Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter III

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, insanity, panic attacks, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, stories in progress

Hi! I’m back again, and here’s the next chapter. (Please, please, please give me some feedback on this one–I need the inspiration–continuation is proving difficult. As in, I don’t have another full chapter to post after this one!!! Chances of survival: Over four million to one. :-P)

This chapter: Dooku grows curious, an escape, a rescue attempt, and a failure. May the Force be with you (and the same to me, I sure need it…)

Chapter III

                Dooku walked into the med center, nodding to the receptionist as he did so. He made his way into the lab, curtly acknowledging the technician. He handed her the blood sample he had obtained earlier, while Kenobi was being interrogated.

“Ninane. I need a run-down on this blood sample. The midichlorien count is the most important thing.” Ninane sighed, shrugging.

“I’m sorry, my lord. The equipment is off-line—it won’t be until tomorrow that I can get it back to you.” Dooku gave no sign of irritation.

“Very well,” he shrugged off-handedly. “Time is not an object, as long as I get the midichlorien count.” With that, he left.

 

The sun had set hours ago, and the confines of the Imperial Palace had quieted somewhat. Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open, and he raised himself from the bed where he had laid down an hour ago, until the night gathered and worked its magic. Carefully, he took a long knife that he had sharpened before lying down from its hiding place beneath the mattress, and steeled himself. Taking a deep breath, he cut his upper arm, touching the slave transmitter and flicking it out with a combination of the knife point and the Force, to keep it from activating. He slid it under the mattress and bandaged the wound as best as he could. That done, he slipped out of his room and went to Shmi and Anakin’s quarters. The door slid open silently. The Skywalkers were prepared and waiting.

“Come on!” he wshipsered, grabbing the bundle out of Shmi’s arms, as the exited the quarters. “Hurry!” he hissed. “It’s already late. We have to go!” Silently, they rushed down the deserted corridors of the palace.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan froze. “Wait…”

“Come on! Hurry!” Anakin said, rushing forward.

“No, Anakin, wait!” Obi-Wan cried, leaping after Anakin, grabbing at the collar of the boy’s shirt. Too late. The two of them barreled together into a patrol of the royal guards.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin and hit the ground with the boy underneath him, shielding him with his body. The first barrage of their fire spent, the guards retreated momentarily. Obi-Wan leaped to his feet, kicking out, his boot connecting solidly with the targeted guard’s jaw, felling him, as the young warrior struck another smoothly in the stomach with the same motion. In an impressive display of martial arts lasting for the next thirty seconds or so, the remainder of the guards were all on the ground, unconscious. Obi-Wan flicked his hair back out of his eyes. “We should go. We still haven’t—” He swayed. “We haven’t even picked up Ventress yet.” He hurried them along at a brisk pace. Shmi moved quickly to his side.

“Ventress?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“We’re taking her with us.” Suddenly, the young man clutched at his side, his footsteps faltering a little.

“Are you all right?” Shmi asked, concerned.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan managed, cheerfully. He staggered. Shmi was almost scared now.

“Obi-Wan, you’re not ‘fine’,” she said.

“I’ll be okay—we have to get Ventress, and go!” They ran on for a bit, then Obi-Wan suddenly fell, without a cry or gasp or any other sound. Shmi gasped.

“He’s been shot!” she said, fingers ghosting over the burn mark on the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“Let’s get him to the ship!” Anakin exclaimed, grabbing one of the unconscious Jedi’s arms and struggling in an attempt to pull him onward.

“But what about Ventress?” Shmi wanted to know.

“There’s no time. Let’s go!”

Shmi did not notice, as they lifted Obi-Wan’s unconscious form, the odd, unnatural yellow tinge in her son’s eyes.

 

When Obi-Wan did not come for her, Ventress began to worry. Her overactive imagination supplied myriads of macabre images of the daring young Jedi found out—captured—tortured—killed. She waited an hour—an hour and thirty minutes—after curfew.

Still no sign of her would-be rescuer.

Taking a deep breath, Asajj hurried out into the corridor. No sign of Obi-Wan anywhere. Swiftly, Asajj searched all the relevant corridors. Still there was no sign of Obi-Wan.

Asajj rushed to the private hangar of the palace. She got there just in time to see a sleek corvette lift off the pad and take off. Her desperate waving and shouts went unheeded. The ship made for space, quickly disappearing into the distance.

Asajj stood, frozen to the spot, for several long minutes, feeling betrayed. Then, sadly, she turned and retraced her steps to her room.

There would be no rescue for her.

She had been left behind.

 

Somehow, between the two of them, they somehow managed to get Obi-Wan on board a spaceworthy craft and take off. As soon as they were a safe distance from Coruscant’s busy airspace, Anakin set the coordinates for a small Outer Rim planet in the middle of nowhere. As the ship made the jump to hyperspace, Obi-Wan blinked, opened his eyes. Shmi hurried to his side, concern coloring her voice.

“Obi-Wan? Are you all right?” she asked. “Other than the obvious, are you hurt?”

“I think I’m all right… What happened?” Obi-Wan groaned, holding his injured side.

“You were injured. We had to get you on board here as quickly as we could.” Shmi replied.

“What about Asajj?” Obi-Wan asked. “Did you find her? Is she here?”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan…” Shmi turned away slightly. Obi-Wan felt a sinking, sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“And?” he prompted.

“I’m sorry,” Shmi repeated. Obi-Wan grabbed her arm.

“Please, Shmi. You have to tell me!” he urged.

“When you were injured,” Shmi began, “we thought it would be best to go as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to, but Anakin was worried about you…”

Obi-Wan put his head in his hands. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “It’s back.”

“What’s back?” Shmi asked, suddenly afraid. “What do you mean?”

“Vader. Anakin’s selfish, twisted side,” Obi-Wan replied, darkly. Shmi frowned.

“I thought he had it under control,” she said.

“He still has not learned control,” Obi-Wan ground out. “He needs more time, which is something we don’t have much of right now.” He gingerly probed the wound. “It’s not that bad,” he said, cautiously. “I must have gone into shock.” Even Jedi were not immune to the ravages of an over-reacting body. Obi-Wan stood, carefully checking his balance before he fully trusted himself to it. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Nagr, I think,” Shmi replied. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go ask Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, walking with surprising steadiness toward the cockpit. Shmi hurried after him.

“Wait… are you sure that’s such a good idea? You’re injured!” she exclaimed, unheeded.

 

Obi-Wan entered the cockpit. “Anakin,” he said softly.

“Yes, Master Obi-Wan?” Too prim, too smooth, too calm. Obi-Wan was instantly on his guard.

“Where are we going?” he asked deliberately. Anakin’s eyes shifted slightly to his left as he replied.

“I don’t know. We were in a hurry to get you away.” Obi-Wan leaned down against the center console, his weight on the heels of his hands, intentionally invading Anakin’s personal space.

“Don’t lie to me, Vader,” he said, purposefully. “I know that’s not Anakin talking. What’s your ugly little game?”

“Kenobi,” the Dark Side hissed. Obi-Wan gathered the light around himself, flinging all that he could muster at it. It vanished, but Obi-Wan knew that it was only temporarily routed, not permanently put to flight. The soft wisps of light, seemingly weak yet startlingly resilient, that he had used to drive out the dark were already returning to him. He leaned forward and grasped Anakin’s shoulders.

“Anakin. Snap out of it. The Dark Side—you have to fight it, Anakin!” No response. Anakin appeared to be sleeping. Obi-Wan slowly released the boy’s shoulders.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

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Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter II

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, shifting tides series, star wars, stories in progress

I kind of owe this to you for the delays, don’t I? Especially since the last chapter was so short… not my fault. It’s just the way this story is telling itself, I guess.

This chapter: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Shmi and Ventress make plans. Low angst levels–please tolerate ’em for the moment. 😉

Chapter II

                Alone now, Obi-Wan shuddered. His danger sense had been screaming beyond sound the whole time he had been speaking with Dooku, painful white lights flashing behind his eyes, a headache pounding in his temples. He hurried down the halls, his original destination forgotten, the errand ignored. He found the place where Ventress would be passing along, between training rooms, with the other prospective Sith, soon. He walked swiftly down the corridor, just as Asajj and her classmates were coming up it behind Kyrina, the Nightsister and Sith acolyte who was their floormaster. Passing through the midst of the unruly crowd at a swift walk, as if unaware of anything except his fictitious task, he collided purposefully with Asajj and fell, together with her, in a complex tangle, to the floor. Quickly, he whispered in her ear, “We’re going to escape tonight. Pass the word to Anakin. Details later.” Asajj didn’t even nod—the quick, unintentionally painful pressure of her elbow in his ribs was confirmation enough, without being dangerous. Struggling to his feet in an overtly ungainly manner, Obi-Wan calmly withstood the fearsome onslaught of Kyrina’s wrath, vanishing with extraordinary rapidity as soon as her verbal abuse was concluded. He hurried to find Shmi. Finding her in the kitchen, where she was peeling scalded tomatoes, he hurriedly pulled over a second pan of tomatoes and began to pop them neatly out of their loosened skins.

“They haven’t found Steela and brought her back?” he asked softly, glancing at the empty space in the kitchens. Shmi gave him the barest hint of a smile.

“No. She hasn’t been dragged back in chains yet. I think we can hope that she did get away clean after all.”

“I hope so. It’s been far too long since someone successfully escaped the palace. It will make the Sith’s heads spin when it happens twice in one week. We’re leaving tonight, Mother.” Shmi gasped quietly.

“I thought you said we weren’t going to go for some time yet—until you were absolutely sure that everything was ready.”

“I changed my mind. Dooku’s been showing some interest in me, and, well… the escape won’t go forward without me.”

“You’re right. We’d never manage to escape alone,” Shmi said softly. “I understand. I’ll be ready.” Tomatoes all skinned, Obi-Wan left the kitchens and delivered the message he had been running, albeit half an hour late. It earned him a brutal cuff about the ears, but he barely noticed it.

Tomorrow morning, it would all be done with, forever.

Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter I

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, long rants, shifting tides series, star wars, stories in progress

I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but it’s finally here! The first chapter of Battlefield of the Soul is finally complete. Again, I apologize for the long delay. I really didn’t think it would take nearly as long as it has.

All right, I have to give you a few notes before I post the chapter. First of all, this story proved to be much shorter than I had expected. Mostly, it’s about Dooku and his ideas, Obi-Wan’s struggle for freedom, and Asajj. But the biggest part of the story is Anakin’s fight with Vader, the Dark Side as it exists within himself. It’s more of a gap filler than anything else, because though it’s important, there’s actually not much action. It’s more like a character study, I think. Also, it’s turning out to be much more difficult to write and edit. The scenes from the next installment (which I have already begun to look forward to, and which will involve the utter awepicness of Jango Fett himself!) have proven much easier, for some reason. Normally, when I do a character sketch, it just flows. But now… it’s very frustrating!!!

Okay, on with the show. Just a caveat–mentions of torture in this chapter. Read with discretion. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter I

                “Siri, what are you doing?” Obi-Wan hissed. Siri riffled hurriedly through the papers. Obi-Wan swallowed, hard. Those could be death to both of them if anyone knew what was going on. He had already reported the important things… why did Siri have to make things worse like this? It was maddening. “Someone will come in and see you!” he continued, anxiously glancing around at the walls of Sidious’ makeshift office on Naboo.

                “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan,” Siri said, her voice still in that annoying tone that made her seem to think that she knew so much better than he did.

                She didn’t.

                Obi-Wan hissed out a colorful expletive and snapped, “Siri, get out of here! Sidious is coming!” Any espionage possibilities instantly forgotten, Siri leaped to her feet and dashed from the room.

                She almost collided with Sidious.

                Reflexively, Obi-Wan leaped forward in a sudden attack. “Run, Siri!” he shouted as he grappled with Sidious. The guards stood by, unsure of what to do, as Obi-Wan struggled with their emperor.

