Chosen 3: Trials, Bound III, a very alternate universe Star Wars (Kenobi / Jinn) story by Glacis. Rated NC17 for adult themes. No copyright infringement intended. Takes place immediately after "Broken"

They had spoken little since Obi Wan had brought the escape pod to a landing on one of the few dry spots on the swamp planet of Dagobah. His apprentice had busied himself creating a camp, salvaging what was available from the pod and spending long hours combing the swamps for everything from foodstuffs to bed lining. Qui Gon considered pressing the issue, but as had become the norm for the Jedi master, greater concerns overwhelmed personal ones. Obi Wan's avoidance of him would have to work its course, and when it was time, they would speak of the things that were blocking his apprentice from full healing. Until that time, other needs had to be given higher priority.

He spent hours each day in meditation, straining himself to the limits of his abilities in an attempt to contact someone, anyone, through the Force. It was as if he was trying to fight while wrapped in smothering blankets. Something was out there, but it was so faint, flickering, and he couldn't pinpoint its direction, much less any real evidence of survivors.

Technology was as useless as his efforts through the Force. The comm unit in the pod was meant for sending distress calls, not receiving them, and given the unexpected nature and devastating consequences of the attack on Coruscant, he didn't want to risk sending out a beacon. He had no way of knowing who would hear it, and if he would be sending a siren call to those who would kill them.

"It's potable, Master."

He started at Obi Wan's soft voice, opening his eyes to see a hollowed out gourd serving as a drinking cup being held under his nose. The steam rising from the contents actually smelt good. His stomach rumbled in response. "Thank you, Padawan." Obi Wan nodded, then withdrew to the other side of the fire, not meeting his eyes.

"No need to ask if you've had any luck," Obi Wan said quietly, poking at the glowing embers, coaxing more warmth from the sodden sticks.

"No," Qui Gon agreed. "Will you tell me, now, what you meant when you spoke of a demon?"

The abrupt change of subject took the younger man off-guard, as it was intended to do. Qui Gon could feel the shields slam up within their bond, and sighed. Staring at the bowed head, the shadowed eyes hidden behind the heavy fall of hair, he realized at least one reason why his apprentice refused to cut that mop of hair. It made a surprisingly good barrier behind which he could hide. It was frustrating, and disappointing. As if feeling the emotion, difficult to believe given the strength of the shielding keeping their thoughts apart, Obi Wan lifted his head and stared at him.

There were too many shadows in those eyes.

"Not yet, Master." The lad jumped to his feet and headed back into the swamps. "We need more fuel. I'll be back soon."

Qui Gon wasn't so sure he would. Not the padawan he'd known, anyway. Unable to probe more deeply without risking injury to Obi Wan's still healing psyche, he counseled patience to himself and settled back into his meditations. His normal calm demeanor was becoming nearly impossible to maintain.

There had to be someone out there. Someone friendly. Someone who wasn't trying to kill them. He'd find them.

He had to. Before someone unfriendly found them.

Kenobi stepped over the treacherous ground absently, using the Force to avoid pitfalls in a way that had become second nature over the years. Scanning for usable fuel on autopilot, his mind had too much time to wander.

Behind the fog, the demon lurked. It came out after dark, when he closed his eyes to sleep, when he tried to relax. It laughed at him, mocked him, hurt him, and he was powerless to stop it. Even worse, in the dreams, he didn't fight.

He submitted.

It pleasured him.

It frightened him.

He turned to it, not away from it.

It felt right.

It couldn't, but it did.

He could feel the influence of whatever it had infected him with growing each day. He couldn't speak to his master about the problem; how could he with so many other, greater, problems besieging them? They had to survive, reach others. Restore justice to the galaxy, save lives. Do all the things Jedi were supposed to do. His petty problems of confusion and conflict were minor compared to the task ahead of them.

Of course, he wouldn't be much use completing that task if he was stark staring mad. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he would be. If he didn't stop dreaming, he'd never get any sleep. If he couldn't exorcise the demon, he'd never stop dreaming.

He didn't have an inkling of an idea how to exorcise the demon. Well, one idea, but it would require more of his master than the man was willing to give. To an apprentice.

Besides, he couldn't ask his master. His master had more important things on his mind.

Full circle. His thoughts were chasing themselves full circle.

For the first time in his life he truly understood Master Yoda's contention that frustration was a direct path to the Dark Side.

Distractions or no, this could not go on any longer. He had one chance. He would take it.

