And The Moon It Fell Down
Part of the Effortless As Fire series, the Star Wars Dragon AU no one asked for.
A dragon is a creature of the Force. The zabrak assassin is corrupted, twisted by the dark side, stinking of sulphur and ozone. He is everything that Obi-Wan has learned of dragons, a servant of the Sith, his power bent only to the will of his Master.
Qui-Gon falls, and Obi-Wan knows he is outmatched. The fear, swelling beneath his training, is only matched by his grief. The Force calls him, deep and dark, and Obi-Wan follows that call. It is fire in his veins, the stretch and yaw of wings at his back. Maul is dark and deadly skill, but Obi-Wan is trickery and power stoked by rage. He has his vengeance.
After, he cradles Qui-Gon close in his arms. He is consumed by emotions his Jedi training has not prepared him for. Qui-Gon, his Master for so many years, is leaving him - leaving him now, in this final and awful way. Struck down by a beast, who died too quickly.
Obi-Wan summons the last of his calm to hide the clamouring of his twisting thoughts. Qui-Gon, his Master, his mentor, looks up at him. Something foreign, old and awful, unfurls in the space between them. It is a question, the answer to which Obi-Wan does not possess. A strange look crosses Qui-Gon's face. Can he see what has become of his apprentice?
"Master..."
The Force flickers across their bond. Qui-Gon's thoughts of the future - concern for the boy, concern for Obi-Wan, and something else - an answer to the question growing between them. Qui-Gon snatches his thoughts away from Obi-Wan's grip before Obi-Wan can fully comprehend what they mean. Qui-Gon's face is soft with kindness.
"My life... for yours" his Master chokes out, his rough voice bubbling with fluid. With effort he brings a hand up to touch Obi-Wan's Padawan braid.
Obi-Wan recoils from such an awful sentiment - but the darkness waking inside his head whispers yes, as it should be. It is a glowing feeling, proud and pleased - even as he sickens at the thought, something buoys him - that Qui-Gon should offer him this, this final sacrifice. It fills Obi-Wan with golden fire, burning and wretched. He pours it out, into the Force, into Qui-Gon, a wash of warmth down their bond, from his hands. Qui-Gon starts. The colour is returning to his cheeks. The frothing sound of his breath eases, and his limbs regain some of their strength.
He coughs, heavily. Obi-Wan helps him up, and for a long moment they sit, dazed by what has occurred.
"The Queen-" says Qui-Gon, after a few heavy breaths.
"Yes," says Obi-Wan, and they go to find her.
Later, as the people of Naboo begin preparation for their celebration of peace, and Qui-Gon tends to his prospective protege, Obi-Wan works to gather together his countenance to face the Council.
The Council - a biting anger lashes at the ever weakening barriers in his mind. The Council have played their own small part in what has become of him. Their inaction, their arrogance, almost lead to Qui-Gon's death. If they had listened - listened when Master Qui-Gon warned them of the dragon he had fought on that Force forsaken desert planet.
Tatooine. Tatooine brings its own frustrations. All his logically formed misgivings about Anakin Skywalker and his own future have scattered into a barrage of feelings - guilt, jealousy, and an odd longing for something he cannot fully articulate - that feeling of pride and power he felt, the knowledge that something belonged to him. All that is being snatched away from him for the sake of a boy whose future is as dangerous as it is uncertain.
The Force pulses behind his confusion, willing him to take, to have, to push. He coils in on himself. Meditation brings no peace, only furthers his rapid decline into this strange madness of emotion that has begun to consume him.
At the celebration of peace, he holds himself together with the thin shreds of his remaining grace, as politicians, diplomats and bureaucrats flitter about him, eager to score points with their gracious gratefulness. None of them know how close Master Qui-Gon came to death. Senator Palpatine, soon to be Chancellor, is particularly effusive in his praise, showering Obi-Wan and Anakin with equal attention.