                “Get the girl!” Sidious shouted. The guards moved to comply. Obi-Wan Force-pushed them against the wall, a tangle of limbs and gaudy livery.

                By the time they managed to get to their feet, Siri was long gone.

                Obi-Wan managed to press Sidious to the ground, but the Sith wasn’t going to stay down for long. Obi-Wan felt his throat constrict as Sidious gripped him, through the Force. He dangled a few feet above the ground, struggling for breath. Sidious slammed him hard into a wall, then hurled the energy of his anger at the young man. Obi-Wan cried out, writhing, unable to defend himself.

                “So, what did you have to do with this, Korzu?” Obi-Wan struggled to breathe. The Sith lightning came down at him again. “Speak!”

 

Obi-Wan came back suddenly to harsh reality, burning agony searing a blazing, white-hot line across his vision. “The girl who escaped… had you seen her before?” Silence. It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize that Xanatos was addressing him. Don’t tell him. he thought. That could lead to giving away everyone’s safety. “Were you involved in her initial escape?” Don’t say anything. Don’t blow your cover. You’re no use to the Council revealed, or dead. If he really wants it, let him fish, and dive, and caper and grovel for it. I still won’t tell. “What role did you have in the escape of queen-elect Amidala?” Still stubborn silence. Xanatos paced the other way. “Who were your accomplices? Did they press you into service?” He walked slowly in an ever-tightening circle around Obi-Wan. “Did you witness the escape? What happened? How did they get past the guards?” A mere hitch in already ragged breathing, unreadable either way. Nothing more. “Why did you help the Jedi Tachi to escape? How did you know her name?” Obi-Wan silently cursed himself. Why had he spoken Siri’s name aloud? But the damage was already done and could not be undone. Do in haste, regret in leisure, the saying went. He had said her name in the heat of the moment, and he was paying for it now. Only one slip in a lifetime. The irony was palpable.

Qui-Gon’s worry seeped into his awareness. Their bond had been allowed to remain in place, due to the unusual circumstances, and the fact that Yoda had declared that their bond was far too strong to break. Obi-Wan sent a wordless reassurance across to him, along with an imperative to calm Siri and tell her not to worry. He would be fine, just as he always had been.

 

Sidious entered. Obi-Wan was too tired, his thoughts too disorganized, his body too weak, to even acknowledge the Sith Lord’s presence. “Well, my Prince,” Sidious said, with a cruel laugh. “Ready to talk, yet?” Obi-Wan raised his head slightly with an effort and stared defiantly into acidic yellow eyes. Liquid fire shot along his veins, melting every thought as it was formed, but he still did not cry out.

The Sundaga Sith Lord, Argwal, leaning over him, overlong, skeletal forefingers pressed against his temples. Obi-Wan shuddered and tried to pull away, but he was too weak, and every movement sent jolts of pain lancing through him. The Sundaga was nominally the head of interior security, but it really was the creature’s innate ability, enhanced by the Force, to tell exactly when to stop, when a single moment longer would kill him. “The pain would stop, if only you would let go of your pride and tell us what happened,” the Sundaga wheedled. Go to your own place, Sith, and I hope you enjoy the company, Obi-Wan thought, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He was too disoriented even to speak.

The blackness swirled up from the depths and swept him off into oblivion.

 

Dooku entered the cell, humming an aria from an opera. He glanced across the room, at the young man who hung in chains in its center. Dooku clicked his tongue in disapproval and disgust. The young man raised his head slowly, painfully, a dull flicker in his gray eyes the only acknowledgement of Dooku’s presence. “So, it comes to this,” Dooku said softly. Obi-Wan said nothing, all his energy focused on just staying conscious. “They tell me that you aided the escape of a Jedi. Why would you do such a thing?” Obi-Wan raised his head to see the hungry expression in Dooku’s dark eyes. He smiled a little, somewhat secret and somewhat mocking. Dooku seized his chin, forcing him to face him. “What have you to gain by your defiance?” Strange green eyes looked deep into his soul.

“What do I have to lose?” the young man replied. Dooku frowned, searching the boy’s curiously ancient eyes. The boy was stubborn, and different. Just along the edges of his Force-presence was a slight tang of something exotic, alien.

 

Time passed, and the questioning passed with it. Even the patience of Sith could be worn out by sheer fortitude. Obi-Wan returned to his ordinary duties, slowly, though it took what seemed like weeks to recover.

Qui-Gon was away on a mission and did not meet with him for a very long time. Things seemed to be going on much as usual, but Obi-Wan could not stifle the feeling of something about to happen. So things went on, time passed in the same way as it always had, but always with the growing feeling of unease.

 

Finally, things came to a head. Ventress had a spat with Luda, a much older initiate of the dark arts. And he himself… had to face Dooku.

 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my young philosopher friend.” Dooku’s deep voice echoed throughout the passage. Obi-Wan stopped and drew in a deep breath.

“Lord Tyrannus,” he said, not bothering to turn around. He could practically sense Dooku’s amusement—he was, evidently, the only one with such audacity as to address the Sith Lord by name. The older man smiled.

“Why so formal, all of a sudden? Surely the titles may be dropped among friends, young Kenobi.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps I don’t consider you a friend.” The sharpness in his tone was not lost on Dooku; neither were the implications of its sudden mutation into seriousness. “Why all the sudden interest in my friendship—in me? I’m only a slave. What do you want from me? What’s your ulterior motive?” Obi-Wan carefully stepped sideways, cautiously keeping his distance. Dooku stepped forward, backing him against the wall.

“You are, of course, too astute to miss that,” Dooku noted. “You are capable of avoiding the subject or being direct as you will, wrapping a bitter meaning in honeyed words, deflecting attention among the intelligent, drawing on the ignorant with the promise of nothing at all…” Obi-Wan ignored the stream of words, choosing to get to the point at once.

“Another distraction tactic,” he said shortly, not at all abashed.

“What is your ulterior motive, Obi-Wan?” Dooku asked.

“Survival.” Obi-Wan replied bluntly. Dooku raised an eyebrow.

“Self-preservation—a worthy cause.”

“Why are you here?” Obi-Wan asked, brusquely, half-hoping that this bold affront would deter Dooku from any more words than were absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, he knew that Dooku was too suave and too determined to be distracted by the ploy.

“Perhaps I only wished to have your friendship,” Dooku hedged.

“What if I’m too proud to accept it?” Obi-Wan asked, coldly.

“Then you’ll be far more foolish than I took you for at our first meeting,” Dooku said. Obi-Wan smiled dangerously, thinly, at the veiled insult, as the said hypothetical example was completely possible and more than likely, and they both knew it.

Except, it was not on pride but on principle that Obi-Wan refused Dooku’s friendship.

“Think of me as a fool, then,” he said, still smiling that perilous, thin, feral smile, and walked briskly away.

 

Left behind, Dooku smiled as well, a hungry, predatory smile. He knew very well what he was looking for. The boy was strong in the Force, and as the heir to the throne was in a strategic position—though Kenobi was defiant, he might in the future reconsider. Kenobi’s strong-willed determination was a setback, to be sure, but not a real difficulty. It made the coveted prize all the more desirable. Kenobi would be a pleasure to break. The accomplishment of Dooku’s goal was inevitable.

The young man, in the end, would join him, and together they would overthrow the usurper. And then… then it would resolve itself in the clever game of cat and mouse, in which only one could ever be left alive at the end. If it ended in his own death, Dooku didn’t mind. To train a worthy successor was enough for any Sith, honor and glory to last an eternity. Darth Bane had said it, and it was true.

Kenobi would be his.

A New Hope (For The Hero’s Dream)

Tags

artwork, battlefield of the soul, completely random posts, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, rambling musings, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

I’m sorry about the delay in posting the first part of Battlefield of the Soul. The clips and snatches I wrote it in have been uncommonly gnarly, and it’s becoming a character sketch for multiple of its enactors, so unfortunately it may take me a while to finish it. Apologies, once again.

However, on the bright side, now that National Novel Writing Month is over, I have taken up drawing once again. Still haven’t figured how to use that thingummybobbin (what a luscious word! I almost wish I was British at this rate. ;-P) that some Internet entities use to color their drawings on the computer, without struggling with colored pencils. So for now, I’m limited to line and shade, sadly… My drawing pad likes to smear, so when I do a sketch in pencil I have to either a) scan it in a hurry or b) ink the lines and erase the pencil. And that’s the same reason why I can’t color in these drawings by hand. (Sigh…)

And now, for you lovers of the Shifting Tides series, I have a special treat.

Obi-Wan’s appearance in “The Hero’s Dream” and sequels.

This is intended to be concept art, and I’m afraid… *cough* that in my opinion, it doesn’t look very much like Ewan McGregor at all… but it’s better than my former attempts. Sorry.

The tattoos are supposed to be blue, but since this was a bi-color sketch I wound up drawing them in black. The one that circles around under his left eye is the famed “Flame of Deriaka,” mark of the Royal House. The one on the forehead is a black orchid, meant to evoke the fleur-de-lis. It’s sort of the Sith version of it. (No apologies to any modern organization. The French monarchy copyrighted this first. Heehee.) And the one on the lower cheek is a bramble… rose among thorns… get it? ;-P

Anyway, so that’s my drawing of Obi-Wan as he appears in The Hero’s Dream. And my dad is kicking me off the computer to clean up.

Media: Pencil on sketch paper. I used my mechanical pencil with .5 mm leads. Believe it or not, art can be made from something mundane! 😉

Thanks for reading and/or browsing, and God Bless!

Comes a Time

Tags

battlefield of the soul, c.s. lewis, completed stories, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, g.k. chesterton, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, military, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, poetry, politics, rambling musings, shifting tides series, short stories, small rants, story dynamics, the age old debate, the hero's dream

Yes! Erin is back at last from her long jaunt into Nanowrimo Nation. Did you miss me? 😉 Late happy Thanksgiving, everyone. 🙂

I have some news for all my beloved readers in this post. I have finished a concept drawing for The Hero’s Dream and other stories in the Shifting Tides series, as well as parts of the next installment of the series, Battlefield of the Soul. The concept drawing will be posted once I scan it into the computer (unfortunately, it’s black and white… sigh… Does anyone know how to use the program to color it in? *hint hint wink wink*), and the story will be posted as soon as I can type it up.

Also, I have a bunch of original short stories to post–I worked on them during Nano, sort of to fill up the gaps. 😉 I hope you all enjoy them!

Then, on Nano, I did not win… didn’t even make my wordcount goal. I do have two valid excuses, though: Jewel’s Birthday (Friday), and taking out the trash. Surprisingly, Thanksgiving wasn’t that much of a problem. Anyway, so I spent Jewel’s birthday with her, and the next day (the last day of Nano!) I was taking out the trash, and the garbage barrel lid came down and bopped me a good one across the back of the head, and my glasses fell off and landed in the trash can, and when I reached for them I cut myself on some broken glass, in the soft skin between my first and second fingers, at the knuckle. Ouch. So then I was bleeding like no one’s business, and it just hurt too freakin’ much to hold a pencil, much less type.

Soooo, here I am, 12k short, and still completely happy. Frankly, I’m not sure how this is even possible…

And I now have a cold. Figures…

And now, for the real juicy bit. Warning: Intense Christian doctrine and evangelization ahead! If some of you don’t like overtly Christian and/or Catholic writings, it might be best for you to simply avoid the rest of this post. However, if you are a lover of philosophy or C.S. Lewis or a fan of G.K. Chesterton (or simply just plain stubborn), you might just enjoy this (though of course my lowly work simply can not compare to either Lewis or Chesterton… or Tolkien for that matter.) That much said, enjoy or avoid at will! 😉

Comes a Time

                Arinna pulled the kettle off the stove, pouring the boiling water into a chipped, earth-toned ceramic carafe and tossing some tea leaves in on top. “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning slightly to herself.

“You’re going to die in this holy war and it isn’t even yours.” Lexi said. “How is that not…” She paused. Arinna sighed and put down the earthenware carafe.

