Chapter 19: Possession
He sat on the cold, hard floor of the dimly lit room, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs, his hand tightly gripping his elbow as he clung to himself. It had taken them five days to find him. Five days on a rock with no night, only the bright, blaring sun and the moments when shadows cast darkness upon the ground as asteroids blotted out the light. It came and went at inconsistent intervals, lasting from moments to hours at a time. The shadows brought the beasts, fierce and hungry, made only more so by the smell of blood and fear that hung thick in the air. The light brought safety from the beasts, but it also brought searing heat that burned his pale skin and left him weakened and dehydrated. There was no sleep to be had. It was either too bright or too dangerous, and fear of sudden shadows kept him alert.
When he grew too hungry, too thirsty, too desperate, he had made quick voyages into the cave, his lightsaber held before him and snarling viciously at the swarming, prowling creatures that lived within as he made their way to their water supply, as he killed them both to defend himself and to eat. He'd retreat back out of the cave as quickly as he could, dragging his kills with him and taking refuge in the melted, ragged shell of one of the walkers he had deployed, that had been destroyed, a symbol of his easy victory turned to humiliating defeat, but it didn't matter. Not when his sharp teeth sunk into sleek flesh to sate his hunger, feral and savage as fearful yellow eyes stared intently at the cave, his body involuntarily flinching at every shadow he caught out of the corner of his eye. Five days of this, and none of it compared to what Darth Lumis had done to him.
He never thought his Master Maul to be weak. He wasn't. Savage and vicious, lithe and athletic, Maul was cruel, powerful in the Dark Side, delighting not just in the death of his opponents, but in their suffering, drawn to a challenge instead of a clean and easy kill. He would taunt and mock, he would injure and maim, he would draw a fight out as long as he was able simply to keep from getting board. He was not the swift, brutal efficiency of his other Master, Darth Vader. Vader was cold and effective, terrifying in his ruthlessness. Maul was in many ways the opposite, delighting in the thrill the Dark Side infused him with when he drank deep the fear of his enemies.
That was on his good days.
On his worse days, Maul was a gibbering, fearful mess, a cowering, twitching, borderline insane creature mentally broken by a man who knew that death was a mercy, and he had none of it in his heart. Mercy, kindness, compassion, all things that Obi-Wan Kenobi had once held dear as a Jedi had been torn from him, twisted and corrupted into malevolence, cruelty and savagery before it was thrust back inside him, giving birth to Darth Lumis, amused and delighted not just in the suffering of others, but in the complete mental domination of those around him. His enemies weren't murdered or simply tortured, they were enslaved, left so broken in their violation that they were left craving the Sith Lord's touch again, left wanting for the cruel hand that destroyed them. From powerful men were born slaves to Lumis' cruel affections, and powerless to resist, they came to want nothing more than to please their Master.
And now that same hand had touched the Grand Inquisitor.
What happened to Maul was...different. Deeply personal, the labor of months, the Zabrak driven to the edge of madness by a man even further in the grip of blazing insanity. It was punishment, revenge for the death of the mighty Mand'alor Satine Kryze, the embittered, grieving Sith Lord taking the mind of the man that set fire to his world and shattering it, not just destroying him, but owning him,, taking the life of the former Sith in his grasp, the source of the pain that now fueled him, and cruelly, affectionately holding him close. It wasn't the same for the Inquisitor, but that same hand had touched him, a mere shadow of the touch that Maul had felt, but it was enough to break him, enough to feel the shadowy presence of Darth Lumis within him quietly urging him to submit, and everything within him yearned, ached to obey. He could resist, he could remain strong, he could still drown the voice out...but only just barely. Either he was considerably weaker than Maul, more than he believed, or in the fifteen years of his independence in his mastery of the Dark Side, Darth Lumis had grown frighteningly more powerful.
Most likely, it was both.
He could still feel it now. Lumis' crushing grip on his wrist as he lovingly kissed at his neck, his teeth grazing the plasma burn and sending pain rushing though him. His long fingered hands gently petting, stroking, caressing his face, his head, his neck, his chest as he savagely tore open his mind and took anything he wished. There was pain, so much pain, but he coupled it with affection, with tenderness, the warm passion of a lover paired with the vile cruelty of a torturer making him shrink away, even as he leaned in and yearned for more. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, wasn't cognizant of the passage of time at all, but it felt as though he spent an eternity in his cruel grasp, watching in horror as his wicked red blade slowly descended upon his extended fingers and burned them to nothing.
The pain was overwhelming, a searing, torturous thing that lit his every nerve on fire, and he begged, pleaded for it to stop, desperately yearned for his cruel, mocking affection, craved the gentle, possessive touch, would willingly submit to his desires, his lusts, anything so long as the pain would stop. And slowly, it did. Pain gave way to raw, throbbing pleasure as Lumis held his limp body, possessively petting him as he pressed burning lips to his fingerless palm, a shiver of revulsion running through the Inquisitor even as he submitted. It wasn't a reward for his submission. Submission was expected. The pleasure came when the Inquisitor realized that Darth Lumis cared for his possessions, was good to what he owned, and everything that wasn't was tossed away, used, abused and discarded. And it made him want to be owned, if only to keep the pain away, to keep from being utterly destroyed when Lumis lost interest. There was pain, yes, but also pleasure in his slavery, and he craved it.
