Chapter Text
Qui-Gon sat in the small ship's even smaller briefing room and unseeingly watched information scroll by on his datapad.
They had just entered the Chorlian sector, and already their vessel had been scanned, their manifest demanded and their transponder codes scrutinized.
Though the Chorlian sector and the inhabited planets within were technically part of the Republic, the system remained closed to outsiders. Patrol ships with weapons of questionable legality ran circuits through the space, confronting any vessels crossing their border.
One such patrol ship had already latched onto Qui-Gon’s freighter the moment it left neutral space. The hail was immediate and unwelcoming.
Obligingly Qui-Gon responded, stating their destination and purpose with total calm.
There was an audible pause from the inquiring patrol officer, the silent sound of information being passed and Qui-Gon's ship codes being reviewed again.
But with no hesitancy in her voice, the patrol officer resumed and cleared them for temporary landing at the Zygerrian port. The codes for entering space lanes and hangar bays were transmitted to Qui-Gon’s vessel with no comment.
Another pause of silence on the radio, and then the patrol officer informed him that she would be escorting them through atmosphere. And while not unheard of, it did not bode well.
With the ship now on autopilot, its destination locked in, Qui-Gon had a few precious moments peace before the mission began.
Sitting across from Qui-Gon in the briefing room was Jedi Master Io Malik, their support on this mission. He was still occupied reviewing the final mission details and giving last minute advice to Obi-Wan. Malik seemed determined to impart as much wisdom as he could before they landed and Zygerria’s planetary jammers forced radio silence.
Qui-Gon ignored the mission review. For all the fuss it was a simple assignment. By way of backroom politics Qui-Gon prefered to be ignorant of, the chancellor had authorized the Jedi to investigate Zygerria covertly. An investigation, Qui-Gon thought, long overdue.
He had no doubt that Zygerria had many dark secrets. But regardless of what other crimes Qui-Gon might discover during the investigation, the Senate had made it clear that they would only listen if Qui-Gon completed his main task- locating the allegedly kidnapped Togrutan colonists.
Only complete and total visual confirmation on the Togruta colonists and their leader, Octoga Ree, would be cause for the Republic to act.
Qui-Gon had his doubts that they would find these lost colonist- especially if they approached the mission by conventional means. His instruction from the council was to maintain a low profile, simply observe and not engage. But Qui-Gon knew they would make no progress that way. There was a time to be patient- but that time was not now.
He looked again to Io Malik, known to most as simply The Shadow. His long career of undercover missions and his Clawdite nature earning him the moniker. Qui-Gon’s eyes fell then on Obi-Wan, the boy clearly excited and eager to begin the mission.
Qui-Gon tried to dismiss his wave of irritation. He had hoped by now that Obi-Wan would have grown out of this childishness, his habit of seeing assignments as simple games or adventures. The fact that lives hung in the balance should have been something Obi-Wan had learned long ago.
And perhaps if he had, things on New Apsolon would have turned out different...
Though he fought the feeling, Qui-Gon knew now he regretted his own choices on that mission as well. He wished he had simply pushed forwards on his own and allowed Obi-Wan to deal with the consequences of his mistakes. The boy would have been able to catch up and would have learned a valuable lesson as well. But instead, Qui-Gon had waited for him and borne the punishment of his apprentice’s carelessness as well. In doing so, he had wasted precious time.
And ultimately, Tahl had paid the price.
Qui-Gon promised he wouldn't make that mistake again. Wouldn't allow his affection for his Padawan to cloud his judgement any longer.
Obi-Wan was a Jedi and it was time Qui-Gon started treating him like one. This was their first mission since New Apsolon. Qui-Gon anticipated a rocky start, but an undercover mission seemed almost a blessing. They would put on costumes and, for a few days, be something other than Master and Padawan.
While Qui-Gon mused, The Shadow was quizzing Obi-Wan a final time. Rapid fire questions, ranging from facts about star systems parsecs away, to what he had eaten for his last meal, to the emergency codes for contacting the second Jedi team.
Obi-Wan didn't flinch under the barrage. Effortlessly switching between topics, able to name all the moons of Iego in one breath and all the types of muffins in the ship's food storage in the next. Qui-Gon could see the pleased looked on his Padawan’s face, but it didn't last, and Obi-Wan inevitably stumbled.
