For full info, see chapter one.

Well, here's chapter 7…I wanted to get it out quickly when I saw that there has been over 100 reviews =) Only six chapters and over one hundred…You all are seriously the best! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter…nope, no revelation…you won't get that until Qui does and what fun is it to have him find out quickly? You're confused? Excellent =) Thanx again, luv you all!





"Padawan, now, are you sure you're alright?"

Obi-Wan let out an exasperated sigh as he heard – again – what had come to be his master's new, favorite question. "Yes, Master, I'm as fine as I was when you asked five minutes ago. And the seven other times you've asked me that since I woke up. I've been fine for three days."

Qui-Gon smiled, "I'm sorry, Padawan. It's just that I don't fancy sorting out a diplomatic way to apologize to a tribal chief were you to, err…*christen* them."

"Master, it's not funny!" Obi-Wan mock glared at the man sitting in the pilot's chair beside him, a smile playing on his lips belying the harshness the look implied.

"Oh, but it is. From now on, I think that you will be packaging your own meals when we travel."

A buzz from the comlink stayed Obi-Wan's sharp, yet good natured reply. Qui-Gon pushed the button opening the communication channel and spoke, "Yes?"

"Master Jedi, we are prepared for your landing at terminal eight."

"Thank you," the Jedi master replied before closing the connection and sitting back in his seat, allowing the auto pilot to guide the ship farther into the planet's atmosphere.



* * *



"Welcome, most honored Jedi," greeted the apparent leader of a small group of three foot tall miniatures of the common humanoid. The entire group, about seven or eight, was dressed in rather extravagant robes of brilliant, deep colors. Gold satin, impeccably embroidered, lined the edges while patches of a material the Jedi did not recognize, woven into the material, gave the garment an ethereal glow.

"I," continued the leader, a being dressed in a deep blue with midnight black hair, almost all tucked under a square shaped blue hat, and eyes to the shade of azure, "am Chief Samaron of the Melites and these," he gestured to the ensemble behind him, "are my trusty lap fargots."

There was a small murmur of obedient laughter though his followers as he went through the introductions.

"And, honorable Master Jinn, I assume you remember Ambassador Arinik?"

Qui-Gon nodded and bent down to whisper in his padawan's ear, "Be wary of that one; he bites." A mental picture of Mace Windu after an unfortunate encounter with Arinik and it was all Obi-Wan could do to suppress what would have surely been considered deeply disrespectful laughter.

As soon as he was through with the formalities, the chief commented on the chill of the air – they had been standing on the landing platform, though to the Jedi the temperature was quite comfortable – and suggested that they all go inside the palace.

The chief entered the structure first, gently, but hurriedly removing the hat from his head and handing it off to the closest attendant, while the Jedi entered next, and the advisors brought up the rear.

Running a stubby hand through his thick hair, the chief fell back to be next to Qui-Gon, craning his neck at the man's height, "Honorable Jedi, you must be exhausted from your traveling. Coruscant and Xaron are not exactly neighbor, no? Customarily, business is handled – at least started – before rest is taken, but the business you have come here on will, unfortunately, not be addressed for at least five standard days."

The chief turned a corner, Qui-Gon following next to him and Obi-Wan two steps behind and one to the side. The elder Jedi looked down to his host, "May I ask why it is postponed so long?"

Samaron snorted, "It is not I who wish to delay it, Master Jedi. If it were entirely up to me, you would be gone by the sunset of the fifth day, but, much to my dismay, it is not. My – counterpart – Chief Polusti of the Nirano tribe seems to have a different agenda. My time is apparently not as valuable as his, and one of his lesser notified me this morning that their leader would not be arriving for five days – at the least." The chief's voice had slowly risen in volume and pitch, his steps had slowed, and his hands, now clenched, were shaking in anger, "He didn't even see fit to notify me himself!"

"Chief, I am sure that he meant no disrespect. Perhaps what is detaining him now was detaining him then, and he was unable to contact you?" Qui- Gon's voice was low and sonorous, giving a calming vibe to the tension and anger emanating from the small man.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," was the response, followed by murmurs of 'prostitutes,' 'pleasure slaves' and exclamations of 'how shameful' from the small group tagging along in their leader's wake.