He didn't know how long he lay in Lumis' grasp, shivering in pain and fear and pleasure as the Sith lay claim to what was his. The way Lumis threw himself into the mental manipulation, the suffering he inflicted, the submission, the pleasure was nothing like anything the Inquisitor had witnessed. Lumis had...enjoyed this, genuine pleasure and delight pulsing through him as he toyed with his new pet. This was truly a creature of passion, not just the pain and hate and anger that fueled the darkness, but with wild and reckless abandon, a lust for life, for possession, a creature that thrived on the lowest of lows and the highest of highs, and it was intoxicating.
His was a stark life, a hard one, cold and austere, the Sith Master Sidious claiming that pleasures were a distraction from what was truly important, from the ultimate goals of the Dark Side. But Lumis...Lumis drank it all in. He was vain and hedonistic, took pleasure in extravagance, held on to his possession tightly and exalted them, a thing that made his pain deeper when he lost them. A thing that made him more covetous, more cruel, more reckless in his desires, his passions, his lusts, and the Inquisitor could feel it in his burning touch.
He had done all he could to resist Lumis, had built up his defenses, steeled himself against a man that was known for his ability to manipulate minds, but in the end, it had done him no good. Lumis flowed through the Dark Side like an unseen predator, and it was through his connection to the Force that Lumis was able to get within his mind. The slightest hint of darkness, the smallest touch to the coveted Dark Side was all Lumis needed to put his foot in the door and hold it open. The control of his body had come first. The way he leaned into the Sith Lord's touch, the way his heart pounded in his chest, the way his rebellious, traitorous did as the Sith Lord commanded, the way he made his throat constrict, his mouth move, his words drawn out of him ad the Sith forced him to call him Master. Master! And there was nothing the Inquisitor could do to stop it.
It was easier after the first time, his body quickly getting used to the way the word felt on his tongue, and his mind followed quickly after, the slow, repetitious chanting of his body changing the path his thoughts flowed upon. Soon, he believed it, had wanted to call him it, had felt compelled to, and soon couldn't understand how he had ever thought of Darth Lumis as anything but his Lord, his Master. Master, echoing in his mind, over and over again in a maddening need to serve and obey. Master, Master, Master...
And then he was gone. When Lumis had take what he wished, had claimed his pet, had finished ravaging his body and mind with pain and pleasure, he dropped him to the ground and left without a word, leaving the Inquisitor behind to ache and keen and mourn the loss of his powerful presence, to lay in relief that the pain was over. Lumis had only left him with one thing. A gift, and a soft command to deliver it, and the Inquisitor would not fail. Time lost all meaning, and it was only after he had been rescued that he found that five standard days had passed. It felt like more. And less. And he hated it.
The Inquisitor shivered as he pushed the feeling aside, rejected it, his eyes falling on his fingerless left hand and whimpering in horror as he began to hyperventilate. He could hear the mechanical legs of Maul strike the ground as he paced, watching him carefully, intently, his yellow eyes wide and excited as he fed off the fear, the suffering, the need within the Inquisitor, a feeling that they now shared. He could still hear Lumis, could still feel the need gnawing deep within him, but it was faint now, like a low, distant buzz instead of the overwhelming compulsion it had been. His complete domination had obviously not been the point, or he wouldn't have been allowed to return, not so soon. So...to what end did he serve? Which piece in Lumis' game was he, and with whom was he playing?
"You saw him," Maul snarled accusingly, circling around him like a restless, hungry animal. "You felt his touch upon you. I can feel it..."
The Inquisitor closed his eyes, tried to push aside the voice, the memory, the glowing yellow eyes he saw within his mind, infinitely amused as they watched him struggle against the chains he so willingly accepted before Maul's strong, red hand shot out and grabbed the Inquisitor's chin in a crushing, furious grip, his eyes blazing with rage as he forced the shaking Pau'an to meet his gaze.
"Don't you dare try to hide from me, boy!" Maul snarled, possessive and competitive, the Zabrak exerting his dominance over the broken man, and the Inquisitor quickly submitted to his Master, his body going slack as he opened himself to the Zabrak. "What has Master done to you, what does he want with you..." Maul said frantically, grabbing the Inquisitor's face and his eyes searching his features for answers, his entire being burning with jealousy. When he found ignorance, confusion and fear with no answers, Maul snarled and pushed him away, sending the kneeling man slamming to his hands and knees.
"I'm sorry, Master..." the Inquisitor said in a shaking voice, and Maul immediately reeled on him, a wild gesture of his hand sending the Force slamming down on his body and the Inquisitor collapsed on the ground.
"Are you apologizing to me or Kenobi?!" Maul snarled, drawing his lightsaber and igniting the double sided blade. "I should kill you, if he is within you, you are useless. You will poison the rest of the Inquisitorius, and your numbers are small already!"
