spoilers: set during and post tpm, plot spoilers if you've not
seen the movie ;)
feedback: yes, please! :D
I am not a young man any longer. I have not rested these long
years that I have served the light. With time I have grown
strong and weak again, from my youth supposedly seeking nothing
but this moment.
Twelve minds, twelve pairs of eyes honed bright with years of
their craft, and my shoulders ache with standing so upright.
Smooth dark face of the man I called master, wizened quick
glance of the tiny master from whom we have all learned.
What master would not dream to find the chosen one, all
unexpected, the Force unfolding with unselfconscious glory from
his halo of sandy-bright hair? What master would not exult to
have the honor to train such a one?
I fear I have forgotten what I fight for. A storm is brewing on
the horizon of this unknowing child. He must be taught-- see
how the future uncurls from the curiosity in his eyes.
And such a renegade as I, who better to take him in and train
him... The Force sings with the round completion of it all, so
much is meant to be. Master and Padawan.
Feeling the pull I place my hands-- so sure, so callused beyond
the clumsy hands of youth-- on the boy's shoulders. Everything
should fall into place, the shadows should begin to fade.
Instead, they deepen. And I can hear the raw tumble of your
thoughts just over my shoulder, though I know you try
teeth-clenchingly hard to keep your feelings from me.
Apprentice mine, you need not speak your mind for me to know
it.
I cannot want what I must want, and yet I do... a twisting knot
of need and fate constrict my heart.
I already have a Padawan.
And though he is not bright-edged with time and destiny, he has
been chosen--
A mind recoils necessarily from such strong thoughts, doesn't
it, Padawan? So I have taught you, so my master said to me.
Balance in all things. But a seething youth at my elbow does
nothing to enhance my already shattered concentration; the
half-glimpse of your uncertain frown between those familiar
brows... My breath comes hard, my thoughts fly apart.
I was not made to bear such a weight. I close my mind to doubt
and to the hot angry beating of your heart, apprentice mine.
And I can feel the betrayal in your naked eyes.
Anakin cannot feel your pain as I can; his heart trips with the
sudden freedom that comes with promised apprenticeship. Giving
your life to another to gain it back again. A boy with your
smile and your eyes once had such an eager heart-skip look as
he became my padawan. But a distance has fallen between me and
that young man. There is little more that he can learn from me.
"Master, I know it's not my place to argue with you about the
boy." Your deferentially inclined head, your blue eyes not
meeting mine. I have taught you too well. Your voice is barely
above a whisper, but anyone who knows you could see the twitch
of your lower lip. A nervous trembling, anger buried, and the
tremulous ache for forgiveness.
I resist the urge to draw my cloak closer about myself in the
moist chill air, keeping my arms crossed to maintain the
appearance of calm. This planet did not feel so cold before.
All things seem deep and shaded with the ghost of withdrawing
warmth, after that sandy sun-baked world where our lives
changed.
Unfair, to feel that way. Each place touches us, each new life
encountered adds layers to our own. Our lives are always
changing.
For the first time since coruscant I allow myself to meet your
eyes. Compassion surges, threatening to swallow me alive-- such
a young look on your grown face. you know I have seen the
uncertainty in your eyes, don't you? You do not know if I shall
forgive you.
Obi-wan, there is nothing to forgive. What kind of a master
have I become?
I want nothing more than to touch you, to still the tiny spasm
of your lip with one slow fingertip. Some things my hands have
learned these many years, gentleness and strength and warmth
and skill. But they have not learned how to touch to ask
forgiveness from the one dear soul most hurt.
I do not know when I started down this path, Obi-wan; I did not
know it would carry me further and further from you. Or perhaps
I did know-- it may be why finding the boy was such a sunset
ache, such a feeling of ending. To find what I have always
thought I was searching for, only to realize--
An old mind shuts down after a certain amount of pain. My hand
blindly seeks your warmth, finding your shoulder and resting
there of its own accord. Words to express how impressive you've
become, how grateful I am to call such a one my student and my
friend.
And perhaps it is the terribly temporary feel of your simple
spun robe beneath these old fingers, or the beckoning rest at
the battle's end, but I cannot turn away before I earn your
smile. "You are a wiser man than I." The upward almost-shy
curve of lip is such a reward...
I blink at the intensity of my own response. "Master--" you
say, and I remember to exhale. The Force shines along your
words in ways I'd never noticed. Someone has trained you well.
Your smile angles like the reckless adolescent I remember.
"Don't center on your anxieties, Master." Your eyes are bright
with mischief, and something deep and ageless. "Keep your
attention on the here and now, where it belongs."
The smile surfaces in spite of me, and I wonder if I sound so
vauntedly wise when I recount my Master's teachings. "No," your
light voice is quick to follow, "you do not, Master."
Smooth young fingers-- and yet skilled in their craft, learning
more swiftly every day-- reach up to touch mine. The contact
thrums into my blood. "I was only trying to make a point."
And pointedly you cradle my hand, feeling young and awkward
again, in your own. I never thought to hear my own words echoed
quite so, with the cadence of my own speech breathing in your
voice gone husky. "Your focus..." and your eyes lock with mine,
never letting go though my self reflexively twitches under your
tight scrutiny, "determines your reality."
Some mental barrier crashes and falls burning into nothing in
my mind. Before i can stop it, my mind shines sloppily over the
edges, truth of me shimmering unguarded through.
Yearning not to be ashamed, I cannot help but think it.
