Category: A/U, Story,
Pairing: Q/O slash
Romance Rating: PG-13 (m/m interaction)
Spoilers: For all movies, including TPM, and the JA books.
Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em, I don't. Damn.
Feedback: Yes, please! [email protected]

Summary: In an alternate universe set fifteen years after the events
in The Phantom Menace, two Jedi live in hiding on the desert planet
of Tatooine, awaiting a child's destiny. Will they survive to see a
new hope come to fruition?

It's late morning on the Lower Wastes and the telltale winds of a
sandstorm are blowing past as I make my way back from an early
vaporizer check. It's a bit of a struggle for these middle-aged
legs to make it over a virtually endless series of looming dunes
but I finally surmount all of them and breathe easier once I'm
steady on the flats that lead to Qui-Gon's and my homestead.

It's there, on the final leg of my journey, that I notice a
creature, a human, is following me.

Casually, I pull my hood over my head and immediately size him
up. It's a boy, no older than eight or nine and he's filthy, his
face and clothes streaked with engine oil, mud and Force knows
what else.

The storm increases in violence and I motion the child forward
but he stumbles backwards, intent it seems, on running away. I
know there's nowhere for this boy to run and if left out in the
storm, he will not survive.

I stride toward the boy, putting a touch of Force into my steps
and catch him before he gets too far out of my reach. His collar
nearly rips beneath my grasp and I'm forced to clutch more cloth
between my fingers as he tries to run further away from me and
deeper into the storm which is beginning to whip and howl with
furious intent.

"Come child, my home is right there," I yell over the winds as he
wriggles in my grasp. "Don't be foolish now. Come along. You
know you can't stay outside in a sandstorm."

He cries out something over the wind and struggles as stubbornly
as an unbroken Bantha, his thin arms flailing in a desperate
attempt at escape.

Undeterred, I tighten my grip and drag the recalcitrant child
behind me, cursing beneath my breath. The whipping sands are
filling my cloak, my boots, even my hair with scratching bits of
sand and while I don't want to frighten the child, if it comes to
his fear or our death ...

We finally reach the homestead and I push him inside, then
struggle to make sure the door shuts behind us. I take a moment
to activate the storm shields and finally, the deadly winds
outside become nothing more than a muted, benign memory.

"There, that's better." Satisfied, I remove my hood. "That
should hold nicely for now, I think." I turn toward the boy. "I
believe a little lunch is in order while we wait for the storm to
die down. What says you, child?"

But the boy is crouching in the eating area, shaking with fear.
"Please yo ... yo ... your honor ... I only wanted to s..."

It's an odd sight, this quaking, terrified boy in my home, but I
can readily understand his fear. Tatooine is an inhospitable
world, populated with inhospitable people and being taken into a
wasteland homestead is not always a pleasant invitation.

"There's no need to be afraid, child. You are welcome here to
wait out the storm." Gently, and I shake some more loose sand
from my cloak before hanging it up. "Come now, I'll make us some
supper and then ..."

I turn back to the boy and am surprised to see that he's still
absolutely white with fear and crouched so low as to be nearly
beneath the dining table.

"What is the matter, son?" I reach down and gently tug him up
into a chair. "I know I'm a bit older than I used to be but I
can't be that frightening to look at now, can I?"

He peers at me with terrified eyes, obviously disagreeing.
"Please it, your honor . . ."

"Please what?"

"Please, sir," he stammers. "Please don't turn me into a nerf."

I blink, not quite sure I heard correctly. "Turn you into a
what?"

"A nerf, sir. Oh please, sir ..."

I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger, still not sure I
heard correctly. "Child, I have no idea what a nerf is and
even if I did, what makes you think I could turn you into one?"

"Be ... because you're a wizard, sir," he stammers. He looks at
me in askance. "Aren't you?"

My head is starting to hurt and that's never a good sign. "No,
child, I'm not a wizard," I sigh. "Where did you hear such a
thing?"

