The Book of Hours
by Ki
Warning: the following story contains elements of a homo-erotic
nature.
Disclaimer: all hail the mighty Lucasworld. I am not writing
this for profit.
Fandom: SW: TPM
Archive: the M_A archive, personal homepage.
Pairing: Qui/Obi
Categories: angst, POV, romance.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: This is inspired by the medieval book of hours, used
by personal devotional purposes. The story will be segmented
out into 10 different parts, each with its own title/theme.
Note: the quotations are supposed to be visual representations
from the devotional text itself.
Special thanks to ADM and Linda!
The old calendar
fills me with gratitude
Like a sutra
--- a haiku by Basho
The Book of Hours
(First Month: Winter Wanes)
"White snow begins to melt. Trees, bereft of leaves, are still
covered with layers of white. Beneath the trees, children play,
watched over by a protective Mother Figure. In one corner, a
boy child sits alone, his hand holding a small twig. He seems
to stare into the pale blue distance."
--- The Book of Hours, folio I, p. II.
My breath plumes white and feathery. It is cold but the sun is
shining bright. I walk behind my Master who seems to merge into
the surroundings effortlessly. I can hear some unseen brook
gurgling in the background. It sounds happy, as if it is glad
to be rid of the layer of ice that has kept it immobile.
My Master suddenly stops and he kneels, his hand touching the
hard frozen earth tentatively. For some strange reason, I
experience a thrill running down my spine, as if he is touching
me instead.
Winter wanes; spring is afoot. Am I trapped in my own winter?
Do I actually desire my Master's touch, like the earth beneath
my traveling boots?
"Obi-Wan," my Master speaks and I stop in my tracks, bumping
into him. I apologize, my face burning up with embarrassment.
But he smiles, his blue eyes sparkling with inner amusement.
"What are you thinking, Obi-Wan?"
"Nothing," I answer, hiding my face from his scrutiny. But I
know that I can't hide anything from my Master.
(Second Month: Festival of Lights)
"There is a river of lights running across the page. It looks
like a constellation of bright stars, vivid diamonds on a dark
background. Adults and children gather along its shores. Some
are bending down. Some are carrying small boats with tiny
votive candles. Framing the entire picture are more stars."
--- The Book of Hours, folio 2, p. IV.
I watch him play with the young initiates, helping them light
their candles. The Stream is already covered with
crescent-shaped boats, bobbing gently on the unseen current.
The small armada moves downstream.
I watch quietly, knowing that he is aware of my gaze. He shifts
slightly, his robe falling off his shoulder. A hand quickly
straightens them.
The wind is chilly and I pull my own robe around my body, glad
that the last vestiges of winter are already fading away. There
are still some cold mornings and even colder nights. My bones
ache and old injuries throb uncomfortably.
I used to love the Festival of Lights as a child initiate. As I
grew older, the excitement disappeared. The novelty is gone. I
enjoy watching the children play, reveling in the Living Force
pulsating around them. But the joy I had once felt has
dissipated.
There is a sudden squeal of delight from the children. Even I
have to smile. Obi-Wan has somehow gotten himself drenched. He
shakes his head vigorously, removing his sodden robe with
solemn dignity. Without warning, he flicks some water on the
group of children, and they scatter, laughing. He laughs,
running a hand through his hair. He glances over his shoulder
and catches me watching him.
>From where I stand, I can see his wry grin. He turns away,
gathering the children back to the group. He does his job well
as a caretaker.
I settle down on a smooth boulder, rubbing the kinks out of my
arm. I am content enough to watch my apprentice.
He shines with an internal light, even brighter than all of the
votive candles put together. I am at the risk of sounding
maudlin in my old age...
I chuckle softly to myself.
Sometimes, an old man should have the luxury to be maudlin.
(Third Month: Spring Begins)
"Trees are covered with budding green shoots. Emerald saplings
grow from the ground. Men and women begin to scatter seeds. A
flock of birds look like cursive handwriting across the sky.
The sun is a brilliant gold disc."
--- The Book of Hours, folio 3, p. VII.
Coruscant is not a rural community.
It is a city with glimmering buildings and shiny windows. The
idea of soft earth and running water seems alien in Coruscant.
Instead, there are ships in the sky, criss-crossing the
heavens. Birdsong doesn't exist. Spring has finally arrived but
Coruscant remains unchanged.
I can still faintly...very faintly...remember the impact of
spring in my family. They would be getting ready for the next
plantation. My first real memory was of my mother sorting out
seeds.
