The night air was filled with pungent odors – roasted meats, sweet perfume, and a hint of sweat. For a moment, as Ket’al listened to the laughter and music coming through the cantina doors, he was reminded of the seraglio and its odd mixture of tantalizing smells and tastes.

“All cantinas are very much the same,” Valorum advised him. “It would not do for you to look as though you’ve never set foot in one before.”

“I wasn’t always a slave,” Ket’al said softly. His gaze strayed back to the golden glow at the door. Memories of childhood surfaced quickly. He could almost hear his father’s laughter over the loud voices of many men. His mother would cook large meals, scented with pungent spices, and the men would speak of things Ket’al barely understood – the weights of cargo, the punishing taxes levied by the Empire, the reach of slavery to the Corellian quadrant.

Valorum’s fingers were like bands of durasteel, digging channels in Ket’al’s arm. “You must be alert to everything around you. These people will kill you without a second thought if they believe you are a threat to them.”

“I thought the trick of surviving was to make them believe exactly that,” Ket’al answered with a grin.

“Not in this instance, no. You must not appear weak, but neither must you appear to be too strong.”

“Then it is not so different from the evils of the seraglio, after all.”

Valorum gave him a sharp look. “Let’s go.”

The cantina was packed full of patrons from a number of different worlds. Ket’al recognized a few Imperials among the rabble. Valorum noticed the direction of his glance; in a low voice, he said, “On these backwater worlds, the Empire’s hold is tenuous. Routes can be secured for the price of a few drinks. All smugglers know this.”

Ket’al nodded. Fascinated, he watched Valorum thread through the crowd in search of his quarry. Ket’al had seen a holo of the man they were seeking, but the picture was quite old and not a good likeness, or so Obi-Wan had told him.

Obi-Wan. The thought of his former master brought Ket’al to a slow halt at the side of the bar. “What’ll it be?” asked a blue three-nosed Enkiradian.

“Water,” Ket’al said.

The Enkiradian wrinkled up two of his noses. “Leave it to you filthy smugglers to buy the most expensive thing on the planet. Show-offs.”

Ket’al ignored the bartender and took a long sip of his water as he waited for Valorum’s signal. He fixed his gaze on the far corner of the bar and drank the water at intervals, but he kept his focus on the smugglers around him. It was relatively easy to assess the threat level, and he could not afford to miss anything. This mission had come to him in a most unexpected fashion – a gift of trust from the Jedi. If he had any hope of proving his value to the budding Rebellion, he would have to prove his worth here. There would only be one chance.

It had been awkward, accepting this assignment from the man who had once been his master in every way. Obi-Wan had been eloquent with his explanations, but Ket’al was certain there was a great deal more to the story than he would ever be permitted to know. Even after all they had been through – even after the death of Leyran – the secrecy of the Jedi prevailed. Unsettled issues swirled in the back of his mind. But first, the mission, and then there would be time to seek his answers.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Valorum nodding his head, deep in conversation with a short, bald man in a red vest. Valorum followed the man to the door and out into the darkness. Ket’al downed the rest of the water; after a suitable pause, he dropped some credits on the bar and made his way across the crowded room.

Valorum was pressing Imperial coin into the man’s palm as Ket’al caught up with him in the shadows to the side of the building. “Who’s this?” the little man hissed.

“An associate. Don’t concern yourself. We have made a bargain and I shall expect you to keep your end of it.” Ket’al stared at Valorum; he’d never heard him use that voice before, though every man in the seraglio had suspected Valorum would be a formidable foe, if challenged. They had never given him cause to speak thus, in their tiny, private world.

“You tricked me,” the little man said furiously.

“I have paid what you required. You did not ask if I was alone.”

“Fine.” With a furious glance at them both, the little man stalked off toward the hangar. Amused, Ket’al exchanged a glance with Valorum, whose patience seemed sorely tested. They hastened after their guide.

Past the hangar, past several low buildings silhouetted in the dark; they walked for what seemed like forever, until the little man darted into a half-closed doorway. Valorum stopped Ket’al with a hand against his chest. “Be on your guard.”