“Do you mean to say that I’m going to die for a cause that is, in your opinion, both worthless, and already doomed to failure?” she asked bluntly. Lexi turned away, probably unused to such blunt, brash, plain honesty. It took her a moment—a very long moment—to regain her composure.

“Yes. I do.” she said at last.

“Well, let me ask you a question then,” Arinna said softly. “What do you believe in?” Startled again, especially since Arinna had broken the social rules twice in as many paragraphs, Lexi took a moment before she replied.

“I’m a Christian, too, just like you, you know that!” she protested.

“That means nothing,” Arinna said. “There are too many denominations nowadays for us to know for certain that we hold any common ground whatsoever. Besides, many people who say they believe in Christ don’t really love Him. If they did, then they would act like it. What do you believe in? What are you willing to fight and die for? If not Christ, then what?”

“I don’t know!” Lexi burst out, frustrated. “You keep asking questions without any answers!” she fumed.

“Oh, they have answers,” Arinna assured her. “You’re just afraid of the answers. So am I. So is everyone else, for that matter.” Arinna picked up the pitcher of hot tea and poured it out into two mugs. She handed one to Lexi and sipped slowly out of the other, looking at her friend over the rim. “I’m your friend. It’s my business to ask the hard questions, Lexi. I only do it because I care.” Slowly, she lowered her mug. “Do you want to go on?” she asked softly. Lexi shrugged.

“Yes. I guess. If you want to.” Arinna nodded slowly as she went on with her apology.

“All of us have something we’re willing to fight to the death for, Lexi. Something we believe in—something we believe is worth believing in. It’s part of what makes us human. Someday, Lexi, you will live, and fight, and die for something—and you’ll do it willingly, too. I can promise you that. It’s your destiny—it’s inevitable. You can’t change it, but you can decide what it is you will believe in. Put God out of your life, and you will find yourself trying to fill that void in your heart—you’ll catch yourself filling it with less desirable things. The catch, is to ask yourself what you’re willing to die for. Power? Money? Pleasure? Goods? Your home? Your possessions? Your friends? Your family? If any of that comes first—before God does—in your life, you’re no better than a pagan. You’re an idolater if you put any of those… material things before God.” Arinna looked down at her mug; for the first time her voice sounded unsure. “You may not like to hear this, Lexi, but I only say it because I care. I can’t soften this for you, without losing the message. It’s uncompromising, as hard as nails. You have to choose what you will fight for. He who will fight for nothing is no pacifist, but a coward indeed. You must choose—now—whom you will serve. No one can do it for you.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why I am here—in this camp—in this army—today, Lexi. I said to myself, ‘No more hesitation! I am going to commit—today!’ We both know that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions—if you even believe in Hell.” The evangelist’s voice was tinged with heavy bitterness. “I am willing to die for my Heavenly King. I decided that He was worth fighting for. I regret all the lives lost in this war, but there comes a time when one can no longer stand idly by. There comes a time when one must make a stand. I decided Whom I am going to serve. So what if I’m not perfect? Perfection isn’t possible for any human being. It doesn’t come until Heaven. It’s the times I worked—hard—that matter. I know my cause is worth dying for. Is yours?” Arinna looked up at Lexi with pleading eyes. The other woman was silent. She knew would have to think about it; Arinna knew it too. And while Lexi thought, Arinna would pray.

“I’ll think about it, ‘Rin. I… I promise.” Lexi said. Then, she left the tent, as evening fell over the Crusaders’ camp.

Evangelist

Let the past lie where it’s buried

By the gravestone, on the hill,

Wind wanders wild across the wastelands,

They say the spirit moves at will.

Each sad tear-fall lies there buried

In the garden, by the rill,

Every laughter a rose has planted,

They say the roses bloom there still.

Where one rose blights, sad and mournful

One by one, the petals fall,

In the garden by the rill-side

Back to the womb whence it was called.

Hold tight to what you’re given.

Hold tight to those you love.

These little blessings that we seek

Are our anchors, from above.

Ask again what you now live for

Question your heart’s desire

Many things we are attached to

Pass, straw-like, in the fire.

With the light, morning arises

A new dawn casts the night away

Each day builds on the one before it,

The future’s fragments are at play.

Congratulations go to those who actually made it to the end of this post! Oh, and please tell me… did you like the poem? 😉 It’s originally from my April/July Nanowrimo project Angels’ Reflections. Which, incidentally, I have new ideas for now. Cheers!

As always, thanks for reading and may God bless you and keep you in all your days!

“It’s a faith worth fighting for.” –Anonymous (okay, maybe not ANONYMOUS, but I still can’t remember who I’m quoting. X-P)

Sweeter than Fiction; Battlefield of the Soul PREVIEW!!!!

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, completely random posts, insanity, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, previews, shifting tides series, short stories, song-related fiction

Hello! I’m back… contrary to popular opinion I have not fallen off the face of the ether… ;-P

Today, we have a special treat. A guest post from Iris, aka Irisbloom5 on Nanowrimo and Daylee15 on Wikia and lego.com!

A few weeks (?) ago, Iris, who is a consummate Taylor Swift fan, contacted me with news of a new Taylor Swift song, which, she said, “fitted The Hero’s Dream and its sequels as if written for it!” Not being a Taylor Swift connoisseur myself, I gave her my full permission to “song fic away!” And this is the awesomeness that resulted. 😀 Enjoy!

NB: This fic does contain spoilers, but if you’ve read The Hero’s Dream it won’t be spoiled for you. 😉 The only other one, I think you probably all already saw coming. 😉 If you read to the bottom, I promise, you will find a preview for the next installment in the Shifting Tides series, Battlefield of the Soul. I promise. So…

Read? Please? @_@

Sweeter Than Fiction

Hit the ground, hit the ground, hit the ground, oh oh

 Only sound, only sound that you hear is no

 You never saw it coming

 Slipped when you started running

 And now you’ve come undone and…

Siri stared at the floor, her foot tapping out a steady rhythm. A few other occupants of the stark white waiting room that she was currently stuck in glanced her way, biting back the impatient scowls the most likely wanted to show. Siri didn’t care what they thought. She’d been stuck in the sanitary hell hole for longer then she could stand. At last, Bant appeared at the door. Siri immediately sprang to her feet, ignoring the tell-tale tingle from sitting to long. “How is he?” she asked.

“Awake,” Bant answered. “He still has some healing to do though. Physically and mentally.”

“But I can see him?” Siri insisted.

“Of course.”

Siri practically ran down the halls to Obi-Wan’s room, not stopping till she was standing in the door. She sucked in a breath as quietly as she could, but he heard it anyway.

“Please, don’t say anything Siri,” he asked, not even turning his head to look at her. Siri stepped into the room and approached the bedside.

“How many were lost?” Obi-Wan asked weakly.

“Bant said…”

“I don’t care what Bant said, I want to know!”

“No more then a dozen,” Siri answered, and she winced as a pang of guilt and grief went through the Force. “Don’t blame yourself…”

“Then who should I blame?” Obi-Wan asked, growing angry. “Dooku? Sidious? It was me who failed to get everyone out in time!”

“This isn’t your fault,” Siri shot back.

 I, I, I, I

 Seen you fall, seen you crawl on your knees, eh eh

 Seen you lost in a crowd, seen your colors fade

 Wish I could make it better

 Some day you won’t remember

 This pain you thought would last forever and ever

“We gather to celebrate the lives and memories of those lost in the recent attack,” Master Windu said, his booming voice shrunk to a reverent tone. What there was of the Jedi Order present all bowed their covered heads, each remembering their own memories of the fallen knights. Siri tried to, but her eyes kept glancing over at Obi-Wan where he stood at Qui-Gon’s side. Even with his face covered in shadow, she could read him like a book. He was trying to meditate on those he knew, but each memory came with a pang of guilt. No one else seemed to notice the struggling and guilt ridden knight, but Siri did. She saw, and she felt guilt rise in her own heart. Guilt that wasn’t even sensible. She felt guilty because she was unable to save him from the pain he was going through. She couldn’t, and that hurt her almost as badly as Obi-Wan’s guilt did him. The only difference was she was better at hiding it.

Hold on, Siri thought, not sure if he’d even pick up the words. This war won’t last forever.

He glanced up, meeting her eyes. He’d heard. Whether he actually believed her was another question.

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall

I will say, I knew it all along

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

“Have you thought about what will happen after the war?” Siri asked as Obi-Wan busied himself with packing for their latest assignment. Siri, for once, had known before him, and was already done. Not to mention she’d hurried so she talk to him before they left.

“Not really, no,” Obi-Wan answered distractedly.

“With Sidious gone,” Siri ventured, “there’d be no one standing in your way to take up…”

“No, ” Obi-Wan answered sharply, and he slammed his drawer shut. “I will never be recognized as Deriaka’s heir.”

“What is it people say about the sins of the father?” Siri pointed out, hopping down from the bed. “You don’t have to be Deriaka, and honestly I can’t think of anyone more qualified to clean up the mess the Sith will leave in their wake. You want to leave it to the bureaucrats who can’t even think for themselves?”

“I’m done talking about this, Siri.”

“Maybe your right,” Siri said slowly. “You’d look even shorter in a great big crown then you do now.” Obi-Wan glanced back at Siri, still frowning, but a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Just a shot, just a shot in the dark, oh oh

All you got, all you got are your shattered hopes

They never saw it coming

You hit the ground running

And now you’re onto something,

Qui-Gon slipped into the med room silently. Siri and Obi-Wan still noticed his entrance though, and Siri rose to leave. “No Siri,” Qui-Gon said quickly, motioning to the seat she had just vacated. “Please stay. That might help.” Siri didn’t ask help with what, but simply reclaimed her seat as asked to. Qui-Gon took the second chair.

“Obi-Wan, I want to talk with you.”

“That’s rather obvious Master, I just don’t know why.”

“Siri and Bant,” Qui-Gon began, “has brought to my attention the struggles you’ve been facing recently. We are all worried about you.” Obi-Wan began playing with the blanket on the bed, looking down to avoid eye contact with his former Master.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly. “I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Obi-Wan, who are you?”

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, former slave to the Emperor, and jedi knight,” Obi-Wan said automatically.

“And, what else?” Qui-Gon prodded.

“The Chosen One,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means I’m supposed to bring balance to the Force.”

“And what does that mean?”

Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“That’s right,” Qui-Gon said with a nod. “And neither do I, and neither does Master Yoda. I can tell you what it doesn’t mean; it doesn’t mean you are meant to save everyone.”

“Master…” Obi-Wan began, but Qui-Gon cut him off.

“No, Obi-Wan listen to me. You have been under a shadow since the attack. You blame yourself for the deaths of others for which you share no blame. Just because you are the Chosen One, and you are told to be the greatest Jedi, does not mean you can stop death. There is no power great enough for that, and if there is, it certainly wouldn’t be worth the cost.”

“Master,” Obi-Wan said his eyes wide, “I did not… I never meant…. Master, i don’t claim to have that power.”

“Then do not blame yourself as if you do,” Qui-Gon snapped, and he rose, stepping closer to Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer, quieter. “I let my frustration get the best of me. Obi-Wan, you have so much potential, and you have done many things that would be beyond a normal Jedi, yet you continue to push yourself harder and harder. If you continue this, you will break. You tread close to such a fate even now.”

Without another word, Qui-Gon left. Obi-Wan glanced down again.

“He’s right,” Obi-Wan whispered, just barely loud enough for Siri to hear. “He’s right about me, about everything.”

“I know,” Siri said softly, leaning forward to take his hand. “I know.”

I, I, I say

What a sight, what a sight when the light came on

Proved me right, proved me right when you proved them wrong

And in this perfect weather

It’s like we don’t remember

The rain we thought would last forever and ever

Blue clashing on red. Once again Dooku had found them, and once again they found themselves pitted against him. But this time was different.

“I see you are letting your true colors show at last,” Dooku said to Obi-Wan. “I can feel the pain in you, the want for retribution.”