Through it all, Qui-Gon stands by his elbow, serene and full of good grace, one hand on Anakin's shoulder. Obi-Wan wonders if he can sense his Padawan's erring control.
Once all is at last said and done, Obi-Wan confines himself to his airy quarters on Naboo, unwilling to face anyone - Qui-Gon in particular - until he is back under some semblance of control. (Master Yoda's maxim rings in his ears. An early lesson: "Once you start down the dark path...")
On the evening before they are to return to Coruscant, Qui-Gon comes to him. Obi-Wan is seated at a small tea table, pouring his thoughts into a holo that he will never save.
Qui-Gon doesn't knock, but he does wait inside the threshold until Obi-Wan looks at him. His face is terribly kind.
"What is it?" asks Obi-Wan, hastily shutting off the holo.
Qui-Gon says nothing. He comes forward, slowly. He is holding a gilted tray - a pot of tea, gently steaming and aromatic; two delicate cups, and a dish, covered with a ceramic dome. He sets the tray down, arranging the tea set on the table. The dish he uncovers with a flourish, then pushes towards Obi-Wan.
There is a small sweetcake in the centre of the dish, syrup drenched and citrusy smelling. Obi-Wan stares at it.
"You haven't eaten in some time," says Qui-Gon.
"A Jedi does not need to eat. We may subsist on the living Force," replies Obi-Wan, tartly, feeling irritated and oddly soothed at the same time.
"Nevertheless," replies Qui-Gon. "I am giving you something to eat."
Obi-Wan bites into the cake, without realising he has lifted it to eat. It is not rich, or overly sweet, but tangy, and faintly herbal. A dull thudding in his skull subsides, and some of his wheeling thoughts quiet. He puts the cake back on the plate, feeling heat flush his cheeks. Qui-Gon's eyes brighten with a smile, then grow sorrowful. He sighs, heavily.
"Tomorrow, we will return to Coruscant, and the Council may confirm what I suspect."
"About Anakin?" asks Obi-Wan, hoping to avoid one awkward conversation in favour of another.
"No," says Qui-Gon. The silence after this grim proclamation grows until Obi-Wan is forced to speak. Two bright red spots appear high on his cheeks.
"I- it's not."
Qui-Gon raises his brows, questioning and pointed.
" I- I didn't want. It's not that I- " Obi-Wan is inarticulate with shame. He cannot bear to say it - that he touched the dark side, and now it is clinging to him, consuming him, as Master Yoda warned. "I- I know what I did."
Qui-Gon reaches across the table, pushing the cake towards Obi-Wan once again. Infuriating calm washes across their Force bond. Obi-Wan eats more cake.
"I know what you did," says Qui-Gon, heavily, "And ordinarily, it would be no matter. Many of us face the call of the dark side before and long after we are knighted. This - this I suspect is something different."
Obi-Wan grows cold, swallowing roughly. He cannot countenance what Qui-Gon is suggesting.
"No. That's- it's simply not possible."
The Force rings at the falsehood of his words. They both sense the truth of what Obi-Wan has become.
"You must face it. It may be more than possible. It may be fact."
He is a being of pure Force, ancient. He catalogues himself with wonder - the stretch and sweep of wings, the prickle of sharp, carnivorous teeth, his body lashing and powerful. He is an agent of unspeakable power, bathed in the vast and echoing starlight, and the empty darkness between the worlds.
In that black space, something calls to him. A voice penetrates his mind, scattering his thoughts.
"I will give you all that you desire," it whispers, "if you tell me what that is."
Nothing, thinks Obi-Wan. He is a Jedi, and has no need for desire, no need to possess.
"Naivete," the voice replies, not unkindly, "all dragons possess."
I may be a dragon, thinks Obi-Wan, but I am still a Jedi yet.
"You may be a Jedi today," the voice says, now sardonic, "but what will you be tomorrow?"