“I’m ready.”

Just as the cantina had been, this tiny room was packed, but the atmosphere was decidedly more ominous. There was no music, no laughter, just low murmuring talk and the occasional scraping of a chair across the floor. Men sat in groups of two or three, heads together, making some sort of plans. Money was changing hands, Ket’al knew, though he could not see it happen. As they passed, each of the men fell silent and favored them with speculative glances, cold and hard as Ket’al had ever seen.

“You will wait here.” With that, their guide disappeared behind a shielded door. Ket’al stood motionless, waiting; he returned the stares of some of the larger men. Eventually, they lost interest in the novelty of strangers and went on about their business in hushed tones.

“What are we waiting for?” Ket’al whispered urgently.

“One cannot rush men like these,” Valorum said. “As you are no doubt aware, such inquiries are delicate.” The light above the door flashed green and the door slid open. “There is our signal,” Valorum said. “Come.”

A man stepped in front of them, taller than Qui-Gon Jinn and much more muscular. “No weapons,” he said. Ket’al exchanged a look with Valorum, who nodded; he removed his blaster and a vibroknife and dropped them on the floor.

Valorum raised his arms slowly to the side and submitted silently to an inspection, just as Ket’al did. Satisfied, the man moved aside to let them pass and spoke over their shoulders: “They’re clean.”

“I’d invite you to have a seat, but I’m not sure you’ll be staying that long.” The gravelly chuckle should have put them at ease, but it raised goosebumps on Ket’al’s arms instead. A shadowed figure was seated at a low table, feet up; he shifted into the light and immediately, Ket’al recognized the man from the holo. The man met Ket’al’s curious gaze with a veiled, dark stare. “Who are you, and what’s your business here?”

“It’s him,” Ket’al said softly, to Valorum.

Immediately the man’s chair thumped to the ground on all four legs and he was on his feet. “Last chance - state your names and your business.”

“I am Valorum. This is Ket’al Solo. We’ve come on Jedi business.”

The dark-haired man chuckled. “Really. Jedi business. There’s no such thing in the Empire, friend. The Jedi are destroyed.”

“No.” Valorum glanced at Ket’al, then back at their host. “They do not thrive, but they are not all dead.”

“Says who?”

“If I may.” Valorum extended his arm again and waited for a nod of assent before proceeding. From his sleeve, he removed a holodisk and set it in the palm of his hand. When he toggled the switch, the image of Qui-Gon Jinn appeared, no taller than the length of Ket’al’s hand.

“It has been too long, old friend,” the hologram said. “These men are emissaries of the Jedi Council in exile. They have come to ask you to join our cause. Please hear the proposal they have come to present. I believe you will find value in what they have to say.” Qui-Gon’s flickering image smiled, a lopsided half-grin. “We were once allies, Bail. You need not fear retribution, should you choose to return. We are far past that now. There are more pressing and important issues facing all of us.”

The figure dimmed, then winked out. Ket’al plucked the disk from Valorum’s palm and switched it off, then pocketed it.

Bail Organa walked around the table and perched on the edge of it, arms crossed over his chest. “So I’m supposed to believe you know who I am, and yet you don’t want to take me in for the bounty?”

“We could not, even if we wished to do so.” Valorum glanced around the room. “Your men are concealed, but they are watching even now. More to the point, the Force is not strong with either of us. You have sensed this.”

“Yes, I have.” Organa’s eyes narrowed as he studied Valorum. “There’s something about you, though. Where have I seen you before?”

“I was in your father’s service for a time, as counsel and advisor. I have been an advisor to the Jedi for many years.”

Slowly, recognition dawned in Organa’s eyes. His gaze shifted to Ket’al. “You, I don’t know.”

“You would have no reason to,” Ket’al replied evenly.

Organa grunted. “So talk.”

“You were going to offer us a chair,” Valorum said pointedly.

Organa snorted, but gestured to the bench in front of him, facing the table. “Make yourselves at home.”