“You are wrong,” Obi-Wan said, just as calmly as the Count. “I want no such thing. All I want is for the restoration of freedom in the galaxy, for the light to chase away the dark.”

“And how do you suppose you can do that?” Dooku taunted, holding Obi-Wan’s blade at bay with the appearance of ease. Siri watched from where she crouched, ready to rejoin the fight if Obi-Wan need her, despite his orders forbidding her movement. “You are nothing after all,” Dooku continued. “The lowest of the low. A Jedi who was raised a slave. How powerful can you be?”

“More powerful then you know,” Obi-Wan answered with gritted teeth. At that moment, against all odds, Dooku flew backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. Surprised, but not dazed, Dooku looked up at the triumphant Jedi who stood above him shoulders back and a fierce light in his eyes.

“The Chosen One,” Dooku whispered.

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall

I will say, I knew it all along

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

There you’ll stand, next to me

All at once, the rest is history

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

“This is it,” Siri whispered to the man beside her, the brightly colored robes falling to the floor. Obi-Wan meddled with the rich fabric, looking anything but comfortable.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. Siri laid a hand on his shoulder, and helped to straighten his collar.

“I can,” Siri replied. “I always knew you’d do this. I didn’t doubt for a second.”

“Except maybe the hundred times it looked like I wouldn’t even see the end of the war, right?” Obi-wan teased. Siri frowned.

“When did I ever say that?” Siri asked, pretending not to know what he meant. Obi-Wan just shook his head and let the matter drop.

“Nearly time now,” Siri said as she glanced at a chrono on the wall. Obi-Wan looked as well, and then sighed.

“Do I have to do this?” He asked.

“No,” Siri answered. “But I think you want to.”

Qui-Gon stepped inside now, a few guards accompanying him, restored from the red robes of the Sith’s royal guards to blue Republic garb.

“It’s time,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and stepped out through the door onto the balcony in the senate chambers, followed closely by the guards. A loud roar of approval followed, and Siri grinned at Qui-Gon.

“And so the war ends,” she said.

“But another begins,” Qui-Gon reminded her. “The sith are defeated, but there is still much to do.”

I’ll be one of the many saying

Look at you now, look at you now, now

I’ll be one of the many saying

You made us proud, you made us proud, proud

I’ll be one of the many saying

Look at you now, look at you now, now

I’ll be one of the many saying

You made us proud, you made us proud, proud

“To Obi-Wan!” Siri cried, raising her glass high. “The New Supreme Ruler of the Galaxy.”

“Siri!” Obi-Wan protested. everyone else present though only laughed, and echoed the toast. It was after the inauguration, and our group of heroes and their friends were gathered to celebrate.

Siri elbowed Obi-Wan playfully.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Have a little fun!”

“I don’t see why I should,” Obi-Wan replied, trying to avoid jostling his wine glass. He’d only accept the beverage after a lot of persuasion, and threats of being tied to a chair in the Younglings’ party room.

“You are the Emperor!” Siri reminded him. “And the best one this galaxy has had since the old days.”

“I’m Regent, not Emperor,” Obi-Wan reminded her, “and I’ve only been so for two hours, how do you know I’ll be the best?”

Siri looked him in the eyes.

“I just know,” she said, the joking tone gone from her voice. “And so does everyone else in this room.”

And then they call your name and we

Put your picture in a frame

You now that I’ll be there time and again

‘Cause I loved you when, when you

“I can’t believe this,” Obi-Wan groaned, slouching down as far as he could in the speeder, as if the reporters camera would find a way to see through the blacked out windows. “You’d think they’d get tired of taking pictures of the same person after a while.”

“Are you kidding?” Siri asked him, twisting around from the shotgun. “That’s all they do! It’s what they get paid for. Do you know how much a well placed photo of you is worth?”

“No, and I don’t think I want to learn,” Obi-Wan answered firmly. “Don’t you get tired of following me into these messes? You get it worse then I do, because nobody cares if they trample you.”

“I’ve come this far with you, and don’t intend to abandon you to the picture hungry mobs yet,” Siri shot back. “Don’t even try talking me out of it.”

Obi-Wan gave her a strained grin. “Thank you, Siri.”

Hit the ground, hit the ground, hit the ground, oh oh

Only sound, only sound that you heard was no

Now in this perfect weather

It’s like we don’t remember

The rain we thought would last forever and ever

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall

I will say, I knew it all along

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

There you’ll stand, next to me

All at once, the rest is history

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

“So, how does it feel to be out and about and not be recognized as Supreme Ruler of…”

“Siri!”

Siri laughed and took a swig from the beaker she held. She, Obi-Wan, Garen, Bant, and Quinlan were all out celebrating. They had chosen a small little tavern of sorts far from 500 Republica and the senatorial chambers. Here, Obi-Wan had less chance of being recognized as Emperor and therefore mobbed. This was the first time in months the gang had all been together on Coruscant at once, and it was worthy of celebration.

“So, how is his highness getting on?” Garen asked, grinning at Obi-Wan.

“Barely getting on,” Obi-Wan answered, grabbing a small cake from the plate in the center of the table. “And how are our hunters?”

“Tired,” Quinlan exclaimed. “Me and Garen have been out coming the outer rim for months it seems. I say we just let local authorities call of us if a Sith shows up, rather then us wasting our energies searching for them.”

“That’s a matter for the Council,” Obi-Wan pointed out,” so I hope you are not asking me to do anything.”

“You need to do something with all that power of yours,” Garen remarked, and all the others burst into laughter at Obi-Wan’s exasperated expression. Bant took pity on him, and reprimanded Garen.

“Now Garen,” she said, waving a finger at her fellow knight, “you know very well Obi-Wan has enough to do. He has a senate to run, and papers to sign, and… um…” Bant could not think of anything else Obi-Wan had been busy doing, and her point rather fell short.

“Oh I see,” Quinlan remarked, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Yes, I suppose papers are a lot of work.” That set everyone off again, and Obi-Wan didn’t bother to respond.

“To us,” Siri announced, lifting her glass for a toast. “And which ever of us is going to write our history.” The others laughed, knowing fully well the only person among them who’d even try to do that happened to be the current ruler of the galaxy.

“To us,” Obi-Wan echoed. “And our biographer, Siri.”

“Ha!” Siri laughed, knocking glasses with Obi-Wan. “That’s the funniest joke tonight!”

Bant smiled at her two friends, and raised her own glass. “To life,” she said.

“To life,” Siri echoed. “A life sweeter than fiction.”

Is sweeter than fiction

Is sweeter, yeah

Is sweeter, is sweeter

Sweeter than fiction

And now, for the preview… 😉 Enjoy!

Obi-Wan froze. “Wait…”

“Come on! Hurry!” Anakin said, rushing forward.

“No, Anakin, wait!” Obi-Wan cried, leaping after Anakin, grabbing at the collar of the boy’s shirt. Too late. The two of them barreled into a patrol of the  royal guards.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin and hit the ground with the boy underneath him, shielding him with his body. The first barrage of their fire spent, the guards retreated momentarily. Obi-Wan leaped to his feet, kicking out, his boot connecting solidly with the guard’s jaw, felling him, as the young warrior struck another smoothly in the stomach with the same motion. In an impressive display of martial arts lasting for the next thirty seconds or so, the remainder of the guards were all on the ground, unconscious. Obi-Wan flicked his hair back out of his eyes. “We should go. We still haven’t–” He swayed. “We haven’t even picked up Ventress yet.” He hurried them along at a brisk pace. Shmi moved quickly to his side.

“Ventress?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“We’re taking her with us.” Suddenly, the young man clutched at his side, his footsteps faltering a little.

“Are you all right?” Shmi asked, concerned.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan managed, cheerfully. He staggered. Shmi was almost scared now.

“Obi-Wan, you’re not ‘fine’,” she said.

“I’ll be okay–we have to get Ventress, and go!” They ran on for a bit, then Obi-Wan suddenly fell, without a cry or gasp or any other sound. Shmi gasped.

“He’s been shot!” she said, fingers ghosting over the burn mark on the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“Let’s get him to the ship!” Anakin exclaimed, grabbing one of the unconscious Jedi’s arms and struggling in an attempt to pull him onward.

“But what about Ventress?” Shmi wanted to know.

“There’s no time. Let’s go!“

Shmi did not notice, as they lifted Obi-Wan’s unconscious form, the odd, unnatural yellow tinge in her son’s eyes.

Aaand… CLIFFHANGER! This is fun. X-P

I hope that will tide you over until the end of the month, when I will probably take up the mantle of the chronicler of the Shifting Tides series once more. Ta-ta until then! *waltzes blithely off*

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XV

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Here it is… the last chapter. :’-( This story is complete. It’s been a journey, all right…

This time: A friend, a speech, an announcement, a decision, and a Knighting; and last, but not least, a happy ending.

Chapter XV

                Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon through the streets of Theed, glancing about in admiration. He had never seen a city quite like this one before. “Where are we going, Master?” he asked, slightly curious. Qui-Gon turned briefly back to face him, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“We shall see,” he said cryptically. Obi-Wan sighed, more amused than annoyed.

In time, they arrived at a small private garden within the city. Qui-Gon slipped in through the gate and they walked slowly along its winding paths, contemplatively. They found their way gradually through a huge maze formed from tall green hedges and into an open space with a fountain in the center. Sitting by the fountain was a tall, golden-skinned woman. “Master Tahl!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. Tahl looked up at the sound of his voice.

“Obi-Wan! For goodness sake, boy, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Her words went disregarded as her strides rapidly ate up the distance between them. She pulled Obi-Wan close. “It’s so good to see you again, sweetheart,” she murmured.

“Sorry about sneaking up on you,” Obi-Wan apologized. “I can’t risk leaving my presence unshielded with Sidious anywhere in the vicinity, and I’m a bit tired to keep up the illusory one right now, especially since I’m out of his sight…” Tahl pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” she said, fingers brailing his face. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“I haven’t, not that much. I’ll never be as tall as you, or Master Qui-Gon.” Tahl laughed.

“It would be hard for anyone to be as tall as Qui-Gon.” She grinned mischievously at Qui-Gon, who mock-frowned at his friend.

“He’s scowling now,” Obi-Wan said, for the benefit of the blind master.

“I can tell that, thank you, Obi-Wan.” Tahl laughed, the sound like silvery bells. “What has happened to you since the last mission the three of us had together?” Obi-Wan sighed.

“Not much,” he said. “The Sith are gathering an army, and the kidnapped queen has been rescued… Siri Tachi was captured, but I managed to free her… you probably know all about those already anyway. There’s a lot going on, that’s all I can say… everything is moving forward, getting faster and faster… it’s all moving toward a great confrontation, the reckoning for our wrongs.” Tahl smiled.

“I feel as if this state of affairs will not last much longer. The balance is shifting, and shifting towards us this time.” Tahl shifted slightly, facing Qui-Gon’s direction, and sent him a look that Obi-Wan could not quite decipher. It was as if the two of them knew something he didn’t. Obi-Wan shifted, a sudden chill running down his back. Not that it was an unpleasant feeling, it was just as if something was about to happen.

“How many of the Jedi are here, on Naboo, right now?” he asked softly. “There’s the Council, Padawan Tachi, you, Master Jinn, Quinlan, me… that’s seventeen of us in one place! Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It may be dangerous,” Tahl said softly, “but the Force called us here. We can not but heed its bidding, Obi-Wan. Didn’t you hear the summons?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I merely went with the flow, so to speak.”

“Hm,” Tahl replied quietly, noncommittally.

“It’s almost time for the announcement, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said softly.

“Goodbye, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “I’d better get back before Sidious misses me.”

The balcony overlooking the plaza at Theed’s center was a good perch to watch the crowds from. Obi-Wan scanned the surrounding area with a habit born from bitter necessity. He looked nervously at Qui-Gon, who was standing down in the crowd, from his vantage point behind Sidious. No one noticed, except for Qui-Gon. The Jedi Master sent a wave of reassurance along their bond, glancing sympathetically at Obi-Wan without seeming to particularly look at him. Then the Sith Lord rose and began his speech. Obi-Wan barely heard a word he said, watching the crowd closely. They were ripe for the governor’s announcement.

