.Thirteen.
Pain. It wasn't a stranger to Qui-Gon Jinn but a damn nuisance to be sure. He would much rather have passed into the Light than endure whatever these two were planning on doing to him.
This wasn't the first time he'd been captured and, well…tortured. This was the first time, however, that there weren't any answers being sought. Nobody was asking him any questions. It seemed as if he had become the Sith's new pastime – a human punching bag strung up to be beaten at their own leisure.
The chains around his wrists were made up of some type of metal he couldn't break – not even with the power residing in him. Yes, the Light was still there. Surprisingly, it had not been extinguished or even dulled. Which told Qui-Gon there was no inhibitor around because these monsters didn't require one.
They were that confident in their skills and manipulation.
Being broken and cut, bruised, and left to bleed was rather annoying. After a few days of such rude treatment, Qui-Gon quickly discovered that wasn't even the worst of it. The biggest problem was that he didn't know why they were keeping him alive. He had asked them several times, but they made no comment to him whatsoever. In fact, the only interaction they seemed to have with him included pain. The younger one even moreso. The Zabrak appeared to be enjoying his job quite well. Palpatine would always be present and watching. Only once in a while did he become involved.
The one called Darth Maul would often spit in the Jedi's face while exacting his special brand of torment. At other times, he would hiss, revealing a row of rather neglected teeth. Did the Sith have something against dental hygiene?
As per routine, Maul would enjoy himself for some time (how much, Qui-Gon was never quite sure), and leave the Jedi on the shallow edge of consciousness. Then, he would chuckle and leave, not even bothering to wipe Qui-Gon's blood from his hands. The entire time, the Sith Lord would be standing just out of sight, observing and occasionally laughing quietly. They were thoroughly enjoying themselves at his expense. It was rather infuriating.
Sometimes, Qui-Gon would wake to silence. He was still in the warehouse and if he craned his neck just right, he could see up and out one of the narrow windows near the ceiling. On clear nights, he could watch the stars moving across the sky. It was his only escape, a way to connect to the world outside of his own agony.
At other times, he would think about Obi-Wan and wonder how his apprentice was doing before remembering that he was his apprentice no longer. At least in this life, he had been successful in that. He had managed to bring one student to the Light and keep them there. In this life, Obi-Wan was his greatest reward. Qui-Gon had no doubt his former apprentice would go on to do great things and have no problem staying true.
The Light. It was his only diversion and the one thing that was keeping Qui-Gon from descending into madness. He knew that when this was all over he would become One with the Light and enjoy all the peace and comfort that would bring. Finally, he would be able to move about freely, perhaps even offer his guidance to other Jedi who needed it, as well as some comfort. It was the only goal he seemed to have left; the one thing that kept him going.
In other words, his death seemed inevitable. He only wished he understood the reasoning behind it. Qui-Gon couldn't imagine there was no purpose for all of this trouble. There had to be something they wanted from him. Not that he would've offered them anything if they had asked.
His knowledge was far more important than his life. Qui-Gon just wished he could've shared it a little bit more before his passing. Especially this new discovery of the return of the Sith.
Ever since his student's exposure, Qui-Gon had refreshed his memory and studied their history. It had been three thousand years since anyone had seen a living, breathing Sith. There were those who even doubted their existence. Qui-Gon was ashamed to admit that in the past, he had been one of those who didn't believe.
The history of the Sith was scantily documented, only obtained within ancient runes and scrolls, deciphered by those who claimed to understand them. But how could they? The representatives of the Dark had vanished without a trace three millennia ago. There was no one alive who remembered them, who had ever encountered them or understood them.
Other than his Obi-Wan, of course.
And yet, here they were, standing before him representing everything that was wrong with the galaxy. Unless he was completely mistaken. It was possible. He'd been hit in the head so many times, Qui-Gon was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was caught up in some type of cyclic nightmare. But then a new wound would be inflicted and he discovered, much to his dismay, that this was his reality, and that these two were indeed the modern representation of the Darkness that now threatened to consume the galaxy.
If only they would answer his questions. He had so many! Why had they waited so long? And why make a move now? Why were there only two of them? History reveals that at one point, they had an army. Perhaps so much time had taught this Dark Master to alter his game plan. He could take control of the universe one small piece at a time and eventually, the entirety would be under his command. And it could all be accomplished in the most covert manner; by innocently advancing himself through the Senate. Smart. In that way, the Sith Lord could blend in with other deceitful and dishonest politicians, and the Jedi would never suspect a thing. At least, not until it was too late.
