Disclaimer: All belongs to the great and powerful Mouse.

A/N: I am so unbelievably sorry for the unexpected loooong hiatus from this story and all my stories! I cannot guarantee timely weekly updates like I used to give, but I don't think I will be disappearing on you for a couple of years again. Fingers crossed!

A/N 2: Big thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta Maevependergast. I still couldn't resist tweaking somethings so all mistakes found here are mine.

Thanks:

Deletethisaccountasssoonaspossi: You are indeed correct, Agondi Mortata is my twist on Latin. And yes, I do tend to send my Jedi into some dark places, but how else are they going to grow? As to Vresh falling… well, I guess you will just have to keep reading….

SUPER Thanks:

Leolina: This ultra-rare, super thanks goes out to Leolina whose touching review/comment gave this writer the literary kick-in-the- $$ I needed to get writing again. Or to at least try… Yoda's opinion aside. So, thank you, Leolina, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Please R&R!

~LOST~

Chapter 4 – Bruised Skin and Bad Dreams

It was a silent and long night for both Jedi within the Jinn/Kenobi quarters. After Mace left, Qui-Gon had checked on his apprentice only to find the boy lying in bed and staring at the wall. Another admonishment to rest and a moderate Force suggestion, and the boy was sent into a deep and hopefully dreamless sleep. From there, the master had settled himself in his favorite chair with his favorite flavor tea steaming in a mug in one hand, an unfinished tome detailing the rise and fall of the Calusari Empire sat open in the other. Neither comfort had held his attention for very long. Instead, his eyes, much like his padawan's had, stayed fixed on the little brownish stain on the carpet.

Such a little thing. A spot. A simple stain. One of many this carpet had seen in the several decades that Qui-Gon had called these quarters home. He sat both his tea and his book on the low table, finally and formally giving up on both endeavors. He rose from his chair and took a single, long stride to offending mark. He knelt gracefully, despite the audible pop of one knee, and reached out, one hand hovering just above the discolored patch of carpet. He had no gift for psychometry, but even so some events were so intense, so traumatic within the Force that the echoes of energy left were detectable to those without the talent.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and centered himself in the Force. He cast his senses out, focused narrowly on the small space under his hand. He plunged his awareness deep into the Force, searching… searching… and finding nothing. With a sigh mixed with frustration and more relief than the master wanted to admit even to himself, Qui-Gon rose from the floor both knees creaking in protest this time. Force, I'm getting old he thought as he straightened his back in a long stretch. A sharp, sudden pain lanced through his head sending him back to his knees before he could think. One hand on the carpet for balance, another at his head, Qui-Gon forced himself to breathe, to focus. A moment later, he was able to move past the pain, to see through it to its source. As suspected, the pain was not his own but had reached from across the bond he shared with his padawan. In an instant, the master was on his feet and crossing the floor to Obi-Wan's room. The door slid open too slowly for his taste, but he was finally allowed admittance into the smaller bedroom. Obi-Wan was still in his bed, covers thrown clear of his body. The boy was curled into a seemingly impossibly tight, protective ball, his entire thin frame shaking and shivering. Qui-Gon sat down on the short sleep couch, pulling the shorter body into his lap and against his chest. Obi-Wan had yet to uncurl from his huddle, had yet to wake.

"Padawan, wake up. Wake up. You're dreaming. It's just dream, Padawan," he spoke near the boy's ear but Obi-Wan did not or could not hear him. Qui-Gon reached for through their bond to try again, but the moment he touched Obi-Wan's mind he was assaulted by wave after wave of pain… no, not simple pain. This was agony. It was nearly overwhelming and Qui-Gon had to actively fight his way through the encompassing wash of torment to find any real sense of his apprentice within the maelstrom.

/Padawan! Hear me!/

/Adaen, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!/

Qui-Gon tightened his physical grip around his apprentice even as his mental self pushed harder into the boy's mind.

