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.
The crunch of snow is the first thing that you hear. It sounds like tiny crystals breaking under a great weight, like a twig breaking under the feet of an animal. The next feeling is the warmth of a pair of arms under your back and legs. Your nose is buried in the folds of warm fabric and you can feel, on your cheek, the rippling and stretching of hidden muscle. An aroma of man sweat tempered by cold air encompasses your senses. Before you open your eyes, based on the feel of the arms and his scent, you know that Qui-Gon carries you.
You open your eyes slowly to glimpse at your love. How you ended up in this position, in this stance, you have no clue. Your memory only extends as far as the halfway point in the trip back to Alderaan. The last thing you remember is the low, cracking shout of the Jedi Master that holds you and then blackness. You had been in the passenger’s gathering room with Mace just prior to that. Upon the last thought, you try and lever yourself upright.
“Relax, love..” Qui-Gon admonishes; his face set in a frown. “You have had a nasty hit to the head.”
You are silent for a moment, listening to the crunch of not only Qui-Gon’s footfalls, but also now, the footfalls of many others as your senses broaden from their long sleep.
“Where are we?” you ask, burying your face back into the folds of his cloak.
“Tridia. Damnable ice planet that Mace and I were to travel to for our mission.”
“Why are we…” you trial off as Qui-Gon bends toward you and pushes his warm cheek to yours. The temperatures are about equal that you can feel. There is a lack of warmth in both your skins, but it is not unbalanced. Neither of you has frost bite. You smile warmly at the little blessing.
“The pilot was unable to out run the Tridians. They boarded the ship. The Tridians were fearful of the Jedi landing on the planet. It was rather thought that they should bring us as part of an entourage captured and appear to bend us to their will, then to have us journey there and walk in for the talks.” Qui-Gon’s voice is nearly toneless. You can feel the waves of calm as they lap at your mind. The man that is holding you is fighting, affronting a powerful need for anger.
“I am fine, Qui-Gon,” you reassure him, knowing that his anger stems partially from your treatment. You sigh as he jostles you closer and your nose untucks from the fabric at the movement. The cold air is almost painful as it hits your nostrils and the smell of clean air shoots through your senses.
“Interesting you should say that. The wound in your shoulder would say otherwise,” he grits out. You glance at his face, and see the power in the lock of his jaw. If the crunch of the snow and the howling of the wind that occasionally sweeps by you was lower, you would be able to hear him grinding his teeth. His eyes are hard when they swing to your face – hard and ice cold.
“I can feel no wound…”
“I have a Force shield over that portion of your body. You will feel no pain right now.” His hair flurries in the wind, “I am sorry, love. Once we were boarded, there was nothing we could do. To fight them would have invited a rapid end to the talks. The only thing I could do, I did…I tried to keep you safe. You were knocked out by a stun blast. I tried to get to you.”
“And Mace?” you ask, raising your hand to brush at his cheek. The bristles of his beard are slightly frozen and you marvel at the little spikes of ice on the hot skin. His eyes drift shut in response to your caress, almost as if he is savoring your touch as an elixir for the situation that you are in.
“Behind us. The Tridians are a patriarchal society and view marriage and bonding as the right of passage for being involved in negotiations, votes and any diplomatic talk. The scouts that have us are simply following the dictates of their society. Once we reach the capital sometime tomorrow, they will have to allow the autonomy of Mace and I.”
“I see,” you say, pressing your face back into his cloak. You take a deep breath and sigh as you feel the familiar roughness of the material against your face. “But we are safe…”
“For right now, yes. But once we camp, the situation might change. Women, even bonded ones, are looked upon as objects of pleasure and communal use…” his jaw, once slackened from your caress, hardens again, his mustache and beard pressing together in a thin line of anger. His voice is dangerously low.
Your eyes widen – you can feel the stretch of the skin around them. “Communal use..”
Again, his eyes return to yours. They remind you of a hanging icicle, glittering and beautiful, but dangerous. “Orgies are common here. But no one will use you, love, no one will touch you but me.”
“Qui-Gon…”
His eyes narrow at your voice and his arms tighten until you are literally crushed against his massive chest. “At the point that they threaten an innocent in all of this, the premise for the talks and our being here becomes null and void. They will not touch you. If I can bargain out of it I will, but if not, then force will be necessary. Either way, no other man will touch you but me.”
You nod, mutely, under the strength of such a conviction. Never has he displayed such strength to you. It is not unwelcome, but makes you feel loved and protected. He will not be rough or harmful to you. Although he talks of force, you are sure that talks will suffice.
