After the death of
their gallant leader, the movement soon lost its backing. There was nowhere for
its supporters to go for the retribution they had long been seeking and while
half of society slipped into moral decadence, the other silently grew
displeased and vengeful. With ideals still in place, it took but one strong
voice in the crowd to allow it to rise up again. This voice belonged to one Ibrinum Denhov, who at
twenty-three was a man of poor roots but considerable knowledge and strength of
character. To many, this marked the end of the third dynasty and the commencement
of the fourth, though revisionist historical texts note the specific day of the
change as the one in which the palace was raided and the king was impaled upon
his own bedpost. Though an apparent victory, rioters retreated to the Harlington ridge and sought safety in the mountains and
caverns beyond until the king's private army could be properly dealt with. The
movement, thereafter referred to as the Harlington
conquest also brought with it a spirit
Qui-Gon
stopped reading, his gaze frozen on that word not because of what he'd read. He
could have sworn to seeing movement out of the corner of his eye. But as he
sat, motionless, frozen, silent, there was nothing more. And so he resumed.
also brought with it a spirit of nationalism long
since thought dead in the nation. It was not the freedom from oppression that
sparked these feelings, however, but the mere notion that something could
actually be done to improve their situation. For a people who
There it
was again. Just behind him and to his left. The movement was so brief that by
the time Qui-Gon moved his eyes to follow it, all he
caught sight of was the very tip of a padawan braid.
When he
turned his whole head, he saw nothing but an empty doorway spanning the bedroom
and the common room, in which Qui-Gon currently sat working. Qui-Gon could see
it was dark inside the bedroom, as it had been all day, and because of this he
could not see inside beyond a few feet. Despite the lack of visual evidence,
Qui-Gon had felt sure he'd seen something, and was just as certain as to what
it was he'd seen. Qui-Gon set his reading on his lap to give his full
concentration to the something. The someone, rather.
"Pad-a-wan," he called with a light, almost-singing tone to his voice.
There was a
moment's pause, then Obi-Wan poked his head out from
just behind the doorframe, his braid swinging back and forth so that it dusted
his shoulder. "Yes, Master," he replied almost timidly.
Qui-Gon's
voice was gentle and calm and he looked on his padawan with a smile. "You are
supposed to be in bed, Padawan Mine. You need rest to help you fight that cold
in your nose." As he spoke, Obi-Wan slowly inched out from behind the wall, bit
by bit. Qui-Gon could see Obi-Wan had wrapped around his shoulders the blue
blanket he always snuggled into when he had felt especially sick, and in his
hand was a crumpled white handkerchief. "Perhaps hours of reading have blurred
my vision, but I see you not in bed at the moment."
Obi-Wan
nodded. "There is nothing wrong with your vision. I... wanted to get up and see
if I could..." he hesitated, suddenly rethinking his reason for being up. But,
knowing how Qui-Gon did not like when he failed to complete a thought started,
he went on. "I'm feeling much better now, Master. And it's lonely sleeping all
day in the bedroom. Couldn't I sit out there with you and start work on all the
assignments I've missed since coming down sick?" Quickly he added a slightly
anxious "Please?"
The Jedi
Master took his time in answering. Far be it from him to ignore such a
heart-felt 'please' from his padawan. But still fresh in his memory was the
'please' from two days prior when Obi-Wan had practically begged Qui-Gon to
call his teachers and make his excuses to them so that he would not have to get
out of bed. Qui-Gon had complied with the request, and had summoned a healer
while he was at it. From there it was not difficult to recall all the sneezing
and sniffling and snuffling Obi-Wan had done day and night. And were he to
forget, a large pile of used hankies at the top of the laundry bin would have
been enough to remind him.
Qui-Gon
eyed him, noting the blanket and handkerchief again, as well as the rumbled
sleep pants and long-sleeved shirt hanging off a straight and sturdy frame. "You
may," he said finally, seeing Obi-Wan bounce on the balls of his feet upon
hearing the news. "If you get chilled
or if your cold gets any worse, I want you back in bed. All
right?"
Obi-Wan
nodded eagerly and hopped to it. He disappeared into the bedroom for a moment and
came back out with an extra handkerchief and a datapad.
He clicked a chip into it as he headed straight for the couch.