As Ket’al took his seat, Valorum began speaking. “Our request is simple. Return with us and join forces with the Jedi. You have become a powerful leader among the rebels. If you combine manpower and resources, your rebels would have a fighting chance.”

“We pitch in everything we have, and in return – what can the Jedi give us? Shelter? Safety? You can’t guarantee a damned thing.” Organa stared down Valorum. “They’ll carry their precious secrets with them to the grave, and their allies along with them. I’m not going back to that. Their noble principles nearly caused their slaughter.”

“I believe it is safe to say they have learned much from recent events,” Ket’al pointed out. “Many men have risked much to preserve order and justice in the universe. Many of those men are Jedi.”

“And I believe there may be a way to combine forces and bring forth the best of each,” Valorum added. “The Jedi seek only to restore order. They do not wish to rule. They are, after all, an order of warriors; you were once foremost among them. They will need your expertise with war, now and after the battles are won.”

“Won?” Organa raised an eyebrow. “You have a great deal of confidence in the cause. I don’t. We strike clean, hard, quick. We do what we can, but we’re only a hundred against a million or more.”

“All the more reason to begin dropping Imperial numbers and raising yours,” Ket’al said. Organa’s subsequent glance was long and searching; Ket’al felt like an insect examined by a predator.

“You don’t lack for bravado,” Organa said. “But I wonder how you’d do under fire by Imperial cruisers, or with a couple dozen stormtroopers breathing down your neck?”

“I survived it once,” Ket’al said, and stared back. “I’ll survive it again.”

Organa was silent for a long moment. “I only work with people I trust. People I know can get the job done. If I agree to this meeting, my men come along. Armed.”

Valorum looked at Organa thoughtfully. “Very well. But we will set a limit as to the number of men who may accompany you to this initial meeting. No more than four. You must understand – security is a concern for the Jedi.”

“Five. And it’s a little late for them to be worrying about security,” Organa snorted. “How many are left now, anyway? Wait, I know,” he said, waving a hand at them, “you can’t disclose that. Fine.” He sighed. “I’m not alone in this. There are people who’ll need to be informed. I’ll be in touch.”

“You don’t know where to reach us,” Ket’al began, but Valorum tapped his arm.

Organa chuckled. “You don’t get out much, do you, kid? You think everyone within ten parsecs didn’t see that ship of yours touch down? A hundred pairs of eyes have been on you every second since you set foot on solid ground.” He looked to Valorum. “You’ll hear from me by sunrise.”

Valorum inclined his head. “Master Organa.”

“Don’t call me that – don’t ever call me that,” Organa said sharply. “I’m not one of them.”

“As you wish,” Valorum said.

Ket’al felt Organa’s eyes boring into his back as he and Valorum left the small hut. He opened his mouth to speak, Valorum’s look of warning hushed him. They made their way to the hangar in silence. Ket’al’s body vibrated with tension. He could have used eyes in the back of his skull.

When they were alone, safely ensconced inside the ship, Valorum began making a series of swift orders to the crew. In response to Ket’al’s curious look, he explained, “We will not wait until morning. The pilot is already making preparations to leave. I’d suspected our movements were being tracked, but Organa confirmed it. If Organa should decide not to join us, we cannot afford for our departure to be at a predictable time – he may sell this information and we will become prisoners of the Empire.”

“Not again,” Ket’al said. His hand went immediately to his blaster. “I’m not going back to slavery, or worse. I’ve had enough of that.”

“The thought doesn’t appeal to me, either,” Valorum said quietly.  “However, you serve the greater good now, Ket’al. You have taken the first steps toward becoming free again, but you will soon discover freedom is all the sweeter when the price is high.”

“So long as I don’t have to pay that price,” Ket’al said vehemently.  

“Sir?” The pilot appeared at the bulkhead door. “You’d better come take a look at this.”

When they had made their way up to the cockpit, Ket’al peered around Valorum and saw Organa and five armed men near the landing gear. “Well,” Valorum said. A smile quirked up the corner of his mouth.

“Is this some sort of trick?” Ket’al asked, but Valorum was speaking to the pilot.

“Lower the ramp.”

“What?” Ket’al stared.