“And, despite this great tragedy, the Naboo should know that they are not alone…” Sidious was saying. Obi-Wan inwardly winced. Where is Governor Bibble? he thought anxiously.

As if on cue, the elderly Nabooian came forward, in the plaza below. “Your Majesty! Forgive the interruption, my lord, but we have an important announcement. The Queen-elect has returned!” Stunned silence greeted this interruption. Obi-Wan smiled behind the cover of his hood. Perfect. Padme came forward, already dressed in the ceremonial robes of the Naboo ruler, her face covered with the elaborate makeup.

“My people! The stars shine down upon us in this happy hour!” she proclaimed.

Then the whole meeting erupted into excited cheering. Obi-Wan noted the look on Sidious’ face with satisfaction. The Sith seemed torn between rage, frustration, and confusion. Obi-Wan smiled behind his hood again. Checkmate.

The rest of the gathering was caught up in a number of long, flowery speeches that no one listened to (as a matter of course,) Queen Amidala’s inauguration, and a banquet. Somehow, the arrangements had been miraculously altered, with Sidious and Amidala sitting at the head of the table, the very picture of mutual friendship and congeniality. For having planned the whole thing, Obi-Wan served the two rulers with astonishing equanimity. The feasting and popular celebration ran on late into the night.

When the banquet was done and even the most persistent of the revelers had retired to bed, Obi-Wan made his way down to the subterranean levels of the palace, where he and Qui-Gon had agreed to meet, after receiving Padme’s permission. Obi-Wan found his master in one of the rooms bordered on one side by the waterfall and knelt down beside him in his meditation posture. “Master,” he greeted, sotto voce.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon acknowledged. “Master Yoda spoke to me earlier today. The Council is agreed. They will confer the title of Jedi Knight upon you.” Obi-Wan gasped softly, his breath a puff of pale steam in the cool air.

“I am humbled, Master, but I…”

“You don’t think you’re ready.” Qui-Gon said. It was an answer more than a question. He opened his eyes and looked at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan did not have to speak for his master to know the truth. “Obi-Wan, I know you are ready, even if you do not think so. In the past twenty-two years, I have seen you grow in so many ways, and not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.” Obi-Wan winced, a wry expression on his face. His lack of height got him laughed at, often. Qui-Gon grimaced, then smiled apologetically. “Sorry. But I have seen you face many foes, some of them Sith, some from within yourself, and you have overcome them all. You have always risen to the occasion, Obi-Wan. No matter what the obstacles; you have surmounted them. No matter what the circumstances, you have overcome them and risen above them, and I believe that there is no one more worthy for the accolades. Life has tested you in more ways than I can count. You have passed far harsher trials than any the Council might assign.” Obi-Wan gazed up, open-mouthed and wide-eyed in wonderment. Qui-Gon smiled. “Yes, they are giving you a field accolade. I don’t have to tell you what an honor that is.” Qui-Gon rose slowly and helped Obi-Wan to his feet. He led the younger man a bit closer to the waterfall; Obi-Wan brushed his fingers across the glassy curtain. “I have also been instructed to tell you something, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan gazed quietly at his mentor, glance questioning. Qui-Gon touched the clear, brilliant pendant that Obi-Wan always wore. It was hidden beneath the cloth of his shirt, but in the Force it gave out an unmistakable, clear, sweet chime. “You know that this belonged to your mother, Padawan. You know enough of the old language of her homeworld to know that the name you bear—the name she gave you—means ‘Child of the Light.’” Obi-Wan nodded slowly, clearly unsure of where this was going. “Hear me now, Obi-Wan. What I’m going to tell you may be hard to take, but you must listen. You have a right to know this.” Qui-Gon swallowed and took a deep breath. “You know of the prophecy of the Chosen One?” Obi-Wan nodded silently, once again. “Before she died, your mother told me to train you. She said you were our greatest hope for victory, our only hope for lasting peace. She told me that you were the Chosen One.” Obi-Wan stared, at a complete loss for words. Qui-Gon took a deep breath. “Obi-Wan, Sharya remained a virgin until the day of her death. You were conceived by the will of the Force itself. When I first found you, I tested your midichlorien count. It was impossibly high, too high to measure properly. Later, I tested you again, with a more up-to-date tester, and it still could not determine your exact count. However, I can tell you that it is higher than twenty-five thousand.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be impossible?” Obi-Wan asked, finding his voice again.

“Obi-Wan, many things that are believed to be impossible exist. It does not do to call anything impossible.” Obi-Wan sighed. Qui-Gon rose. “Come. You’ll complete your vigil tonight, and your knighting will take place just before dawn.” Obi-Wan rose and followed Qui-Gon out, and through a maze of passages into another room. Once there, Obi-Wan knelt down and sank into his meditative state. Visions moved quickly through his mind’s eye, winking swiftly one to another; the thousand possible futures that awaited him. The crossroads; he could see it plainly. But he already knew which he would choose. He had already chosen his path. There was no turning back.

At the fourth hour, Siri came to him. “Obi-Wan?” she whispered, her voice sounding hollow, its echo softening the sharp edges of the name.

“I’m here,” he replied, quietly. Siri knelt down in front of him.

“I—I wanted to talk.”

“About what?” he asked. Siri shrugged.

“Oh, nothing.” A pause. Obi-Wan did not look at her. They both knew that it wasn’t nothing. Siri was just gathering up her courage.

“Master Gallia volunteered to take over and complete my training,” she said, softly.

“That was kind of her. She’s a good teacher.”

“Have you ever met her, I mean, on a mission or something, and she helped you out?”

“Once,” he said softly. He had never been so frightened in his whole life as that one day… Adi Gallia had helped him through it. She was a good and kindly woman, somewhat of a maverick like his own master, but a true Jedi—like Qui-Gon in that as well—in spite of it. She and Siri would make a perfect team. “I think I know what you wanted to talk about it.”

“Good,” Siri snapped irritably, “maybe we won’t even have to talk about it after all.”

“We will, Siri, you know we will.” Siri just huffed. “Siri, I’m going to be honest with you. I… I never expected this to happen. I fell in love with you. But at the same time, I don’t think…”

“It’s only forbidden under the Ancient Code,” Siri said. “Not under the intermittent one.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I know, but all the same. There’s a war coming. I want a family more than anything, but… we both have a duty, to the Jedi Order. If we married, had children… we’d probably never be home. And they… they would worry about us. We might never come home. That’s no life for a child, is it, having to worry all the time?”

“No,” Siri said softly, agreeing with him. “It isn’t.”

“And then, there’s the fact that we might have to choose, one day, which would come first; family or duty. And… And I’m not sure which one I would say, Siri. I don’t know the answer, and that… it bothers me.” Obi-Wan looked down. “I think the ancient masters were right when they eliminated attachments from their lives. But, at the same time, I can’t deny that I do love you.” Slowly, Obi-Wan drew out a ring with a single, scintillating jewel set in it. “This belonged to my mother, once. I think it’s only right that I should pass it on to you.”

“I have one for you, too,” Siri said, pulling out a plain silver band.

“I’m going to vow myself to chastity once again, Siri.” Obi-Wan said softly. “But at the same time, I want you to know that my heart is yours. I really don’t have a choice about that.”

“I’ll do the same,” Siri decided. They spoke their vows, softly, into the welcoming silence.

And then, they parted.

Morning came.

With it, came the memory of something forgotten, just beyond reach. Joy leaped into being.

Silently, Obi-Wan rose, attending to assigned duties as the personal attendant of Sidious. The hours passed swiftly by until he was free again. Padme showed him the hidden garden that she would be honored to host the ceremony in.

At last, it was time.

After entering the garden, Obi-Wan walked slowly forward, clad in the traditional Jedi robes that had been worn by so many before the decimation and supposed destruction of the Jedi Order. The white cloak, slightly too long for him, trailed softly across the soft grass. At a Knighting, the supplicant traditionally wore all white robes, symbolizing innocence, purity, and dedication to duty. The pale cloth over his shoulders, the folds that met above a rapidly beating heart, were a constant reminder of the wings of the seraph, modestly hiding themselves away from view, in awe of their Maker.

For one precious, sacred moment, they were living in a fairy tale. The sweet scent of the flowers in the hidden garden caressed the attenders’ senses, and the birdsong in the trees was as sweet, and sweeter than, any mortal music. The soft green carpet of moss and grass underfoot rustled softly at the gentle, whispering wind that tiptoed through it, and the light, bare feet that trod it, leaving barely a mark. The chuckling fountain, offset to one side, sent a rainbow of soft spray into the air.

Obi-Wan walked forward to the focus of the half-circle formed by the waiting Council. As he knelt on the cool, soft grass, the circle closed behind him. Last night, he had knelt on cold, hard stone; but today, he knelt on rich green grass. What he knelt on did not matter; it was the humility in the heart that made all the difference.

All the others who were there to witness the ceremony gathered around the circle of Jedi Masters. Mace Windu raised his hands, signaling that the ceremony which was about to begin. “My Jedi brethren—honored friends—we are gathered here to witness the ceremony by which a young Jedi comes of age. Padawan Kenobi will be knighted today, in recognition of his readiness, which he has proved many times, and most recently by his rescue of Padawan Tachi and Queen-elect Amidala.

“In ancient times, before the reign of Deriaka, the Padawan would wear a small braid behind the ear on the right side. This was the symbol of the commitment of the student to the master, and conversely of the master to the student. Now, it is safer not to wear such symbols, but the commitment is no less today than it was two thousand years ago.

“It was also the custom, when the apprenticeship was complete, to cut the braid, as the Padawan was then a Knight, and no longer under his or her master’s tutelage.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, you come before us today. Your training is complete. What do you seek?”

“To serve the Order, to serve the people of this galaxy, and to serve the Force.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor that you will live simply, and unobtrusively, whatever honors may come your way, and not give into despair when men speak ill of you?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor that you will abstain and keep yourself free from all emotional ties, instead dedicating yourself to the service of the people and the keeping of the Code?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor that you will obey your superiors, whatever their commands, even to the danger of your own life, and that should you be ordered to do something morally unacceptable you will defy their words?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow and give your word of honor to pass on these teachings as they were passed on to you, should the time come?”

“I do.”

“And do you vow and give your word of honor to defend the innocent in all things and at all times, even should you be placed in danger of your own death, and never harm another living creature or raise your hand in violence unless it is in protection and preservation of life and for the good of all?”

“I do.” Master Yoda hobbled forward. Obi-Wan bent his head down, and the aged master and placed a hand on his forehead, in blessing.

“Then speak your final vow, you will.”

“I pledge myself, heart, mind, will, body and soul, to the service of the Force and its creatures, to my very death, and even beyond.” Obi-Wan said, firmly.

“Then a Jedi, you truly are.” Yoda lifted his lightsaber. Its blade did not graze Obi-Wan, even in the slightest, as Yoda dubbed him. “By the election of this Council, and the blessing of the Force, dub thee I do. Arise, Master Kenobi.” Obi-Wan bowed slightly, then stood. He walked forward to greet Qui-Gon and Tahl. The two Jedi Masters smiled. He turned and bowed slightly to Siri. She raised her hand, subtly, in a gesture of blessing.

The Force chimed in approval and joy.

All was well with the world.