/Padawan! Obi-Wan! Wake up!/

/You're a worthless piece of offal! You're a monster! Only someone truly dark could do something like that! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't want to! Monster! Darksider! Worthless boy! I'm sorry!/

The caustic self-recriminations surprised Qui-Gon. True, he knew of his padawan's tendency towards brooding and guilt, the insecurity he still carried inside him that was so easily and deeply exploited by Xanatos, but the level of vehemence and poison in Obi-Wan's subconscious thoughts nearly sent the master into a state of terrified horror. Spurred on by the hard-headed, bantha-stubborn determination he was known for, Qui-Gon expanded his presence within Obi-Wan's mind until he was smothering the boy's thoughts with his own. Normally, this would be an incredible violation of his padawan's privacy and autonomy, but it was a necessary evil.

/Obi-Wan, you are in danger. You must wake. That is an order, Padawan! You will wake. NOW!/

The small body in his arms jerked and gasped as a coppery-haired head shot up and eyes the color of an overcast sky opened.

"Wha…" the head turned back and forth, scanning the darkness for threats. Seeing none, the boy's gaze turned up to his master. "Master, what… what happened? What's going on?"

"You were suffering a night terror. I had difficulty waking you," Qui-Gon replied, surprising even himself with the evenness of his voice. Just because the master was terrified did not mean he would force that fear upon his apprentice. Obi-Wan's brow wrinkled and his head tilted down. It was only then that the boy seemed to take notice of their relative positions. He scrambled out of Qui-Gon's lap, planting a sharp, bony elbow in the master's sternum in his haste to move. He didn't stop until he was standing in thoroughly rumbled sleepwear by the edge of the bed.

"Master, I'm sorry."

"Then you're wasting your time. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But," Obi-Wan began, his arms held straight against his sides and his hands curled into fists. He was still trembling slightly. "But, I disturbed your sleep with a silly nightmare. I'm too old to,"

Qui-Gon held his hand up in a silencing gesture and the boy's jaw snapped shut so quickly his master thought the boy must have done harm to himself.

"Firstly, come here, Padawan. I have no wish to speak to you from across the room," he said and, as expected, the apprentice dutifully, if reluctantly, moved closer to his master. A beckoning hand brought the boy closer still, until he was finally within the master's reach. Qui-Gon, sensing the child would draw no closer, took him by the hand and pulled the boy over to sit beside him on the bed. "Now," Qui-Gon began as he placed their clasped hands on Obi-Wan's knee. "Let us begin by clearing up some misconceptions. One, you did not disturb my sleep as I had not yet retired, but even if I had I am your master and your care is my responsibility. I take that very seriously, so if you have a problem that needs to be addressed that calls me from my rest, I will leave it behind happily to attend to you, my Padawan.

"Two," the master continued "that was no nightmare you experienced, though you would be entitled to those had it been so. That was a night terror, Padawan, and quite a powerful one if it was so difficult for you to wake."

"I don't understand," Obi-Wan replied, a line between his brow appearing. "What difference is there between a nightmare and a night terror?"

"That is a very good question, my apprentice. For most, the distinction is quite fine. A nightmare typically involves vivid dreaming, dreams that the dreamer often remembers upon waking. A night terror, on the other hand, is not a dream but a feeling. Night terrors conjure intense feelings of panic, fear, or general distress and, in this, the dreamer is often found to be difficult to wake," Qui-Gon answered then he paused as he turned to face his padawan more directly. "But for a Jedi, things are quite different.

"As a rule, Obi-Wan, you know that Jedi do not dream, not truly. Therefore, when a Jedi experiences nightmares it is most usually a past trauma, a present fear, or a future tragedy. In all other ways, it is precisely as it is for non-Jedi. But night terrors," he paused looking straight into the still gray eyes of his apprentice, "that is a different matter entirely. A Jedi in the throes of a night terror can still access the Force. He or she could use it without being aware of their actions. What's more, a Jedi can sometimes be so deeply enmeshed in the state of terror that he or she withdraws into their own minds resulting in a coma or worse.

"So, you see, my Padawan, I was greatly concerned to find you in such a state," Qui-Gon finished. If anything, Obi-Wan looked more panicked than before. Qui-Gon squeezed the small hand still ensconced in his own. "I do not tell you this to frighten you further, only so you understand that seeking comfort and safety after such an experience is nothing to be embarrassed about. Which brings me to my last correction point and that is, you can never be too old to seek out comfort, Obi-Wan. And I hope you know that you can always come to me when you need it."