"Master, please!" the Inquisitor said frantically, his eyes wide with fear. "My mind is mine, he doesn't own me! I...hear him," he said, pointing to his temple. "In here, so soft, so quiet, but I can tune it out! I can resist!"
"Nobody can resist my Master..." Maul said, his voice distant and monotone. "And I will not have competition..."
"Maul." The voice was soft, calm and commanding, and Maul's grip on his lightsaber tightened, his arm shaking as the Zabrak's rage left him, leaving him meek and timid and subservient. The lightsaber powered off. "I believe the Inquisitor has suffered enough for his error," Thrawn said, his hands folded before him as he sat in his command chair, his glowing red eyes carefully observing the projected artwork upon the walls. Maul quickly stepped toward him, circling around to approach the Admiral from the side so he did not obstruct his view.
"The Emperor would not want this creature to live!" he snarled, pointing the long, cylindrical hilt of his lightsaber at the reticent Inquisitor. "He is tainted! Corrupted! Poisoned by the hands of Darth Lumis!"
"As are you," Thrawn said, slow and measured in his even tone, his red irises flicking to the shaking Zabrak. He could see the heat radiating off the red skin, the muscles of his face and neck tense in rage, the pupils of his eyes dilate in his fear and submission. "And yet, our Emperor has allowed you to live. He keeps you close. Why do you suppose that is?"
"...I-I am of use to him," Maul whispered, barely audible.
"You are of use to him, yes," Thrawn repeated, his gaze returning to the art upon the walls. "Just as the Grand Inquisitor is now of use to me, and I would hate to waste a valuable resource simply because another has touched him."
"That touch is poisonous!" Maul growled, and a faint smile touched Thrawn's thin lips.
"Yes, it is...but his touch also leaves behind fingerprints." He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on a painting depicting a battle between the Mandalorians and the Republic, their armies headed by thousands of Jedi. Then, Mandalore lost, defeated by the might of the Jedi Order, but now, the Jedi were gone. All that stood now was Obi-Wan against the might of the Empire, a man almost certainly backed by Bo-Katan Kryze, and Mandalorian culture dictated that their warriors follow the call of their Mand'alor. Historically, Mandalorians had difficulty uniting, but when they did, they were formidable. Now, only two potential Mand'alors existed, and those that did not support Bo-Katan stood behind the Shadow King. They may as well have been one army. It didn't look it, but Mandalore was united. Mandalore for years had spoken in open support for the Empire, but nobody guessed that the Empire they supported was their own.
Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not a rebel, not a rebellion leader, but a usurper. And an interest.
"Observe and retreat," Thrawn said softly, his glowing eyes drifting to the pale Inquisitor upon the ground. "I gave you this directive for a reason, Inquisitor."
"You lack the authority to reprimand me, Admiral," the Inquisitor hissed, his anger quickly rising, but a stern look from the Zabrak quickly cowed him.
"I do not seek to administer punishment, Inquisitor," Thrawn calmly explained. "Your failure to obey the directive has resulted in more punishment that I could ever hope to levy upon you. No, you have already reaped the consequences of your error, and the way I see it, all errors can be corrected, and therefore become valuable learning experiences." Thrawn's eyes narrowed. "But errors that remain uncorrected become mistakes, and mistakes will not be tolerated. Understood?" The Inquisitor met Thrawn's unflinching gaze, and slowly lowered his head, nodding. His Masters wouldn't be so forgiving as the Chiss. The prospect of leaving the Admiral's service to return to Vader and Sidious on Coruscant was not a good one. Answering to Thrawn may be the only way for him to save his life. After all, the Admiral was giving him a chance to redeem himself after his humiliating defeat.
"I understand, Admiral..." the Inquisitor whispered, and Thrawn leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together.
"I ordered you to retreat at the sight of Kenobi in order to keep you safe and alive," Thrawn quietly explained, and the Inquisitor looked at him with abject confusion on his face. "You are a rare and valuable asset simply by having sensitivity to the Force, even more so because you possess formal training. I avoid sending my men to die unnecessarily, and I dislike wasting resources. And your..." He gestured with his hand in the air, silent as he considered his words. "Your treatment at Kenobi's hands was not only unnecessary, it was pointless."
"No!" the Inquisitor said, his voice tight with growing panic. "No, you study what he does, you can learn-"
"I have a better, more thorough specimen in Maul," Thrawn said cooly. "There is, of course, opportunity in your treatment, and I will use what Kenobi has given me to paint a more complete picture, but this was unnecessary because I can study the same in Maul." Thrawn leaned back, his eyes locked on the shivering Inquisitor. "Tell me what you saw."
And he did. In excruciating detail, he told the silent Thrawn about the two X-wing starships that destroyed his reenforcements, his walkers, his way of escape, about the huge, horned, white Bull Rancor that rampaged its way through his troops, savaging them, eating them, and breaking their formation, making them easy targets for the single Mandalorian warrior and the protocol droid with a blaster rifle. And then there was Darth Lumis, who effortlessly subdued the Inquisitor, who claimed ownership over the two Jedi and the rebel crew that have been active around Lothal, who slowly burned off the fingers on the Inquisitor's left had to punish him for touching what belonged to the Sith Lord.
