Chapter 12: Yasa Kuteela Andoba Nudcha (There's Always Another War)

"Again!"

Obi-Wan raised the lightsaber in his shaking, aching arms into the ready position once more. He had hardly gotten into his stance when Xanatos was upon him, swinging his own saber in an arc at his head.

Obi-Wan barely managed to parry the strike. Xanatos followed up with a quick feint to the right, which might have tripped Obi-Wan up if he weren't so tired that he couldn't even begin to counter fast enough. The true strike came on his other side, which would have taken off half his arm if their lightsabers weren't set at training strength and if Obi-Wan hadn't lurched gracelessly back out of the way at the last second.

Xanatos rained blows down on Obi-Wan. It was all the boy could do to defend or dodge, forget about attacking. He managed to hold out for only a dozen moves this time before he felt the searing heat of Xanatos' lightsaber connecting with his wrist. He bit back a cry of pain. Another burn to add to his growing collection.

Xanatos sighed. "I think you're getting worse, little brother. Come now, put some actual effort into it, or I'll show you what the consequences are for slacking."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth against to the urge to tell Xanatos that he was exhausted from going at this for hours now and in pain from the numerous small burns and bruises his owner had inflicted. Xanatos never cared. "Pain is weakness leaving the body," he'd sneered when Obi-Wan had dared to complain, then extended their sparring session out of spite.

"Again!" Xanatos barked, and Obi-Wan barely managed to choke back a sob of frustration.

Xanatos defeated Obi-Wan in even fewer moves this time, disarming him and knocking him to the ground. Only his years of Temple training and practice in how to fall let Obi-Wan keep his head from impacting the ground hard.

"Are you even trying?" Xanatos yelled at him.

Obi-Wan did not tell Xanatos that he might do better if Xanatos would actually teach him something instead of just beating up on him in their sessions. He had made that mistake only once. He knew better now.

"Again!"

Obi-Wan staggered slowly to his feet, every limb protesting. This wasn't working. He needed to get Xanatos to stop somehow, or he would just keep going until Obi-Wan was really injured. He had done it before, and Obi-Wan recognized the signs that he was probably going to do it again.

He got back into position, but not the Shii-Cho opening stance he had learned at the Temple. This time he picked a slightly different one, one he had never tried in combat before, only practiced in katas. It might not work, but it couldn't make things worse for him at this point.

Xanatos charged him immediately. It seemed that he had not even noticed Obi-Wan's altered opening stance, because he swung at him from overhead as he usually did. Obi-Wan knew his style well by now, aggressive but sneaky. He could see in the man's shoulders and feet what he would do next. He just had to endure and watch.

On Xanatos' sixth move, Obi-Wan found his opening.

Xanatos came in with a left-right cross-body strike, one he had used many times before. This time, instead of trying to parry or retreat, Obi-Wan rushed toward his open left side, saber slashing up at Xanatos' face. The man leaned far back, away from the strike, taking a step back. In the split second his right foot was in the air, Obi-Wan pivoted and kicked the back of his left knee as hard as he could.

Xanatos went down, breath expelled from his lungs with a grunt as his back hit the mat.

Obi-Wan, having overbalanced with his last kick, also fell. He lay on his back on the mat for a moment, surprised that the move had actually worked—well, almost worked. He was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to fall too. Even still, for a moment, he felt something like tentative pride warm in his chest. Maybe if he tried it again when he was fresh instead of exhausted…

Suddenly Xanatos' blue lightsaber was an inch from his face, and the moment was gone.

"What in the Sith-hells was that?" the man snarled.

Obi-Wan lay very still. He could tell by the lightsaber's louder hum that it was no longer at training strength.

"A new move I learned from one of your datapad modules," he answered.

"Oh, you learned it from a datapad," Xanatos scoffed. "Do you know how to read properly? Your form was terrible. And it didn't even work. Are you sure you got it from one of my modules? They usually have much more useful information than whatever that was."

Xanatos got up, thankfully lifting his lightsaber away from Obi-Wan's face. "I suppose I shouldn't blame the modules," he sighed. "You're a rather slow learner, aren't you? Weeks now you've been sparring with me, and this is the first new move you've tried. Pathetic."

Obi-Wan swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, the pride from finally putting Xanatos on his back gone. He sat up slowly.

"If you know so much, maybe you could teach me how to do it properly," he said, then winced. He shouldn't backtalk Xanatos. He had just managed to, if not win a match, at least not lose. He should quit while he was ahead.