It was then that Obi-Wan finally looked away. He studied the fraying hem of his sleep tunic, picking at a loose string. Qui-Gon allowed the silence for several minutes, but when it became obvious that Obi-Wan was not going to say anything more (hells, the boy hadn't even looked up from that damn string) he thought it might be time to broach a particularly touchy subject.

"Obi-Wan," he rumbled, and the boy looked up. "There is something I wanted to discuss with you."

"Of course, Master," the boy replied. He sat still now, looking up Qui-Gon attentively. The master opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut almost as quickly as Obi-Wan had only minutes earlier. He looked at his padawan, really looked at him. The boy was still a bit underweight from his time with Xanatos, though thankfully the muscle tremors and weakness had finally abated. His complexion was wan, but that could be more from the night terror than the trauma in general. Bruised circles were present under his eyes, those slate gray eyes that told of his constant unease. He still had a limp, but that was more in remembrance of the injury than any unhealed portion remaining. And there were still the nightmares, the paralyzing fear, the multitude of physical scars, the guilt… Suddenly, Qui-Gon felt as tired as Obi-Wan looked.

"It's alright," he said patting Obi-Wan's knee and even managing a smile. "It will keep 'til morning. Try to get some rest."

The furrow in Obi-Wan's brow deepened.

"But Master," he started but Qui-Gon stopped him with a shake of his head. He raised a single finger and smoothed out the boy's wrinkled brow.

"It will keep, Padawan," he repeated then stood and began collecting the discarded bed clothes and remaking the sleep couch. Once he was done, he directed Obi-Wan under the covers and tucked him in as he might any one of the initiates in the creche. Judging by the expression Obi-Wan wore the similarity was not appreciated.

"Never too old, my Padawan. Never too old," Qui-Gon smile more genuinely and to his great delight Obi-Wan returned it with a tiny smile of his own.

"Yes, Master. Goodnight, Master."

"Goodnight, Padawan. Sleep well," Qui-Gon murmured placing a kiss to the child's head. He then left the room and headed to his own bed to seek his own rest. Please, sleep well, he said to himself. He wasn't sure if he meant it as a plea or prayer, but he did hope it was answered.

Morning came eventually, as it always does. Qui-Gon rose with the dawn stiffly, his mind instantly alert, his joints less so. The small aches of age were enough to convince him that it would acceptable to forego his usual morning meditation in favor a good hot shower.

By the time he stepped out of the refresher, the master was dressed and ready for the day. He stepped into the common room expecting to find it empty (his padawan was not an early riser) but to his surprise, and consternation, the boy was seated on the floor before the stain. Obi-Wan was still dressed for bed, clothing rumbled, his hair in short spikes or smashed flat in turns. It would have been quite the endearing look were the effect not marred by the haunted look in the boy's eyes. Qui-Gon pursed his lips tightly. Something would have to be done about that and that something would start right now.

"You're up early, Padawan," he said casually as he moved more fully into the room. Obi-Wan glanced up, obviously noting his master's arrival. That, at least, is an improvement, the old man thought somewhat wryly.

"Good morning, Master," was the glum reply. The master's presence now acknowledged, Obi-Wan returned his gaze to the small patch of carpet. Qui-Gon ignored the shift in focus and resumed his course to their small kitchen. He began removing items from the cabinets and cold storage to prepare their firstmeal. From the kitchen he called out to his apprentice.

"Firstmeal will be ready in ten minutes, Padawan. Go shower and get dressed."

There was no reply, but Qui-Gon did hear the soft padding of bare feet moving away from him and then the hiss-snick of a door being closed. By the time he was cracking three large Corellian kestrel eggs over a bowl, he could hear the sound of running water. The shower ended about the time Qui-Gon was browning the wayla root, so it was as he was setting two plates on the small dining table that a more presentable padawan reentered the common room.