“We have guests to greet,” Valorum said, and pushed past Ket’al, toward the hatch.

Organa met them halfway up the ramp, flanked by his men. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, with a nod toward the crewman checking the gear.

“It seemed prudent,” Valorum answered.

“I wouldn’t have waited for sunrise, either,” Organa said, and grinned.  “Especially if I were waiting for Bail Organa.”


****


Xan was floating on a sea of delicious sensation. Strong fingers dug into the strained muscles of his back; deft touches helped him forget how he’d been injured, all the sparring he’d done since he arrived on Yavin. He made a small sound of pleasure.

“I’ve forgiven you, you know,” Daro purred, just behind his left ear.

Xan smiled. For a moment, it had been easy to pretend Obi-Wan straddled him, that it was Obi-Wan whose touch soothed him. But it was all pleasant fantasy, and the reality was enjoyable, too. “I was never your enemy,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“You’re not serious,” Daro said scornfully. “You could have slain any of us in a heartbeat, Jedi! No wonder you were so territorial. I should have known. These kinds of muscles don’t grow on trees. Or slaves who’ve been cooped up in cargo ships.”

“You weren’t meant to notice,” Xan said, just as Daro’s hands slid down across his buttocks and up his sides.

 “We all have our purpose in life,” Daro hummed happily. He pressed a kiss between Xan’s shoulder blades. “It’s too bad I never noticed how beautiful you are. We’ve wasted time.”

“I couldn’t have been with…oh.” The sentence trailed off into an involuntary moan as Daro’s hand crept beneath Xan, slippery with oil, and he grasped Xan’s cock. “Daro! Not here!”

“Why not?” Daro demanded, but he removed his hand and rested it on Xan’s hip. After a moment, when Xan didn’t encourage him, he gave a noisy sigh and began massaging Xan’s back again. Xan relaxed again; the protests he’d been ready to deliver faded away. Daro’s hands moved up, over Xan’s shoulders, then down Xan’s arms, hesitating only a moment over Xan’s slave bracelet.

“Don’t,” Xan said, and once he’d said it, he wasn’t sure what he’d meant – don’t touch it? Don’t ask why he still wore it? Even in his own mind, he couldn’t quite grasp what he’d been thinking; the subject of the bracelet, and its meaning, was a no-man’s land in his heart. He did not think of it; he wasn’t ready to think of it.

Daro’s lips caressed the nape of Xan’s neck in apology. Suddenly, Daro went still above him; his writhing ceased. “What?” Xan murmured, and raised his head.

Obi-Wan stood in the doorway; he leaned against the frame, black robes dropping all the way to the floor. Xan’s eyebrow rose. He’d never seen Obi-Wan so entirely covered by clothing. “If I’m interrupting, I’ll come back,” Obi-Wan said, and crossed his arms across his chest. His face was expressionless. The bond between them, usually a low droning in the back of Xan’s mind, was barely discernable.

“You’re not interrupting,” Daro said, with a tiny pout. “More’s the pity.” He patted Xan’s ass and rubbed him down quickly with a towel; Xan took the towel and wrapped it around his waist as he sat up. Daro hopped up and gave Obi-Wan a strangely thoughtful look. “Those robes don’t suit you,” he said, on his way out the door.

“You are not alone in your opinion,” Obi-Wan answered dryly.

Xan tied the towel around his waist and reached for his tunic. Obi-Wan watched him from the doorway. Xan paused and met Obi-Wan’s gaze; the tension grew between them until Obi-Wan’s resolve wavered. He looked away and Xan dressed quickly, tunic and trousers. Barefoot, he sat back down on the table and waited for Obi-Wan to speak. It was appropriate, Xan thought, that Obi-Wan had chosen this place – a place of meditation, a public room, to come to him. It made things a little more impersonal, put them in a larger context.  

Obi-Wan, however, seemed to have nothing to say. Instead, he stood still, watching Xan. Xan was intimately, achingly familiar with the frame of mind that could cause that searching, thoughtful look. It was always worse when Obi-Wan seemed calm on the outside; inside, vast storms were raging. Over the years, Xan had seen that control slip more and more, until Obi-Wan always seemed on the precarious edge of losing his center altogether.  