"Oh, so you want to be my apprentice now, is that it?" Xanatos said, voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Changed your little mind about that, have you?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "I didn't think so. You haven't learned your lesson yet."

For a moment, Obi-Wan was afraid that Xanatos would shout, Again! and it would start all over, but to his relief, Xanatos held out his hand for his lightsaber. The boy surrendered his weapon with a pang of sorrow. He was never allowed to touch it outside of sparring with Xanatos.

"I tire of your increasingly pitiful performance in the salle. I expect better next time we meet. I'm really trying to give you a chance here, but if you still refuse to improve, perhaps more motivation is needed." Obi-Wan didn't like the way Xanatos looked at him when he said that last.

Finally Xanatos stalked from the room, leaving Obi-Wan to sprawl back on the floor, relieved but completely drained. The boy only allowed himself to wallow for a minute though before he forced himself to start going through a series of stretches to ease his sore and smarting muscles. He knew now from experience that going straight to bed would only cause his body to hurt worse later on.

By the time he had dragged himself back to his bare, closet-sized room, he was physically exhausted. His mind, however, was still running over Xanatos' ominous last warning and refused to settle down. He sighed and pulled out the datapads he had borrowed from his owner, plopping them on his sleep couch. Might as well try to study if he couldn't sleep. He knew that Xanatos' standards were impossibly high, especially for someone like Obi-Wan, but he had no choice but to try to meet them.

He first consulted the learning modules on lightsaber forms to see what he had done wrong with the move he'd just used on Xanatos. He had taken it from Soresu, which he had chosen to study first. He was attracted to the form's emphasis on defense, which he sorely needed against Xanatos. Makashi also looked interesting, as it was developed specially for lightsaber-on-lightsaber combat, which could be useful for his specific circumstances. Most of the other forms seemed either too general in technique to be of particular use to him, or required far more power and strength than he had available to him at present.

He fell asleep slumped over the datapad screen, holographic illustrations of lightsaber forms blurring to indistinct figures fighting back and forth in his dreams.

"Enough!"

Obi-Wan raised his head off the mat, surprised. They'd only been sparring for an hour today, and Xanatos was already calling it quits?

"Get up. Your incompetence is nothing short of appalling," the man sneered.

Obi-Wan wiped the sweat from his brow and ignored the heavy feeling in his chest at the slight. He was getting better. He knew that he was getting better, even though Xanatos still thrashed him soundly nearly every time they sparred. He was lasting longer in bouts and receiving fewer burns from Xanatos' lightsaber, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't because Xanatos was going easier on him. He just needed more time. He was a slow learner, but he knew that he could improve if Xanatos would just be patient with him. Small chance of that happening though.

Xanatos held out his hand for Obi-Wan's lightsaber and the boy handed it over, as always. But this time, Xanatos changed the routine by gesturing for him to follow as he walked away. "Come, little brother. I have a new lesson in mind for today."

Obi-Wan suppressed the shudder that ran down his spine.

Xanatos took them to another room, one that looked like some kind of workshop, with a lab table covered in tools and tall storage cupboards full of materials. He fetched a cup of water, mixing in the contents of a vial before holding it out to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan shook his head, stomach twisting into knots. "No, thank you," he said, tongue sticking in his dry mouth. He would do almost anything for a cup of water after the heavy exertion of sparring, but not this. Not again.

Xanatos fixed him in his cold, blue gaze. "Drink it," he said, voice soft but carrying an unmistakable threat, "or you'll take it intravenously."

Obi-Wan hesitantly took the cup. He sent a quick prayer to the Force for the strength to face what came next before making himself choke down the contents. The spice tasted thick and overly sweet and settled heavily in his belly. He hoped he wouldn't be sick this time, as he had the last two times.

Xanatos nodded, satisfied that Obi-Wan had taken the drug, then sat down at a workbench and pulled out a multitool, which he used to start disassembling Obi-Wan's lightsaber as though getting ready to clean it. Obi-Wan stood by, watching, waiting.

"How old were you when you came to the Jedi Temple?" Xanatos finally asked him.

"I was about two, I think," Obi-Wan replied.

"What do you remember about your life before the Jedi took you?"

The boy shrugged. "Not much. Just a few snatches here and there. My mother's yellow shawl, my father's hands." He thought he could remember a baby. Did he have a younger sibling?

"But not their names?"

"No. They weren't in my Temple intake records. I don't know what happened to them."

