No Greater Love
MJ Lee (mj.lee@chello.se)
Pairing: Several implied
Rating: PG (who woulda thought I'd write a PG fic?)
Summary: A new take on a pivotal moment in the galaxy far, far away.
Notes: Happy Birthday to us, happy birthday to us, happy birthday dear Biiiiic,
happy birthday to us!
Well, it's been a year and a bit more since I first whined to Raven about the
difficulties of finding good slavefic on the 'net. Who would have known so many
people shared my, *cough* fascination? Here is my own contribution to the festivities,
albeit a little late so what else is new?
Once again, thanks go to two wonderful friends and kick-ass betas; Raven, Dee,
luve ya.
"Greater love hath no man than this,
In a burst of fury I hurl the inoffensive data pad hard. It shatters against the wall. Shards of glittering crystal spill across the carpet. Were Obi-Wan here, he would sternly rebuke me.
He's not.
I had suspected nothing. My master's annual pilgrimage is a custom so ingrained in our lives we never discuss it. Unless we're in the middle of an emergency he will disappear for a week at the same time each year, no matter what planet we are on. When he returns, his face is gaunt and his eyes dark and haunted.
Many times I've wanted to plead that he stop. I want to ask if this is what his Master truly would have wanted. Yet, I keep my peace, knowing only too well what his answer would be.
Once, years ago when I was younger and more impetuous I did tell him, with all the arrogance of youth, "Master Qui-Gon is dead. You're alive."
The look in his eyes was one I will never forget. The guilt and grief were enough to make me shudder in mingled compassion and revulsion. "I know," was all he said. So softly I'm certain he did not mean me to hear, he added, "There's not a night I do not dream it has all been a lie, that he still lives."
For a short moment I knew what it was like to be Obi-Wan Kenobi. To live forever in a quagmire of doubt and guilt and regret.
Master, there are times you break my heart.
Thinking of the past will not help my master now. I need to act immediately, not stand here dreaming!
I stare down at the shattered pad planning the best course of action. For a moment I consider going for help; Councillor Windu, or perhaps even Yoda - my great-grandMaster - as he's prone to calling himself with an impish wink. Although I smile at his words, as I am meant to, there's always been something about Yoda that makes me extremely self-conscious.
Too often when I turned around, I caught him watching me warily. If it had been anyone but Yoda, the oldest living Jedi and the strongest Force wielder I will ever meet, I would have said he was - afraid.
Fear of me?
No, surely I am wrong.
* * *
On the ship carrying me towards the planet where Obi-Wan is, I try not to think of what the other Jedi will think of my rushing off like this. Obi-Wan I'm sure will understand. Other members of our order will not be so forgiving.
Oh, I know what they say. Behind my back and to my face: too rash, too passionate, and far too rebellious.
Perhaps it's because of my background that I have little patience with so many of the rules and unwritten laws that govern our lives as Jedi. More than once I have sat through a lecture on proper decorum. More than one Jedi has tried to teach me to not feel so deeply. Not to hurt so easily for things we cannot change.
My own Master simply smiles and shakes his head, something sad in his eyes as if I remind him of something - or someone rather.
We both know who.
I've lived most of my life in the shadow of a man I knew too briefly. Since becoming a Jedi I've heard the tales, the outrageous exploits and daring rescues. There are times I wonder what it would have been like if he had been my master, not Obi-Wan. Cool. Detached. Perfect. Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Would I have found a kindred soul in Qui-Gon Jinn? A Master who would have understood my need for freedom? Who would have taught me to fly? I know that Obi-Wan believes it is so, but I wonder. I think it more likely that we would have struck sparks off each other. This way is better. We balance each other, just as my master and Qui-Gon did.
Fire and ice.
Boarding the ship in secret, carrying nothing but my lightsaber, I watch Coruscant fall away behind me. Outside the space is filled with ships busily docking and undocking. It all gives an illusion of normality, concealing the fact that we are battling for our very lives.
We're losing the war and we all know it, for all that some still deny the truth. Obi-Wan is needed desperately. He has a talent for strategy that is almost as powerful as his sense of the Force. Then too, we all know just how important it is for the soldiers who fight to have a symbol, a figurehead to look up to. For all his reluctance, my master is that man. I almost smile; Obi- Wan is not a man to enjoy adulation or hero-worship. He much prefers to remain in the shadow of a greater man silently, discreet, efficient.