“I remember nights you paced your quarters for hours on end,” Xan said softly. “Many nights. And always, that look was upon your face.”

A ghost of a smile touched Obi-Wan’s lips. “No one was in a better position to know.”

“No.” Xan tilted his head. “Perhaps it would be best if we did not start this conversation determined to misunderstand one another.”

“Agreed.” Obi-Wan tucked his hands in the ends of his sleeves. “You said I would have to come to you.”

“So I did.” Xan reached out through the bond they shared and tried to touch the uncertainty around Obi-Wan’s heart, but he found it locked away, tightly controlled.

Obi-Wan fixed him with a piercing look; Xan felt caught in the act of seeking what Obi-Wan would not give. “Emotions confuse the issue, Xan. Words add clarity.”

“Emotions confuse,” Xan echoed. A strange sort of resentment was bursting forth within him. “Words add clarity…already you begin to spout Jedi platitudes. Surely you don’t believe you’re the same man who left the sheltering influence of these people to become an Imperial apprentice. Or do you?”

Obi-Wan still had not moved; like a statue, he filled the doorway, standing distant from Xan’s veiled challenge. “All things must return to their home.”

“And yet more platitudes.” Scornful, Xan stood and belted his trousers. “You may believe you can resume your role, but I know it is not so. I am not the man who was sent to your bed as spy; I am much more. And I saw you, as you truly are, on the verge of becoming things you had not dared believe you could be.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose. “You say it as though my crimes were some sort of rite of passage.”

“Weren’t they? An interesting choice of word – crimes. Sanctioned acts, guaranteeing the continued safety of the Jedi, of the free people in the Empire. Your deeds were not crimes, to them.”

“It is all a matter of perspective,” Obi-Wan said.

“Now you sound like Qui-Gon. Which shouldn’t surprise me,” Xan said. Now the tide of resentment faded, and something bittersweet took its place, something raw and aching. “I have lost track of who teaches, and who is taught; who among all of us is master and who is the slave.”

“It is awkward, isn’t it,” Obi-Wan said. Finally he moved, to shed his cloak with a quick motion of his arm and drop it to the floor. Beneath it, the sleeveless tunic was not that of a Jedi master, but the supple leather of a warrior and regent; a dagger was sheathed at his side, just as it had always been on Taganor, and a saber beside it.

“So you haven’t shed your skin completely,” Xan said, with triumph.

“Nor have you,” Obi-Wan said. His gaze traveled to Xan’s arm, to the slave bracelet there, then back to Xan’s face; his eyes spoke questions, but his voice was mute. Xan met his scrutiny with a matching silence.

Obi-Wan nodded and folded his arms across his chest again. “Perhaps we should speak of deception.”

“Only if the answers of your own heart do not satisfy you.” Stung, Xan leaned back on the edge of the table, half-sitting and half-standing, feeling oddly torn between worlds. It had been simpler when he had only one purpose, only one goal. “You seek an explanation of how a man can deceive and love all at once. Look to yourself, Jedi, to reconcile how it can be so. Your life is a mirror of my own.”

Obi-Wan considered it for a moment. Xan felt the bond between them narrow even more, until only the tiniest spark remained as evidence it existed at all. “What I feel is not at issue. I have made no secret of my own internal conflicts.”

“What you feel is all-important.” Xan tried to leash his anger, but it poured from him, mournful and brittle. “What will it take, Obi-Wan, for you to believe what I say?

“A simple answer,” Obi-Wan shot back. “How much of it was a lie?”

“All of it,” Xan hissed. “And none. Take what you will of it. Believe what you wish.”

“I would rather have the truth,” Obi-Wan said hotly.

“No - you would rather hear me say what you believe, to validate the conflict you feel. Not truth – redemption.”

Obi-Wan’s body tensed; Xan could feel his own muscles responding to the implied threat, but he remained still. “I have no need of redemption from you ."