The contentment within his heart despite the numbness of his limbs and the pain in his jaw and side informed Qui-Gon that he had indeed discovered the truth. If only he could share it with someone. Anyone! He didn't want to die with this knowledge inside his head. The Jedi needed to know although they may not accept it. Stubborn fools! Who was to say even if he did present this newfound truth, they would even believe him?
There must be another way! If he could somehow manage to escape, he could inform Obi-Wan of his findings. Obi-Wan would listen. Obi-Wan would believe. Then it would be up to his apprentice to do something about it! Qui-Gon smiled, after realizing that his discovery couldn't be in better hands.
All he had to do now was keep the knowledge safely tucked away inside his mind and wait for the opportunity to share it. Light willing, such an opportunity would arrive.
"Are you all right? You seem a little bit off today," Queen Amidala told her Jedi Protector the following morning.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had stayed true to his calling, had watched over Padmé, helped her, protected her, and guided her. During all that time, they had gotten close, becoming friends even. She was getting to know him well and could detect alterations in his mood.
She was right. Something was wrong. He just couldn't seem to put his finger on it. If he didn't know any better, he would think there was a new disturbance within the Light. These days, though, it seemed there was always a disturbance. Master Yoda's cryptic warnings had been accurate. Indeed, a Shadow was moving, and despite Obi-Wan's best efforts, it was growing stronger and more distinct. Its location was still a mystery, especially after it left Naboo, but it was slowly becoming all-encompassing, an oncoming storm that threatened to overtake all sources of Light.
He should perhaps leave Naboo, venture out and try to discover its source, to try and prevent the Darkness from coming. Only, he already had a mission, and it wasn't yet complete. Padmé had made great strides, yet she still had a long ways to go. Until he was confident she could battle the Evil on her own, he had to stay. He had to help her. He would never forgive himself if she succumbed to the darkness.
"It's time," he announced. She had convinced him to move their lessons out into the garden. The full moon was just disappearing behind the ridge and the handmaiden's celebratory song was finally coming to an end. During his time on Naboo, Obi-Wan had come to appreciate the melody as well as the words. He found them comforting and reassuring, confirming he had a purpose; if only to protect such remarkable people.
At least that's what he should believe. In reality, it was so much more. With each passing moment, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his touches innocent, to focus on his task instead of the way Padmé sometimes gazed at him with her dark, soulful eyes.
"Time for what?" she asked while leaning forward slightly, dangerously close to him. It would only take a minor adjustment on his part and their lips would be touching. The mere thought sent heat through his blood and forced Obi-Wan to lean back instead of forward.
"We're going to have to step things up a little," he advised. Already, he had warned her what to expect. Hopefully, she would be able to handle it.
Again, as he had done over the past sixty-three days, Obi-Wan led Padmé into a trance and asked for access to her mind. She readily allowed him to enter and immediately, he began bombarding her with images of Theed in flames, death of her people, and blood upon her hands. Instead of being disturbed by the scene, he pictured Padmé being elated. She was a Dark Queen who found pleasure in the suffering of others. Through pain and death, she became more and more powerful. All those who dared to love her feared her wrath. There were actually few who stood with her; just a handful of maidens had survived, having been put to death one by one. Her closest confidants and most loyal friends were now her enemies. There was no one she could trust and not a single soul she didn't suspect. She was utterly and completely alone without anyone to turn to. And she liked it that way.
As Obi-Wan continued to paint the image he needed to present before her, he could sense Padme recoil. She was wanting to hide and seemed to be having trouble not just facing the storm, but walking through it.
He wasn't going to help her this time. She needed to be able to do this on her own. Obi-Wan remained silent and passive, allowing the images to flood her mind at will. All he had done was create them. It was up to her to deal with them.
It took some time and the grip she had on his hands was remarkably powerful; stronger than he had thought possible for someone so petite. But then, Padmé was an enigma. It had taken Obi-Wan only a few days to discover that. Her outer appearance, though regal and dignified, made her seem fragile and immature. Perhaps it was all the paint she was forced to wear on her face. Despite her outer appearance, inside was a powerhouse of emotional and mental strength, not to mention physical prowess, as was evidenced in the way his hands were beginning to ache.