Master Jinn, I've often wondered what kind of man you were that even now, after so much time has passed, you keep your iron grip on Obi-Wan's heart and soul. You have more than left your mark on your padawan, you have moulded him into someone other than the man he was intended to be, of that I am sure. There are times I could almost hate you for what you did to my master.
Because beyond the reasons of logic, of common sense, there is love.
Love for the man, not the Master.
Lovers.
What a strange word for what we are to each other. 'Dala and I are lovers, bound together in body and soul. In her arms I'm complete, happy, at peace.
What I found in my master's bed I'm still not sure.
There is the simple answer of mutual physical pleasure and release. The comfort of a warm body to turn to in the darkness of the night. Yet there is more, an unacknowledged mutual need for companionship.
I have long known that the Jedi are the loneliest creatures in this or any other world.
Too often another Jedi is the only being who will understand. To the rest of the galaxy we are the wise ones. The lawgivers, the flawless enforcers of justice and peace. Only with another Jedi can we admit to frailties and the doubts that haunt any sentient being.
What I do know is that I am not the one he wants to hold at night. To turn to in the darkness and share pleasure with. There was a time when I was younger that the knowledge hurt. I have learned better since. There is little room in the life of a Jedi for possessiveness or even faithfulness.
These days my only feeling is one of gratefulness that I can offer Obi-Wan the small comfort of my body. I no longer care that it is not my name he moans, muffling his screams against my skin as he comes.
It's not as if I'm the only man or woman he has taken to his bed trying to forget. He and the powerful senator from Alderaan are casual lovers, although I have little doubt that Bail Organa would be more if given the chance. I need no Jedi power to see the looks he gives my master.
Ah, how blind you are, Obi-Wan. I've heard you speak too often of Qui-Gon's obliviousness to those who loved him, and now you repeat the same pattern.
Surrounded by the cold of space I feel warmth spread through my heart and body at the thought of 'Dala. I'm far luckier than most Jedi. I do not fear emotions or passions. I love 'Dala, I want her, and if I survive the war, we will be wed. We have promised each other to marry on the day peace is declared.
Like all Jedi I've heard the lectures on how emotions can be turned against you. How a Jedi should strive for detachment and serenity. I am none of those things, and I glory in it!
I love life! I will fight for life, for the living, but unlike Obi-Wan I neither worship the dead nor am I content to spend my life in the shadow land of past regrets.
* * *
It's not right!
I stand in the middle of the cavernous hall, the only light flickering torches stuck into the soft sand-coloured walls. It is an oddly barbaric scene in tune with the barbarism we call war. Along the walls silent guards keep watch, weapons at the ready. I almost smile. What do they think I'll do? We are Jedi, not gods.
My eyes gradually adjust to dimness of the room. I look up at throne rising above us all and the hooded figure seated there. Dwarfed by the immensity of dully gleaming black metal. All amusement abruptly disappears like smoke. He's holding a slender gleaming leash in his right hand. And at the other end - I almost choke in outrage.
He wears nothing but a loincloth of some sort, face carefully painted to look like a dockside whore. Blue-green eyes accentuated by the kohl around it, mouth dark red and provocative like a ripe berry, he takes my breath away, the beauty for once exposed and emphasised. He looks so much younger and vulnerable, stripped of his usual layers of protective concealment.
Around his throat, pulsing softly with a sickening red light is a Force inhibitor. I suppress a shudder. I have heard of them, but never seen one.
The sight of my master, half-naked, a chain around his neck, kneeling at the feet of Senator Palpatine like some exotic pet or Twi'lek dance girl, is almost more than I can stand. I want to scream, to demand his release.
I do neither.
I tuck my hands into my sleeves and nod, a mere bend of the neck, equal to equal, while doing my best not to glare murder at the repulsive gloating *toad.* Obi-Wan has not even looked at me since I walked into the room. Vacant eyes stare emptily. I wonder if they've drugged him, as well. There is no time to assure myself my master is unharmed, I have more important matters to deal with; like making sure we both get out of this alive.
"I have come, as requested. How dare you enslave a Jedi?" I demand and here Ý anger creeps into my voice.
Careful, Ani.
"So you have, young Skywalker, and you're most welcome."
The oily voice almost makes me shudder. I always disliked the kindly Senator Palpatine, long before he was revealed as a Sith and our mortal enemy.
"I have come to bargain for my master's life," I tell him brusquely. No, I am no diplomat. I have no wish to be one, and especially not now. "Name your price."
My eyes are hot and dry with anger. I want to rend him to pieces for daring to lay a hand on my master.