The Shadow abruptly switched his tone, going from critical and argumentative (debating Obi-Wan on the sustainability of tibanna gas mining) to conversational, asking him how he had enjoyed last night's meal.
It was a near imperceptible falter, but Qui-Gon had heard this particular lie from Obi-Wan too often.
“It was fine,” Obiwan remarked.
“What did you have?” The Shadow pressed, sensing a crack and digging in.
“Paricha root stew.” Obiwan tried to match the Shadow’s friendly tone, but his words were becoming clipped with agitation.
“Paricha? Isn't that out of season?”
“ Freeze-dried ,” Obi-Wan insisted, his tone slipping and irritation bleeding through.
Disappointed, but not surprised, Qui-Gon held up a hand and they stopped.
Malik shook his head. “Don't lie when you don't have to, Padawan Kenobi. You know this.”
Obi-Wan nodded dutifully, expression impassable but unable to disguise the faint flush on his face from the reprimand.
“Go get dressed,” Qui-Gon cut in, dismissing him abruptly.
Obi-Wan gave a quick glance to The Shadow, who nodded his agreement, and Obi-Wan slipped from the briefing room. He took the box containing his costume for the undercover role.
There was a pause, Obi-Wan’s footsteps fading from hearing, and then Malik spoke.
“He is not ready,” Malik moved closer to Qui-Gon, keeping his voice pitched low, “Not for this mission.”
Qui-Gon glanced up briefly.
“If all goes well, he won't have to speak at all,” Qui-Gon said, then dryly added, “I'm rather looking forward to it.”
“This is not a joke, Master Jinn. If you are separated from your student- I cannot guarantee his safety. He is not prepared for what might happen.”
“How far can he wander?” Qui-Gon responded, no less amused, gesturing at the false shock collar and leash which lay amongst his own collection of mission items. “Besides, Master Malik,” he went on, tone darkening, “he's old enough to take care of himself. He’s a Jedi, not a child.”
Malik narrowed his eyes, shaking his head.
“It is possible for him to be both. And it is a child that he will be playing the role of.”
“We will be fine,” Qui-Gon said with finality, rising from his seat and taking his own mission supplies in hand.
The Shadow caught him in a critical gaze, clearly unhappy at his dismissal.
“I have no doubts that you, Master Jinn, will play your role quite well. But I worry that your Padawan will not know how to shed this skin. Do not let him out of your sight- or you may not recognize him when you see him again.” Malik raised his hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If you see him again at all.”
Qui-Gon moved to exit the briefing room.
“Trust me, he is not so easy to get rid of. He will play his part just fine.”
________________________________________
Obi-Wan Kenobi was fifteen years of age, and he’d never worn something this soft before.
He’d felt his way through the tangle of dark blue silk, finding holes for head and arms, in much more time than he really needed to, pausing to stroke the sleek fabric as he tried to clasp and tie it correctly. It was a long ride, and he had no desire to be on the bridge of the ship as they flew.
Once he had it on- he thought, tugging on an errant tie and wondering where it was supposed to attach to- he turned. In the mirror was a strangely lovely young creature, a sharp-boned slip of a teenaged boy with a confident tilt to his head, draped in decadent blue silk that highlighted his lean body and brought out the blue of his eyes.
He felt- strange. A Jedi was not meant to court vanity in their appearance. Even when compliments on his body made him flush, it was at least with a certain amount of shame at his own enjoyment. The boy in the mirror looked like he knew he was lovely, and used it at any turn. If it wasn’t for the braid, the boy in the mirror might not even be a Jedi Padawan, and where would he be then?
Probably, I’d be right where I’m going now, he thought wryly. He dug through the little box of jewelry he’d been handed- apparently it all had meaning, and wasn’t just pretty bangles. Such-and-so for free-born , this-and-that for untrained. A number of silver bangles for his age, something something to indicate virginity or newness or.... He flushed, swallowing hard. This wasn’t just dress-up jewelry. It was a collar tag, written in deceptively pretty decoration.
He laddered the bangles up and down his arms, enjoying the pleasant noises they made knocking together, and tucked the pretty lizard-shaped cuff around the top of his ear. There was a pendant as well, though it hung low so it wouldn’t touch the false shock collar that Qui-Gon had waiting for him when they left the ship, and a complex net of chains and stones that he realized was to go over his hair and drape down his forehead.