After climbing up onto the couch, Obi-Wan settled down, kneeling
then sitting down on his legs just beside Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon reached back
to make sure the blanket covered Obi-Wan's sock-covered feet. He took one look
at the joyful look on Obi-Wan's face and had a hard time not melting with one
of his own. "Just for a little while. I don't want you tiring yourself out." He
reached up and ran his hand lightly over Obi-Wan's head, the short fuzzy hair
tickling his palm. He smiled and slid his hand down, cupping Obi-Wan's far
shoulder through the thick blue blanket and squeezing comfortingly.
Obi-Wan
smiled and sniffled as he looked down at the datapad,
scrolling through the long list of past due assignments. With his head hanging,
his nose seemed to run much more than it had a few moments ago. He held the
balled-up hanky to it, sniffling and snuffling and rubbing and wiping. Qui-Gon
tightened his hold around Obi-Wan slightly out of concern. "It's just some sniffling,"
he explained.
"I know,"
Qui-Gon nodded. "And I'm glad you're feeling better. I just--"
"You worry
about your padawan. I know."
Qui-Gon
smiled and nodded. "Indeed." With his fingers splayed, he could just reach
Obi-Wan's cheek with his thumb without taking his hand completely off Obi-Wan's
shoulder. He stroked gently a few times. Then he picked up his datapad.
Ibrinum Denhov, who at
twenty-three was a man of
He'd read
that part already. Qui-Gon skimmed, trying to find where he'd left off. There
was something about nationalism or...
"huhChooo!"
Qui-Gon's
head turned to the side just to see Obi-Wan open his mouth wider and pull his
head back slightly only to have it snap forward into the handkerchief.
"h'CHIHhhhh!"
"Bless
you," Qui-Gon said, leaning over and kissing Obi-Wan's temple. It seemed two
was the count for this small bout of sneezes, and Obi-Wan sighed and returned
to his datapad while Qui-Gon did the same with his
own.
For a people who had suffered so long, the sudden empowerment came with
relief and confusion. The movement dissipated before it could continue on its
path, spiraling off in the form of separatist groups which
"Excuse me.
I'm sorry. Is my sniffling bothering you?"
"Hmm? Oh, no. Barely noticed it. No
need to apologize." The fact that Obi-Wan had been sniffling rather constantly
had, in fact, registered with Qui-Gon. But he'd been so used to hearing it over
the last few days and wasn't as worried about their presence as the rest of
Obi-Wan's more difficult to manage symptoms. He scooted up right next to
Obi-Wan and squeezed with a tight hug. "Sniffle and blow your nose all you need
to."
Almost with
relief, Obi-Wan re-crumpled his handkerchief, took a deep breath, and blew his
nose rather thoroughly. It must have tickled his poor, sensitive nose because
not a second after he'd finished blowing, he needed to sneeze again. "h'Choo! h'Chshooo! heh-hehShoo!" He paused, eyes closed, waiting for
one more. When it didn't come, he blew his nose again.
At another
tight squeeze, Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. Then
his padawan tilted his head and laid it upon Qui-Gon's shoulder. He hugged his
blanket closer and held his datapad up so he could
read it properly. And Qui-Gon hugged Obi-Wan close then did the same with his
reading.
separatist groups which accomplished virtually nothing
within the next two decades. The most well known of these was
the radical, cult-like Minnowians. Led by Zintha Minnow, their main focus was
"HIHShuhh! hehhChuhhh!" A deep breath, then, "Sorry. Sniff, sniff!"
Though he
was doing a fair amount of sneezing, Qui-Gon did have to admit Obi-Wan was sounding better. Not so much with a decrease in
symptoms, but in his much clearer voice. The stuffiness and grogginess in his
voice were almost completely gone.
"How's your
reading?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's rather bad, actually. The narrative is all
over the place. And I still have three more dynasties to get through." He
rolled his eyes. "How are your assignments?"
"It's going
to be a while yet before I catch up," Obi-Wan admitted. He was still reading
through the list, in fact, and had not even started on any. "hehhhChuhhh! hahhhShhhhh!
Sniiiifff! And slower still if I keep sneezing
every few seconds instead of getting work done."
"Don't push
yourself," Qui-Gon warned.
"I won't,"
Obi-Wan promised, rubbing his nose and lowering his handkerchief so he could
use both hands for the datapad.
Led by Zintha Minnow, their main focus was
"Obi-Wan,
can I get you some tea? Or perhaps just some juice?"
