Jedi Solstice

by Merri-Todd Webster (lonchura@yahoo.com)

Archive: MA only and at my page, http://www.ravenswing.com/~lonchura/.

Category: Drama, Q/O

Rating: G (did I really write this?)

Warnings: Nope.

Spoilers: Nada.

Summary: Total holiday schmoop! Um, I mean, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan join their fellow Jedi for an ancient annual ceremony.

Feedback: Off-list or on at lonchura@yahoo.com

Comments: I was about to leave for work when the live broadcast of Lessons and Carols from King's College, Cambridge, came on our local public radio station. Cursing my luck, I lingered long enough to hear the processional, "Once in Royal David's City," the bidding prayer, and the first carol, "In Dulci Jubilo." Then I hurried to work with this story writing itself in my head. I have now written a holiday story in all but one of the fandoms I've written; maybe a Velvet Goldmine bunny will bite me one of these years. Happy holidays, listsibs!

On the longest night of the Coruscant year, the Jedi returned to their Temple to celebrate the solstice.

The tradition had been carried out for thousands of years. After the sun set on the shortest day, the Jedi gathered in the Great Assembly Hall of the Temple and stood in silence beneath its dome. Those who were away on missions, at other temples, or in retirement returned to the center of the Republic and of the order if they were able. Transports flocked from the most distant parts of the galaxy and left brown-robed passengers on the lofty landing pad of the Temple. The citizens of Coruscant watched the streams of vessels converging on the ancient high-towered home of the Jedi, and some of them, mostly humans, darkened their homes in token of joining the Jedi celebration. Festive lights would be lit in the darkened windows once the sun rose again.

In the depths of the night, Qui-Gon Jinn joined his fellow Jedi in the Great Hall. There was no light in the hall, nothing but a whisper of starlight visible through the small skylight at the top of the dome; he made his way to a spot among the others by touch and by Force-sense. His brothers and sisters gave way for him without speaking, without even a murmur of sound. It was silent in the Great Hall except for the breathing of a great mass of sentients, a polyphony of rhythms that gradually entrained with one another until Qui-Gon felt them all drawing breath and letting it go together.

In the darkness of the night they waited. Only the most sensitive hearing caught the slide of a small rear door as it opened. The rest of the waiting mass heard only a clear soprano piercing the silence and the darkness like a ray of light.

As always, the sound brought tears to Qui-Gon's eyes: a pure treble, the voice of a young boy or girl, rising in a wordless melody that was older than any memory, older than any records. Once when he was a young padawan, he had asked Master Yoda if they held the solstice celebration when he was a youngster. Yoda had cackled and replied, "Held it when the stars were new, we did. Hold it we shall till darkness falls."

A small flickering light now entered the darkness--a crystal lamp in the hands of the singer. Led by the young soloist, the white-robed choir of the Temple processed into the Great Hall, singing the Solstice Carol in a solemn eight-part harmony. Qui-Gon wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Long before he became a padawan, Obi-Wan had been the soloist at this ceremony; Qui-Gon had been struck with how strong and pure that voice was, and with the radiance of the little boy whose eager face and red hair were illumined by the crystal lamp. Perhaps he had fallen in love with his padawan then. Each year one of the initiates was chosen, often a human, though there were other races who sang exquisitely; the Temple initiates were members of the choir as part of their training. The adult members of the Temple choir were volunteers, Jedi whose love of music inspired them to lend their voices to the ancient traditions.

The gathered Jedi made way for the choir as it entered the Great Hall and circled the perimeter of the room, winding gradually toward the center. At the center of the room was a chunk of crystal in a metal base, an unassuming hunk of rock that tradition said had been mined on Coruscant by the founders of the Jedi Temple, the source of their lightsaber crystals. The members of the choir gathered in concentric circles about the crystal, still singing, then knelt in their places as the last chord of the Solstice Carol rang out.

Silence, and then a gong was sounded. Splendid in many-colored robes worn only at festivals, the members of the Council entered the Great Hall, walking two by two. Between each pair of Councillors walked one of the senior padawans, dressed in formal black and holding their sabre hilts upright against their chests; Qui-Gon's eyes sought and held his padawan, walking between Yoda and Mace Windu. How proud Obi-Wan had been to be chosen for this honor. The six padawans were led by the Councillors to positions around the central crystal; they faced it while the Councillors faced outward toward the crowd.

