Qui-Gon stood with Sitaris inside the small repulsorlift, waiting for Tomas' signal that it was safe to go up. Getting past the guards at the trainers' entrance had not been difficult: they were already inclined to trust Sitaris, an old friend of theirs, and with a bit of influence from the Force, they were persuaded to let Qui-Gon past as a new trainer being shown the rounds.
The vibration of his comlink, on then quickly off, three times in succession, told the Jedi Master that Xanatos was otherwise occupied. Qui-Gon reached out to Tomas with a wish for success, quick as thought, then turned to his companion.
"It's safe now."
Sitaris only nodded, punching the code that sent their turbolift racing up the shaft to Xanatos' quarters. They entered the utility room without incident.
All was quiet in the small, bare room with its gleaming cabinets and appliances. Qui-Gon extended his feelings. The Dark Side was oppressive here, strong with Xanatos' workings, his long residence here: this was one of his major headquarters. Qui-Gon continued his search. There: behind the armored door that Sitaris was approaching. Obi-Wan lay inside, battered shields raised imperfectly against mental intrusion.
Padawan, what has he done to you?
The door slid open with a hiss, and the two men stepped inside, facing the blue energy wall, waiting for the door to close behind them. Sitaris had explained the layers of security on their return to the Palace. Qui-Gon waited while he palmed the code to deactivate the wall, his eyes drawn to Obi-Wan's limp form, lying on his side on a narrow bunk, facing the wall. At the trainer's signal that all was clear, Qui-Gon strode to the boy's side. Obi-wan did not look up.
Hesitantly, suddenly anxious about his young Padawan's state of mind, he touched the boy's shoulder.
His hesitation saved him. In a blur of motion, Obi-Wan's hand-blade cut to his throat, a killing blow. Qui-Gon caught the forearm just as the edge of Obi-Wan's palm struck his pharynx. He cut down, catching the arm and twisting it automatically into a pin, as he bent over, coughing violently. Obi-Wan's face, staring at him in horror, brought him quickly to his senses. Releasing the boy, taking him gently by the shoulders, he turned him to face him. Obi-Wan dropped his eyes and his head, silent anguish twisting his features, his gaze unfocused on his master's chest. Qui-Gon's heart twisted with pity.
"It's all right, Padawan. I'm getting you out of here. It's all right." He dropped to one knee so he could look into the boy's face, but Obi-Wan turned his head, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Don't turn away from me, please."
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes tight, and tears ran down his cheeks, sparkling strangely in the blue light.
Without turning his gaze from Obi-Wan's face, Qui-Gon pulled off his dark robe, calling over his shoulder to Sitaris, "Can you deactivate the collar?"
"It's done. Best we leave quickly now."
Qui-Gon wrapped the thick robe tightly around his Padawan, pulling the boy to standing, shocked at the way he moved so listlessly, stood like he would fall over in a strong wind. He pulled Obi-Wan to him in a tight embrace; was distressed to find him as stiff and lifeless as a statue carved of ice. But slowly, almost dreamily, Obi-Wan relaxed in his arms. The boy twisted both hands into Qui-Gon's tunic, pressed his tearstained face into his chest, gasped with the effort of breathing normally.
"Can you walk?"
He nodded, letting go his master's tunic, still trembling but, Qui-Gon saw, determined now to keep control. He steered the boy toward the door, where Sitaris stood waiting for them.
And then, in a moment - a thrill of warning from the Force - but it was too late. Another energy wall sprang to life, in the space between the original wall and the door, flinging Sitaris back against the door. The trainer slumped to the floor, unmoving, his hand and clothing singed.
"No!" Obi-Wan cried out, his voice rasping. He stepped toward the wall, his eyes fixed on Sitaris on the other side, but Qui-Gon caught him and held him back.
"Is he...?"
"He lives. He's unconscious, but he lives." He did not tell the boy that the trainer's living Force was a slender thread, fast fading. There was nothing they could do for the man with an energy wall between them. Qui-Gon looked up and around at the walls, searching for the trigger that had sprung this trap. "I think the collar must have activated that wall. We'll have to remove it." He switched on his comlink in his pocket and sent a signal to Tahl that he was in trouble. Then he put both hands to the collar, kneeling before Obi-Wan, searching for a catch or fastener with eyes and fingers and the Force.
