Funeral Blues
by Sapphire (sapphire@knuut.de)
Archive: m_a only please
Category: Angst, poem-fic (basically a song-fic, but using a
poem instead of a song <g>)
Rating: PG, for hinting of a sexual relationship
Warning 1: I've been to a funeral last week, so I'm depressed,
so this story is probably depressing, too.
Warning 2: My first language is German, not English. So, if
there should be any weird sentence structures, grammar or
strange usage of words, please forgive me. Meesa no speak
English wello.
Spoiler: TPM (is there really somebody out there who hasn't
seen the movie yet?)
Summary: Missing scenes from the movie, around the end
Feedback: Please, please, please ....(off list, as I'm not
actually on the list)
Disclaimer: Nobody is mine, they all belong to Lucas. The poem
used (without permission or even asking) is 'Funeral Blues' by
W.H. Auden (copyright April 1936)
Thanks to my beta-readers: on the German front Tanja and Rubin,
on the native-speaking front Jeden and Richel. Any errors left
are mine, mine alone.
Stop all the clocks,
cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking
with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos
and with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin,
Let the moaners come.
Obi-Wan entered the pavilion, the weight of his Master's body
heavy in his arms. Though Qui-Gon always had weighed more than
his apprentice, and carrying him was no easy feat, Obi-Wan
refused to use the Force to augment his load. Partly it was
because he was afraid of what he would find if he reached out
to the Force - darkness, light, nothing? - partly because it
was something he simply had to do.
A little over a day had passed since the battle with the Sith
Lord. A little over a day, since his soul had been ripped out,
and shredded in the wind. A little over a day since his Master
had died - and Obi-Wan somehow with him. He felt like an empty
shell, hollow as the pain of his loss echoed deep inside of
him. Were it not for the promise his Master had asked of him
with his final, shuttering breath, he would have followed him
seconds later.
He wasn't sure how he would be able to live without him. For
twelve years, Qui-Gon Jinn had been the center of his life, the
light he followed through the darkness and the loneliness.
First as his Padawan, his apprentice, and then as his lover.
Now, the light had gone out. Qui-Gon was dead.
// There is no death; there is the Force.//
Obi-Wan almost snorted as he heard the age-old saying whispered
in Qui-Gon's voice. 'I don't want the Force,' he thought,
directed at the voice in his head. "I want you to be with me,"
he whispered.
Gently he placed the body on the prepared pyre, pressing it
close to himself one last time, before he finally let it go. He
straightened the limbs, then took the arms and crossed them
over the still chest. Moving to the head, he smoothed out the
hair so it framed the face which once had been so full of life.
"Oh Master," he whispered, working hard on his control - and
failing miserably when the tears he had been holding back for
so long finally broke free. "How can I go on without you?" he
sobbed, as he slid down at the side of the pyre. "How...?"
Curling into a tight ball, he hugged his legs, burying his face
between his knees and let the tears run free.
He didn't know how long it had taken for him to collect himself
again. Luckily nobody had entered the pavilion while he had
leaned against the pyre so totally un-Jedi-like. He suspected
it had something to do with the guards Queen Amidala had
graciously provided to ensure his privacy while he prepared
Qui-Gon for the funeral. He would have to remember to thank her
for it later.
Gathering himself up, he turned his steps towards the exit,
without once looking back at the body. He knew if he did, he
wouldn't be able to leave.
Let aeroplanes circle
moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky
the message He Is Dead
Put crepe bows round the white necks
of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen
wear black cotton gloves
As Jedi tradition demanded, Qui-Gon was burned in the clothing
he wore on his last mission.
As the flames began to lick at the dark robe, Obi-Wan was glad
the hood of his own robe hid his face from the others. Somehow
it had surprised him how many people had come to the funeral.
The queen, yes he had expected her, plus maybe one or two
people from her entourage, and then a representative from the
temple to honor one of their own. But the pavilion, which
wasn't that small to begin with, was packed. The complete Jedi
Council was there, as was Boss Nass, with a delegation from his
people including Jar Jar Binks; the newly elected Supreme
Chancellor Palpatine, and many more.
On one hand it was a great honor, an honor Qui-Gon certainly
deserved. He was...had been one of the greatest Jedi alive, but
on the other hand, Obi-Wan's inner voice screamed, they hadn't
known him, not like he had known him, and they didn't have any
right to be here.