"Well-timed, Padawan. Have a seat," Qui-Gon said as he pulled out his own chair. Obi-Wan gave no reply but obeyed with only a glance or two at the accursed stain. Thankfully, the boy's usual seat at the table positioned him so that his back was to the mark and only a large and obvious turn of his head would allow him an angle with which to view the spot. The meal was consumed quietly which was not wholly unusual as the pair had often eaten or worked in a comfortable silence, but the silence that filled the air between them this morning was anything but comfortable. Qui-Gon speared a large slice of wayla root with his fork then began cutting it into smaller chunks with his knife. Obi-Wan pushed a bit of scrambled eggs around in a tight circle.

"It may not be an extravagant meal, but I assure you it is quite edible," he said as he brought a bit of egg to his mouth. Obi-Wan looked up from his plate with slightly wide eyes.

"What?" the boy asked clearly confused by his master's comment. Qui-Gon lifted his knife and pointed it at the untouched plate.

"Eat, Obi-Wan. Consider it an order if you must," he stated calmly and then he speared a square piece of wayla. Obi-Wan looked down at his plate as if truly noticing it for the first time. He scooped up a forkful of eggs and placed it in his mouth. He could have been eating gulto slug worms and not a favored firstmeal food for all the joy he took in his meal. Qui-Gon kept a surreptitious eye on the teen, noting the mechanical consumption and the lack of expression. Once the apprentice had cleared most of his plate, Qui-Gon made his move.

"Obi-Wan, I would like to discuss something with you," he intoned. Again, stormy gray eyes shot up to meet his, but this time a clearly identifiable expression sat on the young face: fear.

"Yes, Master?" the young Jedi asked hesitantly. The elder was unable to hide a small, but amused smile.

"There is no need to look as if you've shown up for your astronavigation exam without your trousers, Obi-Wan. Relax," he said allowing a touch of affectionate humor to his color his deep baritone. The apprentice didn't laugh, he didn't smile, but he did take a deep breath and release it slowly. Qui-Gon let a trickle of pride flow across the bond. That did earn a smile. A tiny one. A quick one. But a smile nonetheless.

"Better," he said. "Now, as an initiate you took a Rites and Rituals class, did you not?"

"Um… yes, Master."

"Good. Who was the instructing master?" he asked. At this, Obi-Wan scrunched up his face in a way that his master had come to associate with when pondering a particularly difficult bit of math.

"I think it was Master Syna," Obi-Wan replied after several moments of thought. Qui-Gon frowned.

"Master Syna," he grumbled to himself. Though Qui-Gon would never actively disparage a fellow Jedi, it was a well-known fact that Master Syna was perhaps one of the most soporific instructors ever to walk the halls of the Temple. Master Snore-na was the moniker assigned him to among the initiates if Qui-Gon's memory served. The Chagrian master was a crusty old stump when Qui-Gon was in the creche. Hells, he was probably a crusty old stump when he was larva in the nursery! The man had to be just born boring! And to impose that tedium upon children, surely that was a path to the Darkside.

"Master?" Obi-Wan called and judging by the worry in his voice it was not the first time he had called for his master's attention. Qui-Gon abruptly cut-off his wool-gathering with a sharp shake of his head.

"My apologies, Padawan. I was just remembering my own experiences with Master Syna's instruction. If I recall they were less than… stimulating."

"Oh, I don't know, Master. Those lectures were some of the best naps I had," Obi-Wan replied easily. It took the master a moment to process what he heard, that said, Qui-Gon recovered quickly.

"The grumpy ol' stick was quite boring, wasn't he?" he asked in a low voice and a conspiratorial lean. He was answered with a giggle. A golden sound, a sound he hadn't heard in… in far too long.

"Master!" Obi-Wan exclaimed with a scandalous expression that was thoroughly ruined by his red-faced laughter. "You shouldn't say such things about another master, Master."

Without realizing, Qui-Gon found himself laughing with his padawan. Gods it felt good to do that again.

"You are right, Padawan," he said his laughter dying down. "You are right, and you are never to repeat it."

"Never, Master," Obi-Wan replied with an impish gleam that made Qui-Gon distinctly nervous and instantly suspicious.

"Hmm," the master hummed with a stroke of his beard. "Well, tell me, my apprentice, what do you recall about the lecture on Jedi Rites of Passage ceremonies?"

