Time for Pain

"I must be allowed to see her!"

The Gods save me from Jedi Masters, you think as you meet the eye of the ambassador to Corellia. The man's eyes are glowing green in the agitation brought on by the shout. Mace Windu is a well-spoken man, a powerful Jedi Master, but sometimes over extends his presence when he feels it is useful. Now appears to be one of those times. You can hear the heavy door of the hallway close and heavy well-placed footfalls echoing in the confined space.

Qui-Gon left two weeks ago to go on a final mission with his padawan, Xanatos. The boy apparently is to be knighted when the mission is over, and your love has asked you to venture to Coruscant to see the knighting at his side. You are simply awaiting the word. The arrival of Mace Windu was not expected to be that word.

Could there be something else wrong?

Could something have happened to Qui-Gon.?

The world is like a hazy curtain over a sun filled window. The chair that you sit on is hard against your legs and you grow so cold that its solid surface feels warm. You would feel it wouldn't you? If he were hurt or.. You would feel the pain. The agony.the endless emptiness.the darkness as the brightest part of your life left. You would know it.there would be no other acceptable outcome. Qui-Gon has been a part of you for so long.

Mace rounds the corner in front of you. His brown cloak mingles with the flowing white curtain next to him. It wraps around his legs as if the wind bade it to twine with the man.to join him. He stops as he catches your eyes. His expressive brown eyes flame from within. You actually miss the sound of his approaching footsteps- the clack of his boots on the marble floor was like a beating heart. Constancy and warmth - protection, those footfalls made you feel safe. It also meant that the cause of his arrival was far away.and now.it faces you.

The Corellian ambassador immediately recognizes the newest member of the Jedi Council and struggles to his feet to face Mace. The Jedi Master nods quickly, but returns his eyes to yours. You know.there is trouble. You rise, gaining your height with legs not steady and a heart racing too fast to be contained in your chest. The folds of your dress tease your legs as they flutter to the ground and your consciousness hones in on its existence. Your hearing tunnels; your eyes train on him and time stops.

Qui-Gon wouldn't leave you.

He wouldn't.not without you..he would never leave you behind.

Mace moves toward you, but it feels like he is coming across a great distance.your eyes watch him, but it is so far away.

Qui-Gon couldn't leave.not without knowing about Obi-Wan. Not without knowing your deepest secret that you have kept from him, at the cost of your complete peace. His son. Your son. By the Gods. Deep breaths- nothing is known yet. Calmness, serenity, peace.befitting the lifetime lover of a Jedi Master, grasp it. Feel it. Live it. Breathe. in out. Gods, Jinn..

"Tira! Tira, sit down."

Your eyes turn to Mace Windu, now standing close. His presence envelops you, flowing through his being and reaching through yours. His hand is warm and large on your elbow- it encases the joint in tenderness. One of his legs extends to support your legs, making your knees bend. With a controlled descent, you collapse into the chair, gratefully allowing it to take your weight.

Mace's eyes are the color of burnt amber from Yerinda, that deep yellow brown that warms your heart. The colors swirl there, mixing like paint in rain. They are not blue. They are not the clear blue that reminds you of summer skies and deep pools, of laughter and love. Mace's flash intelligence and caring, not with passion and love as Qui-Gon's often do. Oh..

You turn your eyes to look at the Jedi Master before you, now kneeling. His hands grasp yours and you shake your head with a movement intense enough to send you hair into dancing waves against your back. He looks to your hands and raises his head again.

"You must come with me to Coruscant immediately, Tira. You are needed."

You gasp as another stray thought enters your mind. Is it Obi? Has something happened to your son? You open your mouth and gasp momentarily until the words fall out of your mouth. They are uttered in the calm that you have seen and experienced in Qui-Gon for the lifetime that you have spent with him. "Of course.let me see to that right away.if the ambassador would excuse me?"

At the man's nod, you rise and grasp at Mace with a grimace. "I trust you will fill me in during the travel, Master Windu."

******

The brilliance of the sun reflects off of the surrounding buildings as the small craft launches into the late afternoon sky. It is amazing how stars work to light the skies. Furnace lights from the inside, a simple meeting of two elemental entities, twined in a dance of eternal length. Their love affair gives life to those around them, filtering down to touch the lives of billions of living creatures. You nearly cry as you think of the power of passion in your life and its reduction from a nova to an ember. He. Cannot. Be. Dead. And Obi. Your son.the light that shines without your guidance.without your presence in his life. your little boy.

