Prologue

"He isn't ready." Mace Windu gathered his robes more tightly about him and stared out into the early twilight. "Despite Qui-Gon's opinion, I refuse to permit this."

"You have no choice." Ki-Adi-Mundi sat heavily. "It's become a political issue now. The new Chancellor is involved - it seems he's taken a personal interest in what has happened here."

"All well and good, but Palpatine doesn't have to take responsibility for the consequences," Mace sighed.

"Obi-Wan's not back on his feet yet," Adi Gallia agreed, looking to Yoda, who was sitting quietly in the corner. "But I spoke with him this morning, and there's no question that he's determined to proceed with his Trials."

"He is a promising apprentice; it would be most unfortunate if his pride overwhelms his common sense." Mace turned to face the rest of his peers.

"More to it than that, there is." Yoda rested his weight on his cane and stood. "Pushed aside, was Obi-Wan, in favor of the boy. He seeks a permanent place within the Order."

"Qui-Gon trained him for twelve years; I would think he would have some idea of his capabilities," Ki-Adi-Mundi said thoughtfully.

With a small sound of disapproval, Yoda moved slowly to the window beside Mace, watching the nightbirds of Naboo flit across the evening sky. "Not so certain, was Qui-Gon, that his padawan was ready. Spoke in haste he did, before all things were considered."

"He put forward his padawan for the Trials," Adi said impatiently. "What's done is done."

Plo Koon snorted. "There's nothing we can do here. We've been trapped by circumstance. If we refuse to allow Obi-Wan to take his Trials, we will appear to be questioning the judgment of one of our finest warriors. Qui-Gon may've been difficult over the years, but he's hardly foolish enough to refer a padawan for testing simply because of a personal agenda. And if we disdain Obi-Wan's choice in this, it will seem as though we have no faith in a hero of the Republic."

Yoda nodded, sighing heavily. "Truth there is, in what you say." He seemed to weigh the options, as the shadows lengthened across their makeshift Council chamber. Finally, he raised his head. "Obi-Wan will take the Trials. What follows, we shall see."

*****

I.

Qui-Gon Jinn leaned forward in his chair, folding his arms against the cool sheets of Obi-Wan's bed. The movement roused Obi-Wan from a light sleep, but he didn't open his eyes. It had been a long night, as all the nights were since his master had carried Obi-Wan to the infirmary, bleeding and unconscious, so close to death that even a moment's delay would have cost him everything. Qui-Gon had gone without sleep before, many times, while watching over Obi-Wan as he recovered from various injuries and illnesses.

But this... This time, it was completely different. Something had happened, something he couldn't quite grasp, that he wasn't willing to wrap his conscious mind around. There was a vague sense of doom, a strange foreboding which seemed to hover over them.

"Are you sleeping, Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon raised his head, answering the question in a near-whisper. "No, Anakin. Come in - but be quiet. Obi-Wan is sleeping."

Obi-Wan could hear the soft shuffling of feet as Anakin went to Qui-Gon's side. His master shifted in his chair, turning toward the boy. "You should be in bed, Anakin. It's very late."

The boy's voice held a note of uncertainty. "I was just wondering when Obi-Wan'll be able to come home."

It was all Obi-Wan could do not to smile. Barely a week in Qui-Gon's charge and already the boy had laid claim to their quarters as 'home'.

"The doctors say he will be ready tomorrow," Qui-Gon answered. "Are you anxious to leave Naboo?"

"No," Anakin said quickly. "It's not that. I have friends here." Something in the boy's proud pronouncement brought Obi-Wan's smile even closer to the surface, where he caught it quickly before it could emerge. "But you've been so sad. I thought maybe if Obi-Wan could come home, you'd feel better."

"Yes, well, that's probably true." Qui-Gon's voice deepened. "I've been worried about him."

"He's a hero. They say he saved your life," Anakin said.

"That's true as well. Who's been telling you tales?"

"Dala," Anakin said immediately, then sighed. "I'm not supposed to call her that when other people are around."

"I won't tell," Qui-Gon said seriously. "Never fear. What else has she been saying?"

"That Obi-Wan was tortured by the Sith Lord before he was able to strike him down. That you weren't...that you couldn't..." Anakin hesitated.

"That I wasn't strong enough to stop him?" Qui-Gon suggested. "There's no shame in that, Anakin. Look at me." After a moment, the master continued, "Wounds received honorably in battle are nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn't mean that I failed, or that I'm weak. It only means that someone else was stronger, in this case."

"You feel bad because Obi-Wan got hurt," said the child, in that eerily perceptive voice Obi-Wan was becoming accustomed to. Still, it sent a shiver down his spine.

"I feel very bad." Understatement of epic proportions, Obi-Wan thought.

There were images Obi-Wan felt sure he was destined to remember for the rest of his life - already they came to him on the cusp of sleep, in the midst of dreams, in idle waking moments. Diving past the last laser wall with a grimace of determination on his face, and the flare of bright agony as the flesh was seared from his foot - his own anger that he wasn't quick enough, hadn't propelled his body through the field fast enough. Deflecting the lethal force of the death-blow that had taken Qui-Gon out of the fight and had nearly killed him. The Sith Lord, crouching over Obi-Wan, cutting his skin with the tip of that blood-red saber as he writhed in agony. His own desperate fury and frustration as he faded in and out of consciousness, and the sacrifice he'd made to keep Qui-Gon alive.

