Athena Leigh Yes, disrespectful…but still, so much fun!
Isaldaria Thank you!
??? Just don't expect anything great from the next chapters. I worry I'm going to disappoint. L
ewan's girl Thank you so much for reading.
Shanobi I know you got my PM, so all I can say is thanks again. You're incredibly nice.
Name1 Is this soon enough? Hee hee. Thanks for reading.
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Qui-Gon watched the first rosy flourishes of daybreak surface in the sky, and noted with great discontent the scarlet hue matched the ruddy blotches that brightened Obi-Wan's cheeks.
The Padawan had slept deeply through the remainder of the night. But he began to interrupt the other Jedi's companionable conversation with distressed moans and spastic, restless movements just as the sun made its slow ascension.
The Master tried to masquerade his increasing apprehension beneath the steady layer of calm he injected into his voice. "Obi-Wan? Are you alright?" He asked quietly.
There was no answer. And, in the same instant, there were no more steps.
Qui-Gon and Ullo's eyes locked. A silent, turbulent wave of dread rippled between them.
"Obi-Wan?"
The ominous reply was a dry, wracking cough.
"We should take a rest." Ullo proposed. Anticipating Qui-Gon's agreement, he quickly slipped off his robe and blanketed it over a square of the jungle floor.
"Thank you." With great care, Qui-Gon lowered Obi-Wan to his makeshift bed, then lingered at a crouching position beside him.
Knight Tirr glanced around the sun-soaked atmosphere, then looked down at Jinn. "How is he? Can you sense anything?"
Qui-Gon nearly cringed at the lilt of hope in Ullo's otherwise pensive tone. His apprentice was unresponsive to his calls; his fevered body resisted every Force scan. More troubling, they were far from civilization, and even farther from their assigned destination.
Against the deep brown of the Jedi robe, Obi-Wan's pallor was alarmingly pale, like the contrast of snow to desert. He trembled in reaction to a chill exclusive to him, so Qui-Gon kept his warm hands on the young face.
"Qui-Gon?"
With a start, Qui-Gon realized he had yet to address the Knight's inquiries. " He isn't doing well at all." Weaker, "And no, I can't sense a damn thing."
He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder. "We need to get to the capitol, Qui-Gon. Or at least somewhere he can receive medical attention."
"Do you know our coordinates?" Qui-Gon glanced up at him, hands remaining on Obi-Wan's damp, cool skin.
"Approximately."
"Then contact the Eume'Li authorities. Tell them to send healers. I mean healers. Not just one. Certainly they can reach us before we'd be able to reach them."
Ullo spared the quickest of moments to admire the collected demeanor of the Master. He knew some who, in the same situation, would either be in complete mission mode, worrying little for their student's comfort, or would be in pieces, unable to function with such control, such clarity.
And while it was obvious Qui-Gon was very concerned for Obi-Wan, he did not stray from reality.
It was an enviable trait that might just save the boy's life, Ullo reflected—then jerked a little, realizing that, subconsciously, he thought the stakes were that high.
Yet, following Qui-Gon's example, he would not examine that discovery, not while there was more prudent work to be done.
He reached for his travel sack and fished for the comm unit.
Qui-Gon heard him rustling and managed to release a pent-up breath. "Now it should only be a matter of time before help arrives." He told Obi-Wan, brushing his fingers across the long forehead, wiping sweat away as he did so. "They'll have better medicine than the liquid aspirin or whatever in the hells we have." He tucked the hood around Obi-Wan's head, then shook his own. "You shouldn't put me through things like this, Little One." With a fingertip, he grazed the dimple in the round chin. "I'm an old man. My heart can't take it anymore."
Ullo heard the weary words, and almost wished he hadn't.
He looked down at the opened rucksack that contained the comms. The communication devices were covered in water and sparked vibrant blue. He deduced, without much deliberation, that a canteen lid had been left loose when placed in the pack.
Over the years, the Knight had visited countless planets, and gleaned a bit of the more colorful foreign words from each.
He put that knowledge to use now, cursing continuously and silently while attempting to salvage the shorted-out keys to their rescue.
()
Cold.
Obi-Wan came to consciousness sluggishly, with the single thought at the forefront of his clouded mind.