"Tira. Please do not stress. They are both physically well." Mace's voice still flows like heated honey over your ears, smooth and thick.

Your eyes alight on him, squinting slightly. "Physically?"

Mace sighs and looks at the chrono. "Qui-Gon needs you. Something unexpected and painful has happened."

You sigh as you realize that for all the man's talent in negotiating and being a diplomat, he lacks in his ability to talk to women about his friend. "Tell me, Mace."

"Xanatos has left the Jedi.has turned to the dark side." Mace's eyes are deep and soulful as he shakes his head. "Qui-Gon is beating himself."

You wave your hand to stop his tirade. Now that the problem is out, you are ashamed that you jumped to the worst conclusion for his arrival. This problem, to you, seems to be something manageable compared to your previous mindset. You feel more whole, more in control, and more solid. "At least the boy is alive, Mace."

"It would be better if he had died." Mace's voice is harsh as he turns to face the portal. His eyes watch the moving stars outside, but there is coldness to him that you have not sensed before.

"Mace!"

He reels around to you with flashing eyes. "The dark side is death, Tira. It reaches out and snatches your soul from the world of light and plunges it into darkness. Qui-Gon just watched a boy that he raised turn to death within inches of becoming a knight. It was Xanatos' own pride and arrogance that led him there. This is the most painful thing that a Jedi Master can experience."

You hang your head. "I am sorry..I do not quite understand. but I will come talk to Qui-Gon."

Mace places his hands on his hips and leans his head back on his neck. You see the muscles flex there and realize, not for the first time, that Jedi are very fit men. "I have come to get you because Qui-Gon is hell bent on berating himself over this. He refuses to speak to any of us, refuses to see a healer to mend the broken training bond. He is letting himself touch the dark through what remains in his soul in order to punish himself for getting so close to Xanatos. For loving him like a son..you knew of his attachment to Xani?"

"It was clear to see." you answer, hooding your eyes. This pain might have been avoided if Qui-Gon had known of Obi-Wan. You had watched, these last few years, as his depth of feeling for Xanatos had spread. As he adopted the initiate as both his Padawan and his son.a son he thought he didn't have, and a son he thought he would never have, his love for the boy had grown exponentially. You had never begrudged the relationship. You never voiced anger with the boy coming on all Qui-Gon's visits with you. You never told Qui-Gon of the time when Xanatos had snuck into the bedroom while you and your lover were engaged in lovemaking. If Qui-Gon had loved the boy, then so did you, out of respect for your life love.

"His love for you is the only deep seated emotion and relationship that he has in his life now. Yoda thought that you might be able to talk with him." You nod as you face forward again. You will talk to him, and try and soothe him.

The gardens of the Temple are as you remember them: lush, green and alien to your eyes. Plants are brought to the walled garden by traveling Jedi, by visiting family, by grateful diplomats and grace the walls and walkways with their life and fragrance. The sun pierces the hanging greenery. You round the corner and see that you are at the very perimeter of the small parcel of land. Ahead of you lies a large rock that borders a small stream. Qui-Gon sits perched upon the rock, his head bent down, and his long hair hanging against his chest. His tunic is gone - only the undertunic remains and it is hanging open on his broad frame. His feet are bare and the leggings are rolled and tight against his calves. He looks..lost.

You close the distance, thankful of the leggings and tunic that you were given to wear. A slight breeze gusts up and lifts the fine strands of his hair. His tongue sneaks out to whet his lower lip, making it glisten in the sun. He sighs and lifts his had to look at a tree and speaks lowly. "Love..they brought you here didn't they?"

You nod, knowing he can sense your affirmative answer. "They say that."

".only you can bring me back.." His voice is tight and gritty.

Again you nod. You have known this man for almost twenty years, and his voice has never sounded so empty. You step to the rock, grasping at its cool strength to climb. The facets in its surface help you and soon you are sitting slightly behind Qui-Gon.

"I don't want to come back."

The words are plain and spoke with a deep pain. You reach out to embrace him, only to have him lean away from you. You arch back and slowly lay a hand between his shoulder blades. The skin is smooth there and strong, vast. "Qui-Gon."

"I want to leave the Order, Tira. I want to come live with you on Alderaan. I don't want to ever face pain like this again." His voice is scratchy. The sound of it brings a lump to your throat. You have trouble swallowing.