The void between stars yawns open, a maw fit to swallow the galaxy whole, and him with it. He jolts in his sleep, and the dream shifts.
He brings his saber round in a twisting movement, sliding away from the brutish battering that his young Jedi opponent has unleashed. The Jedi snarls, boyish features overcome with poorly controlled frustration, the dark side whispering in his ear, just out of reach.
An unforeseen joy resonates through Obi-Wan, like the striking of a bell. A sensation that he recognises but does not remember. His crimson saber curves in brilliant arcs. The Force is with him - darkly mischievous and full of delight - and he moves with it, and moves it in turn, knocking this beautiful and insolent boy into the dust with clever steps and choreographed tricks.
The Jedi's hair is dark gold and damp with sweat. He spits angry words and insensible phrases while his eyes go dark with something heavy and wanting.
Obi-Wan reaches out to take- ephemeral, the dream Jedi scatters.
There is nothing but the vast plane of the Force, peace radiating from the very fabric of time and space. Qui-Gon kneels in meditation, and Obi-Wan approaches. Around them, the reactor on Naboo blossoms, and between them, a blast shield.
Qui-Gon watches him, his face unreadable, cast in lurid orange. "What will you ask of me next?" he says, his mouth curling with humour.
"Give me your time," says Obi-Wan. Behind him is the reactor pit, and a lurking shadow that skulks just out of sight.
"You have had my time, and now it belongs to another."
"Then give me your wisdom," says Obi-Wan, plaintive.
"You have had my wisdom, and now it is your own. I give it to one who needs it."
Even here, Anakin Skywalker comes between he and what should be his by right.
"Then give me the boy, if he is all that you possess!"
Qui-Gon laughs, but not unkindly. "I cannot give him to you - but perhaps one day he will be yours."
Obi-Wan snarls, a vicious animal noise. This angry vocalisation tears at his throat, and he starts into wakefulness.
The golden light of Theed's dawn scatters through the gauzy curtains. Obi-Wan struggles up, dresses himself, and tries desperately to take in some measure of the calm of his surroundings.
In a few short hours they will leave, and he will face the Council.
"They're going to let me stay!" says Anakin, far too jovial for Obi-Wan's morose mood. "And Master Qui-Gon says he will train me!"
Anakin has emerged from the Council chambers without Qui-Gon, and is now sat opposite Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon debates what will happen with his current Padawan.
Obi-Wan summons the countenance of a Jedi. "His finding you was the will of the Force. He will train you well."
Anakin twists his lips, his heels knocking against his seat. "He's your teacher too, right?
"For now," says Obi-Wan, hoping to avoid discussing this difficult topic. Anakin is a refugee, and a child. Obi-Wan is ashamed of his jealousy.
"The Council said he couldn't teach us both at once. What will happen to you?"
Obi-Wan keeps his impassive air, refusing to show this child any kind of un-Jedi-like emotion. It is likely the Council will expel him from the Order, or worse, for what he has become.
"When a Padawan is ready, he undergoes the trials. If he is successful, he becomes a Jedi knight."
"So you'll do a trial?"
Obi-Wan doubts it.
"Perhaps."
A flutter along their Force bond - Qui-Gon summons him to stand before the Council.
"Wait for Master Qui-Gon," he tells Anakin, and goes to hear his fate.
At the Council's prompting, Obi-Wan recounts his duel with the zabrak dragon. As he speaks, his frustration with the Council's decision to ignore Qui-Gon's warning comes rippling back to the surface. He shoves his anger deep down, lets it fester in turn for presenting a calm countenance. He speaks in measured tones, and when it comes to it he does not flinch.
"...I believe in my grief, I touched the dark side. It has been with me ever since."
A soft susurration echoes around the Council chambers. A collective sigh of disappointment, or grief, maybe.
"More than that, the Council senses," says Yoda.
There is a pregnant pause.
