Endless agony rippled through Qui-Gon Jinn unabated. Like a flaying knife, pain cut away his resistance, leaving him wide open and gasping for breath. It had been that way since the first surge of fire crashed into his mind. Every sense Qui-Gon Jinn possessed was focused on the Regent.
The torment of it had driven him instinctively to his door, into the corridor, down the hallways with a purpose he could not comprehend. He needed to find Kenobi, had to be with him, to give and heal until he was dead himself from the effort if need be. Had he stopped to think, he would have considered himself more than slightly insane, but the single-minded drive refused to be denied. He raged, and tore, and fought the guards until he was overpowered by sheer numbers.
A Force-dampening field had been erected around his quarters, keeping him confined. He sat by the door for hours, feeling every shiver of pain creeping through Kenobi, waiting feverishly as each ripple passed over him and out into the continuous circle of energy that was the Force. Even without the Force to guide him, the raw pain found him through his strange bond with the Regent, barely filtered by the dampeners meant to keep him in his place.
He could offer no comfort. To himself, or to the man he was enslaved to, in both mind and body.
Sunlight trickled across the bedcovers, lighting the world outside Obi-Wan's closed eyes. He chose not to move for a moment, letting the light spread its warmth and vibrancy around his body as the fog of sleep lifted. In the quiet darkness, he catalogued his circumstances.
The injury to his side was throbbing lightly, but the worst of the pain had passed. He stretched cautiously, testing his theory, and sighed with relief when his muscles declined to react with agony. He had expected to spend the day in a meditation trance, focused on healing the torn flesh, but...
A flash of memory occurred to him, of gentle hands and the Force flowing through him. Jinn, he thought immediately, with an odd surge of gratitude. After a moment, he dismissed the notion. Valorum would not have allowed the Jedi into his quarters under any circumstances until he was certain it was safe. There were no Force-adept healers on Taganor, and though the Council of Advisors was rife with Force-adepts, none of them would have been permitted to touch him.
Only one option remained.
Obi-Wan ran his fingertips down the length of the arm encircling his chest, grasping it lightly at the wrist. Carefully, he turned in the circle of those arms, shifting back slightly to look at the face of his favorite, still flushed and calm in sleep. Unruly black hair had straggled across his closed eyes, and Obi-Wan lifted a hand to brush it away, a sweep of ebony silk against golden skin.
It could not be. Xanatos had been a slave for quite some time before was acquired for the harem. He had been in the seraglio for many cycles. It wasn't possible. It was...
It was the only answer.
Of course, he'd always sensed the hum of energy just beneath the surface in Xan, had used it to amplify their mutual pleasure during sex, but he'd never imagined that Xan understood the Force, that he could call upon it and turn it to his bidding. His favorite had been keeping secrets of self-preservation. Obi-Wan found he was impressed, and curious. And touched. His slave had revealed much, risked much, to save his life.
Kenobi studied the other man's peaceful visage while mulling over the implications. He'd never asked Xanatos much of anything about his past; his slave had deferred specific questions. Only once had Obi-Wan pressed the point, asking if Xan would like the scar on his cheek healed. Xan's negative reaction had been so vehement that his master never asked again. Obi-Wan had allowed the man to preserve the veil over his memories, since thoughts of a former life could sometimes cause great pain. He was in a unique position to know that feeling quite intimately.
So where had Xanatos learned his skill with the Force? And how far did it extend? Obi-Wan's flattened palm crept beneath Xan's tunic and touched bare, warm skin, drawing broad, soothing circles there. If he asked too many questions, and Xan declined to answer, he would be forced to choose - ignore, or punish.
Ignore, and all control would be lost. Obi-Wan wondered if loss of control would be such a terrible thing. For Xan, he had often lowered his guard to the point of vulnerability. Perhaps it had been unwise, but the Force had never shown him any danger inherent in that small bit of trust. Still, he was the master, and Xan was a slave. Some things were fixed constants, and their roles could not be undone.
