A/N: I uploaded a new chapter of two days ago, and I thought this relevant to the upcoming chapters. A little insight into Qui-Gon and the fall of Xanatos.
Music for this chapter: Ashes (God of War soundtrack) Go to my tumblr for playlists for my fics on spotify and youtube (I'm making the youtube version for this in less than an hour)
Eight Years Before Padawan Kenobi
Tahl kicks down Qui-Gon's door a week after Xanatos DuCrion is lost to the dark side on Telos.
The indented metal groans as she slides the door shut with the Force; the Temple maintenance department will not be pleased. But Tahl flicks the thought away in favour of noting the thin layer of dust that covers the floorboards of Qui-Gon's quarters, instead. These rooms have not been cleaned since the end of his mission to Telos, then.
The man himself is nowhere to be found in the kitchen or living area – no ceramplast cups in the sink, or leftovers on the table; a glance in the conservator unit yields nothing but air. The curtains leading to the balcony and beyond are closed, and sunlight shafts in ponderous columns through gaps between them, stern 'saber salutes through still and silent air. Dust piles in a fine layer over the Felucian wood table, too, with chairs unmoved and untouched.
If it were not for the broad, bare-footed footprints tracking across the floor, Tahl would not have thought there was anyone here at all.
She does not bother checking the bedchambers – the larger she knows Qui-Gon will have found no respite in since his return, and the smaller is now an untouchable memory to one who has changed. Tahl crosses instead over the empty floorboards in quiet boot-steps – she would never have done so without taking off her shoes, before, but this is far too important – and sweeps open the curtains to the balcony with a sure hand.
She finds Qui-Gon kneeling on the hard tiles of his balcony, eyes closed to the brilliant sunset of Coruscant Prime. His feet are bare, his beard untamed, his lips chapped and fissured, and his robes still stained with the fires of Telos.
He does not look up, or even open his eyes.
Tahl stands there for a long moment, scrutinising her closest childhood friend.
"Qui-Gon," she murmurs, eventually. There is no need to state her name, or why she has come here. He knows her voice and her tread too well for that.
Qui-Gon does not respond.
"Qui, open your eyes and look at me."
Nothing. The rise and fall of Qui-Gon's chest is barely perceptible.
Heart clenching, Tahl sends out a questing flicker of the Force. Qui-Gon's mind is locked down in beskar-strong shields, seamless and obsidian-smooth. But he is aware. And Tahl is now aware that he is aware.
He simply refuses to surface.
She frowns severely, and stares down at him.
"Qui-Gon," she barks, all gentleness gone in favour of authority, now; "Get up."
When Qui-Gon's chest simply rises and falls in the same, ponderous pattern, once, twice, and thrice more, Tahl comes to a decision.
She folds herself onto her knees beside him, blinks away the glare of Coruscant's sunset, and closes her eyes. Part of her wishes she took the time for a drink of water instead of rushing here immediately after her mission transport landed, but the dryness of her mouth and the empty pit of her stomach matter little, not now.
She rests in the Force, and waits.
Coruscant Prime slips below the horizon, and the balcony grows cold.
She waits, still.
The night wears on, and Coruscant's four moons string themselves across the sky in waxing sickles and waning spheres, and still she waits, matching her meditation breaths to the slow, shallow breathing of the one beside her.
Qui-Gon is as still and unmoving beside her as the Bronzium statues that line the Processional Way far below; but as the night grows weary and lightens into day, his breathing deepens to match hers, and the beskar-welded walls of his mind soften.
In the silent, still hour before the dawn, when the sky is a deep, cobalt blue, Qui-Gon shifts in place, a hiss of stiff joints and muscles escaping his lips – and though his eyes do not open, his palm flips over ever-so-slowly when Tahl's fingers touch his knuckles, to allow her to grasp his hand.
They wait for the dawn together.
Warmth creeps over their knees and hands and up their frozen tabards, up chins and cheeks and eyes. Tahl opens her eyes to the bright light of a Coruscanti morning, and the cacophony of the city-planet below. Her throat is completely dry, and her belly numb from hunger. She looks down at her hand, and then to her left.
Qui-Gon breathes out in one long exhale – a sigh – and opens his eyes.
His smile is as stiff and weak as the rest of him as his lips open and he whispers the barest of words.
"You're hungry," he says, even as the last of his outer shields crumble away, revealing a ravenous hunger within.
Tahl attempts to clear her throat, and finds it too dry to do so. "Come to the refectory with me, then," she says.
He shakes his head, a slow and fragmented motion.
Her hand tightens around his. "Come with me," she repeats, anger rising in her parched throat.
Qui-Gon meets her gaze with one that is not entirely there. "Xanatos," he says.
"I know," Tahl murmurs.
"He's dead," Qui-Gon says, faintly.
Tahl's eyes harden."I don't believe you."
"He's as good as dead."
She does not reply to that. There is no good way of doing so.
"You were right," Qui-Gon says, closing his eyes against some unendurable pain.
"What?"
"When I chose him to be my padawan," Qui-Gon continues, each word as slow and as shattered as the wastes of his Force-presence. "You cautioned me against it – told me that a gifted mind and quick use of the Force did not mean we should be master and apprentice."
"I did," Tahl murmurs, "but I grew to love him as much as you did."
Something flashes in Qui-Gon's eyes as he looks up. "Don't. Don't use that word."
He is right, Tahl knows. That word is never one that can be spoken between them – not for others, and not for themselves. It is too dear a price.
They watch the city together for a long while.
"When I found him he was so young," Qui-Gon whispers. "I thought myself a Jedi in full then – a brash young Knight with dreams of a magnitude only surpassed by my head. I saw only potential. I did not see the rest."
Tahl remains silent.
"And when the time came for his Initiate tournaments, I – I thought the Force was guiding me to him."
"We often assume the Force guides us to certain things when in fact our hearts have been set on them from the beginning," Tahl says, quietly. "Letting go and allowing the Force to truly take us where it will is different. I too have not allowed it to, yet."
To her surprise, a small, exhausted snort sounds from her left.
"Your wisdom is ever appreciated, Master Tahl," Qui-Gon says, fondness quirking at the edge of his mouth.
"Thank me by doing me a favour," Tahl says.
"What is it?" Qui-Gon says tiredly, eyelids flickering.
"Get up and come have breakfast with me in the refectory."
He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. "I can barely move."
Tahl rises into a half-crouch, ignoring the screaming of her knees and calves, and hooks her arm under his shoulders.
"Up," she says.
He trembles, but does as he is told.
They stagger to their feet. "Blasted height," Tahl grumbles, even as a breathy laugh escapes her. "Why are you such a Sith-spawned giant?"
Qui-Gon's head sags until his chin rests upon the top of her head, and Tahl hears, senses, him breathe a half-conscious sigh and whisper something.
Tahl, I-
But the words are too much, should they be true.
It includes the word they never speak of.
Tahl stumbles, and Qui-Gon does too – but the next moment he has put a foot forward, and she has too. His mind is fortified once more, with words and emotions he will never speak of again, of Telos and more.
Tahl pushes her own thoughts away, and helps her dearest friend step by step towards towards the refectory, food, and life, while worlds away, Xanatos DuCrion peels away the bacta bandage over his cheek, and feels for the first time the broken circle of the scar on his cheek.
A/N: I'll probably finish the next chapter of The Silent Song before posting another one of these, because the plot is very tight as we're two chapters away from the end of the arc there. But if anyone has any pressing requests and ideas for Silent Measures, feel free to review or PM me.