Cold.
Where am I…and why would anyone keep it so Sithly cold?
Feelings of confusion soon gave way to the raw sensation of pain. Bone-deep aches ground in his back, legs and neck.
With a frown, he wondered what strenuous physical labors he had undertaken to garner such consequence to his body. He flexed his hands and feet gingerly, eyes shut.
"Obi-Wan?"
Those eyes, the whites tainted by thin red veins, struggled open.
Qui-Gon was smiling down at him, the sharper edges of his leonine features softened by Obi-Wan's blurred periphery. "At last you decide to wake up."
Obi-Wan tried to smile through the shivers. "I think…" He took a feeble inhale, "I think I made the wrong decision."
Qui-Gon's relieved expression sank. "Padawan, you're trembling like a leaf."
"Qui-Gon?"
Ullo's urgent voice broke through the cavern of worry surrounding them. The Master reluctantly turned to him.
The man's olive-toned skin looked waxen in the glare of the sun. His eyes were wide, and rimmed with a dark dread.
Qui-Gon's heart stalled. "What is it?"
Ullo swallowed thickly. "The comms. Some water from the canteens spilled in the rucksack." He watched horror drain the normal effulgence from Qui-Gon's piercing gaze.
It nearly killed him to go on.
"They're shot. All of them-they've totally malfunctioned."
Qui-Gon bowed his head, a curtain of graying chestnut concealing his face.
"I-I'm sorry, Qui-Gon." It was all he could think to say.
The man shook his head. "It's not your fault." The monotone stood flat in the air.
At that moment, Tirr would have agreed with Obi-Wan: suddenly, the jungle was very cold.
For the trio of Jedi, things did not improve, and the flawless sky seemed in great contradiction to the turmoil beneath it.
Obi-Wan's spiking temperature was helped none by the absence of clouds and the accidental depletion of much of their water supply. His limbs were needled with ache, and the attack on his muscles repelled the healing energies of the Force. Even a feather-light touch was enough to send him into near-hysterics.
Qui-Gon sat with his apprentice's head cradled in his lap, soothing him with whispered endearments when he began to make listless, writhing movements.
Knight Tirr had taken to pacing, focusing on possible solutions to their dilemma, instead of the pain-laced moans that rose in the dried carcass of the jungle.
Eventually, with his temples pounding and a fine snake of sweat trailing down his forehead, he stopped. "Qui-Gon, we have to get moving again. This won't solve anything."
"He needs to rest." The Master replied. "I think…I think he's in agony when I have to carry him."
Ullo ran fingers through his sweat-matted hair. He knew delicacy was required in these types of situations, but such niceties could pretty much be abandoned when you were baking in heat, and smelled worse than a decaying bantha. "He's in agony now, Qui-Gon." He saw the quick tension in the broad back, forced himself to go on. "But at least if we're moving, we'll be getting him to a hospital."
Qui-Gon's jaw line was parallel with his shoulder. He looked not at Ullo, or Obi-Wan, but at the shriveled, faded plants beyond.
Although, Ullo wasn't sure the man was actually seeing much of anything.
"He's cold, with a fever. He's in pain, but it's made worse if I touch him. He should be laying still, but you say I should move him." A ragged sigh, and slow shake of the head. "Alright."
Ullo wanted to feel the same sterling veneration for Jinn as before. After all, the man was making an incredibly difficult choice, between what would give his charge temporary or permanent relief. And he was doing what was right.
But the young Knight experienced a strange melancholy as he led the way once more.
These last hours had strengthened Tirr's belief that he was not meant to hold such responsibility. He could not be the one to witness the suffering Jinn had to, the suffering of someone so dear to his heart, all while keeping a (mostly) cool head.
How could it possibly be worth it?
()
When Qui-Gon Jinn was a first year apprentice, he fell from a high branch and broke his leg. Because he had sneaked away from the main group at the Jedi retreat, he was not discovered for several excruciating hours.
For a long while, the Master had considered that to be the single most painful experience of his life.
He had never hoped for another situation to rival it.