“The decision to keep my status from you was made by others far more knowledgeable than I am. A secondary plan can only function in complete secrecy. Would you have had me sacrifice your mission, and mine, for the sake of your peace of mind?” Xan’s eyebrow rose. “I knew your mission; I was prepared for all possibilities. Just as you would have been, had you known my purpose there. I did not ask you if you lied to me – when you called me to your bed and confided in me, or when you set me above all others in the seraglio. I have not asked why you did these things. I know why.”

“It should be such a simple thing,” Obi-Wan said softly, “to speak not of missions and codes, but of truth. Not redemption, but something far more elemental.” His expression changed, became sad. “Did you learn to love me because of your mission, or in spite of it?”

Xan’s heart skipped a beat. He paused, deliberately, before forming his answer. “In any place where the two of us exist together, mission or no, this bond between us would have formed. It is not the will of the Force; it is something much deeper than that.”

A glimmer, then; a small spark of what Obi-Wan was feeling. Xan said, “You hide from me inside this bond, and yet I make no attempt to conceal myself from you.”

“There are…reasons.” Obi-Wan bowed his head; his folded arms tightened against his chest. “I have not yet asked you to forgive me.” The connection between them burst open – grief, guilt, and much more; Xan caught his breath. “For all I did, and for all I would have done, had the Empire not forced my hand.”

“Forgiveness?” Xan smiled. “We are Jedi, you and I. There is no need to forgive one another for what was done in service to our duty.”

Xan had not been aware of the wistful need within him, justified by the determination in Obi-Wan’s eyes – but of course, Obi-Wan knew, could feel it, if he would only allow himself to see. Obi-Wan cornered him, captured him in place, arms on either side of his body, pinning him.

No way to tell if Obi-Wan took the kiss or Xan offered it; it did not matter. They fused together, two halves, sharing breath, and Xan thought wildly that this was what it was meant to be, what he had denied, what Obi-Wan would not allow himself to believe. Believe, he thought, as Obi-Wan kissed him, and the bond between them opened, just a crack at first, and then all the fears, the hopes and desires, the lost desperate understanding poured forth.

Obi-Wan pulled back, far enough to see Xan’s face; his eyes were slitted, his pupils dark with desire. His lips brushed against Xan’s, a fleeting taste of him that made Xan moan softly against him. “I should never have trusted you; it was foolish in the extreme,” Obi-Wan said. “You might have been Palpatine’s ally, instead of my own. What if I had been wrong?”

“And yet, you were right to trust me. As I trusted you.” Xan tilted his head back as Obi-Wan’s lips moved lower, seeking pleasure points familiar to him. Obi-Wan’s teeth grazed Xan’s neck lightly.

“You healed me, at risk of revealing your mission. You refused to heal yourself, in order to warn me. You jeopardized everything.”

“On the strength of my belief.” Belief in you, Xan thought, but did not say it; Obi-Wan’s lips covered his own again, slow, sure.

Obi-Wan leaned back. His gaze swept across Xan’s face. “I know what I want – I knew, even when I could do nothing on the strength of my feelings.”

“Emotions confuse,” Xan said unsteadily. “There is something we have not discussed...”

“The bond I share with Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan finished for him.

“Yes.” The bond between them shimmered with emotion; Obi-Wan’s control was tenuous, and Xan reveled in the power of it.

“I have meditated on this,” Obi-Wan said. “Your suspicion about the bond was correct. Yoda has not yet told me what he has learned about the phenomenon.”

“It may be he knows little more than you or I,” Xan said. “All that remains, then, is to wait, and see what comes of this bond.”

“I suppose so,” Obi-Wan said grudgingly. “But there is more to discuss – so many things I want to know, so many questions. Will you tell me now, of what happened to you, after the fall of the Temple?”

“It is a simple story, and we have much time. But first – a favor.”

“Anything you wish.”

Xan lifted the lightsaber from Obi-Wan’s belt and handed it to him. Obi-Wan met his eyes with perfect understanding; the depth of desire in his eyes took Xan’s breath away. The saber ignited slowly and flickered toward him, just a quick flash of light, a searing of metal, and it was all over.