Obviously relieved, the child starts to babble. "In Anchorhead.
Smit and Cooder and Schim -- they all said it was true. I didn't
believe it at first, but they said that you and the other fellow
were right wizards and that you'd turn anyone who came near your
'stead into a nerf." He shudders. "A big, fat, hairy nerf."

Big, fat, hairy nerfs indeed. "I suggest you don't believe
everything you hear." Drily. "Is this all your friends said?"

The child shakes his head vigorously. "No, they also said that
you can talk to the animals and you can turn into draigons and
fly and that your howls scare even the Tuskans and that you have
a rancor for a pet and ..." He looks down. "And that ... that
..."

"Yes?" I prompt.

He bites his lip and looks away. "And that you eat little boys
when the third moon is full."

Oh, by the Force. With a sigh, I take the boy by the shoulders
and wait until he is looking directly into my eyes. "Child, I
promise you that I and my companion are not wizards. We do not,
cannot and would never turn children into nerfs, talk to animals
or turn into draigons and fly through the Wastes."

He swallows hard. "And you don't eat little boys?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I can assure you, little boys are the
very last thing I'd eat." I lean toward him, my eyes narrow.
"Especially muddy little boys."

With another long sigh, I make my way toward the cooking area and
pass a clean rag beneath the water pump. I return and press the
damp cloth into the boy's trembling hand. "Now sit up straight
and wipe off your face before you eat. How a child can get so
filthy before the sun has hit mid-mark is beyond me. I know your
mother didn't let you out of the house like that."

Blinking, he obeys, rubbing hard with the rag and the black
streaks that cover his cheeks slowly turn into long swirls of
gray.

I turn back to the cold'keep and decide on a meal of hot grain
and cold fruit juice with some leavened marte on the side. There
are some sweet rolls too, a leftover indulgence from the week
before, and I hesitate only a moment before adding a large glass
of cold water to the tray. Fresh water is a treat rarely
enjoyed by children on Tatooine and I hope the offering might
quell his childish fears.

"I see we have company."

I turn at the sound of Qui-Gon's voice and notice how pleased he
looks at the sight of our guest. My love is fond of all
creatures, great and small, and children are particular favorites
of his, even if he won't readily admit it. And while he claims
to enjoy their honesty, I think he simply enjoys coddling them
and seeing their smiles.

Which is just like him.

The boy's eyes grow huge at the sight of Qui-Gon. My bondmate is
far taller than most of the indigenous people of this world and
he is ever the Jedi Master, which is always an impressive sight,
no matter how many years he's seen.

I get another bowl and fill it. "Yes, our young friend here
decided that sandstorm season was a good time to go gallivanting
through the Lower Wastes."

"Oh." Qui-Gon smiles again and takes his usual seat. "Awful
things these storms. What's your name, lad?"

"Er ... Darvin, sir." The boy's face has turned into a pair of
eyes and little else.

"Well, Darvin, I am ... Kale and I suppose you've already met
Ben." He holds out a huge hand to the boy who shyly takes it,
gaping as his tiny fingers are quickly swallowed up whole within
Qui-Gon's massive paw. "So, what brings someone so young into
the Wastes at such a season?"

The boy peeks over at me and then back to Qui-Gon. "Well, I ...
I ..."

I raise a meaningful eyebrow at the boy, who suddenly knows
better than to lie.

He swallows hard. "I was curious, sir."

"Curious?" Qui-Gon sits back and links his fingers across his
broad chest. "About what?"

"You, sir. You and the other gentleman."

"Indeed. Are we such curious creatures, child?" Qui-Gon looks
amused. "I would hardly think that at your age you've never seen
two adult humans before."

"Um ..." Darvin peers at me, but I merely place Qui-Gon's lunch
down and turn back to the supper preparations. "Well, sir. I
wanted to see if what they said was true."

"True? That what was true?"

"That you were wizards, sir. But I see that they were wrong," he
adds hastily. His expression droops a bit and he looks down at
his food, blushing.

Qui-Gon leans in and fixes the boy with a keen look I know well.
"You seem rather disappointed."

The boy looks at him for a moment before a smile creeps across
his face. "A little, sir."

