The light seemed to drift down from above, little orange and gold specks dancing through it. Obi-Wan slowly came back to consciousness, fear gripping him. Where was he, what had happened, where was Qui-Gon?
As his skin slowly began to regain feeling, he felt a soft pressure against his hand, the feel of being held. He sighed softly, trying to look around. Qui-Gon sat next to him, one hand clasped in his, the other working a holotransmitter.
"Yes, my Master," Qui-Gon was saying. "We will return to Corcusant as soon as possible, as soon as Obi-Wan is fit to travel."
The reply was inaudible, and Obi-Wan felt himself drifting off again, but a sudden memory checked him, guilt searing his conscience.
"Ma-master?" he whispered, the words far more difficult to form than they seemed in his mind. "Did the Grogans sign the treaty, or did I screw all that up?" The short sentence seemed to take an age to say, and Qui-Gon bent close, listening intently.
"They signed the treaty, Padawan." His hand, holding Obi-Wan's, seemed to caress it just the slightest bit. "Do not feel guilt. You did well."
Qui-Gon bent down, and kissed Obi-Wan's forehead softly. "Sleep, my Obi-Wan," he whispered, "and be well."
Obi-Wan felt himself falling, still held by his Master.