A gust of air lifts his locks again, and you are aware of the smell of musk and man. You head slides forward to touch his back, your eyes drift shut on tears.

"Twelve years he was with me. And I loved him like he was my own flesh and blood. The son I will never have." His voice permeates from his back like a deep rumbling stream over rocks. You can feel the words cutting your soul.

"I am sorry, love..so sorry." You sigh as you feel his muscles tighten. The feeling of absolute light that you always felt from him.of living things and love, of air, fire, water and earth pure and unadulterated..is not as pure as it once was. There is darkness to it now.a shadowing of the white, soft light.

His head leans back, dusting you with his hair. The sun is beginning to set; a study of red and orange is appearing in the sky. You can feel his pain- his agony of the pain of ripped love. The depths of a male bonding experience half a lifetime long, torn at the seams and lying prone on the ground. It is only at this moment that you realize how deep the torn training bond must be. As deep as your love for him, but different, more spiritual, more ether based.

"Please say I am welcome with you." he whispers. "Let me come and be."

"You are always welcome, Qui." you whisper back, brushing your lips against the thinly covered shoulder. "But I think that you should examine this decision more."

"And what." he cries almost hoarsely. "Decide to remain in a life that will only give me pain.that will only separate me from the ones that I love? I have given up a family.I have almost drifted from you.I interact with people in their lives at the risk of my own.all I want is peace."

You slide your arms around his middle, and tighten them. You can feel the press of tears in his being. The need for the flow to start, but you also sense the stubbornness that will hold them back. His voice gets rougher as he swallows convulsively and continues.

"He was the son of my heart, Tira. And he is dead to me now.or so the Order tells me. That if I see him on the street, or on a mission.I am to engage him in a fight and conquer him. Kill him."

"Qui."

"No more I tell you..I will not do this. I will not kill someone I love for the sake of a religion that is drifting from its roots." His voice is choked for a moment and you realize that the tears have started. You press your hand up on his chest, and begin to rock back and forth. You cradle his large body as best you can like you would a babe.

Time passes without measure. Soon the moon peaks through the trees. The small stream nearby adds to the atmosphere by tumbling and bubbling over the few stones in its path. You have much to convince him of and much to argue against.but first you must let him grieve. And if that must occur here, on this rock, in your arms.then it must.

The call of one wild bird that found refuge in the trees of the garden reminds you that life continues around you. Qui-Gon has ceased to speak or to rock. He has slipped into a peaceful trance- his arms hanging limply at his side, his legs crossed. The inner tunic falls open and allows your hands to brush against his warm chest, lightly furred with hair. With a sigh, you disengage your arms and move around to slip into his lap.

His muscular thighs are strained beneath yours, a mountain of chiseled muscle. They are strained, and warm. You sneak your hands up to gently cup the man's cheeks. His rough beard scrapes against your palm as your hands curl into his warm skin. His lids are closed over his blue fire eyes. "Qui-Gon?"

It takes several seconds, but you can tell the moment that he inches out of the trance. His muscles tighten slightly and his breathing accelerates. The lids inch open over his eyes and suddenly you are warmed from inside. He kindles the flame in you.every time.simply by his presence. A slight fragrance of wild berry drifts from the small clump of bushes below and you pray that the memory of his sadness will not meld with that smell.

His arms rise to clasp about your waist, grasping at your skin. You can feel the heat.not warmth. of his touch through the clothing. A sadness that is bone deep emanates from his eyes, turning them stone cold blue. "Oh love."

"We need to talk," you sigh, moving your hands to grasp at the strands of his hair.

"We need to pack my things, Tira. I need to leave." His voice is stronger now, some of the steely strength that he relies on in fights rushes in.

"You will not be happy there, Qui-Gon, I fear. There will be only monotonous days and long nights.."

"Long nights of lying next to you. days of monotonous peace and mornings of rising next to you.things that I have craved these last few years." His eyes are gazing into yours with a power that crushes your thoughts.momentarily.

"You will be leaving your very existence, Love. You are a Jedi born and bred. You need to remain with your brethren and sisters.it is where you draw your strength. Being around so many that are not Force sensitive will drain you."

"It will be refreshing," he sighs, clutching his hands quickly. Your skin feels confined between his hands. "The Council here feels that their word is the word of the Force.that their decisions drive the course of the Force.not the other way round. We are killing ourselves from the inside. It stifles. The arrogance that exists here.it is too strong. They decide who will become a knight and who will flounder. Who will face tests too high for their ability and who will be given easy tasks.."

