A/N:
Mysterious Jedi: And you'll get more. Here's the next. :)
Stranded Stargazer: I'll give you leave to throttle her at the end. :)
YoshimiWolfspaw: LOL. I always see him as fiercely protective of Obi-Wan – even if he certainly won't show it to outsiders.
Seven: Thanks for your enthusiastic reply, my padawan. (psst…found your 'Gems…', and reviewed it. :) ). Yes, obi-Wan needs to snap out of it, soon. Will he, I wonder. ;)
Estel Baggins: You have my permission to print it out – just for reading purposes. ;) No, I'm not a linguistics major – heck, I'm not even an English major – so you can imagine how happy your comment made me. I was subconsciously thinking of the Gaelic tongue when I was writing it, I suppose. Thank you so much – I'm glad you liked it.
Lady Ivy Castillo: I'll keep it as well-balanced as I can. Thanks :)
Nicky: Thank you, Nicky. Welcome.
amber75: Blood- thirsty, aren't you? (chuckles). Qui-Gon might take you at your word…
A. NuEvil: You'd better form an Anti-T'shar club and throttle her. (grin). Thanks – am glad you liked the explanation. More is coming up.
szhismine: And more's coming up soon.
ForsakenOn: Well…technically, Jedi don't kill – without cause. So I think Qui might hesitate a wee bit. :) Thanks for sticking with the story!
Killer Goldfish: LOL, never worry. Productivity is a state of mind. As for slimy archivists… :)
Shadow: I don't like T'shar at this point either. :)
Awreel: As far as this fic is concerned, cliffies don't last long. So here you are. :)
Shandrial: Welcome. Thank you – and here's more. :)
VII
The melodious sound of an even-bird reached them, from somewhere outside the room—the Royal gardens, probably. Twilight was falling after all, and Scaltia's winged creatures were making their evening journey to their resting places. A faint, soft breeze wafted its way around the room—comforting in its presence, but still hot. Far too hot for this time of the evening, anyway.
Aside from these few sounds, silence lay in a thick, near-suffocating blanket over the chamber. Obi-Wan had stopped gazing at the sheets and had resumed holding his head in his hands, his face fully obscured. Qui-Gon, raising his head from a vain attempt to soothe the frown between his brows, saw the padawan quiver slightly…oh, good Force.
He reached the apprentice's side within a second. "Obi-Wan?" he spoke tentatively, trying, almost unconsciously, to test out the student's mental state. "Padawan…?"
Fortunately, Obi-Wan raised his head almost at once—and Qui-Gon realized, with sudden, immense relief, that no streaks of tears marred the face. True, the young man seemed to have some difficulty breathing…but he appeared to be in full possession of his faculties. Admirable, considering what he's had to put up with.
Qui-Gon cast a discreet glance at the chronometer attached to his wrist—they had a few minutes before the danger mark passed, that signified that they would have to bustle about, to meet His Majesty. He laid a gentle hand on the padawan's shoulder. Obi-Wan's eyes didn't drop, but they slid away from his, roving over the room, as though keenly interested in the murals on the walls. Qui-Gon recognized the tactic; he himself had been guilty of practicing it a few times, with his own master. It had not succeeded with Master Dooku; it certainly would not succeed now.
"Padawan," he spoke again, and this time, placed a finger on the dimpled chin, bringing Obi-Wan's face in an upward tilt, until the grey eyes met his own. Qui-Gon looked into their stormy intensity, and felt anew the weight of what lay before him. Force, why did fate throw such difficulties in the way of his padawan…and himself, for that matter?
He sat down on the bed. "Obi-Wan, you do know that T'shar wasn't right," he began, determined to resolve the situation as quickly as possible.
He had certainly not expected Obi-Wan to jump up and pronounce an ecstatic response…yet, the padawan's dejection disturbed him. Obi-Wan appeared to have anticipated this theory, and had already chosen to decline it.
"Obi-Wan, answer me, please." He felt worry in earnest, now. An incoherent Obi-Wan he could console, but a silent Obi-Wan wrapped in a sorrow he could not reach nearly always meant intense misery, hardship, and a general disinterest in life. Fatal, for both of them. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to say," Obi-Wan answered. "It's…it's done with."
The listlessness in his voice kindled a spark in Qui-Gon—he had heard that tone at other times, other places. My own voice, he remembered, with something akin to horror. It had been present when he had first begun to understand Xanatos in all his true glory…and later, after Tahl's death.
Great Force, no. No. No.
This was an abyss into which one could descend for an eternity, and still never come out. It was an entry into a world in which he had almost lost himself, and the last thing he wanted was to let Obi-Wan travel the same path.
He shook the unenergetic bundle in front of him. Lethargy and depression were two halves of a whole enough to push any sane individual into inertia—for a Jedi, the effects were disastrous. "Padawan, you've been listening to too many philosophical debates, and I want you to stop running them again and again, in your mind. They will not help," he said harshly, adopting a sharp tone on purpose. "You will sit up. Now."
It seemed to have some effect on Obi-Wan; the padawan jerked himself into some semblance of discipline almost at once. "Forgive me, master," he murmured automatically, head still bowed.
"Look at me, please. I prefer talking to you, as opposed to your hair, or the wall."
The padawan raised his eyes with what appeared to be great difficulty, and Qui-Gon felt his heart twist as he saw the dejection in his student's eyes. "My young one, you have a talent for analysing such things," he spoke gently. "I have often relished our debates on the Code—I have explained again and again, what they truly mean; that it is the Force that we must follow, and that the Force never leads us wrong." He placed a finger on Obi-Wan's cheek. "I have even demonstrated to you, the wrongness of sticking to the letter; mere words which are supposed to lead us to a higher level of understanding. Words are words, padawan—they are the tools of understanding; they cannot take the place of true knowledge. You know this."
Abruptly, his voice sank lower, deepening in timbre. "It is not wrong to feel, young one; certainly not when it is obvious that this is what we're meant to do. To not feel would be to lose connection with ourselves, to cut ourselves off from the living energy that surrounds us. How can we aid others when we flounder in ignorance, ourselves?"
Obi-Wan bit his lip, frowning over his master's words with what appeared to be painful concentration. Anger, sharp and cold, rose at T'shar and the havoc she had wreaked, in Qui-Gon's heart; he thrust it down with resolution, knowing that it would need a session of meditation to release it completely. Nothing of the kind could be attempted when Obi-Wan needed his strength, now.
"I'm…confused," spoke Obi-Wan at least, his eyes filled with a certain intense eagerness—as though he had been thrown a life-line, but was unaware of what it meant, or how to use it. "T'shar said…" he drew a deep breath. "T'shar said that one did not need to do battle, or relish skills, to aid others. All it required was a logical mind, and precision in thinking."
Qui-Gon knit his brows again, appalled at what Obi-Wan had said. Precision? Logic? "Yes, well, Obi-Wan, I'm sure she meant well…but though precision and logic are excellent tools in their own way, can you really imagine them taking the place of kindness, and affection? There are times when the softer emotions are not a hindrance, but a help, young one. The only means of help, I might add."
Obi-Wan did not look convinced; if anything his confusion seemed to have increased.
Qui-Gon shook his head briefly, his chestnut mane swinging about his head. What did she do to him? He raised his eyes and looked into Obi-Wan's face.
For a long moment, nothing could be heard but the chirping of insects, a steady hum that had begun in the background. This time, though his eyes were still cloudy and a swirling mass of apathy, Obi-wan did not flinch.
The master drew a deep sigh, traced a finger along the padawan's jaw-line, and stood up. "Dress, now. We have only a few moments before Shabba comes calling for us. It is time."
Tbc…