Yes, he felt very badly indeed, and if Qui-Gon's feelings were a fraction of his own, his master's sleep was surely troubled as well.

With a sigh, Qui-Gon shifted position again. "What else, Anakin?" It was clear by the long silence there was something left unsaid, but the boy was reluctant to ask.

"Master Qui-Gon, sir...will Obi-Wan really take the Trials now?"

So that was it. Obi-Wan experienced a sudden rush of doubt. So much was happening, so fast, and yet Anakin was more than ready to claim what had been offered to him in a moment of heated defiance. The boy's opportunistic instincts were unsettling.

"Yes, I think he will. He has said he will, and the Council has agreed that he may try," Qui-Gon said slowly. "Are you wondering if you'll become my padawan when he becomes a knight?"

"I thought maybe the Council would let me, since I helped." It was childish logic, and yet there was something to it.

"I suspect when the topic comes up again, we'll find them much more agreeable about your training," Qui-Gon said. "Now. Off to bed. No loitering with the Queen and her handmaidens tonight. You need your rest, and they're spoiling you."

Anakin sounded embarrassed. "Aw. Not really. Nobody else here is fun."

"A Jedi does not seek fun," Qui-Gon intoned, but Obi-Wan heard the amusement beneath the pronouncement. "And if it's a Jedi you want to be, you'd better get used to that. Now, off to bed."

"Good night. Tell Obi-Wan I said goodnight."

"I'll do that." Qui-Gon turned back toward the bed as Anakin left the room.

Gently, Qui-Gon picked up Obi-Wan's padawan braid, rubbing the soft ends of it between his fingers, and folded his head down into his arm again, eyes closing. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, waiting several minutes before stretching out his hand, letting his fingers slide into the mass of silver-brown hair spread over the edge of the bed. He stroked gently, taking advantage of the rare opportunity. Qui-Gon stirred beneath his hand.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Obi-Wan apologized quietly.

"You didn't," Qui-Gon answered, straightening in the chair, smiling at his padawan.

Obi-Wan immediately withdrew his hand. "You haven't had much sleep since the battle. You don't need to stay here, you know."

"I know," Qui-Gon answered, returning Obi-Wan's steady gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"Still determined," Obi-Wan answered wryly. "You're not going to try and talk me out of it again, are you?"

"No." Qui-Gon straightened. "You've earned the right to do as you please - be it your Trials, or anything else. You're not a boy anymore."

"Master Gallia tried very hard to dissuade me yesterday." Obi-Wan swung his legs gracefully over the edge of the bed, turning his back to Qui-Gon. "And you're right, I'm not a boy anymore." He meant his words to be pointed, but Qui-Gon remained obtuse.

"The healers have insisted that you submit to one more round in the bacta. They say the scars might-"

"I don't think so," Obi-Wan interrupted. "I'm not fond of the sensation of drowning in bacta." He knew how he looked, of course; the healers had been firm about the fact that some of the deeper burns would never fade completely. They would always remain, ghostly reminders of the fierce tattoos on his opponent's face. Obi-Wan had chosen to give what little energy he still possessed to preserving Qui-Gon's life, instead of healing his injuries. It was a choice he would have made a thousand times without a second thought.

Obi-Wan set his feet gingerly on the floor and put his full weight on them, wincing as he anticipated a pain that never materialized. It had only been a few days, and the newly grown skin was still tender. Qui-Gon was there, ready at his side, but Obi-Wan only looked up at him mildly. "Seems to be all right, now."

There was nothing much to be said after that, and so they did not speak.

*****

At times, Obi-Wan thought, it might be better to be the kind of student who had nothing to lose, who wanted nothing more than to be a perfect Jedi and a credit to the Order. It was his misfortune to be completely outside that category, largely because his master's approval was so dreadfully important to him. He couldn't imagine being the kind of vapid padawan the Order sometimes encouraged. Over the years, he'd nourished and cherished a love for his master that had grown into something precious. Losing his master for any reason was simply unacceptable - to death, or to his own inadequacy.

There was certainly more to taking his Trials than just making the Council eat their words. Our own council we will keep regarding who is ready. The memory made him twitch, not just because of the condescension and disapproval he'd sensed, but because of the way his master stepped forward, taking Anakin with him, leaving Obi-Wan to catch up from behind.

Now Yoda looked calmly at him, as though that little exchange had never taken place. Obi-Wan still wasn't quite sure which of them had been more the focus that day - the boy, his master, or the padawan with the questionable history and a master bent on changing the Code to suit his purposes. He supposed it no longer mattered.

"Prepared, are you, to face what you must?"

"I am, my master." Obi-Wan bowed, feeling oddly apprehensive. No padawan was ever told the nature of his Trials. There were legends, of course; some said it was the most difficult physical challenge imaginable. Other stories had circulated of dreadful pain, of days of agonizing self-examination, of a barrage of questions from the Council. The Trials remained the best-kept secret in the Temple - wouldn't do to have a padawan cheat his way out of failure.

"Summon the Force," Master Windu instructed him.

Obi-Wan could feel the immense power of the twelve beings standing in a tight circle around him, eyes fixed on his tense body. He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of them, and called the Force to him, allowing it to blossom within and without. He felt the light kiss of each master's mind against his own, felt their thoughts skittering across and among his own like raindrops over smooth stone, before they were abruptly withdrawn.

