Author's Note: Mesa back. This chapter was kind of challenging one to write, so I hope it turned out fine. My grandmother had a stroke and she's in the hospital, so I've been sort of distracted lately. (If anyone has time, I would really appreciate it if you said a quick prayer for her.)
Reviewers will be rewarded with miniature Nubian starfighters like the one Anakin used to take out the Droid Control Ship while supplies last. If you hate flying, like Obi-Wan and I, you can have a free batch of cinnamon waffles with pumpkin butter instead. Not that I'm trying to bribe anyone into reviewing or anything corrupt like that:) After all, I'm not a politician.
Triumph or Tragedy
Liberated from the force field at last, I charged out of the service tunnel into the chamber that contained the melting pit, as thirsty for blood as an acklay in an execution arena. Abandoning any pretense of self-control or caution, I barreled into the Sith Lord with such fury that I almost knocked both of us off the ledge and into the abyss. However, the near death of myself as well as my adversary had as much impact on my combat strategy as a diki feather ramming into a permacrete wall would.
I continued to lash out at the Sith Lord with my lightsaber as if my own life was as valuable as counterfeit money. Only avenging Qui-Gon mattered to me now. I was lost in a fiery haze of ire and frustration, consumed by my grief at Qui-Gon's falling and my overpowering guilt at being unable to prevent it― at being the ultimate pathetic lifeform.
Wrong-footed by my manic assault, the Sith Lord was borne backward by my initial rush. Buoyed on by a savage triumph, I pushed him all the way back to the far wall of the melting pit. There the Sith struggled to keep me at bay, striving to open enough space between us to defend himself.
Our lightsabers scraped and grated against each other, and the room resounded with our wrath. Lunging and twisting, the Sith Lord regained the offensive and counterattacked, employing both blades of his weapon in an effort to chop my legs out from under me.
However, while I was not as experienced as my Master, I was younger and quicker. Anticipating each blow before it landed, I was able to elude my opponent's endeavors to bring me down.
Our titanic battle carried us around the perimeter of the melting pit and into the nooks and alcoves beyond― into the shadowed recesses and around smoky pillars and pipe housing. Once, the Sith hammered at me with such furious determination that he scorched my tunic. It was only by countering with an up-thrust at my foe's midsection that I was capable of escaping.
We fought our way back toward the force field riddled corridor, past my Master's still form which I couldn't bring myself to look at, and into a tangle of vent tubes and circuit housings. Steam burst from ruptured pipes, and the air was chocked with the acrid odor of roasted wiring resulting from the damage our sizzling weapons inflicted upon our helpless environment.
The Sith Lord commenced utilizing his command upon the Force to fling heavy objects at me, attempting to hurl me off balance and to disrupt the flow of my attack. I responded in kind, and the air was soon so filled with lethal missiles that it appeared a tornado was whirling about in the chamber. Our lightsabers flicked right and left as we warded off the objects, and the clash of errant metal careening off stone walls formed an eerie shriek in the gloom.
The battle wore on and for a time it proceeded evenly. However, as much as I loathed to admit it, the Sith Lord was the superior warrior and was fueled by a frenzy that surpassed even my own frantic determination. Gradually, the Sith wore me down. Bit by bit, he pressed me back, striving to catch me off guard.
I could feel my body weakening, and my fear of what it would mean if I, too, were to fall at the hands of my foe, increased exponentially, as insidious as a fatal virus. I won't fail, I growled at myself. I will not fail again. I will avenge Qui-Gon. My enemy will meet his end upon my blade.
Sensing my opportunity slipping through my fingers like water through a clenched fist and aware that my strength was waning, I mounted a final assault. I rushed the Sith Lord with a series of side-strikes designed to manipulate the two-bladed lightsaber into a horizontal position. Then, I feigned an attack to my adversary's left and brought my lightsaber over and down with enough power that I severed his weapon in half. Every cell in my body screaming in exaltation at my victory, I sliced at the Sith Lord's horned head, a killing blow…and missed entirely.
My foe, expecting the maneuver, had stepped adroitly out of the way. Discarding half of his cut weapon, he counterattacked rapidly, lashing out at me with enough force that I toppled sideways. Quickly, he struck me again, harder still, and this time I lost my footing completely and tumbled over the edge of the pit, my lightsaber sailing out of my grasp.