Tomorrow, they wouldn't think about him anymore, Qui-Gon's
death just a distant memory, pushed aside as they celebrated
the freedom of Naboo.
A freedom his master had given his life for. A freedom which
had destroyed Obi-Wan's soul.
A tug at the sleeve of his robe caused him to turn his face
towards Anakin.
Huge, blue eyes looked up at him, a fraction of the pain
Obi-Wan felt inside reflected back in those eyes, and Obi-Wan
found he couldn't hate the boy, as he had thought he would.
Qui-Gon's last words had been reserved for this boy. He had
been begging with his last breath for Obi-Wan to make sure
Anakin would be trained, burdening the young man with a task he
didn't really want. Knowing his Padawan wouldn't refuse and
thus making sure he would live on.
For a moment Obi-Wan wondered if this had been the reason
Qui-Gon had asked him to train the boy. To make sure there was
something which would keep him among the living, even if he
didn't want to. For a moment he closed his eyes in denial,
knowing his master well enough to know better. Qui-Gon had
known how important it was to train Anakin. The fact this young
boy had managed to destroy the droid control ship almost on his
own had proven that to Obi-Wan without a doubt. At least the
temple seemed to accept that now as well.
"What will happen to me?" the boy asked, his voice close to
breaking.
"The Council has granted me permission to train you. You will
be a Jedi," Obi-Wan whispered quietly. 'I promised this to
Qui-Gon, and I will make sure I fulfill that promise.'
He only hoped he would be able to live up to Qui-Gon's
expectations.
He was my North, my South,
my East and West,
My working week
and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight,
My talk, my song;
I thought love would last forever:
I was wrong.
The flames had died down, and the last of the smoke had drifted
out through the hole in the ceiling. Outside the sky was paling
in the light of the first false dawn.
The others had left hours ago, leaving him alone. He hadn't
really noticed them leaving, though for some strange reason he
seemed to remember the queen asking him to come with her to the
palace and get some sleep.
Sleep. He almost snored at that thought. How would he ever be
able to sleep again? Just the thought of lying down on a bed
without the strong arms of his Master surrounding him,
enveloping him, filled him with so much pain his heart
constricted. Making him wonder for a moment how it could be he
still could feel his heart, when he had thought it was gone.
He knew eventually his body would betray him, and he would be
too exhausted to stay awake, but this wouldn't happen for a
long time, if he had anything to say about it. After all, being
a Jedi meant being a master of one's own body and he had gone
without sleep for prolonged stretches of time before.
As the first rays of the morning sun touched the roof of the
pavilion, Obi-Wan rose. He moved over to the entrance of the
building, where a plain, unadorned wooden box sat, and picked
it up. Allowing his hand to travel over its smooth surface, he
carried it over to the remains of the pyre.
The box was old - very, very old, passed on from one generation
of Jedi to the next. Its origin was hidden in the mists of
time, and nobody really knew anymore on what planet the tree
had stood the wood had been carved from.
Gently brushing some of the ashes aside, he placed the box on
the stone slab the fire had burned on. Gathering some of those
still warm ashes into his hand, he opened the box with the
other. Hesitating only for a second, he let the ashes go, the
gray dust gently flowing through the air and into the box. He
scooped up another handful, and then another, taking his time
filling it.
When he was done, he closed the lid. Tomorrow, the box would
travel with him to the temple on Coruscant. There, in one of
the gardens, he would empty the box, mixing the ashes with the
soil, enriching it. It was the last service a Jedi rendered,
after a life so full of service to others. Through the ashes
and the soil, new life would grow, a living memory for every
Jedi to come.
It was an ancient tradition, one Obi-Wan knew his Master
approved of. Maybe he'd put the ashes underneath that Sequitian
tree where Qui-Gon had liked to meditate. In the spring the
tree was usually covered with millions of white blossoms,
making it appear as if it and the ground around it were covered
in snow. Obi-Wan always had been able to tell if Qui-Gon had
been there, as the blossoms had the tendency to cling to every
surface, particularly a dark brown master's robe.
Yes, Qui-Gon would like it there.
Picking up the box again, he left the pavilion, stepping out
into a world without his Master. It was a dark world waiting
for him...
The stars are not wanted now;
put out every one;
Pack up the moon
and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean
and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now
can ever come to any good.
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