"Your Trial is complete."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, puzzled, and waited for judgment to fall.

*****

II.

Three days later, Obi-Wan stood back from his handiwork and wiped sweat from his face - not that it made a difference. There was so much moisture in the humid air that he felt perpetually soggy, completely saturated with swamp-water. He pulled his tunic off and tossed it to the side, not caring that it would probably become a makeshift home for a family of critters.

Dagobah was the galaxy's most notoriously uninhabitable world. It was home to a host of parasites, swamp-dwelling creatures and dangerous animals, none of whom were particularly friendly or sentient. Settlers had steered clear of the planet for centuries; the place was one giant swamp, as wild and unsettled as Coruscant was sophisticated.

There was more to it, of course. Obi-Wan had felt it the moment he stepped off the transport into the steamy jungle. Darkness enveloped him; it seemed to shimmer in the heat, permeating the very atmosphere around all things. Dagobah was a world with a natural tint of Darkness, a thing very rare in nature.

No wonder they'd sent him there for his exile. It seemed fitting.

With a sigh, he tested the solidity of his new home. At least the Jedi had provided him with ample shelter and supplies. The temporary structure was surprisingly sturdy and larger than he'd expected. It boasted two small rooms and was equipped with a weak shield generator - sufficient to keep out the crawling things, but not really enough to stop the attack of larger beasts. It would be enough; they'd allowed him to take his saber, and he could slay his emotional dragons without any other help.

He supposed it was a good sign that he'd kept possession of his Jedi weapon. If they didn't intend to allow him another chance, it would have been confiscated. Yoda had been clear that this excursion was an opportunity, a way to find his focus, but it felt much more like a punishment. And for what, he had no idea.

Frowning, he dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged in the spongy turf as he prepared a small fire. In the thick overgrowth, heat was trapped in the meager daylight, but as the sun began to set the temperature would drop rapidly. Better to suffer the warmth of the flames now than to build the fire too late. His hands went to work automatically, doing what they had learned to do on one of his first missions with Qui-Gon, building a small criss-crossed pile of twigs.

Qui-Gon. What must his master think of him now? He knew of very few padawans who'd failed their trials. Obi-Wan's face burned with shame; the flush brought with it an anger he rarely permitted himself to feel. All his hopes for the future, all his wishes...nothing could come of them now. No man would want to love someone who had failed so completely. He could not even keep up his end of the battle on Naboo; he'd been reduced to a writhing mass of pain on the ground beneath the Sith's enraged touch. Not to mention the fact that he had nearly cost Qui-Gon his life because of sheer clumsiness.

It would have been better, he mused, if he had died on Naboo. Much difficulty would have been spared his master. And much humiliation. One apprentice turned to the Dark, another sufficiently tainted so as to cost him his future. Pain stabbed at him, burrowing deep into his heart. If only Qui-Gon would be spared from the assumptions of others - bad teacher, bad Jedi.

Obi-Wan ground the heels of his hands into his stinging eyes, mouth thinning into a grim line. He'd been sent to confront his own weaknesses, but given the large number of them, he feared he might never leave.

The fire was quickly built, and in no time it blazed into a comforting presence, crackling cheerily as it snapped and popped with life. Obi-Wan supposed he should eat something, but he wasn't hungry. His foot throbbed; his neck ached. His body felt like a worn piece of cloth unraveling around the edges.

With a restless motion that was rapidly becoming a habit, he raked a hand carelessly across his face, then his naked torso, sloughing away rivulets of sweat. He allowed his hand to linger on his chest, drawing lazy circles there, sliding across his skin with a touch of longing. His eyes drifted closed as he surrendered for the briefest moment to a favorite fantasy - Qui-Gon's hands, hot against his skin, thumbs brushing his nipples and followed by a dancing tongue...he shivered, wrenching himself back into the moment.

It would never come to pass. He could not afford to be distracted, not if he ever hoped to be a Jedi.

Now he was aching all over - in places he couldn't soothe without the distraction he wanted to avoid - and it was too much. He turned and crawled into the shelter, shucking his trousers and boots and rolling into a blanket. Sleep overpowered him almost immediately, dragging him down into fitful dreams.

*****

It seemed very hot, so incredibly hot to Obi-Wan, and he was on fire, and Qui-Gon's mouth was moving on him, his master's hair caressing his parted thighs, and he was singed, curling around the edges in the heat...he saw through his master's eyes and was rewarded with a vision of his own long limbs, strewn carelessly about and between blankets, heedless of the eyes devouring them. The firelight glistened in the sheen of sweat across Obi-Wan's body, casting a golden glow over his skin as he writhed, begging hoarsely for Qui-Gon's touch, caught in the throes of something far more powerful than reason. He could see the hypnotic twitching of his cock as he came, swallowed, devoured by flame...

Slowly, Obi-Wan left his fantasy world behind as his dream faded. He opened bleary eyes, peering into the dimness of his small shack, and wrinkled his nose at the sticky mess half-dried on his stomach. His internal clock told him he'd only been sleeping a few hours, not long enough to gain true rest. Too bad he wouldn't be able to waste away the night by sleeping though it.

With a sigh, he threw off the blanket, wiping at his stomach with it briefly before flinging it away. He tugged on his trousers, swiveling his head automatically to gauge the life of the fire...and froze.

His master sat by the fire, stabbing at the embers with a bent stick, hair gleaming silver in the firelight.

