Inspiration was readily available to me with this, while it wasn't so kind about my other fics. So here's another post. I hope it's enjoyed.
Ewan's girl Oh, I knew straight away I'd have to continue. I couldn't leave our sexy, dark Obi-Wan without his back story! Thank you.
Audreidi An expansion on Bruck is critical-but a little intimidating. I've never really explored his character before. Thanks for the review!
Shanobi I've already told you how much your feedback means to me…but aw heck, I'll tell you again! Thank you for being the source of this idea that I'm already having a blast expanding on. I hope never to disappoint you.
Skywalker05 Maul? I never even thought about him…Ooh…
JediKeladry Thank you! You're a sweetheart.
Knightlight Interesting that some thought it was Xanatos. He'll certainly be a shadow over the fic, that much I know. Thank you for the review.
Fudge Thanks so much.
Lmoonshade Yeah, I'd like to know what happens to…I have no idea, to tell you the truth! Thank you for reading and reviewing.
AthenaLeigh Your review kind of surprised me, but after reading through it, I can't say I agree with you. I can never tell how my fic reads, but I thought there were enough changes to warrant the retelling of the scene. There wasn't enough backstory there yet to ascertain just why Qui-Gon didn't recognize him right away, although for much of the chapter he was at a distance from his enemy. As for the 'unbelievable' aspect of Bruck being his apprentice….Qui-Gon apprenticed Xanatos, and though he never turned downright evil until later on in their relationship, the seeds were there. He was haughty from the knowledge of his ancestry. And explanation will be given when the time is right. You have every right to hold your own opinion though, and I'm glad that you're giving me a chance to elaborate on the initial offering. Thank you for the review.
Kynstar Thank you so much. Your comments are always completely appreciated.
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Morning was blooming on Naboo in soft, pastel flourishes. Delicately-winged birds glided along the clouds, almost disappearing into the thin, ivory patches, only to reemerge, dusting remnants of heaven from their long tail feathers. Sometimes, their sweet call could wake the slumbering people below, in lieu of cold beeps breaking through unconsciousness.
But neither natural nor electronic siren was needed to rouse Qui-Gon Jinn. He had met the new day at its very inception, watching the moon's effulgence spread as golden vapor through the starry darkness.
The night was not spent in stoic medical vigil, thank the Force. Bruck was safe beneath the sheets of his bed, in the spacious room connected to his own in a private wing of the palace. Qui-Gon knew it had been a frail kind of victory, he himself at the brink of death, nearly singed by a wicked corruption of his Order's sacred weapon.
'Live by the blade…' But few Jedi actually met their ultimate fate by it. And even then, it was likely self-inflicted. Jedi faced off in feigned battle, to learn, to hone their skills.
Never had Qui-Gon been forced to defend himself from the morbid lust blazing from one who wielded that sword. But no--he had to stop and amend that observation. Rarely.
For there had been a few, heart wrenching instances when he had been made to do just that. He shared the awful experience with a scant number of other Masters, none of which were members of his generation. It was the feeling of an artisan, lovingly sculpting with careful, callused, reverent fingers their masterpiece…and just when the clay had taken perfect shape, and begun to dry, the form twists inwardly. In an artificial sense, it is the same. Beautiful. But beneath, the changes are horrific.
A sculptor never wishes to shatter the hours, the years spent in their extensive work. It was an unparalleled nightmare for Qui-Gon to take arms against that which he held such deep affection-even pride.
Now, as the sun radiated mellow waves through the horizon, he knew what it was like to face something that had been nowhere near complete. A wet hunk, with only a few fingerprints pressed.
It seemed someone else had taken the Master's place, and made certain those early impressions were kneaded out of…him.
A place you willingly vacated.
A treacherous little voice had the gall to speak up, but was quickly silenced by the overriding, and well practiced, inner defense. A place that was already cleared of me, by him.
His weary eyes looked out to the stirring world. There would be celebrations today, to mark Naboo's momentous win. Funny, that it would coincide with such a blistering reminder of his greatest loss. After the initial, considerable shock, he had stumbled through a haze, wondering if maybe this were some cruel joke played on him by his second apprentice. Maybe, prior to his death, Xanatos had arranged for this, hoping the shock would seize up his former Master's heart, and accomplish what the dark prince had never managed to in life.
But no, Qui-Gon had endured the horror. So far.
Perhaps, in part, because he had refused to follow the small crew who rushed the motionless body from the silvery bowels of the generator. He had warned them of his identity before moving to a shadowed corner to leave a breathless, disjointed message to Master Yoda, still caught in a whirlwind of disbelief.
The description of the encounter and the narrow triumph was short, the revelation spoken plainly. And he had a single entreaty of the wizened Councilor: send a collar.