"Um, there are six, right?" Obi-Wan offered and his master nodded urging him to continue. He bit his lip. "When you become a padawan, when you become a knight, when you die, when you build a saber, and, um…"

Qui-Gon waited a few moments, but once it seemed clear that the four rites named were the extent of his padawan's knowledge, he decided to step in and offer an assist.

"Very good, but there are two more, though it does not surprise me that you have forgotten. The two that remain are not the type an initiate might easily relate to," he said, both acknowledging the lack and softening the admonishment. "The two you did not name were the rites following a Jedi's retirement from service and the first time a Jedi takes a life."

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan's expression went from attentive interest to minor confusion to horrific understanding.

"That's what you wanted to talk about isn't?" the boy asked his voice soft and his posture slumped and curled inward.

"It is. The rite is to acknowledge a Jedi's Agondi Mortata. Do you know what that means?" the master asked. He knew that all upper level initiates took a class in Archaic Basic in addition to the Rites and Rituals classes and the master had already noted Obi-Wan's proficiency with languages.

"It's old Basic," Obi-Wan started with clear hesitation, but the familiarity of responding to academic inquiries provided him with just enough foundation to attempt a shaking stand. "Agondi is from agon which means torture and di means of. Mortata… that means death."

Qui-Gon nodded.

"You are correct, but the original translation of agon is more closely related to pain, particularly that of an internal type."

"So… it means internal pain of… death?"

"Just so, Padawan. Just so." Qui-Gon commended but any pride he may have felt was soon eclipsed by his knowledge of what was to come. "It is also known by a more common naming: The Trial of Mortal Sorrow. It is a phrase that you have some personal understanding of, I think."

"Yes, Master." The all too quiet voice had returned. Qui-Gon moved from his chair then and knelt in front his padawan. He placed a large hand on a small knee.

"It is a pain that many Jedi are familiar with, Padawan. The rite has a ceremony. It's called the Communas and it is a gathering of Jedi all of whom have experienced this very personal pain themselves. It is actually… quite beautiful in its way. I have attended many Communa myself." Qui-Gon paused searching for any type of reaction from Obi-Wan, but the boy just sat stone still, his head tucked tightly into his chest. Qui-Gon placed a curled finger under the boy's dimpled chin and lifted the lowered head until the child was looking at him.

"I think this ceremony would be good for you."

If the master was waiting for a reaction, he did not have to wait long. The boy's shields slammed down so hard, Qui-Gon could imagine he heard an accompanying thud.

"Good for me," Obi-Wan repeated as if the words or language was something unfamiliar to his tongue. "You think celebrating the fact that I ki… that I killed someone would be good for me."

"It is not a celebration. It is a communion of like souls, an expression of our sorrow, and conduit for support. Acknowledging the taking of a life does not demean it, only not acknowledging it can do that."

"No."

"Obi-Wan, I know that it doesn't seem like it now, but,"

"I said no, or doesn't what I want matter anymore," the boy hissed. Qui-Gon fought the frown that wanted to immediately appear on his face.

"Of course what you want matters, but you should consider,"

"I don't need to consider anything. I don't care what you say! I said no," Obi-Wan interrupted. Qui-Gon's jaw tightened at the boy's continued impertinent tone.

"You forget yourself, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied placing heavy emphasis on the title. "I know that what you have experienced in the last months has not yet been fully dealt with and that this has been compounded by more recent events. Therefore, I am willing to overlook certain lapses in your behavior, but I will not tolerate this blatant disrespect. Do I make myself clear, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master," was the sulky thoroughly unrepentant reply.

"Better," Qui-Gon resumed after taking a deep breath. "We can continue this discussion at another time. Now, I think you have time for a brief meditation on respect and humility before your first class. Go see to that. Now, Padawan. I do not intend to repeat myself," he concluded as he stood towering over the much younger Jedi. Obi-Wan didn't raise his head but his eyes followed his master's movement giving his expression a more impudent flavor than Qui-Gon would have thought the young boy capable. Normally, he would call the boy to task for the look alone, but he was hesitant to do so. Instead, he let the moment pass without rebuke and he merely watched in silence as his padawan stalked across the common room and disappeared into the small bedroom.

It was going to be a long day.