For an instant that seemed to hold centuries, I was falling, descending into the darkness of the pit. Desperately, I reached out a flailing hand and managed to grab a metal rung about five meters below the lip of the pit.
There I hung, helpless, gazing up into the grotesque, leering face of the Sith Lord. Great. Of all the practically infinite locations in the galaxy, why was I always sentenced to inhabit the worst one? Ah, but my situation was looking up now because my lightsaber had just rattled past me into the depths of the abyss. Why hadn't I listened to Qui-Gon better when he had instructed me that a Jedi's existence was intimately liked to the fate of his or her lightsaber?
Maybe it was beneficial that I was hanging onto this nozzle, though. Sure, the scenery was not wonderful and I would probably be dead soon, but, after all, it did provide me with the invaluable opportunity to examine my folly. All of it. It was only now, when I was about to die, that I realized what an idiot I had been throughout my combat with the Sith after my Master had fallen. I had been battling the Sith Lord from a blazing nebula of emotional instability rather than from a firm foundation of self-control.
No wonder the Sith Lord had gobbled me up like an akk dog would a chew toy since he was trained to employ his feelings in a fight as fuel, whereas I had been taught to accept and release them so that they would not become a distraction. With no training in the Dark Side, there was no way I could have beaten the Sith Lord at his own game, and I was obviously not the brightest sentient in the galaxy by several decimal places if it had taken me this long to recognize as much. Besides, I shouldn't have wanted to win at the cost of everything I was because such a victory would really only have been a failure. There was a line that no Jedi should ever cross and I had come dangerously close to doing so.
I had broken the rules, and they had almost shattered me. However, they hadn't destroyed me entirely. No, they had given me a second chance to adhere to the Code, which was even more important to follow when one didn't wish to, I realized suddenly. After all, it was easy to abide by the regulations when they functioned in your favor but the true test of character was if you could stick to them even when they contradicted your own petty desires. Rules were the devices that prevented you from falling over the edge into the Dark Side. They also allowed you to make the jump from strong to mighty by providing you with the means to govern yourself. A strong person was one who could vanquish others, and a mighty being was one who could conquer himself― specifically, his worst attributes. I should have followed the rules and then I wouldn't have been in this unenviable position.
That didn't mean that I was wrong to fight the Sith or even attempt to kill him, though. Although I had erred grievously when I had attempted to kill the Sith Lord to avenge Qui-Gon in order to satisfy my own base compulsion for vengeance, I had not been misguided in my goal. The Jedi Code dictated that I had to kill the Sith because he was a threat to the galaxy that could not be permitted to thrive, a menace that must be nipped in the bud.
To many, it would seem a trivial academic finepoint that was of minimal consequence since the net result was identical. However, to me, to any Jedi, this distinction made a solar system worth of difference.
Now I had had to devise a manner in which to fulfill my obligation to the Jedi and the Galactic Republic as a whole, and, given the situation I was in presently, that would doubtlessly be a piece of sweetcake as my friend Garen would assert. Well, if there was no pain, there was no gain, I reminded myself grimly.
Then, an idea rammed into my mind with all the inertia of an out-of-control speeder crashing into a skytower at sixty kilometers an hour. I wasn't the only one who had dropped my weapon in the course of this epic battle. My Master's was still lying upon the alloy floor and if I could summon it with the Force, then…Yes, I knew that no Jedi or Sith ever fought as well with another's lightsaber as they were personal, handcrafted devices but now was no time for technicalities. Besides, if my scheme succeeded, then it would hardly matter, and if it failed, I would hardly be worse off than I currently was. Any weapon at all was better than none, and I couldn't hang on to the nozzle indefinitely since I could already feel my muscles weakening.
Eyes riveted on the Sith Lord, I slipped deep inside myself, connecting more fully with the Force than I ever had in my life. Calming my mind and steadying my pounding heart, I finally managed to banish my anger and fear and call upon the last reserves of my strength. Then, not thinking and just trusting in the Force, I launched myself away from the nozzle and catapulted back towed the lip of the pit.
Imbued with the power of the Force, I cleared the rim easily and somersaulted to land behind the Sith Lord in one fluid motion. As I jumped, I drew my Master's lightaber to me. When I touched down, it smacked into my palm, and I had it activated in a fraction of a second.