All the while, Thrawn sat, impassive and silent as he listened, only occasionally stopping the Inquisitor so he could ask specific questions about the Sith Lord's powers, his mannerisms, the methods, carefully taking note of the ways it was different from Maul's account, in which ways it was similar, and in the end, Thrawn had a very good understanding of what happened on the asteroid.
"Kenobi is a formidable and intelligent man," Thrawn said, his eyes roving around the art on the walls as he lost himself in thought. "What we thought was work to undermine the Empire is actually work to undermine the Emperor. He is...an Imperial." He breathed deeply, his thoughts drifting as he weighed the strength of Kenobi against the strength of Palpatine, and frowned deeply when he could reach no conclusion. His information on both counts was lacking. He desperately needed to meet this Obi-Wan. In a highly controlled setting, of course. The fact that the man could enter a person's mind and replace their will with his own made him a danger simply to be around, and there was no way of knowing if what he said carried the weight of the Force. This meeting would have to wait until he could be captured, subdued, and contained, and for that, Thrawn needed more time.
"Admiral," the Inquisitor said as he slowly rose to his feet and taking a small device from his belt. "Master..." He stopped, his hand shaking as he growled in anger. "Lumis sent you a gift." Thrawn drew back, his red eyes widening in surprise as the Inquisitor approached and held out the device. Slowly, Thrawn took it in his hand and closely examined it. It was a datachip, a small one made to interface with personal datapads, too small to equip a transmitter or locator within it. Curious, he inserted the chip into the arm of his command chair, one of the projections on the wall vanishing and replaced with the contents of the chip after it had been scanned, cleared, and encrypted, a security precaution that would keep malicious coding contained to the chip and would scramble any signal it may have broadcasted.
It took Thrawn a moment to understand what he was looking at, and he felt his chest tighten when he read the hand scrawled note in his native tongue, a language he hadn't seen written for a very long time. It was...perfect. The elegant strokes of the pen across the paper, flowing without a single hesitation indicated not only a mastery of the language, but the confidence of the writer. The grammar, flawless, the word choice, sophisticated and refined, a tremendous difference from the spoken dissection report Kenobi had given on Empire Day. He had been practicing, and must have been speaking it nearly constantly and diligently to become as fluent as he appeared. To Thrawn's recollection, Kenobi may still have one Chiss in his possession. The female, the one who had so desperately begged for her own violation. It would have been an ideal way to practice.
"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," the letter addressed, and a faint, delighted smile found its way on to Thrawn's face. Kenobi had managed to find his name, his full name, something that was rarely used anymore. "I have learned your language, so it is only fair that you have a chance to learn mine. Here is all you need to teach yourself Sith, delivered to your ship, as promised." The faint smile became a full one, his glowing eyes lighting up with interest and respect for his enemy, a man that seemed to grow more intelligent, more interesting the closer they came to each other. "Do not tell Palpatine. He is very stingy about who learns the Ancient Tongue. It will be our little secret. I do hope we get a chance to meet very soon."
The Sith Lord's name was signed at the bottom in his looping, elegant hand, and Thrawn read the note over again several times, only remembering he was not alone when he felt Maul and the Inquisitor slowly creep closer, their yellow eyes looking with confusion between the Admiral and the projection.
"What is it?" Maul asked, and Thrawn never looked away from the note.
"As the Inquisitor said," Thrawn said, voice soft and low, his usually dull monotone tinged with excitement. Our little secret. "A gift."
Long, strong fingers tightened around the blue hip as he pulled her flush against him, biting down on her smooth, soft flesh at the crook of her neck as the Dark Side howled in triumph, its vicious snarls becoming tired, sated growls of pleasure as the Sith Lord pressed deep within her as he reached fulfillment, the Chiss moaning sweet and lustful when she felt him release. She had long since given up resisting her Sith Master. He was going to take what he wanted anyway, could make her want it, and regardless of how she behaved, willing or not, he would find his way inside her one way or another. She had quickly realized that giving herself over to him, willingly accepting him, being an eager participant made the Sith Lord far kinder, his cruel, cold treatment of her becoming warm, even affectionate the more eager she became.
Resistance and reluctance and bitterness over her capture and the memory of watching her crew die faded quickly as her body and mind was conditioned to respond to the raging burn of arousal the Sith put inside her, a response and reaction that soon became her own. Each moment she had spent with the Sith Lord, which was often, both on the ship for study and mastery of her native tongue and off so he could release his passions within her, saw her thoughts of escape fade until they were a distant memory. She...wanted to stay, wanted to pleasure him and serve him in any way he saw fit, willingly welcomed him within her, and more and more often became the one who initiated the stoking of his lusts. Every moment in his presence seemed to further indoctrinate her to his will, a thing she once resisted, but now only considered it with a tired shrug.
