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Brink
By: Syntyche
Eight: Broken Hearts and Broken Bones
"What have you done?"
These were the gasped out words that roused them from troubled slumber. Qui-Gon blinked hazily at the accusatory tone over his shoulder, shifting and twisting in his damp robes to squint into the bright sunlight that was now shining cheerily over the glistening warpstone field. Shadowy figures filled his line of sight and he struggled to place the demanding voice that was barely familiar to him.
"We have welcomed you, brought you into our village and our home, and this is your reply?" Grief stung the ragged speech, and Obi-Wan's returning murmur was barely loud enough to reach Qui-Gon's ears; Qui-Gon slowly realized that the young Knight sounded utterly drained, that his reply was a touch too soft to be normal. Dread poured into Qui-Gon's soul like a pitcher being filled with water: something was wrong with Obi-Wan.
Please, no, he thought achingly.
"Makir, please…"
When Obi-Wan said the man's name his voice also clicked in Qui-Gon's memory: of course, their host. And now their guide's widower.
The old man sliced a brusque swath of inconsolable anger through the air with a gnarled hand. "No!" He folded to his knees slowly beside Obi-Wan, reaching out trembling fingers for the body of his wife, wrapped gently now in Obi-Wan's robe. He carefully pulled the shrouded form from the Knight's unresisting arms with exquisite care, moisture spilling from his eyes and staining the chestnut fabric.
"There is nothing you can say that will atone for this tragedy." He backed up slowly with his precious parcel, his gaze black as he surveyed each Jedi in turn.
"There is only restitution."
He nodded at the small cluster of men behind him, and Qui-Gon's brow furrowed as he realized the men with him looked not at all like Makir's fellow villagers: these men were tall and solidly built, with cruel faces and hard eyes that stared at the Jedi coldly. Only Obi-Wan showed a hint of recognition, but when Qui-Gon shot him a curious glance he lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, his expression confused.
As Makir reverently set his wife's body to the side, his companions surged forward and pulled the Jedi from the alcove where they had sheltered the brutal storm the night before, grasping roughly at cloaks and hoods or whatever they could hook their fingers onto. Obi-Wan gasped as a sharply clawed hand fastened onto his wounded shoulder where it was still an angry and sticky red, sheared by a mass of serrated warpstone.
Once Qui-Gon's eyes adjusted to the light, he had some difficulty keeping his own startled gasp in: Makir's companions were not exactly men, as he had presumed, but rather manlike in their form, with skin so pale it was nearly translucent, stringy raven hair bound into elaborate braids, and elegant, narrow ears that drew to a point at the apex. Their glittering eyes settled on the Jedi greedily, malicious smiles twisting thin lips into a collective rictus of insatiable hunger that did not bode well for their captives. Anakin screeched and swiped at the hands at the hands grabbing for him; Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan reacted instantly to his cries though their senses were dulled by their cramped positioning and blunted access to the Light. For their troubles, Obi-Wan took a hard jab to the cheek and Qui-Gon received a blow to the temple that nearly sent him to his knees. He blinked past his watering eyes, struggling to bring his focus under control.
The Jedi were dragged without further protest into the center of the warpstone protrusions but couldn't keep in a shared moan at the Dark that invaded their senses. They noticed now that the plateau had shifted somehow during the storm; splintered fragments of warpstone littered the sodden ground and there were small hills cropping up where before the ground had been even. It was an odd phenomenon, one Qui-Gon wished he could examine more curiously, but there would be no time for that.
Their captors exuded Dark energy and as they were hustled forward Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a wary glance that conveyed many different thoughts:
Anakin's safety is paramount.
Stay calm.
I've got your back.
Can we never take a vacation without something Really Bad happening?
Qui-Gon the Dark ones pushed to Makir's side, while Obi-Wan and Anakin were quickly bound at the wrists and spun to face the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon felt the knot in his stomach boil over into a writhing, burning mass that almost closed his throat completely, choking his unsteady breaths into hitching gulps. He realized what was about to happen even as the sick clenching of his gut informed him that he was powerless to stop it.
Please no. Please, please no.
But his horror couldn't halt the next words that came from Makir's mouth:
"Choose."
