Summary: This is a definite AU—Everything in the Star Wars universe is the same except one simple thing—Qui-Gon didn't die on Naboo. This story explores what could have happened if Obi-Wan had managed to save his Master. This is turning out to be kind of long—spanning, in theory, from the end of TPM all the way to the original trilogy. However, I won't get there for a LONG while yet, so this story will probably just cover the end of the TPM.
A/N: I really hope there aren't too many typos in here. I tried my best, but you know how it is. This first part is a lot like a lot of the stories about the end of TPM, but I think once I get past this chapter it becomes a little more distinct.
Disclaimer: I'm just messing around and I mean no one any harm. Some of the characters in later parts of my creation, but most of these belong to someone very, very rich.
The Road Not Taken
Time stretches throughout eternity, plodding along linearly, marking the moments of mortal existence. It is bound together securely by the Force—which cannot be seen. Most cannot even feel its silent tugging, its unspoken prodding. But for those who can, perhaps they are the worse off. For they are led by the delusions of control, or at least by a duty to utilize it for the betterment of the galaxy. Theirs is a noble burden, one which they have carried throughout millennia. Theirs is a lonely journey, joined to no person or place, merely a Code. These beings, gathered from the stretches of the vast galaxy are the Jedi, the keepers of the peace. It is said that the Force willed their existence, but did it also will their downfall?
Even though they know the Force and can sense it and use it to their advantage, they are still mere mortals. Their Code is great, but their faults still exist. And among their faults lies the uncertainty of doubt and the torment of regret. What happens when their decisions go awry? What happens when their failures affect the galaxy? Jedi or no, there is always the question "what if"?
Each moment holds decisions. Each decision holds a multitude of consequences. From the single moment, only one choice can be made, and only one outcome can result. To dwell on these lost results is futile. But one when moment and one outcome affect everything so immensely, the mind cannot help but lend itself to idle speculation. Because a man, alone in his sorrow, can recall the same moment a million times with frightening clarity. And in his mind, he can trace back his failures to a single moment, a single choice, a single result. The moment will torture him, taunting him with the outcomes that could have been, that should have been.
But perhaps the recluse's tears are misplaced. Perhaps he weeps for nothing. Because though we may see what could be changed, we can never predict the results. The outcome of any choice is uncontrollable and not in mortal hands. It is in the Force, which binds all life together. The Force, even for those who are sensitive to its ebbs and flows, eludes us all. Its rationale—yes, surely it has one, surely it is that which we call fate—is a mystery not to be solved, but just to be marveled at. Even if he could change the moment, would the present be improved? Or is it possible that he would merely be plunged into a darker destiny?
Or perhaps it is possible that no matter what choices we make in a single moment will make no difference at all. Maybe, though moments change, the Force still swells the same and history unfolds in the same sad sequence as before. Perhaps our destiny is already one with the Force and cannot be changed—no matter what road we take, we still find the same destination, not because our decisions are futile and in vain, but rather because the Force has a plan to use our decisions, no matter what they are, to achieve its greater good.
But on a lonely road, a man cannot help but wonder. His feet are worn and his limbs ache mercilessly beneath the heat. He has spent too many years alone on this road. So when he reaches the hilltop where he can see the road stretching behind him for miles, he of course will see the moment when his road curved irrevocably. And, though it may be in his mind, he can see the crossroads where he had been and wonder, always wonder, where he would be if he had taken the other road. Would it lead him to a better life or merely loop around to this exact same spot. He does not know, but he cannot help but fathom the road not taken.
The Roads DivergeThe air was rushing past him, the world blurring as he couldn't take a breath during his free fall. He vaguely thought of his Temple training when he had first been exposed to the art of falling. It had been a lesson in control, using the Force even when his feet weren't firmly grounded. In the Temple, he had been nervous but not about the fall. His anxiety could be traced to the fear of failing the exercise. Finding a way to stop his fall was necessary not for his life, rather for his grade. The first time he had grappled with the passing branches, but the stream of air around him had proved too much. He hit the mat solidly and sank into it. His face burned red with exhaustion and embarrassment as the Master had pointed out his errors.