Over the past six weeks, his confidence in her had been steadily building, and this was the moment of truth; the culmination of all their hard work.
Slowly, but steadily, Obi-Wan observed as the burning buildings of Theed were replaced by a vision of springtime on Naboo. The red flames were replaced by beautiful roses, the smoke by a delicate fog lifting from the river. The screams of her people were overridden by song, and the blood on her hands turned to a colorful red dye, which was tossed into the air over the heads of parade attendees.
In her mind, she was laughing and smiling, and it made Obi-Wan glad. He couldn't resist the temptation of taking a peek into what she was seeing. He told himself he was only wanting to make sure Padmé had been successful, though if he were being completely honest with himself, his motives were purely selfish. She was happy and he wanted to be part of it.
The joy he felt in discovering he was part of her vision, was nothing short of miraculous. He had never seen himself smile in such a way nor had his eyes ever sparkled like that. Her mental image of him, though slightly inaccurate was appealing and Obi-Wan couldn't leave it alone. He was drawn inside and became an active participant.
Colors rained down upon their heads as they danced together in the streets, accompanied by the cacophony of loud music and singing. They held hands and then held onto each other, their bodies pressed tightly together due to the crowds. Suddenly, Obi-Wan was highly aware of every part of him that was touching her, from their shoulders, chests, hips, and thighs and he wrapped his arms around her middle to draw her even closer. The yellow and blue pigments became green, and the red and blue turned violet.
As the music became deafening and the gyrating bodies around them sped up, the two of them seemed to slow down. Everything surrounding them began to fade until they were alone, solely fixated on each other and the provocative dance that had ensnared them.
Under Obi-Wan's observation, the scene changed again and they were in her private chamber performing a different type of dance, although one just as seductive. Clothing was being removed and the dye had long since vanished. The parade was over and the only thing he heard was the soft sighs escaping her lips.
He breathed her name before drawing her to him, a word spoken reverently and passionately. Obi-Wan felt the soft, pimpled flesh beneath his hands as he lazily stroked her back, and felt her mouth move against his chest as she murmured something about the bed.
He wasn't sure when they had moved, but her wish seemed to be his command, and his legs were now wrapped up in satin sheets, nearly as soft as the abdomen he was trailing kisses down. Lower and lower he moved, her hips lifting to accommodate his caresses, a gasp sounding out as he focused all of his attention on her most sensitive areas.
Obi-Wan wasn't certain where and when the lines had become blurred, but during the process, the vision had become reality, and he opened his eyes to discover they were desperately holding onto one another, the evidence of his desire standing firmly between them.
"I'm sorry," he uttered before pushing himself away.
"I'm not," she replied, reaching to pull him back. "I need you, Obi-Wan."
He gazed at her tenderly while trying to gauge her sincerity. He had the suspicion earlier that she was growing rather fond of him, but had blamed her feelings on a bit of hero worship. Thinking it would pass, he ignored it. Big mistake! By doing so, he had only been enhancing his own growing desire until it had morphed into something nearly beyond his control.
This was more than a little hero worship. This was something else entirely because he felt it as well.
"You don't need me," he murmured halfway intelligibly while trying to gather his wits.
"Yes, I do," she argued while still in pursuit. She was on her hands and knees at this point and crawled into his lap before grasping either side of his face. "You are as important to me as the air I breathe! I can't imagine a day passing by that you aren't a part of. I do need you, but right now, I want you. In my life and in my bed."
He had a choice to make and a difficult one at that. But one of them had to be responsible! One of them had to think this through!
"And what happens after?" he asked. "After you've learned all you need to and I'm sent away? What then?"
Her eyes turned dark and her mood became serious. "That doesn't matter," she insisted. "Regardless of what happens, I'm not giving you up."
He shouldn't have looked, but it was too late. After seeing what they could become and what they already were, Obi-Wan couldn't turn away. Not now. He was responsible for her mental well-being, was he not? How could he deny her something that would bring her so much happiness and fulfill his purpose? The truth was, he couldn't, and in doing so, he realized she wasn't the only one he'd be making happy.
"This isn't going to be easy," he warned while pulling her fully into his lap and positioning her in just the right place. His words didn't seem to hamper her decision one bit and her mouth went right to his earlobe, where she suckled and purred her reply.
"Nothing worthwhile ever is."