DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
N.B. Thoughts indicated by // and Italics
Obi-Wan was drowning. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He thought he had felt pain before, when he’d been shot with all those stun blasters, but he’d been wrong. What he felt now made every form of physical torture pale by comparison. His soul was being eaten away inside him, bit by bit. His mind was engulfed in a continual scream of agony too strong to be sorrow.
He couldn’t cry, just stare blankly at nothing while he died slowly from inside. Qui-Gon was dead. He had felt him die. It was his fault, all of it. Two deaths were on his head already, one of which he would have given everything to prevent, and a hundred others would probably follow; the rebels could not have fled far, and the immense army was probably looking for them, if they hadn’t found them already. Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Qui-Gon was dead. Qui-Gon, who was Obi-Wan’s entire world, was gone. Nothing else mattered beyond that.
“Where are the rebels?” The voice came from worlds away. Obi-Wan could not respond. Yet it would be so easy just to give the Government a little help, let them find their quarry. Then at least they might leave him alone to his misery. He was about to agree when a single thought assailed his tortured mind: What would Qui-Gon think? He hesitated, then pulled himself away from the outside world, shutting himself up inside mental shields. He withdrew to the center of his being as his body collapsed backwards onto the slab that served as a bed, staring at the ceiling like the corpse of Garret’s cousin.
And still he screamed inside, wordlessly, like a tortured wraith. The scream became his world, his being. It consumed him like fire, devouring all that was not physical. It seemed there had never been anything else, never would be anything else, only the all-consuming cry and a vague memory of a kind bearded face that was gone forever.
Obi-Wan lost all sense of time. Hours, days, maybe even weeks went by unnoticed. People would come into the cells from time to time and question him, but he couldn’t hear the questions. They tortured him once, but he didn’t respond. They had already hurt him as much as they could. Eventually they stopped coming, bored or simply disgusted.
Obi-Wan had ceased to care, about himself, about the rebels, even about Qui-Gon. He had devoted his entire life to caring, and now that he didn’t, perhaps he had ceased to live as well. But he no longer cared about that either.
Still enveloped in the torment of his mind, Obi-Wan scarcely noticed as one by one his body’s mechanisms shut down. His eyes, tired from endless hours of staring unblinking at the ceiling, didn’t bother to see anymore. His blood no longer circulated to his hands and feet, concentrating solely on his torso and brain, trying reflexively to keep him alive. But he no longer had the will to live, so gradually his breaths became shallower and the numbness spread slowly up his arms and legs.
It was not long before Obi-Wan, through the haze of pain that enveloped his mind, realized the moment was at hand. He reached out feebly to the void growing before him. He heard the containment field open.
//No,// he thought. //You cannot touch me. Not now.// Someone was shaking his body, trying to speak to him. Obi-Wan could not hear the words, but there was urgency in the voice. Then one word, backed by a surge of power, broke through Obi-Wan’s shields and touched his mind: “Padawan.”
Obi-Wan paused at the edge of death. He knew that word, and the voice behind it. He couldn’t remember a name or a face, but he recalled, vaguely, a deep warmth and a sense of belonging. The incessant scream in his mind stopped suddenly, confused, and then memory flooded into the silence and Obi-Wan knew who had called him, who, even now, was gathering him into a frightened embrace, trying to warm his bloodless limbs.
With a terrible effort, Obi-Wan pushed past the shields he had erected, pulling himself violently back into his own body. He stirred faintly and blinked for the first time in days. He forced his heart to keep beating, wincing as blood was forced back into his stiffening limbs. Every cell in his body hurt. He was hungry and thirsty beyond measure, but he welcomed it, because along with it came the warmth and strength of his Master’s presence.
Obi-Wan tried to focus on Qui-Gon’s face, but his eyes still refused to work. He reached up with a shaky hand and touched Qui-Gon’s cheek. It was wet; with tears, he realized. His hand traveled over the face he knew as well as his own, the broken nose and deepset eyes that fluttered closed under his fingers. It was the same face he remembered, that he had thought he would never know again, although the cheeks were hollow and the care lines deeper.
