Wintersong The Council will be, how you say, 'ticked'. And as for his friends? I've been thinking about that a lot too. Should be interesting. Thanks for reading!
Snow-Glory Ah, what happened to Obi-Wan…beats me!
Audreidi I love to see your name on a review alert. You're such a fantastic writer. That other message won't be addressed for a while, I'd say. Gotta keep you in suspense!
Fudge Yoda and Obi-Wan's meeting will be strange, I think. To write, anyway. It will take some serious thinking. Thank you for reading and reviewing.
Dracula's Lair Thanks!
The ship jetted through the vaporous atmosphere that encircled Melida/Daan, breaking into space. Space. The ultimate void, some called it, usually a captain with rheumy disillusion clouded over in battered eyes that seemed permanently reflective of star luster and exhaustion. The ultimate void, where one floated along in inky oblivion, waiting, hoping for a brighter thought to unveil as a pinprick of illumination. Far too often, the absence of distraction, the abundance of nothing, could eat away at an already famished soul.
In many ways, a Jedi was a captain, of ship and Fate, watching the endless shifting of darkness, en route to one disaster or the next. In the fabricated passing of night, Qui-Gon Jinn felt the burden of both lifetimes, warrior and aviator, weapon at his waist and controls grazing his fingertips.
It had been effortless at first, to elude the crush of outrage, while keying coordinates and securing the precious cargo of his voyage. His mind streamlined into its own version of autopilot, functioning forever in the sweet confines of the present. Wonderful NOW, with no memory to forgive, no need to consider the drama of the next moment. Each pulse of his veins was its own, private eternity.
And then the blur of his haste slowed. His limbs unwound from their tension, and he found himself slumped in the pilot's chair, surrounded by the black innards of the galaxy and the sweaty second skin of his body.
And Obi-Wan, everywhere Obi-Wan, like a mist. Words. They had only been words. Little words skittering down, while so nearby, a world and countless lives were in tumult. How could those words mean more, carry more impact, than burst war shells and ragged screams?
He realized he had been staring at the console with pupil-expanding blindness, and rubbed his eyes, leaning back on the meager support of the chair.
'I must help them.' The trembling voice, so solidified in resolve, bled from the very walls, and sparked anew the fire in his gut. The words had not been malicious, nor spiteful, yet they were worse, the deceit of poison mixed deep in wine. He had not comprehended the consequence until the last was swallowed, and he could feel the horror seeping into his core. 'I must help them.' And it was at the expense of all else, for he could not endure apology or reprieve. He wouldn't be carried here and there, on the winds of another's fancy.
And he wouldn't tolerate second chances.
Qui-Gon's eyes sunk into the welling dark. When one renounces the Order, the Order must renounce them. He ran his fingers heavily across his brow, fighting the first cold strings of tension pulling taut in his temples. What was I to do, throw up my hands and let him do what he wanted? Risk her, the priority and purpose of our mission?!
The breathless fury of his thoughts would have taken him aback, had he not already been totally absorbed in their passion. He was ever the pacific mediator, giving over his anger to the Force, the waters running smooth in his own soul.
But there were things no living being could confront with perfect steadiness. Some wrongs warranted blinding, molten ire. And for a moment, he would accept that, against the tenets stitched into his moral fiber. He would be beyond consolation or mediation.
He would be in the throws of his basic humanity, at the barest levels of affliction and the highest invincibility of self-righteousness. The boy had been wrong. He had been wrong, and would not admit it, not to save himself from the destiny that lay in wait for so many in wartime, not to salvage his dreams. He was wrong and had the audacity to defend that convoluted logic!
How could I not have known? How could I think he was different? The pain scorched him, again and again, Why did I go against every warning I had about him? What a grand fool I am! The signs all standing in daylight, and I chose to ignore them all. And for what reason? What Force-damned reason was there to forego good sense? His vision was becoming smeared, He was no more gifted than any of the others. No more special. No more…
And Qui-Gon was grateful Tahl was locked away in another wing of the ship, so she did not hear the weak gasps of his utter devastation.
The General Hospital of Theed stood in stone finery, towering to scrape against the sky with columns that seemed swirled of soft pastel cream. Yoda stole a second to admire the delicate, old-world feel, a traveler whose home was a bustling nexus of steel and mimicry. Naboo was exceptionally, distinctly beautiful.