Looking back at the incredible events of the day before, Qui-Gon was surprised he was coherent enough to string together a sentence, let alone ask for any method of Force suppression. Following the communication, his personal dialogues had been limited to one-word shouts, raw with a painful outrage that rattled his mind.
What?
How? When?
WHY?!
And his mind's eye was blind to all else, save the image of that face. He had let himself forget so much of it. Time had taken that handsome, boyish face and transformed it, almost beyond recognition.
Qui-Gon brought his hands together tightly. Perhaps it would have been better if the realization never came. And I could have finished the fight without that maddening twinge of bias.
He forced a breath into bound-up lungs, trying to rid his thoughts of that hair, once an indescribable color somewhere between red chestnut and ginger, now stained an indisputable black. To think, there had been a transience of his life when he had reached for that mane, to play with the closely shorn locks or give a tug to plaited strands.
And after…after it was over, he would sit up during lonely nights, turn against all good sense, and wish for just another stroke of those clean, soft locks.
I was played for a fool. Anger seared his gut. And I just might BE one, for granting him mercy.
It had been a moment rife with confusion, bewilderment. He never thought he would glimpse the boy again. Within the Temple, he was considered a lost member, though the opinion never crossed over into more 'traitorous' territory. He had been a mere child when his veins thickened with the rebellious blood, and presented the choice between the Jedi and a tattered group of young patriots. Even the most hardened of hearts could forgive one so young, so impressionable, for his decision.
But Qui-Gon could not.
And it had taken him more than a decade, but he was starting to release the guilt of that immovable stance.
Until now. Now, he was clutched in his memories, the mistakes of a segment of his past shared with another…and those eyes. Drained of their cerulean rains, the emeralds pitched, in favor of dismal stone. Just one glance, and Qui-Gon could feel them grazing his soul, bruises purpling in his heart.
He…Obi-Wan. The hesitation was mutual, linking them as nothing else could. Obi-Wan should have taken cruel advantage of Qui-Gon's split-second freeze, bare battle instinct decreed that -but he hadn't.
A bitter half-smile crept to the Master's face. Did I surprise YOU for a moment, Obi-Wan Kenobi? A shiver proceeded the thought, seeping down to aching bone. But no. You seem to hold the winning cards in that respect.
As you always have.
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Obi-Wan ran. And it felt as though his boots had melted away, leaving bare feet that were crushing molten embers, falling in a blurred rhythm to the razored grit layering the ground.. Every Force-sped step was a stab of agony.
Because he knew where these bounds would take him. And he wasn't sure, even after all he had seen, that he wanted to go there.
Once his eyes were full of the carnage, and brutal memory was imbedded in the very irises, he had done his best to cope, as a Jedi would. He conjured simple lessons of the Temple. He thought of carefree afternoons, empty of educational rigor, but teeming with laughter and ancient friendship.
He thought of his Master. For a moment, the boy held to the brittle hope that Qui-Gon would offer a sufficient reason for the burgundy soaking in the dirt, and the tears, the children's tears, that overwhelmed his Force in a total deluge. Like no one else in his short lifetime, Qui-Gon Jinn was a wealth of answers, wisdom, comfort. He would know why. More importantly, he would know how to make it stop.
But by the time Obi-Wan's legs had carried him beyond the brown, pluming smoke and battle cries of a too-tender voice, his mind was already secured in its determination. He could still taste the staleness of unjust war. The young warriors echoed in his heart.
Something inside the young Jedi pulsed strongly. It had been conceived before he knew his Master, as a tiny initiate. It had withstood failure, rejection…even walking the featureless halls of the ship that had steered him, without emotion, from his dreams. But now, that dream, miraculously renewed by Qui-Gon, suffered a tear. Obi-Wan would have staggered, to gasp, but there was no time.
He sped through the woods, the sting of crowded leaves occasionally leaving slashes on his face. Finally, he was there, at the starfighter.
A weapon sorely needed in the battle that waged on Melida/Dann. The best, outside of his basic, human devotion, he could give his weary friends. But then, ginger lashes swept to meet his skin.
He was not fast enough. His Master was already here.
Obi-Wan saw the proud, wide curve of Qui-Gon's back, bent to load something in the vessel, and inwardly, stumbled on his platform. A waver of a child.
But it was momentary. The sons and daughters of this place had never been allotted the rightful version of their childhood. So he would forego his. Even--he swallowed--even if it meant having to go against the man that was turning to face him, with a warmly greeting smile.
"Padawan. I'm glad to see you. I was beginning to worry--"
Obi-Wan blurted the words before they could spiral into the shallow wave of cowardice within him. "I'm not going with you. I-" His voice lowered involuntarily, to a whisper, "I can't go with you."
Fine lines knit the Master's eyes. "Obi-Wan?"
