The Hardest Time- Obi angst/ torture- Complete Dec. 24- Merry Xmas!

OK guys I'm not sure if I should post/ continue this.

Title: the Hardest Time
Era: JA
Genre: Angst, Obi-torture, semi AU.
Rating: PG 13, violence
Disclaimer: You know who don't belong to you know whom who in turn is not making any $$$$ off this story.
Summary: After a mission to the planet Ammar goes horribly awry, Obi-Wan is forced to survive very brutal conditions on his own.


Warning: This story features a child forced to survive through a very brutal slavery type situation. Offensive subject matter, and not for the faint at heart, but it does make for wonderful angst.








Obi-Wan Kenobi trudged back to his room in the dimly lit lower side of Ammar's capital city. It had not stopped raining in several days. The thirteen-year-old had been continually sent out to perform various errands and hard labor. Today had been the toughest day this week. He'd awoken with his head pounding and pain flaming in his muscles. But Jev Bree had allowed him no rest, and had only threatened him if he moved slowly. The Ammarian was a cruel master.

Master. He would never think of the Ammarian as his master, not after what he'd been through. Obi-Wan had been a Jedi once. He sighed. It was hard to believe that only half a year had passed since he had still been Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan. That one fateful assignment to Ammar changed everything. The two Jedi had been attacked. Qui-Gon had been killed, Obi-Wan captured and enslaved. A Force blocking collar had been placed around his neck, where it had stayed ever since. Consequentially he had not even been granted the closure of feeling his Master's death, or the opportunity to grieve properly. The only reason the Padawan had not been killed was because the men who captured him, injured and alone, thought he would make a decent slave. He'd been brought back to the city and sold to Jev Bree. Since that day, his life had been a living hell. He had tried escaping several times, but that only led to more beatings and the programming of his collar to shock him whenever he strayed too far.

He climbed up the long flights of stairs to his bare, dark room. Jev was already there, waiting for him. He looked furious.

"You're late, boy."

Obi-Wan could tell he was in trouble. But it wasn't his fault. The dealer he'd been sent to had refused to give him one of the parts he'd been sent to buy. Hastily, he laid his things on the table.

"Forgive me."

"Care to say why? No- on second thought, don't bother me with excuses. Kneel down."

Now it would come, he knew, and knelt forward obediently as Jev drew his whip. Obi-Wan gasped slightly as the leather crashed down against his back. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he fought to keep them in. The sharp sting of the whip further aggravated his already sore back. His torn, damp tunic offered no protection against the strikes. After a few agonizing seconds, the child's legs gave out and he crashed forward. The beating intensified, then, mercifully, stopped.

"I went easy on you this time, kid. Don't ever be this late again."

"I'm sorry."

"You'd better be. Say thank you, Master."

He knew of Obi-Wan's aversion to the word. It was another sore point between them. Jev seemed determined to literally beat the child into submission.

"Thank you... sir." The youth could not bring himself to call this man "master," not after years of Jedi training. Unconsciously he pawed at his collar as Qui-Gon's face rose in his mind's eye, bringing with it a fresh wave of grief. Even if anyone had cared to ask him, he would not have been able to put his loneliness and desolation into words. The brutal change in lifestyle he had undergone was by itself almost too much. He'd stumbled blindly through the first days after that horrible battle. He did not, ultimately, know which was harder- having been torn from Qui-Gon, or forced to live and work like this.

"Insolent, disobedient brat," Jev growled, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present. "You'll have no supper tonight." H

 

Interested. THAT WAS SO SAD!!

But very well done. And Qui-Gon is already dead - that's interesting, and a rather unique take around here. More, please.

 

I know I'm not patient but, Up, please forgive me. Anyone ELSE interested? I hate to beg but.....

 

post! post! post! this is very good. and i wonder how and why qui-gon died. also if the jedi are even looking for obi-wan or his dead master (if he is dead). so please post! post! update!

 

You weren't kidding when you said Obi-angst/torture, did you? That was so sad, but so incredibly short. Qui is dead, Obi had become a slave, and now is dead as well (I think he's dead - he isn't just sleeping, right?)

Aunecah

 

Ooooooooh! [face_shocked]

Very interested! Great start.

Now, I need more!

 

Please, may I have more soon?

 

J_K_H : I can't be sure, but I think this is a vignette.

Aunecah

 

Please continue - definitely, you have to continue with this!!!

Nicky

 

Obaona: Oh thanks! I'm so touched that you decided to check out my little fic. And that you actually liked it! Wow.
Kimberley: Hopefully the next post will answer some questions. [face_smile]
Aunecah: Thanks but this is not over yet! It's not THAT short! And Obi's not dead yet!
LuvEwan: Wow, thanks! You'll certainly get more very soon!
Jedi_Knight_Hunter: Yup! Absolutely.






Chapter II
"Somewhere Out There"


The tall man stood staring out the window of his sitting room. The dark Ammarian sky and pouring reflected his own deep deppression. The only thing he had known for the past three months was intense misery, since he had come out of his coma. Somehow, he had been injured half a year ago. Though his body healed well, mentally he was one the verge of despair. He could not remember who he was, nor anything of his life.