The chief halted outside of a gilded doorway, ornate with etchings of unrecognizable symbols, simple yet elegant drawings, and a visually appealing border of crude, yet beautiful curves and lines. The man rubbed his hands over his face before calling out, "Zamaro?"

A servant who must have, at some point, joined the group of advisors, stepped out of the crowed, his plain, cream tunic standing out sorely against the advisor's colored robes, "Yes, my Chief."

Samaron made eye contact with the boy – he couldn't have been older than thirteen – whose gaze promptly fixed itself on the grey tiled floor, "I need to relax. Bring me Ara."

Bowing deeply, Zamaro scurried off down the hallway from which the group had come.

Turning back to the Jedi, Samaron looked up at Qui-Gon, "Now, curtosy of my ill-mannered *friend,* I have not had a welcoming meal prepared yet. My thought was that we would not have time for it before…but it appears we do. Would you be terribly offended if the meal was small and simple?"

"No," Qui-Gon answered, "not at all." He glanced at his apprentice who was now standing, hands folded in his robe, at the master's side, "The smaller, the better."

"My Chief," Zamaro panted as he hurried up to his master, dragging a girl behind him. The girl stumbled as she approached, head downcast, but regained herself quickly and bowed. Obi-Wan quietly observed that her hands were bound, not by the standard duristeel chains, but rather by two jeweled, gleaming gold bracelets, connected by a thin gold chain; beautiful, but restraints nonetheless. She was dressed in sheer, almost transparent material of soft purple hues, her stomach exposed – actually, most of her was exposed – and her body adorned with jewelry and glitter.

Grabbing hold of the link between the bracelets, the Chief quickly ended the conversation, hastily ordering Zamaro to take the Jedi to their room before dragging the young girl into what Obi-Wan guessed to be his bedchamber and slamming the door.

With their leader gone, the group of other Melites soon dispersed leaving Zamaro to deal with the Jedi, as commanded.

Zamaro bowed to his companions and asked them if they would please follow him. The boy led them on a substantial journey through winding hallways and bending corridors before finally stopping outside of a simple, but subtly beautifully dark wood door, accented by the red tapestries lining the walls.

"Honored ones, I hope that you find your room comfortable." The small being bowed, "If you discover anything not to your liking, please use the com to alert us."

"Thank you, Zamaro," Qui-Gon said before opening the door. Obi-Wan turned to give a smile to the boy, but the servant was already sprinting down the hall.

The padawan shrugged and entered the room, closing the door behind him. Obi-Wan glanced about, noting, among other things, the fine furniture, the rich, green hangings which decorated the walls, and the dark wood composing the doors and lining the tops and bottoms of the white, hand stenciled walls. Looking to the three doors which branched off of the main room at the far end, Obi-Wan saw – in the two rooms whose doors were ajar – two identical wooden, four-poster beds – one in each – both covered with numerous pillows and satin sheets. The color of the bedding – the only way Obi-Wan could think to describe it – was that of dried blood. The thought unnerved him, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and, instead, turned to his master.

"They seemed a bit hypocritical."

Qui-Gon stopped his scrutiny of one of the many tribal-like paintings which peppered the wall and placed his full attention on his padawan. "Why would you say that?"

"He criticized the other chief for the man's suspected, err, overindulgence, but did the same thing himself, not five minutes later." Obi-Wan spoke with no accusing tone, no condemnation, only as if he was stating a simple fact.

"Padawan, what one knows another does and what he himself does, though they may be the same action, carry entirely different meanings in the man's mind. Chief Samaron sees Chief Palanti's actions as an inappropriate delay in proceedings, but sees his own as a way of relieving the stress brought on by Palanti's absence. Everyone rationalizes their mistakes to some extent." With a final glance at the painting, Qui-Gon headed towards the door between the two bedrooms – the 'fresher.

"Now, though I do suspect that we will be notified when they want us for the evening meal, it might be good if we get ready now. While I clean up, why don't you choose a room?"

Obi-Wan smiled at his master and nodded. Unconsciously heading into the room to the left, he closed the door, locked it, sat on the bed, and put his head in his hands.

Qui-Gon, even when not aware of it, had the uncanny talent of laying the perfect guilt trip upon his apprentice.



Well, whatya think? Do tell, I'm amused by the guesses =) Thank you all again for reading. Now, go be good lil Jedi and review! LoL!