Yet, he knew he could not pretend to be ignorant of the plain truth of things. Xan wasn't a fool, and he would not expect Kenobi to be foolish. Complicated, indeed, and further woven with intrigue because the handsome man in his bed loved him. And because his own conflicted feelings were tied up in duty, status, authority, and the unexpected entry of the Jedi into his already twisted emotions.
He looked at Xan's face, and darker thoughts invaded, bringing the Regent to the fore and pushing back desire.
After all, he had not thought to ask Xan's whereabouts at the time of the attack on Anakin. It was plausible that his slave was anything but what he appeared. Possible, in fact, that his ability with the Force gave him the necessary skill to kill as well as heal.
Resolutely, he ignored the twinge of hurt he experienced at the thought of such betrayal. All possibilities must be examined, all roads traveled. Even so, there were some things he found he did not want to believe too easily.
Wincing at the pressure on his side, Obi-Wan shifted again, bringing his body closer to Xan's, leaving a whisper of a kiss on those soft lips. He closed his eyes, feeling the soft, even puffs of breath against his face, and drew a line of kisses across Xan's cheek, closing his lips tenderly around the scar, against the fine skin beneath the dark lashes. His tongue flickered out, darting quickly across the lower lip before he captured that mouth, pressing just enough to part Xan's lips beneath him.
A soft sigh, and Xan's eyes opened, sultry with lingering dreams, narrowing just a bit as he submitted to the Regent's scrutiny. "Good morning, my master," he breathed, as his upper lip was savored and teased by Obi-Wan's possessive mouth.
"The wound is nearly healed," Obi-Wan said quietly, watching the blue of Xan's eyes become midnight, full of secrets. Xan looked away, but Obi-Wan raised his chin, plundering his mouth, deepening his exploration of the sweet warmth within.
When he was through, Xan's eyes shone again, but the troubled darkness lurked in the corners. They gazed at one another for a long moment.
"Aren't you going to ask?" Xan said, softly, communicating his longing, his acceptance, with a quick touch over Obi-Wan's heart.
Until that moment, Obi-Wan hadn't known for certain if that question had an answer, and when he realized it did, the question no longer mattered at all.
"No," he said, before claiming another kiss, pairing the sensation of it with the texture of supple muscle beneath his roving hands. He lost himself in the pleasure and the warmth, and pushed the rest of it from his mind, into places he could find it when the time was right.
Daybreak brought no relief for Valorum, who paced the anteroom of the Regent's chambers, unable to stop the cycle of worry that had begun in his clever mind. If Kenobi were killed, there would be nothing to stop the Sith from taking control, nothing to save the hundreds of slaves from being taken and used up like replaceable commodities. Nothing to prevent the heir from turning dark and cold, and annihilating the known universe.
He glanced toward the closed entrance, wondering if Kenobi were awake. There would be a summoning, and questions to answer, once he was fully recovered. And the Sith would be arriving too quickly for Valorum's taste. If there were a way to speed the healing, he would have to encourage it.
Impatient, he crossed to the comlink and triggered it. A deep, sinuous voice answered. "Yes, Chancellor?"
"Where are the men I selected, Maul?"
"They will arrive shortly, Chancellor. They were quite...pleased...to be called to do their duty." There was a hint of amusement in Maul's voice, that same arrogant false benevolence which had always irritated Valorum.
With effort, the chancellor curbed his annoyance. "The heir?"
"Sleeping peacefully. He has stopped demanding to see the Regent. I have explained that he cannot be allowed to visit until we find the source of the threat."
"And what progress have you made there?" Valorum asked.
"None yet. The surveillance holorecorders have been installed and activated as you instructed. We have checked the holovids already available to us; most show nothing usable. We are unable to proceed further, I'm afraid." Maul's expression of regret sounded patently insincere.
