Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. It is rather long and has been substantially rewritten several times! I'm still not convinced it really fulfils the requirements/strict definition of this prompt, but the story demanded to be told and here it is. I hope you enjoy it. Only 2 letters left to go!

Xenophobia

"Captain, we are ready to depart at your earliest convenience – and the earlier that convenience, the more appreciated it will be," there was a slight but unmistakeable and uncharacteristic snap in the voice of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, born of weariness and some small measure of physical discomfort, as he walked with a slight limp up the ramp of their transport shuttle.

The two pilots who stood to attention at the top of the ramp flicked a quick glance at each other, their faces carefully schooled into expressions of passive neutrality.

"Very good, sir," the captain replied, crisply, "we can depart immediately."

"Excellent," twenty-two-year-old Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi was only a few steps behind his Master, head bowed slightly, but not enough to hide the black eye that coloured the left side of his face, accompanied by three deep lacerations that were crusted with blood across his cheek.

Qui-Gon paused at the top of the ramp, allowing his apprentice to catch up, before the pilot went to commence take off. The co-pilot raised the ramp, sealing the hatch, and hesitated for a moment, obviously nervous.

"My apologies, sir, but we have received a message from Master Windu. He wishes to know if your mission was a success?"

Qui-Gon exchanged a wry look with his apprentice, and the co-pilot cringed internally even as she made a concerted effort to straighten herself to attention, her eyes fixed somewhere on the bulkhead behind the two dishevelled Jedi. Both of them were coated in mud and dirt, their cloaks and tunics soaking wet and sticking to their bodies; the younger Padawan was shivering slightly, the older Master just looked exhausted. However, Qui-Gon reached into his pocket, producing a large, blue-ish white, oval object, speckled with golden flecks, handing it to the co-pilot.

"You may tell Master Windu, that yes, our mission was a success, we recovered a kou'tooni dragon egg for the Fo-Dov'ian King's coronation ceremony," he huffed, "place this in the incubator in the hold before you contact Master Windu, and tell him the next time he wants to steal an egg from a rampant reptilian carnivore, he can climb down from the Council Chamber and do it himself!"

"Master," Obi-Wan chided, softly, but there was a quirk of amusement on his lips.

"Uh… yes, sir," the co-pilot stammered, accepting the egg, sucking in a breath of surprise at how hot it was in her palm, "uh… sir? It's, uh… it's vibrating…"

"Yes – we'd better hope it doesn't hatch before the ceremony," Qui-Gon replied, grimly, "just put it in the incubator in the hold, that should keep it at the right temperature to prevent it hatching prematurely. The King of Fo-Dov'ia will be expected to hand rear and ride the kou'tooni before his fifth jubilee, or he will be deemed an unworthy ruler."

"And he'd be deposed?" the co-pilot guessed.

"No," Obi-Wan grinned at her, wincing as it pulled on his torn cheek, raising a hand to his face as he spoke, "he'll be fed to the kou'tooni."

"Oh… oh! Well, uh… yes, sir. Very good, sir…"

She trotted off, holding the egg gingerly in front of her in both palms, heading for the hold. A shudder ran through the ship as it lifted off, causing Qui-Gon to stagger, yelping inadvertently as he put weight on his injured knee. Obi-Wan caught his arm, steadying him, giving him a small smile.

"Come on, Master," he said, gently, "we should both go and get cleaned up, and get into some dry clothes. I can bind that knee for you…"

"And I'd better clean up your face," Qui-Gon remarked, lifting Obi-Wan's chin with the crook of his finger, turning his head to eye the three lacerations that still oozed a little blood, "you are extremely lucky she didn't take off your head with that swipe…"

"It certainly felt like she had, at the time," Obi-Wan quipped, ruefully, "although when she whipped your legs with her tail and knocked you to the ground, I honestly thought the worst..."

"Don't remind me," Qui-Gon groaned, wrapping his left arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, leaning on his apprentice a little as they made their way through to the passenger lounge, "your Force-push against her was very well timed… still, at least our injuries are minor. With a little bacta and the healing energies of the Force, we will be whole again by the time we reach Fo'Dovia, and perhaps we need not mention to Master Windu that we were caught unawares by the female returning to the nest unexpectedly… they normally abandon the eggs to hatch and survive alone."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan laughed a little, as he released his hold on the taller Jedi's waist, allowing him to drop into a hard, plastoid chair with a low groan, "would you like to use the shower first, or…?"

"You go," Qui-Gon waved a hand at him, closing his eyes, "I'm going to focus on healing my knee a little first. Just don't take too long!"

Obi-Wan grinned and projected his gratitude through their bond, stripping out of his sodden clothes even as he was making his way into the fresher. A hot shower and some clean, dry clothes made him feel much better, though his body ached with exhaustion, his black eye and lacerated cheek still throbbing savagely. It had been an arduous climb up a mountain to reach the nest, hidden in a cave behind a waterfall, the winged kou'tooni preferring high altitudes and hidden places. The trip there and back had been exhausting, let alone the fight with the irate lizard; neither of the Jedi willing to strike a lethal blow, the gigantic dragon being somewhat less accommodating to the egg thieves.

Dropping his damp towels into the laundry, along with his filthy robes, he set out fresh towels for his Master, and stepped back out into the passenger lounge, pulling on a thick, brown outer robe as he did so, wrapping it around himself for warmth. A smile tugged again at his injured cheek, but he could not help it – Qui-Gon still sat in the hard chair, but his left arm rested on the table beside him, head pillowed on his elbow, breathing far too deeply and evenly to be anything other than asleep.

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek, trying and failing to suppress his amusement, as he sent a firm nudge down their training bond. Qui-Gon stirred and groaned, lifting his head up, blinking blearily, finally focussing on Obi-Wan, pushing himself away from the table hastily.

"That was quick," Qui-Gon grunted, scrubbing a filthy hand across his eyes, only serving to smear more dirt across his face.

"That was an interesting meditative stance you were utilising, Master," Obi-Wan replied, innocently, mischief and merriment twinkling in his blue eyes, "what's it called? Or is it a new position? Should I ask Master Yoda to name it after you?"

"Funnily enough, it's already got a name, it's called the 'My-Padawan-Is-Going-To-Spend-The-Next-Six-Months-Cleaning-The-Garbage-Compactors-If-He's-Not-Careful'," Qui-Gon shot back, dryly, pushing himself to his feet with a pained groan, "come, sit – I'll fetch a medical kit, let's sort out that wound of yours…"

"Oh, no, Master, it can wait," Obi-Wan shook his head, carefully, mindful of how sore and achy he still felt, "it's not important. It's not even bleeding any more. Go, take a shower, you'll feel better in clean clothes and then I can bandage your knee for you."

With a snort of affectionate amusement, Qui-Gon held up his hands in mock-surrender, and disappeared into the fresher. When he emerged a few minutes later, he was also dressed in a clean tunic and robe, to find Obi-Wan had laid out a medical kit, a couple of vials of bacta, a roll of bandages and a hypospray of pain-relievers and anti-inflammatories was already waiting. Qui-Gon quirked a wry smile as Obi-Wan pulled out one of the chairs, gesturing to it pointedly.

"I thought I was the Master here?" Qui-Gon arched one eyebrow, and Obi-Wan shrugged, his cheeks colouring only slightly at the jibe.

"I took the liberty of getting everything ready to treat your knee while you were in the shower, so you might as well go first, Master," Obi-Wan replied, putting deliberate emphasis on the last word.

"Garbage compactors, Padawan."

"Vokara Che, Master."

"You wouldn't dare, Obi-Wan."

"Are you going to test that theory?"

"…Hmm. Very well," Qui-Gon acquiesced, sitting down in the chair, tugging up the leg of his trousers, revealing a knee joint that was badly swollen, hot and red skin already darkening into black and purple bruising.

Obi-Wan hissed in dismay but set right to work; kneeling on the deck, he injected the hypospray of painkillers and anti-inflammatories into Qui-Gon's thigh, before very gently and carefully applying bacta all over the joint with the lightest of touches, smearing the cold gel liberally all over the sprained knee, hiding a small smile at his Master's almost imperceptible sigh of relief as the medications immediately set to work. He then bound the joint in supportive bandages for good measure, fastening them off, leaning back as Qui-Gon rolled his trouser leg back down, standing slowly, testing his weight on his knee. He grimaced a little, but nodded in approval.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," he said, gratefully, "come, Padawan – allow me to return the favour."

Obi-Wan nodded obediently, pushing himself to his feet, but a wave of dizziness hit him as he did so, his vision blacking out for a moment at the sudden shift in position. Strong arms caught his elbows and he found himself being lowered into the chair his Master had just vacated, blinking his eyes rapidly in an effort to clear his vision.

"Easy there, Obi-Wan… as I suspected, you have a mild concussion," Qui-Gon frowned at him in concern, "here, this will help…"

Obi-Wan found himself on the receiving end of a dose of painkillers this time, the pounding in his head and behind his left eye finally easing off a little, as Qui-Gon doused a dressing pad in bacta, gently cleaning the three deep cuts on his face from the kou'tooni's claws, removing the last of the dried blood and dirt from the wounds, before gently applying some of the gel to the cuts directly, and to the bruising around Obi-Wan's eye. Qui-Gon soaked another dressing and pressed it over the cuts and the bruised eye.

"Hold that there for a moment, please," he murmured.

Obi-Wan obeyed, holding the dressing in place with his fingertips as Qui-Gon unwound a bandage and then wrapped it firmly but not too tightly across Obi-Wan's face and around his head, until the dressing was held in place.

"There – it looks a little dramatic, but give it a couple of hours and the bacta will have done its work well enough to lose the bandages," Qui-Gon told him, giving him a gentle clap on the shoulder, "now, come… I think a healing trance for a few hours will suit us both, if we are to face Master Windu's questionable sense of humour upon our arrival at Fo-Dov'ia for the coronation."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan hid a yawn behind his hand, pushing himself to his feet.

He staggered over to his bunk, collapsing onto it gratefully. Healing trance be damned, he did not have the energy to focus himself enough to to achieve one; he was asleep almost before his aching head hit the pillows. Qui-Gon smiled to himself in amusement as he stretched himself out on his bunk a little more carefully, mindful of his aching bruises. Clasping his hands together over his chest, he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and surrendered his consciousness to the Living Force.

"Sir! Sir, please wake up! Sir!"

Obi-Wan jolted awake with a start, recoiling from the insistent hand on his arm, the other hand coming up ready to defend himself, even as he blinked the sleepiness from his eyes.

"Wha-?" he managed, thickly, "Oh… Captain?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," the pilot said, his voice deep with regret, "but I can't seem to rouse Master Jinn, and we have a priority one transmission coming in from Coruscant for his immediate attention…"

"Master Jinn is deep in a healing trance," Obi-Wan replied, bringing a hand up to his aching head and wincing slightly, "I doubt I will be able to wake him… one moment, I will speak to the Temple. Tell them I am on my way…"

"Very good, sir."

The pilot disappeared, as Obi-Wan slowly rose. Checking his bond with his Master, he realised that Qui-Gon was, indeed, deeply unconscious, but his knee was almost healed; it would not be long before he awoke naturally. Obi-Wan stepped into the fresher, unwinding the bandages from his own face. The lacerations had faded to little more than pink scars, and would soon disappear, the bruising all but gone. However, the aching in his head and faintly dizzy feeling told him sleep had done little to alleviate the concussion, and he began to regret not following his Master's example and striving for a healing trance instead of surrendering to sleep.

Splashing some water on his face and patting it dry, he nonetheless straightened himself up, took a steadying breath, and swiftly made his way into the cockpit, where the pilot and co-pilot waited at their stations.

"Sir, I have Master Mundi on hold for you,"

Obi-Wan winced internally at having kept one of the most senior members of the Council waiting, but kept his voice calm and level, projecting an air of authority as he nodded; "Put him through."

Sure enough, a hologram coalesced in front of him, and Obi-Wan immediately placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robes, bowing deeply.

"Master Mundi," he said, respectfully, "I am sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Padawan Kenobi… where is Master Jinn?"

"Ah… he is, ah…" Obi-Wan hesitated, and then was forced to opt for honesty, despite knowing his Master had intended to hide their injuries from the Council, "he is in a healing trance, Master Mundi. His knee was injured during our mission; he has almost finished healing it, I expect him to awaken in the next hour or so, if you would like me to ask him to contact you then?"

"You did not escape unscathed yourself, I see," Ki-Adi-Mundi remarked, and Obi-Wan self-consciously raised his fingertips to his bruised countenance, "I hope your own injuries are equally minor, Padawan, as the Council has an urgent mission for you both."

"A mission, Master? But the kou'tooni egg is already starting to hatch…"

"Your pilots will have to take care of it," Mundi cut him off, and Obi-Wan immediately snapped to attention, wary of overstepping his bounds, well aware he was only a Padawan, addressing an esteemed member of the Council, "we have received a Code Red distress call from Master Lon-Sa-Oss'ten and his Padawan, Jasta Trembori. Their ship encountered engine difficulties and they were forced to make an emergency landing on Remosta."

"Remosta?" Obi-Wan repeated, disbelievingly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as the Force whispered warnings in the back of his mind, "I thought… I thought Remosta was on the Banned Planets list?"

"It was the first Banned Planet," Mundi agreed, "it is on the very far edge of Wild Space, and off-limits to every civilised and non-civilised space faring race in the known universe. Even the Hutts do not dare send ships there."

"But… you're sending us."

"Yes," Mundi inclined his tall head, regretfully, "we know from their transmission that Master Oss'ten was able to land his ship but cannot take off again. We have despatched the cruiser True Faith to rendezvous with you there, but they are at least three days away; your ship is only a few hours from Remosta. I need you to change your course, and render aid to Master Oss'ten and Padawan Trembori immediately, while awaiting the arrival of the True Faith."

"Yes, Master, of course," Obi-Wan bowed again, "but, Master… it would help to know why Remosta is a Banned Planet? What can we expect when we land?"

"If I knew that, Padawan, I would tell you," Mundi replied, softly, "but nobody has ever returned from Remosta… usually those who land there are never heard from again. I pray to the Force that you will be the first to return... Given that Master Oss'ten is still transmitting his distress signal, it is hopeful that he and his Padawan are still alive. However, his communications system is down, so we cannot reach him; we have only the emergency transponder and locator beacon active."

"So we do not know what to expect," Obi-Wan commented, softly, stroking his jaw thoughtfully, "hmm… Master, is there anything else we need to know? Anything at all of use?"

Ki-Adi-Mundi spread his hands, looking a little helpless, which rocked Obi-Wan's confidence more than he would be willing to admit.

"I know nothing more than what I have already told you, young Kenobi," he replied, a little sadly, "truthfully, I am reluctant to order you to such a dangerous place, let alone without a ship to escape on – unless Master Oss'ten's can be repaired, which is unlikely – but if they are still alive…"

"…Then we must render aid if we can," Obi-Wan finished for him, "yes, Master. Of course. I understand. Pilot, set course immediately, please."

"Aye, sir," he nodded, already plotting their new heading.

The hologram of Master Mundi smiled, a little sadly; "Thank you, Padawan. I will transmit your orders immediately for your Master to review when he awakens… I recommend you rest as much as possible yourself, young Kenobi – you will need to be prepared for anything when you reach Remosta. May the Force be with you."

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan bowed again, and the channel was cut.

Obi-Wan straightened, as the pilot slowly turned in his seat, the co-pilot shooting nervous glances over her shoulder.

"Sir… are we really to land on Remosta?"