Author’s Note: So, this story is complete. *sob* They say all good things must come to an end. But it’s not the end of the series! The Shifting Tides run onward in the embrace of time, and where one story ends, another begins. I may be taking a temporary hiatus from the series (partially due to the fact that I’m Nanoing away at a novel, not a fanfic ;-P), but have no fear– in the future, the sequel to this story, which will be entitled Battlefield of the Soul, will be posted on this blog. Thank you all so much for following and reading this story, and may God bless you. 🙂

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XIV

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, completely random posts, insanity, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Sorry if it looks like this is rushed, but I’m trying to get this posted. I have a bunch of reviews and commentaries and whatnot waiting to be posted, and I want to get to work on the sequel, so I thought I would post this first. 😉

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XIV

                Obi-Wan rummaged in the closet. Tossing his slave tunic aside, he picked up the shirt that Padme had just bought for him at the market. It was a somewhat rough material, an oddly bright shade of vibrant electric blue. Obi-Wan snorted softly. It was her idea of a joke, a subtle probe. Sort of. Of course, subtle was far more up his alley than hers. He preferred more muted cool colors, something Padme had obviously somehow picked up on, and this tone of blue didn’t qualify. It was, of all things, most definitely not subtle. Obi-Wan sighed. He was going to stand out like a bantha in a snowstorm.

On the other hand, if everyone else was dressed the same way…

Obi-Wan held up the shirt. It did look rather nice, he decided, even though it was too fancy for his own taste, with the slashed sleeves and delicate embroidery in silver thread that seemed to be so dear to the heart of the Naboo. He looked over at the mirror. Without the markings on the left half of his face (Jubal Naberrie’s concealer was a miracle), his reflection didn’t look like him at all, and at the same time it was more him than he had ever looked since that day…

Obi-Wan struggled as the man’s hand came down again. He gave vent to a cry of pain as the needles pricked his face, again. A none-too-gentle hand rubbed the pigment across the lacerations and Obi-Wan kicked out as hard as he could. He didn’t understand what was going on, any of it. How could he? He was only four.

                “Blasted nuisance!” one of the men howled, clutching his midsection. “Hold him down tighter, you idiots!” The man leaned in close, Obi-Wan froze. “You know what they’re doing, don’t you?” Trembling, Obi-Wan shook his head. Mother! Where was his mother? Oh, that was right… he had seen her die last year. He was lost, alone.

                “This is your identification,” the man snarled, his lips curving back in a nasty grin. “You’ll never be able to escape, you little runt. Anyone who sees you will see these marks and bring you back. That’s what it is. It’s your badge of shame.” Obi-Wan bit his lip to keep from crying out. The nasty-smelling blue pigment burned. It hurt like nothing else could. Obi-Wan struggled as the man with the needles came forward again. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. The grayness at the edges of his vision deepened, swallowed him up. Everything went black.

                Obi-Wan sprang up. He was lying on a cot somewhere, he wasn’t sure where. The agony was gone, but it left behind a terrible numbness. Obi-Wan rushed across the room to the mirror. He stared at his reflection, appalled.

                It was the face of a stranger looking back at him.

                The right side of his face looked normal, but the left was adorned with sinuous, twisting tattoos. Obi-Wan stared, tears running down his cheeks. He felt wrong, violated. He gripped the small pendant on the necklace that was the only thing he had left of his mother. She was gone, for good.

                He was completely and truly alone.

Obi-Wan jolted back to reality to find himself still looking into the mirror. But it wasn’t his reflection he was looking at—it was Siri’s.

She stood behind him, in the doorway, mouth wide with horror. Obi-Wan spun around to face her, instinctively drawing the cloak across his body, but it was too late. She had already seen the scars.

Obi-Wan froze, uncertain of what to do next. His breath was already coming with a shudder to it. A hot flush flickered across his face. He couldn’t breathe properly, his heart was racing; it was the horrible second he knew that he was about to lose control, have a panic attack… or worse. Siri stepped forward, eyes still bright with horror.

“What,” she breathed, “did they do to you?”

Obi-Wan felt as if he was about to pass out. A long beat in the room and the tension was growing all the time. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. Get a grip, Kenobi! he mentally snapped at himself. He opened his eyes, refocused. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice almost steady. He turned away and was about to pull the shirt on when a gentle, soft hand on his back stopped him. Obi-Wan froze again, stomach twisting. Why couldn’t she let well enough alone? Couldn’t she see he was about to be sick as it was? Muscles tightened, his whole body stiffening, he could feel the blood draining away from his face. He was going to have another flashback, a panic attack, faint, do something completely ridiculous, he just knew it.

“Show me,” Siri requested softly. It was as if someone else was in control of Obi-Wan’s actions. His mind still screaming out in protest, he slowly dropped the cloak away… and hit the floor. Hard. Obi-Wan leaned back against the bed, his shoulders heaving, struggling to control his breathing. In. Out. The situation was completely beyond his control, and that hit Obi-Wan hard. Why am I so upset? he thought. I shouldn’t be this upset… Is it because I’m so controlling? Why do I have this need to be in control? Why does it have to be like this? It was the biggest difference between him and his master. Qui-Gon could go with the flow; Obi-Wan needed to know something about the mission beforehand, to plan, to think. It was the divide between the Living and Unifying Force; Qui-Gon could live with things as they were, whereas Obi-Wan needed to learn to let go… He mentally rolled his eyes with the irony. Even though Qui-Gon seemed to believe that it was the least likely thing possible, Obi-Wan was very much the same as many Sith, at least as far as mechanics went. However, when morals were added to the equation, he went far beyond them.

Siri’s hands ghosted over the scars, both older and more recent. She seemed shocked that anyone could do that to another living person. “That’s what the Sith are,” he replied to her unspoken thought. Siri’s hand paused on a singular scar, dark, slightly ridged.

“What’s this?” she asked. “I can tell what the others are—electricity burns or lightsaber cuts, or… whip lashes. But what’s this?”

“It’s a burn,” he said, looking down. “I was branded.” He showed her the mark on his arm.

“What’s… branding?”

“It used to be used to mark cattle, until some group of bleeding-heart politicians blacklisted it as cruel and unusual. It involves heating a piece of metal—a branding iron, they call it—and then pressing it to the skin. One of the Sith favored it as a torture method.”

“They tortured you?” Siri whispered. “How dare they!” She clenched her fists indignantly. Obi-Wan pulled the tunic on, somewhat fiercely.

“It’s nothing, they’re only scars. It’s all in the past,” he said. “It’s been and done, and nothing can change it. What’s done is done. What’s gone is gone.” Siri frowned.

“But it’s so unfair—so wrong!” she complained.

“I have to release it, Siri,” Obi-Wan said softly. He buttoned up the shirt’s collar, again drawing the fair veil across the horrid realities that scarred his existence.

“You think you can wash those scars off your back?” Siri snapped. Obi-Wan’s eyes were hard, cold.

“No. But at least I have a choice.” He took a step nearer, eyes as cold as ice and hard as flint and sharp as tempered, beaten steel. “The Sith may wash the blood off, but they can never get their hands clean. I have the choice not to ever get my hands dirty, and I don’t want to start it up again.” He pulled the collar straight, resuming a lighter tone of voice. “Well, what do you think? Presentable?”

“You look rakish,” Siri joked. Obi-Wan frowned.

“That’s not quite what I was trying for,” he said. “I was hoping for respectable.”

“That might be hard, since you’re more respectable than the rest of the galaxy. Which makes you a radical.”

“Does that even add up?” Obi-Wan asked rhetorically. “Oh, wait, it does make sense.”

“Did you just agree with me?” Siri gasped. Obi-Wan shot a mischievous grin at her.

“From a certain point of view.” Siri frowned, trying to reach below the surface, wondering how everything could change like that in less than a moment. It took reason, rather than a probe… his mental shielding was good enough that he seemed to be Force-opaque. But he was multi-layered, and seemed to be able to think on so many levels at once that she was completely lost. By the time she reached this realization, Obi-Wan was already halfway down the stairs.

“Well?” Obi-Wan asked. “What do you think?” He stepped off the lowest step, then turned around. Qui-Gon stood.

“At least you don’t look like yourself,” he said.

“And I don’t look like the Phantom of the Opera, either,” Obi-Wan added.

“Come,” Qui-Gon said. “We must report to the Council. In the meanwhile, I’m sure Padme can make all the other necessary arrangements.”

“Absolutely,” Padme said. The three Jedi bowed and went out.

As they passed through the streets, Siri noted, “You seem a little on edge.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“It’s that obvious?” he said. Siri sighed.

“Well, not exactly, but it is there. What’s wrong?”

“I guess I’m just a bit… nervous,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, scuffing the toe of one boot as he walked.

“About what?” Siri probed. Obi-Wan sighed.

“About going before the Council, I think,” he said thoughtfully.

“Why is that such a…” Siri began.

“I’ve never gone before the Council before,” Obi-Wan admitted. “At least not assembled, and definitely not in person.” Siri raised her eyebrows.

“Really?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded, silently. Siri smiled. “Well, it’s not really anything to be worried about. Getting grilled with a bunch of questions and cross-questioned and completely intimidated by a certain bald Jedi Master is about the worst that can happen.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I guess… You’ve never had stage fright, or the real-world equivalent of it, have you?”

“Nope,” Siri said cheerfully.

The plains of Naboo have been described as gorgeous, and holopics of them on the travel agencies are known to make the city dwellers of Coruscant or Taris gape. However, no holopic or holovid can do true justice to the majestic, yet humble, world, whose name is spelled out in those five simple letters.

The plains of Naboo are no less than breathtaking. Rolling hills spread for miles upon miles around, cloaked with deep, rich green, like a soft mantle of velvet. To the man or woman who has spent the entirety of their life cooped up in a city where green is only a dream, a flashback to a memory that is older than themselves, the effect is like a breath of fresh air after hours of being caught up in choking fog or smog. Something about those open plains speaks to the very heart of any person.

On those breathtaking plains, in a small rift between two hills, the Jedi Council was gathered. As the three Jedi approached, then made their respectful bows, Obi-Wan could not help but think of Erin Kenobi, the famous outlander Jedi, coming supplicant before the Council in the years before Deriaka’s reign had begun. There was a famous picture, or had been—had it been found and burned, along with all other artistic references to the Jedi?—of that meeting. Obi-Wan listened in silence as his master outlined the report, then he repeated his own report, facing straight forward, trying hard to remain calm. The tension in his core wouldn’t let up, no matter how hard he tried to relax. As Obi-Wan completed his report, he released a slow breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Yoda smiled.

“Done well, you have,” he said. Obi-Wan barely heard the next few words, almost giddy with relief. Siri delivered her master’s report, which was duly noted. The Council meeting was swiftly completed, and the gathering broke apart into informality.

“Padawan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan bowed.

“Master Windu,” he greeted in return.

“A word, if you please,” the Korun master said. Obi-Wan bowed and followed him off, unconsciously folding his hands back, as if to slide them into his wide sleeves, then stopping as he realized that he wasn’t wearing the robe that he usually wore while on missions. A faint smile quirked on Windu’s lips. “You suppressed your nervousness well, Padawan Kenobi,” he said. Obi-Wan stiffened slightly. Windu made a swift motion with one hand. “Peace.” Windu continued. “I merely wanted to tell you that the Council wished to commend you for your actions. Your plan for what will happen this afternoon was direct, but will be effective, I believe.” Obi-Wan bowed, silently. “War is coming, young Padawan. The board is set, and the pieces are moving. There shall be no turning back from this moment on. We will need young warriors like you, Obi-Wan. Your intelligence has been invaluable, but we are also going to need you on the battlefield. Now, if you would kindly return, we have your little event to attend.”

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XIII

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, home economics, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! Chapter XIII is here. And this story is nearing its end; only two chapters to go yet… I know, sad… but it’s not the end of the world. Or the series, for that matter. 😉

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XIII

                Obi-Wan smiled quietly, to himself. Once he was away from Sidious, the rest was all fairly—almost ridiculously—easy.

And this time, he knocked before entering.

The cordon of guards would have been no challenge for a fully-trained Jedi Knight, and it wasn’t a challenge for a Padawan as experienced and well-versed in the arts of misdirection and deception as Obi-Wan, either. The streets were well-marked and unconfusing, and with Padme’s directions he quickly found his way toward her parents’ home.

