While this story is indeed largely dark, there will be moments of light peeking through here and there, I promise.
Chapter 7. The Wounds of War
Mace cursed under his breath as he shifted the unconscious Jedi to get a better hold on him. "Call a healer; I saw an empty bed next door," he snapped, and carried the young man into the next room and deposited him on the bed, yanking off his boots and bending over the young man.
"Padawan," he called, but there was no response. He frowned. "Obi-Wan?" He was pressing his fingers to the young Jedi's temples when a healer hurried in.
"This is the other Jedi," he said, narrowing his eyes. "How long has he been like this?"
"He just now collapsed," Mace returned; his stern stare almost seemed to impale the healer. "You didn't think to ask him if he was hurt? You just assumed he was okay?"
The healer did not look offended at the sharp tone as he bent over the prone form. "Of course I asked. He said he was not injured; only a bit bruised and exhausted. I had no reason to doubt him and since we are understaffed and overrun with wounded from the camps, I took him at his word. Would you have done different?"
Mace dropped his head. "No. You're right. He merely looked exhausted, or so I assumed." He watched as the healer checked Obi-Wan's vital signs, lifted a slack eyelid, all the while throwing a running commentary over his shoulder to the watching Jedi.
"Temperature a bit low…blood pressure, too. Probably dehydrated – I don't think he's left the other Jedi's side except once or twice. Respiration is fine, so's his heart. Okay, let's get him out of those clothes if you don't mind lending a hand."
Mace supported the young man's torso as the healer quickly stripped the tunics off the unresponsive padawan, revealing raw red skin bordered by puffy white blisters alongside his ribs just above his waist where a lightsaber had scored his side. The wound was more burn than penetrating; much to Mace's relief little skin was actually charred.
The Jedi master understood why it hadn't been visible – Obi-Wan practiced a highly athletic style of lightsaber combat. The lightsaber must have scraped across his side as his tunic had lifted in some aerial motion, leaving the tunic itself untouched.
The healer proceeded to check the young Jedi's body thoroughly and completely for any other wounds that may have been concealed, finding only strange burn like marks on his fingers and palms and several bruises – on his hip, one arm, and his jaw. He treated the large wound with bacta and wrapped his chest, then set up an IV to drip nutrients into the weakened body.
"I'll be back to check on him shortly and we'll run some tests. We've critical patients in greater need at the moment. The wounded from the camps are still flooding in." He passed Yoda on his way out.
Mace stood silently, eyes bleak and hooded as he stared down at the unconscious Jedi as Yoda hobbled to his side, leaning heavily on his gimer stick.
"How is our young one?"
He hopped up on the conveniently placed chair and affixed his eyes to the pale man in the bed before turning them to his companion.
"Weak," Mace said grimly. "He's got some bruises, a few odd burns on his fingers and palms I'm at a loss to explain and a close escape from a rib carving that is pretty serious but could have been deadly. I don't know how he kept going so long, but that's not the worst of it. I'm no healer, but I think his mind is damaged; see for yourself. I think he needs a Jedi healer for what ails him."
The ancient Jedi leaned forward and splayed a clawed hand across the young Jedi's forehead, his acute Force senses reaching out as his brow wrinkled with concentration. His ears drooped. "Hmm," he muttered. He straightened up and leaned on his stick, looking at Mace with troubled eyes. "Ill indeed he is – yet he does not allow the Force to sooth him – shies from its touch, almost."
Both Jedi looked at each consideringly. A wizened claw scratched thoughtfully at Yoda's jaw, telling Mace that a nearly forgotten memory was working its way to the surface. From the way his ears curled and drooped as he let out a long sigh, it was not a memory that Yoda had wished to remember.
"Seen something like this I have, once. Many years ago, young padawan I was. A severed bond, and the mind severed it was, too. Never the same was that Jedi."
"Oh, Force," Mace swore. "Do you think the bond was severed – by the Sith? That he had that much power?"
"No, by either this one. Or his master."
The room became very silent, other than the soft sniffling of the unconscious man. Mace sat down heavily and shook his head in simple denial. This – it just couldn't be.
Yes, so it can be. Yoda's steady gaze meant he would not allow either of them to retreat from the truth. He nodded, once; then turned once more to the young Jedi.
"Such pain you are in, young one, such pain. Why so much pain?" His whisper was almost too soft to hear. Perhaps, Mace thought, he was not meant to. He knew Yoda and Obi-Wan shared a deep bond of affection neither alluded to. His next words only confirmed Mace's suspicions when the older Jedi told him what was already obvious, his hand gently patting the limp arm before him.
"A powerful bond there was between master and padawan. Very painful this severing was. His tears, understandable; raw his emotions are - his mind lacerated and brain reeling. The padawan we knew – never the same will he be, and know this he will. Shame and fear this one will feel, unworthy." Yoda swiveled his head and raised sad eyes to Mace. "Our help he will need; ask for it this one will not."
Though he had all the power of the Force at his disposal, the Jedi master had rarely felt so helpless, but when he looked at Obi-Wan's face, he realized true helplessness lay in front of him.
Never the same will he be. Yoda's words echoed within him.