His lips pursed in the mirror as he realized that now was the time. Fingers unsure, he took the braid he was so proud of- proficiency bands in two colors at the base- and pinned and twined it back into his little nerf-tail, hiding it, keeping it safe.
Draping the crown of fine silver chains over his head, he looked back up to find a beautiful, wide-eyed little catamite, and not a Jedi Padawan.
He wasn’t really sure how the catamite, or the Padawan, were meant to feel about it, but Obi-Wan felt lovely to look at, oddly inhuman, and incredibly uneasy.
-
The slippers he wore- also silk, very soft but impractical as anything- were silent against the cold floors of the transport as he made his way to the doors. They were almost to the ground, he could feel the telltale shudder of the metal all around him.
The air against his exposed skin was unnerving; his Padawan robes were layered, often too much in warmer climates. He was almost never so... naked. (He tried not to think about the slits in the skirt that went an indecent way up his hips.) The ship was much colder than it had seemed when he was fully clothed.
The cargo bay was wide, and Qui-Gon looked strange among the boxes; now out of his robes, in a rugged trader’s outfit, he was more intimidating, seeming even taller somehow. With his hair messily braided in a style that looked almost like his friend Quinlan’s, he might as well be someone entirely different from the man Obi-Wan had lived with for years.
Even the look on his face was almost foreign, hard-set in unsympathetic annoyance. But it was becoming more common, after the passing of his dearest friend, Tahl Uvain.
“Come here,” Qui-Gon’s loud voice called. It echoed through the quiet loading bay, and Obi-Wan almost jumped. “Last preparations before the mission.”
“Yes Master.” Obi-Wan replied, hurrying over.
Qui-Gon picked something up that lay on the box next to him- a metal circlet, of the model Obi-Wan had seen in their mission briefing. It was functional- it broadcast a signal, it had a tracker, all the lights worked- but for its intended purpose; it wouldn’t shock him. It would vibrate when he was meant to act pained, but that was all.
(Through the lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before, that had been his constant: they can’t hurt me. It’s not like Bandomeer. They can’t really shock me. )
With it, however, was something that hadn’t been in the briefing- a silver chain that matched his jewelry. A leather loop on one end and a clasp on the other. His stomach dropped.
“Oh, Master .” He stepped back, offended. “A leash ?”
Qui-Gon gave him a dry look. “With the amount you run off, I’ve been looking for an excuse to use one for years.”
Obi-Wan chewed on his lip, not admitting that he was pouting. “I am not an animal.”
Slamming the leash down with a noise that echoed, Qui-Gon turned to frown at him, stern and forbidding, and Obi-Wan shrank with a quick half-step back.
Qui-Gon turned back away, his eyes darting guiltily, taking the collar’s clasp apart with studied care. “It’s necessary. I know it wasn’t in the briefing, but it is customary for those who aren’t trained.” He gestured with the thin silver collar. “Here.”
Stepping closer, Obi-Wan raised his chin, still gnawing on his bottom lip. Qui-Gon’s large hands were warm, but the metal of the collar was cold against the tender skin at the base of his neck. It clicked shut, and he swallowed down his nerves.
He breathed, in and out, making his muscles relax and his mind still.
Qui-Gon smiled down at him, a tiny and rare thing in the last few months, and took a short lock of red hair between two large figures, tugging on it like ringing a bell. “You’ll do well.”
The promise made Obi-Wan smile back, but it faded as Qui-Gon turned back to get the leash. And its connection to his collar felt... wrong. Qui-Gon kept the line slack, but he could still feel the weight of the chain, how it pulled down on the collar at his neck.
Qui-Gon studied him a little, and Obi-Wan made eye contact with his Master, reminding himself not to do so once they opened the doors. There was a moment of connection, vague feelings of dread and determination passing through the Force.
And then Qui-Gon depressed the buttons to open the transport door, and Obi-Wan arranged himself- head down, feet shoulder-width apart, two paces behind Qui-Gon (which made his leash pull taut). Demure and servile and...
He felt sick as they descended the ramp into the shipyard.
-
The markets below the Palace were loud and crowded. Obi-Wan kept his eyes down, and tried not to hear or see any of his surroundings.
The ground was hard-packed dirt, and the dust of it floated up into the air, making the rare beams of sunlight that crossed his vision look almost solid. There were puddles and indentations and he watched them carefully, trying to care for the stupid, thin silk slippers.