The crackle of fuel being dumped none too gently on the fire, stoking it high, pulled Jinn from his meditations. It was just as well. He hadn't been getting anywhere, and he was becoming very drained from the effort. He glanced up at his apprentice, and was caught by the intensity of the boy's gaze.

"Master, we are in crisis."

It was unlike his padawan to state the obvious. He nodded, encouraging Obi Wan to continue.

"The Jedi have been decimated. We are in a state of war with enemies unknown. Any and all resources must be used to their fullest capacity." Kenobi stopped and drew in a deep breath. Qui Gon watched quietly, wondering precisely where this was leading. He hadn't long to wonder. "I am ready to take the trials to become a full Knight, master. And I am needed, not as a student, but as a warrior. Given the loss," Obi Wan swallowed, and Qui Gon felt his own throat tighten, "of the Council, will you recognize me as a Knight?"

Qui Gon fought his initial, immediate negative response. Giving it some thought, delving into the Force to guide him, he answered slowly, "You are correct in our circumstances, Padawan. But your logic is faulty. Every Jedi is needed, that is true -- but needed at the level of their abilities to meet the challenge, and we don't yet know precisely what that challenge is. It would be ill advised, and lead to failure, to expect more from a man than he can give, and send him into battle with those expectations on his head." He stopped and looked searchingly at his apprentice, hoping the truth in his words were sinking in. "You are an excellent fighter, Obi Wan, but you are also still healing from your ordeal on Tatooine. You are impulsive and headstrong, and you need more training in dealing with the Living Force, especially with the recent traumatic disruptions in the Force. You are not yet ready to be a Knight. It's not yet your time, my Padawan."

Stricken blue eyes stared across the flames at him, then heavy lashes lowered to hide them from him. A thick fall of hair fell forward, screening most of the boy's face from him. "Yes, master."

Such a wealth of despair in the agreement, turning it to a denial. "Your time will come, Padawan," he said as reassuringly as he could. "Not right now. Not quite yet."

A shrug of broad shoulders under the coarse brown robe, and another quiet, "Yes, master," didn't reassure him. Before he could find a way to tell Obi Wan that he should be patient, the lad curled up on his bed of grasses and pulled his robe closely about himself. Qui Gon caught himself before he could say anything more, and settled for a gentle, "Good night, Padawan. Sleep well."

His only answer was a strained, short laugh. Unsettled, Qui Gon pulled his own robe around himself and stared off into the shadows of the surrounding swamp. Something would have to be done about his apprentice, but he didn't for the life of him know what.

He'd tried.

He failed.

He knew full well that Qui Gon Jinn was not the type of master who would ever consider doing what needed to be done to exorcise this demon with a mere padawan, no matter how close they were. A student was to be protected, guided, taught and nurtured. The level of trust between student and teacher must be absolute and inviolate. For a master to engage in carnal activity with his apprentice was to abuse that trust.

He'd had to be a Knight to get what he needed, what every instinct he had told him was the only way to dissolve the strange hold the demon had on his mind and his body. Displace the bad with the good, the dark with the light.

His master refused him.

There was a pattern here, something deep inside him laughed bitterly. The first time he'd met a Hutt, the bastard had nearly killed him, and Qui Gon Jinn had refused him. The last time he'd met a Hutt, he'd killed the bastard himself. And Qui Gon Jinn was still refusing him. The first instance had been the beginning of his life as a Jedi.

The last instance might well be the end of it.

His mind chased itself in tighter and tighter circles, and he was unable to relax or even attempt to fall asleep. He knew, as surely as he knew his heart was beating, that to close his eyes would be to invite disaster.

Several hours later, in the darkest hour of the night, he gave up the battle. His eyes drifted closed.

The demon struck.

Flashfire coated his nerves, resounded through his muscles. Fingers and toes clenched, his body arched in the soft grasses, writhing against an unseen, too well familiar foe. His legs worked to buck off the attacker, arms striking out at air, breath catching in harsh sobs deep in his throat. His thrashing movements and wrenching moans disturbed the other sleeper, who rose, concerned, to check on the young man in the grip of the nightmare.

Through the haze of red washing his dreams, Obi Wan felt another presence. Warm balm, soothing his fear and anger, reaching him through the confusion and need tying him in knots. His arms shot out at the presence in a Force-assisted move that took them both by surprise. By the time Qui Gon reacted, and Obi Wan woke fully, the older man was supine in the grass, straddled and pinned by the younger.

