Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Seventh of many chapters! Unfinished…

***

The Master and his Padawan strolled through the Temple corridors, robed in bark brown, tall boots smartly clipping the buff stone floor. Fresh from showering after their hand-to-hand combat session, each carried a bag containing their gi. Walking close together, heads inclined as they talked in low tones, soft laughter sometimes coming from the Padawan, they were absorbed in their conversation. In each other. Hidden by a wide circular pillar, Mistress Yaddle watched with fathomless yellow green eyes as they passed, a faint smile softening the frown creasing her brow. Unnoticed due to her diminutive size, she waited until they were almost out of sight before continuing on her way, a tiny green-skinned figure with a greying topknot. Though another observer would not have noticed anything unusual about their demeanour, the ancient Jedi Mistress did. It was happening just as she and Adi Gallia had privately predicted.

The door of his quarters sighing shut behind him, Qui-Gon deposited his bag, robe and belt on a chair. Light-footed, Karis had already shed her load and was in the kitchen. Her shower-tousled head popped around the doorless archway.

"Hungry?" she asked, holding up chunky seeded Corellian bread.

"Not for anything in there," he replied with the merest ghosted hint of mischief.

A single eyebrow escalated with surprise and she set the loaf down on the counter, brushing crumbs and stray seeds from her hands. Fresh from the shower, her pale skin shone in the light like it had been dusted with powdered pearls, the sleeves of her tunic falling back to reveal her long slender hands and forearms.

"Oh?" she murmured with a secret smile, crossing the room to wind herself into his arms. "And just what would you like? We could always go to the dining hall and start a Force food-fight."

Qui-Gon chuckled, "I think I've scandalized enough Padawans for today."

Laughing in return, cheeks and lips curving with delight, her hands settled on the fastening of his tunic, slowly beginning to undo it.

"Not this Padawan," she breathed, gaze lifting to meet his.

Transfixed, lost in her emerald eyes, the tiny gold specks orbiting the huge liquid black irises, he felt her hands slide beneath his undertunic and over his chest, cool and silken, caressing. Manouvering backwards until he found the sofa, he pulled her to him, tasted the sweet eager saltiness of her mouth. Finding the buckle of her belt, he unsnapped it, unwinding it from her waist, dropping it clunking to the floor. Catching the hem of his undertunic, she tugged it up and over his head, the garment slung in a soft cream puddle over the arm of the sofa.
Breath catching in her throat as he traced kisses down her neck, beard tickling her skin, she shrugged out of her overtunic. Deftly finding the leather thong holding his hair, she untied it, running her fingers through the silver brown locks. Eyes slipping shut as he continued to do something magical to her neck, his hands opening her undertunic, caressing, exploring, she focussed on her boots, using the Force to undo them. Of their own volition, they slid off, suddenly flying away to clatter against the far wall as she gasped, clutching at his back.

"Wait," she said, kissing him.

"Wait?" he repeated with mild disbelief, feeling the soft skin of her hip beneath his left palm, her beating heart beneath the right.

Laughing, she slid from the sofa and to her feet, holding out her hands to him, beckoning. He needed no second urging. Gliding towards the bedroom, face alight, more beautiful to him than the mythical angels of the moons of Iago, she inclined her head.

"Patience is a virtue, Qui…" She took hold of his hands, kissing the knuckles, guiding them to her. A look of pure mischief came over her and she grinned archly. "What's happened to your focus, Master?"

"In this instance, I believe it is elsewhere," he murmured, gaze devouring her from top to toe.

Her darkly smiling eyes promising him he would be distracted from Jedi virtues for some time to come, she opened the door of his bedroom and led him through. Two steps over the threshold, he snatched her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her to the bed.

Hair shining red black against the white pillows, fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, her lips curved and she reached out to touch his face. Skin against skin, warmed by desire, their training bond was inflamed, transformed to something much greater and deeper.

"I think I love you," she said softly, clearly.

Qui-Gon, arms and heart filled with her, could only reciprocally agree. At his back, the door closed, pushed to by a slight touch of the Force.

*

Regular and measured, encased in layers of muscle, flesh and skin, the heart beat strongly, speaking an esoteric language of internal cadences only the initiated could understand. Drowsy now, Karis listened to it, allowed its tempo to lull her. Curled against his side, cheek resting on his chest, shoulder neatly fitted beneath his arm, she listened to him breathe, listened to his heart and the almost inaudible sound of his fingers through her hair.