You sigh as you stroke his hair, looking into his eyes. They flash back at you, deep blue now with passion. "Xanatos was taught by the best that the Jedi had to offer, my love. You were it. And you taught him well with everything you had in you. You gave him your heart and your life these last ten years.Those tasks were within his ability, as they were within yours.he turned."

"You know nothing of this!"

His shout startles you and you lean back from him, your hands fluttering down his chest to collapse in a pile of skin in your lap. You shake your head, but he continues.

"You know nothing of the Jedi life.you have done all you can to remain apart from it. The only thing that you do know is that we do kill.when needed and with regret, but we do kill to get the ends needed. And I agree, our grasp of peace is not as it should be..but.Tira.you know nothing. So do not comment on what you do not know."

Your mouth opens and you gasp at air momentarily. "I know you."

"Do you?"

"You doubt that I do?" you ask, incredulously. You try to find his eyes, moving your head around to chase the shadows you see there. "You doubt that I have not soothed your battle wounds, that I have not watched you balance a life of diplomacy and warrior. Do you think that I have loved you most of my life without knowing what you are like?"

His eyes close for a moment and you sigh. "I love you.all of you."

"I know you do, Tira.I don't doubt that. I do doubt that you could understand the reasons for Xani turning."

"Don't patronize, Qui-Gon. Remember I am not some initiate that you can order around. Darkness and Light exist in everyone.even those that are not Force sensitive. Each person makes the choice of which they will serve. Xani had a choice, as we all do, and he chose. You have a choice and you chose. I had a choice and I chose." Your voice is higher in pitch than usual and is louder than you have spoken in years. Damn this man. "For you to leave the Jedi would destroy your life's purpose, my love." You continue, quieter.

His head turns down momentarily and then rises to look at the trees surrounding you. The limbs and leaves are touched with silver from the moon and it looks like a metallic wonderland. The stream is looks as if it is a fluid silver ribbon twisting and turning over the rocks and in the wind. On the edge of the wind, you can smell the food that is being prepared in the Temple a distance away. It is peaceful.

Your eyes latch onto Qui-Gon's countenance. His cheeks are shadowed, as are his eyes. That strong neck that your fingers dig into during lovemaking is flexed and taut. His beard is touched with the silver of the moon and his lips are dark in the night. The sloping brow that houses the mind that you so love is creased in pain and thought. And you wait. Wait for his thoughts to be voiced.

You do not wait long.

"I cannot remain here."

You nod, understanding the power of the memories that exist here for him. And the dislike that he has of this system, even though it is not responsible for his pain.

"But.. I cannot leave either.you are right."

Silence descends for a moment.

"This is my life and my calling. I am a Jedi. Nothing can change that. But to disagree with the Council."

"Do you disagree with the Council in all things?" you ask, stroking his neck.

"Not all.rather.only when they distinctly go against what I sense is the proper course. I listen to the Force in my life everyday. I hear the Living Force. It is my strength." His eyes turn to yours. They are lighter now. "But I cannot take another student."

"Then don't," you whisper, knowing that Obi-Wan will be denied his father for a teacher.

You open your mouth to continue, and his hand rises to press against your lips. His head shakes slowly, causing his hair to move against the hand of yours that is pressed into his neck. The feeling sends shivers down your spine. His other arm wraps tighter around you. "Enough, dearheart, enough. No more talking tonight. I need to sleep to think on this, and I need to love you. Your love is the only thing that is shining brightly with the Light right now in my life and I need to touch that."

You nod gently and lean up to press your lips to his neck, in the hollow of his throat. This you understand perfectly. Tire the body with love, tend to the sadness and grief with acceptance and allow the mind freedom to think. It is an age-old philosophy that works every time. His hand turns your chin upwards with power, but gently to receive his lips. His lips and yours have been lovers a long time and they welcome the return.

The moon smiles upon you.of that you are certain. It is the goddess of love in many cultures, the goddess of all lust and passion. She smiles from afar was he bends you back into his waiting arm, curled and steely. You feel.passion, like a heavy summer evening. His lips cover yours time and again, rubbing, exploring and then stopping only to return and brush along a different facet. Each return brings new feeling, new nerve firings. As always.as it should be.

"Love." he sighs, rubbing his cheek against yours before latching onto your earlobe. His lips suckle for a moment, before moving away. You shake your head. The weighty fragrance of night blooming jasmine overwhelms the air, and you inhale. He smiles gently and moves his mouth down the planes of your throat to nibble on your collarbone. As you gasp, pulling at his heavy hair, he sighs. "I need you."