"We will judge that as we approach," Obi-Wan replied, carefully, not wanting to pre-empt his Master's orders, "increase the scanner range to absolute maximum. If we detect anything suspicious as we approach, stop immediately and await Master Jinn's orders… I… I must follow Master Mundi's instructions. I need to heal myself before we arrive. Do not approach or land until either my Master or I gives the order."

"Understood – yes, sir," the pilot nodded, in obvious relief.

Obi-Wan nodded back, and retreated to the passenger lounge. Qui-Gon had not moved a muscle in the few minutes he had been gone, but Obi-Wan's head was reeling. Remosta. It was drilled into every young Jedi that some planets – the Banned Planets – were strictly off limits, even to Jedi. You Do Not Go There. Not under any circumstances. Nobody knew why, and anybody who went to try and find out no doubt did find out why, but they were never able to report back. Master Oss'ten must have been truly desperate to land there, knowing this. Obi-Wan lay down on his bunk, fighting back against a rising swell of dizziness and nausea. Swallowing hard, knowing it was a mixture of concussion and anxiety, he clasped his hands over his chest, matching his Master's posture unconsciously, and slowly released himself into the waiting embrace of the healing Force. He had one, last, conscious thought before he slipped into darkness.

I have a bad feeling about this…

Obi-Wan felt himself being summoned back to consciousness sooner than he had expected; there was a gentle hand on his forehead and he blinked his eyes open in surprise; Qui-Gon was hovering over him, looking more than a little concerned.

"Master," Obi-Wan croaked, his mouth dry, as he swallowed, raising a hand to rub at his tired eyes, "how is your wound?"

"I am fully healed," Qui-Gon replied, with a slight nod; he held out a steaming mug as Obi-Wan turned and sat on the edge of his bunk, with a slight groan, "how are you feeling, Padawan?"

"I will be fine, Master," Obi-Wan mumbled, accepting the mug of tea gratefully, nursing it in both hands as he inhaled the fragrant steam, "I… I take it you have heard our orders?"

"Yes, though I scarcely believe them," Qui-Gon frowned, lifting his own mug in one hand to take a mouthful, "if it were not for the legitimacy of Master Oss'ten's distress call, I would think that the Council has finally had enough of me, and decided to dispose of me in the most inconvenient way possible."

"How kind of them to allow me to share your fate," Obi-Wan rejoined, dryly, closing his eyes as he sipped his tea.

"Yes," Qui-Gon huffed his amusement, but the expression quickly fell from his face, as his lips pursed into a thin line, "I am sorry to have drawn you out of your trance early, but we are approaching the Remosta System. So far, we have nothing on scanners, but our pilots are both extremely frightened; illogically so. I do not know if they will land on the planet's surface at all."

"The escape pod, then?" Obi-Wan guessed, with a sigh.

"It may be the most efficacious compromise," Qui-Gon agreed, "we will pack it with food and medical supplies; everything we may need to survive for three days until the True Faith arrives. No Jedi has ever set foot on Remosta in all of the recorded history of the Temple; let us pray our strength in the Force will be enough for us to survive whatever we may encounter."

"Master… what do you think is down there?" Obi-Wan asked, softly, gazing into his mug of tea as if he could divine the future from it.

"Obi-Wan," the rebuke was gentle, "do not dwell on your anxieties. It does not do to make uninformed guesses or indulge in wild conjecture. We must focus only on the moment; there are friends who are in need, and we must attend to render what assistance we can. The rest is up to the Force. We live to serve."

"Yes, Master… of course. I understand."

"I know that you do," Qui-Gon spared him a small smile, "now, it is no use trying to shield from me, young Padawan – I can sense that residual headache of yours. Take these pain-relievers, drink your tea, and we will prepare ourselves to face the unknown."

"Yes, Master," a small smile flickered across his lips as Qui-Gon handed him two small, white tablets, and he swallowed them down quickly with a mouthful of tea, "thank you."

Qui-Gon's hand rested briefly on his shoulder, sending him a wave of calm comfort and reassurance.

"Whatever fate awaits us on Remosta, we will face it together. Come… let us prepare the escape pod."

Obi-Wan drank down the last of his tea, rose, and set the cup down on the table before following his Master out towards the tiny capsule.

Long-range orbital scans revealed absolutely nothing from Remosta… nothing at all. The planet itself barely registered on their sensors, giving them no indication of atmosphere, life signs, terrain, weather reports… nothing. Obi-Wan felt his headache redouble as they approached, gritting his teeth; he saw Qui-Gon rub his own temple a few times, and he had a feeling the discomfort had nothing to do with his residual concussion. The closer they got to the planet, the more their pilot's fear increased; irrationally so, until the Captain brought the ship to a halt, far outside the normal orbital range.

"I can't," he said, numbly, a tear tracking down his face as he quivered visibly, "I… I can't go any closer. I won't."

Obi-Wan could not blame him – darkness seemed to emanate from the nearby planet; only his mental shields and the discipline of his training kept him from succumbing to the irrational, overwhelming fear that permeated their ship.

"It is no matter," Qui-Gon replied, shaking his head, "we will take the escape pod from here. Return to your mission, Captain, as soon as we have launched. Come, Obi-Wan."

The Padawan followed his Master obediently, with a throbbing in his temples and a heavy feeling in his heart. He climbed into the escape pod first, taking the controls, as Qui-Gon squeezed in behind him, sealing the hatch. It was a tight fit with the number of crates of supplies they had wedged in, but they wanted to be prepared… Obi-Wan launched the small pod, and almost immediately, their transport ship leapt away into hyperspace, the pilots desperate to get away from the imposing orb in front of them. Obi-Wan was shocked to see that most of the planet's surface appeared to be black; he had never seen a world so dark. Here and there were a few expanses of greenery, but even these seemed thick with foreboding, an aura that permeated everything like a dark shadow on his soul and he grimaced, shivering at the strange coldness that was reaching out like inky tendrils from the strange planet…

… A warm hand on his shoulder and a wave of light through the Force brought him blinking back to awareness and he shuddered, wondering if he had just momentarily lost consciousness.

"Master…?" he queried, uncertainly, hating how his voice shook slightly.

"I sense it too, Obi-Wan," the Master replied, quietly, tightening his grip on the Padawan's shoulder slightly, "this place… it is strong with the Dark Side. We must be on our guard here. Strengthen your shields, Obi-Wan, and concentrate only on the Light. Even in darkness, there is always light. Hold on to your own light, Padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded, wordlessly, his mouth suddenly dry as his heart hammered in his chest. He made a concerted effort to calm himself, keeping a close eye on the scanner readouts. The escape pod scanners were even less powerful than their shuttles', but he at least had a fix on the co-ordinates of Master Oss'ten's distress signal, so he homed in on that, guiding the pod expertly, noting it was on the edge of one of the expansive green forests. He brought the pod in closer, as Qui-Gon buckled himself into one of the passenger seats, Obi-Wan fastening his own restraints. Once they entered the atmosphere, their trajectory was set – the pod lacked the wings necessary for atmospheric flight, relying only on thrusters, gravity, and their pre-selected landing zone. Due to the lack of sensor data, Obi-Wan had designated their landing area a short distance from the crashed ship, not wanting to risk accidentally hitting it and killing, well, themselves, and the two Jedi they had come to rescue.

The pod eventually began to slow its decent, hurtling through the atmosphere like a meteor, trailing fire as superheated particles bounced off their hull. The thrusters fired automatically, adjusting their trajectory, and the pod sliced towards the ground. Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the scanners, but there was still no useful information to be gleaned from them; no life signs, no indication of civilisation, nothing… it was not even recognising the trees Obi-Wan could see as being actual vegetation, just returning a perpetual, dark, blank report… as if there was nothing there at all.

Soon enough, the pod struck the surface of the foreboding planet, sliding for several metres, gouging deep into the soft ground, until it came to a rest. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both unfastened their restraints, climbing to their feet.

"Master," Obi-Wan was the first to speak, hesitating to open the hatch, "there is still nothing on our sensors… I do not even know if the atmosphere outside is breathable."

"Well… there is one way for us to find out," Qui-Gon replied, calmly; "Master Oss'ten survived long enough to send a distress call… let us hope that means the air is breathable."

Obi-Wan suppressed a reluctant, resigned sigh, and obediently opened the hatch. He could not help but hold his breath as he did so, but then took an experimental sniff. He immediately regretted the action, barely able to suppress the reflex to gag; the air smelled foul.

Once, he had been sent with his Master to a small research outpost on a distant rainforest moon, where the scientists had reported the outbreak of a strange disease. They had escorted three Healers to render aid… but they had been too late. The smell of death and decay as he had stepped into that hot, humid research station was nothing, nothing compared to the rank stench that hung in the air of Remosta. He choked on it, hearing Qui-Gon similarly coughing. Eyes watering, he pressed the sleeve of his robe over his nose and mouth, breathing through the fabric, though it offered little respite.

"Well," Qui-Gon sounded like he was making a concerted effort not to gag, "the air is, at least, breathable…"

"That's debatable," Obi-Wan replied, his voice muffled behind the thick sleeve of his robe, "I've never smelled anything so vile…"

"Try to breathe through your nose a little, if you can," Qui-Gon advised him, "eventually, your senses will adjust and you will not notice the smell so much."

Obi-Wan scowled a little, but did as he was bid, pulling a revolted face. Taking a moment to steady themselves, they got their first good look at the terrain surrounding them.

All around, the ground was, quite simply, black. Qui-Gon crouched down, running his fingers through the soft earth, which looked like a cross between soil and sand, midnight black under weak light from the distant sun overhead, and then snatching back his hand with an exclamation of shock.

"Master?" Obi-Wan enquired, curiously, even as he focussed on taking shallow breaths, "what is it?"

"I do not know," Qui-Gon mused, staring at his hand, as if expecting it to be damaged in some way, "I… I felt… darkness. All-encompassing darkness… as if the planet itself sensed my Light and sought to extinguish it. I have never… be on your guard, Obi-Wan. This place is truly dangerous."

Obi-Wan nodded and raised his eyes as Qui-Gon stood; the planet's surface was virtually featureless, just the strange black soil-sand stretching endlessly and flat as far as the eye could see, except in front of them, where, in the distance, a jagged tree-line broke the orange-grey horizon, and there, just in front of the alien forest, the distinctive outline of a downed transport shuttle.

"Master Oss'ten's ship," Obi-Wan pointed, "over there."

"I see it," Qui-Gon nodded, "grab a medical kit from the pod, Obi-Wan, and let us investigate."

Obediently, Obi-Wan reached inside and grabbed a satchel bag laden with medical supplies, hitching it over his shoulder, as Qui-Gon lifted a backpack filled with rations, water and a few blankets, not knowing what state their colleagues would be in. They struck out across the black expanse, their boots sinking a little into the dark, soft ground; they had been walking for only a minute or two when Obi-Wan happened to glance backwards, and stopped in surprise.

"Padawan?"

"Our footprints, Master… they're gone."

"Keep walking, Obi-Wan. Do not look back."

"Yes, Master."

They were almost to the downed shuttle, when Qui-Gon paused, staring at the hull of the ship. Obi-Wan followed his Master's gaze, and then he saw it, too.

"Master… the ship… what's happening?"

"I… do not know," Qui-Gon admitted, "but whatever it is… I have never seen anything like it before."

The ship was, quite literally, disintegrating. As the two Jedi watched, a metal hull plate slowly blackened, and then crumbled, turning into the same black dust as the ground was covered with, falling with a soft hiss to the floor, where the ground rippled and immediately smoothed out, absorbing the strange dust just as it had their footprints. The progress was slow, but noticeable; within a few short days, the ship would be consumed entirely by the black dust.

"We should not stay here," Qui-Gon decided, "I cannot sense any life signs from the ship… and with this slow… decay… of their vessel, Master Oss'ten and Padawan Trembori must have sought shelter in the forest. We will start our search there."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan eyed the ominous tree line with trepidation, but nonetheless moved to follow his Master towards the forest.

However, he had barely taken a step when Obi-Wan stumbled and froze, his mind suddenly reeling as the Force screamed a warning at him. Qui-Gon must have sensed it as well, because the Master swung around, his hand automatically resting on his lightsabre, though he did not draw the weapon. Obi-Wan felt a shadow drift across his mind and he recoiled from it, heart pounding, palms slick with sweat as he took a step backwards, instinctively moving closer to his Master.

Light-bearers!

Obi-Wan yelped and clamped his hands over his ears, but the voice was a roar inside his mind, screeching like a knife-blade being dragged across a slate, stabbing through his temples with visceral hatred.

Outsiders!

Abominations!

How dare you come to this place?!

"Obi-Wan!" his Master's voice commanded his attention, but he could barely hear it over the screaming in his mind; he fought to reinforce his shields, trying to block out the fiendish presence that had invaded his psyche.

"Aghh," he groaned, weakly, "what… what was that?"

There was no answer forthcoming, as Obi-Wan finally managed to force his eyes open… just in time to see the ground move. He gaped in open-mouthed shock as the black sand shifted and morphed, swirling upwards, coalescing into a strange, upright… creature, was the only word that sprang to mind. The thing stood about twelve feet tall, with double-jointed legs on cloven hooves. Its torso was roughly humanoid but lacking any identifying features; its arms were over-long, with one elbow joint half way down, three-fingered hands dragging knuckles along the ground. Atop its neck, the head roughly resembled the skull of a strange animal, with long, multi-pronged antlers jaggedly pointing to the sky. Empty eye sockets stared down at them hollowly, the bared black teeth grinning at them, maw hanging open, revealing only the blackness within. Its whole body was the same flat black as the earth around it, and if it cast a shadow, it was impossible to see it. It seemed like the creature simply absorbed almost all light projected upon to it, making its features difficult to distinguish, and Obi-Wan found himself frozen to the spot, transfixed in pure, abject terror at the sight of the creature before him.

Light-bringers…

The creature's jaws moved, but the sound seemed to be projected straight into their minds, and Obi-Wan whimpered, pitching to his knees, his right hand clasping his head in agony.

Outsiders and abominations! Your kind are not welcome here. You will be consumed by the darkness…

Obi-Wan was helpless to act as one of those huge hands seized him around the waist, pinning his left arm to his side with its claws, lifting him high into the air, as the creature drew him towards its cavernous mouth, opening its jaws, revealing only a bottomless pit of blackness, filled with the promise of endless torment, resonating overwhelmingly with the Dark Side of the Force… close enough to feel its hot breath on his face, to smell the overpowering stench of death and decay, Obi-Wan screwed his eyes shut, concentrating only on the Light he carried within him.

"Padawan! Hold on!"

Jarred into action as the creature turned its full attention on the younger Jedi, Qui-Gon managed to draw his lightsabre, leaping high into the air, sweeping the blade up, around, and then down in a green blaze of light, severing the creature's arm. It howled in agony; the limb dropped to the ground, disintegrating, turning back into the dust it had been formed from, as the creature bellowed in pained rage. Qui-Gon landed and immediately hauled Obi-Wan to his feet, glancing around wildly; another of the creatures began to rise from the dirt, and then another, and another…

"Obi-Wan! Run! To the forest!"

The Padawan did not need telling twice; the two of them took off at a sprint, slipping and stumbling as the ground beneath them whirled and shifted, as if trying to snare their feet, more of the dark creatures forming and swiping at them, but Qui-Gon's lightsabre seemed to be just enough to keep them at bay as they ran, and then, abruptly, the ground became solid, and then grassy, and then they were surrounded by trees…

Qui-Gon skidded to a halt; Obi-Wan came to a stop beside him, pitched to his knees, and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground. On hands and knees he crawled back, shaking uncontrollably, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as Qui-Gon crouched beside him, placing one hand on his back even as he kept his lightsabre drawn and activated with the other.