Shock and wrath contorting his features so that they were even more nauseating than usual, the Sith Lord pivoted to confront me. But he was already too late. We live and die on seconds, and he had been a millisecond too slow on the uptake. The moment he took to relish his victory cost him his life, because before he could act to save himself, I had slashed Qui-Gon's lightsaber through his chest.
That was probably the worst heartburn of his life, assuming that he had a heart, of course, I observed mentally as my stricken foe howled in a combination of agony and incredulity. Then, I watched, still stunned by how the Force had worked its will through me, as my opponent's eyes glazed over and he toppled into the abyss. He didn't find a nozzle to clutch, and I felt the tremors in the Force as he died like tidal waves. Well, there was a death that wouldn't be discussed in the obituaries―more like in the neighborhood improvements section of every newspaper.
Yet, even though I knew that I had slain a virtual paradigm of evil, now that my ire had evaporated, I felt grief for the Sith's wasted life. He had obviously been strong in the Force, so what might he have amounted to if he hadn't been corrupted by the Dark Side? What could he have accomplished if he hadn't been trapped by his own desires? What might he have achieved if he hadn't been enslaved by his own greed, thirst for domination, and hatred? I guess that I would never know, and now was not the time to ruminate upon the matter.
"Master!" I cried, thumbing off the lightsaber and racing over to my mentor's side as I finally regained some semblance of my senses.
"It's too late," Qui-Gon choked out the horrible truth that I did not want to hear because then I might have to acknowledge it as reality. I did not wish to face the fact that he could die after I had done everything in my power to save him. I did not desire to see how helpless we all were― how little we could do to protect our fellow creatures. I should have learned this lesson before, but it had never been impressed on me like this before since I had never cared about another being's survival as much as I did now. "It's―"
"No!" I cut across him vehemently. He couldn't die. Not here, not now. It wasn't fair. The galaxy needed him too much, the Jedi needed him too much, and I needed him too much. The final thought had been driven into my head during my battle with the Sith Lord since I had witnessed then how much power the Dark Side still possessed over me. Only Qui-Gon could show me how to ruin the Dark Side's hold upon me.
"Obi-Wan, promise―" My Master labored to get the words out and when I could feel the effort he was making not to yield to the call of the Force yet, I knew that he was right and I was wrong again. He was dying, and there was indeed nothing I could do to prevent it. I had failed him. "Promise me you'll train the boy."
"Yes, Master." I nodded eagerly and offered the vow instantly, thinking that this was an opportunity to succeed and redeem myself for my failure to rescue him. For once, I promised something without weighing the implications of giving my word. At that moment, I would have done or pledged to do anything if there was even a millionth of a chance that it would ease his suffering. I would have flown to the end of the universe and back again for him, and I despised flying. Flying was for droids and imbeciles, and I was neither, or that was what I liked to tell myself, at any rate.
His face had a gray undertone like cold grain mush that announced more clearly than a flashing neon holoprojection that he was dying, and his voice, like his Life Force, was ebbing. Dimly, I recognized that someone or several beings were cheering in the distance, and I was compelled to lean closer to hear his parting sentiments. We must have won the war, I noted dispassionately as Qui-Gon mustered the energy to whisper, "He is the Chosen One. He will…bring balance. Train him!"
Still hardly cognizant of what I was doing, I nodded dumbly. He could have just established that there was no such thing as gravity, and I would have agreed with equal fervor. Satisfied, Qui-Gon relaxed and stretched out a hand to stroke my face. However, his hand was stopped when the life in him faded entirely, surrendering to the will of the Force at last, and, for the second time in the course of a handful of minutes, a tsunami of death washed over me in the Force, prompting me to quiver in sympathy.
It didn't matter that his fingers had not actually touched my face, though. The attempted gesture was as eloquent as the touch would have been. I knew that by reaching out to stoke my face, he was not only expressing his love for me― he was also trying to comfort me. Even when he was passing away, he reached out to me, striving to soothe me.
But even he couldn't console me now that he was dead and gone from me forever. Gone. Since Jedi accepted death as the wish of the Force, I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept, but I had little success in the endeavor as I kept running into barriers in my head. How could someone as strong and as full of life as my Master had been perish so quickly? How could someone whom I had confided in, went into battle beside, and argued with be here one minute and gone the next?
