefully rolled Qui-Gon onto his side to allow him to repeat the process with the rear exit wound, this time using the bacta from Qui-Gon's own belt. Obi-Wan groaned as the thick fluid spread down his master's back rather than into the wound. He didn't dare turn Qui-Gon too far, so he cupped his hand to catch the fluid, scooped and pressed it into the wound. He could feel droplets ooze through his fingers as he worked, slowly sliding down his hand like a river of thick blood to his wrist, staining the cuff of his sleeve.
Keeping his hand pressed tight, he fumbled for another bandage, another adhesive strip to hold it into place and then gently settled the Jedi master back onto the ground. He had done as much as he could. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes, and the bacta-smeared cuff left traces of the goo on his cheek.
He kneeled next to his master, wanting to go flee for help and needing to stay at his master's side. He had done all he could; Qui-Gon needed more. He needed a surgeon.
The young Jedi was reaching for his comlink again when several guards and a healer came bursting through into the room. They hurried to his side and Obi-Wan scooted back to allow the healer room to work, hurriedly giving information on the wound.
"Bacta?" the healer asked, sniffing the drops of sticky fluid splattered on the floor. He lifted the wounded man's tunic; looked at Obi-Wan as he saw the hasty bandaging and traces of sticky red fluid.
Obi-Wan nodded silent agreement. The healer checked Qui-Gon's vital signs, sighed, and looked at Obi-Wan.
"You Jedi are pretty strong folk. He's got a chance. Let's move him, now." He quickly barked orders, and the Jedi was carefully lifted into the gravstretcher they had brought with them. "Oh, and good job on that wound. You might have saved his life with your quick thinking."
"I…the Queen?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, torn between staying with Qui-Gon and seeing his mission through.
"Safe, I believe. The Viceroy and his minions have been captured, and this man is going straight to surgery. Nothing more you can do for him; come by after he's out of surgery." The healer looked at Obi-Wan's hands, peered closely.
"Oh, thought you had bloody hands there. Bacta, of course. We've got to go. We'll take good care of your Jedi." They quickly disappeared; with Obi-Wan's worried eyes following them.
Obi-Wan sighed and slumped back to the ground. The adrenaline flush of battle had faded and he was exhausted, and not just from the actual physical battle. He had had to fight himself – his rage and despair. It had taken most of his remaining strength, and now worry for his master drained what remained.
He looked at his hands, red with bacta.
"Bloody hands," the healer had thought. Obi-Wan frowned.
He had killed another living being. He had never been forced to kill before – he had always managed to wound or disarm, or destroy only droids, but he had never taken a life. The young Jedi suddenly shuddered. He had taken an irrevocable step, and he would never be the same.
He had done his duty, but he would have to come to terms with the cost. Some other time. He still had a mission to complete. He was a Jedi, before all else. He would do what he had to do. He could do nothing less. He would find the strength, somewhere.
The remaining guard stood by his side, patiently waiting, silently noting the wet track of tears down the young man's cheeks.
He didn't know Jedi cried.
He offered the Jedi a hand up, careful to grab him by the forearm rather than sticky hand.
"Wipes – that pocket," Obi-Wan said, nodding at a compartment in his belt, willing himself to focus on what he needed to do, not where he wished to be. "Please."
The guard silently removed several wipes and helped Obi-Wan clean his hands. He finally ventured a question, "that… being?" He had been with the Queen's party and had seen the red and black tattooed being; he had felt the malevolence concealed within.
Obi-Wan merely nodded his head over to the hollow chamber mere feet from them.
"Dead? You – did you kill him?"
"Yes," he said quietly. Hollowly, for there was no emotion left within him. "I had no choice."
He leaned over and picked up Qui-Gon's belt, left lying on the floor. The Jedi master's lightsaber lay where Obi-Wan had dropped it. He picked it up and silently clipped it to his belt. He hoped it would soon return to its rightful master's side.
They left by another access. Obi-Wan didn't spare a look behind. He would leave his doubts, his fears, and his anger behind him. A Jedi moved forward, never looked back.
He would do what he must, just like he would complete his mission. Just like he had let the healer take Qui-Gon away, remaining behind, though he desperately wanted to accompany them. Just like he had killed another living being. Because in each case there was no real choice.
