Warning: Musings on death after the "incident that didn't
happen"
Spoilers: TPM
Summary: Obi-Wan grieves at his master's pyre. Set at the final
scenes of Phantom Menace.
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to GL, story line
belongs to me; cash not received nor asked.
Feedback: Talk dirty to me: ms_elektra@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Title and much of the fic was heavily inspired
by a song--Aeone's haunting ballad "Message in my Heart." It
can be found at http://www.aeone.com (well worth checking out!)
The cremation of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was long and
exhausting for all who witnessed his return to the Force. So
many present at the steps of the Temple to honor the fallen
knight, so few who truly knew the story of this special man's
soul. Only one who grieved with the whole of his being. To
those present, Obi-Wan Kenobi--perfect picture of what a Jedi
Knight should be--stood proud and regal next to his new
padawan, but inside he ached. His tortured thoughts and
memories burned through his lamenting mind though he carefully
shielded them from any who might overhear. Only his anguished,
smoke-crystal eyes told of the truest thoughts he held back
from the inquisition of the outer world.
He would have wept openly the moment the pyre sparked to life,
save for the small boy at his side. He needed to remain strong
for Anakin, and establish himself as a powerful master like his
lover. The other knights stood stoically around the bier,
watching their fellow be returned to the Force. For them, as
for the child, the concept is an abstract. For Obi-Wan, it is a
harsh reality--the Force pulling, dragging, devouring,
destroying, propelling Qui-Gon far from Obi-Wan with deadly
flame and choking soot. Just as he could not have lept through
the killing energy beams to preserve his lover's life, Obi-Wan
could not move any closer to the pyre than he already was; the
barriers between the two men forced Obi-Wan to once again be
the impotent observer in his master's destruction. His body
ached with the need to comfort Qui-Gon during this difficult
journey as he had held him when he died, but this was a
solitary mission in which he would not be allowed to accompany
his master. He held his shaking self together with invisible
Force-arms, using his precious recollections to give them
familiar strength and length as he watched his life fall apart.
His beautiful long hair was the first to go into the intense
flames. The grey highlights flashed brilliant burnished gold
for a brief moment before they blackened and disappeared.
Obi-Wan could remember waking up early many mornings to see a
far more comforting fire glinting off his soft mane. How it lay
fanned out and tussled, as though he had woken and purposely
arranged it so perfectly just for his Obi. How Obi-Wan loved to
rub his cheek against the greying silk-covered pillow, so close
it was as though they were one being; his Master's hair his
own, their bodies inseparable. A brief flash of regret as
Obi-Wan realized too late he should have taken a lock as a tiny
token of their love, a tangible memory to serve him through the
long stretch of empty nights laid out before him. There was
nothing left of the lengthy tresses now, and perhaps it was all
for the better--better to let go than to live in the past and
allow the grief to rot inside him.
Every red-gold lick of flame across his master's features
tugged at that extraordinary place in Obi-Wan's heart that
Qui-Gon's life once occupied. His face was imprinted on his
mind, but memory was little substitute for the real thing. He
had loved to look upon that strong countenance, whether it was
during an important lesson or while they made love. The man had
no idea the kind of devastating effect his voice and eyes alone
could wrought. Transcending age, species, gender, and
socio-economic status, Qui-Gon's sensuality was a potent
convergence of the Force. He needed only to stick his left big
toe in a room to cause the erotic energy to skyrocket. Young
girls blushed, wives threw away their wedding rings, old women
fainted. Men gazed in helpless wonder. Animals trailed his
wake. Worlds stood still. Gods wept. Watching his presence
slowly be forever obliterated from the world they had shared
was an interminable eternity of pain and suffering for Obi-Wan.
As the flesh blackened and was obscured by greedy, smoky
flames, the wind picked up the flaking ash to make the motes
dance in the lights of Coruscant night. Ghosts sang through the
enclosure and touched Obi-Wan's ears with their whispers,
assailing him with yet another remembrance of those myriad,
hazy nights he had lain with his love. As they would languish
together in the darkness wrapped in ecstasy and each other's
arms, Qui-Gon would whisper Obi-Wan's name like a prayer,
worshipping at the temple of his body. The wind merely carried
the memory, not the mellifluent words he so longed to hear a
final time. For Obi-Wan, there would be no more whispered words
of devotion and affection, only the few treasured moments
captured like holopictures in his mind.
Hours passed. Mourning came and turned its decayed face to
afternoon. The embers smoldered, but their thin red glow and a
pile of ash was all that remained of the great fire, and a
great man. So happened to him, so happens to us all. In the
early hours of the morning Obi-Wan had sent Anakin off to
their--his and Qui-Gon's--quarters to prepare for the
celebration. The dignitaries filtered quietly away one-by-one
as each in turn deemed the time appropriate to make their last
farewells. Even the Jedi Masters abandoned the smoking rubble
once the body was completely consumed. Only Obi-Wan stubbornly
remained, refusing to leave his Master behind. Not yet. Not
ever.
The wind had died down somewhat with the afternoon's heat, but
soon it would return to whisk away all evidence of love in
Obi-Wan's life. He held off the rising breeze for as long as he
could with a Force shield, but he would not be able to hold on
to his lover forever. His every breath was thundering loud in
the death-silence surrounding the pyre. Feeling his invisible
embrace on his lover's body dissolving under the rising wind,
Obi-Wan stepped near the cloak-brown ash and fell to his knees
in a posture of meditation and dedication.
"Can you hear me, Master?" he called out to the sky in hopes
his voice would reach across the great divide to his beloved's
ear.
"You once told me that Time is a Healer of broken lives, but
where is it now? Where is my existence without you? I don't
feel healed, Master. I barely feel alive." Tendrils of air
current broke through his control in small bursts, catching a
smaller pile and skattering it over the city-world.
"Life is a gift, you said. Precious and small; so easily lost.
So painful to let go. You were my gift, Master. My life. My
love." As tears mixed with the ash, more ghostly whispers broke
through his shields. More blessed dust fell as an enigmatic
benediction upon unsuspecting persons below. Would they know
the ash for its exalted consecration, or would they flick
Qui-Gon off their jackets in annoyance? Salty sobs escaped his
mouth as the last of his control was ripped from his soul. The
winds captured the sound, wrapping it protectively around the
particles of his heart as the pyre shattered explosively.
It was over in seconds what had taken hours--decades--to
accomplish. All that remained was a light, dusty outline of the
bier and a shattered young knight grasping at the fragments of
his life.
There is no measure for grief. When the pain is the strongest,
time and reality cease to exist on same plane with the
abandoned heart. It was only the incongruous sounds of joyous
celebration that drew Obi-Wan out of his sorrow. He lingered a
few seconds more, trailing his fingers through what to others
was insignificant dirt, to him more precious than a heartbeat.
His serenity returned, he stood and left the Temple steps
without a backwards glance.
In the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, as the rest of
Coruscant celebrated, a single shaft of light escaped the
towering buildings to highlight the message of a heart left
behind by the grieving warrior. Traced in the echoes of a life,
three single words served as the eloquent eulogy.
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