A/N: I know, I know. Long time, no update, and I left it all hanging up in the air. I ask you to forgive me (bribes her readers with another, long update) . Thanks for sticking with this, dear ones. Here you go!
X
Years later, tales and sub-tales would still be told, passed down from one generation of Scaltians to their younglings seated on their laps, about how two Jedi had fought their way ceaselessly, one dusty evening in the grounds of Scalti. They would talk of a green 'sword of light' against a blue, of one small wiry frame battling against another tall, giant form, of strategy and unimagined power, hitherto only read in cheap holo-books that were circulated about Jedi, or vaguely learnt about from Holonews-net services.
For the present, however, the audience of Scalti were more than content to watch, gasp, and simply sit frozen in amazement, as battle raged in front of them.
Once the decision to fight back had been made, Obi-Wan found that he had no difficulty in accessing the Force or in planning tactics. Session upon session of endless sabre-practice had honed his skills; mission upon mission of facing the unknown and inconceivable had more than prepared him to deal with the unexpected.
The disadvantage - for it did exist - lay in the fact that in the training salle, he had sparred with a master willing to allow mistakes, to stop and teach him where he went wrong; in missions, he rarely faced Force sensitive light-sabre toting opponents.
On Scalti, however, Qui-Gon made it more than clear that he would allow no lapses. Worse, that he would take advantage of lapses, if any, in a way no teacher would of his student.
Once he had accepted the salute with a peculiar smile that had lasted barely a second, the master had met his charge with all the skill and power available in his formidable repertoire. Green sabre clashed with blue, a distinct 'whumm...' permeating the air - along with the peculiar smell that always accompanied an activated sabre.
It was soon apparent to Obi-wan that he would have to fall back on much more than sheer parries and thrusts - he would have to take recourse to certain unorthodox tactics...not for nothing was Qui-Gon Jinn one of the most powerful Jedi in the current, existing Order. Strangely enough, the thought did not seem unpalatable to him, now - it rather added to the under-current of slightly guilty exultation he was now feeling, much to his surprise. As long as he employed no down-right under-handed methods...
He checked their bond one last time - and found that it was as expected. Qui-Gon had shut him out completed; not an inkling could be had of his master's mental state. He was, to all intents and purposes, on his own.
Well, two can play at that game...and he raised his shields as far as he was able.
Locked in their own minds they might be - but they had been each other's sparring partners for years together; experience and observation gave a hand where telepathy could not.
Both were exponents of Form IV - an acrobatic, graceful technique that allowed for great dexterity and Force-assisted feints and thrusts. Qui-Gon was an early exponent of this sabre-method, and this was what he had imparted to his padawans - to all his padawans - but to Obi-Wan it had come naturally; his lithe body, it seemed, was much more attuned to the positions advocated by it. On occasion, master and apprentice had applied themselves to Form III, a manoeuvre especially suited to avoid blaster fire - in this instance, however, that was unnecessary.
Obi-Wan had not quite known, in early years, about why his master preferred the wildly athletic Form IV - common sense told him that Qui-Gon was built along lines that required a steady, stay-in-a-place tactic that would more than suffice. Later, he would understand that this was exactly what any opponent would expect of Qui-Gon...and the master had sought to take advantage of such misconceptions by deliberately adopting a far more complicated sabre-defence. And then, there was that quirk of odd humour in Qui-Gon Jinn's character that delighted in doing the unexpected. It sometimes occurred to Obi-Wan that his master chose to live his entire life in simply defying others' misconceptions of what a Jedi master ought to be like.
It was, however, very much in character for him to use this quirk in battle, and baffle his opponents. Such as moving his light-sabre from left to right in a perfectly-timed sequence, and then breaking the orderly chain by suddenly thrusting it between his knees - a move which drew a startled gasp from Obi-Wan, and then left him floundering to re-group his defences. Only for a second, though. Clarity returned the next second, and he retaliated by throwing a punch at his master's presently unguarded throat. Qui-Gon avoided it - but his slightly ungraceful twist infused him with hope.