"Are you alright?" the Master asked, his voice laden with concern.

Breathlessly, Obi-Wan could only nod, not trusting himself to speak, still trembling horribly. It took a good few minutes for the tremors to subside; at around the same time, Qui-Gon deactivated and holstered his lightsabre, realising that the dark creatures were either unable or unwilling to follow them into the dense forest.

"Master," Obi-Wan croaked, as Qui-Gon took the pack from his back, pulling out a bottle of water, "what… what were those… things?"

Qui-Gon handed him the water; he accepted it with a hand that still shook, but he was able to take a drink, rinsing the sour taste from his mouth, before re-capping the bottle and handing it back, well aware they might need to ration their supplies… especially as getting more would mean returning to their pod, and he doubted that was an option for either of them.

"I… I can only say what it looked like," Qui-Gon replied, gazing back the way that they had come, into the trees, a far-away look on his face, "once, a few years ago, I was conducting some research in the secure vault of the Jedi Archives. As you know, I am a student of the Unifying Force, and my fascination for prophecies and foretellings forms a great deal of my own independent studies… I found an ancient tome, written in an archaic dialect. Even Master Jocasta could not read it, but she directed me to another text that aided my understanding. It spoke of a dark world, a stronghold of the Sith, where creatures born of darkness served their evil Masters, spreading death and decay throughout the universe. When the last of the Sith fell to the Jedi, the creatures fled from the Light; it was thought they were all dead."

"These creatures… they looked like… those things?" Obi-Wan really wished he could stop shaking and keep his voice steady, but his limbs and throat refused to obey, ignoring his attempts to draw on the Force for strength.

"Yes," Qui-Gon closed his eyes, briefly, then met Obi-Wan's gaze, not taking his comforting hand off the Padawan's back, "they had many names, throughout the known galaxy at the time the book was written, hundreds of years ago, but the most common I could translate into basic was simply… the Pestilent. They were reported to be highly xenophobic, treating anything different as lesser and inferior, wiping out whole species on a whim, subservient only to their Sith Masters, recognising them as the Lords of Darkness the Pestilent were created to service. They are born of the Dark Side, Obi-Wan. We are as much of an abomination to them as they are to us."

"You… you wounded one, with your lightsabre…"

"A lucky guess," Qui-Gon admitted, "no creature of darkness can withstand the pure light of a kyber crystal blade… it was why the Sith stole and corrupted crystals of their own, creating their bleeding lightsabres. It was the only way they could resist us… and even they eventually fell to the Light."

"Then this forest…"

"A small haven of life on an otherwise dead world," Qui-Gon glanced around at the trees, "even in the midst of Light there is Darkness, and vice-versa; two sides in a constant fight for balance, each somehow defining the other while still striving to defeat it."

"Master, I… I… Master, look out!"

Even as Obi-Wan cried out, Qui-Gon's lightsabre was reactivating; he spun on his heel, the blade moving fluidly in his expert hand, parrying a downwards strike… as another bright green blade met his, both humming and crackling with energy. They held their stance for a split second, and then the other lightsabre suddenly deactivated, leaving them faced with a shocked-looking Cerean.

"Master Jinn!" he exclaimed, "My apologies, I did not recognise you!"

"Master Oss'ten," Qui-Gon greeted the newcomer, powering down and holstering his own weapon, "it pleases me to see you alive… are you quite well?"

"As well as can be expected," the Cerean bowed his tall head, with a slight grimace, "I escaped with only a few bruises I sustained in our crash landing two days ago…"

"And what of your Padawan? What of young Jasta?"

Oss'ten bowed his head, and Obi-Wan felt like he was going to be ill all over again at the wave of grief he sensed from the older Master.

"She… she died, only a few hours ago," he said, mournfully, "one of those creatures… it injured her. She sickened and died, despite my best efforts to heal her with the Force. The Dark Side prevails here, Master Jinn. Please tell me your ship is within reach…"

"We were unable to bring our ship in to land," Qui-Gon shook his head, "we were forced to land in an escape pod, but the True Faith is on its way here, and should arrive in three days…"

A brief look of dismay flashed across Oss'ten's features, but then he composed himself, and nodded.

"If the Force is with us, we may be able to survive that long, if you have a few supplies? I… I was heading to my ship to see if I might salvage some rations… There is nothing edible in these forests, but the creatures do not venture here… I think the living terrain is hostile to their very nature. They rely on the Darkness to survive…"

"And without their Sith Masters to sustain them, they grow weaker, and life reclaims this world," Qui-Gon mused.

"Sith?" Oss'ten repeated, in disbelief.

"I will explain later," Qui-Gon promised, "you have a camp nearby where we can rest and await the True Faith?"

"Yes, of course… it is not much, but it will suffice. Please, follow me…"

Lon-Sa-Oss'ten led them deeper into the forest, the towering trees closing in around them, blotting out much of the weak sunlight, leaving them in a perpetual gloom. However, the deeper they walked into the woodlands, the fresher the air smelled, and Obi-Wan found his spirits lifting a little, despite the oppressive atmosphere. However, his head still throbbed, his stomach constantly threatening to rebel against the little water he had swallowed, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with constant warnings of danger, all around him. He felt inexplicably tired, his muscles aching with fatigue as they plodded on, and he stumbled several times, earning himself more than a few concerned looks from his Master.

"Is it much further, Lon-Sa?" Qui-Gon asked, catching Obi-Wan's right arm as the Padawan staggered over a tree root, almost falling.

"Just through here," Oss'ten beckoned, pushing aside some overgrowth, "I walked as far from those creatures as possible, carrying Jasta until I could go no further… I made camp here. Come."

He ducked through the plant life, and Qui-Gon immediately followed, Obi-Wan emerging last into the clearing. The space was small and surrounded by thick tree trunks and dense greenery; it was obvious some of the campsite had been cleared with a lightsabre to make a neat circle of habitable space between the massive trees. A small fire in the centre blazed and crackled, and Oss'ten crouched to add a few more sticks from a nearby pile. A couple of blankets were laid out on opposite sides of the fire to make rudimentary beds; one was occupied by a humanoid shape, wrapped and shrouded carefully in a light brown cloak, and Obi-Wan felt his heart clench in his chest.

"Oh, Jasta…" he said, mournfully.

"I am so sorry, Oss'ten," Qui-Gon sympathetically clasped his fellow Master's shoulder, "it is a difficult burden to bear when a Padawan joins the Force before the Master…"

Obi-Wan crouched down, gently touching his fingers to the shrouded form. He remembered Jasta as an exuberant, playful, green-skinned Twi'lek girl who had grown into a confident and capable young woman, just a few years older than himself. Rumour had abounded amongst the Senior Padawans recently that Jasta would be the next to be chosen by the Council to face the Trials for Knighthood, and there was no doubt that she would have passed. To see her lying here now, a cold and empty shell beside a fire that could never hope to warm her… Obi-Wan bowed his head and released his grief into the Force as best he could, but then he snatched his hand back with a gasp.

"Obi-Wan? What is it?" Qui-Gon asked, concerned.

"Master, I don't… I don't know… I felt… it was Dark, and cold… like when that creature touched me…"

"Did you see what was happening to my ship?" Oss'ten asked, softly, his eyes haunted with something Obi-Wan might have described as fear, were he not addressing a Master Jedi, "the same rot… the same decay… it is consuming her body. I do not know what it is… one of those creatures wounded her, severely, in the stomach… she and I fought it off with our lightsabres, but her wound was grievous… I carried her here and tried to heal her, but the wound resisted. It resisted, Qui-Gon – despite all my strength and healing abilities, I could not heal it. The wound festered, rapidly, and eventually, she succumbed, but oh… how she suffered… she begged me, Qui-Gon, she begged me to make it stop, and I… I could not…"

He turned away, raising his hands to his face as his shoulders shook with emotion, and Qui-Gon shared a horrified look with Obi-Wan. The tall Master reached out to rest a supportive hand on Oss'ten's shoulder.

"I am sorry, old friend," he said again, softly, "take solace in the fact that she is one with the Force now, and can suffer no further pain. I am sorry we did not get here sooner…"

"It is scant comfort," Lon-Sa replied, with a trace of bitterness, "but your words are wise, Qui-Gon… I thank you for coming to our rescue; truthfully, I do not think there is anything that could have been done to save her, once the rot set in… you mentioned the Sith, old friend, did you speak in seriousness?"

"I did," Qui-Gon confirmed, grimly, "those creatures are spoken of in the ancient texts, known only as the Pestilent, xenophobic servants of the Dark Side and spreading nothing but death and despair in their wake. They were thought to be extinct, along with the Sith. Remosta must be their home planet."

"Remosta?" Lon-Sa-Oss'ten's face paled even further, as he took a step backwards, "we are not on… this can't be…"

"You didn't know?" Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Jasta and I were on our way back from a diplomatic mission when we ran into an ion storm and we were taken far off course; amongst other things, we lost our navigational array, sensors, life support and hyperspace engines," Oss'ten's eyes were wide with shock, "we needed a planet to land on, this was the only one I could find within range… The Force was warning us that something was amiss but we had no other choice… I did not know, or I would never have landed here! Drifting in space would have been preferable to… to… Oh, Jasta… this is all my fault; I have sealed all of our fates, I would never even have sent the distress signal if I had known…"

"Do not blame yourself," Qui-Gon said, sternly, "we came willingly, my Padawan and I, because we hoped to render aid, and the True Faith will come to collect us in a few days. All we need do is survive until then, and these woods seem safe for now."

"Yes… those monsters… the Pestilent… they do not come here. If we are to survive for three days, do you… do you happen to have any food, and water? There is nothing to eat in these woodlands, not even insects, and no rain has fallen during my stay, though I suppose it must sometimes for these trees to flourish…"

"We have supplies," Qui-Gon confirmed, dropping his backpack to the ground, rummaging through it, "here… ration bars, and a flask of water…"

"No insects…" Obi-Wan frowned, closing his eyes and reaching out.

Oss'ten was right – the woodlands were completely silent. There were no birds calling, or animals moving, not even the humming or chittering of insects. The forest was eerily still and silent; not even a breath of wind stirred the leaves above them. It seemed impossible, and yet, the greenery was the only life that existed. Doubt clawed in his mind, something was very, very wrong, but he could not quite put his finger on it…

"Masters, something is not right, if these trees exist… there should be other life here," he spoke up, shivering, folding his arms around himself in an effort to warm up, but as his right hand touched his upper left arm, pain, red hot and blazing, speared through his left arm and shoulder, and he let out an inadvertent cry of pain; "…agh!"

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon was at his side in an instant, as Obi-Wan's knees folded and he hit the ground with a jarring thump, "What is it, Padawan? What's wrong?"

"My… my arm," Obi-Wan gasped, blinking his suddenly blurry vision to clear it, as the pain settled into a relentless throbbing, "I… I don't know…"

He took his right hand away, staring at it numbly; his fingers and palm were stained red, wet with blood. He blinked at it, uncomprehendingly, even as his Master drew in a sharp gasp.

"Let me see," Qui-Gon demanded.

The Master immediately helped Obi-Wan to ease his left arm out of the sleeve of his robe, revealing the cream tunic beneath; as soon as he did so, Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon hiss a breath through clenched teeth, as Oss'ten murmured in dismay. Craning his neck to look, the Padawan immediately saw the cause of his Master's reaction. Three long slashes in the sleeve of his tunic were marred reddish brown, soaked in blood.

"Oh, dear…" he murmured, plucking at the torn sleeve forlornly.

"Remove your tunic, Obi-Wan, we need to treat this, immediately," Qui-Gon told him, sharply, "Oss'ten – the satchel he was carrying – it contains medical supplies. I need bacta and bandages, now, please."

The tall Cerean nodded and moved to obey, fetching the bag, as Obi-Wan carefully shrugged his arm out of his tunic, shivering as the cold air hit his exposed skin, keeping as much of his clothing wrapped around himself as he could. There were three horribly deep lacerations in his upper arm, each at least six inches long, the edges ragged and raw, blood running down his arm and dripping from his elbow without his tunic to soak it up.

"Obi-Wan, these wounds are deep… why didn't you say something, Padawan?"

"I'm sorry, Master, I… I didn't know. I couldn't feel it, until now…"

"Shock, no doubt, and the adrenaline," Qui-Gon sighed, "it is not your fault, Padawan… that creature must have scratched you when it picked you up, or when I severed its arm… we will clean and bind the wounds; you will be fine, Obi-Wan."

At his Master's words, Obi-Wan cast a hesitant glance at Jasta's shrouded, crumbling body, but then looked back to Qui-Gon, meeting his gaze with a slight nod. Oss'ten crouched beside them with the satchel, and the two Masters worked together; Oss'ten handing Qui-Gon cleansing wipes, then bacta, dressings and bandages. Between them, they soon had the wounds cleansed and bound, though by the time they were finished, Obi-Wan was trembling horribly, a mixture of cold, pain and weariness. Qui-Gon gently helped him to redress in his tunic and cloak, pulling the latter up around his shoulders, as Obi-Wan clutched it around himself.

"Here," Qui-Gon passed him a couple of small, white tablets, and a bottle of their water, "pain relievers… take them and sit by the fire a while, warm yourself a little, and meditate – focus on healing your arm. We seem to be safe here, for now… all we need do now is ration what supplies we have, and wait for the True Faith to arrive."

Obi-Wan nodded, tiredly, and moved closer to the fire, holding his right hand out towards it, keeping his aching left arm cradled in his lap. However, the flames seemed to be giving off very little heat, and he found he could not draw any warmth from it. Giving up on the fire, he assumed a cross-legged position on the blanket beside it, closed his eyes, and tried to meditate.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he reached for the Force, expecting to be welcomed into its light and warmth, but he was shocked to find only cold darkness waiting for him. The normally bright light in his mind was little more than a dulled flicker, a candle in an abyss of blackness, and when he reached for it, it eluded him, fluttering just out of reach. He drew back, keeping his focus on the dim glow, trying to draw it towards him, but it remained distant.

He tried reaching again, only to fall short; it was as if he were at one end of a deep, dark tunnel and instead of being surrounded by light, he was seeing it only from a distance, and he could not move closer to it, no matter how much he tried. He stretched out every sense he had, mentally striving to touch the light – any light – he could not even sense the presence of his Master…

"Obi-Wan!"

His eyes snapped open and he gasped in shock; there was a firm hand grasping his right shoulder and he found himself staring, open mouthed, at the pale, worried features of Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Master?" he whispered, faintly, reaching up with his right hand to grasp the wrist that was gripping his shoulder a little too tightly for comfort, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I was about to ask you the same question, Padawan," Qui-Gon loosened his grip, kneeling in front of the young Jedi, his expression still taut with concern, "you've been meditating for several hours, Obi-Wan, but it seemed neither restful nor healing… you went very pale, you were muttering to yourself and you are perspiring, though your skin feels cold despite your proximity to the fire. What were you seeing? Were you able to heal your arm?"

"Master, I… I could not reach the Light of the Force, at all," Obi-Wan replied, numbly, realising that he was still shivering uncontrollably, "I could not touch it, it seemed so very far away… I could do nothing to heal my arm, I am sorry, I tried, but the Light… the warmth… it eluded me."