'What are you listening to so intently?' he asked, lips unmoving.

'Your heart,' she replied.

He was silent for some moments, ceasing to caress her hair as his hand slid to her waist. She shifted closer in response, drinking in his warmth and scent, the unique closeness afford bonded Jedi. As they had made love, their mental barriers had dropped, all the carefully constructed shields evaporating, their minds twining, melding together. The experience had been so wonderful, so intense, it made her quiver just to recall it.

'And what does it tell you?'
Lifting her face, she smiled. 'Lots of things.'

Feeling the deep quiet laughter vibrate through his ribcage, she ran a fingertip across his chest and abdomen, tracing the contours of muscle, an old jagged scar on his side, the neat circular depression of his naval.

'I remember when you got this,' she remarked, fingers returning to the scar. 'A Zabrackian arms dealer with an eight inch vibroblade…' She smiled, mind skipping back through memories. 'If they'd turned up just half an hour earlier, we'd have been in serious trouble. We were, 'distracted', as I recall… God, that planet was so cold at night.'

A soft mental chuckle echoed in her head, his hand sliding to her buttock. They grinned at the shared memory of ice-filigreed undergrowth and bitten back gasps when cold hands touched skin swaddled in thick clothes.

'Thirty eight years ago, and I still remember how cold it was,' Qui-Gon mused. 'We were so young, barely knighted.'

Karis felt a brief ache, realising that what she remembered had in reality occurred more than a decade before she was born. With less than three standard terran decades behind her, she was half the Jedi Master's age, yet had memories spanning a lifetime together. Their relationship was a strange amalgamation of memories, past affection and fresh passion, new love. They were old flames who had never met before, rediscovering love that had been cruelly stolen. Sensing her wondering if he was comparing her to Lyxandra, Qui-Gon's arms tightened around her.

'The distinction is there, Karis, but does it matter? It does not change how I feel.'

She realised it did not, that she had no need to worry that his feelings were due to the fact she reminded him of someone else, because she and Lyxandra were the same person. Existing in different dimensions, differing time periods, they were the same, moulded and tempered by their lives and environments, but in essence the same migrant soul. They were both distinct and identical. Qui-Gon had not once called her by the wrong name and she knew even if he did it would not matter. All at once, she felt sure of her own identity and life path, doubts and insecurities erased.

'I know,' she responded. 'I'm Karis, but I'm also Lyxandra.'

Slithering on top to straddle him, she kissed the bump of his nose, stroking his beard.

"And that means you've double trouble, if you think you can handle it."

Spoken aloud, the words hung on the air, almost a challenge. Never one to back down, Qui-Gon smiled, something he had done all too rarely in the previous year.

"I think I'll manage," he murmured, hands sliding up her bare back to entice her down for a kiss. "Though my focus will need some work…"

*

Stretching his arm experimentally, flexing the fingers of the hand, turning the wrist this way and that, Darth Maul grimaced. His prosthetic cybernetic arm was the best Republic credits and surgeons could provide. It was as strong, if not stronger than the original, resistant to wear and tear, but it still felt slightly alien. Unhooking his 'sabre from his belt, he activated it, prompting the remote practise droid to zip and wheel in the air above his head. Alone in a large, empty grey durasteel room, he was running through his daily round of exercises.

The remote bobbed down, letting loose a rapid stream of short energy blasts. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Maul blocked them, feeling them ping against his blade, as harmless as hail against a window. He was frustrated, yearning for more of a challenge to his abilities than the droid provided. He wanted a living, breathing opponent to test his skill, to see the look of fear when they realised he would kill them. He wanted to gut Qui-Gon Jinn like a lame bantha in front of the reincarnation of his bondmate, then kill her too. Slowly. Darth Sideous's fury when he belatedly discovered what his apprentice had done beneath his nose was terrible. He did not rant or rave, nor even raise his voice, but the appalling intensity of anger behind his eyes had caused Maul to prostrate himself on the floor and ask for forgiveness. He did not beg; a Sith never begged. Maul, though he would not admit it, had felt fear for the first time since childhood.

"Foolish, my young apprentice. You have been most foolish," Sideous had hissed as he knelt at his feet, horned head bowed. "The Jedi know you live. And for what did you make such an error and lose your arm? A frightened girl who is now apprenticed to Qui-Gon Jinn."