Then, I was brought to and raised in the Jedi Temple, and the
only contact I have had with the nurturing of plants was
through the Agricorps.
I wonder if my family still remembers me. Young Benjamin
Kenobi.
A rustle startles me and I turn, seeing only my Master, walking
in. He is carrying something in his large hands. I feel my
eyebrow lifting.
He is holding a flowerpot. I have to suppress a sudden desire
to burst out laughing. I observe him as he places it on the
table, holding back the questions.
"A gift from Master Re'lk," he begins. I blink. Master Re'lk is
in charge of the Agricorps branch on Coruscant. "I thought you
might like this..."
"Master, I ..."
"It's a fruit-producing shrub," he blithely ignores my
protestations. I look at it, admiring the oval-shaped green
leaves, the slender brown stalk and the tiny yellow buds that
would herald ripe fruit.
Without waiting for my answer, he walks away. I am left with
the plant.
I finger the leaves, relishing their cool smooth texture. The
plant looks relatively young and it will need a lot of care. I
sprinkle some water over the soil and leave it near the
window-sill.
Quietly, I walk to the meditation room, my heart unexpectedly
warm with joy. I calm myself quickly, letting the euphoria
dissipate away with slow controlled breathing.
Should I tell my Master about...?
I glance over to the study room where he sits in silent
contemplation. I am suddenly nervous.
(Fourth Month: The Day of the Triumph)
"Robed figures swirl fluidly, holding brightly-colored
lightsabers as they duel. A white star shines in the midst of
the darkness that seems to be driven away by the light.
Somewhere, there is a chasm and figures tumble into it
helplessly."
--- The Book of Hours, folio 4, p. VIII.
Fireworks blossom in Coruscant's night sky. They illuminate the
upturned faces and the different races gathered at the Jedi
Temple for the Celebration. Supreme Chancellor Valorum has
finished his speech, and there is cheering from the groups of
youths.
The Jedi Master stands quietly beside his apprentice as they
watch the fireworks. It is the Day of the Triumph, celebrating
the power of good over evil. Triumph over passion, anger and
hostility.
"Come, Obi-Wan," the Jedi Master rumbles softly. "We have to go
to the Main Hall for the feast."
"And endure another speech?" The apprentice remarks drily. His
blue eyes twinkle, but they are hidden in the shadows of his
hood.
"Patience, my young padawan."
They begin to follow the crowd of Knights and apprentices to
the Hall. They move with the flow, silent once more. The
fireworks are still booming overhead, sounding like mortar
explosions.
The apprentice halts and his Master turns, mildly curious.
"Master..."
"Speak up, Obi-Wan. "
"I..." The hooded face lowers, as if with great reluctance.
"Obi-Wan?"
"I seem to have...developed a certain liking for someone..."
The voice is soft, cautious.
There is a low chuckle. "Ah."
"That someone...is you."
The silence stretches between them, punctuated only by the
steady boomboom of the fireworks. The laughter and
conversations around them seem to fall away. The apprentice
seems to have withdrawn into himself, as if he is suddenly
contrite and fearful of rejection. The Jedi Master remains
inscrutable. Then, movement. He reaches out his hand and places
it gently on Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"I know."
The apprentice starts, but he pulls down his hood, fixing his
Master with a steady gaze.
Above them, the fireworks appear like orange and blue flowers.
(Fifth Month: Summer Starts --- Harvest)
"There are baskets of fruits. They seem to glow with a sense of
richness, of abundance. Children are picking fruit from the
trees. A boy child holds a large mitsa plum in his hand. The
Mother Figure watches over them, Her eyes benevolent. There are
more fruits in a corner and two girls can be seen eating."
--- The Book of Hours, folio V, p. IX.
The Xiaxun representative is generous. He gives us a tray of
their best summer produce when we retire to the guest quarters.
I have to carry the heavy-laden tray. I can smell the sweetness
from the plump, pink-skinned fruits. I resist the temptation to
touch one.
My Master flexes his shoulders, sighing to himself. The Xiaxun
diplomats are known for their excellent bargaining abilities in
addition to their renown for hospitality. Qui-Gon spent the
entire morning talking to the main representative. Now, his
face shows his exhaustion.
I smile and take a particularly large fruit. It is just ripe,
and I can feel the juices inside, waiting to burst out. The
skin is velvety, like the fuzz on my Master's arm.
I slice the fruit neatly into two halves.