Yes, I had witnessed deaths before and some of them had torn my soul asunder but no grief I had ever experienced could rival the pain that was coursing through me now that the denial and shock were losing their numbing dominance over me. Qui-Gon was really dead. I would never be able to seek his guidance, tease him, or be gently mocked by him again. Now it really slammed into me just how much I depended upon his wisdom, serenity, and confidence. It was only when I had lost him forever that I realized how much I had taken the man for granted. After all, you didn't appreciate the miracle that was water until you were lost in the middle of the Tatooine desert with no oasis in sight.
I was glad that my Master and I had been reconciled before Qui-Gon had died, but I wished now that I had the foresight to tell him in the swamp yesterday when I apologized to him how much I valued him. Yet, how could I have done so when I hadn't really understood how special my Master was to me?
Regret at my stupidity pulsed through me, ripping me apart more effectively than an acklay would have. Then, Qui-Gon's voice rose inside my brain: "You must accept your regrets the way you accept your mistakes, and then move on, Padawan."
Wonderful. Now his voice was added to the cacophony inside my head, because the shouting of all my multiple personalities obviously was not enough of a problem for the relatively sane me to contend with. Wait, I think I meant it when I said it was wonderful that Qui-Gon's voice was inside my head, because it meant that he wasn't entirely gone from me since I still had the benefit of his wisdom. He had imparted that gem to me after some mission to― I didn't remember where to actually when I considered the matter, nor did I recall what exactly it was I had rued. Well, that just displayed how insignificant the issue was when placed in appropriate proportion by the power of time, which eventually conquered everything. Still, I was pretty sure that I would never forget my Master's death and the regret I felt at it.
Furthermore, I still wished that I had told Qui-Gon how much I cared about him. However, would it have made any difference if I had? I wondered dimly through my sobs. Granted, it would have impacted me and my almighty conscience, but would it have mattered to Qui-Gon?
No, I reasoned firmly, as I made an effort to dry my eyes and then recognized that it was a fruitless endeavor since my grief had not yet run its course and no doubt more tears would just surface to replace the old ones. Qui-Gon was aware of how much I cared about him, just as I understood how much I meant to him. I had to trust that he comprehended my love for him the same way he trusted me to see how much he loved me.
And we had loved each other like father and son, I thought as a new spasm of sobs wracked through me as a million memories swept over me, overwhelming my mind and senses. I recalled our two trips to Ragoon-6 and our training missions there, which had only increased the bond between us. I remembered how he had slipped me one of Manex's best pastries on New Apsolon during our mission there when I was sixteen. I recalled how he had always been able to surprise me with a quick quip in the middle of even the most serious missions. All of this I recalled indiscriminately and in no discernable order, permitting a deluge of memories to swell through me, hoping for a catharsis of some sort.
When it came, I would inform the Queen of Qui-Gon's and the Sith Lord's deaths. I would also have to report to the Council as well and somehow arrange to train Skywalker as a Jedi like I had sworn to Qui-Gon that I would do. For now, though, I would focus only on absorbing my grief and then moving on once I had regained my composure as befitted a mature Jedi, which is what I would have to be now that my Master was gone.
I wasn't certain of how long I knelt beside my dead Master before three beings, slinking along in the shadows, crept into the chamber. Glancing up at them through a haze of pain, although the mist of tears was now thankfully banished, as the Force warned my of their entry, I saw that the newcomers were Captain Panaka, Eritae, and a Naboo security officer. All of them had their blasters drawn as they snuck in. However, when they noticed that it was only me and my late Master in the room, they lowered their guns.
"We came to investigate," Captain Panaka educated me gruffly even though my mind was still too clouded by grief to wonder about their presence. "You and Qui-Gon were gone for awhile, and we wanted to ascertain if that Zabrak was still a threat to Her Highness."
"He's not," I declared, my voice harsher than it typically was, owing to the pain I was struggling to come to terms with. Waving my hand at the pit, I elaborated, "He toppled down there after I sliced through his chest with my lightsaber. If the blow didn't kill him, then the fall would have."
"You're positive of this?" demanded Captain Panaka.
"Of course, I felt it in the Force," I responded.
When I mentioned this supernatural entity, Captain Panaka's habitual glower intensified, and he opened his mouth perhaps to question the validity of the revelations it brought about. However, Eritae intervened, her tone soft but with a hint of durasteel underlying it, "Captain Panaka, you have investigated the scene and seen that only Kenobi is present. Surely, you don't believe that he is any threat to the Queen?"