Was all the promise in this young Jedi to come to naught, his talents, skill and dedication left unrealized? Mace slowly extended a hand, meaning to rest it on the shoulder before him. For some reason it hesitated before concern instead carried it forward to untwist the braid crushed under a shoulder and smooth it over the sleeping man's chest.
"One more…he needs just one more…." Mace let his words trail off, shook his head and looked up at Yoda.
"I'll stay with him. If you don't mind, you can stay with Qui-Gon," his mouth twisted, he was still shocked at what he'd overheard, "and talk to the boy, Anakin."
"Listen the boy will not. Much anger in him – close watch on him we must keep. Beyond hope…I do not know. Help him we must, for all our sakes." Yoda squeezed his eyes shut and slowly opened them. He shook his head and hobbled off, his stick barely making a sound, not at all its usual brisk staccato rhythm.
Mace didn't know which bothered him more – Obi-Wan lying before him, looking so young and vulnerable, or Yoda's words, still hanging in the air.
A flutter of eyelids, a lick of dry lips and a low moan marked Qui-Gon's first awakening since his nearly fatal injury. He shifted uneasily. A small three-clawed hand touched his.
Yoda?
Why wasn't it Obi-Wan's hand? His eyes struggled to open and when they did, to focus.
His nose twitched involuntarily.
"Not…again," he breathed. The smell of bacta alone told him he was lying in a medical center, not to mention the barely-dulled-by-drugs ache in his mid-section. If only those same drugs muted the agonizing pain in his head – had red hot claws ripped through his mind, cell by cell? He turned his head carefully to the side and blinked. "Yoda?"
The name came out in a raspy croak. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his situation. There was only one way to find out – ask, so he overrode the little master's inquiry on how he felt.
"Why… are you here?"
"Here, Mace and I have come, to learn more of the Sith that Obi-Wan slew – the one who nearly slew you."
A Sith? A momentary panic overcame him. Obi-Wan? But no, Yoda said Obi-Wan slew the Sith. He had survived the encounter. Thank the Force.
But why couldn't he remember?
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, pulling from his memory. Naboo, yes, the Council had sent him and his padawan to protect the Queen – there had been a battle – yes, he remembered reaching out to Anakin - he had been dying – he remembered dying and then there was the Force flooding him– it had given him, was giving him the strength to –
"Anakin! Anakin saved me," he said with utter certainty. "Only he could - is he…okay?" He clutched at Yoda's arm, panic in his eyes.
"Yes, yes," Yoda soothed him, a frown wrinkling his brow. "The young one is fine. Your padawan, wish you not to know of him?"
Was the excruciating pain in his head interfering with his hearing?
Qui-Gon again furrowed his brow, trying to make sense out of Yoda's rather strange question coming as it had right after his answer. He tried again. "I asked you…Anakin…you said he was okay."
They were definitely on different wavelengths, for Yoda's ears curled as if now he were confused. One of them, at least, was.
"Your padawan he is not. Of Obi-Wan, I speak. Saved you he did, poured all he had and more, not sparing himself though wounded too he was and now under the care of healers as well."
No, his padawan was nearby. He could feel the touch of his mind. Yoda was most definitely getting a bit senile.
"Please - may I see him? I need – to see him."
"Soon." He could tell that Yoda was trying to pacify him; it was that soothing and more often irritating voice. "Perhaps together you can be as both of you heal."
"No…Anakin," he shook his head. Why couldn't Yoda understand? "Want to see - Anakin…." His fingers closed spasmodically around Yoda's hand, trying to convey his need.
Yoda's ears curled; the wounded Jedi was far too preoccupied with a boy he had known but days. For a Jedi whose last memories were of battling a Sith, Obi-Wan at his side, he was showing a distinct lack of interest or concern in the boy he had trained for years, an apprentice's fate he had little reason to know other than Yoda's words. This was not the Qui-Gon Jinn he knew, whose pride in and affection for his padawan was plain to all who cared to notice.
"So you shall…when next you wake, hmm? More rest you need, rest, yes, yes, rest."
Yoda sat back, a claw meditatively scratching his chin as Qui-Gon closed his eyes, slipping back to sleep as urged.
There were currents and eddies disturbing the flow of the Force. Yoda pursed his lips. So many possibilities, so many futures and Naboo –or Tatooine - lay at the heart. What disturbed him most was the darkness entwined with the light, so unlike the last disturbance on this scale many years before.
Was this a portent of what was to come – the clash between two opposing forces that many would call "good and evil" and a Jedi would call "compassion and malevolence"?
Had the first blow just been struck?
One Sith had been defeated. Two good Jedi had been wounded, but both had survived, for which Yoda would be eternally grateful. One with the Force they may have become, and while he could accept, even rejoice for such a fate, he was glad that day had not yet come.
Had young Kenobi been the first sacrifice to the coming conflagration?
Yoda was deeply concerned about Qui-Gon's seeming lack of interest in his padawan's well-being. The Force itself had seemed to draw the two together once it had overcome a certain Jedi master's stubborn resistance after a previous and disastrous pairing, though the shadows of that past had taken some time to entirely dissipate.