Without a word, you push upright. Your head comes to rest next to his neck- the strong thick neck that you love to caress, to massage. The hair there is longer than it was before, less coarse and easier to touch. "Don't talk, Master Jedi.just relax." You whisper those words a hair's breadth from his lips, wet from your saliva and his. You are determined to make him forget himself, so that thought can be free.

Your hands slip inside the tunic, pressing against his shoulders. They are massive. They have held the weight of the world these last few days. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his center plane, tracing the cleft in the muscle there with your tongue. He tastes of sweat and earth, of life - dark and tangy. Your hands curl around the muscle, pressing and kneading as you go. Your eyes are nearly blinded with the metallic skin before you. Usually golden, in the moonlight he is like aged copper, dusted with the remnants of a happy moon. Blessed by it, you think.

The tunic falls down his arms to completely uncover his body for your eyes. His muscles bubble over his shoulders to taper into his upper arms and smoothing out over the lower to taper to a thick and strong wrist. They are lightly covered with hair, and your arms travel down their lengths to stroke and tease. On the return trip, they curl over the muscles and you lift yourself to straddle his legs and face him.

"So beautiful, Qui-Gon Jinn.that is what you are..all man and muscle."

His sigh is nearly lost to the wind, but you can feel it. As you settle, your hands run down his upper chest. The brawn there is well defined and echoes of power, of long standing practice sessions and hours of strenuous physical tests. You find, through memory more than sight, the line of hair that runs from his center plane down across his abdomen. The sloping lines beg for your touch, and you do not deny it. The palm of your hand lies flat on the heated ephemeral casing of his body. Jedi believe that the mortal body is simply the housing of the soul in this plane of existence, but this man's body is so much more.

Your hands curve around his sides to graze at his waist and his ribs. Anchoring them there, you press upwards on your knees to kiss at his lips again. His hand rises to cup your head, ruffling your hair and keeps you pressed there against him. Your tongue inches inside of his mouth, running along the forged paths that you have scouted for years. His tongue twines with yours- rubbing, thick and rough. You cannot hear as his hands move to press against the sides of your head, covering your ears with his fingers and your hair. But the loss of hearing makes your sense of touch flare.

As you pull away, you see his eyes. They sparkle, both with tears and love, appearing endlessly deep in the night. He sighs and runs his hand to your neck. "How do you live with me?"

"How does a moth keep away from flame?" you answer, leaning in to nuzzle his neck.

"The flame slays the moth."

"Only when it is uncontrolled, Jedi, and left open to be allowed to kill. In a container it is safe. I am attracted to your soul, Qui-Gon. It is contained in the body, and therefore I am safe."

"Too much thought, love." he sighs and leans in to capture your lips again. You can feel his physical need burning against you from his lap. Yet another flame that scorches and flares exists there, but this one can be quenched. Pushing away from his chest, you rise. Without a word, you begin to remove your clothing. The tunic scrapes along your skin, raising flesh as it goes. You allow the material to drop where it will. The leggings are next. They are loose and as such, as soon as they are released, they fall to the ground. As you right your head from your chore, you meet Qui-Gon's eyes.

The deep pools of soul are centered on your body. They sweep from you hair, haphazardly knotted on your head, to your breasts, curved eagerly upward for his touch and because of the wind. They travel from there to your center, wet and eager for him, to your legs and feet which are curling into the hard rock in effort to stem the anticipation of joining.

He moves to stand, but you lay your hand on his shoulder. Momentarily, you run a finger up to his cheek, and then trace his mustache with its tip. "Stay where you are, Jedi."

"Love." he turns his head to kiss your palm, tickling it with the coarseness of his beard and the softness of his lips.

"Your leggings open, don't they?" you whisper, moving to stand astride him. His long legs, miles in length, stretch out on the rock. Even the shapeless brown that they are, the leggings cannot hide the planes of his brawn.

His eyes drift shut as he takes a deep breath, and then without warning, he reaches out to grasp at your buttocks. "They do.but first I think I have other business to see to." he groans lowly.