Obi-Wan blinked, certain he was hallucinating, and dove out from the narrow doorway, circling cautiously to the other side of the fire. His master seemed real enough...

The apparition looked up, smiling slightly. "You seem surprised to see me here."

"I'm wondering if perhaps I've lost my mind," Obi-Wan marveled, still staring. "Or if I'm still asleep. What are you doing here? Where's Anakin?"

"I disagreed with Yoda's decision to send you here, alone. I am still your master; if there are deficiencies in your training, we will correct them together. The Council didn't want me to interfere, but I...persuaded them." The firm, unshakable foundation that he had built his youth upon nodded, then added a small piece of wood to the fire. "Anakin is with the Queen."

Obi-Wan crouched down, tossing his head so his padawan braid slid over his shoulder, coming to rest just above his nipple. For a moment, he considered what he should say, but the answer came easily. "I failed my Trials," he said, listening as the words dropped into the air, mystified by how the saying of them seemed to remove the weight they carried.

"You failed your initial attempt," Qui-Gon agreed. "You have another opportunity."

"I don't understand why I failed. I don't even understand what the Trial was. It happened so fast, like the blink of an eye..."

"A Jedi must be centered in the Force, Obi-Wan. Mind, body, and spirit. If one is bleeding, the wounds cut across every facet of your life, and you must heal them all as one." Qui-Gon's voice had slipped automatically into teaching mode, conveying comfortable familiarity. "You must confront your fears, and your motivations, and learn to understand what has brought you here."

Obi-Wan shifted his weight over his center of gravity, balancing his crouch by laying his arm across his knees. "You sound so pompous, like a first-year instructor."

Qui-Gon's eyes sought his through the firelight, and softened when he realized his apprentice was teasing him. "I do have that tendency, don't I?" He chuckled, looking away. "How have you put up with me all these years?"

"Because I knew I would eventually be rewarded for my tolerance." Obi-Wan held his breath as Qui-Gon's glance lifted sharply once again, examining his face, looking for what he hoped could be found in his eyes.

"Obi-Wan..." His master hesitated. "There are many things to be said. But there is time, now, for them all. Your reasons for coming here have to take precedence."

"If there's one thing I've realized, it's that one can never assume there is time," Obi-Wan answered, breathing out a slow breath, forcing himself not to leap across the fire and make his meaning clear. "There is a conversation waiting, Master, and I don't wish to wait until we leave Dagobah to hear what you will say."

"Nor do I." Qui-Gon folded his hands together. "But wait, it must."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Sound like Yoda, you do."

"Much maligned is my master. Hard to understand." Qui-Gon's voice rose in a grating parody of Yoda's.

"How did he ever let you get away with that?" snorted Obi-Wan.

"Careful, was I, or stick I would find in my eye. 'Behave, Padawan!'" Qui-Gon mimicked in a nasal, gritty tone.

Obi-Wan laughed out loud then. "I was fortunate that you had no stick, or I would no doubt have felt it on my backside many times."

"Many," Qui-Gon agreed. They sat in silence for a moment more, until Qui-Gon rose and dusted off his trousers. With a smile, he said, "You may wish to sit and relive the finer moments of your apprenticeship, but I'm too tired tonight. It was a long journey. Good night, Obi-Wan."

"Good night, Master." Obi-Wan watched as Qui-Gon bent his tall frame and squeezed into the little dwelling, removing boots and tunic and settling comfortably beneath his cloak in short order.

They had, of course, shared quarters together for thirteen years, in all climates and conditions. His master had held him, comforted him, touched him, but it had never been a source of discomfort for him. Idly, his fingers tickled the sticky residue of semen on his stomach.

He didn't think he would be getting much sleep.

*****

Dawn brought with it a set of exercises and challenges the likes of which Obi-Wan was quite accustomed to. Mind-numbing in their repetitive sameness, they were designed to strip away all outside stimuli, creating a stillness inside the consciousness. He'd been doing it all of his life, with varying degrees of difficulty. Qui-Gon set a pace designed to tire him quickly, complete with air exercises, climbing, katas, levitation and a smattering of sparring. Before he knew it, the day was gone, and he limped into the shelter after a meager supper, only vaguely aware of Qui-Gon as his foot was washed and bandaged tenderly.

The second day broke too early, and Obi-Wan contemplated simply refusing to rise from his heap of blankets and clothing, but Qui-Gon's steely gaze rousted him. Another long and tedious stretch of hours filled with katas, chopping dead trees for firewood, and other physical tasks. He devoured a light lunch and prepared to return to his labors, but was stopped by Qui-Gon's command.

"Time to meditate."

Finally, Obi-Wan thought, a task that wasn't about basic survival. He shot a guilty look at his master, who sat serenely as a snake twisted across his lap, slithering away and into the boggy water. He assumed a mediation position immediately and slowed his breathing. "What shall I meditate on, Master?"

"Your injuries." A cold shiver made his sweat clammy, and Obi-Wan resisted the temptation to object. "You must search your feelings, Padawan, and report to me what you find."

"Yes, M-master." The unexpected stutter surprised him; he examined it and filed the emotion behind it away for later discussion. He drifted, finding his way back through the vague maze of time, until he was there, in that moment, with the Sith.