Red-rimmed, desperate blue eyes looked down into startled lighter blue, and Obi Wan knew that he would not, could not, let the opportunity pass. The demon had to be displaced. What would not be given must be taken.

He could pay the penalty after. He knew he would. For now, there was no stopping the tide of events that had overtaken them.

Kenobi lowered his head, bypassing his master's open mouth, ignoring the questioning words and calming noises rumbling out of Qui Gon. He fastened his mouth at the base of that strong throat, soaking up the taste of sweat and skin. His hands sought out further proof of his master's grounding presence, skimming over rounded shoulders and sharply delineated ribs, the indent of waist, the breadth of back below the loosened robes. One knee slid between Qui Gon's thighs, levering them apart, settling himself deeply against Qui Gon's pelvis, rocking gently, firmly. Above his head he could hear the beginnings of protest, but he simply delved deeper, reaching out through the Force with all the pent-up need of months of denial.

Master Jinn didn't stand a chance.

Distracted by the return of the unsettling tendrils of darkness in his pupil's life Force he'd first sensed months before, over-run with the physical demands from the desperate man his padawan had become, and already at the end of his own strength from days spent reaching out through the Force for survivors, his resistance collapsed at the concentrated assault. Obi Wan invaded him, flooded him with desire mixed with a hungering need the strength of which he'd never before encountered, and conquered him with the first thrust.

In a mirror reflection of the tide of desire washing over him, Qui Gon's hands came up to tear as strongly at Obi Wan's clothing as the younger man's were tearing at his own. In a very short time they were naked together, skin sliding along skin with a gasp of relief, hands tangling in hair, limbs twining together with the feeling of homecoming. Qui Gon couldn't breathe, couldn't take in enough air to steady his spinning head. Obi Wan's mouth was over his, stealing what air he could capture, taking him from one peak of desire to another.

The living Force washed between them, a tapestry of opal and mother of pearl, shining iridescent with love and acceptance. He didn't know why this was so necessary to his padawan, but he knew it was, and even if he could have stopped at this point he would not have done so. Shot through the tapestry were veins of shining hematite and pockets of obsidian, a shadowing of darkness he's never seen before, somehow strengthening the Force between them in a way he'd never felt.

A small corner of his mind was crying out to him that this was wrong, but it was overwhelmed by the sheer weight of all the aspects of the joining that felt so right. The demands of his conscience had no power against the demands of his apprentice's need. As Obi Wan shifted above him, then lowered to take Qui Gon inside himself, the voice dissipated like smoke on the wind, and all that remained was the connection. Shimmering through and between them, the Force glimmered like a shower of polished diamonds in the sunlight. Then heat, and movement, urgency and sweet hunger, transmuted into strength, into power, into an explosion of light in his mind, in the Force around them.

Into darkness.

A jolt in the depths of his mind ripped Qui Gon from an exhausted sleep. Obi Wan was asleep beside him, curled into his side, head butting into his ribs. The soft fall of hair over his stomach gave him a second, smaller jolt, but before he could do more than run his hand through the tangles, the heavy head lifted and dazed eyes looked up at him.

Survivors. He sent a wave of urgency through their bond to wake Obi Wan up quickly.

Master? His Padawan's mind-voice was groggy.

Heading here. Close.

Without a spoken word, Jinn rolled away from their bed and dressed himself in the torn robes scattered in the grasses beside them. Behind him, he could feel the questions suppressed unasked in Obi Wan's mind.

No time, not now.

Grabbing his hair back with one hand and the hilt of his light saber with the other, he headed for the muted thump of heavy engines just discernible in the distance. The sound of footfalls slightly behind him reassured him that his apprentice was at his side, as it should be.

Concentrating on the moment, on determining friend from foe, he pushed aside all considerations of things that should or should not be, and sped through the swamps toward the source of the disturbance.

Obi Wan had slept soundly for the first time in months, but at what cost? The solid warmth of his Master beside him had kept the memories of the demon at bay, and the feel of their lovemaking, no matter the compulsion, had erased the feel of his violation, at least for the moment. But the strangeness he felt in the Force hadn't lessened; if anything, it was stronger.

Their rude awakening had kept him from questions, and from questioning. He'd felt the disturbance in the Force even as he could feel his master withdrawing from him, reacting to the possibility of threat. Now, panting lightly after their silent run through the swamp, he crouched beside Qui Gon in the swampy undergrowth and watched intently as a sleek star shuttle landed with a solid thump in the clearing. He ran one hand through his hair, fingertips lingering on the end of his padawan braid.