“Master,” he whispered, fearing that his words would end the beautiful dream he seemed to be having.
“Yes, Padawan,” came the answer, choked with suppressed tears, “I am here.”
“How?” asked Obi-Wan. He would have cried himself, if there had been any water left in his body for tears.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Qui-Gon softly. “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”
“But I felt you die!” choked Obi-Wan.
“I know,” answered Qui-Gon. “It was a trick of Ch’Andri’s. I’ll explain the rest later. Do you think you can drink this?”
Obi-Wan felt a cool glass against his lips. It was full of cold water, and he drank deeply.
“Can you walk?” asked Qui-Gon, urgency beginning to seep into his voice.
Obi-Wan heard blaster fire in the distance. “What’s happening?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. His sight was returning, slowly.
“The rebels are attacking the palace. We have to get out as quickly as possible. I have our lightsabers.” He helped Obi-Wan to his feet. The Padawan stumbled, but Qui-Gon caught him.
Leaning heavily on his Master, Obi-Wan limped out of the cell. His legs were sore and stiff from disuse, but they still worked. Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon lead him through the hallways of the palace. He was lightheaded and dizzy from starvation, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter much. Occasionally there would be blaster fire nearby and they would hide behind a doorway or in a little-used corridor, then they would continue.
Little by little the darkness before Obi-Wan’s eyes cleared and the world began to swim into focus. He shifted his weight away from Qui-Gon and onto his legs, pleased to discover they would support him. He asked for his lightsaber, and Qui-Gon pulled it from a pocket in his tunic, handing it over with a smile.
Obi-Wan turned it over and over in his hands, feeling its reassuring weight in his palm with relish. Just holding it gave him strength. He felt complete again, despite his weaknesses, and the last of his mental shields dissolved. The Force flowed through him again and he straightened, squaring his shoulders proudly. He felt like a Jedi again.
He missed his boots and outer robe, but he could live without them as long as he had his Master and his lightsaber. Now he walked confidently beside Qui-Gon without support, letting the Force guide him to the best exit. He felt it flow between him and his Master like it always had, and an almost overwhelming joy swept over him. He felt tears finally coming to his eyes, but he forced them down.
He felt Qui-Gon’s hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. Qui-Gon was smiling, but there were tears behind his eyes, too.
//It’s good to have you back, Padawan,// said a voice in Obi-Wan’s head.
They were near the exit now, but they felt enemy soldiers ahead. Smiling, they activated their lightsabers and turned the next corner together. They were greeted by a hail of blaster fire, and met it eagerly, lightsabers twirling.
They fought for a long, long time. Obi-Wan knew his strength was only a momentary result of joy, excitement, and reconnection with the Force; it would not last much longer. Every time one soldier fell, another stepped in to take his or her place. The air became thick with smoke from discharging blasters, and it clogged Obi-Wan’s lungs.
Obi-Wan was beginning to tremble with fatigue, and his head swam, making it difficult for him to balance. He needed desperately to cough, but he didn’t dare lower his guard. His grasp on the Force was wavering and he clung to it desperately. He felt Qui-Gon’s concern and heard his Master’s words in his mind.
//We need to get out of here,// said Qui-Gon silently. //Break left on my mark. I hope you can run.//
Obi-Wan affirmed this as he just barely deflected a shot to his left leg, simultaneously ducking another meant for the space between his eyes. There was a brief lull in the fighting as a new surge of soldiers came to take the place of their fallen compatriots.
//Go!// shouted Qui-Gon into Obi-Wan’s mind. Like a single being, they switched off their lightsabers and darted into the passageway to their left, the Force between them lending them superhuman speed.
They shot down the hallway ahead of the pursuing troops. Obi-Wan saw their plan: get far enough ahead of the soldiers to slip away without being seen, then simply let the soldiers pass, and slip out the exit. It posed a few problems, of course: finding somewhere to hide, dealing with the troops that would be left to guard the door, doing all this before he passed out from exhaustion...