"Here," I say, handing one to him. Qui-Gon takes it and nibbles
on the soft pinkish flesh. I smile once more, biting into my
own half. It is sweet, very much so. Juice runs down my throat,
between my fingers. I lick the trails away with my tongue. I
feel Qui-Gon's gaze on me.
"Let me go and fill the bath tub with water," I say,
half-embarrassed and half-elated. But my Master catches me with
his hand and pulls me close to him. He lifts up my right hand
and sucks on the fingers lightly. I control myself, but I can
feel the tremor in my legs.
I pull away and pad quickly to the bathroom. I fill the big tub
with hot water and scatter the dried petals all over the
glistening surface. I head for the door, only to find my Master
standing at the doorway.
He is holding the tray of fruits in his hand. There is a
half-smile on his rugged face. I can't bear it any longer. I
toss away my robes, loosening my belt.
Pleasure is one luscious fruit.
(Sixth Month: The Homily of Serenity)
"A man sits alone on the ground, facing a lake. The lake is
smooth, undisturbed by ripples. Another man seems to stare at
the rich blue sky, his profile passive. A woman sits at the
right hand side of the manuscript, holding a book in her hand.
The mood is contemplative. The border is decorated with
peasants chasing serpents. A flame-colored bird, probably the
rare elusive phoenix, pins a struggling snake with a claw."
--- The Book of Hours, folio 6, p. X.
I have to meditate.
The desire in me rages on like an untamed fire. I have to curb
it before it gets out of hand. But every time I gaze at you, it
burns deep within me, in my loins. I am a Jedi Knight. I am
supposed to be the epitome of peace, of stability. Yet, I am
unable to keep still, with you looking at me with your
startling blue-green eyes.
I kneel, folding my hands on my laps. I try not to notice the
flower-pot. It seems to be bursting with yellow fruits.
Desire, desire. I am only human.
A rustle. I know you are in the room with me. I can smell your
special musk. It is a special mixture of sweat and soap
fragrance. Another rustle...and you are kneeling beside me.
"Serenity over..." I find myself unable to continue.
I have a feeling that Master Yoda will have some choice
comments to make. I curse my human fallibility. Human needs and
human desires. No matter how hard you train as a Jedi, you will
still remain human.
You move. The Living Force is strong around you like the corona
around a sun. You are still unsure about the Force. It flows in
you like a river but you need to learn how to comprehend it.
You must act like a river engineer, to understand the ebb and
flow, the raw power of the raging water. You are a good
student, Obi-Wan.
Desire spikes suddenly in me, and I have to stop my
meditations.
You are looking at me with your eyes again. You are frowning,
and it makes you look fierce, grim. I like you when you smile
or laugh.
"In between each heartbeat, I surrender," you whisper. It is
the start of the Serenity Homily.
"I surrender to the Force, " I whisper back. "Like the hard
earth, I surrender to the rain. Like my heart, I surrender to
serenity."
You reach out a hand and clasp my own.
(Seventh Month: Autumn of Red-Gold Leaves)
"Leaves are tinged with red and gold. The earth is covered with
a layer of fallen leaves. Men are depicted wearing heavier
robes as they sweep the ground clean. "
--- The Book of Hours, folio VII, p. XI.
It is getting cold in the Temple Gardens of Tranquility.
Nearby, the children are drawing pictures. I take a peek,
catching glimpses of red leaves.
I have agreed to watch the year ones in their class, for their
teacher has taken ill. I lean against the wall, keeping an eye
on the children. You may never know what's next with the four
year olds. Earlier on, I managed to stop a fight.
Force, it's hard looking after children.
I find myself thinking about Qui-Gon. He is facing the Jedi
Council today. He's probably arguing with them right now.
"Masters and apprentices are not allowed to go beyond their
professional relationship," Master Windu had told me gravely.
I sigh.
(Eighth Month: The Month of the Dead)
"The manuscript is empty, save for a procession of robed
figures. The border is decorated with skeletal shapes. A woman
offers an array of food before a shadowy form. She seems to be
weeping, her hands thrown up in the air in a gesture of
profound sorrow."
--- The Book of Hours, folio VIII, p. XIII.
The thick aroma of incense fills the marketplace. Women are
seen placing plates of food in front of clay shrines. I make
sure not to disturb them. Beside me, Obi-Wan covers his nose
discreetly.
There is a burst of chanting and we both step aside to let a
group of singers walk past us. They are dressed in gray and
they toss white paper into the air. I watch them flutter to the
ground like doves.
