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Qui-Gon Jinn

"Master Qui-Gon."

"Anakin. Welcome."

The voice was as he remembered. Deep, resonating, reassuring. It was achingly familiar, though he hadn't heard it in over thirty years. The light was enveloping him now, dispelling the darkness on all sides, emanating from the tall, broad-shouldered man who still grasped him by the arm. There was a gentle pull, and Anakin stood effortlessly, buoyed by the strength of his former Master.

"Master, I am so terribly sorry…" he couldn't go on. Nor could he look the Jedi in the face. He felt bitter, ashamed, sick at heart, and still horribly afraid of the darkness that had so nearly claimed him. And would it still? Even now, he did not feel that he had a chance to live with this light, with this warmth. It was impossible. Not with what he had done.

"I know."

A hand touched his chin, and he raised his eyes unwillingly to meet the warm green ones of Qui-Gon Jinn. The love he saw there made his pulse quicken, and a glimmer of hope touch the fear in his chest.

"I've done so much wrong, Master. I can never, ever repay what I've done."

"You have brought balance to the Force, Anakin. You have renounced your ways, and that is the first step. The road to repentance will be hard, young one. But that is why I am here."

And the darkness returned, swirling around him and compressing his chest and limbs and face, pulling at him, begging him, threatening him, and he opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. He was drowning, sinking, writhing, but then the darkness disappeared once more and he stood on the broad bank of a flowing river, gasping in huge lungfuls of air. Qui-Gon stood next to him, looking out across the great river, sadness etched in the lines of his leonine face.

"There is your work, Anakin," he said softly.

Anakin turned to face across the river as well and his breath caught painfully in his throat. He was looking at the Temple, the great white structure in flames and crumbling, cracking, scorched. And then he was staring inside, at the dozens of Jedi, stricken and white on the floor. The younglings, slaughtered in the Council room. The apprentices and Masters, dead side by side. The healers in the ward. Destruction. Death. Mace Windu. Ki-Adi-Mundi. Adi Gallia. Aayla Secura.

And it was all his doing.

"Master…" he croaked. Tears poured down his cheeks. Qui-Gon looked over at him sadly, but said nothing. And now he was staring across at the Separatists, the control room full of their dissected bodies and faces twisted in expressions of shock and horror. He looked away, knowing what was coming next. Qui-Gon's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Anakin. You must look. You must see."

"I…." but he could think of no argument. He turned eyes back across the river and Padme was before him, beautiful face tear-streaked and anguished, full of pain and sorrow. She reached for him but then she was grasping her throat, panicked, struggling for air, and then she fell. Anakin took a step toward her, stumbling down the bank toward the river, desperate to reclaim her, ears full of her screams. Qui-Gon's hands stopped him before he reached the river, pulling him back, unrelenting in their restraint.

"No! Padme! Master, please, I must tell her, I must see her, please, Padme!"

"Anakin, you cannot cross," Qui-Gon was telling him, deep voice soft in his ear, sympathetic but firm. "You cannot cross the river. What has happened cannot be changed."

Anakin ceased his struggles as Qui-Gon pulled and supported him back up the slope. He was suddenly exhausted, and made no move to wipe his face of the tears that streaked his cheeks. He was silent for a long moment, feeling with relish the shame and pain and heartache, deserving it, wanting it. He watched as his life was chronicled, watched as his reign as Darth Vader intensified and became more brutal. He saw the countless other beings he had murdered or had killed, and felt their pain mingle with his.

"Master," he finally said, his voice hoarse. "What is the river?"
"Time," Qui-Gon answered simply. "It separates memories from reality."
"What is my reality?"

"What you make of it."

Anakin rubbed a hand across his face and swallowed. "What else must I see?"

Qui-Gon did not answer, but turned to stare back across the river. Anakin followed his gaze and saw himself. The image of his own face staring back at him would haunt him forever, he felt. It was stab to his heart, a blow to his head, a strike to his very soul. The eyes staring back at him were ringed red, tinged yellow, and full of hate and anger. The Darkness stared out of them, sending chills up and down his spine and horror to his very being. As the face twisted, shouted terrible, hateful words and the darkness surged, laughing, Anakin shuddered, feeling dizzy and nauseated, and he collapsed, retching and shaking.

Qui-Gon knelt beside him, and an arm supported him, holding him close. "Anakin. That is the past. It is a memory. You have changed."

"But that doesn't change what I was," Anakin whispered. "It doesn't change what I've done."

"No, it doesn't," Qui-Gon returned. "But you have been forgiven. All of those Jedi are one with the Force, Anakin. You will have your chance to speak with all of them, and you will find that they have forgiven you long ago. Now. Stand. It is time to go."

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