"Master." Obi-Wan's voice came softly, faltering; his eyes closed, hands tightened into fists. "Master, I cannot feel the Force."
"Shh. It's all right."
"Master, I can only feel the Dark Side." His voice broke into a sob. Slowly he sank to his knees.
Qui-Gon looked at him then, really looked at him, extending his feelings to assess the boy's physical and mental condition. He placed his hands on either side of Obi-Wan's head, let his eyes unfocus, and poured his self into their connection. Obi-Wan offered no resistance to his master's probe. He was exhausted, anguished, his mind in turmoil.
"You're afraid, Padawan. You're fearful of yourself. Why?" Qui-Gon kept his tone mild, questioning not judging, but still the boy flinched. He gulped back another sob.
"Because... there's nothing... nothing in me... but darkness."
Once more Qui-Gon probed the boy's body.
"And you're afraid this means you've turned? Did Xanatos suggest this to you?"
"I... yes... I..." He drew a ragged breath. "Master, I wanted... to kill him. I almost killed you!" Obi-Wan's face contorted in grief, in anguish. He bent to hide in his cupped hands.
"Obi-Wan." Qui Gon could well understand what the boy was feeling now: past time he took the counsel of Tomas and Tahl to heart. With one finger he stroked his young Padawan's arm. "You were distraught. You made a mistake. You will reflect on this experience, and you will learn from it."
Slowly Obi-Wan lifted his eyes. "I hurt you."
"No, Padawan. You did not hurt me."
"I wanted to hurt Xanatos. I wanted to kill him. I..." his voice sank to an intense whisper. "I hate him."
"I sense hatred in you, but not of Xanatos, my Padawan." He looked steadily at the grieving boy. "Release your self-anger, Obi-Wan. You will meditate on your failings, and you will forgive yourself, as you must: you are a Jedi."
"How can you say that, when the Force won't... Can't you see?"
"When you tried to kill me -"
The boy jerked as if slapped. Qui-Gon gently took hold of his wrists.
"Why did you do so physically?"
The boy shook his head, slowly.
"Have you drawn on the Dark Side willingly?"
"N-no..."
"Would you have done so to strike down Xanatos?"
"No, Master!"
"Did it occur to you that you could have?"
"Yes, but..."
Qui-Gon waited.
"It called me. Promised me... But it would use me, I saw that, and I didn't... I wouldn't..."
"Look at me, Padawan." He hardened his voice, commanding obedience. Slowly, hesitantly, Obi-Wan raised his eyes, holding Qui-Gon's gaze for the first time since Xanatos took him captive.
"Xanatos has been drugging you."
Obi-Wan winced, and nodded.
"The drugs are affecting your Force sensitivity." A shadow of hope crossed Obi-Wan's thoughts, though still he looked hurt and fearful. Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the collar. Having identified the nephrolite within Obi-Wan's body, he could see, now, that the collar was also threaded with the substance.
"We can neutralize the drugs. To accomplish it, you will need to trust in me, and more important, to trust in yourself. To transcend the darkness."
"I trust you, Master."
"And I trust in you." He brushed Obi-Wan's face, looking into his eyes. My Padawan. And he opened his mind, filled his thoughts with all his pride and admiration of this boy who had held out so long against the dark, his love for the boy who, somehow, after a long winter of loneliness, had found a way into his heart.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. His brow furrowed. Qui-Gon could feel his struggle with the weight of the Dark Side. I can't...
"Let it go, Obi-Wan. Trust yourself. You are a burning candle in a sea of darkness. Let go your fear. Forgive your mistakes. Release your anger. Let it go."
The comlink buzzed in Qui-Gon's pocket. Long... short short long...
Xanatos was returning. Tomas had failed.
Even as he wrestled with his emotions, struggled to release his fear as Qui-Gon had directed him, Obi-Wan sensed Xanatos approaching from a distance. The man's signature malevolent presence sent waves through the Force, the Dark Side swirling and rippling in anticipation, in greeting. As easily as breathing Xanatos extended himself to make contact with Obi-Wan's mind: a harsh and hateful contact, so different from Qui-Gon's tender touch: and in that moment Obi-Wan felt a rush of fear, a remembrance of the evil that Xanatos had promised should Qui-Gon be ensnared by the traps the dark Jedi had set. And here was his master, caught.