"I didn't imagine you would. Most Jedi don't." Xanatos sniffed. "I am one of the few who remembered my family when I came to the Temple. Qui-Gon Jinn brought me in when I was five, somewhat later than is usual. It baffled me at first to realize that almost none of the other younglings remembered anything about their parents or backgrounds. I was shocked to discover that the Jedi took in any and all Force-sensitive children regardless of status and treated them all the same, whether they were nobility or peasantry.

"When Qui-Gon took me as his apprentice, I asked him about his origins, but he knew little about his family or home planet, nor did he wish to learn more. I was curious though. I wanted to know what kind of a man had taken me on to teach me the ways of the Force.

"I was disappointed to discover that his parents were nothing more than their system's equivalent of regular, working-class city folk. They'd achieved nothing more notable than producing a rare Force-sensitive child and handing it over to the Jedi. To be fair, at least they saw fit to do that much for their child. The planet's traditions are…decidedly detrimental to Force-sensitives.

"I was disappointed that my master did not come from a more exalted family line, as I did," Xanatos sighed. "I hoped to get closer to my grandmaster, Master Dooku, who was nobility on his homeworld, but he was hardly ever in the Temple, and Qui-Gon was not getting along with him at that time.

"Given my former master's disdain for his origins, imagine my surprise when I arrived on Bandomeer to find that he had taken on a new apprentice that shared his same homeworld."

Obi-Wan looked up, startled.

Xanatos definitely noticed his sudden interest. He smirked. "You didn't know that you are from the same system as Qui-Gon, did you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, then winced. The spice was already starting to make him feel dizzy. "How did—"

"How did I know that?" Xanatos chuckled. "Your people have very distinctive naming conventions. A two-syllable hyphenated first name isn't found in many other places. And you have the general look of an inhabitant of the place."

He paused to pull the blue kyber crystal from the hilt of Obi-Wan's lightsaber. Obi-Wan tensed at the sight of his bonded kyber in Xanatos' hand. It just looked wrong—it felt wrong, but he dared not speak out. He was relieved when the man set it down briefly to pull on a strange white glove which kept the kyber from touching his skin when he picked it up again.

"I thought he was such a hypocrite, my old master," Xanatos continued. "He had told me over and over again that we are all equals in the Force, regardless of where in the galaxy we come from. And there he was, favoring a boy from his own homeworld to teach, to train, to bond with."

Xanatos rose from his seat and came to stand in front of Obi-Wan. He took the boy's hand and brought it up to join his, clasping the kyber between their two palms. His other hand wrapped around the back of Obi-Wan's. It was kind of weird, but he wasn't hurting him, so Obi-Wan didn't protest.

"But he didn't favor you at all, did he, little brother?" Xanatos said, so soft it was almost a whisper.

Obi-Wan couldn't help the pang that went through him. No, he had not been worthy of Qui-Gon's notice.

Xanatos smirked, and Obi-Wan realized that he had felt his hurt. He tried to shore up his mental shields, but with the spice taking effect, his efforts were in vain.

"I later realized my mistake, though I really should have known much earlier," Xanatos said airily, as though every one of his words wasn't a barb in Obi-Wan's heart. The spice not only brought down his defenses, but it made him more emotional, more susceptible to his owner's cruelty, and he was really starting to feel it now. "The very thing that made me think he'd claimed you, your name, should have given it away."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure if it was the spice that was making his head spin, or if he was just confused. What did his name have to do with anything?

"It's a very distinctive name, even in the system it's from. Do you know what it means?" Obi-Wan shook his head, setting it spinning again. He breathed deeply through his nose. He was going to throw up again if he didn't get it together.

"Obi-Wan means 'no-name,'" Xanatos said lightly. Obi-Wan went still, breath stuttering. "It's most often given to foundlings that are too young when they are orphaned to tell anyone the name they were given at birth. When they're adopted, their new parents usually give them another name. And Kenobi means 'clanless.' That is the name one must go by if they have done something so terrible that they were cast out of their clan and had their family name stripped from them.

"The two names together are rather singular. Being named Obi-Wan Kenobi is…unlucky. An ill omen. A child born under a star so dark that their own kin must cast them out to free themselves of the curse the child brings with them and mark them with a name that all know to avoid."

Obi-Wan's whole body felt suddenly cold. Could it be true? His kyber pulsed anxiously in his palm, reacting to his dismay. Xanatos smirked. "So you see, I should have known all along Qui-Gon would never want you."