But behind the façade, it was a world of much sorrow, for those recovering from the shattering Trade Federation conflict. And for the Jedi, it was the site of a new betrayal. As for whom was truly betrayed, the ancient sage couldn't be sure.
He lingered another moment on the cobblestone steps, the sun whispering hot at his neck. Inside, the Force coruscated and boiled, in purity and in dissolution. There was familiarity, in the form of Qui-Gon Jinn and Bruck Chun. Their signatures pulsed at the Master's nearness.
Yet, they weren't alone in their anticipation. There was the presence of at least two others, astounding in range and capability. Raw power. Refined power.
His eyes drifted closed and his shoulders drew back, his body easing in a calm, mind-contained sigh. Wrong, I was, to believe. Whoever was emanating the waves, their identities resembled nothing of Obi-Wan Kenobi. The verdant eyes opened to glimmering, moist slits. But wrong, I would be, to assume there is nothing left of him.
It wasn't a shock.
He came awake, but the machines didn't explode into their customary hysterics, and no guards barreled in to form a lethal circle around him. He rose from unconsciousness in a single, steady lift, the fingers of sleep and narcotics falling away, down into the blur.
He didn't move. His aggravation over the entire situation returned, but his breath didn't spike and the rhythm behind his ribcage flowed in pacific cadence. For all the world, he was waking from a lazy, dreamless doze.
But, in his experience, most of the world-and Universe- was as perceptive as a blinded, bloated worm.
He wasn't afraid nor paralyzed by the arrival. If it had been at all possible, he would have unhooked himself from the tangled vines of tubes and bed cuffs, and strolled down to greet the microscopic cretin in person. He wasn't nearly as weak as the physician or Jinn believed.
He was more than prepared for another reunion.
This is most unwelcome. A grimace begged to ripple at the Senator of Naboo's lips. The meddling creature will cause complications where I need none.
He knew Master Yoda had arrived, from both the subtle changes in the Force, and the not-so-subtle kindling of relief in Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes.
But he dare not gauge the reaction of the man that lay beyond the thick of the door and guards. It was too much of a risk--multiplied, now that the foolhardy stump of the Jedi Temple was involved.
"Senator, Master Yoda is here. I pray he'll offer new insight into all this." Qui-Gon wiped the ache in his eyes, and started for the lift. "He knew Obi-Wan far better than I ever did."
Palpatine paused for the slightest of moments, to savor this partial victory, to revel in the stress and sorrow carving out Jinn's figure. Partial, because they were only at the beginning, standing on the hearth of morning. The greatest celebration would be the last, when his feet kissed the pinnacle, at the fever-black prime of night, and his ultimate plans had come to completion.
A part of him chafed at the restraint of time, but he was quick to be reminded that he was at the helm, he should enjoy the ride. And every delay would work as another hour of torment, for those so deserving of the suffering.
Anakin and Padme had been engaged in a silly froth of conversation when suddenly, the boy's shoulders jerked, and he moved to rub his face.
Padme rested her hand on his knee. "Ani?"
She glanced around for Bruck, and found the young Jedi making long, impatient strides to the lift. Turning back to Anakin, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," He blinked, "I just felt funny for a second."
On instinct, she settled warm fingers against his jaw, as a strong protectiveness lurched up inside her. "Are you sure?"
He smiled softly and nodded. "Mmhm." Blue eyes flashed brightly when he saw Master Jinn returning. "He's back!"
The child hurdled from his chair and raced to his new guardian. "Master Qui-Gon! Are we leaving now?"
Qui-Gon chuckled, which surprised everyone (not excluding himself). "I'm afraid not, Ani. I trust you've been well-behaved?"
Anakin eagerly relayed his flawless conduct, as well as his repeated indulgences in the various candies littering the reception area.
A rough-hewn palm ran over his hair. "That's good to hear."
Anakin beamed, but there was an antsy bounce to his feet. "Why can't we leave yet? I thought I was gonna be a Jedi on Coruscant."
"And that will happen, Ani. All in good time." Qui-Gon reassured him. "There are just some things….that need to be taken care of first, that have nothing to do with you."
"Pardon the intrusion, Master Jinn, but I thought we were meeting with Master Yoda." Palpatine pointed out.
Qui-Gon blinked, embarrassed by the fact he continued to traipse through the shock and fog of the battle. He scanned the room and frowned. "He must be here. I sensed him clearly."
His eyes were drawn to the door. "I'll be right back."