Obi-Wan glances to Qui-Gon, who remains impassive, then back to Master Yoda, who is also impassive. Ki-Adi Mundi is speculative, and Master Windu's face is shadowed, his brow furrowed. Obi-Wan realises, regretfully, he is on his own. There is nothing he can say that will alter the course of the future.
Obi-Wan takes a moment to compose his words. "The way it happened - and what happened after. It suggests... I suspect... I may have manifested. As a dragon."
"A dragon, you say? This is worrisome indeed."
Master Yoda and Master Windu look to each other. Master Windu opens his mouth to speak. He is interrupted by Qui-Gon.
"In the days of old, to fight a dragon was to face a trial. My Padawan is ready to face the trials."
Master Windu looks struck. The Force buzzes with the Council's displeasure.
"A dragon, to stand the trials of knighthood? Such a thing is unheard of," says Master Mundi.
"An insult to the Order," says Master Billaba
"Never has the Jedi Order taken a dragon into its ranks. The way of the Jedi, a dragon does not follow. Why say you this now, hmm?" says Master Yoda. He sounds morbidly curious, as if Qui-Gon has presented some ugly yet curious artifact.
Obi-Wan looks to Qui-Gon for an answer, trying and failing to understand his intentions.
"Obi-Wan has surpassed all that I can teach him. Now, he must face his trial - the trial that will determine the path of his destiny. I have every faith in him."
"A dragon cannot possibly earn the rank of knighthood," says Master Windu, with determination. "No sooner than we would confer that rank upon a Sith."
Obi-Wan's anger flares - surely he has slipped, fallen far - but to equate him to the Sith? He cannot hold his tongue.
"I am nothing like that monster we fought on Naboo! I won't become that!"
Master Windu raises his eyebrow in censure. "It is the Council's place to determine what is to become of you."
"Is it?" snaps Obi-Wan. He can no longer contain himself. The Force moves in him like a whip, fueling his anger, and being fed in turn. Qui-Gon sends a warning along their bond, but makes no move to stop him. "The Council failed to determine the nature of the assassin Master Qui-Gon faced on Tatooine! What nearly became of that?"
Mace turns to Qui-Gon, his face stern.
"Calm yourself, Padawan. Master Jinn - this is what you present to stand trial?"
Something about this turn of phrase catches in Obi-Wan's mind - what you present, not who - like he is an object, an animal. Power ricochets between his anger and the Force, spills out of him to lash around the Council chambers. All his desperately gathered calm, his carefully curated intellect, is gone.
The Force wheels through the Council chamber like a gale, throwing several Council members from their seats. Fire catches at the edges of the room, smoke pouring towards the ceiling. In the chaos, Windu leaps forward, his saber flaring violet in his fist. Obi-Wan reaches for his own weapon, but before they can come to blows, Qui-Gon is in between them. He takes Obi-Wan by the wrists, tugging him to the floor so they kneel together in the chaos.
"Padawan of mine. Obi-Wan," his eyes are still kind - though worried - even as they stare into him and perceive the darkness that is burning through him. He lets go of one wrist, and takes Obi-Wan's hand, clasping it between both of his own. Obi-Wan squeezes, and his hand is no longer a hand - it is clawlike, with curling talons. He looks down at himself, and sees two things. In one world, he is simply Padawan Kenobi. In the other, he is shimmering, pale creamy scales, leith and powerful.
"Obi-Wan - listen to me. I am giving you my trust. My trust, that you will calm yourself, and that I have not lost you to this."
Obi-Wan stares into Qui-Gon, who in that second world is glowing with a soft, warm light.
He can feel Qui-Gon's trust, like a balm, in the Force.
The storm of his anger fades. His patience, wearied by the long hours of waiting, and this disastrous meeting with the Council, is soothed and bolstered. He releases his grip on the Force, and his lightsaber, which Qui-Gon takes from his limp fingers.
Qui-Gon stands, and his hand at Obi-Wan's elbow draws him to his feet. The storm quiets.