But on Eume'Li, that thought was obliterated. Obi-Wan's every wave of discomfort was felt through their connection. The Force was being increasingly unkind to them on this dreadful mission, for although he could not relieve his apprentice through it, he could sense the effects of Obi-Wan's mysterious ailment through its powerful channels.
He would gladly have switched positions with his Padawan in an instant. But such options were not open to him, and he could spare no more time to lament that frustrating fact.
Knight Tirr had offered his own Force strength to bolster his Jedi comrade, but it was all for naught. Their joint efforts were deflected like bolts off a saber.
"This is infuriating as hell." The heated man hissed, when he could hold back no longer.
Qui-Gon flicked his eyes over at Ullo, but said nothing.
Ullo looked down. "I'm sorry if I'm stating the obvious. But we're not exactly able to meditate on this, are we?"
Obi-Wan gave a muffled cry and Qui-Gon flinched. He ran a hand down the tense back. "No." He whispered in response, his brow furrowed. "There's nothing we're able to do."
Ullo felt a sharp pang rush viscerally through his chest. "That's not entirely true." He smiled. "You're doing more than anyone else could."
"A proper physician could do a hell of a lot more." Qui-Gon mumbled.
"But a physician couldn't do that." He motioned at the calming techniques the Master was using to quiet his charge. "Not even the troll could do what you do."
A half-smile cracked Qui-Gon's stony exterior, quickly erased. "And yet it accomplishes so little. He remains in full exposure of the pain."
"Do you expect to be a perfect, miniature god, with miraculous healing powers?"
Qui-Gon appeared almost offended by the incredulous inquiry. "I need to be. For him."
Ullo glanced away, wetting his chapped lips.
"Does that scare you?"
He turned to the Master. "What?"
Qui-Gon's eyes were unmoving, harsh jewels awash with melted ice. "Does that scare you?" He repeated, slower.
The Knight's smile was born of confusion. "Why would it scare me?"
"Because. You're not convinced you shouldn't be a Master. It would take more than a little vomit to secure a decision like that."
"You're seeing what isn't there, Master Jinn." Ullo retorted, adopting an assertive tone. Since when did a near stranger know better his intimate, inner beliefs than he did? "Just because you're a renowned Jedi doesn't mean your opinion is indisputable. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I'm not built to be a Master. It isn't in my makeup."
Qui-Gon's laugh was edging on acrid. "So you blame it on genetics."
"NO. I don't blame it on anything. I just know I don't belong in that section of the Order. I don't have those instincts."
"And yet you covered the ground with your cloak for Obi-Wan before I could even remove my own. No one asked you to do that."
"That was a common courtesy, plain and simple. You don't have to think about something like that."
"You know what word would fit that description?" Qui-Gon asked.
Ullo decided to indulge the man, after the hours of torture and exhaustion he had endured thus far.
"Instinct." The Master finished. "I recognize it in you."
"Really? Well, excuse me if I choose to dismiss that as a side-effect of too much sun and not enough sleep."
"It does scare you."
Ullo exhaled in a huff. "In what way?"
"You're worried that you could come to care this much for another human being, that you would strive to do things well beyond your power to comfort that person." His voice lowered with a faint quivering of emotion. "That you could feel anger that doesn't vanish with a touch of the Force."
The Knight could hear his heart pounding in his ears. "If I'm not placed into such situations, what does it matter if I fear them or not? I'm not foolish enough to accept that kind of aggravation willingly."
Qui-Gon regarded him silently for whole minutes, then "You know what they say about high risk." He laid his palm over Obi-Wan's head. "High return."
()
Obi-Wan didn't know where he was.
He had been safe, within the gentle confines of his teacher's arms. But gradually, without his notice, the Padawan had drifted from that shelter, into the open seas of unusual consciousness.
Around him, trees drooped, willowy branches weighted down with muck and tar. Yet, these trees were not of the tropical variety that would populate a jungle. They were relatively young, with thin, pale trunks.
Above him, the sky was a dismal mesh of gray and black. As he inspected it closer, peering up with eyes not located externally, that dark sky began to vibrate.
Obi-Wan's breath was trapped in his throat. Insects? Yes, insects crowded the heavens. A collective buzz seeped into his thoughts and he shuddered. The louder the din grew, the more intense the pain, the lower the branches sank.