Suddenly, sharply, Obi-Wan raises his head. Can he read my thoughts? Perhaps. More than twelve years as Master and apprentice mean there are few barriers mental or physical between us.
Taking a deep careful breath, I calm myself. "This is madness. " My voice is cold as ice. "The Senate will not meekly accept this outrage."
He laughs a dry, malicious chuckle, like the hissing of a snake before it strikes. "You think I care for old women cowering at their own shadow?"
"What I think is that you're insane," I tell him even more bluntly. "You cannot hope to get away with this."
"No?" He seems indifferent to my taunt. "But you see, I already have." He waves his hand, "Here you are, alone, just as I had predicted, with no one aware of your presence here."
I flush hotly. Damn him! I curse myself for being so predictable. Not daring to look at Obi-Wan, knowing what he will think of my rashness, my hands clench where he cannot see them. I will *not* let myself be drawn into a war of words I will only lose. "I repeat, what do you want? I'll pay whatever you require."
"Are you so sure you can meet my price, young apprentice?"
I look him straight in the eyes, allowing the contempt and disgust I feel to colour my voice. "Anything, Palpatine."
He chuckles again. "So brave, so certain, young one."
I raise an eyebrow. "What exactly are you after Senator? Money, concessions?"
He smiles thinly. "You."
I blink once, unable to hide my surprise.
* * *
I won't tell him what I've paid to have this time alone. He doesn't need the additional burden. My lips feel swollen and sore, and a foul taste lingers in my mouth no matter how often I hawk and spit.
When I enter he's standing by the window looking out. He turns swiftly at the sound of the door swishing open.
Someone has given him clothes, a simple tunic and pants. For a split moment I can almost regret the covering of that magnificent body. Yet the overriding emotion is one of relief that Obi-Wan is back again.
He has scraped off the makeup and the illusion, at least, of the composed Jedi Master is once more in place
"Anakin."
I halt a few steps away and bow.
He shakes his head. "No, don't."
"I'm sorry, Master," I murmur, eyes cast down. "I should have sought help, not rushed in as usual."
He holds up his hand, cutting off my apologies, explanations... "No use discussing what you *should* have done. Let us instead focus on how best to get out of this, together."
I hesitate and then tell him the truth, "There is no way. You will go and I will stay. I've given my word."
"Unacceptable," he speaks curtly, denying even the possibility. He begins to pace, hands tucked instinctively into a robe that doesn't exist. It makes me think of a man embracing himself, to protect against cold - or to shield himself. The gesture is so familiar I'm torn between smiling and tears. "No matter what you've promised it was under duress and therefore invalid."
I should be shocked. Another padawan would be, but I'm far too realistic a man, taught by an equally pragmatic Master. "It's not a matter of my word, Master. We're both prisoners here." I smile a little wryly. "Actually, there's nothing that says Palpatine will keep his word."
For a moment answering humour glimmers in his eyes, a mutual amusement at the implication that the Sith are more honourable than the Jedi. We both know that honour lies not in words but in actions, in service to others, protecting those to whom we give justice and law.
"He will keep it," Obi-Wan says with absolute certainty. "He'll want to show you the weakness of the Jedi." A short pause before he adds grimly, "and he'll want to watch me suffer. He knows that no torture he can commit on my body will be worse than watching him on Coruscant, in the Senate and being unable to demand your freedom and safe return."
I nod unsurprised having watched the war fought in the Senate too often. For all that it's bloodless, it's no less deadly. I know as well as my master that it may very well be there that our fate is finally decided.
Bitterness rasps through his voice, turns his eyes dark with anger. "He's always hated me, ever since the day I killed his apprentice. Taking you, that will hurt me like nothing else he's ever devised will." For the first time since I became his padawan I watch Obi-Wan give his emotions free rein. As he turns and looks at me, anguish is carved deeply into the lines of his face. "I am more sorry than you'll ever know, Anakin, that you have to suffer for my sins."
Understanding dawns as I finally have the answer to the one puzzle that baffled me.
I just could not understand what Palpatine wanted with me: for all my vaunted strength in the Force I'm no outstanding padawan. I'm not perfect like Obi-Wan in obedience and skill, or a brilliant rebel and troublemaker like Qui-Gon. Average is how I would describe myself, except for my love of mechanical things and 'tinkering.' I am not the best in either lightsaber skills or combat, nor am I a scholar or, the gods forbid, a diplomat!