Soon, though, the falling exercise became his favorite. He found quickly how to focus in the air, how to maneuver his body more gracefully in free fall than on the ground. And no matter how many times his body plunged into oblivion, it always elicited a high that invigorated him.
But now the invigoration was laced with reality. For a brief instant, he realized he didn't know how far he was going to fall or what would break the fall. And he also didn't know where his fall had left Qui-Gon, who was undoubtedly still battling the Sith. He mentally chided himself for allowing the Sith to catch him off guard. He had left Qui-Gon alone against the Dark Lord. And now he was falling down, down…down to where?
It had only been a fraction of a second into his fall when he applied his training. Using the Force, he drew a mental picture of the area around him. He realized quickly there was a catwalk within grabbing distance. His lightsaber was falling slightly above him, and he focused intently on moving it to the path of the catwalk as well. However, the effort to save his lightsaber cost him time, and suddenly the walkway came up faster than he expected, and he barely had time to move himself toward it, much less work on a graceful landing.
His body fell hard against the catwalk, but the contact reassured him—he wouldn't be falling to his death after all. He skittered to the edge of the metal, but managed to hang on securely. He was grateful to hear the clang of his lightsaber hitting down nearby. Pulling himself together, he got quickly to his feet. Staring up, for momentarily marveled at the distance he had fallen. Then his eyes came across Qui-Gon. His master was still engaged with the Sith, the intensity not having waned at all. The battle seemed to have moved down a few levels, and Obi-Wan was grateful. That meant there was less distance for him to scale.
Through his bond with Qui-Gon he could feel only concentration. He allowed his mind to brush against his master's, assuring him of his presence and of his intention to rejoin the fight. He received no concrete response but knew Qui-Gon was too engaged in the battle to reply on any level. Taking a deep breath to gather the Force, Obi-Wan leapt upwards, landing on the catwalk that his master and the Sith were parrying down.
Qui-Gon advanced on the Sith, moving him toward the reactor. Adrenaline pumped furiously through Obi-Wan as he approached the fray. Qui-Gon and the Sith had begun down a hallway, the red force fields sliding off in their usual shuffle. He willed himself to increase his speed, but he had lost his focus and his utilization of the Force was sloppier. He felt frustrated at his body's shortcomings, knowing he had gone faster before, and angry that it would be such a critical moment when he fell short of his potential.
He reached the hallway, his pace still quickening despite the pounding of his heart resounding in his ears. Suddenly the fields in front of him were being switched on. His attention was distracted from the fight ahead of him as he realized that he would have to stop. He pushed the limit of what his mind deemed safe, feeling the brush of electricity flow right behind him. Seeing the red field coming to life abruptly in front of him, he came to a shuffling stop, breathlessly panting right behind its glow.
It only took him a moment to regain his composure. As his body struggle to catch up with the exertion he had forced upon it, he looked ahead through the haze of red. He saw only stillness. The multiple fields between him and his master and their assailant made it impossible to see just where they were, but by the stillness and anxiety he sensed from the Force, he knew they too were separated by a barrier.
Reluctantly, he turned his lightsaber off. He reached out for his master instinctively, feeling a rush of calm from the older Jedi. Qui-Gon had settled into a meditative state. Trying to feed off his master's disposition, Obi-Wan strove to clear his mind, to find his center once more. But his mind was racing as fast as his heart. He had always been very adept in battle. Over the years, he and Qui-Gon had seen their fair share of scrapes, and Obi-Wan had always fought respectably. Long ago, he had developed a firm grasp on his calm center while fighting. But this was different. Something about the Sith seemed more serious, more deadly than their previous foes. The Sith wielded a lightsaber with undeniable efficiency and grace. Few of his opponents had even had access to such weapons and none had controlled it as the Sith did now. And then the full force of his situation fell upon him heavily. He was fighting the Dark Side in its entirety—the Sith, the complete embodiment of evil, the fated rival of the Jedi and the Light. They were empowered by the Dark Side and played by different rules than the Jedi. The Darkness hovered unseen in the air, ominously, with a power ultimately intense and raw. Deep inside Obi-Wan realized he feared that he was not up to the task of fighting, much less defeating, this foe.