Xanatos's laughter echoed in his mind.
Obi-Wan cried out and threw himself to the floor, curled into a fetal position, all self-control lost to him. It's all my fault, he told himself. I should have seen, should have warned him...
"Padawan, I know that Xanatos is coming, but you must not lose hope. Together we can defeat him."
Here I am, worse than useless, and still, still he calls me Padawan. Master, how can you trust me?
"Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice came sharp and hard as a whip-crack. "You will get up and you will stop indulging your misery. Immediately!"
Shaking, red-faced, Obi-Wan pushed himself upright. Qui-Gon stood, pulling him up, and set Obi-Wan on his feet.
"I'm sorry, I..."
"Stop worrying about what I think." Qui-Gon's tone was harsh. Obi-Wan could feel him staring, expectant. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he forced himself to look up. The tall Jedi caught his face, held it, looking into his eyes, his own eyes soft with concern. "I can't get us out alone."
Obi-Wan nodded.
"Breathe deeply and center."
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan began the opening exercises for beginning a trance or meditation: exercises he had spent his life perfecting. When he had calmed his thoughts and racing heart, he opened his eyes once more. Qui-Gon put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, comfortingly.
"Remember who you are." He waited, expectantly.
Obi-Wan took a deep, steadying breath. He could feel Xanatos approaching the door, now.
"I am a Jedi."
Qui-Gon nodded, once, then turned to face the door.
The door slid open.
"Why, Qui-Gon Jinn. What a pleasant surprise!" Xanatos crowed. "And here I was just telling young Obi-Wan of the plans I have for your visit -" His eyes found Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan turned away. He couldn't bear to look at the man. Qui-Gon's steadying touch only deepened his dread.
"So Sitaris crossed me at last." Xanatos sighed, mocking. "Such a waste of a good trainer. You could have warned him, slave. Or - did you enjoy seeing him burn?"
"That's enough."
Xanatos sniggered. "Enough, says the wise, stern Qui-Gon Jinn. The impeccable Jedi Master. Enough," he scoffed. "Mustn't twit the master's favorite. The remorseful little killer..." Obi-Wan flinched as the words cut him. He saw Heavy Hand falling, the huge bonder enraged by Obi-Wan's taunting, teasing whip. Saw Bruck, head split on a stone.
"Enough!" Qui-Gon's hand tightened on Obi-Wan's shoulder. He felt a wave of fury from his master, quickly constrained. "Get out of the boy's mind. Now," Qui-Gon hissed.
"Make me," gloated Xanatos.
For a long moment the two men stood silent, neither yielding. The challenge echoed in the tiny chamber. Obi-Wan shivered, eyes fixed on his master's belt. What could he do to help?
Nothing. Nothing.
Cold trickled through his veins. Nothing... The cold burned his skin; his joints ached with it. The cold poured through him, from him, whirling around the cell, around the warm presence of his master. It slowed his blood, chilled his bones, numbed his thoughts. He pulled Qui-Gon's robe more tightly about himself, fingers shaking. It didn't help. He moaned softly.
Qui-Gon spun to face him then. He took hold of Obi-Wan's shoulders.
"No..."
A burst of power arced from Obi-Wan's body into Qui-Gon's. Obi-Wan saw his master's face constrict in pain. He stood frozen with horror.
No one moved. Then Qui-Gon's face softened. He touched Obi-Wan's cheek.
The cell exploded in cold blue bolts of flame.
A torrent of power raged through Obi-Wan's body, pulling him to his toes. His head arched back. Half-blinded by the light, still he saw Qui-Gon pinned to the far wall by the glowing bolts of energy. Dark Side energy. Coming from him. Qui-Gon writhed in agony.
No! No! Stop! He wanted to throw himself to the floor, slam his head against the stones: anything to stop the Dark Side energy using him. But he could not move: he hung paralyzed on his toes, arms outflung. Instead he looked inward, to deny the flow, to shut down his consciousness if that should fail.
A dark maw swallowed him, dragging his mind to nightmares.
