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Numbness spread all over Obi-Wan's body, drowning out the pain, and he gladly welcomed this doubtful respite from constant agony that had been nagging at his abused body ever since they'd left the Generator Core Room. Sharp biting pain ate into the skin and muscles, penetrating, it seemed, every bone. Black fuzzy dots danced at the edges of his vision, but he kept walking by the virtue of the sheer will power, supporting himself with the Force as much as he could. But his connection to the great energy was erratic at best, wavering and faltering precariously each time his concentration slipped a tad.
Qui-Gon who was walking in front of him would stop occasionally and ask, "Are you all right, Little One? Maybe we should stop and take a rest?"
And Obi-Wan would shake his head each time, declining the tempting offer, although his battered body pleaded for rest. He would have gladly accepted but knew that once he stopped there would be no strength left in him to continue.
They went on and on for what seemed like hours, making occasional short pauses for Obi-Wan to catch his breath. In any other place Qui-Gon would have simply scooped him up into his strong arms and carried all the way to the nearest medic facility, but it was not an option here. The narrow corridor was barely large enough for the towering Master to fit in, and the ceiling was so low it could provoke a fit of claustrophobia in a sensitive person.
Neither Jedi was claustrophobic – or it would have posed great many problems in their already less than unclouded life – but even they felt weighted down by the close ceiling in the narrow confinement of the passage.
The unnatural, dead pale-blue light of glowrods under the ceiling reflected from metallic walls and basked the two silently moving figures in eerie luminescence. The overly bright glow assaulted tired eyes, burning them, blinding. Obi-Wan's movements became automatic, droid-like over the time. His consciousness became distant, detached, and he watched himself dully as though from the outside.
Qui-Gon turned yet again, asking if they should stop. Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of repugnant blurriness in his eyes. The Master stood watching him in silence. Qui-Gon's long hair, mattered from the gruesome battle were now painted silver, his face as though cut in stone under the lifeless light of the corridor, and Obi-Wan took a moment to simply watch him. Traces of weariness lined Qui-Gon's face with sharp lines, emphasized by his obvious concern.
A ghost, a sudden thought struck Obi-Wan. He looks like a ghost. I must be looking no better. Except, I AM a ghost… Or am I?
Thoughts tangled on themselves, making him wonder if he had lost an ability to think clearly all together and if it was permanent… Or if it would pass with time.
Time…
Time had looped today bringing him back to where he had thought he could never come again. Thoughts tangled once more, falling into a mass of confusion, throbbing with an almost palpable ache in his brain.
"Padawan?" the Master's voice was gentle and soothing like cool water, splashed over the overheated skin. "Can you go on?"
"Huh?" Obi-Wan slowly blinked, focusing bleary eyes on Qui-Gon. "Oh, yes, yes… let's go."
The Jedi Master studied him carefully, wondering if the apprentice was telling the truth or was simply trying to appear strong – after all these years the Padawan was still reluctant to show his weakness choosing instead to push himself to the limit. Qui-Gon only hoped that the limit wasn't yet surpassed. The harsh merciless light of this corridor gave Obi-Wan an ethereal look, making him appear painfully young and fragile. The strong, powerful young man from only hours before was now replaced with a fatigued boy barely out of his teens, strong in his own way yet so vulnerable…
But there was something in his eyes – something Qui-Gon could not place, something that had not been there before. The Master couldn't quite determine what it was, yet this new quality of his Padawan's eyes was unsettling. But this was not the place nor was it the proper time for in-depth observations. Giving Obi-Wan another worried look Qui-Gon started to move forward.
Kenobi pushed himself after him, every move seeming an impossible exertion. Every shift of a limb was draining, reminding him of that time when he had gone to Mos Eisley – it seemed another life now, a dream he was more than willing to forget, yet there was no forgetting. Obi-Wan let his mind wander back to the ceaseless row of days spent in Tatooine desert. That day had been the same as the one before it, and the one before it, at least, in the very beginning. Yes, he had gone to Mos Eisley to learn the news, to listen to pilots and pirates…
"I used to listen to all the traders and star pilots who came through the place."
Obi-Wan turned his head sharply in search of the source of voice before he realized it was his own memory of Anakin talking.
Anakin… The name held so much in it, was so thick with emotion for Obi-Wan that he dared not even think it now for the fear of losing what pitiful shards of control he still possessed.