You barely have time to steady yourself with fistfuls of his hair before his mouth arches up under you and comes into contact with your center. The cool air, so much cooler atop the boulder than the ground, only serves to accentuate the heat from his mouth. His lips, surrounded by that soft-coarse hair, delve through your curls, finding and exploiting any flesh they can find. Your head tips back as moans escape from your mouth. Sooo hot, sooo . Your eyes drift shut and you arch your back as his mouth closes over your bundle, suckling. You yipe, and struggle to keep your feet below you. Birds, startled from their nests by the sudden sharp sound, flutter to life around you.

His fingers, his large hands are all that anchor you to him. He nuzzles you like a newborn cub, rubbing his whiskered cheeks against your sensitive inner thighs. Grunts rise from your center, drawn from his mouth by his own need. Heat.friction.humid.pressure.his mouth.Gods.. You call out his name. Rubbing, brushing, pulling, wrapping, suctions, soothing..your eyes fly open. You begin to gasp, sucking mouthfuls of air and using it to make noise. The hill falls away from you as you rocket up its slope, quicker than usual. The apex, nothing, simply.a ramp to the stars.

"Qui-Gon!" you scream as you feel his mouth latch onto you, hard once again, and then release you. Stars swim and colors swirl. The sky explodes and you feel him gently kiss your inner thigh and sweep his tongue over you one last time. You slide down against his chest as your knees finally give way under the weight of the passion.

His eyes are wide and filled with black pupil - dilated in passion. You come to a stop in your descent directly over his cock. It burns still. He pulls you to him in a desperate kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth quickly. It pulls back, and allows his lips to close on your lower one, pulling it into the heated, moist cavern of his mouth. Everywhere is the smell of your arousal and his triumph of pulling it from you.

Without a word, and simply by sense of touch, you reach down and part the pieces of his leggings. It is the work of the moment to clear a passage, but his member quickly springs free from its confines - springing to life in the cool air. His moan of appreciation almost brings a smile to your face. The older the man gets, the less able he is to conceal his want. Age does indeed mellow. Its length is molten and ready, red and needy.

He grunts as you rise on your knees, the tender skin there cut slightly by the rough stone. Your knees are still weak from your orgasm; your bones still watery. His need is evident, and so you try to ignore your want of sedimentation.

His hands support your hips as you move his cock to your entrance. You grasp at his shoulder with your other hand, and then you are sinking.drowning really. Its length spears you, separates you, fills you. Gravity works with you, driving your weight down on his enormous size. Every inch is a mile and you groan, almost scream, as you take his last few segments. This position is new and untried between the two of you - both sitting and the feeling is incredible.

You lean back, your hair touching his legs and your buttocks. Your hands land on his thighs just above his knees, and you press your weight there. His hands span your waist easily and serve to support you. With a sigh, you circle your hips and use the muscles in your thighs to rise. Incred.this position.

His groan answers yours in a mating call a lifetime long. You can not see his eyes, his body, all you see are stars. Your muscles are still eager to pull and tighten on him, left over from your orgasm. His size does nothing to stop them. Gods! Always wonderful.

You slide down, coming to a rest, only to be urged up by his hands. You are in charge- this position leaves him no room to thrust. He needs movement and he needs it now. His sighs and moans drive you to rise and fall. Up, circle, down. Soon your hips are doing it in a fast and uncontrolled manner. But his grunts are your reward.

So big.strong.hot.humid.

Beautiful and tame, wild and wonderful, your mate urges your lovemaking to an incredible pace. He needs your body; he needs his release.

Up and down, your hips piston against his, until.

His shout echoes over the rock to the trees and stream beyond. It seems as though nature stops to hear his passion and release. He cries out your name, trying to thrash his hips and move his thighs to gain that last bit of bittersweet contact. Qui-Gon flies to a special place, amongst the stars, leaving you to come to a slow stop on his thighs.

His breathing is erratic and heavy. Without a word, he eases your head forward, tilting your joining. You can feel his seed easing out of your entrance to coat him and you. You can care less, as his lips find yours in a gentle, chaste kiss that brings tears to your eyes. And feeling the moisture on his cheeks, you realize that the grieving process has begun again.anew. It will take time, but it will happen.

The stream's gurgling sounds reach through the trees and the moon shines. Nature reaches to him in the Living Force, and you hope that it and you will ease his pain so he can think.

He is taller than you would have guessed for his age. His hair is a mixture of his father's tawny brown and your light auburn. His eyes are distinctly classed with his father's, glowing from the inside with life and vitality. For a ten year old boy, his maturity seems high, as is his flexibility. He moves around the floor, his training saber of wood held high to parry a strike. With a sudden move, he leaps in the air and executes a flip, landing behind his opponent.

