Ash floated in the twisting hot wind, fluttering down across rubble and steaming ruins. Under a burning sky, with cloth tied across his face to protect him from the choked air, a solitary man moved purposefully, stopping and searching every few paces. He reached out with the Force, looking for those still alive, pulling bodies from the twisted wreckage of the Temple.
Scattered blaster fire and screams of agony pierced the place that had once been a haven of serenity. He knew he could not remain much longer. Capture would mean torture, and slow extraction of information about the last strongholds of his kind. He could not allow that to happen. Still, something held him to the massive pile of melted metal and transparisteel, and he felt his stomach lurch as he called for his padawan. The lack of response tore his heart, but he shoved his despair aside and continued on, searching until his hands bled and his eyes stung with smoke....
With a start, Qui-Gon woke from the recurring nightmare. He wiped a hand over the cooling sweat on his face, sighing out a long breath of sadness. Even after time had separated him from the scene of so much anguish, the images were clear in his mind, and the grief was raw. He could still feel the boy's bright, intense presence, like a tiny spark imbedded within his subconscious. It was that way often, but this time, something was different -- the sense of nearness did not fade as the dream became shadow. With sudden awareness, he realized he was not alone in the room.
Qui-Gon rolled fluidly to his side and vaulted from the bed, automatically reaching out with the Force for his saber. Too late, he remembered it was gone, and instinctively he launched himself in the direction of the shape near his bed. Hard contact was made between bodies as he knocked the intruder to the ground, wrestling him into a prone position. The man beneath him went limp, complying with the unspoken demand that he yield, and Qui-Gon turned him roughly.
Wide blue eyes gleamed in the low light, shining with moisture, and the faint outline of a circular scar was visible. The jumbled visual cues snapped together with stunning clarity in Qui-Gon's mind, and the Force locked them together with the distinct and memorable Force signature of a training bond.
With a gasp, Qui-Gon reached down and pulled the young man roughly to his feet, needing to see, to be sure of what he already knew. The handsome features solidified as he drew his former apprentice into the light, and he stopped breathing for a moment, as time stopped, and he was plunged back into his nightmare, into the past, into what could never be again.
"Xanatos," he said, joy shaping the tone of the word, and the young man bowed his head at the sound of his name. A sudden sob wracked Xan, silently heaving through his body, and he shook under Qui-Gon's hands.
"Master," his former apprentice said, as Qui-Gon enfolded him in a tight, fierce embrace. Slowly, arms rose, wrapped themselves around the body of the Jedi Master, and they remained still in the comfort of each other for a long moment.
"I believed you to be dead," Qui-Gon said, releasing the pain of his belief with the utterance of it. "I searched for you in the ruins of the Temple...I called for you, but there was nothing, and I could not stay. I could not stay...." The echo was fraught with deeply held anguish, and the voice trembled.
Xanatos pulled back from Qui-Gon to look at him, and for the first time, Qui-Gon saw the changes wrought in the years since the destruction of the Temple. No longer a boy on the cusp of becoming a man, Xanatos had matured. He had become a graceful presence with intelligent eyes and an aura of quiet strength and sensuality.
"I knew you would search for me," Xan said, voice unsteady. His hands tightened on Qui-Gon's arms as he stood, pulling Qui-Gon up with him. "I escaped into the streets of Coruscant, for a time, but I couldn't stay hidden down there forever. The Sith were everywhere...and I was injured too badly to make a stand. I knew of no safe place, nowhere to hide, no refuge." Horror flashed quickly through the blue eyes, deflected roughly into the Force, unfocused.
Qui-Gon absorbed the pain of memory, and detached his own emotions as they threatened to overwhelm him. One question rose to the surface, pushing aside so many others. "How did you come to be here?" he asked as he moved away to touch the light panel. The room was flooded with illumination, and the answer to his query was revealed in a flash of metal - a highly stylized slave bracelet, gold and green twined together, curling around the rounded bicep of Xan's left upper arm. He raised startled eyes, and the sadness in Xan's face mirrored his own.
"I was captured by Sith troops and interrogated, but I was only a student and not worth their time. They could have killed me, but there was profit to be made from the sale of such handsome merchandise." There was a soft kind of bitterness behind Xan's words, and something else Qui-Gon couldn't put his finger on. "After some time on a slaver ship, I was bartered to the seraglio master who works for the Regent and brought to Taganor. I was fortunate to find favor with my master...."
The last word sounded strange, out of context, and totally wrong to Qui-Gon. He sighed. "You have accepted this life as a slave?" he asked, surprise and a hint of disapproval coloring his tone.
Xanatos' expression changed subtly, and he answered, "I have accepted what is. There's no point in dwelling on what might have been. My life as a Jedi wasn't meant to be. The Force dictated another path for my life. There is no escape from this, not for me."
Qui-Gon flinched at the implication. A deep feeling of bitterness and loss washed through him, as he contemplated the life Xanatos had missed, the things he had never done and would never do because he lived in servitude.