It was the fear that had taken Obi-Wan's focus. He forced a deep breath, reaching deeply for the Force. He accepted the fear. But as he attempted to let it go, his body tensed in anticipation, unconsciously switching his lightsaber on again. The fields were about to rotate again. As the first few fields opened, he sensed his master and the Sith engaging one another. Grasping somewhat clumsily for his center, he stood, primed to bolt as the redness in front of him dissipated.
His legs pounded against the deck furiously. The fight between his master and the Sith bobbled in his vision as he ran. He was approaching quickly, but not quickly enough. He saw the plates moving back into position. Against his determination, he willed himself to pull up just as the first red field reactivated—he would never make it through—trapping him once again from the fight.
However, this time he could easily see the scene unfolding before him. The slight break in the action had only served to physically energize the Sith, his adrenaline rush mellowing to its optimum level as he battled the Jedi. For Qui-Gon, the brief hiatus had also had a mellowing affect, but his more drastically so, driving his level adrenaline dangerously down, but his connection with the Force deeper. He was more in tune with the galaxy's expansively chaotic harmony than before, but he lost the edge of preemptive anticipation that came only through the heat of battle. He was focused, but not on the Living Force. The Living Force existed in the moment. It was about the living and breathing essence of a person, and a person could only function in the moment. Moments survived singularly, made up of history but untainted by the future. Yet, as he swung his lightsaber, his thoughts were flitting between his opponent and what the outcome would bring. It was to be his fatal flaw.
In those final moments of their parrying, Qui-Gon suddenly felt a multitude of calls and questions from the Force. Beyond the moment, he sensed what would be, what could be, and what once was—a brief flash of his Padawan's grief, a glimpse of Anakin's potential, a snippet of the galaxy's doom. It was all flowing together in a strange melody within Qui-Gon's soul. He was barely even cognizant of the slashes and swipes of his lightsaber. He barely felt the blow to his chin, which drug him suddenly back into the moment.
The adrenaline began to surge again, but it was too late. The Sith's lightsaber had found its way deliberately into his abdomen. Pain eclipsed the Force for an instant. By the time he regained his grip on his center, he was on his knees. Shock rippling through his body, he fell to the ground. He was going to die.
Obi-Wan yelled, the agony undulating off Qui-Gon's now prone form being absorbed by the young man still trapped behind the shield. Qui-Gon desperately wanted to calm the boy, quell his fear and anger. Obi-Wan didn't understand. He couldn't understand. He had never understood the Living Force. He couldn't see it like Qui-Gon could now—the way his own Living Force was racing in desperation. The pain was blinding Qui-Gon, and he didn't fight it. Instead he focused intently on it, letting it draw him away to the visions had had only glimpsed at before. The Living Force slipped away from him as his moments waned, and he allowed himself the wonder of the future.
But Obi-Wan's growing inner turmoil brought him back within himself and his role as a teacher. He mentally reached out for his apprentice, trying to console him, build his confidence. He tried, and tried. But Obi-Wan could not hear him.
Obi-Wan couldn't hear anything anymore. He couldn't really see anything either. Nothing except the Sith standing menacingly just beyond the red haze. And, despite everything he had ever learned, he could feel the tendrils of anger growing in his heart. And they were growing slowly into fury.
No! He stopped himself, struggling desperately to balance the anger and the fear with his training. He could not deny it—now more than ever. Qui-Gon was the only father he had ever known. He loved him. His breaths came deep and ragged, the Force seeming to manifest itself tightly in his throat. He needed him.
A faint flicker from the Force told him that the shields were about to shift again. His attention heightened. Release the anger, release the fear, release the pain. Release, he commanded himself. Release!
Before the first shield even fully dropped, Obi-Wan advanced forward, his timing drawn from the Force. He charged the Sith, his lightsaber moving with a newfound confidence—the blind confidence of fury boiled down to determination. He had something to prove. He had something to save. He had something to rectify.