Xan picked up the severed slave bracelet from the floor; it felt light in his hands. When Obi-Wan took it from him, he cradled Obi-Wan’s face, touched him without hesitation. When he captured Obi-Wan’s kiss, the promise between them was sealed.


****

Qui-Gon listened with only half of his attention to the words of the Council. Focus, it seemed, was in short supply for him; he was always distracted by the bond he shared with Obi-Wan, by the constant push and pull of emotion, the streams of fragmented thoughts and feelings not quite his own. He had counseled Xanatos to ignore it, to allow Obi-Wan his time to reconcile his turmoil, but now it was becoming difficult for him to follow his own advice.

He felt it – felt all of it; love, and trust, acceptance and forgiveness, between Obi-Wan and Xanatos. Everything – every momentary flash of joy, every sorrowful acceptance of past injuries – was laid bare for his heart to decipher. It was too much to deal with, and it was like strange noise in his head, jumbled up into jagged pieces.

“Qui-Gon,” Plo Koon said gently. Qui-Gon roused himself and dragged his attention back to the makeshift council chamber, and to the Jedi assembled there. “We know you are greatly in need of time to rest and meditate. Unfortunately, we cannot grant this simple request for you. There is much to be done, and little time to do it.”

“What is it you would ask of me?” Qui-Gon said tiredly.

“We would ask for your wisdom and your perspective be joined with ours, as a member of the Council in exile,” Master Billaba said, with a smile. “Though you have shown a reckless, willful side, you are also among the most senior Jedi remaining in the order. We have need of your experience and honesty, Qui-Gon.”

“I am not the man you need.” Qui-Gon wiped a hand across his eyes. “Have any of you been listening to me? Have you understood what I have done – what I allowed myself to become?”

“We have heard the tale of a man who does not easily forgive himself for his transgressions, real or imagined,” Koon said.

“The Code is quite specific,” Qui-Gon said, with a sharp look around the Council. “Nothing is imagined, where my actions are concerned.”

“Passion is not a violation of the Code,” Depa said, with a glance filled with compassion.

“If it were passion alone, we would not be discussing my personal failings in this way,” Qui-Gon told her. “Passion does not account for my willing subjugation at the hands of a man I believed to be a tyrant. Passion cannot account for my refusal to seek alternative methods of escape. Passion…” he broke off, speechless, searching for words.

“Subjugation is not the word one uses to describe the taking of punishment – or pleasure – to spare another.” Master Koth leaned back in his chair, long fingers drumming on his knee. “Your motives were selfless. Did you not say you agreed to Kenobi’s demands to protect the boy, Daro?”

“In the beginning, perhaps.”

“No matter – it is Kenobi whose penance must be the greater. His abuse of his position there is a matter best resolved at another time,” Depa said.

“Why must his penance be greater?” Qui-Gon stared at her. “Do you think he hates himself more than I hate my own heart? I guarantee that is not the case.”

“Hate leads to anger – anger leads to hate,” Yoda said. “Self-hatred, most of all. So hard on yourself, are you…pointless, this is. Focus now on what you can do, here.”

“I gave up everything that made me a Jedi,” Qui-Gon murmured and thought: I would do it again.

“Then reclaim your duty, now – here, with the opportunity you have been offered.” Koth’s dark eyes bored into him. “Do not compound your mistakes with refusal to serve.”

“Very well,” Qui-Gon said slowly.

“It is settled, then,” Koth said, satisfied. The others nodded; only Yoda did not move. Qui-Gon looked away from Yoda’s intent gaze. “On to the matter of the bond between Master Jinn and Kenobi,” Koth began.

“I believe Master Yoda has done considerable research on this,” Depa interrupted smoothly.

“Research, yes. Hard to understand, is the Force. Obscured, the true purpose of the bond. However, interpretation is possible, though difficult.” Yoda pointed a wizened claw at Qui-Gon. “This information is not for you alone. Others must be present. Summon Xanatos and Obi-Wan, we must, so the prophecy may be revealed.”



Continue to Chapter 17



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