A muted chime at the door, and Valorum palmed the code to open the doors. "Don't be dissuaded so easily, Maul. This, and Anakin's safety, are your only priorities."
"Understood," Maul answered, before closing the communication.
Valorum turned to the four young men and two women who stood at attention before him, taking their measure with keen eyes. They did not flinch under his inspection, nor did they meet his eyes. Exuding quiet confidence, they waited, staring straight ahead.
Valorum's tone became solemn, almost sharp, as he began. "You six are the elite of your corps. You have been training for nearly a year now to do one thing: work in service to the Regent, in whatever capacity he may require." The chancellor moved slowly down the line. "Your sole responsibility from this moment forward is to keep the heir alive. Nothing else. You will guard him 'round the clock. You will not be relieved by other troops; you will not give information to anyone but the Regent or to me, as his agent. You will take no orders save my own and those of Regent Kenobi."
He paused to give his words weight. "If the heir should die while in your care, I will see to it that each of you dies the same day." His words sank into the air like stones into water. "You do not take orders from the heir, most particularly if they contradict the orders of the Regent. Anakin Skywalker is not your master; he does not hold the power of life or death over you, unless you fail to protect him. Is that clear?"
A chorus of voices answered in the affirmative.
"You will begin this morning, at the conclusion of this briefing. Relieve Maul and take charge of your responsibility," Valorum finished. "Dismissed."
The small woman closest to him - the ranking officer - saluted sharply and led her small cadre from the room, even as the door to Kenobi's quarters slid open to make way for Xanatos.
With easy grace, the pleasure slave went to one knee and bowed before the chancellor, who motioned at him impatiently. "I've no time for this. Get up. How is he?"
"He is much better, Excellency."
The happiness in Xanatos' voice gave Valorum momentary pause, and irritated him unaccountably. "I take it you are feeling secure with your place in the scheme of things, young man?" he asked, taking a secret pleasure in the crestfallen and cautious look which drowned the joy on the other man's face.
"No, Excellency. I am merely pleased that the Regent will be well again."
"His welfare is important to you?"
"Very much so, Chancellor." The sudden strength of his words gave them conviction.
"You may return to your quarters in the seraglio. Now."
"Yes, Excellency."
As Xanatos made his way to the door, Valorum wasted no time entering the bedchamber. He found Kenobi sitting on the edge of the bed, naked from the waist up, probing the pinkish wound with three tentative fingers. Valorum stopped short, and his hissing intake of breath betrayed his surprise.
The wound was nearly healed. Overnight, jagged edges had mended; torn tissues had knitted together, sealing neatly and leaving only a raised scar where the weapon pierced the flesh.
Valorum raised shocked eyes to Kenobi. "You are healed! How is this possible?"
Obi-Wan turned toward the chancellor, his expression inscrutable. "You know the answer to that, old friend."
"You didn't have time," Valorum insisted, moving quickly to his side to examine the injury for himself. "There wasn't time..."
"I slept very little."
"But in front of a slave?" Incredulity seeped through, and Valorum was shocked at himself. "You would give that much away? What were you thinking?"
"I have been trained by the Sith, Valorum. I am capable of this, and more, and the slaves know it. This is nothing outside of the realm of my abilities." Kenobi reached for a tunic and pulled it on, testing the limits of his flexibility.
Valorum moved away, regaining his composure with effort. "Yes," he murmured. "Of course." He glanced up as Kenobi continued to dress. "Are you feeling entirely well?"
"Well enough." The Regent buckled his belt and turned his piercing hazel gaze on Valorum. "Has the guard been dispatched?"
"It has." He waited for the inevitable question.
"Now, Valorum. Let's discuss Ambassador Windu. And his intolerance for my methods."
"Yes, Highness," Valorum said. His mouth tightened, as though something bitter had passed between his lips.
Valorum spoke of doubt, and insurrection. He revealed what he knew of Windu's dissatisfaction, of the schism in the Council of Advisors. He paced, and Kenobi listened dispassionately, absorbed in the nuances of the information. Observations, facts, opinions - Valorum offered all he knew, information he had carefully gathered over the course of many years' faithful service.