Master Windu approaches, glass crunching under his boots. "You will be confined," he says, "Until the Council has decided what to do with you. Master Jinn - I suggest you attend to your young charge before the Council decides to remove him from your care."
Windu nods to Billaba, who stands, a hand at the saber on her waist. She beckons Obi-Wan.
"Go with her," says Qui-Gon. I am with you.
Master Billaba and a contingent of temple guards escort him to the detention centre in the south west of the temple. The dark side still clings to his mind, and Obi-Wan finds himself anticipating the peace that the Force dampening effects of the cell will bring him.
He has no such luck - as he steps through the door, all sense of the wider Force is eliminated. That leaves him with only the whirling vortex of his own Force presence. He remembers - dragons are their own kind of nexus in the Force, beings of energy and power.
This final proof is too much. All at once, the truth of what has happened settles on him. He is that being - a being of extraordinary power. The words he said before the Council seemed like supposition. A conclusion, born of logic, gathered from varied scraps of evidence, presented before the Council to judge as truth or falsehood.
There is no truth or falsehood - there is simply the fact of his power, power beyond his reckoning and reason. Obi-Wan sits on the cell bench, his face hidden in his arms, as if to hide from his own power. He cannot - it is with him, even here where it should not be.
I am with you, Qui-Gon's words echo. Obi-Wan draws in a harsh, sucking breath. He slides off the bench, and kneels on the floor, reaching for meditation. He breathes out, until his lungs are empty. The next breath in is measured and deep, and the next breath out flows smoothly.
As he marshals his mind, his thoughts drift back to that moment in the Council chamber. "I am giving you my trust," Qui-Gon had said - and it had felt like a true gift - another sacrifice, made for him. The peace of that moment surrounds him, and he clings to it as his mind is carried further into meditation.
For a while, there is only the blankness of meditation. His mind is still, at rest. He drifts in the deep well of the Force within him, not seeking knowledge from it, but simply allowing it to permeate his mind. Gone is the persistent voice, pushing him, telling him to want, to take. Gone is the gnawing panic, the disgust, the shame.
Comforted, he feels at last ready to face himself. Inside his mind, he opens his eyes, beholding himself in the mirror of his thoughts. In that mirror, he sees the form of his other self, a winged behemoth with pale cream scales and proud golden horns. This is him - a form that one day he might take, as the zabrak assassin had taken the form of a black carrion beast, pursuing them from the surface of Tatooine. Obi-Wan is nothing like that beast - he is proud and elegant.
He moves past this vision and turns his attention outwards, seeking what the Force might tell him. Nothing can hide from him - they cannot trap a being of pure Force in a paltry cell and expect him to remain contained. His consciousness leaks out, first sensing the clarity and zeal of the temple guards, then traveling through the temple.
Two bright specs captivate his attention - Master Qui-Gon, he realises, and his new charge. He ignores Skywalker, and focuses on his Master, as he moves further away from Anakin's presence, closer towards Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan can see the line between him and his Master- their Force bond, braided into their very beings. There is something different, perhaps more - the strange, spiderweb connection that was born between them at the moment of Qui-Gon's near death on Naboo.
Qui-Gon's attention shifts, as Obi-Wan touches that spiderweb bond, and he appears to sense Obi-Wan's presence. Obi-Wan draws back.
He flows away, following the movement of the Force to the Council chamber which, where the Council themselves sit (despite the chaos of the room) to meditate on his fate. They do not sense his presence, as Qui-Gon did. But Obi-Wan can feel their thoughts, and the Council thinks as one -
he cannot be allowed - the Jedi are merciful - he cannot be trusted - we must trust in the Force - he is of the dark side - he may fall to the Sith - the Sith must not have him - he must be protected - he must be contained - he is too powerful to contain - he is too much a danger - he is one of our own - he is no longer a Jedi -
With a jolt, he pulls away, almost waking from his trance. He falls back, back into the ebb and flow of his own Force presence. His dream from the previous evening, seemingly so distant, returns to him. "You may be a Jedi today... but what will you be tomorrow?"
