RATING: R, only for unpleasant sentiment.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Lucas owns everything.
NOTES: Post TPM.
WARNING: This is NOT happy slash. This is decidedly unhappy,
angsty slash. I was in a bad place when I wrote this. I wrote
it in the (vain?) Hope that it will get me out of said bad
place. [shrug]
POINTS: // denotes telepathy.
FEEDBACK: Yuppers. Please be gentle.
ARCHIVE: M_A, and my web site. Others please ask.
CONTACT ME: angelus@chariot.net.au web:
http://www.darksites.com/souls/pagan/starkiller/
There is nothing new or original in the universe.
There is nothing new or original in the Force.
There is nothing new or original in anything. At all.
I sit, alone, in the garden that he loved so much, musing on
his last words to me. "Train the boy". That was his sole
concern. Not me. Not the Jedi. Not the universe heading towards
hell. Just the boy. "He is the chosen one. He will bring
balance to the Force." And what if he's not the chosen one?
What if he destroys the Force? What if he destroys the Jedi?
Me? None of these variables have ever mattered to you, oh my
long gone master. Not at all, not one jot.
Nothing is beautiful anymore.
Nothing is the same anymore.
It is said, that when a great soul dies, the universe mourns.
In the form of a perfect sunset, a magnificent sunrise, a
beautiful day in the gardens, a bird song, a child's laugh, the
perfect smell. When he died, there was the smell of fire, of
burning flesh. The sound of laughter, the smell of sweat from
his killer. When he was buried, there was more burning flesh.
No sunrise out of the ordinary. No sunset worth mentioning. No
birdsong, no child's laugh. No perfection of any kind. Except
for the way I felt. That was, and is, the most perfect and pure
grief that has ever been known. So the universe did not mourn
his passing as a great soul, but I mourned his passing, not
just as a teacher, a friend, a mentor....but also as a lover, a
partner, and the other side of myself.
There is no such thing as eternity.
This is all we get.
We had not had sex, nor made love (and yes, I am aware of the
distinction) since leaving Tatooine. For the sake of the cursed
boy. If I never hear one more word from anyone about doing or
not doing something for the sake of the boy, I will be the
happiest Jedi Knight alive. He thought I was ready to take my
trials. Compared to the grief at losing him, the pain at having
our bond severed, the misery at knowing that I would
never see him again, nor feel him, nor smell him, nor
hear him, my trials were, to be frank, a bloody breeze. The
Council said they had never seen anyone come out of their
trials so effortlessly before. But what where the trials
compared to what I had lost? To who I had lost?
"There are many ways to the Dark Side" said Yoda. Said Mace.
Said my master.
"Hard to see the Dark Side is." Said Yoda.
Oh no its not. I can see it. Each day as my grief grows, the
darkness grows. I don't actually fight it anymore. What is the
point? Everything ends. Nothing is forever. Everything dies.
Love dies. If it doesn't die when the individual dies, it
changes. Evolves? Stagnates? Self destructs? Perhaps all three.
What if the death of love eats away at you, like maggots in
meat? Killing every fibre of your being so that what remains is
an empty shell, an automaton that goes through the motions of
living? If that is the case, then I can provide you a
disertation on such a phenomenon. I no longer care about
anything.
Each night I find that I cannot sleep. When I do finally fall
asleep after hours of tossing and turning, of remembering him
in our bed, remembering his arms around me, his mouth against
mine, his dick inside me, his hands on my cock, my dick inside
him, my hands on his cock....I cry myself to sleep. I shield
it. No-one knows. No-one cares. Why should they? He was a
trouble maker, obstinate. He was....
He simply WAS.
To me, he was and is the shining light in my existence.
I wake each morning to the same sound. No birds. No children's
laughter. The boy's voice grates on my nerves, but I suppress
it. I hear the sounds of Coruscant. There is no birdsong in the
air. There are no gardens, no forests, no woods. No trees, no
rivers, nothing of nature. The Jedi are supposed to attuned to
the Living Force. Why then do we have our temple in this
natureless place? Why would he insist on keeping me here, even
after his death, to train the boy, when I could take missions
as a knight and go to other worlds, to be amongst the Living
Force? Even from beyond the grave he still commands me. I am
weak; I have always been his to command.
There is nothing in my soul worth living for.
There is much in my soul worth dying for.
I live, only to fulfill my promise to him. Perhaps in doing
so, I may find peace at least, and forgiveness from myself. I
cannot see the boy as he did. I cannot feel for the boy as he
did. The bond between myself and the boy will never be as
strong as it was between my master-my dead master-and I. And
after I have trained the boy, I will never take another padawan
as long as I remain a Jedi, or as long as I live. Whichever
ends first.
The grief grows. The pain grows. I am alone. He is gone. I
have nothing of him to remind me of him. Except his lightsaber.
I can no longer smell the faint scent of him on my sheets. I
cannot imagine him here, in my quarters, the quarters I now
share with the boy. The memories of his lips on my body-dying.
The memory of his mouth around my cock, sucking, licking,
swallowing-dying. All sensory memory is going. It is the way of
memory. It is the way of the universe. It is the way of the
Force?
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