Theme and Timbre - In Distanza

by Ruth Gifford (telesilla@cyberg8t.com)

Characters-Rating: Q/O - PG-13

Category: Angst, AU (no Naboo)

Summary: Distance is Relative

Spoilers: No

Series: Theme and Timbre Series

Ambiance: Heimo Og Nykkjen by Kirsten Braten-Berg

Archive: M_A, RavenD's page - anybody else just ask.

Feedback: Yes please!

Notes & Acknowledgements: Thanks to RavenD and Mac for the lovely idea.

Also to the people who understand my life right now-- clue me in please? :-) To Jennifer and Layna, because without you two, I'd be on the ward. And to Fummin, Mistress of the Jedi Pillow Book; my poor words cannot describe the beauty of your work. Again to Jennifer, for beta above and beyond the call.

In Distanza - at a distance, marking music to be performed as if far away.

I ache across the distance. It fills those parts of my days not needed by a new-minted knight on his first mission, and it fills all of my nights. My training enables me to hide the missing as my cloak preserves my smooth air of mystery. But, even during the all- important security and planning meetings, the distance of missing you is there, a caress where my braid hung until recently.

They are a delicate people, the Heiemo, but you briefed me on them. In fact, you lectured, and lectured and lectured and lectured me on their customs until I--finally free to--silenced you the best possible way. Ah, if only I known or been allowed this technique when you lectured me for three weeks on the Silbians when it turned our we were actually going to Corellia. "A valuable lesson in patience, Padawan," you said at the time.

And how I need those lessons in patience now as never before, when distance and missing you fills me to the brim. Tonight, during the Middle Reception, each hot-eyed offer makes my teeth ache from a need to explain this distance that leads to my gently spoken declination. Tonight the jewel-bright eyes of a beautiful people, clothed in their brocades, embroidered gauzes and velvets, follow the path of one slight figure in dull brown. I should feel clumsy and as dull as my robes, but all it takes is a memory from the distance to remind me of your lessons to me of my own beauty, and I move with a smoothness matched by my hosts.

"Truly, my lady, I would, but for . . ." I hold up my wrist, pushing my inner sleeve back so that she sees the Heiemo style stark black mark of new marriage, the tattoo which at this stage, binds me to my spouse alone. My eyes must flash as I remember your brush, followed by your lips as you placed the mark upon me. "Forgive me," I say, bowing to her with careful respect.

"Ah . . . the famous dedication of the Jedi. Here, no mission such as yours would be undertaken until months of color had been added to the bishma." This is the Empress' clever sister. "They are right to speak of your Order's strength. You bear your . . ."

" . . . husband, Beautiful and Wisest of Women . . ." I help, when she pauses delicately.

". . . your husband's mark well and with honor, Knight Kenobi."

Before she leaves my side she bows lower to me than she has previously.

Tonight I must have a particularly persistent suitor. A book lies on my pillow.

Not surprisingly these are called "pillow books." All the ancient four elements of the Heiemo, will be found here, represented sexually. I reach through the distance for your strength as I look at the book. I must read it tonight, and return it with an answer to the sender. Not all here respect my tattoo, or, more likely, many realize it is merely assumed for the occasion. No Heiemo would leave a new spouse at such a distance--O such a distance-- for such long and taxing time.

The bright flower, all blues and greens and golds, which falls from between the first pages tells me that the Empress' brother (even more clever than his younger sister) has sent this particular trial to my oaths--both public and private--to me. The volume is a work of art like few I have ever seen. By the time I have given it the attention it deserves, hours have passed. His Imperial Highness will be pleased; to return such a book after a mere perusal would be rude beyond words.

I ache. And, oh the distance between us. The Prince is forgotten as each poem, each picture and song, seem to stroke me as you might, the changing textures of the paper itself a reminder of skin both silken and scarred.

My fine silk sheets rip as my fists knot and I think of you. And, oh the distance between us.

And then I feel like a fool. I am a Knight. You are a Master. We are bonded and distance is nothing.

The Force is there then, Living and Unifying, power surging through me. How easy to reach . . . how easy . . .

My hands unknot, and the book on my pillow is simply a work great beauty again. As simple and yet as difficult as my Trials.

I have learned yet again that in the Force there is no distance. My body stills and my mind ceases its futile wishing.

As I have known there would be, there is a pageboy outside my door in the prince's colors. He tries to look wide-awake as I hand him the pillow book, and a paper flower I have folded of cream and brown. "Thank your Master, for lending me this book," I say and roll back my sleeve in silent explanation, showing my tattoo. His eyes widen, but, clever boy of the court that he is, he says nothing.

Three days later, my hands steady, I tattoo the bishma on the Empress' wrist, repeating the effort on the new Emperor Consort's wrist. Carefully the treaties are signed and my work is done; so smoothly that I still suspect the disturbance both the Council and Senate thought likely might yet occur.

"Greatness in Beauty . . ." I begin as the Empress approaches me, while I gaze into the night distance from a balcony. It is the Night of the Great Bish, and, my task done, the distance wraps me in stillness from the celebration inside.

She snorts faintly. "Save your soft words for the negotiation chamber, Knight Kenobi."

"Majesty?"

"What would you say if I told you if the attacks I feared from my brother and sister did not occur directly because of you? That you alone are responsible for the treaty?"

You, in the distance of the past, have taught me the smooth answers to questions such as these, but I know this woman wants the truth. And I can see no harm in giving it to her. "I would ask you why, Majesty."

Silently she hands me a holochip. Activating it I see her sister approach me during the Middle Reception and, then . . .

My night with the Prince's book is recorded in exquisite detail. I watch my body harden and at times flail as my hands attempt to keep me true to you and our oaths. I see the moment of understanding on my face as I realize I could reach to you through the distance.

"My brother would never have known had you used your power to call to your husband to relieve yourself, thus mocking our belief in your strength. But my sister could have been one of your Jedi, she would have known."

The Empress takes the chip from my hand. Her fan snaps and from behind it I hear soft words, as one speaking to a secret lover in a crowded street. "I know it is merely paint, your wrist bishma. But, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you and he, your husband, share the Bishma of the Heart. The bishma which never changes color and that gives a strength for all to admire."

The fan snaps again and the Empress speaking in confidence to a diplomat returns. "My Prince Brother, Princess Sister and I shall never cease squabbling. It is our way and the way of Heiemo. But the three of us will not threaten a Republic with such a strong and true envoy, Knight Kenobi. Good Night."

I board the shuttle gravely, again letting my Jedi demeanor hide the longing I have for this distance to pass.

Three hours by hyperdrive. Three years by the cruder drives that are all the Heiemo know.

I ache across the distance.

And across the distance comes the simple answer. You do as well.

From both of us radiates the new, yet sure, steadiness of the complex answer. We always will ache when apart. And yet, we share the Bishma of the Heart across all distance.

End