Series: Eighth in the "Colours" series, after "Blue", "Red",
"Green", "Yellow", "Purple", "Orange", and "Indigo".
Webpage: the bare skeleton of one is at:
http://www.geocities.com/soho/studios/1126/
Rating: NC-17.
Warning: Implied slash (m/m) content. Character death. *Dark*.
Archive: Yes to StarWarsfic, M_A, or anyone else who might want
it.
Notes: I don't use betas. :( Any mistakes are solely my fault
and the fault of my *#^&@ spellcheck. ** is used for
emphasis, // for thought. Any weird characters should be hunted
down and killed.
Spoilers: Oh, yeah, for the end of TPM.
Summary: Qui-Gon's final fall.
{These last two were written together; perhaps they should be
stuck together, as "Black and White". . .anti-colours. It
seemed appropriate.}
"Black"
by MonaR.
monaram@yahoo.com
He wonders why I know him.
His Master has told him that they are unknowable, at least by
us, but his Master only knows us as a whole, only knows the
difficulty the Jedi have seeing the Darkness. I have no such
difficulty; it is like looking in a mirror, cracked - he is
half of myself.
You are the other.
I know now that neither one of us will survive this, my
Padawan; I can *feel* it. I grow weary of this game that we are
playing, and I think perhaps it is time to finally show my
hand. If there is more to this life to come, I do not wish to
see it. You will forgive an old man his dying wish; for all of
us, in the end, it is merely to be allowed to die.
He is surprised by me. I have already begun the process; I can
feel my arms growing lethargic and heavy, and the 'saber does
not move in my hands the way that it should. I wonder, when it
comes, will the blow be all that I have hoped for, all that I
have lived so long for? I fear not. I will not survive to
savour this final kiss, my Padawan; Death will not be kind to
me.
I will fight on, until you are closer; I need you to *see*. Do
not call me cruel for this final wish, my Padawan; I have been
far more cruel to you in your life, and you know of my love.
You must let me grant you your freedom from me.
**********
Understand that I could not have taken the boy on, no matter
what I have said in anger about it; you have already taken too
much from me, my Padawan. I am only half what I was when we
met; the other half has absorbed fully into your body - your
blessed body. Would I have loved you as I do if you were less
beautiful? Would you have been as beautiful if I did not love
you? I began to die when we met, my Padawan; I shrivelled and
greyed and aged while you blossomed, until your shining beauty
was an ache to my eyes that I can no longer bear to see. The
light in your eyes is the same one that I used to see in the
mirror; that is why I have tried to hard to temper it with my
lessons. I do not want to feel your body anymore, Padawan; I
grow weary. I grow weary.
Do I dare to look at you one last time? Is your sex hard for
me? Do you long for my touch? Will the others be enough, when I
am gone, or will you give them up? Will you punish yourself as
I have, and will you grow to love the touch of only your hands
upon your body, and become addicted to the pain and pleasure
that can only be self-inflicted?
It is a hard life, my Padawan. Never let it be said that you
were not warned. And the boy is yours - my legacy. Our child.
What a perverse thought that is, and perfect. I wonder if his
mother knows that we are both his father - that she was merely
the vessel for our love? The boy will be beautiful; he could be
nothing else, as your son. He will bring the balance to our
world that I have so long sought, as mine. It is almost ironic
that I will not live to see it.
His confusion is wounding him; he is unsure of where to strike
the blow, and his hands are not as steady as they should be. I
see that I will have to still myself, and guide him. I will
allow him the one place I could never allow you, my Padawan:
inside me. Perhaps there he will discover all of my secrets.
The blow is not a sure one; I am still alive when he withdraws
from me. Oh - the heat, Obi-Wan, the *heat*; it is like sex and
pure sunlight. How long has it been since I've called you by
name? Have I forgotten myself? The ache runs through me - I
wish to see the scar. I reach out, but I have no hold on
anything - everything is suddenly so far away, and I can *feel*
it, and taste it. Death is a taste in the mouth, my Padawan,
bitter acid and warm copper, and heat. More heat than I have
known before, save for in your arms; you have taught me how to
give in to that heat. I reach out to embrace it, and find
nothing but air. This fall is a long one, and your voice,
keening, wounded even more than myself, echoes in my mind.
He is satisfied with your suffering.
He wonders why I am, as well.
**********
I cannot raise my head to watch, but I can feel your anger,
feel the suffering blows you are inflicting. Oh, my Padawan,
you must not forget yourself; you must focus, and end this. You
must not blame him for your anger; we both know who is to blame
for that. I will not allow you to think that this easy end is
enough for you; I have taught you better than that.
The boy, my Padawan; remember the boy. I will give him to you,
when this is over, if you will just end it.
Yes, my Padawan, yes. Strike him down; focus all of the anger
and hatred and all of the love that you have ever known. Strike
him down, and earn my legacy.
You have surprised him, my Padawan; I can feel it. I wonder if
he was a worthy apprentice to his Master. I wonder if he was
loved, as you are.
The feeling is leaving me, my Padawan. I cannot move my legs;
this numbness is overwhelming, the heat turning to cold. You
must end it, now; I need to sleep, but I must not close my eyes
until I know.
The darkness is calling me, my Padawan. Perhaps -
It hurts to breathe, so I will breathe. The world has grown
silent; the only thing I have left to hold on to is the pain.
You are here, with me; you must be alive. I will open my eyes
for you, my Padawan.
Did I ever look into your eyes this closely before, my Padawan?
Did I ever see the colours before? Blue, green, yellow, purple,
red - your eyes should be black, my Padawan; all the colours
are there.
"it's too late - "
Forgive my final lie, my Padawan. It isn't too late; we both
know that. I am close, but you could run, bring someone to heal
me; we have brought back others, farther gone than I, others
who shied away from Death in their terror. But I have Death in
my grasp, my Padawan, and I will not let go, not even for you.
You must listen to me -
"promise me - "
Your eyes are raining tears onto my face, my Padawan. I can
feel them. I can hear my breath, through the gaping hole in my
body.
You must listen.
"train the boy - "
I can see your lips moving, my Padawan, but you make no sound.
Oh, your skin - your skin is cold, and wet. Or is it my hand? I
cannot hold it up to you much longer, my Padawan. You must
understand what I mean when I touch you. You must make your
promise to me, and let me go.
"he is the chosen one - "
It could not be you. It could never be you. You were always
meant to be mine alone. It was foolish of me to ever think
otherwise.
"he will bring balance - "
The pain is leaving me, my Padawan. It is seeping away into
nothingness.
"train him - "
Did I tell you that when I was a child, how I was afraid of the
dark? My Master used to steal into my room in the middle of the
night and turn off the light that I slept with; I would awaken
in terror, paralysed to my bed, sure that the demons were
underneath, ready to swallow me whole. It wasn't until I
learned to look into the darkness that I could let myself lie
in it, without fear.
I cannot stop living, my Padawan. I did not know how hard it
would be to stop. You must help me - bring your lips down to
mine. Cover my mouth with one last kiss. Hold your breath, and
mine, and do not let me go.
Yes, my Padawan. This is it, the final lesson. You will be a
great Jedi Knight. Do not let them tame you.
I have taught you to see through the darkness, my Padawan, and
to never to be afraid of it, as I was. Do not forget.
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