Again and again their light-sabres met, their feet moving, it appeared, all over the arena. Qui-Gon, as might be expected, used his considerable height to rain a torrent of seemingly unending blows - each of which, to Obi-Wan, appeared to have all the power of a vicious rancor thundering at its enemy in full force. To battle each of these blows with his physical might was well nigh impossible - plain brawn would not be enough, and Obi-Wan was aware that his master expected more. With his decision to fight, it appeared that Qui-Gon's attitude too, had changed - gone was the sarcastic twist of lips, and the revulsion - his eyes had now regained their usual sparkle; a sign that the master had now slipped into his element. Obi-Wan watched it, marvelled...and despite himself, a trickle of reassurance seeped into his mind.
The Force hummed its reassuring strength as the padawan curled up into himself; twisting out from underneath an almost unavoidable strangle-hold, and vaulted into the air. A pity that the arena did not possess poles or ledges - there were no artificial or natural obstructions to use as a tool. He required respite - and his eyes picked out the only piece of construction available at hand...the barricade that separated the audience from the contestants.
They were now battling their way alongside one end of the arena - the spectators shrank back as they saw the Jedi approach the barricade. Closer, closer...abruptly, Obi-Wan swung himself onto the fence, using Qui-Gon's shoulders for leverage - and had twisted himself out of light-sabre range, as Qui-Gon raised his arms in an attempt to grasp him and push him to the ground. The padawan twisted himself into an intricate triple somersault, moving much too fast for Qui-Gon to anticipate the next position his body might take...
...and landed ten paces nearer to the blue necklet.
He had managed to keep the prize within sight; it would not do to forget that this was what he aimed for all along. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Qui-Gon indulge in a brief grin, as the master threw himself into a Force assisted somersault himself, effectively reaching the necklet a pace ahead of himself. Obi-Wan registered a Force-push, as he felt himself being thrown back a few feet, grazing his elbows.
"Not...an easy...task, padawan mine," Qui-Gon breathed, as Obi-Wan understood anew that this was no rule-governed sparring match. He launched himself against the master, his blue sabre gleaming against the ever-darkening sky.
Anger - white-hot, and burning through every pore in his body - surged through the padawan. It was what he had been advocated not to do, in any situation, and in his defence, he tried to tamp down on it - but it leaked through his shielding, nevertheless.
Slash. Block. Thrust. Block again.
The green blade almost blinded him, and he shook his head briefly, his eyes throwing bizarre spots of light through his vision. His tunic registered a long scorch mark, however, and an unpleasant burning smell ensued.
The smell triggered memories...
"I..." he huffed. "...am more than capable..." slash, block" - of winning whatever I - " breathe, breathe, breathe"...wish to..." Lunge, sidestep, roll underneath him, roll...
Qui-Gon smiled and brought his sabre at his waist, almost taking advantage of the opening he had inadvertently left - which the padawan managed to block with ease.
The weakness was slipping away, along with his ever-present fear of whether he would ever do battle again - the light-sabre was a part of him now, as was his arm, or legs...it now appeared inconceivable to him that he had ever thought otherwise. Abruptly, the anger melted way - leaving behind a strange euphoria that shot through him as he evaded yet another blow from his ever-imaginative master - this one aimed at his ankles. In his turn, he pierced a defence through Qui-Gon's unguarded right shoulder, leaving a long trail of burnt tunic. The master's eyes widened in surprise. And narrowed in determination.
Blast, do I actually have a chance of winning over him, after all these years? The possibility was beginning to occur to him and he executed the Ze'erre manoeuvre, slashing his sabre at Qui-Gon's neck, only to have it thwarted at the last possible moment. It was to be expected that Qui-Gon would ward off the blow - on the other hand, the defence was now imperceptibly slower.
How could I have ever thought I hated this? He wondered, as skipped about nimbly, leaping to his left as Qui-Gon's blade swung towards his knees.
"Your aim, padawan,-" Qui-Gon swept his weapon down to Obi-Wan's neck, his feet almost kicking Obi-Wan on his back "...is to win..." - a tumble - "...the necklet..." He chuckled, heat of battle notwithstanding. "You appear to have not lost an iota of your skills."
