OK, this one is All Laz's Fault. She mentioned singing, and I
got to thinking... So yes, this is a songfic, but as you can
tell from the title, it has a role to play in the story, not
just the narration.
Disclaimers, warnings, summaries.
This story may be archived at M_A, or it can be found at my
site www.jbx.com/~gila
Feedback welcomed! gila@jbx.com
Song lyrics copyrighted 1997, Indigo Girls. Written by Emily
Saliers. Used without permission.
Thanks to LapisLaz for betaing this. All mistakes are thus her
fault. :-)
He was staring at the ceiling. Obi-Wan wasn't sure, at the
moment, which ceiling it was, whose room he was in, or even
which planet or ship he was on. He didn't want to know. If he
extended his awarness beyond the ceiling he would realise that
beside him, the bed he was lying on was empty.
It was a wholly bare ceiling. Very little about it could
capture one's attention, but he tried hard. He focused,
concentrated, and when that began to falter he searched for
something to see in it. Faint lines from whatever substance had
created the ceiling could be seen, if one looked close enough.
He knew his eyesight showed him less there was to see than had
he closed his eyes and used the Force. The Force would have
shown him every line, crack, and faint spot in the entire
ceiling.
The Force would have shown him the emptiness beside him. Within
him, too.
So he focused his eyes on the ceiling. The light was fading and
soon he would have to choose another distraction. He wasn't
sure, but he believed there were no lights in this room to
switch on, to create an artifical glow by which to study the
ceiling. Perhaps there was; he dared not move to search for
one.
He dared not move his head.
It wasn't supposed to hurt like this. He tried to cut off the
thought, but it pried its way inside his mind, fighting past
the palisades into his awareness. It did hurt. And thinking
that made him remember why it hurt. He turned his head.
There was nobody there.
Obi-Wan rolled onto his stomach and pillowed his head on his
arms. It wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in, but
he was hardly sleeping anyway.
For six days -- or so he thought, it might be seven or five --
he had not slept. He'd meditated, he'd sat with Masters Yoda or
Bartri or Delin, he'd read the words of the "Morrisate" over
again. But the words of the Jedi both past and present failed
to soothe his heart. Wise philosphies designed to teach and
enlighten, failed to remove the aching inside.
His mind understood what death was. His heart only knew his
Master was gone.
He buried his face and surrendered himself to another night of
emptiness and pain. Perhaps he was no true Jedi, if he could
not even move past this. He wanted to scream at the emptiness
-- you never told me it would hurt. You never told me you would
die. The calm, apathetic words would come at him again, he
knew, and he would feel as if he should be able to let this go.
But the grief was too invasive and it would not let him free.
He should be able to let this go. His Master was not really
dead, he was merely one with the Force. It was a state of being
which Obi-Wan himself could achieve at times, through his
meditations and certain exercises. A state where the mind
itself turned off and there was nothing, but the Force.
But whenever he tried now, he found nothing but emptiness, a
missing voice in his heart and mind, and a missing body at his
side.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Obi-Wan tensed. He hadn't even
felt anyone enter the room, so who-- He rolled over, and cried
out.
"Shh, Obi-Wan," his Master said.
Obi-Wan ignored him and sat up, throwing himself forward into
the insubstantialness that should have been there. Qui-Gon
caught him.
Obi-Wan said nothing; there was no longer any need to ask or
demand any of the things he'd told himself he needed to hear,
just one more time before he could release his Master into the
death that had claimed him.
He felt Qui-Gon holding him loosely, and Obi-Wan made no
attempt to move, afraid suddenly that any motion might disrupt
whatever had allowed his Master to be here. He felt Qui-Gon's
hand on his head, then a soft, bemused, beloved voice was in
his ear.
"You must sleep, Obi-Wan. There is much to be done, still."
"I know. I'm sorry - I can't. I've tried, I've tried
everything. But I can't sleep without you." He had tried
everything, even asked the local healers for something that
would make him sleep. But nothing had worked. Every time he
closed his eyes, he felt everything that was gone.
Qui-Gon tightened his embrace briefly, then let go of him,
placing his hands on Obi-Wan's arms. Qui-Gon looked at him,
sternly, but with a softness that Obi-Wan had seen in his
Master's eyes for years, every time Qui-Gon had looked at him.
"Lie down."
"But--" he wanted to stay there, stay there forever. If he
moved away, Qui-Gon would leave again.
Qui-Gon touched his face; his hand was already growing more
indistinct. Obi-Wan stifled the urge to grab it. "Lie down."
Obi-Wan swallowed, and did so. He lay on his back, but as his
Master's request he closed his eyes. He felt Qui-Gon's hand
light on his chest and took a shuddering breath. "Master...."