He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. The room was decent, even weloming, but nothing could relax him. His sleep- like his waking hours- was haunted by his loss. The memories he did no longer have were with him constantly, like another person sitting by him and taunting him. The need to know who he was burned in every fibre of this man's soul, giving him no piece. The healers assured him that his memory would return in time. The convalescent, however, had none of their confidence. Karam had mentioned once that he had the air of a nobleman from Ammar's northern region of Tulya. The name, like everything else, held no familiarity.

Kind Karam. The elderly Ammarian had been good enough to take an injured man- a stranger- into his own home from the healer's ward. It was no trouble, he insisted. However the charity boarder wished he knew some way to repay his benefactor- but how? He did not even know who he was. For all he knew he could be a nobleman or a beggar. There was no way for him to possibly know.

The man stood. He was alternatingly restless and lethargic, often feeling the need to walk the darkened city streets after nightfall. Karam worried for him. He didn't need it- already he knew the whole lower side of Ammar's capital. Sometimes, the darkness and the solitude provided a bit of mind numbing temporary relief, like a drug. Standing up he paced the small room as would a caged animal, before walking into the 'fresher and staring at his reflection in the mirror. Dark blue eyes gazed back at him out of a face framed by long graying brown hair.

Who am I? he thought, turning away unhappily. The only answer was the mocking, yearning tug on his mind, pulling him to places he could not possibly go. It was maddening. He was certain that soon he would lose his mind to go with his memory. The worst part was that he could not imagine any way to recover. Nothing stirred the ashes in his mind. He did not even know where to begin searching. The galaxy was a vast place- too vast for lost souls. The fever in his soul flared again, bringing with it the familiar drive for answers. Who was he, and what had he lost?

Well, I won't learn anything tonight, he thought resignedly, and went to stand on the balcony.

 

Oooooooooooooooo, intriguing twist, o-w!



So Qui's not really dead, either....

Well, I hope he gets his memory back soon, cause he needs to do some serious Obi-rescuing!!



Though, knowing you, I don't really expect that to happen anytime soon!

 

Hey obi-wannabe!
great story so far, yet so sad!
Intesting twist w/ Qui being alvie,
The amnesia part is interesting too...usually it's obi who's left braindead

good start!~
-s-wk

 

Qui-Gon can't remember who he is! That's not good. I wonder if Qui-Gon feels the bond between him and Obi, even if he doesn't know what it is.

Anyway, great post! More, please!

 

Oooh, most interesting, o-w.

Glad to see that Qui's not dead.

More please!

 

I LOVE THIS STORY!!! Gimme more!!!

 

::gawks::

 

Yay! A good Obi-torture story! Excellent.

So, we have a slave Obi and a brain-washed Qui. Just what the two boys need!

Great start!

KenobisGirl

 

Astro: Actually it won't be that long because this is a short story.... A VERY short story....
Snowbee: thanks! Yeah I thought I'd do something different, although not that original. This fic is my tribute to something else. Ten points to whoever figures out what that "something" is!
Obaona: We'll see. Next few posts and you'll have all your answers.
JS: Thanks. No problem!
LuvEwan: Thanks! Wow. More coming right up.
Saber: Thanks! I'll take that as a compliment.
KenobisGrl: Thanks. Yeah aren't our two boys lucky? ~sarcasm sarcasm~







Chapter III
"The Hardest Day"


The next morning dawned every bit as gray and wet as the previous evening. Obi-Wan awoke, and simply could not move. He was stiff from both the chill and the pain. The beating he had suffered last night had left him feeling far too weak to get up. He tried to roll over onto his back, but the skin was too senzitive, and it burned. The boy moaned. It was already light out. Jev would probably kill him if he didn't get up on time. But he just couldn't do it. He closed his eyes and pulled his thin blanket around himself, letting the minutes tick by slowly.

Finally a loud, furious pounding on the door frightened him into jumping up. He hastily dressed, ignoring the agony in his body, and ran down the stairs.

"Late again, are we?" his owner sneered. "Well, go on, boy, get to work. There's no time for breakfast for you now."

Obi-Wan was hardly even alarmed by this. Sadly, he was used to being starved and kicked around. He could get through another exhausting, cold, hard day- he hoped. He'd be hurting later, but for now he would just have to make do.





It was easier said than done. All day Obi-Wan was kept on his feet, cleaning, repairing things, and running out on errands. On most worlds, people used droids to complete such tasks. Here on Ammar, however, advanced technology was very expensive. It was far cheaper to take advantage of plentiful slave labor. No laws existed against it this far out into the Rim.

As he trudged through the muddy streets, the feeling of helplessness returned to Obi-Wan. No matter how many times he tried escaping, it didn't help. The collar around his neck ensured that. Each time he moved beyond a certain number of meters from Jev's home, it began to emit an electric charge, compelling him to return in order to get a bit of relief. And, sooner or later, he did. Always. Even now it had begun to tingle painfully. He hurried as much as he could, but was slowed by his weakness and exhaustion. The youth's legs could hardly support him, and he was quite faint with hunger. Somehow, though, he managed to get through the bleak, long hours.