Robed and hooded in black as always, Sideous had regarded his apprentice, whose gaze was nailed to the floor. Maul smarted from his failure to turn Lyxandra Nox's reincarnation, inwardly seething each time something reminded him of his weakness. Sideous had allowed himself an inner smile; his apprentice was beginning to realise the futility of defiance. Prolonging his silence, sensing tense anticipation from Maul as he wondered what his Master would do, he had motioned with his hand. Relieved, but not allowing it to show in his expression, Maul had risen from his knees.

"We will monitor Master Jinn and his young apprentice – I forsee our paths will cross again," Sideous had murmured. "And the Skywalker child… he merits watching carefully."

Sideous had dismissed Maul with a curt nod, deep in thoughts he did not plan to share. Maul had violated his trust, disobeyed a direct command. He would have to prove he was worthy before his Master shared his plans. Inwardly raging, Maul had left, first giving a swift, unacknowledged bow.

Now, as he remembered his Master's dismissiveness, his disdainful anger, Maul gritted his discoloured teeth in fury. He was loyal to the Sith Master, would willingly die at his command, but he could not bear to be disregarded and excluded from his plans. His fury suddenly gaining violent physical expression, he lunged for the training droid, crimson 'sabre whistling down. It clattered to the floor, a smoking, twisted ruin of metal and disrupted sparking circuitry. Deactivating his lightsabre, listening to the familiar sibilant drone as it powered down, Maul stared at the pathetic remains of the droid, red black lips skinned back over his teeth, chest heaving with anger. He would not be satisfied until Qui-Gon Jinn and Karis Kavanagh were dead.

*

Fascinated, Karis watched as a tiny winged reptile no larger than a sparrow darted through a bright array of huge blue flowers, alighting on a fibrous stem to munch at the waxy petals. Scintilating jewel green in colour, it chomped contentedly, pulling off strips of petal with an audible tearing sound. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the heady scent of countless exotic varieties of flowers, savoured the resilient bounce of the turf beneath her feet. She was in the Temple Gardens, wending a random path across the grass between tinkling stone fountains interspersed with tranquil meditation pools, languorous borders of plants and tall flowering trees.

One of numerous lush oases in the barren glittering metal of Coruscant, it was a verdant haven that pulsed with the Living Force of the gathered flora and fauna. Carefully tended by a discreet army of dedicated gardeners, it bloomed all year round, a new crop of flowers opening as the last withered and dropped. Pausing to cup a deep scarlet trumpet-shaped flower in her hand, Karis sniffed it appreciatively, then sneezed as a dusting of pink pollen tickled her nose. Chuckling to herself, she rubbed her nose on the back of her hand and continued on her way.

Too long an inhabitant of the snarling inner city, she had almost forgotten the simple pleasure of walking through a beautiful garden. Hands folded into the wide sleeves of her brown robe, she strolled easily along, in no particular hurry. The late afternoon sun was warm on her face, the rural idyll disrupted only by the patchwork of traffic moving ceaselessly overhead.

Nearing a large meditation pool, the water's surface mirror-still and clear, she spotted a Knight and an apprentice kneeling at the edge with their backs to her. The Padawan was very young, a golden-haired human girl of perhaps ten years of age, concentration denoted by the absolute stillness of her posture. Her Master was a young Chalactan, her raven hair almost grown-out from a short Padawan cut. Karis smiled, realising she was a newly-knighted Jedi with her first apprentice. Meaning to pass quietly by so she did not disturb the lesson, she stopped short as the Knight spoke.

"Concentrate, Jada, feel the Force – it is in the trees, the plants, the very ground beneath us. The Force is in the sentient and non-sentient alike."

The words tripped easily from the young Knight's tongue, more quotations of a lesson she had learned years ago. Moving a little closer, Karis listened to her soft melodious voice as she schooled her Padawan, watched her long golden brown fingers settle encouragingly on the girl's slim shoulders. Sensing she was being observed, the young Knight's head lifted and she turned enquiringly. Her rich dark brown eyes widened, shock passing fleetingly across her delicate elfin features.

"Kia-Jo!" Karis exclaimed, suddenly overjoyed.

Kia-Jo Kana, Lyxandra's last apprentice before she died, silently got to her feet. She stared at the opal-skinned woman with short red black hair and a Padawan braid who looked exactly like her dead Mistress. Meeting her impossibly emerald eyes, she read the emotions there, face impassive.

"So, it's true," she murmured at last. "I wasn't sure I wanted to believe it."