When he was finished, Kenobi stood for a very long time with his head bowed, arms wrapped around his body, deep in thought. "Do you think Windu is responsible for this?" he asked finally.
"I cannot be sure, Obi-Wan." For the first time in a very long time, Valorum used the Regent's given name. "It is possible. There are so many now who would gladly see you fail, who would trade Taganor for political advancement. They would prefer to see this world become a mere signpost for the Empire. And Anakin...if he is exploited as the Sith have intended from the beginning, there will be no hope at all."
"I know," Obi-Wan said. The underlying stress in his voice tore at Valorum's heart. He had seen the young man survive by wits alone in a difficult, impossibly dangerous situation, and the strain of that weariness was evident in Obi-Wan's voice.
After a moment, Valorum said, "Surveillance equipment has been installed throughout the fortress, as you instructed."
"Have your people check the holos every cycle. If there is treason...I must know." Heavy sadness accompanied the statement. "There is nothing else to be done, for now. No one is to know the progress of my healing, other than Xanatos."
"My lord..." Valorum hesitated. "Who will guard you against assassination? We cannot be certain the attempt on Anakin's life was focused exclusively on him, and was not intended for you as well."
"No, we can't. But his safety is all-important."
"If you die, I would rather he were dead as well. Better that than the fate we will endure at his hands." Valorum uttered the words before he could think better of them.
"And will you bring that about, Chancellor, if I should be killed?" Obi-Wan's voice became low and dangerous.
"I will not. Unless you order it." Stubbornly, Valorum held his ground.
"See to the boy. I have other business to attend to." With a wave of his hand, Kenobi dismissed his advisor, who bowed stiffly, and turned to go.
"Valorum."
"Yes?"
"Be vigilant. There will be no second chances."
Like the sudden light from a star in a deadened sky, the Force returned to Qui-Gon Jinn, washing over and into him, cradling him. He breathed it in and stood, trembling, as awareness of Kenobi's life essence assaulted him, reassuring and powerful.
It made no sense that he should be so connected to this man he did not respect, could not honor, this man who wanted nothing more from him than his body, prostrated and exposed to desire.
A storm began to swell within him, swirling with frustration and fury. He had been dismissed and ignored by the Regent as beneath notice, subjected to humiliation and subjugation, and he was no closer to escape than he had been before. And yet, his body craved what had been given and withdrawn, and his heart was whole because Kenobi lived, because there would be no breaking of that bond. He did not want it, but he could not suppress it, and it was driving him half out of his mind.
Qui-Gon tried to suppress the raging anger, but it would not be refused. He turned, blindly, grasping at the first thing within reach. A moment later, a table laden with fruit and beverages went flying, hurled across the room with the satisfying use of brute force.
Jinn's hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms as he trembled with the massive concentration necessary to calm himself. He pulled his emotions back, consigned them to a distant corner of his heart, and locked them away. They could serve no purpose here, in this place. He was not free, and might never be free again.
The very thought staggered him. He sat on the corner of the bed, his entire body shaking, picturing the path ahead. For now, he had chosen to submit, to be remade into an instrument of pleasure because necessity demanded it. He could not be responsible for another's injury or death, not while it was entirely preventable by the willing sacrifice of his body.
The cost was much deeper, much truer than that.
Kenobi held the power, and while Jinn chafed beneath the invisible leash, a part of him had already quietly acquiesced, had folded like a flower beneath the weight of the bond between them. Even now, clamped off by Kenobi's efforts, the link sang its presence, weaving an irresistible cloth around them both.
What would he do when Kenobi finally demanded a demonstration of what he'd learned? That one question was rapidly becoming the center of his days and nights, and while he dreaded that moment, he had begun to anticipate it with a hunger he had never dreamed he would be capable of.