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, but his heart felt like a stone in his chest. "That's not—he wouldn't—"

"I assure you my information is accurate. Look it up yourself if you like," Xanatos offered. He tapped his chin in a show of pensiveness. "I suppose there is a chance that Qui-Gon didn't know about certain naming conventions on his homeworld. As I said, he was never really curious about his past. He preferred to live in the here and now. I think I might very well know more about my old master's homeworld than he does at this point."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He knew it couldn't be true—he wasn't like that, he wasn't…wasn't bad…

"However," Xanatos continued thoughtfully, glancing slyly down at Obi-Wan's stricken face, "the people that a man is born to have an influence on more than we know. There are some things that are in our blood, instincts that are passed down through generations that chill our bones and make our hair stand on end, that warn us away. It is subtle, but Qui-Gon always liked subtleties, and he was all about following instinct. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that you were a curse to his people."

"'M not—I'm n-not a curse," Obi-Wan stuttered, but he wasn't sure, and he knew that Xanatos could sense his uncertainty.

"Does it matter? Your people certainly thought you were, enough to call you Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan dropped his head to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. "Why—w-why—"

"Why tell you these terrible things? I only tell you to give you context, so that you can understand." Xanatos said, voice dripping with false sympathy. He cupped Obi-Wan's cheek in his hand and pulled his face back up to look him in the eye. "Now you know why Qui-Gon rejected you. He couldn't help it, and neither could you. It's in your blood."

His crystal sang out to him in sadness, and Obi-Wan felt the brimming tears finally overflow, rolling down his face. Xanatos smoothed one away with his thumb in a mockery of kindness. Ashamed, Obi-Wan pulled away from his hand and he allowed it, allowed the boy to drop his head and avoid his cold gaze.

"P-please let me go," Obi-Wan begged his owner, voice rough with emotion that he could not restrain, try as he might. "I understand. I understand the lesson. Please."

"Lesson?"

"You said—you said—"

"Ah yes, I did say there would be a lesson. This isn't the lesson though, dear boy."

Obi-Wan's kyber shivered, his heart clenching in fear at the endearment. "Then what—"

"The lesson isn't for you, little brother. It's for me."

Sudden pain erupted in Obi-Wan's whole body, locking his limbs and seizing his chest in unbearable tension. It held him for a moment that seemed like an eternity, agony stretching seconds into hours. He couldn't even scream through a jaw snapped firmly shut.

When the pain finally let up, Obi-Wan almost collapsed. Only Xanatos' hand still in his and his own stubbornness kept him swaying on his feet. He saw the electroprod in Xanatos' other hand. The glove made sense now, he thought distantly—it must be insulated.

He looked up into Xanatos' cold blue eyes, begging wordlessly to understand why he was to be tortured now.

"My…associate is teaching me many things, things the Jedi would never dare touch," the man told him. "I have learned much already that has increased my power. But if I am to go further, I must have a weapon worthy of the power I seek to wield.

"I have learned the theory of a technique that will create this weapon. As it happens, it requires a kyber crystal. And my associate assures me that the only proper kyber to use is one that I have taken from a Jedi."

Obi-Wan's heart stuttered in his chest, not entirely from the aftershocks. The kyber crystal in his palm quivered with his fear. "No, please!" he begged, trying in vain to tug his hand free from Xanatos' tightening grasp. "I'm not trained, I'm a reject, a failure! I'm not a real Jedi!"

"But haven't you called yourself a Jedi, many times now, in fact?" Xanatos asked, faux sweetness coating his voice again. "What is it that I hear from your lips every time I so graciously offer you a chance to join me?"

Obi-Wan hung his head. Xanatos was right. Obi-Wan was stubbornly clinging to an identity that wasn't his to claim anymore.

"Pain is the key to this ritual, little brother," Xanatos said, brushing the back of his hand over Obi-Wan's tear-stained face in a false show of consolation. "I suggest you open yourself to it and accept it. Allow me to channel it into the kyber. Do not resist, and it will all be over soon."

Despite what Xanatos promised, Obi-Wan wanted to resist. He wanted to fight, but it was futile. The spice kept his shields down and his mind open. He couldn't concentrate enough to try to sever his bond with his kyber, and he wouldn't know how to do it even if he wanted to. It was a part of him—how could he cut it out?

When Xanatos shocked him with the electroprod again, Obi-Wan fell to his knees. Xanatos still did not let go of his hand.

The man was relentless. He wasn't after just physical pain, though that was bad enough. He continued to talk to Obi-Wan as he tortured him, prying into the boy's negative emotions, saying terrible things about him, about Qui-Gon Jinn, about the Jedi, about the galaxy. He somehow knew every shameful thing that Obi-Wan had secretly feared about himself and spoke it out loud, like it was obvious and readily apparent to anyone that he was a useless, weak, unworthy, foolish boy who could only make mistakes and mess things up.