Out of the dark well of the Force, that whispering voice returns.
"I will give you all that you desire," it whispers, "if you tell me what that is."
I want to be free, thinks Obi-Wan. I want to understand what has become of me. I want to know this power that is within me.
"Then come to me," the voice whispers, "and I shall give you that."
Obi-Wan awakes from his trance like a fish being pulled from dark water by a hook. His cell is cold with the presence of the dark side, rime swirling across the walls. He is dragged to the feet by the force of his own awakening.
He has never felt a desire so strong in his life - how could he have, as a Jedi? The desire to know, to find the voice that promised to give him those answers - it is unbearable. He starts towards the door of the cell, and is shocked to see it open before he can even touch it.
Qui-Gon is framed in the doorway. Behind him, the temple guards slump in unconsciousness.
"Come," he says, "Before the Council reach their decision."
Qui-Gon leads him from his cell, to a small ante-chamber just outside the detention centre, full of packing cases and crates. He is carrying a pack, which Obi-Wan hopes contains his lightsaber. Qui-Gon has come to smuggle him from the temple.
"I am sorry that I cannot come with you," he is saying. "My place is here. There is little else I can give you now, except these few things. First, this - it's marked with a safe route out of the temple. Second, this." He takes a holocron from his pocket, and places it in front of Obi-Wan on a crate.
"What does it contain?" asks Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon sighs. "It contains an account of the nature of dragons. Of what they may have once been. There is more that I wish I had time to share with you, but most of that is speculation and myth."
Obi-Wan nods. "Thank you, Master."
Qui-Gon's face softens into a smile. "And last, of course," his voice takes on a hint of humour. "The Council may disagree, but I meant what I said. You are wise, and skilled, and you would have been a great and powerful Jedi. Alas..."
Obi-Wan looks down. He cannot face Qui-Gon. Another thing to regret - he is a disappointment. Another Padawan that Qui-Gon has lost to the dark.
"I have not lost you."
From the sleeve of his robe, Qui-Gon draws a small silver blade. For a moment, Obi-Wan is uncertain if Qui-Gon means him harm. Then, he understands.
He kneels.
Qui-Gon places a hand on his shoulder, for a brief moment, then takes Obi-Wan's Padawan braid between his fingers. He runs his thumb over the soft locks, counting out the merit bands. Then, at last, he lifts the knife and cuts it away.
Obi-Wan feels unmoored. With the braid, Qui-Gon has released their Force bond. It spools away, into the Force, and no amount of snatching will bring it back. Obi-Wan releases his own side of the bond. Now, all that remains between them is the gossamer threads of their shared past, and the gifts that they have bestowed upon each other since that moment on Naboo.
"I owe you my life," says Qui-Gon, "I will not forget it."
Qui-Gon has not given him back a lightsaber - perhaps he did not think it wise, or perhaps he simply thought it too hard to explain to the Council.
Instead, Obi-Wan has a serviceable blaster, a change of clothes, and several hundred credits - plus the holocron, which is tucked into the mass of clothes as if that will somehow keep it safer.
Outside the peaceful nexus of the temple, the Force flows towards him in flurries, urging him towards something. He wards it off, until he is in the back of dingy cantina, shed of his Jedi accoutrements, shorn of his Padawan tail, with his hair combed to one side.
Free from the trappings of his Jedi life, that insidious voice returns to him.
Come to me... and I will give.
He cannot help but follow that call.
Notes: Thanks for reading! You can read more about Star Wars dragons on the "Dragonverse" tag over on my tumblr, where I welcome questions and comments, and post snippets of future works.
The next work in this series is Put Down The Knife (the night is here). Set ten years in the future, and focusing on Anakin & Obi-Wan.