Disclaimer: I intend no infringement on the rights of Lucasfilm and related affiliates by writing this fic. The Maker owns everything.

Summary: The Republic is in chaos. The Senate is in shambles. The Jedi are in hiding. And through it all, Qui-Gon Jinn will fight to prove that the bonds of love can conquer anything – even the Dark Side. But what happens if he's wrong? The final installment in the Jedi Trials saga.

Author's Notes: I'm terribly sorry for the long delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it.

Turmoil and Sacrifice

By Kekelina

Chapter Six: Light and Love


"Have you seen the latest reports from Coruscant?" Depa Billaba's gentle voice wafted over the Nautolan, immediately calming him. It was a gift she had always carried, being one of the most enlightened Jedi alive.

Not that that means much anymore…

He waved off the datapad she held out in offering. "Yes." He turned from the window to face her, but his amphibian face lacked its trademark grin. It had lacked it for some time now.

"The death toll is catastrophic." Depa sighed, allowing pain to bleed through her shields.

Kit shrugged, the only response for which he had energy. "What did you expect," he bit back before he could stop himself. "They're noncombatants fighting soldiers. Well-trained soldiers," he added, to himself.

He, too, was troubled by the HoloNet reports from Coruscant. They spoke of blood and carnage, of innocents dying as they fought to protect their homes from the beastly grips of Dementor's grand army. No one knew if the helmeted soldiers were under orders from Dementor to do so - no one knew where he was - but every day they gained progress, little by little taking ground, spreading out and down like a raging fire until soon, every level would be completely over-run.

Depa moved to the window, her face illuminated by the waning sunlight, and said with conviction after a thoughtful pause, "They need someone to lead them."

Kit's obsidian eyes regarded her carefully. He was no stranger to the path this conversation had taken. The Council had been debating this matter since the first report from Coruscant had detailed the genocide of the once-grand city-planet. And by debating, he meant arguing, for that had become the latest custom of their council meetings. Their current…situation had left them all too tense and worried to come to conclusions without some emotions leaking through.

Jedi or not, they were only sentient.

"Like a Jedi?"

Depa met his gaze. "Yes."

He nodded slowly. "I agree."


The quickening of a pulse.

The fluttering of eyelids.

And suddenly, brown orbs fearfully scanning unfamiliar terrain.

Supreme Chancellor Padme Amidala was awake.


Across the makeshift medward, Garen Muln watched as the Chancellor was poked and prodded by Healers. He shook his head. Stars, she had just woken up from a coma, yet they insisted on crowding around her like a pack of nexu around a carcass, testing her and monitoring her for Force-knew-what.

Even esteemed Master Yoda could barely get a word in edgewise.

Half a smile crept onto the young Knight's face, but it was quickly vanquished as he was brought back to cold reality by the steady beep! of the monitor beside him. He gazed down at the pale salmon-colored skin of his best friend and sighed.

Wake up, he begged. Please, Bant…

"I won't be surprised if the Healer's send her back into another coma," a familiar voice remarked.

For the first time in weeks, a true smile graced his face, and as he turned to greet his former Master, Clee Rhara, he collapsed into her arms like a young Padawan.

And she, as always, caught him.


The familiar tap, tap of stick on stone alerted Qui-Gon to the arrival of a visitor. The Jedi Master, who had been trying (and failing) to meditate, rose to his feet, though his new mechanical appendage protested, and waved open the door with a small measure of the Force.

On the other side, much to his chagrin, stood Yoda. "Ah, Master Qui-Gon, enjoying your new quarters are you?"

"They suffice," he answered plainly as he waved the Council member into the new housing unit Bail Organa had provided. "It is certainly better than the Med Center."

Yoda made a sound half-way between a grunt and a laugh as he settled himself into one of Qui-Gon's chairs. He remained standing however, a subconscious message to the Jedi Master that he did not expect him to stay long. Yet Yoda looked perfectly content in the chair as an awkward silence fell between them, while Qui-Gon, who had preached patience endlessly to all of his Padawans, began to fidget.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Tea?"

A small, green claw waved him off. "No, no. Something important I have to tell you, Qui-Gon. Yes, something important. Sit you must."

For a moment, the maverick hesitated, then recalling just how many times Yoda's cryptic wisdom had helped him in the past, he sat down across from the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

The venerable Master sighed deeply, his ears seeming to droop in pain. Finally, his large green eyes met Qui-Gon's, and the Force seemed to flow around them like a gently bopping lake.

"Drive out darkness, darkness cannot; only light can that do. Drive out hate, hate cannot. Only love."

"Master?"