"Shh. You must sleep, Obi-Wan."
Faintly, Obi-Wan protested again. "I can't."
A hand brushed through his hair -- growing out, now, though of
course it wasn't yet noticeable. Not unless one saw the freshly
cut hair where once a braid had grown. Otherwise, he still
looked... felt... like his Master's apprentice.
He took another deep breath, and tried to relax. Qui-Gon was
right, he did have to sleep. Eventually; surely a few
more minutes talking with Qui-Gon couldn't hurt? More, he
amended. Surely nothing could hurt more....
"You haven't been able to let go."
The words weren't the accusation Obi-Wan heard in the other
Masters' voices, though accuse they did not mean to do.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Do you remember our lessons, Obi-Wan?"
It was an absurd question. Obi-Wan felt sure he could forget
nothing. That was the entirety of his pain, in fact. He cold
not forget. But he nodded; Qui-Gon wasn't asking to be foolish.
"Everything in its own time, Obi-Wan. Even this. You can accept
this. You must, or you will not make it."
"I know. I know," Obi-Wan replied, knowing the words he'd been
taught. Jedi knew these things, they desired the possession of
nothing. They accepted, they endured, they sought for nothing
of their own. They obeyed the will of the Force and accepted
the Force as the only Reality. Everything else was just crudity
of form, a distraction of the mind.
Obi-Wan could repeat chapter and verse of every text which
explained. It didn't help him let go of his Master. It didn't
erase his grief.
But he found that he was relaxing. Perhaps it was his Master's
presence, a reminder that he was never truly gone.
Perhaps it was simply his presence, which had never failed to
make Obi-Wan feel better, regardless of the situation.
He opened his eyes. "Master."
Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes, Obi-Wan?"
He swallowed. "Thank you," he whispered.
Qui-Gon nodded. "Can you sleep, now?"
"I... perhaps." He wasn't sure. He would still wake up alone,
and he would still have to spend the next few hours knowing
that if he woke before dawn, there would be no one else there.
But he felt almost relaxed. He felt silly, asking, but he found
himself asking anyway. "Would you please...."
But he didn't have to ask. He rarely did, Qui-Gon always told
him he could read Obi-Wan's eyes as clearly as, if not moreso,
he could understand each intonation of his voice. "Close your
eyes, then."
He did so, feeling faintly childish. The feeling vanished as he
heard his Master's voice singing softly.
/Remember everything I told you, keep it in your heart like a
stone./
/And when the winds have blown things round and back again/
/what was once your pain will be your home./
/All around the table, white haired men have gathered,
/spilling their sons' blood like table wine./
/Remember everything I told you, everything in its own time./
/The music whispers you in urgency/
/hold fast to that languageless connection./
/A thread of known that was unknown and unseen, seen/ /dangling
from inside the fifth direction./
/Boys around the table, mapping out their strategies;/
/Kings all of mountains one day dust./
/A lesson learned, a loving god, and things in their own time/
/in nothing more do I trust./
/We own nothing, nothing is ours/
/not even love so fierce it burns like baby stars./
/But this poverty is own greatest gift./
/The weightlessness of us as things around begin to shift./
/Remember everything I told you, keep it in your heart like a
stone./
/And when the winds have blown things round and back again/
/what was once your pain will be your home./
/Everything, in its own time./
/Everything, in its own time./
Obi-Wan woke to find the sunlight peeking through the slats of
the shutters. He rolled over, and found the bed empty.
Reflexively he felt out for Qui-Gon; the tendrils of the Force
recoiled as he remembered. He was alone. Qui-Gon was gone.
He rose, then, and went to sit in meditation.
In the quiet, he heard the words repeating again. The wind
rose, and fell, and with it Obi-Wan found a sliver of peace,
once more. He heard Master Yoda's voice, from a lesson long
before. Luminious beings are we, not this crude matter. Force,
not flesh, is what we are. See this before you with your mind
-- it is not real. What is beyond, that which sees, that which
feels, that which exists when the mind has ceased its thought,
in meditation, that is real. Everything, it is. Nothing, it is.
That which the mind and body desire, is as fleeting as the mind
and body, themselves.
Words which meant so little when one was in pain, Obi-Wan now
recalled with clarity. He began to think of them, repeat their
meanings in his mind. But then the wind touched his face again
with the barest impression on his skin, as had his Master's
hand when he had gone.
He turned towards it, searching, fleetingly. Then he stopped.
The wind died.
And Obi-Wan released it. He smiled.
He bowed from where he sat and whispered, "Thank you."
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