Xanatos stepped closer, and Qui-Gon knew enough remained of their bond for the younger man to sense his unease and regret. "Release your guilt for me, Master. My life is not unhappy, and I have found a kind of peace here."
"Peace in slavery is a contradiction in terms." Said more harshly than intended, the words contained an undertone of judgment. "Have you never contemplated escape?"
"An opportunity never arose." Xanatos swallowed, extending the pause, and continued, "It was some time before I was able to use the Force again, and if I failed in the attempt, I would be killed. I found...that my life was the only possession of importance to me, and I wasn't ready to die."
Qui-Gon nodded with heavy understanding. Alone, with no one to guide or advise him, his apprentice had succumbed to his fear. It was easy for the young ones to forget the abstract concept of life within the Force after the physical body died. He waited for his one-time student to continue.
"I have found contentment in this place." Xanatos moved closer and pressed a hand to his former master's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "The Regent is not an unreasonable man, and he has some importance to me."
Qui-Gon looked into the shockingly blue eyes, probing without subtlety into the remnants of their bond, and found himself rebuffed. "Importance?" he asked out loud, challenging Xanatos to define his explanation.
Xanatos met his eyes steadily, without speaking, and the moment where Qui-Gon might have demanded details passed quietly. Instead, the tables were quickly turned.
"I have heard it said in the seraglio, among those whose duty it has been to train you, that the Jedi learns his lessons well." It was a statement, but the hint of interrogation lingered underneath. "I would have thought your primary concern would be to escape, to rejoin your comrades. If any have survived," he added casually, blue gaze piercing through to Qui-Gon's heart. "Are there any other Jedi alive?"
Qui-Gon hesitated, and chose his words carefully. It had, after all, been many years, and there was no way to know why the question was asked. "Some live, yes. But they have scattered, and the Order is no longer organized. We do what we must to survive."
A smile twisted Xanatos' mouth, shocking in its brilliance and bitterness. "So true."
Tension sparkled between them suddenly, fueled by secrecy. It faded into the awkward distance of men who have fallen away from common ground, and were unsure of the way home.
"Were you...mistreated?" Qui-Gon asked suddenly, breaking the moment. Far easier to ask about the past, than to confront the present.
Xanatos swallowed, and his jaw hardened. He turned away slightly, tensing as he spoke. "I was not mistreated. Much. But I was not allowed to make any choices. In the beginning, that was hardest to accept."
Qui-Gon reached out again with the Force, sensing vulnerability, and understood with complete certainty that Xanatos was concealing something from him, something so crucial that he was throwing all his skill with the Force into keeping it locked away. Qui-Gon considered his options; he decided to follow his instincts, and let it go without questioning the younger man. Those same instincts tickled at his better judgment, telling him to refrain from giving Xan any information that could later prove fatal to the few Jedi still living.
He lifted his hand and ran a finger around the edges of the jagged circle on Xan's cheek, tracing it with wistful care. "You still bear this," he observed, dropping his hand. "Why did your master not have it removed, to preserve your beauty?"
"I wouldn't allow it, and eventually, they stopped trying to persuade me." Proudly, Xan lifted his head. "It was the turning point of my life. I wear it to remind me...of all that is lost."
Vividly, Qui-Gon recalled how Xanatos had created the scar on his own face. Qui-Gon had been sent to deal with Xan's father, an evil man bent on destroying millions of lives by his alliance with the Sith. Xanatos had been forced to choose, and he had made his decision, standing neutral as Qui-Gon took his father's life. Qui-Gon's blade cut cleanly through the ring Xan's father always wore when he struck the killing blow, and his apprentice had picked up the white-hot metal, pressing it to his face. The boy had fallen to his knees, screaming his grief and outrage as he marked himself forever as a Jedi, devoted to the Light.
"I will not forget that moment," Qui-Gon answered, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he remembered his padawan crumpled in his arms, wounded and weeping with despair.
"I have made it my business to remember." Xanatos' body quivered suddenly, and he leaned forward, as though ready to launch himself into the circle of Qui-Gon's arms. Like a sudden storm, the impulse passed, and he turned away again. "I can't linger here, Master. If I'm found in these quarters after the night chimes sound, you will be punished, and I will incur the Regent's wrath. Not a desirable situation."
"His good graces are important to you, then?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised at himself for asking, even more surprised at the flare of jealousy that tingled across his heart as he waited for the answer. It was irrational, completely contrary to everything he had come to believe of himself...but it was there nonetheless.
"Yes," Xanatos answered, and there was a deep note of longing in the words, an infusion of emotion Qui-Gon had not wished to hear. The younger man reached out, leaned against the cold metal of the door, fingers splayed. "I will come again, to talk of what is, and what was, if you would not mind."
"To know that you live gives me great joy, Padawan." Such a simple title, and yet Xanatos straightened noticeably.
Xanatos turned his face slightly, so only the scarred cheek and the corner of a blue eye were visible. "And I am pleased to know you have survived, Master. I only hope there can be a way for us both to find survival here." Without elaborating, he left, leaving Qui-Gon staring at the closed doors.