All sound stopped when he pressed to the floor several minutes ago, and now all that you hear is your own heart beating. Its gentle beat sounds like a thick drum to you, and you can feel the pulse in the tips of your fingers. He is all you see, all you can think about. The only thing more uncomfortable than the heavy beating of your heart is the lump in your throat that you try to swallow around.

His hair is shorn short, tight to his head. The white of his initiate's uniform is unmarred by dirt or grime, specifically kept that way for this exhibition to the Master's. Every yearmate of his presses forward, eager to be the next one on the floor, eager for a moment in the spot light that will decide their future.

You want to throw yourself over the railing and run to him; you want to dig a hole and hide. And the war inside of you shorts your reactions out so that you just sit there.deadened and dull. Deafened ears to all surrounding you and blind to all but your son, you sit. And stare.

Your son.

With a final thrust, he defeats his yearmate to win the match. His hand raises, letting his flowing outer tunic fall down his arm. The inner tunic is as white as the other, and tight to his arm. His smile is infectious and you feel proud.so very proud to be the mother of this child. But sad as you have not input on his life.

"The ten year olds are too young for Masters generally," Qui whispers in your ear, as he leans over to you. His eyes twinkle at yours as his hand lands in your lap, seeking its mate in yours. "But that Kenobi boy is well trained even at his age. Someone will take him next year."

You try not to let the tears gathering in your eyes fall; try not to let the ache of a lifetime spill out into your psyche. Master Yoda saves you from having to speak, banging his stick against the floor of the arena seats with some force. Several Padawans and Knights move a small distance away trying to avoid the Jedi Master's ire. Qui-Gon does not bat an eye as he stares at his former Master. The set in the man's chin makes you almost smile. So stubborn.

"Consider him, you will," Yoda punctuates, setting his lips into a thin line. "A match it would be."

Qui-Gon sighs, leaning back against the cool support of the seat. His eyes close and he shakes his head. You know the pain that he has been through these last few weeks and you have chosen to stay to help him heal. Oh, if only Qui-Gon would consider Obi as his apprentice.

You turn to watch the young bunch of children move off the floor, pushing through the elder boys and girls. Obi's head is visible for its smooth fairness against the dark dirt of the floor and the various hues of hair surrounding him. You press your hand to your lips and watch him laugh and joke amongst his friends. A happy person he is.

Next to you, the conversation continues. Qui-Gon's voice is low and controlled, as if the weight of the world depends on it. "Master.no.I have said that I will not take another apprentice and I mean it. I will not open myself to that pain again."

Yoda's ears sink in dissatisfaction and he looks to you with large gray blue eyes. Qui-Gon continues, his eyes closed. "A never thought I would feel the pain of a broken training bond. Or the feeling of a father missing his son. Master.I have felt both, and I do not wish to return to that state. Send me on missions on my own."

You nod at Yoda and then shake your head. The ancient Jedi Master hums quietly for a moment and then beseeches you with his eyes. "Convince him, you should. Without pain, to be is without love."

You sigh and rub Qui-Gon's hand in yours. "He has chosen what he feels is his path, Master Yoda. I cannot change his mind." Your eyes look to the floor again, only to see that Obi is gone.

"Alone you will be." Yoda states, staring at the floor again.

"Not completely, Master." Qui-Gon answers, picking up your hand to kiss the back of it with gentle lips.

You expel a breath and watch as the next pair begins their dance on the floor in front of you. Your heart aches, calls for the lost years in your son. The lump in your throat is growing as you rub Qui-Gon's hand. Obi does not know you.and as it should be. Many initiates do not know of their families, and those who do never see them. He is healthy and happy as you can see. Yoda has seen to his mental and emotional growth while other tend to his physical wellness. But the ache in your body.it is.overwhelming. Would it be selfishness to let him know of you now, to break his peaceful and happy existence here with your appearance?

And Qui-Gon.you have seen the pain in him these last few weeks. To convince him to take a student would negate all of the walls he has placed up to block out the darkness and the pain. He would have to face the darkness within himself, the darkness that taints his soul through his bond with Xanatos. A man's psyche is a convoluted thing, a Jedi's so much more. And defense mechanisms exist for reasons.

Sacrifice the man for the boy? Sacrifice the boy for the man? Sacrifice you?

The choices are laid before you and you haven't the heart to make the decision on the path to take.

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