Said Jedi master had been called on those consequences: Master Dooku had made plenty of acerbic – and truthful – comments to his padawan about the unwitting harm he was doing his apprentice with his apparent reluctance to fully commit to him. Dooku would have plenty to say now, Yoda thought, if he knew of Qui-Gon's renunciation of Obi-Wan. His blistering words would even make Mace wince.
Now, years later, those words of warning might seem prophetic. The young boy uncertain of his place had finally found that uncertainty justified as a young man near his knighting.
Though there had not been consensus the time was now, all knew it was fast approaching.
The master and the Council had deliberated several times as to the padawan's readiness for the trials.
Obi-Wan was still young, still impulsive and not yet completely in control of himself. In a mix of admiration and exasperation, some in Council had muttered he could blame an unconventional master for not sooner taming those traits. Immersion in the Living Force only exacerbated those tendencies.
The steady round of solitary missions they piled on the young man was meant as his final preparation, a chance to find his own connection to the two sides of the Force.
It had come as a total shock during the last Council mission briefing when Qui-Gon stated his intention of taking the young boy, Anakin, as his apprentice, and tried to justify it by stating Obi-Wan was ready for the trials. He had stated just the opposite only a few weeks before, though acknowledging the day was near.
Obi-Wan had not been ready.
It was not his obvious anger and humiliation that had showed his lack of readiness as much as his inability to release the emotions – indeed he had not even thought to try to do such. Other than his immediate instinct to back his master by stepping forward and declaring his readiness, he had maintained his composure under difficult circumstances and managed to contain his raging emotions even before dismissal from Council.
Gifted in the Force the young man was, skilled in all areas. Perhaps this battle would prove to have been his final test, once either Jedi were in shape to speak of it, for to survive a fight with a Sith took extraordinary luck or a deep connection to the Force.
There was no such thing as luck to a Jedi. Only a providential nudge of the Force at the right time.
As to this so-called "Chosen One" of Qui-Gon's the Force said little, only whispered of dark potentials.
Was the danger in training the boy, or leaving him untrained? His eyes had flashed fire, but he had obeyed the Jedi master's stern command to sit outside and be quiet if he wished to stay with Qui-Gon.
With the proper guidance, there was a chance, just a chance he could live up to his potential. As to whether he was, or was not the "Chosen One," he was certainly biologically capable of great power; if he could harness it, he would be one of the most powerful Jedi in centuries.
Power alone does not make a great Jedi. Power comes from the heart and mind of a Jedi in balance.
An ancient Jedi saying that was, a whisper carried in the swirl of the Force more than two decades past, a whisper of a child yet to be born.
With a sigh, Yoda left Qui-Gon's side to check on Obi-Wan. He could not help but notice the defiant look on the young boy Anakin's face as he passed by, or his sudden rush into the room and his soft cry of "Master Qui-Gon, sir, you're awake" or Qui-Gon's sleepy and very content response.
Another sigh escaped Yoda as he stood in the doorway, for Obi-Wan looked almost as fragile as Qui-Gon. The absence of the cheery humor or serious thoughtfulness that added character was almost certainly the reason he looked so terribly young lying there as well.
The boy stood at the brink of knighthood, a worthy addition to the ranks and destined for great things, or so the Force had seemed to whisper. The path to greatness was strewn with obstacles large and small for greatness did not come without cost. Missteps and heartache, Obi-Wan had endured them all.
Along the way he had healed a cynical Jedi master's heart and proved a worthy companion, a student worthy of the master and certain to exceed him someday; perhaps even to stand among the pantheon of notable Jedi whose legends outlived their lives.
Pain was the catalyst, some said, to greatness. Luck, said others. Talent, a few. Yoda knew better. Greatness was earned, slow step by slow step, won with hard work and dedication. All were capable of greatness; few achieved it.
Greatness was only known after the fact and was not a destination, but a journey. Had Obi-Wan's been cut short?
Apparently not if Mace Windu had any say about it. Stern and unyielding Jedi master, he radiated concern and worry through the Force no matter how impossible to detect with mere eyes.
"How is the young one, any changes?"
Mace turned from his perusal of the scene outside the window and glanced at the sleeping padawan. "Weak, as before. I don't know how he kept going so long. This boy has real strength – and stubborn determination. What of Qui-Gon, has he awoken?"
Yoda leaned on his gimer stick and nodded.
"Wished only to see the boy…of Obi-Wan he showed no regard…certain now I am that this severance of the bond was caused by the master."
Mace blinked, the only sign of his disbelief. "What would make Qui-Gon do this to Obi-Wan? You don't think he…that Qui-Gon thought…dear Force, we need to talk to them and find out just what happened during that fight, or if something happened on the way here. I don't understand this and I most certainly do not like it. The damage…."
"Permanent it might be. At best – things have changed. Never the same again. The future has shifted and for the best I think not. Dark times ahead there are. For this one as well as the Jedi."
"At least he has a future."
Yoda blinked and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt every year of his nearly nine hundred.
"Obi-Wan, he is strong…the Jedi of whom I spoke – lived long he did not. Too much damage to his mind there was – found a way to die, he did. Wanted peace and sanity, found it he did by returning home to the Force."