He hung his head, releasing his Master's wrist, clutching his left elbow instead, cradling his still-throbbing left arm with a sigh.

"It is not your fault, Padawan," Qui-Gon quirked his lips into a reassuring smile, "neither Master Oss'ten nor I have been able to achieve a proper trance state either, but do not be disheartened. Though the Light is far away, it has not deserted us. Like the sun that sets, the Light is not gone, but simply elsewhere, and it will return in time."

Obi-Wan nodded, raising his gaze upwards; night had long since fallen, the darkness closing in around them like a thick shroud. It seemed like even their camp fire light was being suppressed by the blackness surrounding them, instead of pushing it back.

"I have never felt anywhere as dark as this place," the Padawan murmured, distantly.

"Nor have I," Qui-Gon admitted, "here, Obi-Wan… rest a while. I can sense your exhaustion… I suggest you follow Master Oss'ten's example and try to get some sleep. Things will seem brighter in the light of day…"

Obi-Wan murmured an acknowledgement, nodding exhaustedly, as Qui-Gon fetched a couple of the spare blankets from their backpack of supplies. He carefully rolled one up, forming a rudimentary pillow, placing it down beside his Padawan, patting it encouragingly. Obi-Wan obligingly lay down on the blanket he had been sitting on; it offered little protection from the hard ground beneath, but it was better than nothing.

He curled up on his right hand side, facing the fire, bringing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his cloak around himself as much as possible for warmth. He drew the hood up over his head and face, tucking both hands under his cheek, trying and failing to suppress his shivers. His left arm was a sharp contrast to the rest of his frozen body, hot with pain and pulsing relentlessly. As his eyes drifted closed, he felt his Master's presence nearby, and then another blanket was spread over him, gently tucked around his shoulders, mindful of his injured arm. He projected gratitude through their training bond, and allowed his mind to drift.

Qui-Gon kept watch through the night, unable and unwilling to rest in this strange, dark place. He watched the night sky, black and ominous, the trees around them making no sound or movement; there was not a breath of wind to disturb even the smallest leaf. The only noise came from the crackling of their camp fire, the soft rustling noises as one of the three of them stirred or moved, the occasional cough or sigh from one of his sleeping companions.

He watched Master Oss'ten, the tall Cerean restless in his sleep, tossing and turning, mumbling under his breath, frowning as if trapped in a nightmare, but Qui-Gon was loathe to wake him. The older Master looked pale and exhausted, more fearful than any Jedi ought to be, and clearly grieving the loss of his Padawan. Qui-Gon did not have the heart to correct the Master's emotional behaviour; their situation was unique, and terrifying, and Qui-Gon was well aware that the sudden snapping of a training bond upon the death of a Master or a Padawan was an extremely painful, disturbing feeling.

His gaze turned upon the shrouded body of Jasta, the unfortunate young Twi'lek Padawan. Even hidden beneath the careful wrappings of her cloak, Qui-Gon could see in the faint light of the fire that her body was still slowly disintegrating, just like Oss'ten's shuttle… no doubt their escape pod was meeting the same fate, along with all of their supplies. As he watched, the cloak dipped and sagged in various places, the body beneath crumbling into dust… he tore his eyes away, looking instead to his own Padawan.

Obi-Wan lay curled up on his right side, shivering slightly, even beneath his cloak and blanket. He barely moved in his sleep, but the Master could sense the pain of his injured arm, and it was far greater than he would have expected from such a relatively minor wound. Qui-Gon could feel worry gnawing at the back of his mind, and he tried to release his anxieties into the Force… but it was impossible in this bleak place. The Dark Side was all around him, pressing against his mental shields, rebounding his feelings back at him, so he took a deep, calming breath, trying to focus on the Light he carried with him.

Unable to properly meditate and unwilling to sleep, he found small solace in the light and meagre warmth of the fire, and the quiet company of his sleeping companions. As the first grey light of dawn began to break through the oppressive night sky, Oss'ten stirred, and sat up, slowly. They had arranged four rough beds in a square around the camp fire; Jasta's body lay opposite to Obi-Wan, leaving Oss'ten and Qui-Gon on the other sides.

"Good morning, Qui-Gon," Oss'ten said, softly, stretching muscles that were no doubt sore from sleeping on the hard ground, "did you get any rest, old friend?"

"Very little, I fear," Qui-Gon shook his head, feeding more wood onto the fire from the pile of sticks, "this place is not conducive to peaceful sleep, it seems."

"I concur – my own sleep was hardly restful," Lon-Sa admitted, glancing into the fire, "my dreams are dark and frightful… I confess myself heartily eager to leave this Dark planet."

"A sentiment I wholeheartedly share…" Qui-Gon agreed, "if you will keep watch for a while, I should like to go and gather more wood for the fire, and scout our surroundings a little in the light of day."

"Be careful, Qui-Gon; these woods seem safe, but the Force clamours only of danger here."

"I feel it too… I will take all caution, Lon-Sa. I will be back soon."

It was nearly two hours before Qui-Gon returned, with an armful of sticks for the fire and dire news to share.

"I was wrong," he announced, without preamble, striding back into their makeshift camp and dropping the bundle of scavenged wood to one side, "I had thought the creatures were growing weaker without their Sith Masters, allowing these forests to grow, but I was incorrect."

"Master?" Obi-Wan queried, raising pale, tired features towards him in askance, "What have you seen?"

"I returned to the edge of the forests to see if I could observe our ships, only to find that they are all but gone… and so is the edge of the woodland,' Qui-Gon replied, ominously, "it is slow, but discernible – the same decay that is destroying our ships and claiming the body of poor Jasta is affecting the trees and plant life. The edges of the woodland are crumbling away, slowly but inevitably. These forests are dying."

"Some of these trees are hundreds of years old," Oss'ten said, dismayed, resting one hand on a nearby gnarled trunk, "they must have started growing here when the Sith died out and the Pestilent began to lose their strength. How, then, have they now come to regain it, if they are once again consuming life on this planet?"

"I do not know," Qui-Gon shook his head, "but I can only assume they have found a new source of energy – it is entirely possible that our landings here awoke the creatures after centuries of inactivity, and that has stirred their hunger…"

"How is that even possible?" Oss'ten wondered, aloud, "we cannot be the first ships to have landed here, inadvertently or otherwise…"

"It is a distant planet in a barely charted sector and it has been a Banned Planet for as long as any records have existed… it is not beyond the realms of possibility that we the first to come here since the eradication of the Sith."

"Perhaps it is like this fire," Obi-Wan said, a little distantly, staring into the crackling flames, "our arrival was the spark that ignited an inferno that could consume a whole forest… when we arrived, we awoke the Pestilent; first they fed on our ships, and then on these woods… and when all life is gone from this planet, perhaps they will fall dormant once more."

"Let us hope we are long gone before then and that they do not find a way to leave this accursed place," Oss'ten shook his tall head, "there is something else, Qui-Gon. Jasta… look to her, old friend, and tell me that my eyes do not deceive me…"

Obediently, Qui-Gon crossed to the shrouded body, and his frown deepened. The body was almost entirely gone, the cloak now little more than a crumpled, shapeless lump of fabric lying atop the blanket on the ground, but this was not the cause of his concern. Here and there, the shroud itself was beginning to dissolve, small black marks starting to appear, spreading through the fabric with thin, spidery veins, gradually dissolving into black dust; similarly consuming the body and blanket below.

"I see it," Qui-Gon confirmed, "hmm… if this continues to spread, we may have to move our camp; we cannot risk coming into contact with this… contamination, whatever it may be."

"It is a physical manifestation of all that is evil," Lon-Sa said, hollowly, "it is of the Dark Side, Qui-Gon, and it will consume everything that it touches."

At his words, Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan flinch a little, automatically cradling his left arm, and Qui-Gon felt his throat tighten with worry.

"Padawan," he said, softly, getting to his feet, "let me check your wounds, please."

Obi-Wan nodded, assuming a cross-legged seated position on his blanket, carefully easing his arm out of his robe; Qui-Gon had to help him remove his tunic when he saw the Padawan's expression clench in pain. As Obi-Wan tugged his arm out of the sleeve, Qui-Gon let out an inadvertent hiss of dismay. Blood had soaked through the bandages, staining the bindings dark red, and the Jedi Master shook his head.

"This isn't right – the bacta ought to have stopped the wounds from bleeding within minutes…"

He carefully unwrapped the soiled bandages, and he could feel how Obi-Wan stiffened in pain despite his gentleness, shivering regardless of his obvious efforts not to. As Qui-Gon took away the last of the bindings, his heart sank further; the three lacerations were still raw, dark and oozing a little blood, the edges puckered and sore, the surrounding skin swollen, red, and warm to his gentle touch, which drew a yelp of pain from Obi-Wan despite his care.

"I… I don't believe it," Qui-Gon muttered, "Obi-Wan, these wounds… they look infected. But it's not possible… infection normally takes days to set in, and the bacta ought to have prevented anything like this from occurring…"

"It is the touch of the Pestilent," Oss'ten told him, darkly, "the wounds are fouled by their odorous rot. Use your lightsabre, Qui-Gon. Cut off his arm, and maybe, just maybe, you'll stop the spread enough to save his life."

"What?!"

"Amputate his arm, Qui-Gon. Take it off at the shoulder, above the wounds. The rot may not have spread too far, and it might save his life. He can live with a prosthetic. If he dies anyway, well, then it won't matter either way."

"Master?" Obi-Wan's eyes were wide with shock and horror, and Qui-Gon barely managed to keep his calm.

"I will do no such thing," he said, slowly, "we have not exhausted all of our options, and the True Faith will be here in two days… Lon-Sa, calm yourself, and pass me more bacta and bandages. We will cleanse the wounds and re-wrap them, and then we will try for a healing trance once more, understood?"

Oss'ten simply nodded and passed him the medical bag. Qui-Gon carefully cleaned the three deep, ugly wounds, and re-bound them in clean bandages. By the time he had finished, Obi-Wan was trembling uncontrollably, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to bear through the pain. Qui-Gon gently helped him to re-don his tunic and robe, and then guided his injured student to lie back down, head pillowed on the rolled up blanket as he pulled another one tightly around himself, shivering, gasping in pain.

"How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?"

"Ah… not… not good, Master. It… hurts, and I'm so… so cold."

There was a gentle hand pressed to his forehead, and he let out a soft groan at how cold it felt.

"Oh, Padawan," he could hear the regret in Qui-Gon's tone, as he closed his eyes and shivered, miserably, "you have a slight fever… of course you must feel chilled."

He made a wordless noise of acknowledgement, trying to relax, striving for a meditative state. Qui-Gon rested his fingertips on Obi-Wan's temple, closing his own eyes, concentrating on the bond between them, trying to guide his Padawan into a healing trance. However, try as they might, they could not reach the light of the Force; its healing energy seemed elusive and distant, and Qui-Gon eventually gave up when he felt Obi-Wan slipping into sleep instead, and he let his student drift into slumber.

Lifting his fingers from Obi-Wan's head, he sat back, resting his back against the nearest tree trunk, his gaze lingering momentarily on his ailing Padawan, before he looked up, to find Oss'ten staring at him across the fire, from where he sat beside what remained of his own student.

"He'll end up like her, you know," the Cerean said, after a long, tense moment, "you won't be able to save him. I couldn't save her, and my Force-Healing abilities are far beyond yours."

"I do not dispute your abilities," Qui-Gon replied, mildly, "but Obi-Wan's injury is far less serious than Jasta's, and it has not escaped my notice that you have made no attempt to assist him thus far. Perhaps between the two of us, we might achieve something, even if it is only a temporary respite until the arrival of the True Faith. Once we are away from this accursed planet, we will be able to reach the Light… whatever Dark energy has corrupted his wounds, it will not persist once we are gone from here."

"It won't do any good," Oss'ten shook his tall head, closing his eyes, briefly, "if you insist upon it, of course, I will try, but I cannot reach the Light any more than you can. It has been three days since I landed here, and I have not even been able to meditate. I cannot sleep without nightmares plaguing me… it is too much. The Dark Side is so strong here, it overwhelms all sense and reason."

"Which is why we must cling to the Light as much as possible," Qui-Gon insisted, "come, Lon-Sa… assist me. We must at least try, for his sake…"

He gestured towards the recumbent Obi-Wan, still shivering, even in sleep. Oss'ten sighed, but nonetheless climbed to his feet. He joined Qui-Gon at his Padawan's side; with a slight nod of agreement, both of them reached out, placing their fingertips lightly on Obi-Wan's head. Qui-Gon closed his eyes once more, and concentrated. He could sense Obi-Wan's presence, exhausted, weakened by pain and lost in a dark, feverish nightmare. Through their physical connection, he could also sense Lon-Sa-Oss'ten, the Cerean's own fatigue leaking through his crumbling mental shields. However, both Masters drew in deep, steadying breaths, and reached out for the Force…

Abominations!

Qui-Gon gasped and snapped his eyes open, as Lon-Sa yelped in dismay.

Outsiders! Perish! Extinguish the light!

"Where… where is that coming from?" Oss'ten's gaze flew around the clearing, wildly, "I thought the Pestilent were confined to outside the forest!"

"They were," Qui-Gon responded, grimly, "but they are consuming the woodlands, just as they consume everything they touch… including your Padawan, Oss'ten… I am sorry; I think it is time we left this place…"

Qui-Gon rose to his feet; sure enough, where Jasta's body had lain, there was little more than black sand, the last scraps of the cloak and blanket rapidly crumbling away, as the grass surrounding it also began to slowly disintegrate, black tendrils already reaching the roots of the nearest tree, consuming it a few centimetres as a time.

"Gather our supplies," Qui-Gon ordered, "we must extinguish the fire and move further into the forest, away from the influence of this foul presence…"

"We should leave him behind, then," Oss'ten gestured to the sleeping Padawan, as he stood and began to gather up his own blankets, stuffing them into a backpack, "he's only going to end up the same way."

"Lon-Sa," Qui-Gon could feel his patience coming to its limit, "while there is still breath in my body and in his, I will not abandon him. I will not entertain any further suggestions from you that involve causing harm to my Padawan, directly or indirectly. I am sure you tried everything you could to save Jasta; do you really expect me to do any less for Obi-Wan?"

Oss'ten opened his mouth as if to argue, but then caught sight of his fellow Master's expression, and wisely closed it again. He gave a silent nod, and continued gathering their few belongings, shouldering a backpack and lifting their satchel of medical supplies.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon was loathe to wake the younger man, but knew they had no choice, "come, Padawan, you must rise… we need to leave this place. Jasta's body has been consumed by the Pestilent and they are establishing a presence here through her remains… we must go."

Light-bearers… hated creatures… devour and destroy them!

With a low groan, Obi-Wan stirred, forcing himself to his knees, as Qui-Gon hastily bundled up their blankets, rolling and shoving them into his own backpack. Obi-Wan stood and made as if to help, but the Master waved him off, eyeing him uncertainly.

"Perhaps we should put your arm in a sling, Obi-Wan; it will take some of the weight off your shoulder, and your hand looks very swollen…"

"Ah… no… thank you; I may need to use my arm, Master, if we are to move quickly."

Qui-Gon did not voice his doubts that Obi-Wan would actually be able to use his injured arm, even if he wanted to, but simply nodded in acceptance, shouldering his pack as Oss'ten carefully put out their fire. Without its light and warmth, the forest clearing felt smaller, darker, and more oppressive. Qui-Gon nodded to his two companions.

"I will take the lead," he said, quickly, "Obi-Wan, stay behind me; Master Oss'ten will bring up the rear."