( “Get up, slug, you’re clearly not worth what I paid for!” came a shout from a few meters behind them, and the sound of a shock collar activating- and the strangled noise that followed- made Obi-Wan stumble. )
There were also standard market-smells- meat frying, vegetables cooking, spices heavy in the air mingling with the smell of too many people crammed into too little space. He heard the distinct, rhythmic clank , rattle , and scrape of something being fried in an enormous wok; there was a little place on Coruscant that did that, and it had a low window where children always gathered to watch the enormous Bothan shake the huge metal pan. He focused on the familiar sound, trying not to hear other, worse noises from further away. He was so used to taking in everything about his environment; noticing how many flowers were on a vine, how many times the cricket chirped, because Jedi training demanded it. But now he wished he could hear less. So much less.
( He tried not to hear the screaming as they passed by, but it came to his ears anyways. “No- Master, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything- not my daughter- Mila, Mila-” “Anything? I warned you about your behavior, if you’d listened you might’ve kept your screaming babe.” The wailing sound of a child crying seemed to make no difference to anything but Obi-Wan’s stomach churning, the crowd thickening behind them as it became fainter in the distance. )
He was so focused on not stumbling, not falling into the frequent puddles of dirty water, that he almost didn’t notice when they stopped, nearly crashing into Qui-Gon as a result.
Now he felt the danger that his Master must have already sensed. Figures detaching from the mass of market goers and surging towards them.
Obi-Wan fought the urge to shift into a fighting stance, instead allowing himself to shrink further into his Master's shadow, willing the Force to make him appear small and weak.
“Identification,” the nearest figure barked, “I don't recognize you.”
Obi-Wan wasn't sure what had already singled them out in such a mass of peoples, but perhaps the busy market was more of an illusion than he had first assumed. Maybe this wasn't merely the bustling trade post of wanders it first appeared to be...
Qui-Gon’s voice was low but loud in the crowded market, easy to pick out. “My privacy is valuable, I don’t have identification, besides, this is a public market.”
“This is the Queen’s Market, on Palace grounds- not a place one wanders into by accident. If you refuse to identity yourself, you will be removed and charged with trespassing on royal property.”
Qui-Gon seemed to weigh his options. Too many guards surrounded them, if they fought or ran it would make make a scene.
“The Queen’s market,” Qui-Gon repeated thoughtfully, much to the obvious annoyance of the guard. “Perhaps I can take this matter up with the Lady herself, then.”
“You can what? ” The guard sounded shocked, and Obi-wan saw as several more pairs of armored feet step closer to them. He shut his eyes. Master, what have you gotten us into now?
“You will bring me for audience with Her Majesty,” the movement of Qui-Gon's arm told Obi-Wan his Master has just employed a mind trick to persuade their enemy. And then for the benefit of any other onlookers, he continued with some forced bravado. “If I am to be charged I would have an honest trial for my crime of being in a public market!”
His statement hung in the air for a moment, the Force suggestion still worming it's way into the guard's mind. For a moment, Obi-Wan was sure it had failed and their gambit was up.
“You- can’t possibly-” another guard spluttered for a moment, hissing between his teeth, caught between confusion and anger at Qui-Gon's sheer audacity.
“Stand down, Kit.” The first guard spoke again, there was an uncomfortable shuffling in the armored legs that Obi-Wan could see. “The trespasser wants an audience with the Queen? Fine. I will bring him for an audience- I will enjoy watching our Queen punish him for his crimes. And his insolence.”
________________________________________
“Master,” Obi-Wan hissed softly when he thought their armed escorts had fallen far enough behind as not to overhear them. Obi-Wan was sure they were being lead into a trap, no doubt the security forces had already realized that they were not who they claimed to be, all that was left was to determine was if they were simply trespassers- or spies. “Master, we should signal the-” but his sentence was cut off when Qui-Gon firmed his grip on the already taut slave leash. With surprising harshness, the cold metal jerked at his throat, Qui-Gon’s action silencing his voice more than the actual pressure of the collar. Obi-Wan slipped back into quiet submission, aware that the guards were watching their every move.
Obi-Wan’s Jedi training had taught him to walk and act with a confidence he rarely felt, and it was with an odd sort of comfort that he now allowed himself to be lead by his Master with eyes downcast through the palace halls. As such, Obi-Wan had barely noticed the change in their surroundings and was surprised by the sudden awareness that they had reached the throne room of the Zygerrian Queen.