"No, I don't," acknowledged Captain Panaka grudgingly, "but…"
"Then go report to Her Highness," interrupted Eritae. "Doubtlessly, she will want to hear your report as soon as possible since it will be an incredible relief for her to hear that she is safe at last, and you know how much she detests being kept waiting."
"Where will you be?" scowled Panaka.
"Here," Eritae replied, her chin jutting out stubbornly.
"Very well," snapped Captain Panaka after a few second's consideration. To the other Naboo security guard, he barked, "Come on, solider. Let's not take all day to report to our Queen."
"I'm terribly sorry," Eritae murmured as she settled herself delicately on the alloy floor beside me once Captain Panaka and other Naboo sentry departed. Her quintberry eyes filled with tears as she glanced at my Master and admitted, "I didn't really know him that well at all, but he died for the rest of the Naboo and me. That makes him a hero in my opinion. After all, it's the greatest expression of love to lay down one's life for another, and he must have had a tremendous love of all sentients if he could do so for thousands of beings he had never met. Many people wouldn't even be able to summon up the courage to die for a fried or a family member and look at what he did."
"He was very in sync with the Living Force so he seemed to regard all organisms as his family on some level," I answered, reflecting upon just how much I admired the man I referred to. Even before I was chosen as his Padawan, I had revered him, and I had never lost that awe because he was one of those rare childhood heroes that grew instead of shrank in one's esteem as more was revealed about him. "He was a great Jedi― and a good man. If I become half the Jedi or half the man that he was, I'll deem myself as having led a good life."
Now that my contact with humanity had been restored, I decided that it would be a fine opportunity to confirm my suspicions that we had won the battle of Naboo, even though I felt more like I had endured a massive defeat rather than a marvelous triumph.
"So, we beat the Trade Federation then?" I inquired.
"Yes." A grin split Eritae's features. "We won. That Skywalker lad shot down the Droid Control Ship and we captured the viceroy without any real incident. I loathe warfare, but at least this war ended quickly."
"Yes, at least it's all over now," I assented. My tone was more than a little absent because I was truly considering Skywalker for the first time since I had made my oath to Qui-Gon. Obviously, he had incredible skills with the Force if he had achieved such a feat at such a young age, and he must indeed be quite a pilot.
Yet, the thought of his gifts and his sheer power terrified me. In effect, I had pledged that I would take Skywalker as my Padawan when I had promised to train him, not merely ensure that the Council had him educated as a Jedi. How could I possibly instruct Skywalker adequately when I had barely emerged from training myself? Hadn't I just proven that it was difficult enough for me to control myself, nonetheless an apprentice?
Force knew, I was planning on taking a Padawan once I had been a Jedi Knight for several years and had experience. Still, even then, I wouldn't have selected someone as powerful as Skywalker as my test dummy. While I was flattered that my Master had enough faith in me and my abilities to entrust his final project to me, I couldn't help but wish that he hadn't. It was too much of a responsibility too soon, although I would do my best to live up to my Master's expectations. I had always done so and I wasn't about to stop now. Besides, training Skywalker was an opportunity to redeem myself for my previous failure, and I would not allow myself to mess up again. Somehow I would succeed.
This thought afforded me enough motivation and inspiration to shove myself to my feet. "I have got to tell the Queen and the Jedi Council what happened," I remarked as I rose.
"I'll inform the Queen of your Master's sacrifice," stated Eritae, sounding genuinely interested in helping me, which was odd for a politician, since most beings in that industry had as little interest in assisting their fellow inhabitants of the galaxy as a serial killer had in aiding his victims. "That's assuming, of course, that Captain Panaka hasn't broken the news to her with his typical sensitivity, which is approximately that which a vibrosword displays when decapitating somebody. You deal with filling in your Council. That is enough of a task fro someone who has just suffered the loss of a friend."
Perhaps I should have argued with her, but I didn't because Qui-Gon's death had left me drained. Therefore, instead of protesting, I bobbed my head in affirmation, summoned up all my resolution, and went away to contact the Jedi Council to inform them that my Master had perished. After all, I had grieved long enough for the moment. Further examination of my conscience could come later after the inevitable nightmares of my Master's death scene that would probably haunt me for a very long time visited me. For now, though, I had a duty to perform, and I would fulfill my obligations. After all, I had nothing better to do and doing my duty might fill the void inside me. It was worth a shot anyway, since nothing could possibly make me feel any worse than I did at the moment.