A/N: Gods, I'm so sorry about the lack of update – I just kept writing more and more stuff. Thanks to my lovely reviewers, My padawan, Shandrial, Pirate Rhi, The Dancing Cavalier, Viva-la-Resistance, amber75, starfish, Katieelessar, ForsakenOn, Mysterious Jedi, Erisinia, Estel Baggins, ally127, Out Of Phase, iron-eyes24. You guys are the da best.
How I wrote the fight scenes: I just visualised it – I'm no martial arts expert, so I write what I see. :)
This chapter and the ones following, are for you.
XI
Warm.
That was the first thing that came to Obi-Wan's mind, as his mind slowly struggled its way to consciousness - of sorts. His memory was jumbled with alternatively murky and vividly sharp recollections...and even in his dreams he heard his own voice - the voice of his mind dimly categorizing each memory as it wove itself out.
Warm...and comfortable.
Half his mind tried to involve itself in his surroundings - assuming he could ever get an idea about them...while the other grappled with memories of bright lights, a sound like a dull roar of the oceans, and many beaming smiles, handshakes, bows, - and wide, awed eyes. Eyes. Eyes that followed him everywhere; Eyes that had not given him more than a cursory glance before, but which now clung to his every movement as though they were being classified, catalogued, and filed away for future reference.
He smiled to himself, more than three-fourths dreaming that he was - it had been rather ridiculous, even then. When? Oh yes, immediately after their - contest, for lack of a better word.
Almost at once his mind wrenched itself away from an effort to identify surroundings - the warrior in him begged to go through every move and counter-move that had been made; every stroke, parry and thrust; which one had been right, which one had been faulty, and which one downright stupid - like his last stroke that had enabled Qui-Gon to knock off his sabre - Master...? Where? Qui-Gon...where? Where?...
Something touched his mind and soothed him, then - giving an assurance that all was right with the galaxy, and that he must go back to...wherever it was he had come from.
And he did. It was so easy, slipping back to those dark, comforting depths he had been buried in - if only his errant mind would stop flicking through dozens of memories...
...Princess Roe. He chuckled in his sleep as a mind-picture of the rosy, plump princess rose in his mind. She had been so very...enthusiastic about gaining his acquaintance. As far as Scaltian customs had allowed. And then there had been King Zor, who had almost wrung his hand off, so very impressed had he been. And that dull roar - that had been the Scaltian multitude going insane...strange how a mass of people could drown out an ocean, when they chose. They had broken through the barricades, he remembered idly - leaping across pitiful defences meant more as a token defence, rather than strongly constructed fortresses. He remembered how Qui-Gon had pulled his wrist in a vice-like grip, and had practically dragged him off the arena, in an effort to escape a barrage of people, whose emotion suddenly battered at his mind - emotions of awe, wonder and an overpowering tumult of respect and admiration. They had seen a spectacular display; and were now overwhelmed. And they were intent on showing exactly how much they had been overwhelmed.
This was why the Jedi insisted on such impeccable mind control, he mused - to be in control of one's own emotions was hard enough - to be able to shut out outside influences was even more difficult. And it would cost them dearly, he knew, if he slipped up. It had been the cause of more than error, on countless missions other Jedi went on...
Dub. Dub. Dub. Dub...
He knit his brows. Noise. What was that noise?. Strangely familiar...
He gave up trying to understand what the noise was within a moment - too much trouble. It was much easier to focus, however half-heartedly he did so, on the close-to-insane rush that had been the aftermath of the...'duel'? Well, yes, if it could be called that. Qui-Gon's mind had been open to his own, for a brief period - oh, what a relief it had been to finally feel the approval, delight, and...yes, relief. His master had been glad to see him back 'in form', as he had phrased it a moment earlier. And he had been glad - so very glad, that Qui-Gon had not really meant what he said...what he said about his previous padawan. He hadn't, had he? He frowned in sleep. He hadn't.
There was that smooth touch again...urging him into deeper sleep. Where was Qui-Gon?
Dub. Dub. Dub.
He was becoming used to that muffled sound - it seemed to him that he must know its origins; that he had known it previously...but his mind seemed wrapped in gerb-wool, and wouldn't respond. Instead, it kept leading him along other recollections...
The Seula'anians, he thought - their reactions had been...puzzling. The Premier had acknowledged them with a brief bow, had looked deeply into both their eyes, and then whisked himself and his aides off. Strange people with their turbans and beak noses. Although the way they were built and moved indicated that they were well-versed in combat. Were they? He didn't know enough. Perhaps Qui-Gon would know - his master had a knack for picking up information in the most curious ways.
Information...
T'shar.