At his gesture, the three of them set off; behind them, another tall stem of grass slowly blackened and crumbled.

Outsiders… abominations… obscenities…destroy it all!

Qui-Gon tried to choose an easy path, but it was virtually impossible. The trees grew tall and intertwined, with roots and branches knotting together even as ferns and vines clogged the ground. He found himself thinking back to Obi-Wan's comment earlier, upon the unlikelihood of plant life existing without insects, and he was forced to wonder how the forests had flourished in the first place. It was a scientific impossibility… but then nothing about this place seemed plausible to the logical mind.

Their pace was slow, forced to stumble through the dense foliage, tripping frequently over the tree roots, clambering over uneven ground. They helped each other every time one of them fell, but Qui-Gon worried in particular for his Padawan. Each time Obi-Wan fell, it seemed harder for him to get to his feet, though he did so without fail each time, gasping out an 'I'm fine' or a 'sorry, Master', as if Oss'ten and Qui-Gon had not fallen and been helped back up just as many times as the younger Jedi. Obi-Wan grew increasingly pale as the hours passed with excruciatingly slow progress through the thick woodland; all of them were exhausted, but Qui-Gon could see his Padawan flagging; his movements were slow, stiff and unsteady; he trembled visibly, and sweat stood out on his brow as he fought to keep up.

Eventually, the sky began to darken, signalling the setting of the weak sun, and Qui-Gon called a halt in a small clearing. Taking his Padawan by the elbow of his good arm, he lowered Obi-Wan to sit down on a tree root, before he and Oss'ten set to work with their lightsabres. They worked hard for several minutes, cutting and clearing as much of the foliage as possible, taking out several of the gnarled tree roots that stood above ground, in an effort to level the area. Despite their efforts, there was very little space; but they all agreed a camp fire was necessary for warmth, light and comfort in the all-encompassing bleakness of the coming night.

Oss'ten set himself to work gathering up some wood and building a fire, piling it up and lighting it with ease from his green sabre. Qui-Gon busied himself with checking, cleaning and re-binding Obi-Wan's arm. The infection, or whatever it was, was clearly getting worse; the three deep wounds oozed a mixture of blood and pus which soaked the bandages and stained the already soiled sleeve of his tunic, but Qui-Gon said nothing of his dismay, merely working quickly and quietly in an effort to cause as little pain as possible. Obi-Wan bore his ministrations quietly, but Qui-Gon did not miss the way he tensed against the pain, shuddering beneath his Master's gentle touch, the very occasional strangled gasp or whimper escaping his lips.

As he finally tied off the bandage, Qui-Gon placed his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, trying to send him healing energy, but once again feeling it rebounding back to him, despite Obi-Wan's obvious attempts to accept his Master's offer. He shook his head, sadly; every Force ability they possessed seemed to be suppressed by this awful place.

There was no real space in their new camp to lay out one bed, let alone three, so they contented themselves with sitting up against the tree trunks, wrapping blankets around their shoulders and over their legs, shivering in the cold as the darkness closed in around them. Qui-Gon reached for his pack, passing a ration bar and a flask of water to Oss'ten, who accepted it gratefully, before he pulled out another.

"Obi-Wan… will you eat something, Padawan? It has been at least two days since you ate… you need to keep up your strength."

"Oh…" if it were possible, Obi-Wan went even paler at the thought of food, "no… no, Master, I am sorry, I… I really don't feel too well... I can't…"

He swallowed, hard, and Qui-Gon decided not to press the issue, nodding in understanding. He kept the ration bar for himself, but handed one of their flasks to the Padawan.

"Then you must at least drink," he said, firmly, "take a few sips of water; you are clearly feverish, you must stay hydrated."

"Yes, Master… thank you," he took the flask with his right hand, keeping the left one cradled in his lap.

By the light of the fire, Qui-Gon could see the greyness of his complexion, the dark circles beneath sunken eyes; even his cheeks looked gaunt and hollow. He was slumped back against the tree trunk that held him upright, tremors running through him, whether this was from cold, pain, fatigue or a combination of all three, Qui-Gon was unable to tell. He moved a little closer, the tree trunk broad enough to accommodate them both, until his left shoulder touched Obi-Wan's right one, and the Padawan leaned into his support with a soft sigh.

"Try to get some sleep, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon suggested, "hopefully, we will have no need to move on from this place, though in the morning either Master Oss'ten or I may scout around to see if we can find a better camp site nearby."

Obi-Wan nodded, wordlessly, tugging his cloak and blanket a little closer around himself; his head came to rest on his Master's shoulder, and he drifted off into a light, restless doze.

"We do not have much time, Qui-Gon," Oss'ten said, softly, breaking the silence after several long minutes, "he grows weaker by the hour."

"Obi-Wan is strong, Oss'ten, in more ways than one – I remain confident he will receive the care he needs when the True Faith arrives."

"If it arrives," Oss'ten sighed, "ah, I know, I am sorry – forgive me, old friend. It is difficult to be optimistic, under the circumstances…"

"I understand," Qui-Gon inclined his head, "you have done well to survive this long, Lon-Sa – we all have. It is clear to me now why no one has ever returned from Remosta; we will be fortunate to be the first to do so, when rescue comes for us."

"I pray to the Force that your words are true, Qui-Gon. I really do."

Some time later, Qui-Gon found himself waking at a movement beside him. He blinked his eyes open, somewhat surprised to find that he had fallen asleep in the first place. He soon realised the cause of his alertness – Obi-Wan had stirred beside him, making a move towards their dying fire, reaching for the pile of dried sticks to feed the flames.

"Ah, no, Padawan, allow me…" Qui-Gon murmured, catching him and leaning him back against the tree, watching a pained grimace pass across his pale features, "save your strength, Obi-Wan."

"I am sorry, Master, I did not mean to disturb you."

"It is of no consequence. As I'm sure you already know, sleep in this place is hardly restful or restorative."

"It is better than nothing," Obi-Wan shivered, "and at least it passes the time…"

Qui-Gon hummed in agreement, as he stoked up the fire, before he fetched more painkillers from their dwindling medical supplies. Obi-Wan swallowed the tablets with a wince; it did not seem the medication was doing much to help ease his agony, but at least it could do no harm to try. He returned to sitting beside his Padawan, shoulders touching, as he gazed into the crackling fire. He felt Obi-Wan shift beside him and glanced across; the Padawan was staring at the sky above them, and Qui-Gon found his own gaze drifting heavenwards.

The night sky was pitch black, virtually indistinguishable from the dark tree canopy above them, but for the reflected glow of their campfire.

"There aren't any stars out," Obi-Wan murmured, bleakly, "has the sky clouded over?"

"There are no clouds," Qui-Gon replied, in a low voice, "I think there is something in the atmosphere that blocks out some of the light spectrum… it would explain why the sunlight appears so muted during the day, and why there are no stars at night; it might also explain why our scanners would not function properly."

"Yes…" Obi-Wan mumbled, his words slurring a little, "that would be the more logical explanation…"

"Hmm… and what would be the less logical explanation, Padawan?"

"That even the light is afraid of this dark place, Master."

Qui-Gon considered this for a long moment, as Obi-Wan began to slump slightly, slowly losing the battle to stay awake.

"I… I cannot find it in myself to correct you," Qui-Gon admitted, at length, "come, Padawan, I can feel you still shivering… allow me to share a little warmth with you, if I can."

Obi-Wan hesitated only briefly, before allowing Qui-Gon to envelop him in an embrace; the Master wrapped his arms around the Padawan, drawing him closer. Obi-Wan found his head being pillowed on his Master's chest, as the taller Jedi drew his own cloak and blanket around the shivering student, holding him close, trying to warm his chilled body, as they settled together to make it through the long, dark night.

When dawn finally came, the weak light brought them little comfort. Qui-Gon stirred and blinked his eyes open, finding Oss'ten in the same process of waking up; their eyes met across the smouldering remains of the campfire, and Qui-Gon saw how pale and wan the older Master appeared; he had no doubt his own appearance was just as unhealthy. His back and joints ached from the uncomfortable sleeping position, and his muscles were sore from their difficult hike through the forest the day before. Oss'ten's eyes fell to the bundle curled up in Qui-Gon's arms, huddled against his chest, and his expression softened slightly.

"How fares your Padawan, Qui-Gon?"

The Master allowed himself a small sigh, as he carefully managed to work his right hand free, pressing his palm to Obi-Wan's forehead; the younger Jedi did not even stir.

"Not well, I fear," Qui-Gon admitted, "he is chilled to the bone yet the fever has risen during the night. Even with our bond weakened by this terrible place, I can sense his pain; the medication has done nothing to dull it. Still, he continues to fight; it cannot be much longer until the True Faith arrives… I have lost track of the time here; the days seem short and the nights interminably long, but that may simply be my own perception… I estimate another day, at most."

"I pray you are right – my own senses are befuddled beyond reckoning," Oss'ten raised a hand to his tall brow, "so much for Cerean higher brain functions, I can barely think anymore… have we any food left? Perhaps sustenance will aid us both…"

"Check my pack; I would prefer not to disturb him," Qui-Gon gestured to Obi-Wan, still cradled in his arms, "let him sleep as long as possible…"

"Of course," Oss'ten moved slowly and stiffly, grimacing as sore muscles protested the sudden use, but limped his way to their supply pack, "ah… let me see… we have four ration bars left, and two flasks of water. Would you like some food?"

"I would feel better if Obi-Wan were able to eat something, but I fear the infection has made him too sick to stomach it, I can practically feel his nausea each time I offer him food," Qui-Gon closed his eyes, briefly, "yes, I will eat, thank you, Lon-Sa. But I think we should ration the water carefully; at least he is drinking a little, and the fever will dehydrate him if we are not careful…"

"Of course," Lon-Sa handed Qui-Gon one of the bars, "I am still wondering why there has been no rain… these plants could not grow without water."

"I am beginning to suspect that there may be underground water sources," Qui-Gon replied, glancing at the trees around them, "it is the only explanation I can come up with… but then again, this whole planet seems to defy logical explanation."

"And that is the nature of the Dark Side, my friend."

"Indeed…"

They lapsed into silence, staring deeply into the flames of the fire, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan shift in his embrace, letting out a small cough, dragging in a shuddering breath.

"Padawan?"

"M… Master?" The wavering reply was little more than a croak, and Qui-Gon automatically reached for his flask, unscrewing the cap and holding it up in offer.

Obi-Wan awkwardly managed to grasp it with his right hand, guiding it to his lips, but Qui-Gon did not let go, holding it steady, keen to avoid inadvertently spilling any of the precious liquid given the tremors that wracked the younger man. When he had managed to take a few mouthfuls, Obi-Wan nodded and pulled back, shuddering horribly, as Qui-Gon instinctively tightened his grip.

"The painkillers are not helping, are they?" he murmured, gently, lowering his head a little.

"N-no, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes screwed shut, teeth gritted as he spoke, "my… my arm… I can't move it."

"Do not try, dear one," Qui-Gon told him, keeping his voice soft, "while you are awake, I will check your wound – we ought to change the dressing in any case."

"Oh…" Obi-Wan swallowed, nervously, and then managed a small nod, "y-yes, M-Master."

"Oss'ten… will you assist me, please?"

"Of course, Qui-Gon…"

The tall Cerean obligingly fetched their medical bag, as Qui-Gon gently helped Obi-Wan to sit up against the tree trunk behind them. He carefully pulled back the sleeve of his robe; Obi-Wan tried to unfasten his tunic with his trembling right hand, but the Master gently pushed his hand aside, untying the bindings and then easing the fabric back, trying to extricate Obi-Wan's arm and shoulder from the sleeve as gently as possible, but as soon as he even tried to move the arm, Obi-Wan let out a sharp bark of pain, clenching his teeth and groaning as Qui-Gon finally got his arm free.

"Lon-Sa – give him a dose of the hypospray painkillers," Qui-Gon ordered, swiftly, "it may be more effective than the pills – anything you can do to ease his pain would be appreciated…"

Oss'ten nodded, rummaging around in the satchel; "Here, young Kenobi – hopefully this will help."

He administered the medication, and the two Masters waited for a brief moment; the effect ought to have been instantaneous, but they did not need the slight shake of his head to know it had no effect. Obi-Wan kept his eyes screwed shut, right hand clamped to his left elbow, quivering uncontrollably, face white as a sheet and taut with pain. Qui-Gon reached to untie the old dressing, but Obi-Wan flinched away.

"Master, I'm… I'm sorry, it hurts too much… please, please don't…"

"Let me try to help," Oss'ten gently placed his hand on Obi-Wan's right shoulder, touching the exposed skin of his neck, "I may not be able to dull your pain completely, Padawan, but perhaps I can share it for a short while…"

The Cerean closed his eyes and concentrated; Obi-Wan gasped aloud in shock, but then his expression eased slightly, even as Lon-Sa's tightened, his lips pressed thin.

"Do it, Qui-Gon," the older Master ordered, not opening his eyes, frowning as his breathing sped up a little, "do it now, while I still have the strength for this…"

Qui-Gon did not need telling twice; he immediately set to work, unwrapping the bandages, noting with dismay that they were once again saturated with the dark stains of blood and pus; it was no wonder that Obi-Wan was growing steadily weaker. He peeled back the soiled dressings, hissing through his teeth.

The red-raw wounds were swollen, the skin surrounding them black and purple with bruising, angry-looking and hot to the touch. Around the bruising, livid red marks spread like spider webs across the pale skin, following veins and arteries; the corruption of the wound was clearly spreading, and there seemed to be nothing Qui-Gon could do to prevent it, let alone reverse or cure it. He found himself wondering if he should have followed Oss'ten's suggestion to amputate the arm, but dismissed the thought immediately. He could not entertain the possibility of disfiguring his Padawan, let alone losing him permanently. He consoled himself with the fact that although the infection had spread, its progress did not appear to be rapid, much like the progress at which the Pestilent were consuming the forest they were hiding in. With the imminent arrival of the True Faith, he clung to his belief that they would all survive.

He spared a quick glance at Oss'ten and Obi-Wan; both were pale and perspiring, but their breathing had evened out a little, each inhalation and exhalation taken in perfect unison. He therefore quickly cleaned the three festering lacerations with bacta, irrigating them as much as possible, wincing in sympathy when both Obi-Wan and Lon-Sa yelped aloud, before dousing a clean dressing in bacta and pressing it to the wounds. Fresh bandages swathed the whole upper arm as tightly as he dared, before he hastily re-dressed Obi-Wan in his tunic. For good measure, he fashioned a sling out of a triangular bandage, placing it around Obi-Wan's left arm and tying it around his neck, noting that his fingers were horribly bruised and swollen. He then tugged the cloak and blanket around his Padawan, seeing that his shivering had only increased in the brief exposure to the cold air.

"I am finished, Lon-Sa," Qui-Gon confirmed, softly.

"Good," the Cerean had clenched his own teeth, sweat standing out sharply on his tall brow, "oh, Padawan… I have no wish to return this pain to you, but I cannot hold it any longer… with the last of my strength, I will give you what I can… sleep, young Kenobi."

Obi-Wan gave one last, great shudder, and succumbed immediately to the Force-suggestion, weak as it was. Qui-Gon caught him as he slumped to one side, wrapping his arms around the young Jedi and cradling him against his chest, as Oss'ten collapsed to his hands and knees, panting heavily.

"Are you alright, Lon-Sa?"

"I… no, not really… no," the older Master admitted, shaking his tall head, "his wound… it pains him far more than I had realised. He bears it well, Qui-Gon."