"Will you beg?" So soft, in contrast to the searing pain of the saber. "Beg now, Jedi. Let me hear your cowardice." The bite of energy, the smell of his own skin being remade, cauterized by the sizzling blade. With every cut, his desperation grew. He reached out to his master, felt for his mind across their waning bond, gritted his teeth against pain that was all too bearable. "Save yourself. Offer me your surrender."

He could feel Qui-Gon's life essence ebbing away, slowly being torn from his body by the pull of the Force. His fault. He had not stepped through the laser wall quickly enough, had not run fast enough, had not controlled the pain well enough, had been too slow. His leap of wild determination had knocked the Sith off balance, but had not stopped the strike that ran his master through. Now it was only a matter of time, and there would be no one left to hear him if he screamed.

But he would not give the Sith that satisfaction.

The roiling waves of Dark enveloped him, pinning him, and he succumbed to the exhausted urge of his body, relaxing his muscles. The Sith purred with satisfaction, drawing something new in blood and agony across Obi-Wan's collarbone. Obi-Wan became the pain, let it destroy his sense of futility, eating away his doubt. He harnessed the anger. It built, expanding like a supernova, unfurling like a cloud of silky ink inside his soul.

Pain was the key. He understood. And he took it, turned it, blew it back in the direction it came, capturing its power and flinging it into the Sith. Yellow eyes widened above his own as he was released, as he sprang from the ground and flicked only one finger, crushing the throat of the Sith with a single gesture. He drew the saber to him as it clattered to the ground and sliced, doing his duty, making sure the evil of his enemy would no longer be a threat.

And turned, to see his master silent and still, sprawled on the ground where he had fallen.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, shuddering. Qui-Gon had abandoned his own meditation, responding to the mute distress call of his padawan, and knelt just a few inches away. As awareness returned, Obi-Wan watched as if in a daze as Qui-Gon reached out, tracing the paths of individual cuts, fingers delicately traveling the lines with feather-light strokes. "Tell me," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan swallowed, willing his throat to open so he might speak.

"I felt hatred. And anger. Pain. Desperation."

"And where did these feelings lead you?"

"To the strength with which I defeat my enemy." The response was automatic. Qui-Gon's eyes rebuked him.

"No. Reach deep inside your heart. What did this lead you to?"

"I...wanted him dead," Obi-Wan said haltingly.

"Yes. Tell me." Stronger this time.

"I wanted...I wanted to do it with my bare hands, to...hurt him...to strike him down. I..."

"Why did you want this?"

Obi-Wan said nothing. So much welled up inside him all at once, too much for any mind to process, too many conflicting thoughts. He shook his head, once, and Qui-Gon cradled his face, hands cupping his neck, fingers stretching into his hair, soothing him.

"You've made a start. We will continue tomorrow."

His neck suddenly could not support the weight atop it, and Obi-Wan let his head fall forward, resting it against Qui-Gon's chest. There they remained, until twilight threatened to fall, when at last Qui-Gon stirred.

They passed the remainder of the evening hunting down a small edible-looking creature and roasting it over the fire, letting food and small talk become the focal point of their time together. Any other objective seemed far away.

Obi-Wan broke the bones of the carcass when the meat was stripped away, scattering them in the swamp just beyond the clearing. Odd, how the bones seemed to resonate in his hands, as though there were secrets there, imprinted in a language beyond his understanding. Their smooth surfaces, pitted with the clean cuts from his saber blade, made his hands ache, gave him the vague idea that there was something he should comprehend, if he looked below the brittle beginnings.

The thought drove him back to the fire, to Qui-Gon, who was washing within the circle of its light, nude and unselfconscious. With a small sponge, he dribbled water down his chest, washing in large, loopy circles, then splashing fresh water on his skin to rinse away suds. Obi-Wan could not have looked away if he had truly wanted to; suddenly his urge to touch was so strong that his hands began to shake with wanting.

Qui-Gon heard him, or perhaps sensed him, and spoke with a voice made husky by mirrored desire. "What is it, Padawan?"

"I think I'd like to try the meditation again," he said, nerve endings jangling with sensation, mind a mass of jumbled impulses.

"I think it would be unwise," Qui-Gon said, taking a towel and wrapping it around his body. "You need time to process what you've learned. Put things in perspective first, before you attempt to move on to the next lesson."

"I don't have much time," Obi-Wan said suddenly, and was instantly mystified by his own words. Qui-Gon looked at him oddly. "I don't know, I just..." Confused, he stopped, then started again. "Master, if I fail the Trials a second time, what might have been will no longer matter. I-"

"Obi-Wan." The velvet nuances of his name soothed Obi-Wan immediately, stopped his urgent plea. "You did not pass your Trials. It makes you no less desirable in my eyes."

There, finally, was the truth, matter-of-fact and almost too much to believe. Obi-Wan dropped to his knees, sitting back on his heels. "Do you desire me?"

"A master may not desire his padawan," came the rote response, fraught with strain.

"Do you?" Obi-Wan breathed the question, locking on to Qui-Gon's gleaming eyes. The tension grew, lived, became unbearable as Qui-Gon struggled to find an answer to a question he could no longer avoid.

Finally his eyes grew dark, and his lashes lowered, sensual enough to cause Obi-Wan to catch his breath. "I do."

"I want to try the meditation again," Obi-Wan said firmly, waiting for Qui-Gon to agree. His master waited, neither approving nor disapproving. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, shutting out the questions, and flowed backward in memory, back to the moment he dreaded remembering...

