He who Doubts from what he sees

Will neer Believe do what you Please

If the Sun & Moon should Doubt

Theyd immediately Go out

To be in a Passion you Good may do

But no Good if a Passion is in you

-Excerpt from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

The Irrevocable Grip

I feel the Force flowing, erupting, constantly changing to remain the same. Feared, revered, controlled but never truly harnessed. It creates… and it destroys. It never stops, and how it moves in me and through me is my decision entirely.

I might have made the right move, but I made the wrong decision.

My hatred reaches the Zabrak before the bolts do. Time remains just slow enough for me to see his wide red eyes lock onto me in surprise and recognition before the bolts strike, making his body literally explode.

I close my eyes, shut them tight against the horror before me that has been made by me. I don't have to look to know that the Zabrak has fallen onto the floor in what pieces are left of him.

The ship. I still have to guide the Headhunter into a safe landing… I wrap my quaking hands around the controls, managing to keep the fighter steady until I can glide it to the side of the bay, to a stop. I sit back and punch the control for the cockpit window to slide open. My eyes close again and breathing is painful, my throat thick and dry as the desert sands, and where there might have been a cut-off voice tremor as I inhale shakily, there is only the sound of my breath rattling my silenced throat.

But there is also the sound of running footsteps. I cannot bear to open my eyes, to look into the face of the man whose life I have saved.

"Obi-Wan." His voice is quiet but firm, and surprised. Admonishing, questioning.

[It would have been better for me to have never known.] My thought leaves me as a veritable whisper, striking him hard though he knows not why.

"Come out of the cockpit, Padawan."

I comply gladly. Perhaps, if I am lucky, he will beat some sense into my foolish head. I shimmy myself over the cockpit's lip and drop down onto the floor. I stumble upon my landing, though, forgetting through the haze of my afflicted confusion to reinforce my brain's blood supply. The volatile green spots cluster in again, taunting me, blocking my vision, and I sway dangerously, teetering on the edge of balance and consciousness.

His hands brace my shoulders. "Sit."

The floor rises under me suddenly, my legs bending in compliance, and I find myself sitting on the floor, dazed and confused. Sorrowful and lonely.

"Obi-Wan. Look at me." There is a worried undertone in my Master's voice, and I raise my eyes to try and give him a measure of solace.

I don't think it ever reached him, though. He looks awful. His hair is dishevelled and sweat-darkened near his forehead. A nasty-looking bruise along his cheekbone is already a dark purple, threatening to swell. His eyes seem to have darkened, the shadow of his brow more pronounced than I remember. Perhaps it's the lighting. Perhaps it's just me.

"What did you know?" He isn't curious, but I know he senses some significance behind my last statement, and in a very Qui-Gon Jinn-like manner, decides it's in our best interests that he knows about it.

I let my eyes roll back, closing my lids again. [I had a dream. A nightmare, a vision. You died.] I try desperately to swallow, but my throat is too parched and I must endure the feeling until I can get some water to open the back of my mouth. [I had it several times, but only in the last one, the one I had just after you left for Naboo, did I see you. Dead. And I saw the Zabrak, too. I went to Master Che, and she told me what was going to happen, that the Zabrak would kill you. I couldn't stay, I had to come here and…] I sigh heavily, my breath staggering. [I'm sorry.]

"Sorry for saving my life?"

I open my eyes, and look to his face. There is none of the grimness I expected, no stern glance reserved for a certain Padawan. Instead, he is genuine to me, reaching out and placing a wearied hand upon my shoulder. It is heavy with his exhaustion and I am grateful for that; the weight seems to anchor me down, keeping me from drifting away in the turbulent crosscurrents of my misery.

But then I remember what I am sorry for. [I felt the dark side.]

"Of course you did." That's my Master, assuming one thing when I mean another, too light-headed with seeming victory to take a second look. "The Zabrak was a cunning user of—"

[No. That's not what I meant.] I draw another shuddering breath from a failing well. [I felt the dark side in me.]

He is silent, for a long time.