Obi-Wan could sense that there were several beings watching them now, though he couldn’t risk any visible signs of inquiry or investigation, a brief exploration in the Force told him enough.
The room was large with a high ceiling. There were four guards with them now, two behind and two ahead. Between the two guards was a new presence- and it made Obi-Wan shudder.
He was often told his greatest failing as a Jedi was an inability to connect with the Living Force; that he was frequently blind to other creatures’ natures or intents.
But there was no ambiguity in the nature of the creature ahead of him and no uncertainty in Obi-Wan’s mind of her intent. This was the Zygerrian Queen, the cruel mistress of this slave empire. Though he didn’t dare look, Obi-Wan could feel the moment her gaze moved across him. With eyes Obi-Wan couldn't even see, she managed to make him feel more dehumanized than the outfit or even the collar.
If Qui-Gon felt the same intense cruelty in her, he made no sign.
When the Queen spoke, it was with a brittle clipped voice.
“Who are you who come before me?”
“I am Tal Kilser, Your Highness.” Qui-Gon spoke with ease, dipping his head in the cool polite fashion that did little to suggest actual submission. Beside him, Obi-Wan hurried to bow deeper, unsure what deference was demanded in her presence. Meeting the queen hadn't been covered in his mission brief.
But he was paid little mind as the queen addressed his Master.
“My guards tell me you are here for the public market.” The woman did not disguise the obvious suspicion in her voice. “Yet you were found trespassing on my palace grounds with no invitation- and still you have audacity to demand an audience with me- to plead your case to me in person rather than simply accept my guards’ gracious offer to be escorted off this planet. I have to admit, I’m curious to hear what dishonesty is so important for you to spin, that you risk standing in my presence to do so.”
Silently, Obi-Wan had to admit he was thinking much the same thing. Their mission was to observe, nothing more. To gather what information they could without raising suspicion that the Republic was investigating the Zygerrians. If the Queen even began to suspect they were Jedi the Togruta colonists would be lost. Sent into the depths of the Kessel mines, likely dead before the Republic ever found them.
But despite Obi-Wan’s misgivings, Qui-Gon spoke smoothly.
“I’m no fool, your Highness, there is nothing for sale in that market that interests me- and I’m sure you feel much the same. I came here, to your palace, in the hopes we could discuss more interesting business.”
While Qui-Gon talked, Obi-Wan had found a discrete reflection to watch. The whole room was adorned with bright metals and reflective colored glass. Even with his downcast eyes, Obi-Wan had found a low table with mirrored edges that gave him a clear view of the Zygerrian Queen.
She was smiling.
“You’re a slaver?” She said with unbridled incredulity.
Qui-Gon nodded.
So busy was Obi-Wan watching the scene in the nearby mirror, he missed Qui-Gon’s movement right next to him.
Obi-Wan stumbled more with shock than pain when Qui-Gon gave the leash a vicious tug. The force brought him forwards and down, nearly causing him to collapse in front of Qui-Gon. But the same leash that nearly toppled him, also held him up.
“I thought to auction this away tonight,” Qui-gon said easily, “but if it would bring me any of your good grace, I would be happy to gift it to you instead.”
Without thinking, Obi-Wan spun his head back to his Master, his eyes seeking his face, hoping to read some sign of insincerity there. In the same instant he poured out his worry into their connection, desperate to feel some flicker of reassurance from his Master that he would protect him- that he wouldn’t allow this thing to happen.
But Qui-Gon was like a wall, his face completely unreadable and his presence in the Force merely a cold void. Though Obi-Wan was sure he heard it, Qui-Gon made no response to his Padawan’s desperate mental cry.
“Master-” The word tumbled out, familiar but somehow different now. The title had only been spoken with the utmost respect and veneration within the Temple walls. It was word younglings and Padawans found comfort and safety in- long before they knew of such concepts as slavery.
Obi-Wan never imagined he could speak the word with such sick fear, never thought he would feel such coldness from the one he called Master .
“Silence,” Qui-Gon snapped, the anger and irritation radiating off him more than an act. Obi-Wan felt the collar bite into the back on his neck again as his head was pulled down. Above him Qui-Gon continued to speak with the Queen.