Obi-Wan fought against fate, he fought against destiny. He fought against what was and what he feared would be. He fought against the inevitable. He fought like a desperate man whose only hope was fleeting. And he was fighting a losing battle. The fury could not be held back. It was overtaking him, mind and soul. He felt it etch into his willpower, begging him to embrace it, to use it, to want it. His face set, he managed to slice the two-sided blade of his opponent in half, leaving the Sith mildly surprised and newly invigorated.
As the intensity of his fighting grew, suddenly so did the inner cry of protest. This was not the way. Victory was not worth this price. Qui-Gon would never pay this price, Master Yoda, Master Windu, all the great Jedi—they would never pay this price. Living in their legacy, still trying to fulfill Qui-Gon's, he recoiled from the black fury within him. Although the inner conflict had not stopped his duel with the Sith, it finally weighed him down enough for the Sith to take control. Obi-Wan suddenly found his saber locked with the Sith's, the monster's face glaring intensely into his own. His own gaze penetrated forcibly back, unwilling to let his opponent realize his precarious hold on his mind. But the Sith was already completely aware of the Padawan's wavering attention. With a swift movement, he pushed the boy backwards. He stumbled, giving the Sith enough time to send the Force toward Obi-Wan, sending the young man flailing backwards until he tumbled over the edge of the shaft.
Without wasting time, Obi-Wan sensed where he could grab onto and did so without much conscious effort. While stopping his plunge to inevitable death was a small victory in itself, looking back up at the Sith strutting over the ledge of the pit made him realize just how precarious his situation was now. The red being smirked, sending Obi-Wan's lightsaber flying by him with a flick of his foot. Obi-Wan watched helplessly as the weapon sailed by, clattering against the walls of the pit as it spiraled out of sight. A lightsaber was a Jedi's life, it was vital. A Jedi would die before they would relinquish the weapon. The irony of the thought was not lost on Obi-Wan.
A spray of sparks showered over him as the Sith slashed at the metal edging of the pit. Looking up into the monster's eyes, Obi-Wan could see the dark look of victory radiating in the being's eyes. He had slain the Master and the Apprentice, both pathetic weaklings of the Light. Obi-Wan felt sick in the knowledge that through him, the Light had been defeated by the Dark, that he would die by the hands of the very thing he hated. Worse yet, he had almost given in to the Darkness. He had almost sacrificed his soul for the rush of retribution—no, for vengeance, for Qui-Gon…
Suddenly the Force sparked within him, reminded him that he was neither dead yet, nor was he of the Dark. Glancing upwards toward his fallen Master, he saw the abandoned lightsaber lying by the Jedi's side. He had the means now, but he still needed a way back up. And there was only one way he could do it.
He looked back down again, trying to let the sheer drop inspire his courage and strength. Then he glance back into the menacing eyes of the Sith, who still strutted proudly above him. He forewent anger, summoning instead a deep desire to keep the Darkness contained in the universe. Focusing intensely, his eyes narrowed. He stole a glance at Qui-Gon's lightsaber, using every ounce of his ability to begin to draw the weapon to him. Ignoring the aching in his arms, he rallied every ounce of energy and courage he had, dipping into the Force deeper than he ever had before.
Be mindful of the Living Force. Qui-Gon's voice told him again. Catching the Sith's gaze once more, he could see a flicker of confusion. Time was of the essence. Surprise was paramount. Using the Force, he diverted just enough of its flow to the lightsaber and it began to shudder in response. He had to move. Now.
Expelling all the built up energy he had left, he leaped upward, pushing off with his aching arms, propelled only by the Force. He had never even attempted such a feat before. And as he did so, he called the lightsaber to his hand. In a graceful movement, he landed on his feet behind the Sith, catching the lightsaber with ease he didn't know he possessed. His adrenaline surging, the Force coursing through his veins, he glared at the Sith who could only stared half amazed, half stupefied in return. Then, with one steady and swift movement, he moved the blade, cutting the being across the waist. Pain and shock danced across the Sith's red face, his body wavering just a moment before it fell backwards into the pit. His heart racing, his entire body aching from the exertion, he watched in cold detachment as the Dark being tumbled downward, the two halves twirling separately.