It is odd, how I noticed the dark side altered my perceptions. When the Zabrak died, it felt like the first time I had ever seen a sentient killed before my eyes. I have seen violent deaths before, and killed beings myself, but none of that really matters anymore. I keep remembering the look on his face just before my stutterfire hit him. He was snarling, yes, and surprised. But the thing that strikes me as the image passes before my mind's eye is the look behind those eyes. The look of a soul emerging from behind a dark curtain for the first time in decades, both brought out and destroyed by the killing blow.

His life is gone; it has fled and dissipated into the winds. Where it will be carried, I do not know.

All my life-long career as a Jedi apprentice has not prepared me for this violent and unwelcome revelation. Never again will I touch the Force untainted. Never again will I have in my possession a pure perspective. Never will I reach out with my senses without being reminded of the time I slipped, the time I failed myself and my Master, the time I killed in a dark passion of revenge.

I struggle to stand, lifting my Master's hand from my shoulder and pushing myself up with tired legs. [Perhaps I should leave, now. I can't serve the Order in the same way anymore.]

"You will stay right where you are, Padawan." Qui-Gon stands as well, taking a step closer and looking down, directly at me. "Do you think all Jedi are without flaw? Do you think a sentient must attain perfection to even consider joining the Order as a Knight or Master? Yoda himself is not without his flaws, not without the mistakes of his past." My Master wears a benign smile, the expression I've waited to see for what seems so long. "You will never completely erase the memory, Padawan, but you have the capability to far outweigh it with other deeds, with staying in the light. It is the only thing we can do."

The sensation of relief floods through me, seeming almost out of place but nonetheless welcome. [Why ever did I think you wouldn't understand?]

"Because you're a young fool," he tells me affectionately.

I am quickly gathered into a warm embrace, which I return to him. When was the last time he was this open to me? When was the last time I felt so much love from the man who is my father in all but name?

I feel no need to answer myself; the question no longer matters. It means nothing. The last time is now and there is no need to challenge it with an old and dust-covered memory. I truly am living in the present moment; Qui-Gon knows this and I feel his pride. This moment is one of doubt and fear, but also the unconditional stability of a true connection with another, something strong enough for both of us to draw from. The failing well has been replenished.

Moments of peace such as these are never meant to last, though. It's already been a few minutes, too long in my Master's opinion. He draws back and I see a fresh steel in his leonine features.

"The original plan to recapture Naboo is still underway. The Queen may need some assistance, so I wish to catch up with her party. You must remain here and watch the bay."

I experience a twinge of resentment. [You aren't stationing me, Master. You're keeping me from action.]

"You are still in the healing process, Padawan. I am ordering you to remain here until I am finished."

I abruptly grip his arm. [But what if something happens and my dream is made real by some other means?]

"I told you once and I will say again: an ill Padawan will do me no good! You need to rest yourself. Now get back into the Headhunter and await the return of the pilots. They're carrying out an attack on the droid control ship."

I suddenly remember something. [You took Anakin with you. Where is he?]

A flash of guilt-tinted surprise crosses my Master's features, one so faint that only I and a few close others would have been able to detect it. "I told him to stay in the cockpit of the starfighter over…" His eyes trail to one side of the bay. I follow his gaze, and we both lock onto an empty dock.

"Oh, Sith." The curse is little more than a whisper.

[He went into battle?] So much for the destiny of the Chosen One. There is little use of entertaining visions of him surviving a space battle. Anakin is a mere nine years old; I doubt he could have attained much experience in the art of dogfighting, no matter how much of an exceptional pilot he might be at this tender age.

Qui-Gon's eyes lose focus for a moment, then come back to his surroundings, namely me. "He's all right, so far. Frightened, though not as much as he would be if he truly knew what he's getting himself into." He claps me on the shoulder in a somewhat apprehensive gesture. "All we can do is hope. I must look after the Queen."

[May the Force be with you, Master.] A small measure of worry for him seeps back into my senses.

"It's with us, Padawan." He pauses for a second, meeting my eyes in a fleeting glance before lifting his hand from my shoulder and jogging away in a lope he's made very characteristic of himself, one he'll use only when he determines there is an utmost need for it. I believe I have detected some embarrassment from him at the use of it, but my Master would not be one to admit that without a fair amount of coaxing from a trusted one, or an even fairer amount of alcohol, the like of which I've rarely seen him drink in remarkable quantities anyway.