Theed was a beautiful city. The well-kept streets were bright and airy—no close alleyways—and the scrubbed pavement shone in the sun. Fountains on the corner of a street played and chuckled, and children splashed happily in their basins.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Siri asked for the umpteenth time.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” Obi-Wan challenged in return. Siri closed her mouth and dropped her head.

“Sorry. It’s just that—well, all these streets look alike to me.” Obi-Wan’s eyes softened.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” he said. “Yes, I do know where we’re going. At least it’s not like Coruscant, where we might get turned around and end up in some seedy, one-way-street district. Oh, here we are. First left after the Bejer Plaza fountain.” Confidently, Obi-Wan climbed the steps up to the neat, bright little row house in the old town section. He knocked briskly at the door. A young woman who looked rather older than Padme opened the door a crack.

“Yes?” she asked. Obi-Wan made a quick bow.

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m expected?” Instantly, the woman’s suspicious demeanor changed. She smiled briskly and opened the door wide.

“Welcome! Come in. Come in!” As they passed through the door, Obi-Wan nodded to Siri.

“This is my fellow Jedi Padawan, Siri Tachi.” The woman nodded to Siri, smiling.

“I’m Sola Naberrie, Padme’s older sister. Everyone’s in here…” She led them into a bright room, airy, open, with windows that opened on a sunny garden. Padme sprang to her feet with a glad cry.

“I’m so glad you got here safely!” she exclaimed. That started off a loud and complex hubbub.

“I’m Siri Tachi,” Siri introduced herself in the midst of all the confused chatter.

“These are my parents, Jobal and Ruwee Naberrie,” Padme introduced them. Obi-Wan made a graceful, respectful bow to them, then slipped off to one side toward the spot where Qui-Gon was standing, waiting for him.

“Master,” he said, sotto voce.

“Obi-Wan. I trust things went according to plan?”

“Yes, mostly.” Obi-Wan bowed his head. Qui-Gon looked at him, frowning slightly in concern.

“What is it?”

“There was an incident at Sidious’ meet and greet. Some… ill-intentioned…” He coughed politely, then continued. “The woman had the audacity to lay hands upon my person, and I guess I must have subconsciously sensed a less-than-savory intent. The next thing I know, she’s slammed back against a stone wall and falls with a broken neck.” Obi-Wan bowed his head, dropping to one knee. “I know that this is an example of excessive force, Master. I submit to your discipline.”

“So,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, “you unintentionally slammed someone into a wall?” Obi-Wan dropped his head lower.

“Yes, Master.”

“I don’t think this is serious,” Qui-Gon said, “if you had no prior intention of harming her. It only means we need to go through your control exercises again.” Taking Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he helped the young man stand up.

“All right,” Sola said sternly over the chatter in the room, “this meeting will hereby come to order.” She pounded with her fist on the side table, in lieu of a gavel.

Obi-Wan found himself sitting next to Ruwee on one side and Qui-Gon on the other. He leaned over and whispered to Ruwee, “Does she always control the floor like this?”

Keeping a straight face, Ruwee answered, “Yes. She’d a holy terror of a public servant if she decided to go into politics like her little sister.” Sola scowled darkly at them. Obi-Wan looked innocent, then changed his expression to contrite. Satisfied, Sola smiled.

“First of all,” she said, “I want to thank all of you for rescuing my little sister.”

“Thank you for aiding our daughter and keeping her safe,” Jobal said. Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly.

“We are here to serve,” he said, sotto voce.

“What about the political plans?” Sola asked. “Padme mentioned them, but didn’t say what they were.” Obi-Wan looked at Padme, who blushed. He sighed and shook his head.

“We were going to spring Padme on the crowds while Palpatine is making his condolence speech. Does anyone know of someone who might help us? Because I can’t be the one to introduce her. Obviously.”

“Sio Bibble might. He’s the governor,” Padme said. Ruwee frowned.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, young man?”

“She was popularly elected,” Obi-Wan said. “And this speech will most likely go on the Holonet. Millions of people will see it. If the Queen were to disappear again, there would be even higher suspicions, and all of Naboo might rise up and protest, and be joined by other people on other worlds. Sidious views this as a small matter—Naboo isn’t that important, even though it is his homeworld—and won’t want to run the risk of you blackmailing him for kidnapping the Queen-elect—doubtless Padme has told you the whole story by now. Spread it to a few who you can trust, but no further. That way you will have leverage against Sidious. He’s too intelligent not to recognize the fact.” Obi-Wan looked down. “I’ve been thinking…” He passed a parchment to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon quickly perused its contents and then looked at the Padawan, a smile perking on his lips.

“You certainly do have an innate, and perhaps intolerable, love of drama, Obi-Wan,” he said. Obi-Wan blushed and hung his head. Qui-Gon laughed. “But in this case, I think that’s a good thing.” He passed the speech to Padme, who inspected it thoroughly.

“You should go into politics, Master Jedi,” she said. Obi-Wan blanched, his face the picture of total horror.

“Heaven forbid!” he gasped, almost as if the words were being jerked out of him. Siri nearly fell out of her chair laughing.

“All right,” Qui-Gon said, joining in the burst of general laughter, “after that slight to the queen-elect’s avocation, I expect you to apologize, my very young Padawan.” Obi-Wan rose from his seat, face as red as a beet, and dropped to one knee in front of Padme.

“I beg your forgiveness, your highness,” he said, still blushing. Padme placed her hand on his head, trying to ignore the impulse to mess with his thick auburn hair, in the traditional Naboo gesture of forgiveness.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” she said, grinning. Obi-Wan regained his seat.

“I’ll need some Naboo-style clothes to get about unnoticed,” he remarked. “The tattoos on my face will be the hardest thing to take care of…”

“We’ve used paint before,” Qui-Gon noted. Thoughtfully, Jobal looked critically at Obi-Wan.

“I have some concealer from an old makeup kit—I haven’t used it in years. It should work to cover up the tattoos.”

“Right…”

“And I’ll go buy some clothes for you,” Sola said. “There’s no way Father’s would fit you. You’re taller than he is, and much slimmer.”

“Thank you, Sola,” Ruwee said. Padme giggled. Ruwee shook his head at her.

“Is this council of war over?” Jobal asked.

“I think so,” Qui-Gon said.

“It should be,” Obi-Wan added.

“Good,” Jobal said, rising. “Come upstairs, Master Jedi. We’ll see what we can do.”

“And I’ll go see about those clothes,” Sola said, leaving the room.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter XII

Tags

alternate universe, apple butter, apples, applesauce, completed stories, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, fruit leather, home economics, insanity, long rants, rambling musings, sewing, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, story dynamics, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! Once again, I’m back, after dropping off the face of the ether. Sorry about that… we were processing apples from the orchard behind our house (which, sadly, does not belong to us… :’-( ) and making some into applesauce and some into apple butter and some into fruit leather, and then we were canning it, and then we were making clothes and costumes for Halloween, and all in all I was too busy to update, besides which I had no place to put my laptop, since there was sewing paraphenalia covering the dining room (which gets used for sewing much more frequently, by the way X-P) table, and canning paraphenalia on the kitchen table, and the lap desk is kind of cumbersome, besides which I hate using the mouse pad attached to my laptop… yeah… Sorry about that little rant. KRAYZEEEEEEEENESS.

This chapter: Qui-Gon has a talk with Padme, Obi-Wan looses control and self-depreciates (seriously, what is it with his lack of self-esteem?!), and memory takes a hold, linking the past to the present, and the future.

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter XII

                Qui-Gon relaxed once the ship was in hyperspace. He walked back to the small salon. “Your highness. We’re well on our way to Naboo.”

“Thank you, Master Jinn,” the young queen said, her eyes sparkling with joy. “But please, don’t call me by my formal title. I’m not the queen, not yet. Until my inauguration, I’m not the queen. I’m just plain Padme Naberrie, from Ikili-in-the-Hills.” Qui-Gon nodded slowly, not making any moves in one direction or the other, keeping his face neutral. Padme Naberrie seemed to be studying him. Suddenly, she burst out, “You’re not really like Obi-Wan.”

The next moment, her face was the picture of shock. Apparently, she hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Qui-Gon burst out laughing. “I should hope not! Not all Jedi are alike, Miss Naberrie.” The young girl blushed.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” she backpedaled. Still smiling, Qui-Gon shook his head.

“It was honest. Obi-Wan would probably say that we are two of a kind.”

“I’m guessing that Obi-Wan can be blunt, too, though.”

“Brutally honest at times,” Qui-Gon affirmed.

“Well, in that case, we’re three of a kind.” Qui-Gon laughed again. “What are the other Jedi like?” Padme asked.

“Some of us would say that Obi-Wan is one end of the scale and I’m the other,” Qui-Gon replied without really replying. “If you look at us, it’s a bit of a minor wonder of the galaxy how we get on so well.”

“You complement each other,” Padme said. Qui-Gon smiled.

“You sound very certain of that, Miss Naberrie,” he said.

“Of course!” Padme said eagerly. “I can just see Obi-Wan running off to get things done, hitting up all the villains, and finishing with a flourish, while you’re his ballast, the safe haven.” Qui-Gon smiled at how sure she sounded. And she was right.

“You should have been a Jedi,” he said. “Your observations of Obi-Wan are absolutely correct. He has a lot of fire; he needs someone who compliments that. He’s all fire and water, whereas my element is earth.”

“That fits,” Padme remarked. “I think… well, Obi-Wan… he just gives me the impression of tightly controlled power and energy. He has… an aura… I think that’s the right word. The first time I met him, I was a bit disappointed, under all my other distress. I had… a feeling that something was outside the room, though I was too upset and buried in my own worries to think about it at the time. And then, when he came in, my first subconscious thought was, ‘That’s it?!’”

Qui-Gon laughed. “He does seem a bit small for his presence, doesn’t he?” Inwardly, Qui-Gon was a bit surprised. Obi-Wan did make impressions, but he had never heard of anyone perceiving him through extra-sensory perception. Quickly, he probed Padme’s Force-presence. She was slightly more sensitive to the Force than the average human, but still nothing particularly out of the ordinary. “So, you’re saying you actually sensed him without sight, hearing, touch or anything like that?”

“I know it sounds crazy…” Padme said. “But yes, I think I did.” Qui-Gon smiled.

“I don’t think it’s crazy. Often, that’s how Jedi tell where the others are.” Padme’s eyes widened.

“But, I’ve never…”

“I don’t think you have any Jedi abilities,” Qui-Gon said. “But Obi-Wan has a very deep and particular connection to the Force, and perhaps that’s what alerted you to his presence there. On some level, we’re all able to feel the Force. Some of us are just stronger with it than others, have more of a natural talent.”

And some of us, Qui-Gon added mentally, are talented beyond belief.

 

                Qui-Gon moved through the corridors of the Imperial palace like a wraith, silent, with practiced ease and unremitting purpose. Suddenly, ahead of him, there was a startled gasp in front of him, and a very small person darted out before him, scuttling into the shadows beyond. On instinct, Qui-Gon leaped forward and grabbed the offending shape. Pulling the child back into the light, Qui-Gon found himself staring in honest surprise into the face of a three-year-old human boy with huge, frightened, blue-gray-green eyes. He was thin, too thin, not chubby like most children his age, and had thick, ruffled dark chestnut-auburn hair. Qui-Gon relaxed. The child shrank away from him, fearfully. Qui-Gon smiled reassuringly at the little boy. “It’s all right, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Stars above, this child glowed like a beacon in the Force, a blaze of pure silver. An untrained, instinctive Force-probe came across his senses, and Qui-Gon almost laughed. He was being evaluated by an untrained three-year-old. Emerald and sapphire mingled in a captivating swirl in those perversely huge, expressive and completely adorable eyes. They studied him for another excruciatingly long moment, then the boy lowered his eyes and reached a decision, satisfied.

