Disclaimer: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and all other Star
Wars characters belong to George Lucas/Lucasfilm Ltd. I am
merely borrowing them without permission for this fanfic, and I
don't make any money off it. I know that Mr. Lucas probably
won't approve of my treatment of the characters, but I do hope
that he won't sue me.
Rating: PG.
Warning: This is a slash story. Nothing explicit, but there are
hints of m/m.
Note: I may not have some of the dialogue right, as I'm basing
this story on the comics adaptation, Terry Brooks' novel, and
what I remember of "The Phantom Menace". A potentially fatal
combination, I know. My apologies for any mistakes, as this
hasn't been beta-read.
Archiving: Please ask first. I'm likely to give permission.
Enthusiastically. ;)
Feedback: Very welcome. This is my first slash fic, and
I'd love to know if I did an adequate job, especially the
characterization. No, I'm not nervous. Why do you ask?
<removes fingers and teeth from bent keyboard>
Dedication: For Joanne, who asked for this. Are you happy now?
Acrid smoke hung in the chill night air, stinging his eyes.
Obi-Wan Kenobi blinked, slowly and deliberately. The solemn,
almost emotionless mask hid his thoughts, but even an observer
without Force sensitivity could see the tears pooling around
those blue orbs.
He dipped his head slightly, so that the shadow cast by the
hood of his Jedi robe protected even more of his face. Beside
him, Anakin Skywalker stared at the still form on the burning
pyre. His eyes were wide, disbelief lurking under hard- learned
stoicism. The Jedi Knight could read his thoughts, so similar
to his own: "He can't be dead..."
Obi-Wan let his gaze linger on the face of his late Master,
holding back bile as the bitter scent of burning hair reached
his nostrils. His mind knew and accepted, beyond a doubt, that
the fleshly shell was all that was left of Qui-Gon. His spirit
was gone, returned to the Force... and no longer in the
physical world.
The young man was re-learning the painful truth that the heart
does not always agree with the mind, becoming a beast with
fangs of sorrow that threatened to tear his calm apart. Only
stern discipline prevented him from hurling himself onto the
pyre, to rescue the man he had called teacher and friend for
years.
He can't be dead...
The fire crackled and flickered, sending sparks to brighten the
gloom seconds before they turned to ash. In the heart of the
flames, Qui-Gon lay calm-faced within its warm embrace. Death
had smoothened the careworn lines, glossed over the inner fire
which would have rivaled his funeral pyre. A log split open
with a loud crack, and the ever-hungry flames licked his Jedi
robe into ashes.
Obi-Wan barely suppressed a start, feeling tears threatening to
escape its fragile confines. He half-expected his Master to
rise from his slumber, weaving the flames around him like
burning wings. A phoenix made manifest, driven by the
restlessness of an all-consuming passion. His was a fire that
warmed even as it consumed itself, quenched only by the
coldness of death.
Wind blew smoke onto his face, hot and fleeting and painful all
at the same time. Like the final touch of his love, callused
fingertips reaching for one last caress even as the spirit
leached out of the flesh. He forced himself to watch as the
inferno blackened Qui-Gon's fingertips, as if in a desperate
attempt to impart life to the cold body. No, he would never be
warm again -- not by the brightest stars, not by a funeral
pyre, not by tortured prayers.
... can't be dead...
He had unreservedly shared that warmth with Obi- Wan, first as
a Jedi Master to his pupil, then a man to his friend, and for
the last few years... the Jedi Knight closed his eyes, briefly.
Too short a time for a cautious exploration of the heart, the
blossoming flower cruelly cut off in spring.
But the blink in time was long enough for him to crave
Qui-Gon's impassioned embrace, the silky rain of brown-gray
hair against fevered flesh. Qui-Gon's touch had been so gentle,
holding back the blaze to allow his apprentice to catch up and
warm his hands before dancing with fire.
Phantom murmurs brushed against his ears, bringing back
conversations of the recent past.
"Why do I sense we've picked up another pathetic life
form?"
"It's the boy who's responsible for getting us these
parts."
Under the reproving words, silent but clear as the ringing of
heavy bells, was the reminder that he too was once a "pathetic
life form". A Force- sensitive who almost did not walk the path
of Jedi Knighthood, nearly forced to turn to alternatives he
considered second best.
"Promise me... promise me you'll train the boy."
Anakin shivered beside him, despite the heat. Sorrow bleached
his face of colour, becoming a canvas upon which the red-gold
light played its merciless theatre. Qui-Gon's last legacy,
bestowed upon him. No declarations of love, but a gesture of
trust, of knowledge that he would not let down his Master.
"He is the chosen one..."
Obi-Wan clenched his fists, ignoring the nails cutting into his
skin. Their love would always come second, as much as it was
treasured. The passion Qui-Gon shared with him was a banked
hearth compared to the conflagration that was his gift to the
universe, the zealous will with which he would champion causes
in defiance of the Council.
Bold, headstrong, stubborn, restless... Obi-Wan had heard all
these whispered among the Jedi, many of whom looked with
narrow-eyed disfavour upon his Master's undertakings.
"It will be his undoing," prophesied some, nodding their heads
knowingly.
And at last the fire did turn upon itself, setting into motion
a chain of events culminating in the thrust of a red-bladed
lightsabre. Death, fleet of foot and as inexorable as a comet,
wasted little time in claiming its latest gem for the Force.
Wasn't I worthy enough for you to live? came an
anguished cry deep within his thoughts. The lips he longed to
press against his own was silent, the soul who once animated
them beyond his reach.
A storm of self-pity roiled expectantly, but he turned away,
ashamed of himself. I couldn't do anything to help him,
he rebuked himself sternly, pushing away the nagging guilt and
doubt to a corner of his mind. Except give him my word.
His gaze fell on Anakin, who looked up as if sensing Obi-Wan's
thoughts. He asked, hesitantly, "What will happen to me now?"
His Master's conviction of the boy's part in the future
replayed in his memories, sharp and bittersweet.
"The Council has granted me permission to train you," he
answered. "And I will keep my promise."
The flames at the edges of the pyre were beginning to die,
leaving behind smouldering embers. But as the night wind blew
softly over them, the fire regained new strength, illuminating
Qui-Gon's face.
I will keep my promise.
THE END
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