“And where, pray tell, did you find this one?” The Queen asked, some of her skepticism gone, replaced now with genuine curiosity.
“Quite by accident,” he assured her, their rapport growing, “A slave on Bandomeer who I happened to see at an auction. However, none of the Masters were interested, it was scheduled to be sent away to the ocean mining platforms that night if no one would buy it,” Qui-Gon smiled, “but I thought that would be a waste- surely it was good for something.”
The Queen responded with a light laugh, “Yes, surely.”
Obi-Wan knew he was shaking. The words that Qui-Gon spoke so closely mirrored his truth, that it was hard not feel their sting. In some small logical thought, Obi-Wan tried to calm himself. Lies always came more easily when mixed with truth- his Master was simply keeping them safe. He had to lie fluidly and with confidence if the wanted to avoid suspicion- it was only logical for his Master to draw on some truths from his past.
“Perhaps you will discover a use for it,” Qui-Gon pressed. “I’m afraid it hasn’t been much good to me.”
“Very well,” the Queen said after a long pause, “I’m not one to pass up a perfectly good slave.”
At the words, Obi-Wan felt his building panic turn to dread. He had held out hope that his Master had a clever ploy- a trick or a scheme- to save them both. But as Qui-Gon proffered his end of the leash to the approaching Queen, Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop.
Fear flooded his mind and Obi-Wan could feel the cold ocean spray of Bandomeer and the heavy weight of the collar on his neck.
I won't go back- I can’t go back! We have to stay together .
He felt like a child again, reliving the crushing despair of Qui-Gon rejecting him, being told to leave behind everything he had ever known to board a transport to a foreign world. It had been so unbearable that Obi-Wan had risked everything to prove himself worthy of Qui-Gon, and had nearly died in the process.
But Obi-Wan knew now, he would rather have been dead, than alive and without a Master on Bandomeer. Life before Qui-Gon was something that he couldn’t face going back to.
Heedless of the tight leash, Obi-Wan spun to face Qui-Gon, the words spilling out in a panic before he could be silenced again. He held no fear of the Council now- the thought of being spirited away into some mining system with no possibility of a successful rescue reached down into his very bones and turned them to ice. If he could blow their cover, then he and Qui-Gon would figure something out. Fight their way out as a team like they were meant to, they’d done it before, he couldn’t just be left alone-
“Master! You can’t- this isn’t right! I wouldn't be able t-”
The blow came with such speed and suddenness, Obi-Wan had barely registered the movement before he found himself half splayed across the floor between his Master and the slaver queen.
Obi-Wan barely felt the pain of the strike, and hardly felt the floor under him. The whole scene suddenly felt slow and unreal, his mind working to catch up with what had just happened.
Qui-Gon had hit him. Hit him with a force and an anger Obi-wan couldn't pretend was anything less than genuine.
All thoughts of escape left Obi-Wan. He could have fought the guards, would have challenged the Queen. But what lay between him and his freedom... was Qui-Gon. And Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he knew how to fight that.
He didn't move in the moments after, allowed his body to stay in the crumpled, half curled position he had landed in. His face was down turned- he didn’t want to see Qui-Gon’s expression.
“It might not be up to your standards yet,” Qui-Gon said flatly.
The Queen tutted softly. “You should really know better than to damage the merchandise, Ser Kilser.”
“This slave needs to learn its place,” Qui-Gon responded in an even tone.
“And it will. Guards, take this slave to reconditioning,” The Queen said, her voice smugly amused. The sound of footsteps moved towards Obi-wan.
He couldn’t stop himself from feeling for his Master one more time in the Force. Hoping that in these last moments before they were separated he would send some warm energies to comfort him- to apologize, to beg him to understand.
But there was nothing. Just the cold wall Obi-Wan had sensed from his Master since the start of this mission- and maybe even earlier than that. No comfort, no compassion. Whatever Obi-Wan was about to endure, he would have to endure it alone.
________________________________________
Qui-Gon Jinn felt a tiny tremor in his heart as the guards picked the boy up off the floor to take him away. He tried not to think, tried not to imagine the bright red mark on Obi-Wan’s face that would soon blossom into a bruise. For now he had to play Tal Kilser, had to be unemotional. He had to act as though he did this all the time.
Force knew he’d had the urge to. Something dark in him whispered that at least the boy had stopped talking for once.