The first, bleached fingers of panic stretched out toward him, and Obi-Wan turned away from the huge clot of antennae, black bodies and translucent wings. But the water beneath the apprentice was now a mirror reflection of the sky.
And he could not escape the crawling pit.
()
A sharp inhale jolted both Jedi from their inner dialogues.
Obi-Wan gasped for air, an arm flailing, fingers entangling with Qui-Gon's hair.
"Obi-Wan!" The wide-eyed Master sought to control the mindless, spasm-like movements. Already a ragged laceration was cut across his cheek.
Ullo stood at his side, unsure what to do, focus glued to the white face. A strong curse slipped through his lips.
Qui-Gon wasn't so stricken. He placed Obi-Wan on the ground and held his hand steady over the hot forehead. With his other hand he covered Obi-Wan's heaving chest, in the place where the heart lay beneath. His voice was not strangled with fear. He spoke as though they were engaged in a casual conversation. "Padawan, wake up."
Tirr took a tentative step forward. "Qui-Gon, it looks like-"
"He can breathe." He replied knowingly. "He's caught in a dream." But, despite his confidence, Qui-Gon gazed down at his protégé with ever-multiplying concern. "Obi-Wan, you're alright. Wake up and see."
For a score of minutes, neither of the men uttered a syllable. For although the Padawan could indeed breathe, they currently did not share that ability.
When red-washed blue peeked out from swollen eyelids, Qui-Gon was the first to react, pulling Obi-Wan from the grit and brush, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders.
Ullo discovered that he was grinning like a moron. And he isn't even my friggin' apprentice! He wiped at his eyes, then crouched down beside the pair.
Qui-Gon brushed the debris from Obi-Wan's face and cupped his hot, flushed cheek. "Obi-Wan?"
The youth blinked twice. The touch of his Master's rough fingers still hurt beyond belief, but Obi-Wan decided, without a large amount of thought, that he would rather tolerate that pain than be apart from the man. He had learned at an early age that sometimes human contact was the most effective remedy, which had been proven countless times since.
This would be the most trying test yet, Obi-Wan noted miserably.
"Obi-Wan, can you tell me what happened?"
The Padawan met the eyes of his mentor. He refused to cringe at the bleakness he read there. "Remember…when I said the mission was in trouble?"
"Yes."
"I," Obi-Wan squirmed as the pain jolted through him, "I think I was mistaken."
Tenderly, he was rested against the stalwart chest, for he could sit upright no longer.
"What do you mean, Padawan?"
The question was delivered in a soft, restrained tone…which only validated Obi-Wan's belief, that something was seriously wrong with him. His Master was not treating him as an equal, but as a child.
Obi-Wan did not resent it in the least.
"I—When I meditated, I couldn't connect with the Force." He filled his lungs enough to continue. "And I heard all these voices, telling me a life force would be destroyed. That strength and goodness would be gone. I thought it was…a spirit from the Force, mourning the losses in the jungle."
Qui-Gon nodded intently. "That's what it must be, Obi-Wan. The echoes of death from the drought. That explains it."
Ullo shivered. While the Master vehemently denied his student's inferences, it became more evident what the cryptic messages truly meant. The Knight laid his hand on Qui-Gon's arm. "Qui-Gon."
But the man would not turn from Obi-Wan. He shook his head.
Tirr swallowed and galvanized his resolve. "Qui-Gon. Look at me."
The Master tore his eyes away, and they were beating with ire as they took in Ullo's sympathetic face.
"Don't argue with him, Qui-Gon. The Force has been so distant, but you can feel the truth in what Obi-Wan says. I can feel it, too. I don't want to, but I do." He compressed his lips. "You said you have to be miraculous for your apprentice.
"Were you lying?"
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "Of course not." He ground out.
"Then do what needs to be done. That includes accepting that Obi-Wan's in great danger here.
"Greater than we thought." Ullo added quietly.
Qui-Gon took a shaky breath, looking down. A shaft of severe sadness crossed over the craggy surface of his visage. His eyes squeezed shut. Then he rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's.
"You must hold on for me, Padawan. Don't allow your attention to waver from that."
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan leaned in. "I won't, Master."
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