The little soloist, a blonde human girl with wispy curls and pointed features, rose and went forward and handed the lamp to Master Yoda, bowing. Bowing, he received it, then snuffed it with a flick of his finger. In the darkness, the gathered assembly waited.

The moment came, and Qui-Gon felt it: the moment when the energies of the star and the planet shifted, the change in positions which would cause the days now to lengthen until they were of equal length with the night, the exact moment of the solstice. At that precise moment, signaled somehow by one of the Councillors, the six senior padawans ignited their sabres and struck the crystal. Blue, green, amber, violet, rose, and yellow: the crystal, ringing like a bell, did not break apart, but kindled from within, until it glowed with a white radiance that swelled to light the entire hall.

Qui-Gon turned and smiled at his neighbors, embracing those who stood nearest him, as others tapped his shoulder or tugged his arm to embrace him. Still, no one spoke. When the whole hall was illuminated, the soaring walls, the patterned floor, the great white dome, Mace Windu began the litany, his deep voice carrying easily to all quarters:

"We remember our brothers and sisters who could not be with us this night."

"May the Force be with them," the Jedi answered.

"We remember the people of Coruscant, our neighbors and our friends."

"May the Force be with them."

"We remember the Supreme Chancellor and the Senate, who govern in peace and wisdom."

"May the Force be with them."

"We remember the citizens of the Republic, whom it is our duty and our honor to serve and teach and defend."

"May the Force be with them."

"We remember those on other worlds who do not live under the charter of the Republic, to whom word of the Force has not come."

"May the Force be with them."

"We remember all sentient beings who suffer, whether in body or in spirit, whether from want, from injustice, from illness, from imprisonment, from captivity, from ignorance, from passion, from malice."

"May the Force be with them."

"We remember that we are sentient, and mortal, and fallible, that though empowered by the Force, we are neither gods nor rulers, and that if we use the Force to gain power over others, we have fallen into darkness."

"May the Force be with us."

"May the light always return to us, brothers and sisters, and shine in our hearts."

"May the light shine in our hearts and may the Force be with us."

In the skylight overhead, at the top of the dome, the first faint light of dawn had appeared. The room was filled with the rustling of robes as all the Jedi present drew their sabres, raised them overhead, and ignited them, saluting the Light.

After a full minute had passed, a great cheer went up from the assembled throng. Shouts, howls, grunts, whistles, burblings, and every sound of joy that a sentient person could make bounced off the soaring walls of the Hall. Then the senior padawans, the Councillors, and the choir processed out, reversing the order in which they had entered, all singing together the Carol of the Light:

"Light from darkness,
Darkness bright,
Dawn returning after night,
We who serve will celebrate
And pledge ourselves to watch and wait:
Balance cometh to the Force,
Light and dark shall not divorce."

Slowly, with many good wishes and small gifts given to friends, the Jedi left the Hall and dispersed, some returning to their quarters within the Temple, others going immediately to the landing pad to pick up transportation off Coruscant. Qui-Gon met his padawan back in their shared quarters, where he had changed out of the formal black vestments into his usual tunic and trousers.

"Happy Solstice, master."

"Happy Solstice, padawan."

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan in his arms and held him for a long time, pressing his lips to the younger man's hair. Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his master's waist and settled close, as pleased as Qui-Gon was at having this moment together. It was not easy, being lovers as well as master and padawan, and the moments when they could turn to one another in this way were all too few.

At last Qui-Gon ended the embrace, to go and rummage in the one locked drawer of his desk. "I have a small gift for you, padawan--"

He turned back, only to see Obi-Wan, smiling, holding out a small package wrapped in glittery paper that magnified the light.

Laughing, they sat down on the couch together and opened their gifts: for Obi-Wan, a small crystal cut across to show a mysterious flame-like shape within its heart; for Qui-Gon, a hand-copied text of an ancient Jedi poem, suitable for hanging on the wall. Both gifts had been made by the givers, in spare moments since the last solstice.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

"Thank you, Qui-Gon."

Master and apprentice kissed as lovers while lights winked on across the city, and the sun rose over the Temple.

***

end