"I was taught well..." Obi-Wan gasped, flipping on his back, and rolling over to escape the green sabre - Qui-Gon's earlier provocation had escaped his memory - and now the battle, only the battle remained. "By the best duellist, they say - " The padawan jumped up, and hopped back a foot. Time for a slight change of tactics...
He drew his sabre and set about indulging in a flurry of swift, sharp strokes - short, staccato movements that scattered Qui-Gon's concentration, bathing himself in an effusion of blue light. The crowd threw a sigh of wonder, as heads reached over others to watch.
Qui-Gon raised eye-brows in spite of himself, recognizing a few strokes that wove too closely to Obi-Wan for him to attempt to break them - movements that he was distinctly sure that he had not taught his padawan. He jumped back as Obi-Wan's sabre drew blood from his fore-arm. "Form VII?" He drew a deep breath as his mind analyzed the strokes, trying to tear a hole into his student's defences. "I haven't led you into those yet..." Another jump brought him to the padawan's left. Think, think, think...
Obi-Wan grinned - a pure, scintillating smile that drove away all that was left of his previous lack of confidence - left behind, thought Qui-Gon, was the fighter he had taken a delight in teaching, who would one day be able to defend, and protect...and become what he was destined to be. A warrior and peace-keeper par excellence.
"When I said 'best duellist'..." Obi-Wan breathed in deeply, a chuckle of pure exhilaration erupting from him as he blocked each of Qui-Gon's strokes surely, exerting slightly more power than usual, "I was speaking of..." - More blocks, and parries - "Master Windu. He...used to give me a few...tips!" He gasped, flinging himself out of the way as the master finally spotted his weak point - one that he had been hoping would go undiscovered. Not Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan wrestled furiously, guarding himself with tight strokes - which the master finally broke, with an accurate swipe at his feet. He twirled himself away from Qui-Gon's sabre, almost spraining his arm in the process, and ignoring a few feminine shrieks of delight from his audience.
"Wretch..." Was the master's answer, as he chuckled in turn, abruptly leaping over the padawan in a successful attempt to block Obi-Wan nimble spring. He was familiar with Master Windu's style of sparring, and had quickly spotted a loophole - and slashed his way past Obi-Wan's sabre. "It takes a lifetime and more to be a Form VII exponent - and besides, who exactly is your master, impudent one?"
"Why - " the padawan pondered, as he threw himself into a series of graceful cartwheels. "It would appear...- " he stopped, aiming a kick at Qui-Gon's abdomen, " - to be you...!"
As Qui-Gon grabbed his leg and halted the kick midway, he threw himself in an acrobatic twist, and brought the side of his palm in a sharp flick towards Qui-Gon's neck. The manoeuvre resulted in both of them tumbling to the ground in a welter of arms and legs.
The Force thrummed through Obi-Wan, beating through his blood in a sheer thrill of delight and joy. This was what he had trained to do all his life; this was what he had taken such delight in doing, all those hours both within the Temple, and without. This had saved civilians, politicians, even smugglers and pirates. This had been taught to him by his elders in the hope that he would save those who were not capable of saving themselves. This weapon, which only a few, a very very privileged few were given the opportunity to possess was to be treasured as a jewel; the most precious jewel, an element of the Force, given to him for safe-keeping. He was a not a mindless, precise droid, meant to keep order by protocol and method - he was meant to feel, to laugh, to cry, to live, and by the same token, to allow others the opportunity of living.
To live.
Their sabres locked themselves; abruptly, he found himself almost nose to nose with Qui-Gon; dimly, he registered that the master's cheek was torn - a trickle of blood had worn its way through his neck. They held their positions for a second, drawing huge breaths, each gazing into the other's eyes. Blue-green eyes met intense midnight blue ones; even in the failing Scaltian twilight, Obi-Wan saw his master's eyes glitter.
"Was Xanatos a better swordsman?" He asked, breath hitching from exertion.
Qui-Gon's lips twitched.
"Was Xanatos better?"
A low chuckle reached Obi-Wan. "No, my padawan. He was not."
Obi-Wan's eyes gleamed. "Thank you."
In an instant, they pulled away, and resumed positions.