"Many things have I seen, Qui-Gon, many things. But this…" He sighed despairingly and shook head. "Wrong we were," he muttered softly. "Destruction it caused. Suffering." His large green eyes pointedly met the Jedi's. "Hate."

As the meaning of the conversation dawned on him, anger boiled up inside him; he quickly dampened it, breaking his gaze and clenching his fist in a rare physical expression of emotion.

With a knowing "hmm," Yoda slid out of the chair, his lips pursed in quiet musings. Qui-Gon remained tense with anger, but when the soft footstep stopped at the door, his head turned to find the Jedi Master gazing sadly at him. "Know you what I say is true, Qui-Gon," he said.


Nar Shaddaa hummed with the Dark Side of the Force.

He had felt that before he had even stepped off the transport onto the festering, filth-ridden home felons and refuges, slaves and crime lords. It roared through his veins like a raging river of hate, feeding his own emotions festering inside of him.

The toxic environment only added to the dark aura of the Smuggler's Moon. And if that didn't warn the do-gooding citizens of the Republic to stay away, then the inhabitants would. No one came to Nar Shaddaa unless they were on the run…or looking for someone.

And Darth Dementor just happened to be doing both.

It was not hard to locate Popara the Hutt amidst the muck and grime of what had been dubbed "Little Coruscant." The Hutt had built a rather large financial empire over the years and lived in an ornate, sky-scraping spire among the putrid chemical clouds with the rest of the ever-rising skyline.

But apparently money couldn't buy everything. His guards had hardly been a challenge…

"Ah'chu apenkee?" the slimy sack demanded in a booming voice as the Sith Lord swaggered in nonchalantly. His noxious eyes gazed the room in a matter of seconds and finally rested upon three Twi'lek slaves gathered around Popara's mass of drudge as if he could protect them. A sinister smile curved his lips. The slaves were Force-sensitive. How interesting…

"I'm a friend…for now," he answered in Basic, the hint of a threat in his words. "I'm looking for someone, and it's to my knowledge that he's here."

"Coo?"

"Juke Halar."

Popara laughed deeply again, his tail twitching in amusement. Dementor, however, did not take kindly to being mocked, and a solitary eyebrow raised in dangerous tolerance. "Soong peetch alay."

"And why's that?"

The explanation that followed went so quickly and was far too complicated for Dementor's meager learnings in Huttese to translate it all himself, but from the sounds of it, Popara was not happy with Juke. Oh no, the adjectives that had been interjected were definitely not the friendly sort.

"I didn't quite catch all that. He…left?"

"Tagwa."

Kriffing piece of -

"How long ago?"

Popara replied in Huttese, "A few standard months ago."

Red clouded his vision as spikes of anger shot through his body. He allowed it to tense his muscles until it became difficult to breathe. He had hit a dead end; Juke could be anywhere in the galaxy by now. But he swore on the Force, that when he found that son of a bantha, he would murder the Neimoidian slime ball in the blink of an eye. He was tired of playing this game.

A door to his left slid open and two slightly smaller, yet no less slimy Hutts crawled through with a blast of familiarity. Within the Force, Dementor could feel the smaller of the two and knew he was Force-sensitive as well. He harbored dark emotions beneath his flabby face; they roiled in captivity. How Dementor longed to set them free…

" - and these are my exalted sons," Popara was saying in Huttese, "Zonnos Anjiliac Priare and Mika Anjiliac Chiera."

The Force-sensitive, Mika, flared in annoyance within the Force. After a brief, thoughtful pause, Dementor smiled wickedly.

"O Great One," he began with more than a hint of sarcasm, "since my searches have brought me to an impasse, I require a place to stay until I can continue my search for Halar."

"Nobata."

The Sith Lord's cruel yellow eyes, crusted red with the blood of his many victims, narrowed dangerously. He waved his hand. "You will give me a place to stay."

Popara repeated him.

He waved his hand again. "You won't tell anyone that I'm here."

Again, Popara repeated him.

Satisfied, Dementor smiled, and so pleased with himself, he ignored the slight disturbance in the Force.


The Other Author's Notes: Just a couple random notes:
- The quote about light and love that Yoda tells Qui-Gon was actually spoken by Martin Luther King, Jr. I fell in love with it, thought it fit perfectly, then translated it into Yoda's syntax.
- Forgive me if the Huttese isn't perfect; I have never claimed to be fluent. The translations are as follows:
-"Ah'chu apenkee?" - Who are you?
-"Coo?" - Who?
-"Soong peetch alay." - It's too late.
-"Tagwa." - Yes.
-"Nobata." - No.

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