"Is it possible for me to see the Queen?" he asked, turning serious eyes to the guard's concerned ones. "After that, I need access to a long range transmitter to contact the Jedi Temple. I must make a report to them."
The man merely nodded, and led him outside. The sun shone overhead and a few brave birds twittered and chirped above the barren streets, still lined with gaily colored boxes of flowers, now drooping and fading from neglect. They spoke eloquently of the absence of once cheerful bustle. The wide streets, the plaza, were largely empty, still, with little sign of life. The Naboo had not yet returned. There had not been enough time to free them from the prison camps.
The battle for Naboo was over in several hours; restoring everything would take days.
The guard escorted Obi-Wan across the plaza and towards the wide, grand entrance to Theed palace. The sun was warm on Obi-Wan's back: comfortable and companionable warmth, not the blistering heat of Tatooine that scorched and burned. This gentle warmth and the light touch of a breeze soothed him in a way, as if the Force itself was smiling on him, whispering: all will yet be well; here is warmth to melt the icy dread in your heart that is your fear for your master.
It was a beautiful, sunny day that whispered it knew nothing of death or pain, yet it was a day that had seen both.
Obi-Wan reached for the peace the sun promised, reached for the Force and let it wash the rest of his emotions away, to leave him calm and prepared.
The palace was ornate and imposing, beautiful in its lines. Their boot steps echoed through spacious hallways. Statues and artwork graced the walls. Windows stretched nearly from the floor to the ceiling, letting sunlight splash across the beautifully patterned tile floors.
They ascended a wide, sweeping and curved staircase to another level and the two men entered a large columned room, the Throne Room, where the Queen stood. She was in deep conversation with her advisors, no doubt finalizing the freeing of her people from the camps, but she broke off her conversation at the sight of the young Jedi, silent, solemn and solitary.
Warm brown eyes looked at him, then at the spot beside him where his master should be and the belt still dangling from his hand.
"Qui-Gon?" she asked, sudden concern in her eyes.
"Master Jinn was terribly hurt and the healers have taken him to your medical center," he said, bowing his head before her. "You are safe and the palace secure, Your Highness? Do you require anything of me before I go to him?"
"I am safe, Master – Kenobi, is it? The Viceroy and his aides are my captives and will be sent to the courts for trial." She looked at his sweat and bacta-stained tunic, tear-stained face, sad and serious eyes. She knew the answer, yet had to ask.
"That being you faced? He is dead?"
"He is dead," Obi-Wan affirmed. The Queen did not miss the pinched look that came over his face as he replied, and knew Obi-Wan had dealt the fatal blow himself.
"I see," she said softly. "You are hurt." She came towards him and reached a finger to his face, to wipe the smear of bacta off.
It wasn't a question, but a recognition of the pain the young Jedi was trying valiantly to hide within himself. Obi-Wan misunderstood.
"No, I'm not hurt, it's bacta," he said, managing to dredge up a sorry ghost of a smile at her touch.
"May Naboo offer you anything in recognition of your service?"
"Access to a long range transmitter is all I require; then I wish to go to Master Jinn's side," he said quietly.
"Of course. We will speak later," the queen said, studying his face, seeing a man drained of energy, moving on little more than sheer will power. "Sio, please direct our Jedi to the transmitter, will you, then see that he gets escorted to the medical center. Governor Sio Bibble is one of my closest advisors."
Sio had easily seen six or more decades of life. He was balding and white haired, dignified with a white beard. Wise eyes that could twinkle with gentle joy or stare with angry contempt at a Neomoidian took measure of the young Jedi, and he purposely bowed, recognizing in the young Jedi a man who had faced his personal demons and still stood on two feet, even if almost swaying on them, almost unbeknownst to himself.
Obi-Wan bowed to the Queen, and followed the governor, striding down the long hall to a small room. Sio gestured within, and indicated he would wait outside.
"Thank you," Obi-Wan said softly, and sat in a seat trying to compose himself. With a sigh, he punched in the code for the Temple and was redirected to the Council chamber.
The hologram flickered into being and he saw the twelve masters looking appraisingly at him. He quickly stood and bowed to them.
"Young Obi-Wan, pleased are we to see you alive and well," Yoda said gravely. "However, a report you have for us from Naboo?"
"Masters…." Memories flooded him, of times facing the Council in that very chamber, his master at his side. He swallowed; his throat was suddenly dry.