"He has always had a tendency to underplay any illness or injury that afflicts him," Qui-Gon replied, dryly, "often times to his own detriment… to see him like this, to see him openly suffering… it distresses me, Lon-Sa, more than I should like to admit."

Oss'ten pushed himself back onto his knees, before he stood, and staggered unsteadily to the other side of the fire, picking up the blanket he had left there.

"Every good Master would feel the same," the Cerean told him, not meeting his gaze, "I certainly do… did. I… I am sorry; I know one of us ought to scout for a better camp site, but I… I am exhausted, Qui-Gon. What I just did… it should have been easy. Force, I should be able to heal him without a second thought… but here… if you will excuse me, I must rest…"

"Of course, Lon-Sa," Qui-Gon nodded, clutching Obi-Wan a little closer to his chest, unconsciously clinging to the sleeping Padawan, protectively, "thank you, for your efforts on his behalf… rest easy, old friend."

Oss'ten simply nodded, silently, and leaned back against the tree. Qui-Gon watched as he, too, slipped into sleep, and the Jedi Master found himself alone with his thoughts once more.

Obi-Wan awoke from his induced sleep-state far sooner than Qui-Gon had hoped, having rested for only a couple of hours. The Padawan murmured in distress, before gently pushing away from his Master, stumbling to his feet and staggering into the overgrowth; Qui-Gon had moved to follow but then he heard the sounds of pained retching, and he felt his throat tighten in sympathy. He carefully drew alongside his kneeling Padawan, placing a comforting hand on his back. Obi-Wan coughed, wiping his eyes and mouth on the sleeve of his robe with his right arm, the left one now encased in the confines of the sling.

"Finished?" Qui-Gon asked, softly.

At Obi-Wan's shaky nod, he helped the young Jedi to stand, taking his right hand with his, using his left arm to wrap around the Padawan's shaking frame.

"M-M-Master," he stammered, breathlessly, "I-I am so sorry… I…"

"Hush, Padawan; you do not need to explain yourself; you are injured and sick, but rescue will come for us soon… come, let's get you sat down, perhaps you can take a little water…"

Obi-Wan groaned at the thought, looking more than a little green, but gamely trying to hold himself upright. Qui-Gon guided him to sit, reaching for the flask of water, but then he froze. Obi-Wan blinked, looking to his Master in askance, but then he heard it too; a strange, sibilant hissing sound…

Outsiders…

This time, the voice was no scream inside their minds, but an audible whisper, like wind stirring sand in the desert.

Strangers… abominations of the Light….foul things…

"Oss'ten!" Qui-Gon's voice was a full octave higher than usual, his alarm permeating his tone, "Oss'ten, wake up!"

"Huh?" Lon-Sa snapped awake, shaken from his slumber by the urgent shout, "What-? What is it?"

Master… come to me…

"Jasta?" Oss'ten's eyes widened in shock, "Jasta? Padawan, is that you?"

Come to me, Master…

"Jasta! Where are you, Padawan?" Oss'ten rose to his feet, eyes darting around the trees surrounding them, "Show yourself, young one, I am here!"

"Lon-Sa!" Qui-Gon hissed, alarmed, "It is a trick! It is not her! Your Padawan is dead, old friend!"

Not dead… only transformed… made better… made pure… made of darkness…

"Jasta!"

The open grief in his fellow Master's tone was almost more than Qui-Gon could bear; he opened his mouth to speak, but then Obi-Wan clutched at his arm, his expression one of fixed horror.

"Master! Look!"

Qui-Gon turned, and saw the reason for his Padawan's sudden fear. At the edge of their camp, something dark was moving. A pitch black shadow, somehow even darker than the shade cast by the imposing trees… an all-too-familiarly shaped hand reached into the clearing, suddenly illuminated by the light of the fire; it clutched a tree trunk, and immediately, the bark began to blacken, crumbling to dust, the rot spreading through the trunk, slowly disintegrating the tree. A leg appeared next, stepping into their scant clearing, the grass and ferns breaking apart as soon as they were touched, the ground blackening and turning into the dark sand. The creature fully emerged, and Qui-Gon felt his mouth go dry as his heart sped up; instinctively, he placed himself between the apparition and his Padawan, feeling Obi-Wan's shaking hand clutching the back of his cloak.

The figure was the same jet black dust as the Pestilent, but the more familiar form, complete with the long twin lekku head-tails of a Twi'Lek was too much to bear, and Oss'ten's unbridled grief was apparent in his tone.

"Jasta… oh no… Padawan… what has been done to you?"

Master…

The voice was a hissing, haunting sound, nothing like the warm voice of the young woman they had known.

Join me… be purified… submit to the darkness…

"You… you are not my Padawan!" Oss'ten clenched his fists, shaking his head, "you wear her form, but she is gone – she is one with the Force, a being of pure light, not this despicable corruption that stands before me!"

Foul abomination!

This time, the screech was raw and painful, and Qui-Gon found himself taking a step back, colliding a little with Obi-Wan behind him, his hand going to his lightsabre as the creature morphed and shifted, black particles moving and hissing, reshaping, growing, limbs lengthening as the lekku disappeared and sprouted into antlers instead, the Pestilent before them taking on a far more terrifying form.

Disgusting creatures of light… you will be destroyed!

"Not this day," Qui-Gon replied, through gritted teeth, "Lon-Sa! Your lightsabre, quickly!"

The two Masters immediately drew their weapons, and the creature shrieked; a high-pitched wail that seemed to slice through both mind and soul alike, almost pitching them to their knees. However, Lon-Sa-Oss'ten leapt and struck first; the creature swung its arm to knock him aside, only to have the limb severed by his green blade. The Pestilent howled, as Qui-Gon leapt forward; jumping high, he put all of his strength into the blow, separating its head from its body. The creature yowled and collapsed into a cloud of black dust, disintegrating onto the ground.

Qui-Gon leapt clear as it did so, but even as he watched, the rot began to spread once more, gradually consuming the grasses and ferns around it, seeping into the tree roots and devouring the ground.

"We must flee," Oss'ten announced, breathlessly, deactivating his lightsabre, "before it consumes enough to regain its strength!"

"I agree," Qui-Gon nodded, "quickly, our supplies, grab as much as possible, we must make haste!"

With that, they hastily snatched up their blankets and backpacks, and fled into the thick forest once more, as the black decay slowly, inexorably, began to consume every living plant in the clearing.

Running through the thick jungle was impossible; the three Jedi staggered, stumbled, tripped and fumbled their way through the dense foliage; they had no clear direction in mind and the Force was no helpful guide in their plight, simply screaming danger at them from all sides; just as it had been from the moment each of them had arrived on Remosta. Qui-Gon tried to keep close to Obi-Wan but even this was difficult given the tight, uneven terrain; he had to content himself with staying behind the Padawan, frequently helping him to push through or climb over the obstacles in their path, as Oss'ten attempted to lead them far away from the dark presence that seemed to be stalking them through the jungle.

Eventually, Oss'ten came to a halt, and they found themselves in another small clearing, if it could even be described as such; in reality, it was merely a gap between three large trees where the roots had intertwined and risen so high it formed a natural wooden barrier against any other effective plant growth; their sanctuary lay between the roots, walling them off from the rest of the forest… or effectively trapping them in, depending on your point of view.

"Oss'ten…" Qui-Gon panted, trying to catch his breath, "I… I am sorry, old friend, that… that cannot have been easy…"

"It was not her, Qui-Gon,' Lon-Sa replied, emphatically, "Jasta was of the Light and she is now one with it; that foul Dark creature was merely assuming her form. It could never hope to truly emulate her."

"Nonetheless, I am sorry…"

"Your own Padawan needs you more than I, Qui-Gon… tend to him, I shall attempt to start a fire. The night is closing in once more, and though it may give away our position, I for one am in need of whatever light and warmth we can summon."

Oss'ten turned, disappearing behind one of the trees, foraging for sticks and bracken to start a fire once again.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon turned towards his apprentice; the younger Jedi was leaning heavily against one of the tall roots that stood higher than any of them could reach, gasping and shaking horribly, "Padawan!"

"I…" Obi-Wan wheezed, shaking his head, clutching his wounded arm to his chest, "I… Master… I… I don't feel right, I… I think…"

He did not complete the sentence; his knees buckled and Qui-Gon lunged, just in time to catch him as he folded and collapsed.

"Obi-Wan!"

His exclamation fell on deaf ears; the Padawan had finally lost consciousness. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and bowed his head as he cradled the younger Jedi in his left arm, his right hand desperately fumbling, feeling for a pulse, his own hand shaking almost too much to effectively feel it. He let out a huff of relief as he felt the shallow but steady thrum of a pulse beneath his numb fingertips; he sent a prayer of thanks to the Force, clutching Obi-Wan closer to his chest.

"Lon-Sa! Your assistance, please!"

"Qui-Gon!" Oss'ten reappeared, dropping an armful of sticks onto the ground in shock, "what happened?"

"He collapsed," the Master replied, grimly, wrapping both arms around his Padawan, protectively, "he is unconscious, I cannot rouse him…"

"Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise," Oss'ten murmured, crossing to his side and crouching down to peer at the Padawan's pale, lax features, "I can still sense his pain, but it is no longer overwhelming him…"

"I cannot decide which is worse," Qui-Gon admitted, holding Obi-Wan propped up the crook of his left elbow, his right hand gently combing through the younger Jedi's short hair, then cupping the Padawan's cheek in his palm, "his fever is climbing, Lon-Sa; have you enough fuel for a fire? I should like to try and make him more comfortable, if we can…"

"I shall see to it, my friend."

True to his word, the Cerean soon had a small fire blazing, before he busied himself, laying out a blanket on the ground, and then rolling another up into a pillow. He beckoned to Qui-Gon, who gently lifted Obi-Wan in his arms; he tried to quell his horror at how light and gaunt the Padawan felt in his arms, even after only two or three days without food and very little water. The infection from his wounds did, indeed, seem to be consuming him from within. He carried the limp body to the fireside, gently laying him down upon the makeshift bed, placing him carefully on his back, mindful not to jostle the injured arm too much.

Oss'ten passed him another of their blankets, and Qui-Gon accepted it with thanks; shaking it out, draping it over his Padawan's limp form, tucking it around him. Their other two remaining blankets they wrapped around their own shoulders, staving off the chill of the night; Qui-Gon had considered giving his to Obi-Wan, but the young Jedi was wracked with fever, shaking and sweating by the light of the fire, and Qui-Gon found himself wishing only for a little water, their scant supplies almost gone, or for effective medication, anything to soothe the younger Jedi's obvious distress. The Master was forced to content himself with kneeling at his Padawan's side, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance as he alternated between stroking Obi-Wan's hair to soothe him, or simply holding his hand when he became too restless. Though he occasionally shifted uncomfortably, muttering under his breath or groaning in obvious agony, he never fully regained consciousness, and Qui-Gon felt selfish for wishing he would, knowing that if his Padawan did awaken, it would only be to pain, cold, sickness and misery.

"Hush, Obi-Wan, hush," he murmured, soothingly, as the Padawan groaned, writhing weakly beneath the blanket, "oh, Padawan, would that I could touch the Force and ease just a little of your pain… I should never have brought you here, dear one. I should have insisted on coming alone…"

There was a hand, then, on his shoulder, and Oss'ten carefully knelt down beside him.

"It is not your fault, Qui-Gon," the older Master said, gently, "if the fault lies anywhere, it is with me. My ignorance and actions led to the death of my Padawan and now yours lies before us, gravely ill… I am grateful you sought to rescue me, but you should never have been asked to put both of your lives at risk just for my sake."

"We could not leave you here to die, Oss'ten, and I blame you for nothing," Qui-Gon countered, not taking his eyes off the suffering Obi-Wan, "we both came here willingly and knowing the risks… we could not ignore fellow Jedi in need."

"I just pray your assistance, as grateful as I am for it, does not come at too high a price…"

"Mmm… as do I."

Silence fell, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Qui-Gon did not leave Obi-Wan's side as the young Jedi grew steadily weaker; he moved less, his breathing became shallower, his eyes flickering a little beneath closed lids, lips moving in silent murmurings. Qui-Gon used the last of their dressing pads and a trickle of water from one of their flasks to gently sponge the sweat from Obi-Wan's brow, desperately trying to combat the rising fever but with little real expectation of success.

Then, suddenly, there was a low hissing noise and he froze in his ministrations, his eyes locking onto Oss'ten's in mute and undisguised horror. The hissing noise came again, this time accompanied by a crackle of static, and hope flared in his chest, so sharp and so painful he gasped in response, even as he snatched the communicator from his pocket.

"…ster Oss'ten, please respond. Master Oss'ten, Master Jinn, please respond… Master Jinn, Master Oss'ten, please respond…"

"This is Jinn," he managed say, scarcely daring to believe it, "I repeat, this is Qui-Gon Jinn, do you hear me?"

"Master Jinn, this is Master Adi Gallia, I hear you," the female voice responded, comforting and familiar enough he felt tears prickling at his eyes, "the True Faith is within range but our crew are refusing to approach the planet… we are on our way with a shuttle to collect you. What is your status?"

"Master Oss'ten and I are alive and relatively unscathed," he reported, quickly, "I regret to report that Padawan Jasta Trembori is dead, and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi is gravely ill; we are in a dangerous position. Do not – I repeat; do not – land your shuttle, under any circumstances. You will need to fly to our position and allow us to board directly."

"Understood," came the calm reply, "I have your position on my scanners… the forest appears dense, but I have a rescue ladder I can deploy, will you be able to ascend to our shuttle?"

"Yes," replied Qui-Gon, simply, forgoing to mention that at this point he would willingly walk across a lake of lava if it meant getting Obi-Wan off this Force-forsaken planet, "we will be ready for you, Master Gallia – you have no idea how grateful we are to you. Thank you, my friend."

"I sense great peril and darkness here, Qui-Gon. Ready yourselves, I will be with you in a few minutes."

"We will be ready, Adi… thank you."

Oss'ten was already rising to his feet, staring to the sky in anticipation. Qui-Gon hesitated, and then clasped Obi-Wan's good shoulder, giving him a firm shake.

"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan! Can you hear me, Padawan? Help has arrived – they have come for us! Obi-Wan… please, please… wake up, dear one…"

However, there was no response; not even a groan or a flicker of acknowledgement, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, bowing his head.

"I will have to carry him," he said, firmly, even as he began to push himself to his feet, "leave our bags and blankets, Oss'ten, we have no further need of them."

"Have you the strength to carry him? I can sense your own fatigue, Qui-Gon."

"I will carry him all the way to Coruscant if I must, Lon-Sa."

At his nod, Oss'ten gently helped him to lift the unconscious Obi-Wan, placing him over Qui-Gon's shoulder, leaving his hands free to climb the ladder. Almost as soon as they had done so, bright lights flared overhead, and they both automatically shielded their eyes with their hands, dazzled, but it was the search light of the shuttle above them, and a familiar voice shouted down to them.

"I'm lowering the ladder now; I have a crazy-good pilot with me who's holding our position, can you reach?"

The ladder clattered down, unrolling quickly, made of durasteel cables and rungs.

"You first, Oss'ten!" Qui-Gon shouted, over the roar of the engines.