It had been no hardship to submit to the deft hands and teasing tongues of his teachers. His mind rebelled, but his body bent willingly to its worshippers, and he had learned to worship in kind. The lessons had begun to blur into a kind of lust-induced haze, and he was an apt pupil. The thought both disgusted and excited him, and the warring emotions churning within him only added to his freshly kindled anger.
Kenobi had no right to extract such a payment for his refusal to serve the Sith. It was obscene. It was...
It was something he was prepared to give freely.
A growling sound of denial welled within him, manifesting in the Force, and small objects turned, smashed, shattered under the pressure of his fierce confusion.
The door to his quarters slid open suddenly, to admit Ket'al, whose knowing green eyes ran quickly over Qui-Gon, and then turned to the rest of the room. His fellow slave surveyed the localized disaster and remarked, "This won't solve the problem, Qui-Gon."
"I know," the Jedi replied through gritted teeth. He wiped his palms on his leggings, turning hopeful eyes to the other man. "Kenobi...he's all right?"
Ket'al nodded once. "He lives, although it's somewhat of a mystery how he managed to evade not one but two saber-stars. The heir is lucky to have such a man protecting him."
And who protects Kenobi? Qui-Gon thought, but resolutely quashed the sentiment.
"You look as though you've been without sleep," Ket'al observed, giving him a knowing look Qui-Gon had come to recognize very well. "What troubles you most, Qui-Gon? Is it the lessons you learn with us?"
The question was earnest, asked without judgment, and Qui-Gon found that he very much wanted to speak truthfully. He hesitated, and finally answered, "I...don't know."
"Is this training still difficult for you? We all have found the lessons most pleasurable." Ket'al flashed a white smile, and added, "Daro especially is quite taken with you. If given a choice, I doubt that he would leave your rooms for much aside from a hot bath or a summons from the Regent..." Ket'al stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing. "That's it, isn't it? You are disturbed because a summons has not come for you."
"No," Qui-Gon said immediately. Then, more slowly, he conceded his weakness, knowing it was useless to pretend innocence with this man, who knew him intimately. "Yes."
Ket'al reached for him, touched his face softly. "He will send for you, Jedi. I don't know why this is important to you, or why you cannot accept your own needs, but I assure you: he *will* send for you. And you will please him as no one else has before."
Qui-Gon felt his heart drop for reasons he could not have articulated, and he asked, "What of the Regent's favorite?"
"Xanatos? He will learn, finally, that power passes quickly, on the whims of the moment." Ket'al sounded satisfied with that probability, and Qui-Gon was deeply unsettled.
"And now, to business, Jedi. You have but a few basic lessons left. I've come to teach you one of the simplest, and one of the more difficult." Ket'al tilted his head, waiting.
With a sigh, Qui-Gon reached for the fastenings of his tunic.
"No." The word was a command, and Qui-Gon halted, amazed that he had obeyed so completely, without thought. "This is the lesson. The way you disrobe is all-important. It can heighten desire, or dampen it. Your way is functional at best. There is no artifice in you, Qui-Gon, and I don't want to change that. However. You must learn to slow your motions, to be graceful in your actions. Like so."
Ket'al's right hand was already moving, hypnotic and slow. One fastening at a time, loosed with deceptive ease, and in a few moments, the garment hung open, exposing the hard muscle of a broad chest. He slipped the cloth from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of crimson. "Economy of movement," he said, sliding his hands beneath the waistband of his trousers and dropping them with a single motion.
With a swiftness that took Qui-Gon's breath away, he knelt before the Jedi in a display of complete submission. He raised his face, smiling at the older man.
"So you see how it is done." He rose to his feet unselfconsciously and gestured. "Now you."
Qui-Gon had grown accustomed to the give and take of such lessons. With a talent perfected during years of repetitive training, he mimicked Ket'al expertly, dropping his clothing to the floor and kneeling.