He swallowed a lump, and looked away from the open confusion written on the familiar visage. "I didn't come here to go home with you. I came to get the starfighter."
The silence was a descent to a place of dark frost, where Obi-Wan stood awaiting response, shivering in his solitary stance. He had breached the Code, gone against the Jedi. Challenged the word of his teacher.
But it wasn't meant to be that way. If he could just explain, relate to Qui-Gon the devastation he had witnessed--
"I see." The man responded at last, coolly. He stared at Obi-Wan with eyes rimmed by midnight, eyes that slowly narrowed, before widening. "No. No." A laugh sputtered from him. Incredulous. "I DON'T see. I don't understand what you're saying, Obi-Wan.
"So spell it out for me."
Obi-Wan wanted to wring his hands, or look at his feet. But instead, he focused exclusively on his Master. This was the chance he had desired. He HAD to make his case. "Dying. They're dying, Master. I can feel it. Everywhere inside of me, I can feel their light winking out and the evil thickening, to fill where the light was."
Qui-Gon studied him in a seemingly detached appraisal. The air became static. But then, affection welled to the surface of his gaze. He moved forward, until he was standing before his apprentice. "Come here, Padawan."
Muscular arms wove around Obi-Wan, and the boy let himself be pulled into the embrace. A large hand cupped his head. "I know it hurts to see the pain of so many, of those so young, who have befriended you." Qui-Gon murmured, a baritone softened to lace on the wind, "But you must realize, my apprentice, that YOU are very young. You don't know yet, that our unique service to the worlds sometimes dictates that we must leave, when it seems the worst moment to do so."
Obi-Wan buried his face in the warm neck, gathering the aura of his Master to him like a creature searching for sustenance before the freeze. Lips trembling, he forced out, "Master…"
"Padawan." Qui-Gon trailed the length of the braid with steady fingers. "Because we have departed the grounds does not mean we will also depart from the cause. The Council will tell us what is to be done from this point on." He pulled away, and wiped the single tear gleaming on Obi-Wan's cheek. His voice was infused with gentle cheer. "So, let's get on board. You can get something to eat, then rest. And meditation can solve the lingering problems for you, Padawan."
Obi-Wan inhaled, his sorrow rattling in his throat. "Don't try to sate me with disarming words, Master. You…You want me to be quiet so that I'll acquiesce, and you can get Master Tahl to Coruscant faster."
Qui-Gon stepped back. The soft caring splintered in his face, revealing a harder interior. "That was not my motive, Obi-Wan. Not at all. But yes, Tahl does need the attention of the Temple healers." His jaw set. "Immediately."
"And I want that for her too. She can still get it, but first Nield and Cerasi need--"
"FIRST," The Master thundered, "You can tell me when this apparent reversal of our roles took place. Tell me, Obi-Wan, when YOU took rule of the choices in this apprenticeship."
Obi-Wan felt a quiver start in his stomach, as he stood a child in the tremendous shadow of a giant. "I thought this was a partnership."
"And I thought I could trust you, to know when my word should be followed. WITHOUT protest. But I see that I was very much mistaken." Qui-Gon was motionless before him, but Obi-Wan could feel the ghost of tight fingers on his shoulder. "Get on board, Padawan. That is not a request. You have already gambled with my…with Tahl's life."
Obi-Wan looked past him, at the ramp leading to the opened hatch. It was a door between worlds, he knew. A portal linking his life up to this point, his life as a Jedi, to this new burst of pain and duty that had nothing to do with katas and centering mantras. But it couldn't last. He couldn't be pulled in both directions. It would only rip him apart. The boy blinked and hot tears spiked in his vision.
Qui-Gon saw the hesitation. The gloves were peeled away. "And if you don't get on board, know this." Sharp slivers glinted in his eyes. "I WON'T come back for you. Not when I know Tahl is safe, not even if you call and beg. Not even to bury you, once this mess" He threw out his hands, toward the war-fogged atmosphere," is through. I won't come back and let this…this betrayal fade away. If you make this mark-on BOTH our lives-it will be permanent."
The man was quietly seething, an anger tapped in him that Obi-Wan had never seen exposed before. "I NEED to help them, Master." There were better things he could have said, things that might have stood stronger in the wake of Qui-Gon's shattering ultimatum. But Obi-Wan could feel two truths rising in him. His love for his Master…and the knowledge that, no matter how powerful and deep that love was, it still wouldn't be enough to make him fold. "I've spent my life being taught to look outside of myself, to the Force, to humanity, for purpose. The Jedi hold duty above most everything else." Obi-Wan gulped down the misery building in his throat, "And I feel a duty to these people. These children, who are dying all around me. No one else will listen to them. No one else will help them. So isn't it my duty to do what I can?"
