Brink
By: Syntyche
Thirteen: Fade into You
Anakin Skywalker was well used to feeling angry, frustrated, and annoyed.
These emotions were as normal to him as the rising of the suns each morning, comforting in their own way for their frequency and familiarity. What he wasn't used to was experiencing those familiar emotions these days without having someone at his shoulder immediately to tell him that everything was okay, that he needed to be calm and rational, that he ought to think and make a clear-headed judgment. No one here to pat his shoulder or soothe his anxiety as he searched desperately for his master meant that those feelings had free reign in his mind, tripping over themselves messily as the padawan trudged through the muddy underbrush, using abilities newly yet unwittingly enhanced by the warpstone surrounding him to try and track the path Qui-Gon had taken without being detected by his master.
Anger, frustration, impatience, impulsiveness; these weren't unusual for him to feel. Anakin had been subject to many of life's harsher injustices and even at his young age he had tackled them head on, his natural buoyancy and resilience of spirit often seeing him through. As he got older, however, his relentlessly cheerful determination was slowly bleeding away to be replaced by aggravation and aggression.
It helped somewhat to feel the Force guiding him, even if he hadn't always known that was what it was. And now that Qui-Gon was his master, he was learning all sorts of ways to focus his powers and control his feelings. Qui-Gon didn't teach him much about anger, though, except that the Jedi thought it was bad. And fear was bad too, Qui-Gon said, but it was fear and the rush of adrenaline that had made Anakin the best pod racer on Tatooine, and him being the best and winning the race had helped Qui-Gon get the parts he needed from Watto to fix Padmé's ship and save Naboo, so Anakin once again had to wonder how it could be bad if the results were so good and helped so many people.
It didn't make any sense. Light power, dark power? Power was just power. Wasn't it how you used it that made it good or bad?
Somewhere behind the padawan who had become lost in his musings came the sounds of a branch snapping under heavy boots; Anakin spun hastily, his wide eyes trying to track the source, but there was no one to be seen. Biting his lip anxiously, Anakin closed his eyes and stretched out with the Force: he'd lost his concentration, and Qui-Gon's trail.
Not good.
After a few fearful moments he was able to peer through the shadows of the Force and pick out his master's essence, blazing with bright determination, and Anakin hurriedly adjusted his course to follow. It was more difficult in this forest to focus on the Light; there was more darkness filtering the Force than he was used to in the wide open spaces of Tatooine or the calm, peaceful halls of the Temple.
Anakin's sporadic thoughts returned to Obi-Wan. The Knight hadn't been far from his mind since Qui-Gon had chosen Anakin over Obi-Wan, and although Anakin knew Qui-Gon had made the right choice, it still made him uneasy that Obi-Wan was definitely missing, probably dead, and yet Qui-Gon had insisted on going back to look for him instead of focusing on more important things, like their next mission. Anakin had liked Obi-Wan well enough, though he staunchly refused to ever let himself forget Obi-Wan's hesitance at bringing Anakin to Coruscant, or the Knight being against making Anakin Qui-Gon's Jedi apprentice.
Or perhaps, most hateful of all, the way Obi-Wan had stood so near Padmé at the Nubian celebration, and the way she had smiled at him the beautiful smile of an angel that should have been Anakin's alone.
He would never forgive Obi-Wan for that.
Nor for Qui-Gon's attachment to Obi-Wan. All of Qui-Gon's talk about how Anakin needed to stop worrying about his mom, Anakin reflected bitterly, but here Qui-Gon was breaking apart over Obi-Wan, falling so far from the proper Jedi Master Anakin was so proud of having. Even now, when Obi-Wan had probably already gone on to join the Force or whatever Jedi did when they died, Qui-Gon still pined for him, still believed he must somehow be alive.
And now it was Anakin's job to bring Qui-Gon back.
Anakin stifled a sigh. It didn't look good for their image as the Order's best Master/Padawan team when Qui-Gon lost his focus. He'd become much better at being serious, didn't laugh or joke as much, or get into trouble hardly at all with the Council any more. They were the perfect team, and they should be getting the missions with the highest chance at being recognized for their work. Anakin especially wanted the Senator from Naboo to see him in the spotlight: he knew that Palpatine was watching, and that he was Padmé's most trusted adviser, and Anakin anxiously hoped word of his exploits would reach the queen's ear.