Obi-Wan felt himself falling behind. His legs were weak and he struggled to draw enough breath too stay conscious, but he forced himself on. As they turned a corner, their hiding place presented itself -- a large ornate statue of a stern man in ceremonial costume, probably a previous ruler of some sort. The statue was set into an alcove in the wall. If they hurried, they might be able to climb behind it before the soldiers came around the corner.
The Padawan’s adrenaline was wearing off fast, and Obi-Wan had to get a boost from Qui-Gon in order to climb onto the pedestal on which the statue stood. Qui-Gon leapt up behind him, and with shaking arms, Obi-Wan pulled himself around the statue’s leg and into the space between the sculpture and the wall behind it.
He was breathing in ragged gasps that echoed off the dusty marble around him. He leaned back against the cool stone and closed his eyes, swallowing and trying to steady his breathing. He was beginning to feel the full effects of the beating and torture he had endured; his head pounded in time with his heartbeat, and his ribs smarted whenever he moved, probably cracked or broken. He felt like he’d been trampled by a bantha. These Government people had an incredible knowledge of pressure-points and how to most effectively pinch nerves. Every time he moved, a different joint or muscle started smarting.
His breaths were coming slightly more easily and quietly now, but he still felt a twinge of fear as the first guards rounded the corner. Qui-Gon moved his hand a little, and the soldiers sped down the hall after the footsteps of people who weren’t really there. After the last of them were gone, the Jedi slipped from their hiding place, Obi-Wan once again leaning on his Master for support, and sneaked off towards the exit. They were surprised to find it unguarded.
//Be wary, Padawan,// said Qui-Gon through the Force.
Obi-Wan nodded. Something was definitely not right. Cautiously and silently, they moved towards the exit, keeping their backs against the wall. Obi-Wan was finding it difficult to concentrate, and his eyelids were drooping even as he walked.
//Wary,// he told himself. //Right.//
There was a twinge in the Force, like someone plucking a tight steel string, and Obi-Wan fell sideways, but not fast enough. He was knocked to the ground. His lightsaber went spinning out of his grasp and someone stepped firmly on his right wrist. He looked up into the muzzle of a blaster, and past it into the triumphant face of Yemil Ch’Andri.
The Force radiated from her in waves, a chaotic dark power unlike the Force Obi-Wan knew. It clouded his mind, beckoning him to stretch out and welcome it, to use it to escape. He knew that if he did, he would have the strength to defeat the untrained woman who had him at blaster-point. The idea had a sickening appeal, but Obi-Wan rejected it with all his mental strength, once more hiding behind psychic shields.
He saw her finger begin to tighten on the trigger and felt Qui-Gon’s despair as he laid down his lightsaber, prepared to bargain for the Padawan’s life, and he knew that Ch’Andri intended to kill him then and there. He gathered what was left of his strength, determined to put up as much of a fight as he could. He wished the adrenaline that had aided him earlier would return, but all he felt was a resigned acceptance of death. It was vaguely annoying.
There was a change in Ch’Andri’s eyes, a flicker of suspicion as she read Obi-Wan’s intentions. She stepped easily out of the way of the kick that was aimed to disarm her, releasing Obi-Wan’s wrist from under her foot. Seeing hope for the first time, he began to roll onto his feet, but a kick to his already broken ribs brought him down again in a fog of pain. This time the ambassador’s foot came down, not on his wrist, but on his throat, cutting off his air supply completely.
He thrashed weakly, trying to breathe. He didn’t dare reach out to the Force for fear that the dark power outside his shields would come to him instead of the light. Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon prepare to leap at Ch’Andri, but he knew his Master would be too late. The blaster was still pointed at the space between his eyes, and the ambassador’s finger was tightening on the trigger. A shock of disappointment flickered through Obi-Wan, that he should come so far, only to die when freedom was only a few steps away.
But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t breathe, and he was too weak to fight. He glanced regretfully at Qui-Gon, hoping the Jedi might survive, apologizing silently for all he had done wrong. Then he closed his eyes, unable to hold them open any longer, and prepared, for the second time in less than an hour, to die.