I return to the Headhunter's cockpit, feeling almost defeated. How I chafe under the sensation of uselessness. I hope it will not take too long before my full strength has returned to me. Its lack is made very evident, at any rate, by my efforts to pull myself up into the pilot's seat. I shouldn't have had to tap into the Force to complete the move, ordinarily. The thought of even temporarily abstaining from kata exercises is enough to make me suffer a withdrawal of sorts. I emit a small mental groan to myself as I rest my head against the back, thankful the designers had had the good graces to make a comfortable seat at least.

I stretch myself out into the bond to my Master, as well as the Force that surrounds me. Tentatively, though curiously, I reach a small tendril to the spot where the Zabrak had died.

I am irretrievably seized once again by the cold and clammy iron grip of vice and terror.

It doesn't take long, does it?

With a feeling that could only be ascribed as pure terror, I try to pull away but my conscious self is trapped within a containing cell created by those very hands of iniquities.

The voice of Good Friend is amused. You didn't think I could visit you during the day, did you? You know much but see little, foolish Padawan.

I cannot believe my idiocy. In reaching out to the place the Zabrak died, I have given his spirit an opportunity to gain a foothold when, untouched, it might have simply dissipated. I clench my teeth and fists, and strive madly to drive him away, to wash my mind of his foul presence.

It won't be so easy. I'm already familiar with your roving mind, with your selfless outlook. You were making sure I was really and truly gone, that there was nothing left of me to hurt your poor, unsuspecting Master.

I make a conscious effort to relax my fists, else my fingernails might have pierced the skin of my palms. [Then why do you torment me?]

Simple. I can feel the awful grin that wreaths his presence. You're so worried about everyone else, you're blind to yourself in the ways that truly matter.

[Wrong.] If it had been a physical hold, I would have twisted in his grasp, writhed in his hold, seeking escape. [I find fulfillment enough in those things.]

Are you sure?

I pause for one long and dreadful moment while he falls silent. Of course I'm sure. Am I not? Why shouldn't I be sure?

The defiance falters as I begin to wonder. What did he mean, when he asked me of the things that truly matter? I thought it was in the things I gave… but I am right in that. He's planting seeds of doubt.

I smile grimly. Seeds that will not survive to bear fruit, seeds that will wither and die before they take root under the proper amount of duress I will dole out to them. Jedi specialise in that sort of destruction, and I have been equipped to manage it.

But will it be enough? The question pervades my mind, despite my best efforts to discard it.

Good Friend has occupied much time, I know, as I see the glint of yellow starfighters when I look outside, above the lush landscape that continues from the drastic fall of the cliff upon which the docking bays are situated. The warriors return home. To what, I know not, but judging by the fair ratio of remaining starfighters to empty docks, I suppose they have been successful in their endeavours.

I only hope young Anakin is still among the living. I stretch out, ignoring the battle within my own mind, to find the bright presence, and to my relief it is there, a strobing brilliance that resonates throughout the Force.

I watch the starfighters enter, one by carbon-scored one, the rest of the hull shining that gleaming yellow. The third last one comes into view, and I see inside the head of a small boy dwarfed inside a helmet that was never made for him, rather than the shoulders and head of the adults that piloted the other fighters. I will not deny my heart sings in the release of my anxiety.

I slip out of the cockpit again, feeling aged and stiff. This time when I land upon the floor I am careful to reinforce my brain's blood supply, and the dizzy feeling thankfully does not reappear.

Anakin's fighter docks hesitantly, and I see him finish the procedure more slowly than the other experienced pilots. Still, I sense his mind buzzing with heady excitement, and I can imagine why. A pity that he can no longer share his experiences with his friends back on Tatooine; I sense he knows this as a slight pang interferes with his ecstasy.

He bounds down the ladder, skipping the last three rungs and shoving himself off to land on the floor, knees bending to absorb the shock for a moment before he spots me, and comes running.

I smile as he skids to a stop just before colliding with me. "I thought you were back with the Jedi."

