Chapter 7
Diem ex dei
5 MONTHS BEFORE
As usual the sea that was the force was a calming influence, a warm soft blanket to stave off the worries of daily life. Today however was not a day for seeking comfort, but for seeking answers.
Concentrating on Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon delved deeper into the force.
Resigned to his coming torture, Obi-Wan hung his head low and fixed his eyes on the backs of Xanatos' shoes, his ears barely registering the echoing sound they left in their wake.
As Obi-Wan briefly looked up at his surroundings, he noticed, faintly surprised, that they were not going to the usual room. Obi-Wan kept his surprise to himself, as the fear in his heart began to grow along with its racing. The pair then turned a corner. At the end of the hall was a solitary door. It looked innocent enough, as innocent as any door could manage to look.
Soundlessly the door slid open. Though Obi-Wan's face was devoid of emotion, his mind was conjuring up a multitude of horrendous possibilities for torture that could lay behind that innocent door. However gruesome the image his mind had imagined, the reality was even more terrifying in its simplicity. The lone occupant of the room was a single steel chair; the room painted a sterile white.
Xanatos stepped aside and roughly grabbed Obi-Wan around from behind him. Pushing him through the portal, he ordered him to take a seat.
Obi-Wan stumbled as walked up to the chair and quickly inspected it. For all intents and purposes it looked to be a simple steel chair, armrests and all. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan sat in it. When he looked up, Xanatos was nowhere to be seen; the door had shut seamlessly. He was alone.
Suddenly, metal bindings sprung from the armrests and chair legs, effectively banning Obi-Wan from movement.
Then the lights went off.
And that's when the torture began.
It hit him at every angle, intense in nature and pure in feeling. But the emotion was one he feared.
Hate.
He never would have thought that his Obi-Wan was capable of such an emotion, so deeply felt. There were brief flashes of images; some Qui-Gon knew of, others he did not. But the main thought stringing all these images together was that of hate. Hate for life, hate for happiness, and hate for anything good. There was only type of being that Qui-Gon could think of that would think that way.
A Sith.
The thought sent Qui-Gon to the very depths of misery he had barely managed to climb out of from when Xanatos had turned. He had failed.
He had failed as a master.
How could he be a master with two failed apprenticeships? What were the chances of this happening? It had to be that he was a bad master. A master who pushed his Padawan's to the dark side. Either that or all people were inherently evil. He'd pick the first one, though hard to admit. He had seen too much good in the galaxy for the second to be true.
What would he do now? How could he fix this? Should he even try?
His efforts to find Xanatos had always failed. With his luck, Obi-Wan would be even harder to find.
Loath as he was to admit it, though Xanatos had been a very talented Padawan, Obi-Wan was so much more; his skills with a lightsaber were magnificent, a sight to behold, judging by the video of his attack on Bant. In addition, Obi-Wan had brains; he would not make the same mistakes Xanatos had. So what would he do?
The force held no answers for him, almost as if it were sneering at him for his line of thought. How could he so easily dismiss his Padawan? His son?
He had always been the type of person to judge the heart first before actions. It was something that had annoyed Obi-Wan to no end. Was he being fair to Obi-Wan accusing him of turning to the dark side without Obi-wan being there in person to defend or confirm it? Should he give Obi-Wan the benefit of the doubt? The evidence was strong though.
Very strong.
And with his prior failure of Xanatos, he was particularly vulnerable to this type of betrayal.
Was Obi-Wan a killer? Or a victim?
The surveillance holo pointed to victim, but even holo's could be manipulated. The seed of doubt had been planted. His trust of Obi-Wan and his grasp on the boy's character was failing fast.
What to do?
Frustrated at the forces lack of answers and comfort, Qui-Gon withdrew from his meditations. Obi-Wan was out of his hands. The boy had obviously made his choice.
So be it.
The pain; the ever enduring pain. Would it ever leave him?
From his vantage point, the other occupants of the room were sleeping haphazardly, laying over each other, leaning on the walls, or not even sleeping at all, but mumbling incoherently to themselves.
Obi-Wan, however, was doing none of the above. He was cradled with his knees against his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his forehead resting on his knees, rocking back and forth. His hands clenched as he willed the pain to go away.
Never before had he experienced such pain. Though his body was unscathed, thanks to his being securely held down, hands and legs safely restrained from hurting himself, his mind was now laid bare, unsecured, as his shields had been viscously ripped to shreds and his mind ravaged from the outside in.
Emotions so strong they made him want to lash out at whatever had the unfortunate luck to be near him, had filled his mind almost to the point of overloading him. But as he was a very stubborn person, luck would have it that his mind would be just as stubborn in resisting.
Oh lucky him.
Now he had a permanent headache, and a desire to kill anyone who was dumb enough to approach him which was totally irrational, because he, as a person, did not feel that way. He was being made to feel that way; forced.
And it was working.
Though he had no idea on how that was even possible. How could someone implant emotions and desires in another person? His time here as a captive was driving him insane, yes that was it. That had to be it. Oh where was Qui-Gon when you needed him?
Escape was next to impossible in this place. That was because they took away your ability to plot. That, he was sure of. Whenever he tried to think of escape, the thought slipped away, like sand through his fingers His only hope was for Qui-Gon to come and rescue him, which he surely must be working on now.
But there was a problem with that. Something was telling him that he had done something that would make Qui-Gon think twice about saving him. Something about an attack. But why would that make Qui-Gon not recue him? Did he do the attacking or was he attacked? Or was there even an attack? Had he attacked Qui-Gon?
Who was Qui-gon anyway that he would care so much about him, weak little Obi Wan? If he cared, then where was he now? Why wasn't he here? Was Obi-Wan even here? Where was here anyway? Why was he having such a hard time remembering these things? It was like everything was getting fuzzy and he couldn't stop it.
Sleep sounded so good right now, yes sleep.
There was one more question though, lying on the top of his tongue.
Who was he?
Who was Obi-wan? Were they the same? Was he Obi-Wan?
The names Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been floating in his mind. Good feelings had always risen when the two were though of together. But now, he couldn't think of why that would be. But it was the only thought he could cling to, in his ever muddled world.
Qui-Gon would save him, whoever he was.
He was sure of it.