He gripped her close, clinging to her tightly long after the raging Dark Side released him, his fast, heavy breathing slowing as euphoria washed over him, and when silence fell, he listened to the soft sound of the Chiss' shallow breathing, felt the slow, even beating of her heart through her back held flush against his chest, seizing the passionate thrill as she softly moaned and whimpered in her sleep. He felt...strong, a feeling of relief washing over him as he grasped tightly at pleasure and euphoria, the counter to the pain he had embraced so tightly since his Satine was murdered so long ago.
The wound would always hurt, would always bleed, not just with her loss, but with the loss of Quinlan, his dear best friend, of sweet Padmé, who he had been forced to kill to keep a promise, of Luminara, his last true lover and a dear friend, of so many more, all who haunted him. But the Sith were more than that. Not just pain and anger and hate, but pleasure and bliss were also the domain of the Sith. It had been so easy to forget among the sea of his losses, in the years of running and fighting, in the long, insufferable periods when he was unable to see his children, but now he stood in the shadow of a new dawn, close to but not quite part of a new family, and with Yoda's new directive to train young Ezra and with his own open association with the small rebel cell, he was slowly beginning to remember.
The breath of the Force was within him, warm and comforting, directing him to seize his reckless abandon for life, his insatiable drive to fulfill the lust that ran thick in his blood, his delight in his own powers and draw strength from the wild embrace of the Sith's wide range of emotions.
He pushed it quickly away.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Obi-Wan groaned loudly and untangled himself from his sleeping lover, the woman having been used far past the point of exhaustion, and he rolled over, eyes glowing furiously in the dark as he looked at the soft, pale glow of the Force spirit.
"You are really intent on ruining everything, aren't you?" Kenobi drawled, sitting up and glaring at the ghostly Jedi when he didn't move. "Every time. Why do you have to do this?! Do you like watching, is that it?!" He turned away from the spirit, hissing in frustration as he ran his hands over his face. "One night of rest and relaxation and indulgence before I begin my tenure as a Master to Ezra Bridger." He looked pointedly at Qui-Gon. "My vacation, if you will, and you are ruining it."
"I'd have thought you would welcome the chance to corrupt a young, impressionable boy."
"I have a student!" Kenobi snarled, throwing the sheets off of him and jumping out of bed, snatching his pants from off the ground and quickly sliding into them. The commotion had woken the exhausted Chiss, the woman clutching the pillow tightly to her as she watched the Sith Lord snap and snarl in one of the several languages he spoke that she did not understand, as he so often did after they had lain together. Her Master was restless, and perhaps a bit insane, but so long as she did her duty, she lay under his fierce protection.
"K'ir vah bapun ch'ah csaah?" she asked, her voice soft and thick with exhaustion, her fingers drawing casual circles on the empty space beside her. Do you need me again? The Sith's Mouth twitched with the hints of desire, repressed arousal, irritation, want and reluctance all at once.
"Nah, buscah. Ch'ah ran'as vah vehto tur ch'at ravzin't csact'i," Kenobi said softly as he moved to stand before the window, gazing out at the bustling city below. No, sleep. I want you energized for the next time. She didn't, but she did settle down into the comfort of the bed and she silently watched him.
"Luke and Leia are my students," Obi-Wan softly growled when the Force spirit appeared beside him. "Them, along with a thousand Mandalorian Force sensitives."
"So what is one more to you?" Kenobi glared at Qui-Gon for a moment before his gaze returned to the city. Garel was only a few minutes via hyperspace lanes from Lothal, which had transformed the otherwise bleak world into a bustling urban center centered around its vast spaceport, which served as a supply and dispatch depot for Lothal's substantial need for imports and exports to and from the mines and factories. The aptly named Garel City, therefore, was a vast and sprawling metropolis, and it served as an ideal place to get lost as one among the crowed.
Over the past year, Obi-Wan had visited many times, mostly for supplies, liquor and women, and had since purchased a terribly expensive apartment in the city's financial district in one of its premier towers. It was far beyond the paygrade of the Imperial troops stationed in the city, and any officer high ranking and influential enough to afford such a place wouldn't waste their time on an Outer Rim backwater like Garel. The building instead was populated primarily by independently wealthy businessmen who care for little more than turning a profit, which made them loyal to the Empire only so long as the Empire continued to be profitable. First and foremost, their loyalty was to credits, and where there was greed, there was security, which made the building uniquely well protected.
In short, it was a perfect place to hide.
"The people in this sector couldn't be anymore droll and creatively bankrupt..." Obi-Wan muttered, staring in contempt at the city below. "The people of Garel call their biggest city Garel City. The capital city of Lothal? No problem, Capital City it is..."
"Would you prefer them to be creative?" Qui-Gon asked. "I'd have thought you would have had your fill of creative after Thrawn."
"It would be more interesting, at the very least..." He sighed, his gaze drifting back to the lazy, pleasure drunk Chiss in his bed, the woman's presence heavy and thick with post-coital bliss, and he felt his heart ache. She had been more useful to him than just a vessel to thrust inside when he needed to, more than just a way to needle his Chiss opponent. She provided a keen insight into the Chiss mentality, and not only that, but she was terribly intelligent, an asset in learning all there was to know about the way her people thought. It didn't give him an edge over the dangerous enemy that Thrawn was turning out to be, but it was a step toward putting them on even footing. The Admiral had quite a head start on the Sith Lord, but with the woman's insight, most of it given freely through discussion, not through any compulsion of the Force, had allowed Obi-Wan to understand Thrawn better, though by all accounts, he was exceptional.