[It's a long enough story.] I bend down to his eye level and look at him with something approaching strictness, though I hardly feel I should take on a mentoring role with this boy after only knowing him for a day or so. [What were you doing up in battle?]

"Master Qui-Gon told me to stay in the cockpit," he says with a measure of childish exasperation. "I saw some destroyer droids coming and shooting at the Queen, and so I tried to shoot back, but I didn't know which button was the right one, and I think I set up automatic pilot. I did get the droids, though," he adds with a bright grin. "I blasted 'em to pieces."

I feel my throat engaging in a silent chuckle as I return the grin. [You'd better be a little more careful from now on. You could have been killed.]

"I know. It was really scary at first. But then I got Artoo to take us off automatic pilot, and I did okay until I got hit. Just a little," he says, trying to placate me. "It wasn't really bad, but I somehow got inside the big starship and overheated 'cause of the hit. I had to wait on the floor, and all these droids were coming up, so I took the guns and I blasted some of them, too. Then I found a different button on the gun controls…" He frowns. "It made a blue shot, and I missed the droid I was trying to hit. It got the big starship, instead. I think I mighta hit a power source, because the ship started to blow up inside. I got out in time, though." He grins again, the feeling of exhilaration resounding through the Force. "It was great! I never wanna do it again, but it was great!"

I cast my eyes to the ceiling for a moment, wondering how I should respond. [I think it would be perfectly all right if you never did do that again. Okay?]

"Okay," he sighs. "I'll try not to. Where's Master Qui-Gon?"

[He's escorting the Queen, I believe. I would be too, but I was told to wait here because I'm not quite healthy as of yet.]

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Anakin says with yet another of his grins.

I look past him then, and see the pilots standing in a group, by their gestures discussing something interesting. I tap into the Force, enhancing the sound waves that reach my ears to a volume loud enough that I can make out their words.

"He flew into the hold, behind the deflector shield and blasted the main reactor…" The pilot shakes his head.

"Amazing," says another, one whose face is hidden from me. "They don't teach that in the academy."

"We're all accounted for," comments the leader, whom I recognize as the captain of the Queen's ship that took us to Tatooine. "Who flew that ship?"

I bring my focus back to Anakin. [They're wondering what happened. Perhaps you should go enlighten them.]

His face takes on a slight reddish tint. "But… what if they don't like it? What if I get in trouble?"

[You're not going to get into any more trouble than you're in already.] I give him a reassuring smile. [I'll go with you, how's that?]

"Okay, I guess." Nonplussed, he turns to face the group as I rise to my full height.

The movement catches the eyes of a couple of pilots, and by their puzzled expressions I know they hadn't noticed Anakin emerging from the starfighter while they were busied looking after their own craft.

I dig my fingers into the small pouch on my belt as we approach, sensing I might need the tiny datapad that is standard issue to most Jedi, used mainly for storing information points on the field. It will serve me fine in this circumstance, however.

"What can we do for you?" Captain Olie asks Anakin once we come up, not unkindly.

Anakin swallows hard. "Uhh. I think you were wondering who blew up the starship."

The group of pilots look to me, perplexed.

I touch Anakin's shoulder encouragingly. [Don't worry about what they'll think. You have done Naboo a great favour.]

He straightens his posture, however tentatively. "I did it."

The reaction is priceless. Several of the pilots' mouths open in surprise, while a few others try in vain to hide their smiles. Captain Olie, with a grin that could rival Anakin's, bends down to shake the lad's hand. "Congratulations, son. Naboo owes you a big favour."

Anakin looks up at me with a smile at the man's words.

I shrug. [Didn't I tell you?]

"Too bad he's a minor," comments one of the smaller pilots. "I've got some good vintage wine at my place."

Olie looks to me again. "Don't tell me you weren't there with him."

I type quickly on the datapad. ACTUALLY, I WASN'T. BUT IT SEEMS HE IS, TO SOME EXTENT, CAPABLE OF TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF. I hand the message to the somewhat embarrassed-looking pilot, who reads it quickly.

He gives it back to me with a sheepish smile that quickly fades. "Weren't you supposed to be staying on Coruscant?"

I nod, keeping up the expression of reassurance to a mild extent.