"I'll have to do something about your clothes," Ket'al said cryptically, grinning as he cast a critical eye on the brown and ivory Jedi tunics and trousers. "These rough fabrics won't do at all. I'll order some new things, in shades of green and blue. They'll compliment your eyes, and the silver in your hair."
"Does that matter?" Qui-Gon said irritably, collecting his clothing and tossing it on the bed.
"It will to the Regent. And that is the point, isn't it?" Ket'al smiled, resting a hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Now. There is a most difficult lesson remaining, my friend, one that will not come easily to you. It is the lesson of penetration, of being taken and taking when required."
Qui-Gon tensed under the hand. His throat tightened as he imagined the prospect of spreading his body out beneath the Regent, waiting to be taken. Guilt consumed him as he felt the fantasy overwhelm him, the need for possession and completion burning itself into his imagination...
A shudder wracked Qui-Gon, and Ket'al misinterpreted it as revulsion. "We all have difficulty with this lesson, even those of us who are made to be loved in this fashion," he soothed, taking Qui-Gon's hand. "It will grow easier with time."
"Show me," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, trying to ignore the blatant response of his body to the pictures his mind was creating.
"Here," Ket'al said, leading him to the bed. "The Regent prefers a bedmate who offers passion instead of fear. If you come to him with fear, he will sense it, and he will not take you. He is not overly fond of inflicting pain on unwilling bedmates." Ket'al stopped, studied him. Slowly, he added, "And somehow, I think this is no longer just to save the skin of another, Jedi. I think perhaps that it is what you want, now."
Qui-Gon could not speak. He climbed onto the bed, rolling onto his back, waiting, tension thrumming though his limbs as Ket'al's words echoed in his ears. I think perhaps it is what you want.
Ket'al climbed up beside him, stretching out along the taut length of his body, stroking him lightly. "I won't harm you, Qui-Gon. You must know that."
Mutely, the Jedi nodded, turning his face toward the other man. Green eyes met blue, anticipation and understanding locked together with such intensity that neither heard the door slide open.
"Ket'al." The voice rang with authority, and both men turned to see Xanatos in the doorway, eyes on the tableau before him.
"Xanatos." Ket'al's expression hardened, and he climbed from the bed. "What do you want?"
Xanatos stared at the pleasure slave until he flushed under the hard look. Slowly, he turned his burning gaze on the naked figure of his former master, and his words seemed hotter than a brand on tender skin.
"This lesson is mine to teach."
In the total darkness of his cabin, the Sith Lord sat undisturbed, watching the stars streak by as his vessel sped toward Taganor on the Emperor's business.
So many stars. So many worlds, and so many missions already undertaken. Yet none had been as ultimately satisfying as this particular mission promised to be.
He had come to the Dark with a full heart, ready to serve, ready to become Darkness. There were those who had chosen other paths, other loyalties, but he found that he was unconcerned with all of them. Soon, the Empire would control all of the known worlds, and there would be only Darkness, only the Sith. His heart swelled with malevolent glee.
One obstacle remained. The Emperor was blind to it, but at last he had sensed the truth. Hence the mission, and his instructions. Leave no doubt as to the power of the Dark Side, my young apprentice.
He had no intention of leaving Taganor without accomplishing that directive. And in the process, he would have his revenge. It was coming; he could taste the sweet tang of hate, burning in his blood, lingering in his mouth as he spoke the name softly.
"Kenobi." Mortal enemy.
Yes, there was always a moment when the fates turned, when a chance could be taken, when the balance shifted.
This would be that moment.
A voice at the door roused him from his reverie. "We are two day's journey from Taganor, my lord. Shall I signal the planet to prepare for our arrival?"
"Not yet." The tall figure of the Sith Lord rose, gathering his black robes about him, and turned to face the captain. "I will inform you when it is time."
"Very well."
The Emperor's chosen representative smiled to himself, a smile as black as the void in his soul.
He would watch Kenobi suffer, and the circle would be complete.
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