He looked at the severed torso of the Sith, smiling with grim satisfaction. It was an acceptable punishment. He hurled the red-bladed saber aside and ran to his master, kneeling beside his broken body, pushing, pushing with all his might, willing him to live, to be strong, to find the Force and follow it back into life, not into some shadowed place he might never be able to find him. "Qui-Gon!" he cried, voice breaking as he realized he was not giving enough to keep his master alive. It would all be for nothing, then, the step across the brink into Darkness, his gathering of the power to defeat the Sith, the killing.

No matter what, he would not be left behind.

He called the Force, begged it this last favor, let it flow through him, into his master, taking with it the essence of his own life, his healing powers, his love, strong and pure and once so pure, now tainted by Darkness. He didn't care; if it saved his master, it was worth the risk. His vision dimmed; the Force embraced him as he poured his life into Qui-Gon, because it was all that mattered, that Qui-Gon should live.

It was all that mattered.

"Master!" Obi-Wan shouted the word, bringing himself back into the moment with a sickening jolt.

Qui-Gon stood, dressed now, at the opposite edge of the camp, on the other side of the fire. His expression was inscrutable. "Tell me, Obi-Wan. What have you discovered?"

"I killed the Sith because I wanted you to live," Obi-Wan said, a sob catching in his throat. He ruthlessly crushed it. "Nothing mattered but that you live. Not the Force, not Naboo, nothing, nothing." His breath quickened, his muscles tightened. "I gave in to the Darkness, I became what he was, I betrayed the Light. I betrayed you, oh, Force." He doubled over on the ground, physically ill.

"You were blinded by anger because of your love for me," Qui-Gon said, moving swiftly to his side. Obi-Wan found himself embraced, held while the retching passed. "There is no shame in love, Obi-Wan. But it cannot be allowed to overwhelm your duty. And you cannot deny what you did, what you are because of it. You can only accept it, let it make you stronger, and move away from the Darkness. To deny it brings you closer to the brink."

Obi-Wan gasped for air, nodding, and swayed back on his heels. Qui-Gon smoothed his braid to the side and released him with a soft brush of hand to cheek. "Think on this, Obi-Wan. And then come to bed."

With bleak eyes, Obi-Wan nodded, seeing nothing but the darkness just beyond the firelight, nothing but how close he had come to being everything he was trained to overcome.

*****

It was near dawn when Obi-Wan rose stiffly, stretching tight muscles. So many things were clear to him, things his mind had surrounded with walls and excuses before. He had done something a Jedi should never do. No wonder the Council had cast him out so he could be made to see.

With the realizations came understanding, acceptance of his imperfections. He would never be the perfect Jedi. He would not even be the best of their Order, but he would learn to become what he had hoped so long ago - a man who followed the Light, who was one with the Force and who served its will without anger.

So many facets of his future had become clear to him...the threads were tied together, though he hadn't known how closely they were related. He loved Qui-Gon; he always had. As his teacher, and as much, much more. He had been foolish not to say so long before.

He had always cultivated an idea, carefully nurtured in the back of his imaginings, that he would always be at Qui-Gon's side. Once knighted, he would simply continue to travel with Qui-Gon, as companion and friend, and lover - equals in every way. Now that possibility seemed less distant to him. He was learning by degrees how important it was to take each opportunity as it came. Some chances came only once, and he wasn't going to waste the one presented to him now.

He turned back toward the shelter, aware of the deep blue eyes tracking his motions. Just a few steps to Qui-Gon's side, and he was kneeling again, this time before the prone, beautiful form of his master.

He hesitated only a moment before reaching out; Qui-Gon's breath caught, but he made no move to interrupt the touch. Obi-Wan's hand traced gentle, individual circles over Qui-Gon's chest, lingering on his belly, fingers spreading across the hard muscles there, clutching softly and releasing. The touch was eloquent, sensual, unbearable, and Qui-Gon caught his wrist, dragged it up against his face. His eyes burned into the younger man's soul, searching, looking for concessions.

His master's eyes were open windows to his soul, unguarded and beautiful, filled with desire and understanding and naked, vulnerable need. He let Qui-Gon draw him close, holding his breath as his master released the captive wrist and placed his fingers under Obi-Wan's chin, tilting his face up. Obi-Wan arched his neck, head falling back as he lifted his face to his master.

With a hand that should have trembled under the weight of repercussions but was instead still and sure, Qui-Gon stroked roughly across the line of Obi-Wan's jaw, burying his fingers in the thickness of hair at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck. The space of a breath passed and his mouth covered Obi-Wan's, sighing contentment, sharing life and need, passing the gift of delicious desire back and forth in the dance of flickering tongues. He licked at Obi-Wan's lower lip, demanding entrance, and Obi-Wan obliged. He invited Qui-Gon in with a fierce kiss nearly stopped his heart.

Obi-Wan bore the sensual assault as long as he dared before breaking away, gasping, staring at the evidence of their kisses, the soft redness of Qui-Gon's swollen lips. With effort, he tore his gaze from that place and raised it to Qui-Gon's eyes.

The fastenings of Qui-Gon's trousers opened quickly at his insistence, as he peeled away the garments that hid his master's body from his sight. It was unacceptable that anything should be concealed now, that any part of Qui-Gon should be kept from him. He feasted on the feel of smooth skin beneath the rough calluses on his palms, on the sight of dusky nipples that pebbled beneath his fingertips, on the erotic thrill of Qui-Gon's head thrown back as his clothes were torn from his body.