Once he got home, however, things took a turn for the worst. He could tell right away that Jev was drunk and enraged over something. Naturally Obi-Wan was a perfect target for his anger. The boy recalled- too late- that he had not finished fixing the spare forward power generator. He considered trying to do it now, but did not have a chance. Immediately his owner was down on him, like a bird of prey.

"Come here, boy."

He hesitated, not moving beyond the vestibule, but that only made the man angrier.

" Now."

The next several minutes merged into a montage of horror for Obi-Wan - the strap, raised repeatedly against him, the yelling, the insults, the smell of alcohol, and smoke from the damaged power generator. By the time Jev was done with him, Obi-Wan was doubled over, bleeding, and literally ready to die. The only thing he could think about was getting away from this awful place. He did not care if it killed him. He had to get out of here- as soon as possible. Now. Pulling himself together, the boy dragged himself up the stairs. Once in his room, he did not even try to dry off his damp tunic. Right away he looked through his small attic. There was nothing that he needed. His lightsaber and all his other possessions had been taken from him. The one meaningful thing

 

You left it there?

*sigh*

Oh well. This post was very sad - Obi-Wan is so exhausted and spent that he doesn't even care to live, he just wants a few hours of peace. But great post! I can really feel Obi-Wan's despair, and I like the amount of detail you have in this.

Good job!

 

Why do bad things happen to good (sexy) people?! You better update very SOON, so I know Obi's okay...

 

Aw, poor Obi.

I need more now!

 

Wow- this is depressing.

I know I'm strange, but that last post seemed vaguely like A Little Princess. Hmmm. I draw the strangest connections...

Well written! I think I'll be checking up on this now and again...

 

Obaona: Thanks! Sorry I had to leave it at a cliffy. I tried to explain the back situation with little details in this. I'm writing a short story with a very complex back story, so I kinda have to.
LuvEwan: I think all the bad stuff happens to Obi BECAUSE we all love him so much. And don't worry, I pride myself on regular updates.
JS: No problem!
Kikeriki: Not that strange, seeing as that's where I got the idea from. Ten points to you for picking up on that!











A sound from across the floor caught the attention of the man who'd just entered. He listened for a moment. The noise seemed to have come from the back stairs leading up to the attic. A compulsion other than mere curiosity urged him to look for its cause. He stood and crossed the room quietly. He swung open the door and looked down at a small boy, huddled on the stairs.

The child trembled and stared down at the floor. He wore an old, ragged slave's tunic and a metal collar around his neck. He was wet and filthy. Ginger hair hung, long and matted, about his neck. He did not look up, and instead pressed back into the shadows.

"Don't be afraid of me," the man said kindly. Recognition came into the child's eyes as he glanced up.

"Master," he cried and flung his arms around the convalescent, who took a step back, not comprehending the situation.

"Who are you?" He regretted his blunt words, however, when he saw the obvious pain he had caused the young slave.

"Master, it's me, Obi-Wan. Your Padawan Learner. Don't you... remember me?"

"I remember nothing." Then he understood and the familiar burning need returned. "Do you know me?"

The boy pulled away a bit.

"Of course, Master."

"You're a slave?"

The young face tightened in sadness.

"Yes, but I was once a Jedi. So are you. That's when you were my Master, my teacher." The youth's pallor was absolutely striking. "They told me you were dead."

The man felt so torn in half that momentarily his own pain eclipsed the pitiful sight before him. He wanted so much to believe this unlikely angel of a child who had come and offered him his life back. But everything the boy had said sounded so unfamiliar. He couldn't accept a life that did not feel like his own. Jedi? The term brought nothing back to him. All he knew of the Jedi was what Karam had mentioned to him during the past three months. He stared at the child before moving.

"Here." He took a blanket from his own room and wrapped it around the small body. "You must be freezing to death."

"Thank you... Master. What's-"

"I don't know. I don't know what's going to be. What did you say your name was, again?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi. Master, you have to remember me. You have to."

"Do you think I don't want to?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I believe you, it's just...." His voice trailed off.

"I- understand, Master. I'm sorry too."

"It's all right." How strange it was to be called 'master.' It was a word he had always associated with the slavers of Ammar.

"Tell me everything you know about me, Obi-Wan."

The boy did so promptly. He listened, unable to believe that he was the great Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn of whom the youth spoke. It just did not seem real. How could that possibly be his life? He gazed down at Obi-Wan. He certainly seemed to be telling the truth, and yet it just did not feel right. It was possible, after all, that the child did not really know what he was saying.

"Master, you've got to believe me."

"It's not your integrity that I doubt."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know. It's very hard when I try to remember, and everything comes up blank. But enough about me. You must be half dead."

Obi-Wan grimaced. His Master did not know how close he was to the truth. The shocks moving through his chest increased, both in magnitude and in frequency. But that wasn't the worst. Even more painful was the fact that Qui-Gon did not know him. Seeing the sorrow

 

I'm still here. My mind is just too muddled from the lack of food to say anything more right now. Give me some time and I'll get there.

Aunecah

 

*snorts* That was a cliffie.

But great post! I feel so bad for Obi . . . he finds his Master, but his Master doesn't even remember him.

But great job!