Around you the gray of the sky darkens to inky black, a few blinking stars emerge from the twilight fall. Qui-Gon’s feet are slowing now, and you try to get him to release you so you can walk, but are silenced by a simple shake of his head. “We are here, anyway, love.”
You swing your head around to look in front of you. Barely twenty meters from you is the most enormous hide covered building that you have ever seen. It is round with a dome top. The smell from the hides is strong even here, and you realize that there is a fire within that is helping to aerosolize the odors from the animal skins. Regardless of the smell, though, you are looking forward to the warmth contained therein and nod. “So it seems, love.”
The men that Qui-Gon has been following turn at the door and wave the two of you in. It is the first time that you see your captors. They are giants of men, you decide. Towering over Qui-Gon by several centimeters, they appear to be the largest men that you have ever seen. Qui-Gon nods and ducks in the door, easily folding his bulk over you.
Immediately inside, you are hit with the smokiness of a contained fire. Your eyes immediately water from the heat and the smoke that is generated. Rapid blinks clear them for you. The heat on your cold-brushed skin burns, sharply and painfully. A lone icicle from Qui-Gon’s beard melts as you watch and the water trickles down his neck. Your ears hear the other men climbing through the door. The rustle of the skin used for the door on the other supporting skins of the building is loud.
Suddenly Mace is next to you and you gasp at the condition of his face. Although he appears to have used the Force to cure his ills, his lip is still healing and the bruise around his eye is still dark. He grins at your look and shrugs. “One of us had to intercept them, while the other scooped you up. I chose to intercept.”
“Oh Mace,” you sigh. Qui-Gon turns to his friend with a gentle nod. “I owe you plenty for that, Master Windu.”
“It was my pleasure, Master Jinn. Has been a long time since I got that involved in a fist fight.”
You are startled at the mention of fists and look to Qui-Gon. He returns your look with a gentle smile and a nod. “To pull a saber on the boarding party would have been an act of war.”
The rest of the conversation is cut off as one of the large men moves in front of you, shouting out orders in a strange guttural language. Both Qui-Gon and Mace understand what he is saying, and nod in agreement or in obedience. You sigh as your legs are released from Qui-Gon’s arm and he eases you to the ground in front of him. Your shoulder blades scrape his broad chest and he wraps his arms around your middle to keep you there.
A series of guttural utterances emanate from your lover’s lips as he answers for you. Keeping you pinned against his front. The man in front of you, towering and menacing nods slowly, as his eyes sweep over your body. You can feel the crawling of your skin as his eyes center on your breasts and your legs. Qui-Gon opens his cloak and eases you back against him again, enclosing you in the warmth, protection, and scratchiness that you have always associated with his billowing cloak. The aroma of heavy spice and sweat mingle in the fabric and you sigh.
Your captor waves his hand impatiently, waving all of you to the side. Qui-Gon takes no chances and moves you off with him. His arms are like iron around your midriff, holding you tightly to his muscular chest. As you near a pile of skins at the far side of the building, you hear Qui-Gon whispering to you in ancient Alderanni.
“Whatever happens, love, stay by me. Trust me.”
You nod as you are lowered into the skins and Qui-Gon collapses next to you. His weight presses the skins flat and you gaze at his face. His grunt alerts you to pain in his feet and you struggle to reach his boots. The leather of them is soaked, more than likely ruined, and the smell of wet leather adds to the decidedly rich mixture of smells that surrounds you. The sounds of impatient men rise around you as you notice that they are losing clothing layers fast. Various women move about the space, carrying food and water.
“Easy…easy,” you whisper as you ease the boots from his feet. You gasp at the coldness of the skin, and the pasty appearance of it. Throwing aside one of the boots, you wrap his feet in your hands, rubbing gently. His groan of pain and pleasure mixes and booms in the space between you. As you rub, you look at his body.
His arms are behind him, supporting his back away from the ground. The cloak is scattered around him on the ground. Golden skin, visible on his face, neck and at the V of his tunic, is glistening with melting ice. His legs have never seemed so long, keeping you well away from his body proper as you administer to his feet. You smile at his want of the attention. “I never knew rubbing your feet would be so pleasing to you.”
“Right now, the only more pleasing thing you could do would be to suck my toes, love. That warm mouth of yours…” Qui-Gon jokes back, his head thrown back as you feel some warmth coming back into the extremities.
Mace shakes his head. “I told you before, Jinn, I do not want to know of your sexual tastes with your Alderaanian rose here.” You shake your head along with the other Jedi Master.
Your interaction, however, is cut-off as you feel a large hand close on your hair and some of it is lifted to the face of another man.