The Cerean did not need telling twice, leaping high and clambering quickly up the ladder. Qui-Gon followed, muscles straining as he hauled himself up, Obi-Wan still draped precariously over his shoulder. He felt the ladder being pulled up as he climbed, even as the shuttle began to lift higher into the atmosphere. After what felt like an eternity of climbing, he felt two pairs of hands either side of him; one gently took Obi-Wan from his shoulder, the other hauling him onto a cold, metal deck. He lay there, struggling for breath, as the ladder was pulled up and the hatch sealed closed behind him.

"Qui-Gon," the voice was warm and concerned, a gentle hand on his shoulder, as he felt the inertia of the ship lifting away, "are you alright? What happened down there?"

"That… that is rather a long story," he gasped, shaking his head, "Obi-Wan… we must… we must tend to him…"

"I will see to your Padawan, Qui-Gon," Adi Gallia assured him, the young Tholothian gently carding a hand through his long hair, "you are exhausted, my friend – Lon-Sa lost consciousness after pulling you aboard. Perhaps you should follow his example, while we take you away from this foul planet."

"No… I cannot… Obi-Wan…"

"He will be tended to, my friend, I assure you. Please… you must rest…"

Qui-Gon tried to force himself to his hands and knees, but his exhausted mind and body had other ideas. With only a soft groan, he gave a great shudder, and collapsed, senseless, to the deck.

Qui-Gon regained consciousness as two medical aides were trying to place him on a stretcher. Barely aware, he submitted to being carried to the medical bay, if only because he knew that was where Obi-Wan would be taken. He drifted in and out of consciousness until they reached the sickbay, where he waived off the assistance of the aides and carefully eased himself off the hover-stretcher, almost immediately being accosted by Adi Gallia.

"What do you think you're doing?" the young Council member arched a perfectly manicured brow at him, "You are in no fit state…"

"I must see to my Padawan, Master Gallia," Qui-Gon replied, bluntly, "I cannot rest until I know his condition…"

"He is here, Qui-Gon," another familiar voice cut in, and Qui-Gon turned, finding himself facing the masked visage of Master Plo Koon, "come, then, we will show you to him…"

The Kel Dor gestured with his long, clawed fingers, and Qui-Gon found himself flanked by Adi Gallia on his left and Plo Koon on his right. Both of the Masters subtly projected a wave of healing, Light energy towards him and he gasped, stumbling at the shock of it; he would have fallen, had not both of them lunged, catching his arms and supporting him.

"I am sorry, I did not mean…"

"Forgive me, Master Jinn, I did not realise…"

"Do not distress yourselves, my friends," he dismissed their apologies immediately, "I… I was unprepared, that is all. We have been completely cut off from the Light of the Force for so long, I… I… never mind. I thank you for your efforts, but perhaps it can wait until I have seen my Padawan?"

"Of course," Plo Koon inclined his head slightly, even as Adi Gallia pushed back the privacy curtain surrounding one of the beds.

It was a strong indication of his distance from the Force that Qui-Gon was taken by surprise by the sight that awaited him; normally, the Force-presence of another Jedi would have been easy to detect, but at the shock of the tableau before him, this time he was grateful for Plo Koon's strong, supportive presence at his side.

Obi-Wan lay, flat on his back, on one of the metal medical tables. Under the harsh light his skin was blue-grey, lacking any real colour at all. He had already been stripped of his cloak and tunic, leaving him bare-chested in only his trousers and boots. Qui-Gon was horrified all over again at just how thin and gaunt the younger Jedi appeared; his ribs protruded beneath skin stretched paper-thin over his emaciated frame. Three days without food should never have caused such extensive wastage… it was clear the wound from the Pestilent creature had done far more damaged than even he had realised.

"Qui-Gon," Master Healer Vokara Che did not even glance up from her ministrations, her eyes glued to the wounds on Obi-Wan's left arm, opposite to where his Master stood in shock, "whilst I am keen to hear exactly how your Padawan came to be in this sorry state, you absolutely should not be standing up right now. I'm not even touching you and I can feel your exhaustion from here."

"Hmm," from his hover chair, Master Yoda dipped his ears, momentarily turning his amber gaze towards the tall Master, "seated then, you shall be, Qui-Gon."

At a wave of his hand, a chair skidded across the floor, coming to rest beside the bed, and Qui-Gon found himself being pushed into it by Plo Koon and Adi Gallia, who remained either side of him.

"How is he?"

Even to his own ears, the words sounded, flat, distant; he blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision.

"Not good," Vokara replied, bluntly, "the medications I've administered had absolutely zero effect, it's as if his body immediately rejected them. I've never seen a wound contaminated like this before. He needs a completely different kind of healing…"

"Is he… can we save him?"

"We are going to try," Vokara replied, tersely, still not meeting his gaze, "you are going to sit there quietly and try not to fall off that chair until I've had a chance to look at you properly. At least Oss'ten had the good sense to pass out again as soon as we got him on a bed… Master Yoda, Master Koon, are you ready? Master Gallia, your job is to keep himsat down and calm until we're finished, understood?"

The Healer jabbed a finger at Qui-Gon, who opened his mouth to object, only to feel Adi's firm hand on his shoulder, effectively pinning him to the chair, even as she sent him a very gentle pulse of strength and reassurance. This time, he was able to welcome it gladly, as her fingers tightened briefly on his shoulder in acknowledgement.

At the head of the bed, Yoda brought his chair higher up so that he was level with the occupant; Vokara Che was on the left, Plo Koon on the right, beside Qui-Gon.

"This wound is corrupted with something I have never seen before," Vokara glanced at the two other Masters, her expression more serious than Qui-Gon had ever seen her, "whatever it is, it is Dark, and it is killing him. We must attempt to draw it out. We've all struggled to use the Force since we entered this sector, but we are leaving as quickly as possible, and hopefully, our combined strength will be enough to save him. Are you ready?"

At their joint nods, Vokara closed her eyes, drew in a deep, steadying breath, and placed both hands on Obi-Wan's bare chest. Plo Koon copied her example, as Yoda reached out, placing his small, clawed hands on the Padawan's head. Qui-Gon made as if to reach out, but Adi stopped him, gently.

"Let them, Qui-Gon… I know you wish to help your Padawan, but you are too weak, my friend."

Reluctantly, his hand fell back into his lap, and he instead tried to concentrate on the Force. It was still there, it always had been, that flicker of light in his mind, but it still eluded him, exhausted as he was from his ordeal and long absence from its soothing, strengthening presence. Nonetheless, he watched as the three powerful Masters combined their strength, and flooded his ailing Padawan with Light, healing energies.

For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen, and then Obi-Wan's back arched off the table; every muscle went taut, fists clenched, face tight with agony as he drew in a rasping breath; Qui-Gon half expected him to cry out, but then the tension flooded out of him and he collapsed limply back onto the table, simply letting out a sigh as his head lolled to one side. Plo Koon took his hands away, staggering backwards; Qui-Gon sensed Adi moving behind him to steady the Kel Dor. Vokara stumbled as well, catching herself on the edge of the medical table, blinking rapidly and shaking her head a little; even Yoda looked a little rattled, his ears dipping low, wide eyes fixed on the Padawan before him, his clawed hand gently stroking his hair in a rare show of affection.

"Obi-Wan…?"

"Calm yourself, Qui-Gon," Vokara shivered, and made a visible effort to straighten herself up, "we have driven most of the contamination from his body, but he is very, very weak. I dare not immerse him in bacta, he is not strong enough, and I don't think it would work in any case. I will cleanse and bind these wounds; I will put him on intravenous fluids and nutrients, and we will keep up our healing energies in turn, until he is stable."

"I would like to stay with him…"

"Absolutely not," Vokara shook her head tails emphatically, "you are going to sleep for a while, you're going to eat a proper meal or three, and you're going to meditate to rebuild your connection to the Force before I allow you anywhere near him, Qui-Gon. Your mental shields are non-existent and you're utterly exhausted, we can all feel it. I promise I'll wake you if there's a problem, and he's in no danger of regaining consciousness for at least the next day or so. You'll be back by his side before he wakes up, you have my word."

"But…"

"Ah!" she held up one finger, sharply, "Do not make me put you in a healing trance, Qui-Gon, you know I will if you try to defy me!"

"I would do as she says," Plo Koon rumbled, with amusement in his voice, "one of us will be with your Padawan at all times, we swear it."

"With my great-grand-Padawan, stay first, I will," Yoda agreed, inclining his head, keeping one hand on Obi-Wan's forehead, "rest now, you must, Qui-Gon."

Reluctantly, but given little choice in the matter, Qui-Gon allowed Plo and Adi to help him up from the chair; he was led to one of the medical beds; the curtain was drawn around it, allowing him to change into the clean sleep clothes provided for him. Clambering into the bed, he drew the thick blanket up over his shoulder; he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

Vokara was true to her word; when Qui-Gon finally awoke, he was made to shower, dress in clean clothes, eat a proper meal and then spend several hours in meditation to rebuild his mental shields and regain his connection to the Force before he was permitted to see Obi-Wan. He was relieved to find that the Padawan had been bathed, and dressed in a clean tunic; his boots had been removed and thoughtfully cleaned, placed by his bedside. He had been moved to a proper bed and looked much more comfortable on the soft mattress, the head ever so slightly raised, cushioned with a pillow and wrapped in a thick white duvet. The cover was drawn up over his chest, though his arms lay atop it, lax at his sides. Intravenous lines fed into the crook of his right elbow, his left arm still swathed in bandages, though Qui-Gon was surprised to see these extending all the way down his arm, even wrapping his hand and wrist, though the fingers remained exposed, still swollen and darkened with bruising.

Chairs had been placed either side of the bed, and Qui-Gon nodded in greeting as Adi Gallia glanced up, smiling at him, her hand lightly resting on Obi-Wan's right arm, as he obligingly took the seat opposite her.

"Qui-Gon," she greeted him, softly, "you look much better than that last time I saw you. How are you feeling?"

"I am… much more myself, again," he conceded, "thank you, Adi, for your rescue… I had not realised so many members of the Council were on board. Plo Koon… did he pilot the shuttle with you?"

"Yes… We felt it necessary to bring as many Council members as we could spare, as we did not know what to expect, and we all sensed extreme danger from the Force. Plo Koon is one of our best pilots; when most of the crew refused to man their stations as we approached Remosta, overcome by fear, he offered to accompany me in the shuttle," her expression turned grave, "I am intrigued to know what happened to you down there, Qui-Gon… what did you see? What was down there? How did young Kenobi come to be in this perilous state?"

"I… I cannot speak of it yet, Adi," he shook his head, recoiling from the memory of Remosta, "tell me… how is he doing?"

"He is very ill," she sighed, placing her right hand on the Padawan's arm, the fingers of her left hand gently stroking his pale cheek, "we have been taking it in turns to sit with him, sending him what healing energy we can; though most of the corruption has been driven from his body, we are still struggling to heal his wounds. The bacta does nothing… I have never seen anything like it. But, between us, we are making progress, and Master Che is confident we will prevail."

Qui-Gon reached out his own hand, placing his palm on Obi-Wan's forehead, a slight frown creasing his brow as he felt the warmth emanating beneath his tender touch.

"He is still feverish…"

"Yes… his temperature has been fluctuating, but it is not dangerously high, we have made sure of that. You can sit with us, of course, but Master Che impressed upon me that you must not be allowed to overexert yourself, Qui-Gon, you must allow us to focus on healing your Padawan while you rebuild your own strength. Your turn will come to care for him, I promise you that."

Qui-Gon ran his hand gently through Obi-Wan's hair, finding himself wishing that the Padawan would open his blue-grey eyes, if only to reassure himself that the young Jedi would indeed recover.

"And what of Lon-Sa-Oss'ten?" he asked, softly.

"He has been released to private quarters to meditate, and to rest," Adi replied, keeping her own voice low as well, "he seems… very different. He has been changed by his ordeal… as have you, Qui-Gon. Like you, he refuses to speak of it immediately… perhaps, if you can, you could speak with him? It might do you both some good."

"Yes, perhaps," Qui-Gon conceded, "but for now, I would prefer to remain with my Padawan… he has suffered the most, I fear…"

Adi made a small sound of acknowledgement, and Qui-Gon sensed her sending another pulse of healing energy into the ailing young Jedi. He smiled at her in thanks, and they settled into a companionable silence as they sat in vigil.

The first time Obi-Wan regained consciousness, he did little more than stir; he cracked his eyes open, peered up at Qui-Gon in pained confusion, and then slipped back into sleep before the Master even had a chance to speak.

The second time he awoke, Qui-Gon had been sent away by Vokara Che, but Plo Koon was at his side. He tried to move, but agony flared through his arm; he drew in a sharp gasp, but then a gentle hand rested on his forehead, and the pain ebbed away.

"Relax, young Kenobi," Plo's deep voice was soft and soothing, "we are here to help you, and you are safe…"

He managed a tiny nod, before his eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and unconsciousness claimed him once more.

The third time he awoke, it was with a sudden jolt as something extremely cold touched his forehead; his back arched inadvertently, and two pairs of hands, one either side of him, immediately clasped his shoulders, holding him down. He did not have the strength to fight back to free himself, as he gasped and shuddered.

"Obi-Wan! It is alright, Padawan, hush now, calm yourself…"

He immediately stilled at the familiar, loving voice of his Master; he shivered, miserably, trying to turn his head, blinking bleary eyes, wanting nothing more than to see Qui-Gon's face, to reassure himself that he was, indeed, safe. When he finally met his Master's gaze, the tall Jedi smiled at him, keeping one hand on his shoulder.

"It is alright, Padawan… you have a high fever, the cold compress is to help you, just try to relax, dear one…"

"How far are we from Coruscant?" asked another familiar voice; Obi-Wan turned his head, exhausted by the effort of even that simple movement, to see Master Healer Vokara Che on the other side of the bed, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding a cold, wet cloth to his face.

"About two days away," Qui-Gon replied, his tone turning grim, "Plo assures me we are making all haste."

"Obi-Wan," Vokara leaned over him, her eyes meeting his, "can you hear me, Padawan?"

He managed a small, slow nod, trembling weakly, unable to summon the strength to speak.

"Good," she took her hand from his shoulder, gently using the cold cloth to sponge down his brow, face and neck; "whatever wounded you, Obi-Wan… I have never seen the like. We have purged most of the contamination from the wounds but your body continues to reject medication. We are trying to ease your symptoms and heal you using the Force; we are taking you back to Coruscant, young one. You will feel better soon, I promise, but you must rest for now."

At the wave of healing energy she flooded into him, he groaned aloud, before his mind simply shut down, and consciousness deserted him once more.

Qui-Gon was eventually given the bed next to Obi-Wan's, so that he could continue to rest as needed while still being close to his Padawan, a compromise Vokara Che was satisfied with. The Master rose from a deep meditation to find Lon-Sa-Oss'ten sitting quietly between the two beds. The Cerean had his eyes closed, deep in his own meditation, and Qui-Gon sat up slowly, careful not to disturb his fellow Master. However, Oss'ten's eyes immediately opened, and his gaze immediately met Qui-Gon's. For a very long moment, they simply regarded each other, silently, unti Oss'ten broke eye contact, casting his sight towards the deck.

"I owe you my life, Qui-Gon… you and your Padawan. I am grateful to you… I fear I also owe you an apology, for my conduct in my terror and my grief…"

"You owe us nothing of the sort, Oss'ten," Qui-Gon replied, easing himself off the bed, reaching for his outer robe and pulling it on, "how are you faring, old friend?"