                “Mama’s hurt,” he whispered. His voice was a treble, soft toddler lisp, with just a hint of a familiar aristocratic-yet-pragmatist accent. Qui-Gon suddenly felt a sharp premonition, but he pushed it aside. “Can you help her?” the child continued. Qui-Gon didn’t hesitate. It wouldn’t interrupt his search too much, and he had a feeling that if he hesitated, it would be too late. Besides, there was something about this boy…

                “Lead on,” he said. Instantly, his small guide took off at a rattling pace that amazed Qui-Gon. Hastily, they made their way towards the slave quarters and into a room, bare, dilapidated, and sparsely furnished. It was unoccupied save for a figure that lay on its back, perfectly still, on the bed. The little boy hurried to the prone figure’s side.

                “Mama?” he said, in a broken whisper. The young woman moved, pushing herself up in bed.

                “Master!” she exclaimed, her clear sweet voice soft, weary. Qui-Gon walked forward, three long strides swallowing up the distance between them.

                “Sharya,” Qui-Gon breathed. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry it took so long to find you.”

                “Well, at least,” Sharya breathed, “you were in time… for my son.” She grabbed the little boy’s hand and placed it in Qui-Gon’s. “Master, this is Obi-Wan. Please, don’t just leave him here. He must be trained as a Jedi.” Sharya leaned close. “Because he is the Chosen One.” There was no sharp inhalation of shock, no quick, excited searching of the Padawan’s face. Qui-Gon merely gripped the slender, white, six-fingered left hand in his.

                “You’re sure?” he asked, searching her eyes. Sharya blinked, then sighed, closing her eyes.

                “Yes,” she said, voice assured. “I am vowed to perpetual virginity, Master, and I have kept my vow.” She coughed a little, uncertainly. “Thank heaven… you got here in… time…”

                “Sharya?” Qui-Gon asked. She slowly slipped back down, settling into the pillows, and gave out one last, long breath. The warrior and wanderer had departed on her final journey. The silence was broken by a pained cry as young Obi-Wan sensed his mother’s death. The three-year-old sank down to the floor and began to sob. Qui-Gon closed the beautiful hazel eyes for the last time and hurried to comfort the child. “Hush. There, there, now,” he soothed. “It’s all right, everything is going to be all right.”

                “Are you going to take me away?” the boy asked, his huge sapphire eyes awash with tears. “I won’t leave Mama,” he whispered firmly. Qui-Gon smiled sadly.

                “Don’t worry, little one. Mother’s only gone away to live far, far away, but she’ll be with you too. She’ll never leave you, Obi-Wan, and someday you’ll see her again.”

                “She’ll be with me?” the little boy whispered. Qui-Gon smiled again.

                “Always.”

“Master Jinn?” Padme’s voice broke through Qui-Gon’s reverie. He straightened up.

“Yes?”

“I was…” she looked away, unable to finish.

“Wondering?” Qui-Gon supplied. “About what?”

“Well, I was just… unsure about… well, Obi-Wan was saying that he hoped to instate me properly as Queen, according to the rules of democracy…”

“He informed me of his plan,” Qui-Gon said. “Go on.

“Well, it’s just that…” Padme shrugged. “I wasn’t sure about the political dynamics of this, is all.” Qui-Gon laughed softly.

“There’s no need to worry, your highness. Sometimes even I don’t quite follow Obi-Wan’s thoughts very well, either. At times, it’s as if he’s something completely different from me…”

“Yes,” Padme said thoughtfully, “I had that feeling a bit too… but then he was also capable of so much compassion…”

“Obi-Wan is special,” Qui-Gon said, “like I said before.”

Siri came looking for him.

Or rather, she was about to, when the doors to the cargo bay slid open and two of the Red Guards dragged him in and flung his inert form on the ground. Siri, who had dived into hiding behind the boxes of supplies the instant she heard them outside the door, slipped out of her hiding place the moment she was sure they were gone, and rushed to Obi-Wan’s side. Hurriedly, she checked his pulse. It was even and steady, and his breathing seemed fairly strong. He was completely unconscious, however. Siri gently turned him over, then brushed his wayward shoulder-length ginger hair out of his face. Oblivious to the world around him, he looked so innocent, so much younger than he really was. However, there was a subtle twist of the lips that spoke of suppressed pain. Siri looked down at him for what seemed like a long time. He was handsome, but the Sith tattoos that were spread across the left side of his face marred it somewhat. Siri felt toward him like she had felt to very few in her life. Almost protective, almost… something else. She didn’t dare to say what.

Something had happened. At last, Siri took in a deep breath, then grabbed his shoulder and began to shake him. “Hey. Wake up. Come on, Obi-Wan, you have to wake up” Even in sleep, Obi-Wan’s reaction was instantaneous. His hand snapped up, closing, vice-like, around her wrist, as his eyes opened sharply. He saw who it was who had aroused him, sighed, released her.

“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to alarm or hurt you.” Siri gave a low sigh of almost relief. In the moments before he was fully awake, it was dangerous, perilous even. Survival instincts took precedence. Evidently, living all his life in the midst of the Sith had taught him harsh lessons.

“Do you miss your mother?” Siri asked, on an impulse. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Yes. But, of course, I barely knew her. I was so young when she died. For twelve years, I never laughed or smiled, except when I was with my master, and I rarely spoke.”

“What changed that?” Siri asked.

“A woman called Shmi Skywalker, who was brought to the palace one day. With her kindness, she began to break down the chill around my heart. She was good enough to consider me as her own son. If there is anyone there who deserves to be free, it’s her. Her, her son Anakin, or one of the future Sith apprentices there.” Siri gave him a confused look.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “A Sith is a Sith is a Sith. They’re all the same.”

“No, they aren’t,” Obi-Wan argued. “Some of them aren’t really evil. They use the Dark Side, yes, but they have never been given the choice to use the Light. They are only doing what they’ve been taught. How can they do anything else, without someone to teach it?” He shook his head softly, falling into silence. Siri stared at him in awe, eyes widening in realization.

“That’s why you stayed,” she said in a near-whisper. Obi-Wan dropped his head, thick auburn hair falling across his face, obscuring his expression. Siri was still staring. “You wanted to try.” Obi-Wan bowed his head, resting his forehead against his knees.

“Better to redeem than to destroy,” he said, so softly that she could barely hear him. “We should never condemn those who fail in haste; we don’t know all their circumstances. We don’t really understand.” He shifted slightly, not raising his head. “It might be a good idea for me to pretend to be unconscious when the guards come back.” he said, half-wistfully.

“It might,” Siri said slowly. She peered thoughtfully at him, sideways. “Do you ever rest?” Obi-Wan laughed ruefully.

“My master wants to know the same thing,” he said with the same half-uncertain, self-depreciating humor Siri had been so bewildered by before, lying down. His eyes flickered shut. Siri stared, wondering if he was really unconscious, or still awake and watching her with some sense that was perhaps, even inexplicable by the Force itself. His abilities seemed uncanny at times, as uncanny to her as those of an ordinary Jedi would have been to a layperson. “Stop thinking so loudly,” Obi-Wan chided her from his prone position, “you’re making it hard for me to think.”

By the time the guards returned, the ship had made the odd jerk that signaled they were coming out of hyperspace. Obi-Wan had never liked the feeling of accelerating into hyperspace or leaving it much; for the first few seconds it felt as if he was being jerked abruptly through a ray shield, or was in an abruptly-dropped elevator, and the next few minutes his core temperature would fluctuate oddly—probably due to the sudden changes in the flow of the Force. Obi-Wan grabbed the long concealing cloak from the peg in the slave quarters as he was marched off. The guards shoved him into place behind the emperor and he dutifully followed the man down the ramp.

But nothing was enough to stifle the spark of defiance thinly veiled behind a mask of diplomacy. Obi-Wan carried himself straight and tall, self-assured and confident, as if he was one of the delegation instead of Sidious’ slave.

The welcoming committee was uninteresting, as was the extremely normal banquet that was to follow. Obi-Wan stood behind Palpatine’s chair, trying to keep from yawning with boredom. These visits were always the same; some rebellious, courageous souls sticking to the background, attending against their will; the others, obsequious, fawning Imperial sympathizers and sycophants of the crown, groveling before the throne of the Sith. Even simply making eye contact with anyone in the room would have been dangerous, more so for them than for him, since he was such a… favorite… with the Sith. If he made eye contact with a rebel, they might be executed. If he made eye contact with an Imperial, he might be beaten. It was simply easier not to take the risk, and so he kept his eyes downcast, but not without scanning the room thoroughly, without outwardly appearing to look, monitoring for potential allies and enemies, a habit he had learned by years of hard experience. Hard lessons had been taught him by years upon years of contending with the same enemy, and he would have been a fool indeed not to pay heed to them. Never let your guard down. Never leave an enemy in the room unwatched. He had learned his lessons well, as the Sith would one day know, to their cost.

Despite the fact that his eyes were downcast, he noticed that a few—or rather, more than just a few—of Sidious’ syncophants were ogling him appreciatively. Obi-Wan inwardly felt a rush of revulsion. He hated being stared at. It was at times like this that Obi-Wan wished with all his heart that he had been born plain. Good looks served no practical purpose whatsoever; thought it was true that “handsome is as handsome does”, he would rather not have been seen—flaunted—in this flagrant way. Slavery was demeaning. Slaves had no rights. They were considered non-persons, un-persons, less than persons, to be used, and used up, and thrown away on a whim, by their masters.

Once, when he was ten, Obi-Wan had been carrying a breakfast tray to an ageing Sith Lady; he had fallen and cut himself three times n pottery, ceramic, and glass shards, and once on the knife that had fallen from the tray. He had been given twenty lashes for nearly ruining his appearance, as if his other injuries had not been punishment enough for mere adolescent clumsiness. Obi-Wan wished he had been scarred across the face. Perhaps he might be left alone, then. He might not be classically handsome—his features were too angular to be classically handsome—but he still drew attention, and he hated that.

After the formal greeting, with all its flowery speeches, during the duration of which no one ever actually said anything worth saying, there was the formal banquet. Of course. Politicians were capable of many things, but not originality. Oh, goodness no.

Obi-Wan busied himself, by habit, monitoring the room the while. Two Bothans in the back corner—what exactly were they doing there? Other than making small talk, of course… A Nemoidian rapidly moving in the direction of being drunk to the nines. Oh wonderful, he was mixing his metaphors now. A Senatorial aide making love to another Senatorial aide. Naturally. People just had no decorum nowadays, though maybe his expectations were too high—the galaxy was ruled by the Sith, after all. Quinlan Vos wasn’t there, neither was the senator to whom Vos was an attaché. Pity, Obi-Wan thought. He truly enjoyed Vos’s company, no matter how much the Kiffar annoyed and/or embarrassed him.

He was startled by someone suddenly putting their hand on his arm, pawing lewdly at him. Quicker than thought, he subconsciously sensed a lurid intention and a reflexive Force-push batted the offender away like a fly. The gaudily-dressed woman flew backward, her head smacking against the wall with a sickening crack. There was a shocked silence. The crystal serving tray slipped from Obi-Wan’s hands and shattered into millions of sparkling fragments on the floor. Someone hurried to the woman’s side, checking for a pulse, but Obi-Wan already knew the truth. A wave of revulsion swept through him.

The woman was dead.

And he had killed her.

There wasn’t even outrage in Sidious’ eyes, merely cruel amusement. He laughed, clapping his hands three times, a vicious mockery of applause. Sidious laughed. Obi-Wan felt sick inside. “Well done, Korzu,” Sidious said, still laughing. Obi-Wan was still too much in shock to even make a scene. Slowly, people resumed eating as several other servitors whisked out, to sweep up the broken fragments of the tray, while a group of slaves carried out the woman’s body. Obi-Wan turned his face away from the debauchers. Sidious laughed again. “Your first kill! Isn’t it marvelous?” Obi-Wan fell to his knees and threw up, violently, though his stomach was all but empty.

No more. He could not take any more of this.

However this ended, he wanted out. Just away from Sidious, and the rest of the Sith.

Even if it meant he had to die.