He heard Xanatos laughing.
Qui-Gon pushed unsteadily to his feet, bracing against the wall behind. For a nightmare eternity Obi-Wan's body had hung suspended from flows of dark power. Then the boy screamed and collapsed. Xanatos had stopped channeling through Obi-Wan, then, though still Qui-Gon felt the Dark Side oppressively strong here. He staggered two steps and sank to his knees at Obi-Wan's side. His young Padawan was thrashing and moaning, insensible to the world.
"They always end up like this," Xanatos drawled carelessly. He lounged against the door frame beyond the energy wall, his arms folded. "All my Force-sensitive slaves. In my experiments I've succeeded in slowing the effects with a mix of activator and inhibitor drugs, but that's all. The more power I draw through them, the faster they burn out. He'll wake in a few hours. But next time I use him he'll go more quickly and take longer to wake. And the next time the same, and the next. And finally he won't wake at all, but will remain irrevocably mad. I usually dispose of them at that point."
Qui-Gon stared at his former apprentice. It surprised him that the dominant emotion he felt was... grief. What had happened to the brilliant youth he had cherished? Had that Xanatos, in reality, ever existed? Or was he dead and gone, his soul swallowed by the dark power he had embraced?
"You could, of course, help him to retain his sanity. I would appreciate any such effort on your part." Xanatos smiled, his eyes cold. "Of course, I'll only use him again, regardless. Until he's all used up. Perhaps you'd prefer to kill him. To spare him a worse fate." His voice grew soft, silky. "Either way, I win. Master."
Xanatos left then, gliding out without a backward glance, leaving the door open behind him.
Qui-Gon returned his attention to his Padawan. Obi-Wan's skin was cool to the touch; his eyes rolled behind closed lids, and his limbs thrashed weakly. Qui-Gon gathered the boy gently into his embrace, lightly pinning his arms; with his free hand he pulled his dark robe tight around Obi-Wan's shivering body, and laid the boy's head against his chest. His cheek resting atop Obi-Wan's head, he sank slowly into a deep trance.
There is another way, Xanatos: another way. Tahl... Tahl, I need you!
Deeper he went, and still deeper, loosening the ties with his body, joining his awareness with the Force. He sensed Obi-Wan's living Force dim and streaked with darkness: a darkness that clung to the boy's aura like a host of parasites. His own living Force entwined with Obi-Wan's in places, linking them in mutual care and a shared destiny: a future he would not deny, now, for his life, though for a time he had refused to acknowledge it. Obi-Wan, though - Obi-Wan had always known. One of many reasons the boy was so precious to him.
Soon Qui-Gon would let his consciousness flow through that bond, to ease Obi-Wan away from the awareness the Dark Side inflicted on him: visions of the will of the Dark Side, as valid in its own perspective as that of the Light it opposed. But first he had to break Xanatos' hold on the boy. Xanatos' living Force bound Obi-Wan's through the nephrolite in his cells: a bridle more compelling and invasive than the chains Sitaris had used.
Tahl...
He felt her, then: a relentless spirit, assiduous in her efforts to see and make sense: she accepted him, and strengthened their connection. Qui-Gon felt her sharp perception tune to him, questioning.
Tahl, I need you...
In his need he opened to her as he never had to anyone: set aside his natural reserve and invited her within the walls of his mind. Unhesitating, she joined with him.
Qui-Gon. The touch of her thoughts caressed him, comforting.
It's Obi-Wan... He directed her attention to the boy he still held, in the universe of matter and senses. Obi-Wan had gone limp in his arms, no longer struggling against the forces Xanatos had set in motion within him.
Tahl immediately set her focus on Obi-Wan, ignoring Qui-Gon's tumbling emotions - his grief and lingering remorse, his anger and regret - for which he was grateful. United with Tahl, he opened himself to the Force, allowing her being to fill him and giving her himself in return. This was the Force: being, knowing, but being in harmony, a part of the world and not in opposition to it. Giving, and accepting. Trusting. With Tahl as his anchor, tenderly he reached out to his Padawan.
Obi-Wan. Come.