Technically, two Jedi who were well-matched could fight a very long time indeed - and by any standard, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had fought long enough. A resolution had to be reached quickly.
They had fought in ever-widening circles in the beginning, which had narrowed down, growing smaller and smaller, as Qui-Gon more than matched Obi-Wan's attempts to get nearer to the necklet. The ground below was scuffed with their boot-marks, and long grooves had been etched in the ground where light-sabres had inadvertently grazed them. Dust rose and hung about the combatants in a haze.
They were now less than three or four paces away from the chain of metal, and the padawan was now aware of his declining strength. Breathing was becoming rapidly more difficult; he coughed more than once, trying desperately to breath air rather than fine sand. A faint probe of the Force showed that even Qui-Gon, to a lesser degree, was beginning to feel the first signs of exhaustion. It would end soon, he knew.
And end it did. Surprisingly quickly.
He had expended most of his energy in trying to get around Qui-Gon's defences, and the rest had been spent in trying to reach the necklet. He made a frantic lunge towards the necklet, throwing out the Force by a wave of his hand, anticipating the energy that Qui-Gon had sent out to thwart him. He was at the end of his efforts, and he suddenly found that to expend equal energy on both the sabre and the Force was impossible. He needed a moment, desperately. To gather defences, to plot his next course of action...
His hands wove a half-hearted pattern in the air; blue light swung through the air indecisively. Within a moment, his sabre had been knocked out of his hand. He fell flat on his back, and Qui-Gon pressed his sabre to his neck, one knee resting on his chest.
Stillness.
Against his clammy skin, the heat even felt comfortable - a notch too close and it would cut through his skin, he knew. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, trying to blot out the bright green light, sensing, at the same time, that the audience had cowered into a tense silence.
Obi-Wan acknowledged the rest with relief - his back was aching, in any case. In some obscure way, he was glad he had not bested his master with a sabre. He could not have, he realized. Qui-Gon Jinn, was, without doubt, one of the best sabre-masters alive; regardless of what tricks and tips he had used, they had been blunted against the greatest weapon in Qui-Gon's armoury: experience. Experience, presence of mind, and sheer, brutal will-power.
He had the seedlings of such powers, Obi-wan knew. Under his master's careful nurturing, they had taken root, and were growing; given time, he would achieve what Qui-Gon had achieved. He knew that he would. And knew, that Qui-Gon too, knew this. In time.
For now, however...
Still breathing hard, he twisted his head upwards - only to see the blue necklet lying barely two feet away, gleaming palely in the diminishing light. Abruptly, he reached towards it - to find it snatched up through the Force - dangling in front of his eyes at a height of four feet.
He felt, rather than saw Qui-Gon smile. "Not so fast, young one...not so easily, either." The master looked down at the flushed face of his apprentice. "Do you yield?"
Obi-Wan smiled in turn. "Must I?"
"Your light-sabre is no longer in your hands...I would call that defeat, if I were you."
"Indeed. And if you cast your senses about, you would find..." Qui-Gon looked back at him, brows furrowed. "You would find my fingers at a certain point on your neck - that will render you unconscious in a second, if I chose."
Qui-Gon paused, doing exactly what Obi-Wan and recommended - and released a deep breath. Blast, but the whelp was correct - Obi-Wan's hand had slipped through his hold at the precise moment he put his sabre to the padawan's neck - it was now hovering inches above his own neck, one finger settling on clammy chestnut hair. Force, how had he not noticed that?
"You were concentrating on Force-pushing me from the necklet..." murmured the padawan. "After all, your rule was that I best you." If not with a light-sabre, at least with...
Qui-Gon weighed his options, his attention unwaveringly focussed on the sabre, the necklet, and slightly on the fingers that rested on his neck. "From a certain, very technical point of view..." Lips quivering, he stared back at his apprentice, who rested on the ground, smiling faintly. "I knew I shouldn't have taught you those Force-pinches." The master's eyes gleamed with a strange light. "...And I could drive my sabre into your neck the moment you did use it on me. I would lose consciousness - but I would have-ah-accomplished my purpose."
"True." Obi-Wan's smile broadened. "Were we inclined to do so, we'd end up-er-effectively immobilising each other."