"Truthfully… I do not know," Lon-Sa replied, softly, still gazing distantly at the floor, "I am glad to have escaped that awful place, and yet, I feel… I feel like I left something of myself behind, it is almost as if I have to go back and try to find something I lost… I… I cannot explain it…"

"I understand," Qui-Gon replied, "I… I feel something akin to loss. But the feeling lessens, as I rebuild my connection to the Light. You were there longer than I, perhaps it will take you a little longer to recover."

"I certainly hope so," Oss'ten shuddered, "I cannot fathom wishing to return to that Dark place… and I find myself grieving for Jasta, although I know I should not. I hope that she truly is one with the Force, and was not simply consumed by the Dark Side."

"The loss of your Padawan will be a hard burden to bear, Lon-Sa… but you said yourself, she was pure in the Light. What do your feelings tell you?"

Oss'ten drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes; "I cling to the belief that her spirit could not be tainted, though her body succumbed to the rot of the Pestilent."

"Then trust in the Force that this is true," Qui-Gon told him, as he pulled on his boots, and quietly crossed to the adjacent bed, "mmm… he still seems very pale, and weak."

"I have taken my turn watching over him and healing him as best I can," Lon-Sa admitted, "Master Yoda should be along soon; I sense you are much stronger now, old friend. Would you like some time alone with him?"

"Yes… yes, I would appreciate that, Lon-Sa. Thank you."

The tall Cerean stood, and they bowed respectfully to each other, before he stepped away, leaving the medical bay to return to his quarters. Qui-Gon assumed the seat he had just vacated, drawing it closer to the bedside; he reached out, touching Obi-Wan's right arm, and sent a wave of healing energy into the younger Jedi, delighted to feel the Force flowing through them both once more. There was a soft intake of breath, and Qui-Gon glanced up in surprise, as Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly, as a slight shiver ran through his thin frame.

"Obi-Wan," the Master smiled, placing his hand gently on the Padawan's forehead, "it is good to see you awake, dear one."

"Master," his voice was little more than a dry croak, "my… my arm…"

"Is it paining you?"

A half-nod was his reply; Qui-Gon closed his eyes, concentrated on their bond, and winced as he felt the fire burning in agony through Obi-Wan's torn flesh. He gently sent a pulse of strength to his ailing student, and helped him to release the pain into the Force, diminishing it, loosening the savage grip it held on him. Obi-Wan sighed in relief as it ebbed away, projecting his gratitude for the respite.

"Th-thank you," he whispered, swallowing painfully, as Qui-Gon slowly stood.

"I will fetch you some water – I will be back in a moment."

Crossing the room and fetching a beaker, he filled it from a nearby sink, and carried it back to the bed. Obi-Wan made a visible effort to rise, but he let out a whimper of dismay when he released that he was simply too weak to move; Qui-Gon shushed him, easing his left arm under the Padawan's shoulders, lifting his head in the crook of his elbow, holding the beaker to his lips with his right hand. Very carefully, Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan to sip at the lukewarm water; he could feel the younger Jedi trembling with pain and weakness, his fatigue radiating from him in waves.

Qui-Gon set the beaker aside when he saw Obi-Wan's eyes drooping closed; he eased the ailing Padawan back down onto the bed, resting his hand on the top of his head, his thumb gently stroking back and forth through his short hair as he leaned over the bed.

"I know you feel grievously ill, Padawan," he murmured, softly, as Obi-Wan peered at him through drowsy, pain-filled eyes, "I am sorry. We are doing everything we can – you have Masters Che, Gallia, Koon, Oss'ten and even Yoda here to help you… and we are taking you home to the Temple. You will be well again soon, Obi-Wan, just hold on a little longer…"

"Hmm…" a new voice cut in, "awake, you are, young Kenobi – good to see you, it is."

Qui-Gon turned as Yoda drifted in, seated in his hover-chair, amber eyes bright as a slight smile curled his wrinkled lips.

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan rasped, trying to push himself up a little straighter on the bed, but Qui-Gon's gentle hand on his brow effectively stilled him.

"Move, you must not, Padawan," Yoda scolded him, slightly, "for speech, there is no need. Very weak, you are still. Sense it, I do…"

Yoda drew up alongside the bed, to Obi-Wan's left, opposite to Qui-Gon. He reached out his small hand, touching Obi-Wan's bare fingers, the rest of his arm still wrapped tightly in bandages. Qui-Gon felt the subtle yet powerful shift in the Force, and felt nothing but gratitude to his Grandmaster when he saw the lines of pain smooth out of Obi-Wan's expression. His eyes rolled up, and, with a soft sigh, he drifted off again. Yoda's ears dipped and his expression fell, and Qui-Gon felt his own relief evaporate at the grim look on the elderly Jedi's face.

"What troubles you, Master Yoda?" Qui-Gon fought to keep his voice even and level, breaking the silence that stretched between them.

The Grandmaster slowly closed his eyes, gave a small shake of his head, and then finally looked up, meeting the tall Master's gaze.

"A terrible wound, your Padawan has suffered," Yoda replied, with a tired sigh, "tainted by something born of the Dark Side, it was. Difficult to remove entirely, it will be… take him a long time to heal, it will."

"But he will heal."

"Hmm. Trust in the Force, we must."

Qui-Gon lowered himself back into his chair; he kept his left hand resting atop the sleeping Padawn's head, while his right hand held Obi-Wan's, gently clasping his cold, lax fingers in his own warm palm. And so they sat in silence for some time, Master and Grandmaster, keeping their healing energies focussed on the Padawan.

Throughout their hyperspace journey Obi-Wan faded in and out of consciousness, but his waking moments lasted longer each time, reigniting Qui-Gon's fervent hope for his recovery each time he stirred and exchanged a few words with whichever Jedi sat at his side, before succumbing to his fatigue once more. The fever continued to rise and fall, leaving him feeling weak and shaky; he was unable to stomach solid food at all, so Vokara increased the liquid nutrients being fed through the intravenous line. Pain relievers, fever reducers and bacta continued to have no effect on either the wounds or his illness, but the healing energies of the Jedi Masters kept the worst of the symptoms at bay; only Master Yoda seemed able to soothe the Padawan's pain completely, albeit only for short periods.

By the time they reached Coruscant, the Masters were all exhausted by their efforts, and it was a subdued crowd that boarded a transport shuttle to return to the Temple. Plo Koon piloted their craft, before he, Gallia and Oss'ten took their leave; Vokara, Qui-Gon and Yoda escorting Obi-Wan to the Halls of Healing; the former two guiding a stretcher between them, the latter following in his hover chair.

Vokara led them into a side room, where they carefully transferred Obi-Wan onto the single bed, allowing the Healer to set up the intravenous lines once more, lighting several candles and dimming the overhead light level.

"I have asked some of the other Healers to assist me," she said, at length, casting an assessing look over her patient, "we will work together to expel the last of whatever is contaminating his wounds, and then, hopefully, we can close the wounds for good and he can begin to heal properly. This… this will not be easy."

"I wish to stay at his side," Qui-Gon said, immediately, "if there is anything I can do…"

"I know," Vokara spared him a small, sad smile, "you may both stay, but let us Healers do this part, Qui-Gon – save your strength to help him with his recovery."

Qui-Gon nodded, and at her gesture, took a seat to one side of the room. Yoda remained by his side, silent but supportive. Vokara left the room for a moment; when she returned, a half a dozen of the most senior and experienced Healers in the Temple followed in her wake. They surrounded the bed, and then, just as the Masters had done aboard the True Faith, they each laid their hands upon the unconscious Obi-Wan.

Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon slipped into the welcoming embrace of the Force, its light filling his whole mind and body in way it had not since he had first entered the Remosta system. He breathed deeply, feeling the bright presence of each of the other Masters in the room, before focussing on Obi-Wan's muted presence, marred by the strange shadow that seemed to blur his Force signature. He felt the Force stirring and shifting; the Healers began to glow a little brighter, and he was momentarily overcome by the sheer strength of the power being summoned; no doubt every Jedi in the Temple, from the most experienced Masters to the younglings in the crèche could feel the awesome crescendo of Force energy building up.

At the centre of it, Vokara Che stood at the head of the bed, her fingertips resting on her patient's temples. Qui-Gon watched as she directed the healing energy, flooding it through Obi-Wan; just as he had on the ship, his back suddenly arched in response, drawing in a sharp gasp, convulsing. Just as Qui-Gon was on the verge of shouting at the Healers to stop, the wave of energy ebbed away, and Obi-Wan collapsed back onto the bed. The assembled Healers all murmured their satisfaction and drifted away as silently as they had come, leaving Vokara with her hand resting on the Padawan's brow.

"Master Che… are you alright?"

"I… I will be fine, after some rest, Qui-Gon. Thank you… we were successful. The contamination has been purged from him; he will need time to regain his strength and Force knows, he's lost far too much weight and muscle mass, but he will recover… hopefully now the bacta will close those wounds and the medications will work."

As she spoke, she busied herself with removing the old bandages, smearing bacta on the livid cuts that, to Qui-Gon, already seemed shallower and less inflamed. She re-bound the arm and then excused herself, bowing out to get some much-needed rest. Qui-Gon turned to see Yoda giving him a small, knowing smile.

"Leave also, I will," his Grandmaster nodded, "tend to my Great-Grand-Padawan, you will, yes?"

"Of course, Grandmaster," Qui-Gon folded his hands into his sleeves and bowed, as Yoda inclined his head, and drifted out of the room.

Qui-Gon sent his gratitude into the Force, and settled in the chair to resume his long wait.

It was three long days before Obi-Wan was even strong enough to sit up on the bed; nearly a week later the various lines were removed and he was able to take his first few steps with the assistance of his Master and one of the ever-present Healers, though the effort almost completely exhausted him. Nonetheless, he was soon asking when he would be allowed to return to their quarters.

"As soon as you can eat a decent meal and stand for more than a minute without looking like you're going to keel over," Vokara told him, patiently, "I don't need to tell you how severely ill you've been, and still are, Padawan. You must allow yourself time to recover."

Qui-Gon spent as much time as his side as possible, a constant and reassuring presence. He came by one evening to find Obi-Wan sitting up in the bed, picking at a plate of nutritional wafers with very little enthusiasm. His lack of appetite was still a concern to both Qui-Gon and the Healers, but he was at least beginning to eat a little solid food.

"That looks… rather unappetising," Qui-Gon commented, assuming his customary seat at the bedside.

Obi-Wan sighed and quirked a tired smile; "Master Che says if I eat it all before she comes back, I'll be allowed to go home in the morning."

"Hmm. And how much have you managed thus far?"

"Err… less than half," Obi-Wan admitted, a slight flush colouring his still-too-pale cheeks, "I am sorry, Master, I am trying, they are just… very dry. And very filling… And I am still not very hungry."

Qui-Gon reached out and snagged one of the wafers from the plate, popping it into his own mouth, as Obi-Wan shot him a look of shocked amusement, tinged with gratitude.

"Mmm. I see what you mean," Qui-Gon pulled a face, "well, I think my cooking is certainly better than this, and if we are to feed you up, we'd better get you home as soon as possible, yes?"

"I'm doing my best, Master, I promise, I… oh."

Qui-Gon smirked as he took another two of the remaining four wafers.

"If you can eat those two, I'm sure Master Che will be satisfied," he grinned, crunching on one of the stolen morsels, "Obi-Wan, these are truly awful. If I did not know better, I would say the Healers are trying to keep you here by deliberately setting you an impossible challenge…"

"What's impossible?" Vokara Che swept into the room, her eyes fixed on a datapad in front of her, as Obi-Wan quickly hid a grin at the sight of his Master hastily shoving a whole wafer into his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly, coughing a little at the dryness of it.

"Oh… just… nothing, Master Che," Obi-Wan picked up one of the two remaining wafers, taking a small bite and chewing it, slowly, swallowing with some difficulty, "I am nearly finished, Master."

"Mmm-hmm… Qui-Gon, the next time you and your Padawan wish to deceive me, you might try brushing the crumbs from your beard."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shared a look that was equal parts guilt, humour and dismay, and Vokara let out a huff of her own amusement.

"Don't worry, boys," she told them, with a slight smile, "Obi-Wan, your vitals are holding steady and your fever is gone. The wounds have closed and the scars will fade within the next day or so now the bacta is working again. You just need to rebuild your strength and stamina, and something tells me you will do that better at home than here. However!"

She held up her finger at the delighted smile on the Padawan's face.

"You must take it easy," she pointed at him, firmly, "I do not want to see you in the training halls at all for at least the next month. You need to eat, rest, and heal, first. Qui-Gon – he needs plain, simple food to begin with; porridge, plain broths, stews, bread – nothing too spicy or acidic, his stomach will be delicate for a while as he has gone so long without eating. The nutritional wafers may be bland but they will help him adjust to eating solid foods again, so use these if he can't take anything else to begin with."

"Of course, Master Che," Qui-Gon nodded, sensing the delight from his Padawan and barely able to suppress his own smile.

"Please, Obi-Wan, and I cannot stress this enough; please, do not over-exert yourself. I really ought to keep you here until you can at least cross the room unassisted, but I know you will be more at ease in your own quarters. Qui-Gon, I expect you to summon a Healer immediately if he develops a fever, loses consciousness and cannot be roused, or if he becomes sick again, understood?"

"I understand, Vokara," Qui-Gon replied, warmly, "and I am grateful to you… to all of you… for the care you have given my Padawan."

Vokara quirked a slight smile: "You are most welcome. Obi-Wan… you will find clean clothes in your size in the storage locker in the fresher. I will go and fetch a hover-chair, you are in no fit state to walk that far yet. Qui-Gon, if you will help him to dress, I will get the chair and some medications that you may need…"

She slipped out, as Obi-Wan pushed the tray to one side. Qui-Gon was beside him in an instant, offering a supportive arm; Obi-Wan leaned on him gratefully. Between the two of them, they soon had the Padawan dressed in clean tunic, trousers and robe; though they were his usual size, they hung loosely from his thin frame, and Qui-Gon sighed a little at the sight of it. Obi-Wan had just finished donning his boots when Vokara returned with the chair and a small box. She gave a slight shake of her head when she caught sight of Obi-Wan, sitting in the chair beside the bed, face pale and limbs trembling.

"I'm really not sure this is the best idea," she flicked her head tails, indicating her uncertainty, "Obi-Wan, are you sure about this?"

"Please, Master Che… I promise I will rest, I just… I want to go home."

Vokara closed her eyes, sending a pulse of healing strength to the Padawan, who accepted it willingly, straightening himself up slightly. The two Masters soon had him settled in the hover chair, and Vokara handed the box to Qui-Gon.

"The hyposprays contain an anti-nausea medication," she told him, "for the first few meals at least, give him a dose before he eats, it will help him take food more easily, but if they don't work, call the Halls immediately. He shouldn't experience any further pain, but he will be weak and fatigued for some time. If he develops a fever or becomes too weak to stand, call me immediately, especially if he loses consciousness and you cannot wake him."

"I understand, Master Che. Thank you."

"Look after him, Qui-Gon. I know you will."

Expressing their thanks once more, Qui-Gon gently guided the hover-chair out of the Halls, his heart and spirits feeling lighter than they had for some time.

"Master," Obi-Wan said, softly, "something just occurred to me…"

"And what is that, Padawan?"

"Do you think Master Windu got the kou'tooni dragon egg in time for the coronation ceremony?"

"I…" Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, "actually, I have no idea… but if it did hatch before the ceremony, I hope he had as much fun retrieving a second one as we did getting the first one."

Both Jedi chucked in amusement, as Qui-Gon guided the chair carrying his Padawan through the meandering halls of the Jedi Temple. Finally, at long last, they were going home.