For all that I was brought into the Temple in a highly unorthodox way, ever since I have been content to simply walk unnoticed behind the great Jedi Master and general, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Perhaps I should be angry that I have been caught a helpless pawn in a game of revenge and hatred that has nothing to do with me. But I cannot waste the moments we have left on rage or even regret.
So little time.
I smile, something hurtful closing my throat, making it difficult to speak. "Do not worry about me, Master, I'll be fine."
"No, Anakin!" He exclaims, and there is so much pain in his voice, "I can't, I *won't* let you do this." I know what he thinks, how could I not? He will not let another Jedi, another lover, offer his life in a fight that Obi-Wan considers his.
Regret and sorrow roughens my voice. "I'm sorry, Master, it's the only way."
It's really a small price to pay and I tell him as much, watching as he struggles to deny the truth.
All my life I've wanted only two things: to become a Jedi and to marry 'Dala. Still, ever since the day Qui-Gon took me away from my mother and my childhood I have known that it might come to this. I am not afraid. Much.
He knows what I plan. It was he after all who taught me years ago. It is a simple thing for those of us who manipulate the Force to simply block off a vessel. You slip swiftly and painlessly into unconsciousness. Death will follow soon.
I will give Palpatine nothing but a hollow victory, a useless body. Genuine humour fills me as I anticipate his reaction.
"Promise me, Ani," he looks at me with all the intensity that is Obi-Wan Kenobi, using my pet name, something he rarely does. "Promise you won't die. We *will* find a way to rescue you. I swear!"
I hesitate, "Master, we have always been taught of the strength of the dark side, what if," I stumble a little over the words, feeling sick and cold and scared, "what if I'm too weak, what if I fall? Surely it would be better if I were dead?"
He grasps my hands, their touch eerily unfamiliar. My master is not a tactile person, I can think of few times he actually touched me outside of bed unless it was to correct a stance in a kata or show me a new throw in unarmed combat. "No!" For a moment his voice rises, desperation slicing through the air between us. "I forbid it, Padawan! Do you understand?"
I bow my head in submission. "I swear, Master," I whisper obediently.
Why does it feel as if I've just made a fatal mistake?
Why does terror suddenly shudder through me?
It's not as if I *want* to die. I know the teachings as well as any Jedi padawan. Dying is merely the beginning of something new and wonderful - but I'm sure I'm not the only Jedi who have secretly doubted.
Too little time.
There is always too little time.
Like the morning I said goodbye to my mother, my throat aching with everything I wanted to say and couldn't. For all the words that had to remain unspoken.
What I regret most are the yearsI would have spent by his side, guarding his back. I regret the children 'Dala and I will never have. We're both only children and we had planned on having a big and noisy family.
Despite his conviction that I will be rescued, we both know that things will never be the same. I've heard him speak too often of the dark side and how it will leave its imprint, even if you escape. Once touched by its icy cold, you cannot go back to what you once were.
"Obi-Wan," I reach out and gently touch his face. "Take care of Amidala?"
He shakes his head once, not in negation of my request. "There is no need to ask. I will protect her with my life."
The words are simple, yet I know he will keep them always. He is a great one for keeping his vows, is my master. Who should know better than I? After all, I only became his padawan because of a promise to a dying man.
There is no more time as the guards come to take me away, leaving him behind. I hear him call out my name behind my back, as the door closes behind me, the soft sound one of finality.
* * *
Head held high I stand motionless as the Force inhibitor snaps tightly around my neck.
I am blind. Deaf. Cut off from life. Not until this moment did I know just how much I relied on the Force. I want to scream, claw my skin bloody to get the thing off me!
Obi-Wan has taught me well. I will not disgrace him or the Jedi, so I pretend a detachment I'm far from feeling.
"A collar, Palpatine?" No more titles for him, and least of all the one I know he desires. The word I will give Obi-Wan only. "How very quaint."
Perhaps I should not taunt, but I can't resist. I have worn a slave collar once and I never planned on wearing one again. It dredges up memories I thought long gone and buried. Ý
I look up into the sky long after the last trace of the ship carrying Obi-Wan and my old life has disappeared.
There is a tug on the leash and I jerk, almost overbalancing.
"Come, my young apprentice. It is time to begin learning."
I turn and tell him the one truth I know will never change. "You will never win, Sith scum. I am a Jedi."
I smile confidently, power ringing through my voice. "I am Anakin Skywalker, padawan to Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I will die before I turn to the dark side."
The End
THE END