Obi-Wan barely manages to conceal his disgust. He calls the
Festival 'plain superstition.' He has a lot to learn.
"Master?" He speaks. "Qui-Gon."
"Yes?"
"What will happen to us when you are..." He turns away. My
heart becomes cold, and it constricts painfully.
"Obi-Wan, the Force decides..." My answer is lame and I regret
saying it for he glares at me before stalking away. I hurry
towards him, my long legs making it easier for me.
"Obi-Wan?"
"It's easier said than done," he says tersely.
An old woman hobbles up to us. Before we know it, she is tying
one end of a long red thread on my thumb. She chuckles to
herself, revealing her toothless gums. She has tied the other
end around Obi-Wan's right wrist.
Obi-Wan looks on with an expression of bemusement.
"The red thread never lies," she croaks. "You are destined to
be together..."
"Ah, old woman!" A middle-aged man shouts, waving a ladle.
"Leave the Jedi alone!"
The man walks up to us, shaking his head. "You have to forgive
old Farrah. She has become a little demented after that fall
she had..."
I smile slightly and glance over at my apprentice. Obi-Wan is
looking intently at the red thread.
(Ninth Month: Winter Creeps In)
"A snowfall drifts across a field. The snowflakes look like
feathers, coating the tree branches. There is a bonfire with
bright red flames. The sky is ashen-grey and thick clouds
gather above the mountains."
--- The Book of Hours, folio IX, p. XIV.
The youth stands beside the window, gazing into the distance.
His short-cropped hair glows softly under the kiss of the
setting sun. His eyes are closed. It is cold in the room, but
he doesn't seem to notice it.
He has just received news of an imminent war. He will be sent,
with his Master, to the frontline where they will act as
ambassadors and diplomats. There will be negotiations, more
talking and play-acting. He is Jedi, and he is proud of it.
However, he seems unable to shake away the feeling of dread. He
opens his eyes, turning his face to the fading sunlight as if
to enjoy its disappearing warmth.
His hand touches the braid curling next to his right ear. The
end of the long braid --- the mark of his apprenticeship --- is
tied with red thread. Its color is almost similar to the one
"given" by the strange old woman.
The young man shudders, gathering his robe close around his
body.
(Tenth Month: The Warning Against Fear and Anger)
"A figure struggles with a fearsome black dragon with red eyes.
The beast's claws stretch out, as if to attack the figure.
Around the combatants are other, assorted grotesque creatures.
A two-headed serpent curls menacingly near the dragon. A
bone-colored unicorn, with a twisted horn on its forehead,
rears and kicks out with its front hooves. A huge canine bares
its teeth at the figure."
--- The Book of Hours, folio X, p. XV.
It is quiet. I can hear my heart beat, feel it thudding in my
chest. I shift carefully, not wanting to wake Obi-Wan up. He
dozes on; his head nestled on my lap. His breathing is slow and
steady. I stroke his brow once, twice. He smiles in his sleep.
We have argued two hours ago. His eyes were stormy then: dark
green-blue. He was fearful and angry; his emotions were plain
to see. Sometimes, he wears his emotions on his sleeves. He
makes a good Jedi, but he has to control his anger.
Around me, the ship's engines thrum a silent song. We are on
our way to our newest assignment. We are specially picked for
this particular task.
I rub my crooked nose, feeling my age. This time, Obi-Wan
stirs, and he wakes up, opening his eyes. I admire those
soulful blue-green eyes.
"Hello." I say, touching his cheek lightly. He sits up, flexing
his arms. He is the picture of alertness. He gazes at me
steadily.
I lean over, kissing him on the lips. He stiffens for a moment;
there are still remnants of frustration simmering within him.
But he slowly gives in, curving his hands on my face. His
response is fervent, whole-hearted as ever.
Obi-Wan. My Obi-Wan. My heart is bursting with pride. You will
make a fine Jedi Knight one day. My Obi-Wan. Quiet. Serious.
Imbued with a wry sense of humor.
I ease him back onto the bed, peeling off his tunic. The skin
is smooth beneath my fingers. His breathing quickens. His hands
move over my chest. I whisper his name next to his ear, and he
shivers spasmodically.
Our lovemaking is passionate. We laugh as we touch, bite and
nibble. We try not to make too much noise. The ship's crew is
still unaware of our special relationship. At last, we collapse
back onto the small bed, exhausted.
Obi-Wan falls asleep first. I simply watch him.
In my mind, the black dragon spreads his wings and refuses to
go away.
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