“Ser Kilser,” the Queen purred, coming closer as the guards dragged a still-stunned Obi-Wan out the door and Qui-Gon could only assume the boy would find some way to escape, “I think we’ll find an enduring partnership between ourselves.”
“I hope so, Your Highness,” he said on autopilot. He forced himself not to let his eyes track Obi-Wan out of the room.
What did he just do? He’d raised hand to his Padawan- no. Tal Kilser had raised a hand to a disobedient slave. That was how he had to think of it, or this mission would collapse around his ears. Qui-Gon Jinn would never hit his Padawan, not when they were in no condition to hit back.
The Queen was talking about some business ventures, and he allowed his mind to absorb her information while he considered his own moral quandaries. Xanatos had started physical fights, the hotheaded youth not knowing what he needed or wanted, striking out in frustration more than once, and Qui-Gon had defended himself. Obviously.
He’d never thought that he might have to do such a thing with Obi-Wan, who was so... He was deferential, to a point and with an edge, but his insolence was always just barely under the line of acceptable, cloaked in enough respect that Qui-Gon had no recourse against his sharp-tongued charge. It drove Qui-Gon mad some days- more so, after Tahl’s death, after Obi-Wan’s constant and maddening insistence on arguing, on taking up precious time. He admitted to himself that he had been growing more impatient with the boy for months.
The Queen of Zygerria’s slave empire turned to him with a crafty smile. “Don’t you agree?”
“Of course, Highness,” he responded on instinct. “We must prepare ourselves, the Republic’s tyranny over our personal gains grows daily.”
She narrowed her eyes, apparently placated by his accurate response. Luckily his training was so great that he could listen and respond while staying mired in his own thoughts.
Had the hit truly been so bad? He’d been unable to pull his arm, unwilling to risk a gentler hit being questioned. But Obi-Wan had borne worse injuries in his apprenticeship with nothing but grim silence. The boy was hardened by battle and experience, used to blaster shots and the shockwaves of explosions- even lightsaber burns had become commonplace to them both after battling Xanatos. An open-handed strike was not so much, compared to such injuries.
They had been prepared for this when they went undercover. Qui-Gon had even been looking forward to losing himself in another identity, forgetting his own daily frustrations in the skin of Tal Kilser, who did not have to deal with guilt or grief or prying Padawans. And he could not let Obi-Wan endanger the undercover mission, or the colonists they were tracking. So, in the manner only an uncivilized slaver like Tal Kilser could, he’d raised hand to his student.
Xanatos, he remembered, had needed that sort of physical confrontation. Had pushed Qui-Gon until he’d had no choice but to defend himself against the youth’s aggression. And after, there had always been a brief respite of peace, Xan finally something approaching calm as he treated his bruises with the goal of hiding them from the other Padawans.
But Obi-Wan had never required such blunt discipline; a sharp word was often enough to send the child into an anxious tizzy, to set him hiding and avoiding his own Master.
Words were always Obi-Wan’s battle of choice. He was always arguing, questioning, talking back. Qui-Gon had thought for a moment, watching Obi-Wan’s big blue eyes widen as the former Shadow coached him on his duties as he played a slave, that his stubborn little Padawan might learn silence for once. Apparently not.
He knew that one day Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a wise and strong Jedi Knight. Qui-Gon was confident in this.
But just at this moment, Qui-Gon did not need a mission partner who was a wise, strong, Jedi Knight. He needed an obedient, and moreover silent, Padawan. And it was that which Obi-Wan was incapable of.
Disturbingly hot anger flooded his system at the thought, and Qui-Gon shook himself- unable to meditate to clear it, he resorted to ignoring it in favor of the Queen’s talk.
“And of course, the demand for labor slaves is spiking from some interested parties within the Senate...”
He did not let his surprise show, but privately, Qui-Gon began to think very hard. The Senate? This went deeper than they thought. He would have to investigate.
“Labor slaves, Highness?” he asked. “My business has always been in pleasure slaves. Ought I learn a new trade in these changing times?”
She laughed in a voice dark and syrupy. “Ah, no. Ser Kilser, you must know- always, always will there be demand for pleasure in this harsh galaxy of ours.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” He responded, and he took her outstretched arm. If this really went all the way up to the Senate....
He might have to stay in Tal Kilser’s skin longer than anticipated.