Only a moment passed before he remembered his fallen Master. With numbing extremities, he kneeled beside his master, gently pulling the larger man into his lap, cradling him in his arms.
Qui-Gon's blue eyes looked tired and almost surprised, examining the young man above him with regret. "Obi-Wan…" he whispered softly as though he thought he might be imagining it. Obi-Wan was already using the Force to probe the injury, unabashedly pouring energy into his master's body. Qui-Gon felt it, sensed the futility and said, "It's too late."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No," he insisted, pouring more energy into his master.
The energy had little effect on Qui-Gon's waning consciousness. "Promise me," his voice grated, his eyes searching Obi-Wan's desperate gaze. "Promise me you'll train the boy."
Clenching his jaw together tightly, Obi-Wan fought tears. He couldn't speak. He couldn't give his master this promise.
"He is the Chosen One," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan refocused his efforts, dumping more of his energy into Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon reached a hand out, touching Obi-Wan's cheek lightly. The cheek of his beloved son, the obedient son. Why wouldn't he give the promise? It was one last request. He had always been such an obedient boy—just one last request. He looked beseechingly into Obi-Wan's eyes. "Promise me."
Obi-Wan's lower lip quivered as the promise trembled in the back of his throat reflexively. But he just shook his head. "No…you're going to be alright," he tried to explain, not able to absorb Qui-Gon's request. He released all his self-restraints, allowing his life force to flow without restriction into the dying Master. "You're going to be alright."
Qui-Gon's eyes widened as the energy within him fluctuated unnaturally. "Obi-Wan…," he whispered, his voice tinged with worry. He instinctively tried to tighten his shields as to make the boy's efforts less dangerous.
"Don't fight it, Master," Obi-Wan begged. "I won't let you die."
"It is too late…," Qui-Gon said, his eyes drifting shut. He could not fight it any longer, the energy from Obi-Wan was not enough. He slipped away, his body collapsing lifeless in Obi-Wan's arms.
"No!" Obi-Wan yelled, pulling the limp form of his master closer. Closing his eyes, he dove after his master's essence in the Force, clinging to it fiercely. Obi-Wan felt himself being dragged toward death with Qui-Gon, the injuries overwhelming both of their bodies. For a frightening moment, Obi-Wan teetered on the brink, but he refused to let go. He was losing the battle. Channeling his fear and grief, he converted it into energy reserves, using them to substitute his lack of strength. Pulling himself and Qui-Gon safely from the edge of death, Obi-Wan focused his efforts on the Qui-Gon's wounds. They were still mortal. He had only bought more time. Using every reserve of power he knew of and a few he didn't know he had, he began to mend the wound.
He felt Qui-Gon stir mentally, his essence recuperating enough strength to acknowledge Obi-Wan's presence in his mind. //Obi-Wan…//
Obi-Wan felt the world begin to melt around him as he lost himself to the healing. //You're going to be alright…//
Searching his own body with Force, Qui-Gon realized Obi-Wan had bought them time. Unable to undo what the boy had sacrificed, Qui-Gon eschewed his reprimands and worries and plunged himself into wholeheartedly aiding the healing process. The pain was intense, but it was a searing reminder of his vitality. He was still alive…
Then abruptly the focus shifted. The energy still surrounded him but it lacked movement, no longer mending the lightsaber wound. Qui-Gon scrambled to compensate for the sudden extra weight he had just been forced to bear. //Obi-Wan…?//
The strain had finally overwhelmed the young man. He hadn't even felt the encroaching blackness. He simply lost consciousness, falling back to the cold deck plating, his master's body still in his arms and spread across his chest. Qui-Gon could do nothing to help his apprentice, barely having enough reserves to keep himself going. Every unnecessary thought or movement on his part was costing Obi-Wan. With no way of easing the situation, Qui-Gon chose the best option and slid into an uneasy healing trance.