Oh Force, T'shar. He frowned. The name stuck in his mind like an errant piece of food in his molars...it resisted all his efforts to move past her; it slid away from his grasp. Thankfully, its hold on his mind was equally tenuous.
He wriggled, then, his body communicating his mind's need to rest at ease; wriggled and squirmed against something warm, soft and very comfortable, with that strange, 'dub'bing sound.
Abruptly, the side of his head grew warm - as though someone had pressed a hot cloth to his head. He sent a brief thought of gratitude towards...towards whoever was being so thoughtful. Ridiculous, really. He knew of only one person who would care enough to -
Sleep, something - someone? - commanded.
The images vanished, leaving him in peace, and he dropped off into complete unconsciousness.
Popular report - popular report in the mid-rim, anyway - painted Scaltian storms as a gift of nature. A feast to the eyes, if one relished such displays. It was a sight to see great storm clouds, grey and weighed down with moisture, sweep down the skies, and watch the tall, scraggly pulme trees sway gently in the sudden, brief, gusts of cool wind, branches waving in very direction as though eagerly welcoming the approaching storm.
And the mountains...Scaltian mountains were not the high, pristine white peaks that some planets possessed, but rather small, densely vegetated hills that rose in gentle humps into the sky. To see the gently wooded, dark green hills against the dark grey sky, growing darker by the second was a beautiful sight. The brief spatter of water that heralded heavier, more intense showers; the brief, increasingly sharper bursts of wind...it was an excellent excuse to simply burrow down into the warmest clothes one could find, sit anywhere that allowed for uninterrupted viewing of the scenery - and simply give oneself up to nature...
...as Jedi master Qui-Gon Jinn had done, seating himself on one of the darkened stone corridors the Scaltian Palace seemed to be lavishly endowed with. Three large pillars, and a curved stone-shade separated him from the elements - which was shelter enough.
It would be an interesting demonstration for anyone with a love for nature...to Qui-Gon, it was a taste of nectar - tangible in its sweetness, reassuring in its primal form - in touch, as he was, with the Living Force, a slight dip into the energy that encompassed all that lay before him was enough to send him into meditation. Meditation that was smooth, serene, flowing with the endless energy that was the Force, and richly rewarding.
It was a dance. A dance of beauty; of peace - it held one within it's mesmerising thrall so much that one was in danger losing one's self completely. The more the connection grew, the more the irresistible urge to simply give up life, and waft away into it...
Few of the Unifying Force realised exactly how colourful the Force truly was - more and more was it beginning to be used as a handy tool in case of emergencies; to pull a weapon, to throw open doors - he smiled. To fling sand into one's face, too.
He had been free to wrap himself up in the Living Force as much as he chose while he was a young Knight - it had made him one of the most difficult of Jedi to work with, he noted with amusement. Many were the complaints that had been made against him.
"Impulsive. Reckless."
" 'Instinct', he says. What instinct?"
"Must think more..."
"'I will do what I must...'? What kind of a justification is that?"
Oh, the warnings - tempered they had been; but they had been subtle, and sometimes not so subtle proddings to him to do his duty. Not to just do it as he saw it, but to do it the way others did. The 'Unifying Force' way.
A ripple of irritation passed through him and he clamped down on it, as he had done for years. They did not understand. The Force raged at him sometimes; it raved and ranted and shrieked at him. It did not tell him; did not speak softly...well, it did, such as at times like these...but the shrieks were there too, like insistent dust particles against paristeel surfaces. Abrading. Demanding to be noticed. They would not let him be.
At such times, he was reminded of one of Master Dooku's more famous...or infamous sayings: "The Force is an insatiable mistress."
An image of the tall, elegant master rose in his mind, and he closed his eyes briefly. Aside from warmth, Dooku always brought to the surface the vague, undefined confusion that lurked in a corner of his consciousness. He shook his head, and brought his mind forcibly...to the Force.
He took to meditation when its insistence began to take on an aspect of insanity - to know whether he himself was truly obeying the Force, or finding ways to justify his own impulsive actions...as other Jedi seemed to think. It had been maddening in the beginning...but a certain tenacious streak in him had battled with it again and again and again - until the Force seemed to acknowledge his mastery over some it's aspects, and rather resignedly gave him its insights. Its voice had grown softer then, as though it acknowledged his battle.
Sometimes, however, he could not help mulling over whether what his peers thought about his actions appeared to be true. He had been known to commit certain spectacular follies, after all. With Xanatos. He had been warned; again and again. He had failed, nevertheless. His heart still ached as though a long-forgotten wound had begun to twinge. And there had been other missions...Bandomeer? Master Yoda, with his huge, bulbous eyes that seemed to understand, who pushed him along certain directions. Mace Windu, his long-time friend who sincerely tried to grapple with his strange and often inconceivable whims and fancies. Tahl, who had often smiled at his odd humours, yet had known him enough to understand his overwhelming urge to right every wrong in the galaxy...and yet obey the Force, the Council, his conscience and anything else that sought to exert an influence over Qui-Gon Jinn.