A chill ghosted across the boy's neck and he glanced around, startled, trying to recall if the forest had been this dark before. Uneasily and belatedly he remembered how unsettled both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been when they'd tracked through here days earlier and Anakin quickened his pace, unconsciously trying to outrun the shadows he suddenly imagined were right on his heels.
A burst of panic clawed at his mind as the forest seemed to close in around him, and Qui-Gon wasn't there this time to slow him down. His breathing sped up until it hitched painfully at his chest and Anakin doubled over, arms tight around his middle, feeling like he couldn't breathe, he was sure he couldn't breathe -
A large hand landed on his shoulder and Anakin straightened reflexively in surprise, the haze clearing from his mind and a shaky laugh jumping to his lips as he forced a smile and turned, a dozen explanations and platitudes already springing to his mind as he opened his mouth to explain to Qui-Gon …
But it wasn't Qui-Gon standing behind him.
Anakin turned to flee and made it two steps before he tripped on a root that jutted out to snatch him as he stumbled in his terror. His head struck a jagged rock hard, and laughing shadows pulled him down into darkness.
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Qui-Gon Jinn cast about warily with the Force as he approached the small village the Jedi had previously found. The Jedi Master was unaware that the warpstone all around him was enhancing his trepidation; all Qui-Gon knew was that it was a struggle to keep his lightsaber sheathed and his emotions calmed as he cautiously surveyed the town square from his cloaked position on the outskirts.
There was no activity he could see but Qui-Gon did not drop his guard. These people had taken Obi-Wan from him. They had beat him and set to kill him and Qui-Gon had let it happen. Qui-Gon had watched.
The inconsolable ache in the Jedi's heart closed his throat, stole his breath. What had he been thinking? Why hadn't he fought? What more ought he have done?
He had saved the Chosen One, and the thought should have been less bitter to swallow.
But it wasn't.
For the second time, he had made the choice that had saved the Chosen One; for the second time he had abandoned his friend to a painful, solitary death. Obi-Wan had escaped the first time: not unscathed, but at least alive.
Qui-Gon wasn't sure about this time.
His fingers twitched unconsciously toward his weapon. It would be foolish, he reasoned, to approach without his light saber in hand. He was only protecting himself; it'd be folly not to.
But Qui-Gon soon found he need not have bothered, and a frustrated growl, tinged with hysteria he should have heard in his own voice but didn't, broke from his throat as his gaze swept his surroundings:
The village was empty.
There were no signs of life other than the fountain in the middle of the square, cracked and crumbling to grey powder, the basin filled to brim with bright red blood.
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The floor, Obi-Wan had hazily decided, was actually not all that uncomfortable, despite the fact that his sling - as well as the damaged arm it was supposed to be protecting - had ended up underneath his crumpled body, and that the naked parts of said body not half slumped on the thick library carpet were complaining about the cold from the ancient stone floors creeping up into his exposed flesh.
Obi-Wan didn't have the energy to do much other than think, so that's what he did, occupying his mind as he conserved and rebuilt his strength. Nagash had demanded that he obey or risk Qui-Gon being killed upon arrival, and the Knight wondered if he had unwittingly gasped out an agreement, or it was just Nagash's foolhardy assumption that Obi-Wan was that pliable and Qui-Gon that weak.
And then Nagash had added the stipulation that Obi-Wan must read to him from archaic books that made the Jedi's head feel like it was splintering just to look at them. Carved into flesh, written in blood, Nagash had proudly called them the telling of the end of the world… Obi-Wan considered the plague Nagash had bade him to read about, wondered its implications and if it truly was history past or events yet to be written, as Nagash had claimed.
The chill that danced down his spine cautioned the Knight that there were bigger things happening here than he and Qui-Gon had realized. Shakily, Obi-Wan pushed himself to his knees, ripples of pain rattling around his skull as he shifted position and vertigo swung in to greet him like the old friend it was becoming. He really should just lie back down …
"Giving up, Kenobi?" he chided himself dryly, his thin voice sounding small and far away to his own ears. Well, it's not like I don't have an excuse, he answered himself reasonably. It's been a really shitty week.