The word was spat at him harshly, simply spoken but it made the burning in Qui-Gon's stomach reach a fiery hand up to squeeze around his heart, turning the suddenly vacillating beat into a pounding tattoo filled with despair. His weak knees refused to support him and he sank to the dirt, small, unnoticed pebbles digging into his knees as the strength left his body.
"I choose myself then," he somehow had the presence of mind to say, as composed as he possibly could, distantly wondering if the raging in his chest could be heard by the man waiting callously for the Jedi's answer. He fought to rise to his feet, aware that Anakin's snarls were farther from him than he would have liked, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him subserviently in place, kneeling on the ground, floods of weakness pouring into him.
"Impossible," Makir negated coldly, any resemblance he had once born to the cordial host Qui-Gon had shared an evening of intelligent conversation with now nonexistent. "Choose one to stay, or they both die here."
Qui-Gon jerked away roughly to lift his stare to the bound figures held firmly a few meters from him. Obi-Wan regarded him calmly from the eye that wasn't already swelling purple, his gaze steady and reassuring. Beside him, Anakin watched Qui-Gon with huge, scared eyes, his fear both evident and understandable.
"Please!" Qui-Gon gasped again, his straining voice catching in his throat. Despite his intensive training, terror - multiplied tenfold by the Dark generating from the warpstone - threatened to overwhelm him and he felt weak and unsteady.
"We are not to blame," he continued, wising he could impress on them with his words the sheer agony he was in, but what could he say? "I would plead for mercy…" he ground out, pushing the words past his lips. Qui-Gon forced strength into his fading voice - please, not again! he begged the Force once more. Please don't make me choose between them! Could his beloved Force truly be so cruel?
"If you must take one of us," the Master reiterated softly, clenching his eyes closed to stem the crowding moisture threatening to unravel his control, already so shaken by the Darkness. "I beg you to take me. I am responsible for them. Please. Please … "
"No! Qui-Gon!"
Anakin's shout made Qui-Gon open his eyes again but it was Obi-Wan he fixed upon, saw the grey gaze widen as the man the young Knight had always regarded as an implacable force begged for mercy and took fault for a situation in which there had been none to blame. At a gesture from Makir, a long, wickedly curved knife was produced from the belt of the creature who restrained Obi-Wan.
"Will you choose?" Makir growled harshly, ignoring Qui-Gon's entreaties as he captured the wildly darting gaze of the Jedi Master with a piercing amber stare. "Or would you have the choice made for you?"
He looked away from Qui-Gon's desperate eyes and jerked his chin sharply at the one clutching Obi-Wan's bound arms. The knife went to Obi-Wan's ribcage where it easily pierced tunic and skin as it lazily dug upward, tormenting raggedly with the blade, and Qui-Gon watched, transfixed by horror, as a flower of red blossomed across the Knight's white tunic.
"NO!" he cried frantically, his heart twisting at the pained grimace that crossed Obi-Wan's ashen face. Had Qui-Gon been more in possession of his faculties, he would have easily realized that something darker, something far deeper and more sinister was at play, but his world had narrowed down to the two faces before him and the terrifying choice that was being thrust upon his quaking shoulders.
"The boy, then?" the man beside Qui-Gon taunted darkly, and with a careless flick of his hand, the bloody knife was retracted. Obi-Wan jerked with a strangled whimper as the blade slid out from its resting place between his ribs and the Knight slumped wearily in the tight grip of his captor. The creature with the knife started toward Anakin.
"No! No, damn you!" Qui-Gon would have lunged for the boy, but the rational part of his mind that remained despite his desperation warned that such a move would multiply the danger to both of the lives in his care.
"Me!" Obi-Wan shouted suddenly, grabbing their attention. "He chooses me!" Obi-Wan visibly swallowed hard, but his voice was calm. "I will pay the forfeit. Leave the boy alone," he finished quietly as Makir directed his cold stare at the Knight, and only Qui-Gon - the man who knew him better than anyone - heard the waver in Obi-Wan's tired tone.
Makir swung back to Qui-Gon, a feral satisfaction suffusing his question: "Do you choose this one?" he demanded. Qui-Gon was too wrapped in suffocating grief to speak and he stared at the young Knight with desperate denial in his eyes.