That he would never find a place or people that would care about him or want him, not after his birth family and the Jedi both had cast him aside.

That nothing he could do would ever help or matter to anyone.

Obi-Wan couldn't fight back. All he could do was grit his teeth and try to bear it all, the pain and the heartache, but it hurt so much, and had for what seemed so very, very long…

There was a sudden surge of dark energy in the Force between Obi-Wan and Xanatos, and it was as if an explosion had gone off at their feet. Obi-Wan was thrown across the room into a storage cabinet. He hit the ground in a shower of shattered glass.

He lifted his aching head to see Xanatos across the room, cursing as he extricated himself from a separator curtain that he'd taken down with his fall. There were little cuts all over Obi-Wan's body from the broken glass.

There was something digging into his clenched palm, something sharp and painful. He turned his hand over to see—perhaps it was a shard of glass—

He opened his fist to see red, red as blood, but that wasn't what was in his hand. He sobbed when he realized, and the pain pulsed up his arm and into his chest.

He held his kyber, once a clear, glimmering blue, now a dark, hideous red.

"Ben!"

Anakin's plaintive cry cuts through the sudden hush. Qui-Gon has never heard anything sound quite so young or so vulnerable. Ben's eyes widen in hope and fear when he hears his child so near, but in so much danger. Qui-Gon realizes then that Padmé was right; he should never have brought the boy here. He shouldn't have to see this, his father bloodied and bruised and kneeling, at the mercy of a creature who will show him none.

Padmé takes a step forward, like she just can't help wanting to go to Ben's aid. The Sith warrior's lightsaber flashes to Ben's neck. Ben has to tilt his head far back to avoid the plasma blade, fully exposing the length of his throat. The red glow makes it look as though his throat is already drenched in blood.

"I'll handle this," Qui-Gon tells the others.

The queen exchanges a look with her captain. "We'll take the long way."

As the rest of the infiltration unit disperses, Qui-Gon divests himself of his outer robe and readies his lightsaber. His brief encounter with this warrior on Tatooine had been enough to tell him that this battle would not be easy.

The Sith responds by yanking Ben up by his bound arms, starting to lift him to his feet. In doing so, he lowers his saber ever so slightly so he does not nick Ben's throat by accident.

Ben, however, takes this slight relaxation as an opening. He jerks his head back into the Zabrak's solar plexus, then goes limp, sliding out from under the saber. He falls to the floor but doesn't stop there, executing a complicated move while lying on his side that would have swept his opponent's feet out from under him.

The warrior employs a Force-assisted leap back to avoid Ben's kick, but Ben does not pause to even see if his move was successful, instead rolling away from his captor and flowing up onto his feet, halfway between the Sith and Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon immediately lights his saber and with one sweep of the blade, slices through the binders holding Ben's arms behind his back.

"Are you all right?" Qui-Gon asks the young man who is shaking out his wrists, neither of them taking their eyes off the Sith crouching before them.

"Let's take him down," Ben responds evenly, calling a downed droid's blaster to him with the Force.

The dark warrior spins toward them, red lightsaber flashing, and Qui-Gon leaps to meet him. Their lightsabers connect with a clash like thunder as the battle is joined.

The fight is heated from the very beginning, and already one of the most difficult of Qui-Gon's career. The Zabrak starts with a series of arm-shaking attacks that take all of Qui-Gon's focus to parry. He manages to break apart from his opponent for a moment, which is when Ben starts shooting. He's a passable shot, smartly aiming mostly at the Zabrak's feet in an attempt to destabilize him and making it so that he would have to reach down and leave himself open to deflect the bolts back at them with his saber.

The warrior, however, hardly even seems inconvenienced. He trades blows with Qui-Gon, getting in close enough that Ben can't shoot for fear of hitting his ally instead of the enemy. Then when he and Qui-Gon break apart, he smoothly dodges or deflects Ben's shots until engaging Qui-Gon again.

The fight moves through a door and down a hallway, which is not ideal for Qui-Gon and Ben. The hall is by no means narrow, but it's not quite wide enough for Ben to take full advantage of his ranged weapon to force the Zabrak where they want him to go. Instead, the dark warrior is the one leading them where he wishes, and Qui-Gon has no doubt that he has had plenty of time to familiarize himself with the routes in and out of the hangar while he and Ben have no such advantage.