He'd wanted to prove himself worthy of his master. Instead, he'd given in to the fear, the hunger, and for all he knew, lost his only chance to attain what he truly needed. He shook the thought off. No time for that now.

The landing doors opened, the ramp lowered, and a figure he recognized clumped unsteadily partway down the walkway, a towering presence hovering behind him. Yoda! He exchanged quick glances with his master. There was relief and a measure of disbelief in Qui Gon's expression. Before either Jedi could speak, a grumpy voice echoed around them.

"Show yourselves. Getting younger, I am not."

In spite of the heaviness in his spirit, Obi Wan couldn't quite contain his grin. Beside him, Qui Gon shook his head, once, as if to clear it, then moved slowly from their cover toward the craft. "Yoda," he called. "Mace." There was warm welcome in his greeting, and it was echoed in the expressions of the Masters coming toward them.

Oddly uncomfortable, Kenobi hung back, until bright eyes stared up at him from knee level. "Pleased to see you intact, we are. Felt the pull of the Force. Wise to come here, you were, and safe we may be. But not for long."

"We've set up camp a distance from here, but I can assure you your cruiser is dryer," Jinn offered with a wave in the general direction of their encampment.

"And the food's better, I'd bet," Master Windu added dryly.

"Padawan Kenobi's not a bad forager, and a better cook, but you're probably right."

Obi Wan stared holes in his master's back, but Qui Gon didn't acknowledge him. Yoda stared slowly from one to the other, then waved his walking stick at the group. "Inside. Wet here, and cold. Home, for me, yes, but not for you. In you go."

The two Human masters preceded him, but he raised the staff to block Kenobi's way. "Patience, young Kenobi. Your time, it will be. Sooner than you may think. Unexpected is your path, and difficult, but necessary it is." Ancient eyes stared at him with the disturbingly clear shine of knowledge in them. Yoda reached over with one tiny hand and patted Obi Wan's shin. "Follow your heart, you must. Look beyond your eyes. Easy, it will not be." Then the diminutive Master snorted, nodded once, sharply, and turned to shuffle into the cruiser. Obi Wan stared after him, not as confused as he half wished he could be. There had been sense in those pronouncements. He just wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

The ramp began to ascend and he slid forward a few paces before he gathered himself and followed the trio of masters into the warm confines of the cruiser.

He'd figure it out. Later. When he must.

The remnants of the Senate were in complete disarray. The Jedi Council had been struck, apparently from within, by rogue elements in their ranks who wished to gain power over the galaxy; the conspiracy had been unmasked on Naboo.

An interim Senate was established on an outer world, but pandemonium reigned. World after world pulled their representatives from the Senate as matters at home took turns for the worse; civil war was spreading with the speed of unchecked plague as the Guardians of the Galaxy disappeared.

Evil ran rampant across a hundred worlds. Then a thousand, ripples flowing from the black hole that had once been the center of the galaxy, seeping out in all directions.

The Republic was in chaos.

A strong voice for justice was heard thundering to the few remaining delegates. Fear and confusion clouded their minds, and the last hope for order in the insanity shone like a beacon from the seat of the Naboo delegation. It took a few stirring speeches from the august Senator and Supreme Chancellor-elect, and several explicit examples of chaos unchecked on home worlds, for the Republic to crumble.

At the dawn of a new age, an Emperor was crowned, to bring justice to the remains of the Republic. He shone like a beacon.

A beacon of darkness.

Assassin droids swarmed over the surface of a myriad of planets scattered throughout the galaxy. Quermian mind powers were no match for sheer firepower. Knights faced the challenge of death, and lost in droves, in the alleys and pathways of Nar Shaddaa, in the ports of Corellia, the serene valleys of Lannika that now ran with blood. Even the powers of the best and brightest on Cerea had not had enough warning through the Force to escape the havoc.

None saw the dogs of war until they were clamped, helpless in jaws with no give, no mercy.

A black shrouded figure strode through the smoking ruins of the parliament chamber on Alderaan, and sighed, impatiently. The work was going well. Terror was washing over the galaxy in waves. His master's plans were coming to fruition nicely. His own, private mission was unacceptably stalled. He'd looked, on every planet he'd conquered. He'd searched, with the odd vibration in the Force he'd felt since he took the Jedi, and he'd found no match, anywhere. But the connection, tenuous as it was, remained.

The Jedi was still out there.

He hadn't died in Galactic City when Coruscant was destroyed.

Maul could feel him.