"What are you doing back here? You don't exactly look the definition of health, if you don't mind me saying."

I brush Anakin's mind again, hoping to use the datapad for a communication device as little as possible. [Tell him I had some unfinished business to clear up.]

Anakin immediately assumes the role of translator. "He says he had some unfinished business to clear up."

Several of the pilots exchange glances, and I can see their doubts about the truth behind Anakin's words. However, I feel no urging to explain the process to them; the boy's word will have to do for now.

Olie glances behind us to the array of unrecognisably charred Zabrak scattered on the otherwise spotless floor. "Such as that mess over there?"

I give him a half-hearted smile, not wanting to turn and look upon my object of destruction, and slip another message to Anakin.

"He says—"

Then I flinch under a mental impulse, shoving my heel against the floor in the start of a wild acceleration toward the hall that joins the docking bays with the other populated areas of the palace, the one I know my Master disappeared down. Something is wrong, and the threat upon Qui-Gon's life is renewed in my mind. I receive a scatter of images from our bond, thoughts of battle droids, decoys, and… Nute Gunray? Their proximity to the Viceroy puts an added edge to my speed, rather than stopping me in my tracks. I draw upon the Force, barely putting forth enough human effort to walk as the invisible power surges me forward to a dead end.

I look about the deserted section of corridor desperately, and see the body of a fallen soldier. There is little time; I call the rifle that once fit in his hand to me, and check it over quickly. Sure enough, the small nub of the end of an ascension string protrudes from the weapon. It's easy enough to figure out where the Queen and her entourage have gone; shards of window lie all over the floor and I am grateful for my boots as I rush to the shattered opening, balancing on the stone sill and looking upward. It's difficult to see, but one of the windows on the floors above me has a spot that looks darker, and I imagine that was their re-entry point. I aim and squeeze the trigger, fastening my hands around the rifle securely. It gives a small jerk just after the nub affixes itself, and the weapon reels its string in speedily enough as I try not to look down. In my haste, I spring through the broken window as soon as I arrive, leaving the rifle hanging where it is, and unhook my lightsaber from my belt, fingering its comforting weight as I take half a second to get my bearings. Blood is surging through my system, effectively reducing my former dizziness as I race off in the direction of my Master's presence, hoping desperately I have not been too slow to interfere with one particular twist of fate that contains my dread.

Then I see him, at the head of the party, blocking enemy fire and protecting the Queen while keeping up the pretence that she is merely a handmaiden, as her dress still states. They move at a brisk trot; I know I'll catch up with them promptly if I keep my rapid pace.

My plan backfires considerably. I manage to rush headlong into a group of four battle droids emerging at a corner. I ignite my lightsaber immediately, swinging it up to bat away the first few blaster bolts. The sound inexorably carries itself down the hall to reach my Master's ears. Whether it sounded like sweet music or a striking horror to him, I will never know.

I see him turn; he knew I had been following but he had not expected me to catch up so quickly. I mow down the last battle droid before bringing my focus back to bear on him and the Queen.

That's when I see the four droidekas roll up, hemming the group in on all sides, except for my Master, who is a pace ahead, so very close to the throne room. The massive door slams down, trapping the group in the hall while Master Qui-Gon seeks a way out from his position just in front of the throne room door. And I… I am almost helpless to intervene, still too far away to reach the group to make a difference if the droidekas open fire.

As time mercilessly pauses, I catch my Master's shadowed eyes over the group, whom the Queen has ordered to lay their weapons down under the droideka threat. The destroyer droids' arms seem to swing ponderously back and forth, covering the group.

[Padawan.] I am shocked to realise Qui-Gon is sending his thoughts to me; whether they are made clear by my new abilities or his own focus, I can't be sure. [Padawan… you know what must be done.] He drops into a defensive stance, ready for action.

And then I see I have been later in noticing what he has seen for a few bare moments already. The two droidekas closest to him had already swung their weaponry to bear on his lone form before he had dropped into a ready position. He is pinned against the door; I know that even one destroyer droid is a match for any two Jedi, but he still accepts the challenge as a warrior when they open fire.

My mouth opens in a silent scream as irony, cruelty, and destiny sink their teeth deep into the falling body of my Master.