The next time Qui-Gon pushes him back, the Zabrak is ready to counter. He dodges two blaster bolts and deflects the third right back at Ben, knocking the blaster out of his hand.

At the same time, he leads them into what must be the plasma refinery, a larger room lit with an eerie glow by vast shafts of electric blue plasma. Ben spreads out to Qui-Gon's left to form a triangle with their opponent, covering him from different angles—or that's what they would be doing if Ben still had a weapon. Qui-Gon hesitates—Ben is weaponless and vulnerable in this position, too close to the Sith and too far from Qui-Gon for the older man to cover him should the foe try to go after an unarmed opponent.

That's when something very strange happens, something Qui-Gon cannot explain.

Ben suddenly straightens, almost dropping out of his stance, then closes his eyes and puts his right hand, his dominant hand, behind his back.

Completely at a loss for why Ben would suddenly drop his guard like that, Qui-Gon immediately presses his attack in a desperate bid to keep the Sith's attention on him. He is perhaps too desperate, for the warrior quickly finds a hole in his defense to exploit. A powerful kick to the face lands Qui-Gon on his back on the ground, dazed. He fumbles to get his lightsaber back up in time to block the strike heading straight for him, but knows that he will not be fast enough.

There is a flash of bright, white light, and the crackling crash of two lightsabers meeting.

Qui-Gon can scarcely believe his own eyes when he sees Ben standing over him, a pure white lightsaber in his hand.

He didn't have that two seconds ago.

…Right?

The Sith warrior is clearly just as shocked, yellow eyes wide at this unexpected development. Ben takes advantage of his momentary surprise to Force-push him back several meters before the Sith barely catches himself on the edge of the platform, giving Ben the space to give Qui-Gon a hand up.

Qui-Gon has so many questions, but they will all have to wait. He decides to take a chance and uses the physical contact of Ben's hand in his to quickly open a connection between them in the Force. It's not a bond, they don't have time for that, but it is communication. If Ben can hold it, it will give them an awareness of each other in the Force, which will hopefully allow them to coordinate their movements and fighting styles. It is a risk though, if Ben finds the input from an unfamiliar person distracting rather than helpful. But Qui-Gon is a Jedi Master with more than a little experience in keeping his emotions in check during tense situations. He thinks—hopes—that he can hold the connection for the both of them.

Ben, to Qui-Gon's relief, immediately grabs onto the connection and helpfully opens himself to it, sharing of himself with the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon feels something quite like pride in his heart as they turn and face the dark warrior as one, lightsabers in hand.

The Sith scowls, momentarily confounded by this switch-up. Then he ignites a second blade to make his weapon a lightstaff, and Qui-Gon realizes the fight is just beginning.

What follows puts any duel Qui-Gon has ever seen to shame. He thinks even his old master would have been astonished—which would be saying something, because Master Dooku is a consummate master of Makashi and expert in lightsaber dueling, and as a personality, very difficult to impress.

The Zabrak warrior is relentless, each movement executed with a ruthless efficiency and fierce strength that Qui-Gon finds himself hard-pressed to match blow for blow. What's more concerning is the fierce hatred that he can sense emanating from the Sith in the Force. Qui-Gon has never felt such darkness. It clouds his senses, almost crawling over him, as though searching for a way to worm into his soul. He gives more of his attention to bolstering his shields and feels Ben do the same across their connection.

If Qui-Gon had worried about how Ben would be able to handle himself, he needn't have. Ben seems to be holding fast against the Sith's dark hatred, both mentally and physically. If it is getting to him, he doesn't show it. Qui-Gon can sense very little of Ben's feelings from his side of their connection, which could only result from years spent developing his emotional control. He had also clearly trained with a lightsaber at some point—how and when this could have occurred is another question—and he quickly translates his regular fighting style to the lightsaber. He sticks mostly to an impenetrable defense, but lashes out to harry their opponent whenever he becomes too focused on Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon senses through their connection that he is trying to goad the warrior into creating an opening for Qui-Gon to take advantage of, recognizing that Qui-Gon's favored style Ataru is more suited to an aggressive attack. And it works at least once—Qui-Gon is certain he managed to swipe the Zabrak's side with what should have been a nasty burn, though annoyingly the assassin doesn't show any outward sign of pain.