As though mesmerized, he tasted that skin, mapping every inch of it with his mouth, nibbling a trail of heat across the broad chest. He was turned, placed on his back as his hips were covered by large hands,. Lips teased gently at the erection that rested anxiously against his belly. All the while, he could *feel* Qui-Gon's pleasure, reaching deep inside him and exposing him for the impostor he was - not a padawan, not a willing student, but merely a man, who wanted nothing more than to be taken by his beloved and never be parted from him again.

Qui-Gon's eyes darkened, become the color of uncut sapphires, shining softly with love, beckoning him. Those eyes possessed every inch of the body that sprawled waiting for him. Obi-Wan smiled, giving Qui-Gon all the encouragement he needed.

The master returned to Obi-Wan's outstretched arms, was enfolded tightly in an embrace meant to allow the younger man access to the body he'd long wanted to explore. For a moment, the sensation overwhelmed Obi-Wan, and he bent his head, clasping Qui-Gon to him, afraid there was something he should say, or some apology he should give.

Qui-Gon laid a gentle finger to his lips, following the simple touch with a kiss that devoured, that consumed all doubt and danger, sending the fears and misunderstandings into the darkness of the past and leaving only light. Closer still, and they were twined, hands roaming, mouths pushing farther, tongues gliding deeper, touching more than teeth as they reached for the core of one another.

Skin on skin, moving gently, friction created by the restless push of each man against the other as they grappled for more. Qui-Gon pinned Obi-Wan's hands, ignoring his frantic writhing, and fastened his mouth over a nipple, cock pulsing with each soft, disbelieving gasp puffing out past Obi-Wan's parted lips. He sucked at the small nub, catching it between his teeth and pulling gently, catching Obi-Wan's rampant erection in his waiting hand as the body beneath him arched off the bed, eloquent in its motion.

No more waiting, then. Qui-Gon slowly took the length of Obi-Wan into his mouth. Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered closed, as his hands curled around Qui-Gon's shoulders, as his throat worked against unspoken words. His climax built quickly as his master patiently caressed every inch of that shaft, holding it loosely before swallowing against it, swirling his tongue across the crown and holding Obi-Wan still as violent tremors shook him. He set a rhythm, keeping the pace despite the pulling fingers that urged him on, lifting Obi-Wan's legs over his shoulders and touching his padawan gently in the hidden place, just as Obi-Wan had hoped.

Obi-Wan shuddered against him, laid open and vulnerable, and the knowledge of his vulnerability was all that was needed to push him across the threshold. Warm liquid filled Qui-Gon's mouth; his master licked it all away, calming the shivering of Obi-Wan's body, easing his fingers into the tight, dark place beneath the softening cock he'd just released, opening and preparing it for the taking that must follow.

Qui-Gon swung himself up, held Obi-Wan's legs over his strong arms as he pressed forward, as Obi-Wan looked up at him, feeling sated and utterly wanton. Fiercely, Qui-Gon restrained himself, gasping as he inched inside, until he filled the small space completely, enclosed in the welcoming heat of Obi-Wan's body.

With careful strokes Qui-Gon moved, joining himself to Obi-Wan, head thrown back in the throes of an ecstasy that had been denied them for far too many years. Emotions exploded between them, Obi-Wan's joy mingling freely with Qui-Gon's so he could not have said where one ended and the other began. He made sounds, then, finally, growling as Qui-Gon thrust deeply and came, sharing his rapture with his lover, heart to heart, body to body, one in every way that mattered.

Ragged breaths clawed their way out of his chest, and he kissed Qui-Gon's face, tasting the tears he'd known he would find there, understanding the happiness that caused them.

Arms and legs tangled together, they drifted into sleep, dreaming each other's dreams.

*****

III.

Morning came all too soon, and brought with it a padawan who wanted nothing more than to bask in the newfound warmth of his lover. He opened his eyes to bright daylight and an empty shelter, and the name tumbled off his lips freely, as it never had before.

"Qui-Gon!"

"Out here, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan yanked on his trousers and scrambled outside to find Qui-Gon dressed, straightening their campsite, returning it to nature. He smiled at Qui-Gon; it was his master's ritual of departure. It had always made Obi-Wan a little sad, and this day was no exception. "You think I'm ready to leave?"

"I do." Qui-Gon straightened, and there was sadness in his eyes. "Just one more thing you must face, Obi-Wan."

"More meditation?" Obi-Wan grinned.

"No, not this time." Qui-Gon came to him, wrapping strong arms around him, and Obi-Wan succumbed to the sensation of being loved. "This time, you will find what you need outside yourself." He pulled back and covered Obi-Wan's lips with his own, a lingering kiss...one that seemed to last forever. "Have I ever said I loved you, Obi-Wan?"

"Not until now." Obi-Wan straightened Qui-Gon's cloak. "But I always knew."

"I do love you." More seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't say it, and Obi-Wan looked at him, puzzled.

"As I love you."

Qui-Gon lifted his padawan braid, tugging it. "Just this one last thing, Obi-Wan." He lifted his eyes and nodded his head in the direction of a gnarled tree. Obi-Wan followed his gaze, surprised by the shudder of revulsion he felt.

"All right," he said, trying to ignore the distant feeling of alarm prickling at the back of his neck. He retrieved his tunic and threw it on, reaching for his saber.