Xanatos sat upon a tall ornate chair on a dais at one end of a wide marble hall. Thousands of beings filled the hall; flickering light from a hundred tiny floating globes of green and red and violet lit their upturned faces, made caverns of their eyes and sent devilish shadow sprites dancing among the folds of their rich cloaks and gowns and robes. Obi-Wan watched them from his place behind the throne, kneeling on the rough stone, wearing the harness and garish paint of a slave: watched them sidelong, his head bent in submission, as one by one they approached Xanatos to offer him their wealth and their fealty. Jewels and precious crystals soon spilled from the enormous stone basins to either side of Xanatos, littering the floor of the dais, and still the beings came: an unending line, for as soon as one would leave, clothed no longer in rich robes but in rags or the collars of slaves, exiting through one of the dark pointed arches that lined the hall to either side, another would enter from the rear, pulling a repulsorlift sled or leading carrier droids piled high with wealth. Aurodium ingots and vertex glittered on the floor around Obi-Wan's knees, but he dared touch nothing. He dared not move, though he had been kneeling for many hours.
Then Xanatos rose gracefully from his seat, smiling regally at the silent throng. With a gesture he bade Obi-Wan follow him from the hall. Obi-Wan stood immediately, resignedly obedient.
Silently Obi-Wan shadowed Xanatos through dim halls, the stone flags cold under his feet. They descended several stairs, past guards and locked gates, finally emerging in a damp and musty corridor in the depths of Xanatos' stronghold and palace. Tiny cells lined the hall, filled with miserable beings of every description, some standing to beg mercy as Xanatos passed, others sagging against the walls, their eyes bereft of hope. Obi-Wan knew how they felt. He walked with head bent and arms limp at his sides, not only because Xanatos had commanded him to do so.
Xanatos stopped and sneered at an elder Bith, a female who had called to him in a high and tremulous voice, until she shrank back against the far wall and hid her eyes.
"Kill her for me, Obi-Wan. Put her out of her misery," Xanatos commanded him, cavalier in his power.
Obi-Wan shook his head, horrified. But then - then he found himself advancing on the poor soul, powerless in his own body, cowering and pleading in his mind but unable to speak or to look away, as from his hand a stream of dark power spouted, pouring into the condemned prisoner, taking away her breath and filling her with pain, until finally she twitched and was still and cold, the life gone from her.
"Well done," Xanatos told him, smiling and petting his shoulder, and turned and continued down the hall. Obi-Wan found himself following, his legs marching along, as he stared at his trembling hands. They came to the end of the corridor, around a corner and behind a door, to a cell that was isolated from the others.
Qui-Gon knelt there, his arms chained behind him.
"No!" Obi-Wan screamed, backing away.
"Kill him for me, there's a good boy."
And then Obi-Wan was advancing again, right arm outstretched. He threw all his will into panicked resistance, twisted head and torso away, struggling to stop moving, to stop Xanatos using him. His steps grew shorter, unsteady.
"Go on, Obi-Wan, do as I told you," came the sweet, cruel voice.
"Obi-Wan. Come. Come to me," said Qui-Gon.
"No! No, I can't, I won't!" Obi-Wan could not pull back his arm. He put all his strength into stopping his feet.
"Stop struggling, Obi-Wan," said Xanatos.
"Stop struggling, Padawan," said Qui-Gon at the same moment.
"I won't do it! No!" He jerked forward two steps, then slid once more to a stop.
"You must do as I bid you, slave," Xanatos laughed.
Obi-Wan jerked forward once more. "No!" he cried out, and stopped, halfway through a step, teetering on his back foot.
"Trust me," said Qui-Gon, a faint note of pleading edging into his voice. "Do you trust me, Obi-Wan?"
"I won't let him use me!"
"You can't prevent me, little slave."
"Trust me. Stop fighting. Come to me."
"I -" Obi-Wan clomped through two more steps.
Xanatos laughed again. "Go on, now, do as your master bids you! Give up, give in to me, for you surely cannot stop me."
"Please, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon entreated him softly.
Obi-Wan's feet edged forward, uncertainty weakening his resolve. Two more steps...
"Come to me," Qui-Gon whispered, his eyes intense.
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but only for a moment. Jumping into a run, he threw himself toward his master.
"Stop -" Xanatos shouted.