Please, no. Please don't do this to me. Please don't make me choose. Not again.
Obi-Wan easily read his anguish. "Yes, he does," he said firmly.
"I'll hear it from you," Makir stated to Qui-Gon shortly, and from where he still knelt in the dirt Qui-Gon somehow managed to turn his face up to his tormentor, to see the words flung against the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Do you choose this one to make restitution for your betrayal?"
Qui-Gon felt the expectant silence hang over him, an oppressive shroud, and he struggled to meet the amber eyes that bored into him expectantly, prompting him to say the words that would send the young Knight to his death.
I can't, he thought desperately. How could he? But how could he choose Anakin, whose life as Qui-Gon's Padawan was just beginning; had he escaped the harsh life of slavery only to be taken so young as a price demanded?
Or Obi-Wan, newly Knighted. Could Qui-Gon sacrifice the son of his heart? Over the years, Obi-Wan had become so familiar to him that Qui-Gon read an upraised eyebrow or the expressive mouth as easily as the young Jedi's accented words.
I can't. Please.
Obi-Wan's strong gaze said, You have to.
"Then they both die," Makir decreed brusquely as Qui-Gon's silence lengthened.
"No!" Qui-Gon's face was streaked with tears he could not keep from falling. How could these men force him to make such a cruel decision? He could not choose Anakin; and so Obi-Wan would die knowing that his former master had condemned him. He again pushed to his feet and was again stopped.
"If you intervene," Makir murmured softly, "I will kill them both."
"No… " Qui-Gon's eyes begged forgiveness as he forced out a whispered: "I choose Obi-Wan."
"Qui-Gon, no!" Anakin shouted as he was released and roughly shoved toward Qui-Gon. He wriggled away from his captor, throwing himself at a surprised Obi-Wan. "No!" he sobbed distraughtly. "Please don't let them take you, Obi-Wan! Do something! Use the Force or something!"
Obi-Wan hissed as Anakin latched onto him tightly, his sore body protesting as Anakin burrowed his face into the Knight's stomach. Obi-Wan would have liked to been able to at least return the boy's embrace, but his arms were still bound stiffly behind him just as Anakin's had been.
"Ani - Ani, you must listen to me," he tried to sound calm, but knowing that Qui-Gon was abandoning him - again - even if he absolutely had to, left him trembling ashamedly. "Please, Master Qui-Gon needs you." Already they were grabbing Anakin's small shoulders and pushing him back toward Qui-Gon and any further words from Obi-Wan were lost as his slender frame was swallowed up by the Dark creatures that swarmed around him determinedly, shoving and pushing and pummeling him to the ground, their cries of victory ringing over the sickening sounds of fists striking flesh.
Qui-Gon lifted dead, hopeless eyes to the man before him as Anakin pawed at his sleeve, tears suffusing his small face. Qui-Gon had tried to catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan but the smaller Jedi was wholly swallowed up within the group of warriors and all he could hear were the noises, Force, the noises he would hear in his nightmares for months to come. Makir returned his stare with eyes devoid of mercy or compassion for the suffering Jedi.
"The forfeit will be paid." Makir pronounced, his golden eyes growing a shade darker. "Any further interference will result in loss your own life and that of the one you chose to save," he murmured coldly. The sounds of struggle slowly ceased but Qui-Gon still heard every hurt echoing in his mind, felt every blow.
"Go now," their one-time host pronounced disdainfully, "for every heartbeat you remain here you prove your weariness of life, and we will gladly relieve you of your suffering to repay the grief you have caused us."
"Qui-Gon … " Anakin whimpered, pulling, fidgeting, unable to stand still, "Do something… "
He'd done it again. He'd had his hand forced and he'd chosen.
"Makir," Qui-Gon ground out hoarsely, scraping the words past his ravaged throat, but the other man held up a hand.
"You have chosen. It is as He willed." For the first time, gentleness flashed through the old man's tone. "Would you throw away that which your young one will die to save?"
With these pitiless words Makir turned his back on him, leaving Qui-Gon staring after him, heart shattered into a thousand pieces, clutching Anakin's hand tightly.
OoOoOoOo
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