Warning: the following story contains implications of a m/m
relationship.
Disclaimer: all hail the mighty Lucasworld.
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Category: POV, severe angst, character death
Rating: PG
Summary: A very short 'vignette'-fic, set in the 'Illumination'
series (and I thought I stopped writing for the series. Nah.
Plot bunny bit --- and bit hard)
Dedicated to all M_A listsib.
I watch the fire burn before me like some creature with live
tongues of flame. My tears seep through my eyelids. I feel
hollowness in my chest and a pain that doesn't seem to go away.
It only deepens as the fire consumes everything in sight.,
trailing across the corpse on the pyre and eating it.
I hurt terribly.
He is gone. Somewhere in the Force, he is there, waiting for
me. Then, why am I still here? Why am I still alive?
NO! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!
I try to call back the serenity, the centered awareness. But I
fail miserably. I can feel the hot tears spilling down my
cheeks.
The memory of him falling falling
NO!
The hollowness grows wider, the pain sharper and persistent. I
clench my hands into fists, dimly aware that Master Yoda is
delivering the eulogy. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut.
Why do I ever bother? Why am I here?
The heat from the cremation is intense. I can feel it on my
skin, whispering across my face. It reminds me so much of him,
kissing my cheek tenderly. His hand is on my face, gently
stroking. He is quietly talking to me, his voice a deep rich
rumble which I draw comfort from.
In my mind's eye, I can see the bond rent apart, its edges
fraying in the wind, looking like some jagged wound. Wound. I
bleed inside and I am slowly dying away.
Something crumbles in the burning pile, sending sparks into the
sky. I see the released doves winging their way into the
heavens. If only I can do the same
I stare, finally dry-eyed, at the sparks. They remind me so
much of drifting petals, swirling in the wind. Spring blossom
petals.
He was grumbling that day, wearing the luxurious wrap-around
gown for some reception I can't even remember. A Jedi cares not
for luxury, he was saying to me. His deep blue eyes sparkled;
he was amused though. I wanted to tell him that he looked so
beautiful in the gown. The fabric was made of the finest
silk-thread and the entire gown was embroidered with tiny
flowers.
The flowers glistened gold under the light. He looked radiant
in the gown, even though he scowled darkly and told me about
Jedi austerity.
On the same day, he wrote me a short poem:
Now then,
For my journey to the yonder world
I'll wear a gown of flowers.
The poem chilled me to the bone and I immediately sat down,
blinded by tears. He gathered me close and we both sat
together, unable to speak.
No, he isn't wearing a gown of flowers now. The fire is still
burning. I can hear the snap and crackle of the disintegrating
branches.
He is gone. What can I do now? Should I throw myself into the
fire, to join him in death? We were Bonded by Force-fire and we
should die together with fire.
No, this isn't what he told me to. 'Train Anakin.'
I agreed, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Then, when all is done, I will leave.
-finis-
Author's note: the haiku was originally by Setsudo, a 18th
century poet who died at the age of sixty-one. The Japanese
version :
Ima zo kiru
Nori no tabiji
Hanagoromo
Hanagoromo: "gown of flowers" is an elegant kimono worn during
the cherry-blossom season in the spring. The expression is also
used in a wider sense for "fancy dress," but Setsudo who died
in spring, was no doubt thinking of the cherry blossoms
themselves.
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