She didn't know Thrawn, but she knew of him, since his circumstances were extraordinary among the solidarity of the Chiss Ascendancy. Exile. A thing reserved only for the most serious offenses, a thing so rarely done that each case was keenly remembered, even if the details were not public knowledge, as was the case with Thrawn. The Chiss did not believe in wasting the talents of their people, and assigned them places within their society and their military that best suit their demonstrated aptitude, regardless of what it may be. To exile a man like Thrawn, who was proving to be an exceptional talent when compared to practically everyone...either he had done something truly horrific, in which case Kenobi's Chiss lover would most certainly have had at least rumors about, or something wasn't adding up.
He desperately needed to meet this Thrawn.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly when the Sith had fallen silent. "This boy-"
"Forget about the boy!" Kenobi hissed. "He is nothing to me, they are all nothing to me." Qui-Gon gave him a stern look.
"You know as well as I that isn't true. I know your heart, Obi-Wan, you-"
"Luke and Leia are all that matter to me," Obi-Wan growled. "I don't need another student, I don't want another student."
"And yet you are taking one," Qui-Gon softly pointed out, and was met with a bitter, vicious glare from the Sith Lord. "You didn't have to accept this. Perhaps you are unwilling to admit it, but you must see something in the boy or you-"
"Oh, Qui-Gon, you sentimental fool," Obi-Wan sighed. "You're clinging to the hope I can be saved, aren't you?" Kenobi's eyes narrowed when the spirit drew up taller, his mouth pressing in a thin line. "Don't think I didn't hear your conversation with Kanan back in the Temple, sound carries very well in there, and I may have been drunk, but I haven't lived for as long as I have by being unobservant."
"...I can't bear to see you in such pain, Obi-Wan," the spirit said softly. "I need to believe that there's more than suffering on your path. You have always surrounded yourself with friends and allies, Obi-Wan, but now you are so very alone. You've retreated so deeply into your own suffering that-"
"And you would have me do something else?" Kenobi asked bitterly. "What, Qui-Gon, what would you have me do?"
"Your rebel cell, the Spectres, they are a family, and you can be a part of that."
"You know I cannot."
"You can. Kanan-"
"Kanan is dead, Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan shouted, his voice tight and controlled and furious, the glowing gold of his eyes giving way to seeping red. "Ezra is dead! Hera, Zeb, Sabine, they are all dead!" He pointed an accusing finger at the spirit. "You see it as well as I do. The have drawn the Empire's attention, they have Inquisitors after them, and not just any Inquisitor, but their leader."
"You had a chance to kill him."
"And why should I?! He is useful to me, he is a tool, a way to get to Thrawn, and I have never discarded those who have use to me." He scoffed in disgust. "Besides, his death would only bring something worse. Killing the Grand Inquisitor would draw Vader, and I have no doubt that Sidious will follow closely behind. These rebels cannot handle an Inquisitor, what do you think's going to happen to them when Vader is after them? A survivor of Order 66 cannot be ignored, and..." With a heavy sigh, he turned his back to the city and leaned against the wall, his eyes casually running over the beautiful form of the Chiss in his bed. "And I can't protect anyone."
"You've done a fine job protecting the twins," Qui-Gon said softly, watching carefully and gauging the Sith Lord as his gaze fell to the floor.
"The Force is defending them, not me."
"The Force acts through you." Obi-Wan scoffed and glared at the spirit.
"Kanan reminds me of Quinlan." He frowned. "Too much like Quinlan..." Kenobi sighed, his eyes growing distant and forlorn. "I find myself drawn to him. It would be so easy to fall in with him, so easy to grow close, to mentor him, befriend him...and for what?" His hand tightened at his side. "Vader took Quinlan from me. He'll take Kanan from me too, so tell me, Qui-Gon, what's the point of growing close to someone and allowing myself to feel that once again when it will only end in pain greater than what I have now?' The Sith Lord slowly shook his head. "I can't lose anymore, Qui-Gon, I can't...it's best if I remain distant. At least then when they die, it will be easier."
"It isn't like you to fear anything." The Sith Lord's eyes shot up to the calm, collected spirit and narrowed in rage.
"I am Sith, Qui-Gon, I fear nothing! Not pain, not suffering, not loss, not emptiness because those things are already my reality. I have nothing to fear because I have nothing left to lose!" Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come now, Obi-Wan, you know that isn't true. Your connections and your attachments run deep. Luke, Leia, Cody, Ahsoka, that rancor of yours, the droids you have adopted, your ship..." He chuckled softly. "I even sense some affection for Yoda within you."
"A Jedi fool..."
"One you trust with the lives of your children." The Sith Lord's lips pressed into a thin line, and Qui-Gon smiled softly. He had hit the mark. "But you also stand to lose yourself."