But what was he thinking? Ah, yes, Mos Eisley. He had gone there in his old battered land-speeder. Of course, it had not been nearly as battered and worn as it appeared, but that definitely had not been a good day for him – or for the speeder. Half way back to his dwelling – he could never bring himself to call the miserable hut a 'home' – the speeder had started to show all signs of malfunction complete with puffing and even smoke. He had been forced to stop and examine the machine coming to a distressing conclusion that not only would it not get him to his house right now but he would have to drag it there or leave it here for a while since the breakage had not been repairable out there in the desert. Ultimately deciding on the latter Obi-Wan picked all the water he had with him – which had not been much since he had never planned to stop – and started on his grueling journey.
He never cared to count how many hours the trip had taken him as he had dragged himself through the scorching sands under the severe heat of two suns that had seemed to be mocking him from their vantage point in the crystal clarity of the sky. In the end he didn't remember how he had gotten to his dwelling. Much later Obi-Wan had found himself lying sprawled on the threshold, covered with a thin coating of fine sand, with his mouth full of sand and the tongue dry as emery. The suns had long since left the sky, giving place to billions of shining eyes of stars that stared down at him cold, uncaring – as uncaring as the peoples that inhabited planets around them.
He had risen then and walked into the hut, giving up the fruitless attempts to brush the sand away from his cloth. He had not noticed it then, but delusion had been already holding him in its tight grasp, whispering madness into his ears.
He could now vaguely remember dashing around the house that night, spitting baleful words at the cold-hearted people out there who had betrayed and abandoned those who had been their protectors for hundreds of years. People who turned away from the Jedi in the time of their weakness.
People who accepted Palpatine and his ruling. People who accepted Empire.
Empire. Dreaded and spiteful. But it was not so by default, it had been made so by those guiding it, by those directing its course. The two Sith…
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice cut razor-sharp into the thick beginnings of delusion that was forming around Obi-Wan like a fog.
"Yes, Master?"
"What was it you just said?"
"Umm… did I say something?" Was he thinking aloud? No, he couldn't, he shouldn't! Qui-Gon should not know anything. No one should.
"Yes, you did. Something about an empire…"
"Empire? Umm… I… I meant a pyre… You know, they would be making pyres for those, er, killed… once this all is over, of course."
"Are you sure you're…"
Sane? No, Master, I'm not sure. Obi-Wan thought dolefully. Aloud he said, "Fine. I'm just fine," feeling a chasm of mistrust starting to open between him and Qui-Gon – a chasm he was forging with his own hands.
Qui-Gon's doubtful glance slashed at Obi-Wan's heart, and he had to force himself to stay quiet, to not spill everything to the person he loved. With a shrug the Master turned away.
Several minutes passed in silence until the thin like a thread outline of an auxiliary door broke the flawless shining surface of the wall. With what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief Qui-Gon opened the door with one move and squeezed himself through it. Obi-Wan followed suit, forced eventually to lean onto Qui-Gon's hand lest he fall flat on his face as legs refused to support him for a moment.
The passage had brought them to the part of the palace Obi-Wan didn't recognize, and by the look on Qui-Gon's face the Master did not either. The hall was full of serenity and quiet melancholy that clung to the walls, decorated with semiprecious stone, and to the multiple portraits that gazed upon the two Jedi with coolness of eternity.
"Hall of Fame," Qui-Gon suddenly said in a quiet, reverent voice.
"What?" Obi-Wan's blurry gaze traveled over the portraits slowly, not really seeing anything.
"I dare guess these are the Naboo rulers of the past. Perhaps queen Amidala has a portrait here too."
"Perhaps."
Though Obi-Wan's eyes saw the high ceiling and tall slim columns and the beauty of carved frames his mind's eye saw only death and destruction, greedy flames eating the beauty, leaving ashes and ruins. The memory was so fresh despite all the years that Obi-Wan had to lean against a column, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to keep the macabre images away.
Qui-Gon put a hand onto his shoulder, steadying him, sharing warmth in a burst of Force.
"Hang on, Little One," the sympathetic voice was a calming song, a breath of fresh air.
"The battle must be over now," Obi-Wan replied, pushing himself away from the pillar.
The Master gave him a quizzical look but did not question, apparently deciding to leave it up to the apprentice to choose time for speaking. The apprentice, on the other hand, was more than positive that such time would never come to pass.