Warning: the following story contains hints of m/m contents. If
you are easily offended by homosexuality, please leave. If you
are below 18 and is below legal age, leave, press back, delete
...
Disclaimer: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan belong to the mighty
LucasWorld. This fic however is mine and mine alone. Its not
for profit, only the satisfaction of my readers.
Archive: MA archive (?), personal homepage
Fandom: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
Pairing: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan
Category: POV, angst, hurt/comfort?
Summary: Sequel to "Crimson Velvet, Cloth of Gold", Qui-Gon's
POV, companion piece.
Warning: Movie spoilers predictions death
Rating: PG-ish, with NC-17 leanings (language)
Feedback: yes! yes! yes!
Have you ever seen a sunrise on Coruscant? Have you admired the
golden sheen coating the metallic spires as the sun begins its
gradual climb? On a clear day, Coruscant's towers shine as if
they are consumed by fire. Sometimes, the glow is so bright it
hurts the eyes. Yet, sometimes, the gold is muted, almost
gentle.
Stand beside me.
Look. The city of Coruscant has turned into a sea of golden
fire.
Why are you so quiet? Are you still furious at me?
You are standing next to me, the rising sun's rays turning your
sandy-brown hair to bronze strands. You stare resolutely ahead,
refusing to look at me.
Do you blame me for accepting this destiny of mine?
Destiny. It is there like the sun. You can't change the sun's
path nor destiny itself.
I admit it wasn't easy for me to accept death as part of my
destiny. It is the way of the Force. Callous, you might say.
Callous, painful.
Last night, you blamed our Fire-Bond. I could feel your
frustration and your sorrow when you railed at me, your eyes
flashing.
Even now, you have raised your shields, barring any form of
communication. You are still angry at me, I can tell. I place
my hand on your shoulder and I can feel you stiffen
immediately. You have that serious expression, the solemn
unsmiling look which I hate to see on your youthful face. I
have no choice but to remove my hand and I can hear you sigh
softly.
I want to hear a word from you
"Obi-Wan, proceed to the meditation room. We have idled here
long enough."
I have reverted back to the 'teacher' role. Cool, aloof. A
teacher, yes. And no more.
You bow slightly and walks away quickly.
I have indeed hurt you made you sad.
Observing you as you meditate, I feel the familiar rush of
warmth in my chest. Serenity has smoothed your face, the boyish
charm is back. I resist the desire to walk over and scoop you
up in an impulsive embrace.
I have never regretted initiating the Bond with you. I have
long since felt your love for me and you were so pleased when I
reciprocated. I never knew how powerful the Fire-bond was or
how deeply affecting it is for those who have Bonded. The Force
acts like fire, annealing the Bond until it is strong.
Only Jedi who fully understand the consequences of the Bond
dare to carry it out.
Perhaps, I was so consumed by the passion of the fire that I
had neglected to pay more attention to you. Perhaps, I am just
a foolish old man, Obi-Wan.
Not to mention, selfish and narrow-minded.
Who put death in the equation anyway?
I leave you still quietly meditating, your breathing steady. I
walked to the study room where I prepare my writing quill and
ink. Then I begin to write
Fear no more the heat o'th' sun
Nor the furious winters' rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this and come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o'th' great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the rod is as the oak.
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this and come to dust.
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust.
I stop writing, aware that you are standing at the doorway,
looking in at me. I incline my head and smile a little. You
have a ghost of a smile on your lips before you disappear into
the kitchen area.
Fear no more the lightning flash,
Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust. *
Done, I leave the manuscript paper on the table to dry. I feel
weak and tired, as if I have transferred most of my energies
into the poem itself.
Later in the morning, I watch you pick the paper up. Your
shoulders hunch as if you are about to cry. You wipe your eyes
with your right hand as you read the poem. .
My heart constricts painfully but I choose not to say anything.
Now I stand alone on the balcony, observing the sunset. Once
again, the spires glisten with gold and shades of red. Soon
night will arrive.
I hear a rustle of robes and you walk up right beside me.
Then I feel your hand on my shoulder.
I smile to myself, keeping this moment as a memory dear to me.
So ends the 'Illumination' series for a while
* denotes a few stanzas from William Shakespeare's Cymbeline.
Qui-Gon's 'poem' can also be seen (and heard) from Loreena
McKennit's rendition of the same song with the same title in
The Visit. Thousand thanks to the immortal Bard and Loreena!
Archive 