Qui-Gon's smile broadens and his eyes twinkle. "I wish I could
tell you otherwise but I fear you've met the two most boring
humans you're ever bound to come across."

The boy nods. "I guess I should have known." A short shrug. "I
mean, who in their right mind would want to keep a Rancor for a
pet?"

Qui-Gon's eyes widen and I enjoy the flush that fills his face.
He takes another hasty sip of tea. "Yes," he says, with a short
cough. "That would be a bit odd."

"Very odd," I add, shooting my bondmate a narrow look.

Curiously, the boy looks around, oblivious to our exchange. "You
have lots of interesting things in here, sirs. What's that?" He
points at a dusty wooden dial that sits abandoned atop a corner
pile that looks almost as old as the hut itself.

"Why, I'm not sure." Qui-Gon reaches for the dial and peers at
it. "Do you know what this is, Ben?"

I glance at the small wooden contraption. "It's a Obratian sun
clock."

"Oh." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Why do we have an
Obratian sun clock in the house?"

"I haven't a clue." I refill his tea glass. "And I dare say I
could ask the same question about half the junk we've got
gathering dust around here."

He ignores me easily and continues to look at the clock. "I don't
suppose it's of much use to us on this planet." He hands the
device to the child who examines it closely.

"Not unless one of these suns decides not to rise anymore," I
reply drily.

"Maybe if you add another hand," the boy says hopefully.

"Perhaps. Why don't you try that and see if it works? If you
fix it, you're welcome to keep it."

The boy blinks, then looks at Qui-Gon with shining eyes. "Oh
thank you, sir. I'm good with fixing things, even Cooder says
so."

I pour more juice for the boy who gulps it down with frightening
speed. "Is that right?"

He beams at me, his face now eager, no longer afraid. He begins
to babble happily. "Yes, it is and did you hear the news, sirs?
The mighty Jabba caught a smuggler and he's going to feed him to
the sarlacc tomorrow. Everyone in the entire quarter is going to
go and watch. Will you be there?" He looks at us hopefully. "If
you are, I can introduce you to Cooder and the rest and tell them
that they were all wrong about you. Won't they be surprised!"

"No, I don't think we'll be attending, Darvin," Qui-Gon replies
softly. "I'm afraid Ben and I don't enjoy watching living
creatures being devoured by a sarlacc ."

The boy blinks. "Why not?"

"Because it pains us to see someone hurt and frightened."
Gently, and Qui-Gon raises his tea glass, his eyes intent on the
boy.

"Oh." The boy looks troubled for a moment, but like all
children, he is able to quickly push his doubts aside. For the
time being.

Qui-Gon takes another sip of tea. "So, young Darvin of Tatooine,
what life awaits you in the coming years? Have you made any
plans for your adulthood?"

Young eyes sparkle with excitement. "Yes, sir. I'm going to join
the Academy and become a fighter pilot in the Imperial fleet."
The boy's face shines with pride. "I'm going to shoot rebels
right out of the sky and get medals, perhaps even from the
Emperor himself."

Qui-Gon's face crumples, but he quickly recovers. "Indeed." His
tone hardens, the tiniest bit. "It's a hard life in the
military, child. Why would you want to do that?"

"It can't be any harder than life here," the boy protests. His
expression turns gloomy. "This place is awful. Even Cooder says
so, and he's been to other planets." He brightens. "Besides, if
I do my duty and do it well, I'll be rewarded. That's what the
Emperor says."

Qui-Gon's expression turns stony. "Is that so?"

The boy nods vigorously and my heart sinks at the sight. "My
father was a pilot in the fleet. He was at the Battle of Twite
and he killed a ... a ... oh, I forgot their name. But it was a
Republican villain, one of the sort that held a lightsword."

My hand tightens around a tea glass and it nearly shatters in my
grip.