Breathe, find your calm center, he reminded himself.
"Naboo has been freed and the Queen is safe, but Master Qui-Gon Jinn has been terribly injured. I do not yet know his condition, but he was felled by the Sith that my master previously encountered. I - have slain that being, myself."
"Young Kenobi that is grave news," Mace Windu said, leaning forward. "This is hardly how we expected to acknowledge your return. You, too, think this being was a Sith?"
"I don't know, Master, but he was very skilled, carried a double-bladed lightsaber, and was powerful with the Force. It is not impossible, and my master is rarely wrong." He remembered the cold rage that washed through the Force. "He was a Sith, Masters," he said, suddenly certain.
He gave a preliminary report, noting additional information would be appended later.
The council members looked at each other and there seemed to be a quiet conference going on. Mace indicated Obi-Wan was free to sit as he waited, so he sat patiently, waiting for direction.
He wanted to get to his master's side but knew he would not be able to see him for some time, until he was out of surgery. He fixated on a drop of bacta under a nail that he had failed to remove earlier.
"To Naboo we will come," Yoda suddenly said. "More of this being we wish to know, from you and your master both, but disturb Qui-Gon by moving him here we will not do."
Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Yes, Master."
"Young Obi-Wan," Yoda added, and waited until the young Jedi looked up. "A life you have taken. Necessary it was, yes?" The wise old eyes studied the younger man's face, his quiet "yes" of acknowledgment.
"Fret not on it. Contact you myself later I will, if you permit it?" At Obi-Wan's nod, the little master's ears swiveled. "May the Force be with you and your master, young padawan."
Obi-Wan buried his head in his hands as the hologram faded. He had never had to make a solitary report to the Council before, and to do so when he had not even seen the members in over five years, after he had killed and after he thought he had seen his master die in front of his eyes…it was overwhelming.
He knew what he had to do. Again. Face and release his emotion. Qui-Gon had once told him that strong emotions rarely stayed released. When they returned, a Jedi re-released them. It was not a failure on his part, if he had to do this more than once.
So what all did he feel? He let the emotion wash over him, identified each one.
Exhaustion, for one. Only sleep would relieve that.
Worry. He was worried sick about Qui-Gon, worried sick about how close to releasing his anger he had been, worried sick that he had let his master down. He should have evaded that kick that sent him from his master's side. Would have, should have, could have….
Pain. He had taken the life of another living being. He had done it in self-defense, and he didn't regret it, but he had killed another.
Fear. He had been infused with rage when his master had been felled. His rage had propelled him forward; frantic determination had tried to temper the rage. Only the sure knowledge that he had failed and was about to die, defeated by his own emotion as much as his lack of skill, had quenched it. Was it truly defeated, fully, finally and for all time?
Facing his death, he had defeated his rage and in so doing, had prepared to live, rather than die. He found strength and purpose in defeat, and found that sure connection to the Force he had come so close to having, but never quite achieved.
The Force showed him how to live and save himself, once he had defeated his anger.
Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, and as many more as it took to breath out all his worry and fears, but feeling them fall away from him.
Again.
Sio Bibble was waiting patiently for him out in the hallway. The wise eyes studied him calmly. In his many years, Sio had seen many things. He had remained behind when Jedi Master Jinn had freed the Queen, her handmaidens and a handful of guards on their march from the palace to a prison camp, leaving them at the Theed hangar to do what he could for the Queen and the Naboo people by remaining behind.
He saw the barely concealed weariness and tension in the slight slump of the young Jedi's shoulders, the lines of strain around the fatigued blue-gray eyes and the stains of bacta on his tunic. The Jedi had a young man's face, with old and weary eyes.
"I can escort you to the suite of rooms the Queen set aside for the Chancellor's ambassador, or I can see that you get to the medical center. Which would you prefer, Master Kenobi?"
Confusion replaced the emotions Obi-Wan had so recently released. So recently a slave, now called by an honorific and offered assistance of his choosing – it was enough to make him dizzy.
"I should like to be with my master," he said firmly. Sio Bibble only nodded, and walked him to a guardsman who was put at Obi-Wan's disposal.
On the short trip to the medical center, Obi-Wan knew the news he would hear there would have a dramatic impact on his life, for better or worse. He would find out if Qui-Gon would live, or if his efforts to save him had been in vain.