An impasse. Imbalanced, still...
"Since you show an inclination to get technical, let me tell you that this is hardly a clear victory," Qui-Gon glanced back at the necklet, still dangling in the air. "You are yet to retrieve your prize, padawan. Perhaps I shall consider that as a proper ending to..." He threw an eloquent gaze at his sabre. "...this." He paused. "If you cannot, you will admit defeat."
Obi-Wan blinked. The challenging look had returned to Qui-Gon's eyes. The apprentice stared back into them, trying to read...to read...his eyes narrowed as he glanced at Qui-Gon speculatively. Once or twice, he had seen that look - that look that promised of a way - a way if he could only see it. There was a faint twinkle in those midnight blue orbs...
Where the sword fails, even a blade of grass may come in useful...
...except that there was no grass to use, here.
Obi-Wan had never been so aware of the hushed silence that prevailed over the arena. He swallowed, turning his gaze rather uncomfortably on the sabre that was so close to his neck. Debating his options, he turned towards his own sabre, lying a few feet away. He sensed Qui-Gon ascertain his intentions, and the grip on the sabre brushing his throat tightened. He moved his finger slightly from the spot on Qui-Gon's neck as though intending to exert more pressure, breathed as far as the knee on his chest would allow, and gathered his wits. Qui-Gon was certainly not going to release him lightly. He concentrated on his sabre again, trying to Force-pull it, inch by inch.
Shield, shield, shield...
Above him, Qui-Gon frowned slightly.
Surprise is the essence of...
Qui-Gon's hair fell from his shoulders, reaching his tunic in its length. Abruptly, Obi-Wan moved his fingers and pulled at Qui-Gon's hair, wrenching the older Jedi's head away from him. The master gasped slightly - for all that, however, his hold on the sabre did not loosen. Part of his Force senses now focussed themselves on Obi-Wan's fingers, while the rest was on the sabre. The Force power holding the necklet wavered for a split-second...
...enough for Obi-Wan, in an Force-enhanced lunge against the poised sabre, to gather the last of his energy, thrust it out in a powerful rush of the Force, and wrench the necklet from the air.
It fell - half on his face, and half on his head, with a very satisfying clink.
Master and apprentice stared at each other for a long, long moment.
Qui-Gon's lips were quirking up into the tentative beginnings of a smile, while Obi-Wan looked back, quite unable to control his own mirth - his fingers still clutching Qui-Gon's hair.
"The Council always did warn me to keep my hair in order," Qui-Gon murmured. "Wretched brat."
The tense silence seemed to shatter into fragments - and he threw back his head, breaking into a hearty laugh. A moment later, Obi-Wan joined him, shaking with mirth.
The audience murmured in its turn, confounded by the turn of events, and a frantic buzzing arose.
"I am not a weakling," stated Obi-Wan with great dignity - as much dignity as one could gather, while lying flat on his back in a dusty arena. Qui-Gon smiled down at his apprentice, eyes greatly softened.
"No."
"Xanatos was not a better swordsman than I am."
"Certainly not."
"How long will I need to become an exponent of Form III, do you think?"
Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled. "A very long time, I hope, my little one." He removed his sabre from his apprentice's throat in one fluid moment, pulled Obi-Wan into a sitting position, and placed the chain on the padawan's neck, adjusting it so that its brilliant blue stone lay perfectly on his chest.
Obi-Wan looked up, clear blue-green eyes glittering. "Thank you," he said gently.
The buzzing noise increased in intensity.
Qui-Gon knelt in front of him, and tipped his chin, so that he looked full into the master's face. "Welcome back, my Obi-Wan."
Twilight vanished at long last, and the first, faint stars began to glow in an almost-black sky.
As the Scaltian audience took its cue and promptly went insane, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn finally threw unbending Jedi behaviour and decorum to the winds, and engulfed his padawan in a crushing, suffocating embrace...
...and if the apprentice rubbed his palms over his eyes one too many times, or his master blinked much too rapidly for a normal human - it had become too dark for any discerning Scaltian citizen to have noticed it.
Tbc… yes, I'm evil…