Alive...it was impossible, but true. He should have known, should have felt it or sensed it. So many years had passed by, and he had never searched the depths of Coruscant, never scoured the ship's logs of pirates and slavers, never once questioned his own belief that Xanatos was lost to him. It had been more convenient, in the course of saving his own hide, to convince himself that no one could have survived.
Yet many had. And he had known that, had helped to heal the wounded, had touched their minds, felt their agony and seen the last moments of the Jedi Order in its vanishing grandeur. He had known. It was rationalization to say otherwise. Part of him shied from examination of his motives, remembering Xan's plea to release his guilt.
But it was his fault. All of it. Years of captivity, any abuses the boy had suffered, Xan's calm acceptance of his place as a slave - his fault. And now they were trapped together at the whim of a man Qui-Gon did not know, with an unwanted bond in place, stronger than anything he had ever felt. Deep inside, he felt the truth of it.
Xanatos would be an obstacle to a goal he never wanted to pursue to begin with.
A question played through his mind, over and over, until he felt the edges of it becoming blurred. This jealousy...was it for the padawan enslaved to another, or for the man who held his apprentice in thrall? He could not tell.
Qui-Gon sank slowly to the ground, numbed by new knowledge and new questions. Arms curled around knees, he sat, motionless, as faint sunlight climbed across the sill of the tall windows, banishing gloom by degrees.
In his heart, cold darkness remained.
There were a number of images floating through the Regent's mind, all darkly deviant and wrapped in the purest kind of fantasy - the kind that needs only a summons and a command to make it real. It was satisfying to know his needs could be met on a whim, and also disquieting.
He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the mysteries of attraction and need, puzzled by the primal instinct that had drawn him to Jinn. He felt ruled by it, owned in a way he had never expected. The pull was stronger than anything he had ever experienced.
"Watch me, Obi-Wan!" Anakin's shout broke his reverie. With tired eyes, he watched the young heir vaulting around the mat, perfecting the first exercise he'd ever learned, whirling a stick the approximate size of a lightsaber. Soon enough, he would hold a stick of light in his hand. The thought of what he would do with it, and in whose service it would be done, deadened Obi-Wan's heart a bit more, tearing it around the periphery, where truth lurked.
"Very good, Ani," he called, picking up an object with the Force and hurling it almost idly toward his charge. The small bucket clattered into the stick as Anakin deflected it almost effortlessly. Obi-Wan felt his eyebrow climbing. It was an impressively intuitive move for one so young and comparatively untrained.
There would be no limit to his power when he was a grown man, with benefit of the best instructors the Sith could offer.
Anakin laughed, and mischief danced in his eyes. With a smile, Obi-Wan turned his full attention to the solo exercise, sending more and more small objects into the path of the nimble stick. The training area filled with clacking and banging as each was neatly smashed aside.
"You have progressed quickly, Anakin!" Obi-Wan voiced his approval, even as he probed with the Force. The delight and pride of the boy were obvious, and he felt no anger or fear. With relief, he went to Anakin and toweled him down, ruffling his hair as he did so.
"What will we learn tomorrow?" Anakin asked, and the light of anticipation brightened his angelic face.
"I think perhaps we will begin some focusing exercises tomorrow."
"Meditation?" A small pout appeared. "But that's so...boring."
"Ah, but you want to use your abilities in an effective way, don't you?" Obi-Wan hooked a finger underneath the small chin and tilted it up. "And that is what I'm here to teach you. You must trust me, Anakin. I will show you all you need to become a great leader."
Anakin looked soberly at him, and a strange pulse of Darkness touched the corners of Obi-Wan's awareness, vanishing almost immediately. "I have thought about the question you asked me yesterday," he said, in a tone much like a challenge. "About what the Force tells me about you."
"And what have you decided?"
The boy's eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan felt uncomfortably like a germ under examination. "I don't think you're here to hurt me. But I'm not sure you're here to help me, either. You feel...in between." A frustrated note dotted the terse words. "Hard to understand."
"Hard to understand, it is." A small, private smile ghosted across Obi-Wan's face. "But in time, you will see things quite clearly. And these exercises will help you do just that. Now go and shower. You have tutelage in diplomacy scheduled with Ambassador Windu this afternoon."
"Yes, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan watched him go, recognizing that his days were taking on a distinct sameness with the addition of these training sessions. The previous day's interlude with his favorite had been a welcome distraction, and he found great solace in those arms, but it was not enough.
He'd made certain Jinn would be trained in the arts of pleasure, and had sworn not to touch the man until it was done. He couldn't afford the immersion in the Force, and the display of his truest feelings, not when so many things were at stake. Exposure was his one fear, now, and it would come soon enough. The time had to be right. Jinn could not know. All his work would be undermined. He had to be in control, and until Jinn learned to surrender his lingering dominance, it could never be.
Visions of the tall, strong body beneath him, hips thrust up, knees spread apart, face turned to the side, took the breath from his lungs. With monumental control, he banished it.
Soon enough, he would be able to take Jinn as he wished, and there would be no resistance. No threats would be required. And he would be master, without question or threat.
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