Obi-Wan
looked up, smiling. "Surely you're not trying to procrastinate, Master?"
Qui-Gon
smiled at how well Obi-Wan knew him. "Of course not," he replied pleasantly. "How about soup? Or scrambled eggs and sausage? I could make
you whatever you like."
With a
sigh, Obi-Wan nuzzled into Qui-Gon's shoulder. Qui-Gon hugged him back. "All right. Tea and toast." He
sniffled. "Please."
Qui-Gon was
more than happy to set his reading down for a little while. Tea and toast
wasn't an especially complicated order, but he took his time with it. After a
long day of reading, it was nice to have an excuse to take a break. And there
was no better excuse than taking care of his sick padawan.
He could
hear Obi-Wan sniffling as he finished running the tap water and put the kettle
on the stove. He heard a sneeze as he popped two pieces of bread into the
toaster oven. Qui-Gon stood back against the counter and watched from the
kitchen. Obi-Wan did seem to be working, despite his needing to stop to sneeze
every so often. And Qui-Gon loved to watch Obi-Wan work. The concentration and
serious attention Obi-Wan gave all his assignments would have made Qui-Gon
proud, except that he didn't think that had much to do with his influence.
Obi-Wan had always been eager to please, and Qui-Gon had hoped that as his
master, he might make Obi-Wan understand the balance in life between working
hard and relaxing hard.
Obi-Wan sneezed
twice, just as the timer went off. Qui-Gon could hear him sniffling above the
scrape of a knife and butter against each triangular piece of toast. And when
he returned with a small tray of tea, sugar, and a plate of toast, he had to
wait a few moments for Obi-Wan to finish blowing his nose before he sat down
and offered it over.
"Thank
you," Obi-Wan said, taking the tea at once and sipping it before adding heaping
spoonfuls of sugar and blowing to cool it.
Then came a cycle of drinking, studying, and tending to his nose.
Qui-Gon tried again to delay the inevitable return to his reading, but Obi-Wan
seemed a little jumpy to be watched closely.
The
most well known of these was the radical, cult-like Minnowians. Led by Zintha
Minnow, their main focus was a manual redistribution of wealth. They soon
discovered, however, that an inequality works both ways and a protracted
counter movement against a mismanaged movement resulted again in bloodshed.
Qui-Gon
paused in his reading. His head was starting to hurt from it.
"huhh... ehhhhChuhhh!"
Obi-Wan shivered as he put his now empty cup down and reached for his
handkerchief. He blew his nose and, with another shiver, he picked his datapad up again.
"Padawan,"
Qui-Gon said, tightening his hold around Obi-Wan and rubbing his hand up and
down Obi-Wan's arm. "Perhaps it would be wise of you to go back to bed now?"
Obi-Wan
shrugged and nodded. He spoke softly, "But... it's lonely in there."
Chuckling
lightly, Qui-Gon set both datapads aside and pulled
Obi-Wan closer. "Is that what all this is about? You feeling
lonely?"
Again, he
shrugged and nodded.
And, again,
Qui-Gon chuckled. "Oh, My Own, you should have just asked if you could join me
here on the sofa."
"You said
that if I didn't feel well enough to attend classes or do work that I should
stay in bed until I felt better," Obi-Wan pointed out, then immediately
shivered and sneezed several more times in succession. "ehhh-HIHShooo! hehhChushhhh!
hihhChuhhh!" He snuggled
into his master for warmth and found strong arms hugging him tightly. "And I
did feel a little better, like I really could do work. It's just being up so
long.... Hih--" His breath caught and eyes fluttered
closed. "Hehh-CHIIIH!"
He scrubbed the handkerchief against his nose. "I'm feeling all sneezy and sick
again."
"That's
it," said Qui-Gon, resolutely. He waved his hand and the datapads
slid across the table and toppled over the far edge onto the floor and quite
out of reach. "No more excuses," he said firmly. Then he eased Obi-Wan to lean
forward and he pulled his legs up onto the sofa as well, stretching along the
back of it. He raised his arm invitingly and smiled warmly. "Come, Padawan
Mine. I think we could both use some snuggling right now."
Obi-Wan lay
down beside his master, wrapped up in the blanket still and snuffling up
against Qui-Gon's chest. Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around his padawan, stroking
the young man's back comfortingly as he listened to the sniffles which were now
accompanied by tiny, happy sighs.