And then, this boy.
This boy who, for reasons unknown was devoted to him, and had in return, actually wrangled equal, if not more devotion from him - the hardened Jedi that he was. Hardened? So sure, are you? whispered a voice inside.
Some day, when he hoped to meet the Force in its true form, he would ask why it had bestowed him with such a one - one who had been a skinny little slip of a boy when he had first taken him on as an apprentice, and a far cry from being anything but a student...and who was now the only one who would carry on the legacy of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, diplomat, negotiator, and duellist extraordinaire.
Also, of his most valuable possession - his self.
He looked down at the securely wrapped up bundle that lay half in his arms and half in his lap, and gently peeled away a part of his cloak to reveal Obi-Wan's face. The eyes were shut, there were dark circles under them, and the face was pale - but there was more colour in the cheeks than there had been, hours ago. Even in this near-darkness, he could see enough. And then there was the Force, which assured him that the boy was merely exhausted, nothing more. No broken bones or damaged ribs...just aches and pains concentrated in the calf-muscles - and that he would deal with when the younger Jedi was awake.
For the past hour, Obi-Wan's mind had been clamouring towards wakefulness - he had felt the padawan's brain flick over images, voices, and memories again and again, in a vain attempt to crawl back to reality. Each time, he had pushed the young man towards deeper sleep - recognizing that the mind was merely transmitting the body's need for rest...as usual, in its maddening, confusing way. But then, pain and exhaustion often caused a half-awake itchiness - never giving relief, yet demanding it.
He supposed Jedi were fortunate, in that respect - they had access to a power source few acknowledged. He smiled slightly at the way he himself now thought of it as a tool, rather than an all-encompassing energy.
Ah, but I am still human.
He had used it immediately after the State Dinner - a noisier, and more raucous affair than usual, that had followed their contest...amusement rose in him as he remembered the frantic rush of euphoria that had washed over the arena in a wave. As always, it had created a spark of contentment; an emotion that always succeeded after a particularly accomplished display. It had broken through the overwhelming sense of relief he had felt, after those first few, immobilising moments of Obi-Wan's...refusal to fight.
He resolutely pushed away the immense dread and a certain sinking feeling he had felt, as he had watched the padawan escape his blade - now is not the time.
Perhaps it was his own unsettled state of mind that was disturbing the apprentice...if so, he would have to calm himself considerably, again - as he had done during the state dinner, which had taxed even his own seemingly unending patience. It had taxed Obi-Wan, he knew. That young man had been drooping mentally, in steady manner that assured Qui-Gon of imminent collapse - he had expended too much energy in putting up a good fight, in showing Scaltian royalty proper respect, and in trying to pick at his food in the Royal Dining Halls, while simultaneously being engaged in half a dozen conversations...Qui-Gon had sent a surreptitious flow of strength towards his padawan all along. It had helped - but it had not been a permanent solution. He had made his suave excuses to the King and his family about 'Jedi meditation techniques', and about 'peace, solitude and the Force...' - all of which had been dutifully gobbled up by an entranced audience.
Then, he had escorted Obi-Wan out of the chambers - and the padawan, who had been holding himself as stiffly as a pulme tree himself, had shot Qui-Gon a look of great relief, before crumpling against him in a boneless heap.
The master had wasted no time in calling for assistance; he had simply hefted the young man, thrown him over his shoulder, and walked off towards a place of respite he had encountered during one of his wanderings that afternoon. He had reached the stone corridor that faced the Royal Gardens, bundled up Obi-Wan in cloaks and over-tunics, and set him down on the ground. The place was sufficiently isolated and peaceful - the Palace was busy with festivities, and no one had any business to come here, he knew.
And then he had walked away to take care of urgent business - a certain communication that had been put off for weeks already...
When he came back, Obi-Wan had slipped from deep unconsciousness to exhausted sleep - and did not appear to have moved at all. Storm clouds had already begun to blot out the stars, and stiff winds had begun short, sharp gusts across the plains. Qui-Gon sat down in as sheltered a part of the corridor as possible, gathered the padawan into his arms, covered his eyes to secure him from the lightning flashes that would inevitably follow...and settled down to wait.
An hour later, as the storm steadily gathered in strength, a particularly sharp flash of lightning shot its way through the corridor - followed at once by a crack of thunder that rolled through the heavens like a huge building crumbling in a blast of explosives.
Obi-Wan awoke.
Tbc...