"Not that. You won't need it."

Obi-Wan looked back at Qui-Gon, frowning. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, leaving the saber where it lay nestled in his cloak.

As he circled the enormous tree, his view of his master was obscured, and his dread grew. The roots of the tree concealed a damp cavern, into which he lowered himself carefully, clinging to vines and slippery handholds. Darkness surrounded him, within and without, and his soul shivered, unwilling to move forward into the black.

He took a few tentative steps, trying to catch his breath. His lungs felt compressed, weighted by evil. Sounds too faint to be identified scraped the edges of his mind, and he gathered the Force to him, using it like a shield, like a beacon in the dark.

Just at the edge of the Light, he saw it then - a body, fallen in two, black-clad. His heart rate sped as he recognized the dead form of the Sith, but he released his hate, pushing it away into the Force, throwing his anger back into the Light and letting it wash away.

But there was more. There had to be.

He turned, almost as though in a dream, and saw Qui-Gon on the ground, still and silent. "No," he whispered, running, dropping to one knee to draw his master into his arms, looking into the wise eyes, thinking only of easing the pain he saw there.

"It's too late, Obi-Wan."

"No!" He positioned his hands, centering himself, but the Force seemed to flow back in on itself, completing a loop that did not include Qui-Gon Jinn. "Master, no, don't stop me!"

"You cannot save me, Obi-Wan. You did not."

"Oh, Master, no," Obi-Wan cried, touching the handsome face. "Please!"

"This last thing, you must understand," Qui-Gon said, smiling gently. "It was not meant to be as I had hoped. I did love you, Obi-Wan. I should have told you."

Now Obi-Wan could feel his tears falling freely, but they didn't matter. Qui-Gon's fingers brushed against his face, smearing the moisture there. "You will be a great Jedi, Padawan."

"I love you," Obi-Wan said fiercely, hugging his master to him, chest constricting as the light that was his teacher fled from the body it had inhabited...

Time shifted; the familiar warmth of Qui-Gon's body dissolved away, leaving Obi-Wan grasping at the empty air. The dark world around him frayed and fragmented into something familiar, and the touch of another mind against his own shattered what remained of the illusion.

"Your Trials are complete."

Obi-Wan sobbed once, falling forward on the ground, and Master Windu moved immediately to lift him to his feet. Tears of inevitability and loss wet his face; he wiped them away with a careless hand, nodding to Mace, who released him and stepped away.

"Passed them you have. At much cost." Yoda beckoned to Obi-Wan, who knelt before the venerable Jedi Master. "Qui-Gon would be pleased, young Obi-Wan."

"It seemed so real..." Obi-Wan murmured. He could still taste Qui-Gon's lips, feel the silken kiss of his hair. "How...how much of it was real?" He touched his face, unsurprised to find the faint traces of scars there; he felt grounded again in reality.

"Give yourself a moment to adjust, Obi-Wan. You will begin to recall everything." Mace began to explain. "Your master died at the hands of the Sith, Obi-Wan, and your efforts to save him were commendable, but not successful. Regrettably, in order to reveal your deepest heart, we had to create the illusion of life and rearrange the events of that tragedy; we had to allow him to interact with you. Memories were not a sufficient test of your understanding of the situation."

"My Trial...was to realize my anger, then...my hatred of the Sith...and release them." Obi-Wan slowly filtered out his true memories, separated them from the framework of deception that had been his Trial.

"You were motivated equally by rage and love, Obi-Wan. We are satisfied you will not make that mistake again." Adi Gallia's voice was filled with sadness.

"Necessary, it was, to deceive you. Important to see if you could find your way, if face your fears you could, and your responsibility. Point of all Trials, this is." Yoda's face reflected his sorrow. "Much missed is your master. By all of us." His gnarled hand patted Obi-Wan's knee, an awkward gesture of comfort. "A great Jedi will you be."

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Not as great as my master."

"Time, it is, to become what your destiny will make you."

Destiny. Obi-Wan spared a thought for what might have been, and compared it to the future the Force had chosen for him. All the years ahead seemed empty.

"I will do my best," Obi-Wan said hollowly. "Will I...be allowed to train Anakin? I promised Qui-Gon, and I will carry out that promise." Now he remembered; now he could hear his master's actual last words - the ones that did not contain a declaration of love. The knowledge twisted his heart inside his chest, filling him with fresh pain.

"Loved you, he did." Something in Yoda's tone made him look up, and what he saw in those brilliant eyes made him catch his breath. "With you, he was, through every step of your Trials."

The room spun as possibilities crashed in on Obi-Wan, flooding him with sudden hope. "Are you saying...that it really was Qui-Gon? That..." Words deserted him, leaving him stunned. "Oh, Master Yoda."

"All things are possible with the Force." Yoda smiled mysteriously. "A lesson you have learned, in more than one dimension, eh?"

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan began tucking away memories as fast as he could, hiding them in the secret places, filling the empty places with those stolen moments which had been his master's gift to him.

If those moments suspended in time were all he would ever have with Qui-Gon, they would have to be enough.

"Train the boy, you will. The Council agrees."

"Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan got to his feet, accepting congratulations automatically, thinking only of the message his master had given him. In this moment of triumph, Qui-Gon was with him, in his every word, in his actions, in the things he had taught Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan would keep all his promises. He wanted to be able to tell his beloved that he'd done so, someday.

End



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