~Council forgive me, Anakin forgive me, Force forgive me, who
is my chosen one?~
You catch the bright droplets of my aura like spilling honey on
your lips, and you drink my unprotected essence across our
shared forged bond. My being opens, only to you... and I can
form only one word. I may be a foolish old man with consuming
dreams and jedi principles, but to have each hardened fingertip
against your sardonic lips, pressing hesitant hot kisses into
my callouses, is nearly too much for the mind to bear.
"Padawan--"
Your grin lights up the swamp chill of the evening. "I may be
ready to face the trials, Master, but I am always your
Padawan."
Headstrong reckless boy, but already the protests are dying on
my tongue, because your hands are in my hair, strong and
smelling delightfully of you, warming my face. "Not always,
young Padawan. Some things must necessarily end." My thumb
traces the slant of your lower lip. "But you shall always be--"
Impatient as ever, you press your lips up to mine, and I tilt
my chin to claim your mouth. Some things the master shall learn
in turn from the apprentice, and you have always been masterful
at kissing. The sweetness laps over me in quickening waves, a
hand in the soft fuzz of your hair, twining unconsciously round
your apprentice braid. Strands intertwined, like lives woven
together, always touching and gathering breadth from each
other.
You interrupt, voice insistent against my cheek. "I know."
I tangle my hands in your robe to draw you close against me.
And even as you leave a trail of kisses down my throat,
murmuring your understanding in the back of your throat, a
myriad of deep shadows go skittering away, and I can lose
myself in the promise of your bright hot shelter.
For you-- for you-- for you-- It burns on my heartbeat and each
ragged breath. For you, Master. See how well you have trained
me. I will do you proud. Dancing mad and fierce with the
Sith who has had your blood...
You are still with me; I can feel the Force's ebb and flow, a
corona around you. Stay, Master. Something inside of me is
sobbing. Stay and watch your Padawan dance. And win--
I am knocked off balance, a well-placed swing of my saber
misses its mark completely. A tattooed face is almost grinning;
he must know my concentration is easily shattered. And then I'm
falling, a blast from his hand and I'm gripping wildly at
handholds, dangling down the reaction shaft. My lightsaber
clacks past me and for a moment I am numb, my heartbeat still.
The living Force is pooling around you, drawing you into
itself. I can feel your soul lapping away... and yellow demon
eyes drink in my despair. Nothing left to lose.
The resolve flows from a calm inner space I didn't even know
of, a wash of high clear strength singing on the Force.
For you. The Sith has forgotten about your lightsaber.
For you. Open the mind to the pulse of energy around, live in
it, glory in it-- leap tremendously, lightsaber smacking
solidly into waiting palms, pivot and spin, ignite and--
~For you.~
Not anger that skirls along my veins but an intense need to
give, to repay you for all you have given me. Swallowed
into the Force for that one instant of clarity; I can almost
feel your smile.
But the battle has taken too long, even those few moments were
too many. Your lightsaber feels suddenly cold and foreign in my
grasp. Do not just leave, dear Master-- do not go gently into
the oblivion calling you. I am here, Master... do not
leave me behind.
Some calm part of my mind is appallingly rational. A Jedi
welcomes death in battle, fighting darkness to the end. You
have vanquished so much darkness through your years, Master;
you have given hope and light to so many-- to me-- so why do I
feel so cold?
Your head in my lap, squeezing your hand as if the brushing
contact of fingers might hold your life to mine. My heart
refuses to slow, a battle-fast cacophony in my chest. My voice
breaks like the child I was when you found me. I long to speak,
but I dare not break your fragile concentration, terrifyingly
final.
The last words you speak to me are of the boy. The sharp memory
of yellow-red eyes eats the despair from me, but cannot stop
the tears. A wave of protectiveness sweeps over me-- the boy.
He too will be left behind; I will not be alone in missing you.
Without you. But oh, my Master--
You actually lift your hand-- I know the effort it costs you,
dear Master-- and those calloused fingers I know so well caress
my cheek. Aching for your touch, I seek to memorize each warm
whorl of fingertip in whatever moments of your time you have
left to give me.
I am all out of balance and I know it, anchoring myself on
something that is slipping away. But your last breath is soft
and hot against my face and it is all I can think of, inhaling
hungrily to catch your essence, leaking through you into the
Force surrounding us.
I do not remember moving at all, nor wrapping my arms around
your body and lifting you away from that agonizing inner
sanctum. Where darkness and light clashed, in an instant of
brilliance, and both lost.
I do not remember laying you on the Nubian marble, save for an
image of your eyes closed as if in sleep, and your magnificent
hair spread around your face. Only dimly do I recall heading to
the main hangar, to find your brown cloak where we shed them,
disrobing for combat...
As I walk into the hangar I can barely hear the exulting cheer,
the happy din that rolls off my aching ears. The boy is there,
hoisted on Ric Olie's shoulders; he has been a hero. It is like
darkness falling away from my face that he sees me-- his
unselfconscious smile is resonant in the Force in a way he
cannot know.
Your cloak is in my hands, barely warm from the mere minutes
ago you stood at my side. Perhaps I am crying again at the
touch, but Anakin meets my eyes and he knows. He lowers
himself in a blond flurry from the victorious perch of
shoulders and runs to me.
Grieving you, I think blindly, to throw himself childish and
wailing on what belonged to you. The mental image shifts and I
feel humbled-- that was myself. Anakin runs surefooted and
without any questions he throws his young hero arms around me
and hugs me tightly.
~So sorry, so sorry...~ he thinks, words escaping the confines
of his mind with the strength of his emotion.
My voice dies as I try to speak words of comfort to the boy,
because belatedly I realize that he is speaking wordless waves
of comfort to me.
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