The fight rages back and forth across the walkways that connect the plasma tubes, even jumping between them at times. Sometimes the Zabrak gets a hit in that puts Qui-Gon or Ben on the back foot, but the other man is always there to cover him when that happens. Despite Ben's great endurance and defensive strategy, the warrior eventually manages to get past his guard with a feint followed by a quick swipe from his other blade. The red saber slices through the front of Ben's shirt just as he makes a desperate jump backward. Qui-Gon, heart in his throat, can barely spare a glance to check on him, so complete is the concentration he needs to continue fighting the Sith, but he does not feel any pain from Ben's side of the connection. Either he is unhurt, or he is blocking out the pain with his durasteel-clad control.

Qui-Gon is abruptly forced to stop worrying about Ben's possible injury when the Sith gives him something new to worry about by taking advantage of Ben's momentary imbalance to kick him over the edge of the walkway.

Qui-Gon's stomach plummets with Ben. There is nothing he can do to help the boy in this moment. If he could spare the energy and focus, he might be able to use the Force to guide Ben to a safe landing, but the dark warrior is not giving him an inch.

Qui-Gon ruthlessly uses the surge of protective fervor he feels to momentarily gain the upper hand, knocking the warrior off the walkway to land on another catwalk several meters below. He pursues, jumping after him to continue the battle.

Seconds that feel like hours pass before he feels a pulse in the connection, Ben letting him know that he is all right.

The abrupt relief Qui-Gon feels at Ben's survival is immediately overtaken by an unassailable determination to finish this fight—alone. The boy's life has been at risk far too many times already, and Qui-Gon will not allow him to be hurt again for his sake. It is not a burden that should fall to him to put his life on the line to protect others from darkness. This is the mandate of the Jedi, and Qui-Gon is prepared to accept whatever the Force may demand of him. He leaps over the head of the Sith and renews his attack, doing some pushing of his own to distance the battle from the point where Ben fell.

The Zabrak backs away before him, giving up ground perhaps a little too easily. Though as a tactical decision, it makes sense for him to want to put space between them and his second opponent so he no longer has to fight two-on-one.

Qui-Gon senses Ben reaching out to him through their connection, urging him to wait for him, to not allow the dark warrior to separate them. There is something so familiar in the boy's call, something that reaches far back into Qui-Gon's memory. He had assumed his familiarity with Ben's mind came from their shared meditation on Tatooine, but now he is not so sure. He ignores it. It cannot matter right now. All that matters is that he defeat the Sith, to protect Naboo—to protect Ben—from the menacing darkness.

Just ahead, Qui-Gon can see a laser gate. He intends to corner the assassin with his back against it, but as they approach, the gate suddenly opens. Qui-Gon is forced to keep pushing the Sith through into the corridor and past a series of laser gates lining the hall.

He doesn't consider that this is exactly what the assassin wanted him to do until the gates slam closed again, one of them coming down directly between him and his foe.

Qui-Gon watches as the Zabrak tests the integrity of the laser shield with his lightsaber. Clearly their battle is at a forced standstill. They will have to wait for the gates to open again to continue.

Reassured that the Zabrak is firmly separated from him, Qui-Gon sheathes his lightsaber and kneels to rest and meditate if he can. He first slows his breathing, which is quick with exertion, then takes stock of the rest of his body. He has no serious injuries—a few bruises from where the warrior landed a kick or laid him out, but no burns or bleeds. His arms and legs are shaking with exhaustion. He breathes into his limbs, letting the Force imbue them and carry his weariness away.

Though his eyes are closed, he can sense the Sith pacing in front of him, watching him with a dreadful loathing roiling in the Force. He had never realized how much it would take out of him just to reinforce his mental shields against this kind of assault on his psyche.

He can sense Ben somewhere behind him, locked out of the corridor at the first set of laser gates. He feels a reassuring pulse through their connection. There is still something familiar about the sensation that Qui-Gon cannot place, but he doesn't have time to think about it now. He focuses on girding himself in the Force.

It may have been seconds or minutes—Qui-Gon is too focused on his breath and the Force to notice the passage of time—when he feels movement in front of him. He surges to his feet as the laser gates open, and his lightsaber meets the Sith's with a loud clash as the battle is rejoined.

The room they fight in now is tricky terrain, with most of the center of the floor taken up by an enormous pit so deep that Qui-Gon cannot see the bottom. He must be mindful of each step he takes, lest he be forced off the narrow floor space to fall to his death.

It happens fast, so fast that for a moment, Qui-Gon isn't even sure what has come to pass. He comes in with an overhead strike, which the warrior blocks with a lateral staff, and then…Then Qui-Gon is reeling back from a blow to the head, followed by a blow to the chest, and then there is pain—terrible pain that sears right through his body.

"Nooo!"