"Don't you argue I already have?" Obi-Wan asked bitterly, and the spirit shook his head.
"You are a creature of darkness, and I know how you like your power. But you are still my Obi-Wan. In you, I see the shades of the boy you were. I see a man grieving the loss of the girl we once defended on Mandalore. I see a man robbed of his best friend, or his lovers and allies. I watch you descend deeper into darkness, but I can reach you still, so you are not lost."
"It doesn't need to be this way," Obi-Wan growled. "You remember what it was like, you saw what it was like when all I saw was the galaxy burning." He shook his head. "I feel it within me. Just out of sight but always there, I can feel it." He looked up at the spirit, a tense nervousness on his face, his breath held in anticipation. "I started this all for power. For order. Because the Republic was broken. I became Sith in my pursuit of correcting the galaxy's ills, and I cannot do that if I am insane. I will rule an Empire, Qui-Gon. I will guide this galaxy to progress and peace and order, but if I lose more, if I suffer more losses, I stand to lose myself." He took a deep, calming breath. "I cannot protect my Empire if all I care about is watching the galaxy burn."
"You have always drawn your strength from your bonds, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said. "If you sever them all, if you stand aloof and apart from the galaxy, what reason do you have to protect it? You need people to protect, Obi-Wan, you need a reason, or you will be no better than Palpatine."
"...perhaps," Kenobi growled reluctantly. "But I have the twins for that."
"You're no good without allies, you need more than just them. If something happens, if you lose them and have nothing else-"
"Don't say it, don't you dare!" Kenobi snarled, but Qui-Gon held firm.
"Obi-Wan, anything can happen, and they are old enough to fight. They are powerful, and you have trained them well, and soon enough, you will have to let them out from your protection so they can follow their own path."
"The Force still has use for me," Obi-Wan said, his voice tight with fury. "The Force protects my children, and so must I. There's a reason for it, and they have a greater destiny to achieve. I must guide them to it."
"And yet," the spirit drawled, "you now find yourself tied to Ezra, to Kanan, to the other Spectres. That is no accident."
"...and Ezra's vision is disquieting," the Sith softly confessed, shaking his head as he hissed in irritation. "I need to see this vision. Why hasn't the Force shown it to me?"
"I don't have an answer for that," the spirit said quietly. "Perhaps you are unable. Perhaps that is why you have been guided to Ezra. Maybe the Force can't show this to you, and is guiding you to one who can."
"Or maybe there's something else at work. Regardless, I won't know until I see it myself." He paused, his eyes fixated on the Chiss in his bed as he thought, and slowly, a wry smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze drifting to the Force spirit. "Oh, Qui-Gon sweetie, did you interrupt my evening tonight to talk about...friendship?" A small, secretive smile spread across the Jedi's face, and Obi-Wan began to gag. "Oh, I'm going to be sick."
"What good is haunting you if I can't be disquieting?" Slowly, the Sith Lord began laughing, soft and light and easy, and the Jedi's smile grew wider. "The path you walk is a painful one, and you have never been much good alone."
"I'll...consider it, how about that?"
"That is as satisfactory an answer as I will ever get from you, isn't it, you Sith bastard."
"Jedi scum," Obi-Wan quickly retorted, pushing away from the wall and sitting on the bed beside the Chiss, his hand leaving light, teasing touches against her blue skin, and with a soft, eager moan, she leaned into him as he stroked her to a quick arousal. "You know, if it weren't for you, Qui-Gon, I'd have been peaceful and contented as I wrecked this woman, you do know how much I appreciate seeing my lovers lost to lust."
"I can't say I'm sorry for interrupting you, in that case. A little introspection will do you some good."
"Kriffing hell, Qui-Gon, if I wanted to be introspective, I would still be a Jedi. You haven't the faintest idea how long I fooled myself into thinking the things I did were for the Jedi. I was Sith long before I left." Kenobi hissed, his pupils expanding as the squirming Chiss reached up and ran her fingers over the long, black scar across his chest. "I don't need to think about what's inside me to know it's there, Qui-Gon..."
"I imagine focusing on that just makes the pain deeper." Kenobi laughed softly and shook his head.
"Mostly it just makes me miss Bo-Katan..." he whispered, his hand cupping the Chiss' cheek and running his thumb over her lips. "Weird, isn't it?" He leaned over and kissed the moaning woman, much more gentle than the previous fury of his passions. "Bo-Katan...my little Mand'alor has done so much for my cause, has suffered the same loss, has been alone for so long..." His hand tightly gripped the woman's chin, the red eyes widening slightly, her breath held as she stilled, the Sith's fury clearly visible and barley contained. "I wonder if Tarkin has known the passion of my Mand'alor..."
"It's possible..." Qui-Gon quietly confessed. "She has never been one to shy away from taking an advantage, and if she could manipulate Tarkin in such a way, if she saw greater benefit in consummation than in simply leading him along, I've no doubt she'd do it."
"...I need to get her out of there as soon as possible, we need to join forces, we need...I need her." He close his eyes and took a deep breath, the Chiss' hands slowly returning to their petting, their stroking as she tried to coax him out of anger and back into desire, a much safer, but no less intense state. Qui-Gon looked at him skeptically, gauging the Sith Lord's rapidly changing feelings and emotions.