The boy's eyes take on a faraway look and I can see visions of
imagined glory playing out before him. "He deserved to be
blasted, that's what my father said. He was a villain, killing
innocent people with his lasersword, making the rest do his
bidding and saying he'd kill them as well. Oh, what were they
called again?" The child's brow furrows. "Wait ... Jedi Knights.
Yes, that's what they were called, the villains. My father
killed one of them and maybe if I'm lucky, I can kill one someday
too."

I take a glance at Qui-Gon's devastated expression, his pale face
suddenly old, ancient and exhausted, in the dim light of our hut.

Kill a Jedi?

Oh, child, I think mournfully, perhaps you already have.

The storm shields beep, then automatically lower, signaling the
end of the sandstorm. Hastily, I turn to the boy. "The storm has
passed, child," I murmur. "Perhaps you should be on your way now,
as your mother must wonder what's become of you."

"Oh!" The child leaps up, throws his arms around Qui-Gon's neck
and hugs him with a shy grin. "Thank you. And, I'm sorry. I
won't trespass ever again."

"Yes." Qui-Gon nods, but he is no longer looking at the boy.

I gently steer the child toward the door. "Off with you now. And
mind the Raiders on the way."

He nods and I watch as he runs off, the dust flying up behind his
running feet. Checking the shield, I make an adjustment or two
before turning back to Qui-Gon, who has left the table and moved
over to the divan by the window, his face drawn and unreadable.

He stares out the sunshield, out over the wastes, but I know he
sees nothing. "Little boys used to look up to Jedi Knights," he
murmurs hoarsely. "I remember how they used to follow us through
the streets, so many running about our feet they'd get tangled in
our robes."

"I know." I touch his cheek and brush away the wetness that
lingers there. "I remember as well."

"And now ..." He turns away, crushed.

"He's but a child, Qui-Gon," I say quickly. "He only knows what
he's been told." I rub his back in slow circles, feeling the
tension beneath my fingers. "It's the Emperor speaking, not the
boy."

"Are they all being taught this?" His voice sounds hollow. "Are
all these children being told that we were villains? Murderers?"

"Probably. But we know the truth. If Fate is kind, history will
bear us out."

"And if it's not?" He stares at me, and those blue eyes are so
full of pain and sadness, I can hardly bear the sight. "What if
we are forever remembered as such?" His lip trembles. "The Jedi
will truly be dead then. Dead forever."

I have no response for this, except to take my lifemate into my
arms and hold him tightly, resting my cheek against the short
silver strands of hair that have only begun to grow back. He
curls against me, seeking comfort, and how it hurts to feel him
so vulnerable ... so fragile.

Again I resist the urge to whisk him away, to take him to
Alderaan and let him grow hearty and well again in peace. But he
won't go, this I know, and besides, this is our home now ... and
always.

He peers up at me and smiles weakly, obviously reading my
mutinous thoughts. "You know, I'm almost getting the urge to go
watch the feeding tomorrow," he jokes.

"Alas, the meal we'd like to see served isn't available, love,"
I chuckle. "Besides, Palpatine would probably enjoy his thousand
year stay in the innards of a sarlacc ."

"True," Qui-Gon admits, his mood lightening. He wraps his arms
around my waist and grins mischievously. "But while we wait for
such happier days ..."

I roll my eyes theatrically. "Do you have any idea how much work
is left for the afternoon?" A familiar shiver thrills up my
spine as he takes my hand, turns it and kisses my palm. "Trans-
vaporizer checks, security shields to repair, sand clearing from
the generator, water renewal measures ..."

The kiss works its way up my wrist until he finally tugs me down
and I don't resist. We tumble onto the divan as I continue to
list my chores. "... speeder navigation to install, roof flaps
to nail down ..."

Eventually, his lips find mine and silence me, and I can hear the
wind pick up against outside as another storm approaches, its
howls echoing through the canyons, fierce and musical, and it is
the song of our home.

It plays as he moves against me, now skin to skin, a welcome
heat. This is magic, his lips against my throat, his hands
pulling me close and the winds grow louder playing a song that
will stay with us and define our future, no matter what Fate
might hold in store.

For we are still alive, us wizards of the wastes and we will
never forget our past.

We will remember and that will be enough.

-------
finis