Qui-Gon would have resembled a statue, a form chiseled in harsh, unyielding lines-had it not been for the hint of moisture in his eyes. "And what of your duty to me, Obi-Wan? After all I have done, to ensure you a future in the Knighthood?" His mouth was brought to a barely perceptible quiver, "What of the pledge you voiced to me? The pledge we made-to each other?"
"I wouldn't rescind it." Obi-Wan shook his head, tears falling freely, "I wouldn't take the words back, Master. I don't want to. If you would just let…"
Qui-Gon calmly held a hand up. "NO. The pledge is not conditional, Obi-Wan. You either follow it completely…or you don't follow it at all. " He cemented his arms over his chest. "And I will not sacrifice Tahl for you."
Obi-Wan's knees buckled under the weight of the words. His hands met roughly with the dust and dried mud. His braid dangled like a taunt in front of his eyes; he squeezed them shut. How could he do this? How could he stamp this swelling red finality on their relationship? How could he risk the mercy of the open air beyond the cliff?
And a wounded, battered collage assaulted him. Cerasi, Nield, countless others. Young faces. A future in the Knighthood? And what if their future didn't last beyond today? There would be no consolation for such anguish, guilt.
"I must help them."
And he salvaged enough courage to open his eyes, seeing a pair of scuffed, leather boots stop in front of him. Obi-Wan heaved a breath and looked up.
Qui-Gon's hair hung around his face, the silver streaks ignited to a glow by the last, illustrious finale of the sun. Sweat had begun to bead at his forehead, shone wetly on the skin at his neckline. He wasn't a young man anymore. Now, maybe for the first time, he actually looked as if he were approaching twilight. The normal regality was replaced by weariness. "This goes beyond defiance. You have shown me today that I was right all along, that I was better off alone. No," His smile was bitter, "Not alone. Just without you."
The initial pierce of Obi-Wan's heart. He felt blood as a hot, copper flood within his body, purged it as cool rivulets from his eyes.
"You have betrayed me today, Obi-Wan. And I should have seen it coming. Maybe, in a way, I did. Perhaps I saw it from the first, when I was audience to your spar, and felt that anger in you." Qui-Gon knelt in front of him, and clasped the young face between his hands, "I thought it could be different. I thought you could change, with guidance. With--" His voice weakened, "Love."
"I DO love you, Master." Obi-Wan choked.
But the man shook his head. "An illusion, Obi-Wan. A fake emotion you've tricked me, and yourself, into believing. But it ends now. It ends here, revealed for what it really is. I was a last resort for you. A method of attaining what you wanted…but you don't know what you want. All I know is," Qui-Gon sealed his eyes a moment, the fury multiplying in the space of a blink, fire in sapphire, "You don't want me. And you don't want to be a Jedi, obviously. You love me, Obi-Wan?
"Then you have a cruel way of showing it."
Obi-Wan was trembling badly, unable to think outside the cage of the accusations. He saw the perfect manifestation of sorrow in Qui-Gon's face-and knew it was all his fault.
Then, Qui-Gon drew him into a fierce, breathless embrace, and the young man thought he could hear the hammer of that valiant heart in his skull.
Qui-Gon held his apprentice tightly, his chin pressed to the spiky crown of hair. "But know that I did love you, Obi-Wan. Immediately. More than I thought possible." He kissed a smooth temple, "But it was a ruse, wasn't it? I gave my heart to someone who didn't exist."
Obi-Wan clung to his chest, weeping. "No. Don't think that, Master--"
Qui-Gon leaned back, and laid a coarse finger against the lips. "You have no right to call me that anymore." Abruptly, he broke completely away from the boy, and stood. He made no movement to wipe the grime from his knees. "I will not linger here any longer. Tahl has earned my allegiance. And she would never turn her back on me." He held out his palm, stretching his fingers toward Obi-Wan, in wordless command.
Obi-Wan didn't need to be told what it meant. He scrambled to his feet, eyes swollen. With a bone-deep shudder, he unclipped his saber. The metal was cool. A beloved fixture of his life.
But his life was not what it once was. Qui-Gon had spoke the truth. He had no right to carry the weapon of the Jedi.
Obi-Wan turned over the cylinder to the waiting hand.
Qui-Gon gave him a look of absolute, austere heartbreak. "I did love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi." His fingers wrapped around the saber. "I love you no more."
And then the man turned, his cloak whipping like a gust of mahogany borne from the wind, and stalked up the ramp.
Obi-Wan watched the hatch close, felt as the tear inside him traveled down, until it was massive. The starfighter lifted in a great billow of dirt, then darted into the mandarin-rose sky, becoming a speck among the clouds.
And Obi-Wan stood, arms limp at his sides, thirteen years old, totally alone.
The break came soon after.
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