And that made Obi-Wan laugh, a helpless chuckle that lodged behind his teeth, and he allowed his natural tenacity to lend a little strength to his weakened limbs as his curiosity got the better of him. He hooked his good arm on the table and levered himself upright just enough that he could snag the still-open tome and haul it off the table; it landed beside him with a soft plop! that made his queasy stomach do another quarter turn.
Obi-Wan managed a seated position and pulled the dusty book into his lap warily, trying to steel himself for the mental onslaught he knew was coming. The Knight grit his teeth and looking down, grimly focusing on the words swimming before his tired eyes as he tried to read past the knives driving meaty gouges into his brain. The effect of the tome was still agonizing, but somehow a little less so without the presence of Nagash nearby to empower everything surrounding the necromancer on to greater evil.
Obi-Wan quickly found the passage he sought, the chill that had started in his limbs slowly washing over him as he read hastily.
And a plague shall be released upon the land
The ranks of Nagashizzar will swell with undead
None shall be spared. Nehekhara will be overwhelmed
And Alcadizzar shall be returned in chains to face
Judgment. The Ritual of Waking will begin -
Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the script writing itself across his mind, digging his whitened knuckles against his clenched eyelids in a useless attempt to filter the white light and pain driving against them relentlessly. Horror gnawed at him as the words he'd read rattled around his brain: if there was any chance this cryptic "plague" was what they now stood on the cusp of …
Though the lighting in the library was already dim, Obi-Wan felt like a shadow fell over him, chilling his flesh and tensing his muscles. He turned questioningly to the arched doorway where his host was watching him; Nagash's burning eyes trailed down the fully exposed scar tracking across his shoulderblades and lower and Obi-Wan felt his cheeks burn self-consciously at its ugliness.
"Come, we have a visitor," Nagash announced casually, and Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow pointedly and gestured to his naked body.
Nagash laughed, low and rumbling. "Oh, little Jedi," he murmured gleefully, "you have no modesty left to protect."
That was true. But it wasn't his bare flesh Obi-Wan was concerned about Qui-Gon seeing; rather, a sudden and fiercely protective desire pulled at him that Qui-Gon not see the full extent of the physical damage that had been done to the Knight. That Qui-Gon must not be permitted to add more to his already guilt-laden burden over choosing Anakin.
Obi-Wan would not let his master be made any weaker in the eyes of this monster for the pity that would fill his eyes as he looked upon his crumpled friend and former student.
"Come," Nagash said again, sounding bored already - as if a giant walking skeleton necromancer could ever actually be bored, Obi-Wan thought dryly.
"Master," Obi-Wan interjected quietly, deferentially, and that got Nagash's attention. The massive, crumbling creature smiled, a curved grin that bared his decaying teeth as he showed his pleasure. He turned his full attention to Obi-Wan as the Knight lowered his head fractionally and uttered a single, submissive, "please."
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Nagash gestured for Obi-Wan to kneel by his boots amidst the scattering of skulls and splintered bones slewed across the floor of the large, black stone-walled chamber the necromancer grandly used as his 'throne room.' Obi-Wan did so without protest, ever aware of the potential danger to Qui-Gon, sinking into the damp carpet and trying not to wince as the knees of his newly acquired breeches immediately stained red.
Obi-Wan's stomach clenched horribly as the doors swung open; he was anxious to see Qui-Gon, couldn't believe he'd made it as far as Nagashizzar, yet a little bit of hope sprung to life at the thought that Qui-Gon was here and there was a chance they could stop this horror before it went any further …
As Nagash's "guest" was shown in, Obi-Wan realized with terrifying, retrospective clarity that he had made a grievously wrong assumption that Qui-Gon Jinn was the Jedi being brought to Nagashizzar:
Anakin Skywalker stood before them, flanked by two dark elves similar to the ones who had given Obi-Wan over to the corpsemaster who had brought him to Nagashizzar, a look of excited curiosity dancing on his youthful face.
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