"You have been thinking of Bo-Katan often these days..." the spirit quietly ventured, and the Sith Lord closed his eyes, his breathing slow and even as he gently pressed the squirming Chiss down to still her, his hand lightly brushing down her body to stroke her hips.
"I do confess, she has been on my mind as of late..." he whispered, lightly kissing at the woman's neck before he sat up and opened his eyes, his gaze distant. "Satine has been filling my thoughts. She...calls me. It's no wonder my thoughts drift to her sister. Perhaps Mandalore's time is coming." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes once again as he intertwined his fingers with the Chiss'. "Satine, my guiding light, tell me what I should do..."
"There must be a reason she has been appearing to you so often. The Force must be trying to tell you something."
"If she is the form the Force takes, it's a cruel bastard," he growled, his fingers tightening around the delicate hand in his own. "The Dark Side has always been a difficult mistress, but this..." He sighed heavily. "Oh, if only it was her ghost that was haunting me instead of you..." Qui-Gon smirked softly.
"You crave affection, my Obi-Wan, you have always been emotional."
"Yes, so you can see how easy it was for me to leave the Jedi when you tossed me aside," the Sith said pointedly, and the Jedi frowned.
"Yes, we are all aware of my failings." Qui-Gon pointed at the pained Sith. "You need a lover, Obi-Wan. A real one, not a slave, one you can get close to. You crave it, so much so that visions of Satine are plaguing you."
"That has nothing to do with it. I'm in close contact with a Mandalorian with a similar name, of course my thoughts drift to her!" Kenobi glowered petulantly as his hand tightened on the Chiss' hip, his heart aching as he looked at her. The sight of her eager, willing, beautiful body stoked his lust, his blood running thick with arousal and desire. And deep in his chest, yearning, aching emptiness, one filled with Luminara, with Padmé, with Satine, always with Satine...
"I can't," Obi-Wan whimpered, soft and pained, the ache in his chest filling with the Dark Side as it was unconsciously called, the snarling, angry beast rushing to fill the void with seething, violent lust, banishing the painful yearning with a flood of dominating pleasure. "I can't do it, not again..." he growled, his hands swiftly pinning the woman's arms above her head, his golden eyes blazing as a blood red ring grew around his irises.
"But you did," Qui-Gon pointed out, his voice raised slightly so the growling Sith could hear him over his own growls, the woman moans, the roar of the Dark Side. "You did it after Satine, you did it after Padmé. What are you afraid of, Obi-Wan? What pain could possibly be dealt to you that is worse than the death of your best friend, or the deaths of your lover and your son?"
There were none worse, but many more that could destroy him, but Obi-Wan spoke none of them as he tuned the spirit out and allowed the Dark Side to overtake him, the beast freed from its chains and quickly moving to take command of his body as he savagely claimed the woman with bruising touched and hard kisses and possessive bites. The twins, Cody, Bo-Katan, and of these would break him, would finally kill what was left of the man he was when he set out to build an Empire for his Mandalorian Queen and his Dark Side son. Kanan, Ezra, Hera, any of the others, any of them could come to mean that much to him, if he allowed it. It was too dangerous, too risky, especially since they were being hunted. Kanan couldn't beat an Inquisitor, Ezra couldn't withstand the fury of the Dark Side. How were they supposed to survive when something worse came along?
He gasped, his eye shooting open, and he pulled away from the woman, holding his breath as he sat between her legs, his knees pushing her legs wide for him. He quickly looked over the Qui-Gon, the spirit staring at him cautiously. "What if it's a warning?" he asked quickly, batting the woman's hand away when she reached up to stroke his chest. "Qui-Gon, what if I am seeing Satine so often because the Force is trying to warn me about Bo-Katan?"
"That could be," Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, a concerned look on his face.
"I need to get her out of there," Obi-Wan said swiftly. "Or at the very least, I need to find a way to communicate with her. She's too important to our plans, she's too important to me, I can't..." He hissed, his eyes closed as he took deep, calming breaths. "Patience...Ezra, Kanan, the rebels, the vision, Lothal, Mandalore, Bo-Katan, Vader. Sidious. Thrawn." Obi-Wan absently ran his hand over the Chiss' stomach, the woman laying very still, uncertain of what to do. "Everything's coming together..." he whispered. "Soon, everything will be in line, and it will be time to strike."
"Sounds like you have some meditation to do," Qui-Gon said, a slight smirk upon his lips, and Kenobi nodded. "See you in the Force?"
"I wouldn't miss it," Obi-Wan said, flashing the spirit a soft, genuine smile as he disappeared, and the Sith groaned in satisfaction when the woman wrapped her legs around him, a silent plea for intimacy. After tonight, vacation was over, the waiting was over, and he could feel excitement churn his stomach. He had spent too long running, too long hiding, and he could feel the deep, pervasive itch for action, for initiative, the Dark Side gnawing at him for his return to war. And tomorrow, it began. There was a great deal to be done.