Archive: Yes! Master & Apprentice, my homepage
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Category: Angst, Point of View
Rating: PG
Warnings: Implied m/m relationship, angst
Spoilers: yep - post TPM
Summary: Obi-Wan reflects on his time with Qui-Gon
Feedback: Please! It's my first fic outside of Highlander
fandom though.. be kind.
Notes: Prequel to this story in progress from Qui-Gon's POV
tentatively titled "One Look, One Kiss"
Disclaimer: They're not my toys, I borrowed them from George.
I'm a starving undergrad, so don't sue me.
There is something truly mystical about fire. It destroys
unmercifully, severing flesh from bone, consuming all in it's
path. It also cleanses, purifies our sins, unites us with the
Force. It is the urge that we come to know as lust. It is the
rage that tempts us, and seduces us to the Dark Side.
Fire is perhaps the one word that best describes what we were
to each other, Master.
I first felt the fire at age thirteen. It was when the fever
was running rampant through the apprentices in the Academy. Do
you remember, Master? You sat awake at my bedside for nights,
encouraging me to drink the sweet healing elixir. You laid
cool, gentle hands onto my forehead and I felt the living Force
running through you and into me.
In three days time the fever finally broke leaving me as weak
and pale as a newborn. I remember most your infinite patience
at my slow recovery. You'd cut short my training sessions at
the slightest sign that I was tiring despite my doggedness to
continue. I would act annoyed when your hands brushed my
forehead making sure the fever hadn't relapsed. In reality I
was so glad for your concern and care.
The fire returned at age seventeen when in a fit of frustration
over my failure of a lesson I burst into bitter tears in front
of you. The humiliation of it stained my cheeks burning crimson
although I heard nor felt a reprimand from you. Instead, you
spoke comforting words of encouragement and asked me to work on
gaining patience. You told me not to cry, and that we would
work on trying the lesson over the next day. I believe I was
unable to meet your eyes for a week afterward, so deep was my
shame.
At age nineteen, on a mission far from the comforts of
Coruscant we kneeled together in meditation, no different than
any other day. When I was finished I looked at you and saw you
gazing at me with a strange look in your clear blue eyes. That
one look, quickly veiled when my eyes met yours, ignited
something inside me evident with an immediate arousal.
I felt as if I had gone completely mad when I answered that
look with a hasty but loving kiss placed upon your lips. It was
the first time I had ever dared such a gesture, and to this day
I still don't know what possessed me to do it. Over the years
you had shared small gestures; a playful ruffling of my hair, a
supportive hand on my shoulder. None of these signs of
affection were unusual between Master and Padawan.
Everything I knew would be changed by the effect of one look. .
. and one chaste and loving kiss given in return. In your arms
I learned the meaning of the fire of passion. The all-consuming
desire reshaped us into secret lovers, destined to keep silent
due to the code that bound us.
We spent late nights talking about the future, the time after I
had passed the trials and you said that I would finally be
yours in every way. Both of us knew that you had already
claimed me, heart and soul, the very day you chose me as
apprentice. Your claiming of my body came later.
Fire. . . that was the rage that nearly consumed me two days
ago. The sight of you falling from the Sith's blow felt like
ice in my veins, only to be changed into pure white hot fury as
I attacked. Even in my blind anger, I felt the shame of your
disapproval in what I was doing. A Jedi must endure. . . a Jedi
never gives in to anger. . . a Jedi only defends and never
attacks. The Dark Side was remarkably close, and the Sith knew
it as well. My rage was transformed into pure power and I felt
the cold chill of how close I came to succumbing to it after I
struck him down.
Perhaps your death in my arms was punishment for my
carelessness.
Now I can feel the heat of fire again as I stand at your
funeral pyre. It strokes and caresses my face almost like the
softest touches of your hands. If feels as if my heart is
breaking as I gaze upon the long form of your body slowly being
consumed by flame. There were so many nights I spent pressed
close to that same body. . . nights that will never happen
again.
All of my Jedi honor is lost with the tears that well up in my
eyes. I can't hold them back, even with the humiliation of
weeping in front of Master Yoda and Master Windu. Again I feel
the bitter burning sensation of shame. There is no death, there
is only the Force. No matter how much belief I have in the code
I can't refuse to grieve for you. I can't purge the fear of
living without you.
Remorse and fear, Master. Have I learned nothing from your
lessons? I am failing you still. My tears are falling like the
did as I held your weakening body and you reached up to brush
them away with a silent reprimand. I was not to weep for you.
Master, I cannot keep myself from doing so.
At my side, Anakin looks up at me with wide, blue, trusting
eyes and I wonder if I once looked that way to you. I have no
doubt that I did; you were my hero.
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