He watches, as though from outside himself, as the Sith withdraws his red lightsaber from his chest. He can't make his legs move—he falls to his knees, and when they won't hold him, onto his side. The boy's disbelieving, desperate cry cuts off, but still echoes in the air and in the Force, familiar, so familiar.

Qui-Gon can't move. Obi-Wan is right there, he can feel him, but he can't move…

The boy is fighting the dark warrior. Qui-Gon can just see them through the blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision. He must get up, he must help him, but he can't. He never could.

The Sith is powerful, but the young man is unyielding. The Force sings with their battle, red-hot wrath whirling against white, cold conviction. The rage is suffocating, but the boy's faith is steadfast.

The white lightsaber slices through the red lightstaff, and now the dark warrior is down to one blade. With a kick, he is sent sprawling to the ground where he barely manages to deflect a downward strike aimed at him from the apex of a strong leap. But a moment later he is on his feet again, and lashing out at the young man with a kick to the face. The boy backflips away, not allowing the blow to lay him low.

Qui-Gon struggles to keep his eyes open. He must wait, he has to know… He cannot rejoin the Force yet.

The assassin shoves the boy back with the Force. Qui-Gon's cry of dismay is caught in his throat as he watches him go tumbling to the edge of the pit. By some miracle, the young man manages to catch himself on the edge. He kicks off the wall of the pit in a strong Force-assisted leap that carries him over the head of the startled Zabrak, who turns, not quite quick enough, only to lose his hand to the white saber.

The Sith's right hand and red lightsaber plummet down, down into the pit, lost forever. The dark warrior falls to his knees at the point of the young knight's white weapon.

"Yield," the Jedi commands him.

"I cannot," the Sith snarls.

"You will die," the young knight decrees.

"I will have my revenge," the dark one swears.

There is movement beside Qui-Gon, a tug in the Force, and his lightsaber, abandoned on the ground beside him, is flying into the Sith's remaining hand. A flash of green light illuminates the space.

The knight knocks the attack aside and strikes down across the Sith's body, cleaving him from shoulder to hip. His body falls, and then keeps falling, down and down for an age.

Qui-Gon closes his eyes. He knew his lightsaber would never serve the darkness. A Sith should know better than to try.

He feels a hand on his head, lifting him up, but the sensation is muffled, as though he is not fully in his body. "Obi-Wan?" he murmurs. "Is it you? You're alive?" He doesn't know why he didn't recognize the boy he lost before, but it is as if a veil has been lifted from him that he didn't even know was there.

"Yes, Master, it's me." Qui-Gon reaches up with a hand that does not quite feel like it's attached to his body to touch the boy's face. Obi-Wan's blue eyes are filled with concern, but not for himself. Some things do not change.

"Thank the Force, you live," Qui-Gon sighed. "And you are the father of the Chosen One. That is good, good. I am sorry, so sorry, that I could not find you. That I did not see—I'm sorry—" His hand falls back to his chest. The pain is ebbing. He is losing his hold on consciousness. He can only hope that the words he manages to gasp out are understandable to Obi-Wan, that he knows how contrite Qui-Gon is for what happened so many years ago.

"There is nothing to forgive, Master." Obi-Wan is too kind to him, too good to dismiss his faults, even in what feels like may be his last moments. They truly are lucky that Anakin has such a wise and caring father.

"The boy needs you," Qui-Gon tells him. "He is the Chosen One. He will bring balance." His eyes fall shut. "Defend him."

Qui-Gon feels the weight of Obi-Wan's hand on his brow. The Force is calling him, but it is too soon—he has not finished what he was meant to do. He cannot go now.

And yet, the Force is calling. He will do his best to listen.

And there we have it—Qui-Gon finally got a clue! But perhaps too late?

Thank you everyone who participated in the betting pool; there were a lot of great guesses about how/when Qui-Gon would recognize Obi-Wan. But there can be only one winner!

Well actually, there can be four! That's right, I'm announcing a four-way tie! If I really had to go with only one winner, it would be rayningnight, who accurately guessed Chapter 12 and that it would be when Obi-Wan fights Maul. But Nightshade_sydneylover150 also guessed Chapter 12, and HolaBonjour and Kittystargen3 both thought it was Chapter 13, but were pretty accurate on how Qui-Gon would figure it out.

Congratulations, you four! You each get a drabble of your choice that is a "missing scene" from this AU. If you like, you can wait to send me your prompt until the conclusion of the fic. Hopefully that won't be too much longer. ;)

Thanks again, everybody! May the Force be with you!

ln(^_~)