Glittering eyes stared at the display of worlds yet to be subjugated before him. Things were well in hand here. It was time he visited the Rim. Returned to the beginning.

Tatooine.

"Organize a resistance, we must." Yoda paused in his explanation, and Mace Windu continued the tale.

"There are pockets of fighters loyal to the Republic still on many worlds, but the Jedi are being assassinated everywhere we're being found. We have to move quickly, but very carefully."

"The Sith will be able to feel us if we use the Force directly," Qui Gon thought aloud. "They'll recognize a Force signature at the master level easily. We'll have to infiltrate, organize, and get back out, using the Force as little as possible, spreading the resistance at ground level. It must be done quickly. Start a fire on as many fronts as possible, then --"

"Send in a direct team to take out the root of the evil." Windu was calm and resolute as they planned the assassination.

"Emperor Palpatine." Yoda sounded like he was spitting the name.

"Master Yoda," Obi Wan broke in quietly. "I have more learning to do, I know." He carefully didn't look at his master. "But I am ready, and the trials of Knighthood are more than a ritual. At this point, they're life and death."

Jinn started to protest, and Yoda raised his hand. The protest was strangled, barely held behind tightened lips. Obi Wan kept his attention on the senior Master. The small face stared at him, through him at something no one else could see, then focused back on him.

"The Jedi Council is no more. Correct, you are, in the gravity of the situation. Correct, as well, in your readiness for this test." A sound escaped Qui Gon, and Yoda swiveled to stare up at him. "With your mind, you must decide, Master Jedi, and not your heart." Yoda turned to Master Windu, staring at him for a moment in silent communication, then turned back to Obi Wan and nodded. "A Knight you will be, young Kenobi. If these trials you survive, the gratitude of the galaxy as well you shall have."

Windu had closed his eyes, and was conferring with Yoda on a level Obi Wan could not access. From the look on his face, Qui Gon could, and he didn't agree.

"He's too young. He still needs work!" His master was fighting the decision, but he was outnumbered, not least by Obi Wan's own determination to go, Knight or not.

"Work he shall have, in plenty," Yoda replied sadly. Windu nodded agreement.

"Your trial, Jedi Kenobi, is to travel the outer worlds and gather resistance to the rule of the Emperor. When called, you shall join us in the final assault. Go with the Light, and return in the Light."

"May the Force be with you," Yoda said with finality.

Kenobi turned and walked from the room.

After a single glare at his fellow masters, Qui Gon followed him.

He caught up with Obi Wan in the communications room. His padawan was staring out through the port up into the soggy foliage covering the canopy.

"Will you wish me Light in my trials, Master?" he asked quietly.

"Do not run from this, Obi Wan," Qui Gon said sternly, ignoring the question for the moment. "Don't rush into something you're not prepared to face just to escape facing me."

The young man turned around then, and Qui Gon was taken aback at how old the pale features appeared. "I will never run from you, Master." Holding his hand out, palm up, he offered the contents to Qui Gon. His padawan braid lay coiled in the center of his palm. "Will you accept my thanks for your wisdom, Master? Will you wear my years as your badge?"

Qui Gon stepped back. "You have not yet earned that privilege, Padawan." The emphasis burned at Kenobi, and he flinched, dropping his hand. His mental shields slid firmly back into place. Qui Gon softened his tone and stepped forward again. "Please, Obi Wan, think this through."

"I may not be back to offer again," Kenobi answered even more quietly.

Reaching up, he wove the long braid around his throat like a choker, and tied the ends together at the nape of his neck. The sight disturbed Qui Gon profoundly, but he couldn't pinpoint the reason.

"Goodbye, my Master. May the Light bring us back together at the completion of my trials." With one last fleeting smile that didn't reach his eyes, he turned toward the door. "I'm going back to camp," he said over his shoulder. "I'll take the pod out for Maltecha in the morning. With fuel from the stores here, I should be able to make it in an easy hop. I'll begin there."

Qui Gon stared at him, at a loss for words. Obi Wan took a deep breath, then continued on his way. His master watched the door close behind him, then belatedly sent, May the Force be with you through their bond. And bring you back to me safely.

The words echoed between them. He heard no reply.

As the echo faded, he remembered, finally, the last time he'd seen that braid twisted around that long throat. His eyes closed, and he saw with his memory's eye the battered, unconscious form of Kenobi as they escaped from Tatooine. His braid had been looped around his neck like a slave collar.

Oh, no, my Padawan, he thought with fierce determination. You are no one's slave.

Least of all, mine.

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