Knights of Morning

by Laura McEwan (padawan_laura@yahoo.com)

Archive - Really? Thanks! M_A Archive, and my LiveJournal MEMORIES section http://www.livejournal.com/users/lauramcewan/ ; all others just ask.
Category - Q/O, POV, angst, romance
Rating - R
Warnings - none
Spoilers - none
Disclaimer - These boys are mine only in my dreams, my bookshelf, and in my DVD player. They belong completely to King George of Lucas, in a galaxy far, far away. Money is no object, for no such object exists in my wallet.
Summary - Sequel to "Twilight to Knight". The boys are free to love each other, but duty comes first. (Oh my gosh, it's a series! Now to think of a series title! Suggestions welcome!)
Feedback - I worship it. Like sausages, feedback is my very sacrament. ::wink:: Email or on my LiveJournal post of this story.
Notes - I tried really hard to match the ambiguity and feel of the first. I hope that I have succeeded.
Thank you - Ghostwriter and The Rose for all your incredible and invaluable help, insights and advice. Chocolate-covered Obi-Wans and Qui-Gons with cherries in special places for you to pluck off with your teeth!

This somber, gloomy space is much smaller than our Council chamber. Here, it is dark and dank, with woven tapestries on the walls depicting bloody war scenes and martyrs dying for their cause, yet your innate grace and personal style imbues this sorrowful room with a comforting sense of security and confidence like a beacon through a dense and gray fog. Those gathered here embrace your light with a desperation born out of death and sorrow, and the greater part of my heart that is reserved only for you warms with a lover's pride. You are my light.

Skillfully, as always, you negotiate the treaty that has long been fought over and for, the unrivaled losses of land and life acknowledged and a sorrowful tribute paid. In a few short days, formerly warring factions have won a hopeful peace through your patient and calm ministrations.

That same simple patience helped win my peace of mind, my peace of heart. Yet, with this success comes an inevitable and painful sadness, for you, for me.

Now, if not perfectly friends, at least cordial acquaintances, the two haggard leaders stand together and each of them reach for your hand, to grasp in thankfulness and admiration, glad in their newfound understanding. I linger proudly nearby, outwardly smiling and inwardly calming myself, promising that I will heap my personal praises on you in private, when I can bury the seeds of my despair by burying myself in you.

I am overcome with an impassioned need to worship you. Alone, where I can touch you in those tender and hidden places where you allow only me, to mark them again and again as mine and only mine. I want to worship you with my hands, my lips, my tongue, my body. Time is a rare currency, and we must spend it wisely; it is a precious and brief gift.

Force, for just a little more time.

You glance in my direction, holding my gaze for a long moment. The loving warmth mixed with pure need is unmistakable, and my heart races because you find me worthy of your attention even at this frenzied and jumbled instance. You are worthy of all their gratitude. You are worthy of all their joy. You are worthy of all my love, and I give it freely only to you, without question, without regret.

For so many years, I hid my adoration of you. Within the perfect secrecy of silence, in voiceless whispers only I could hear, I longed for you. Yet I waited, as was expected of me, sinking my dreams deep into the ocean of my life until they could be safely raised, waiting for a knighting ceremony that would free us both to sink deeply into each other, heart to heart, body to body, soul to soul.

My hands clench together within their hiding place of voluminous, simple brown sleeves. I need to touch you. I must touch you.

I know you need to touch me.

Our freedom is not without cost. The Council, made aware of our passion, kindly granted us this mission together, but holds no promises for the future. This assignment carries a more important meaning than a mere peace treaty; it is our final mission as a team.

Separation is inevitable, but I do not want to dwell on it now. I try to sink that desperation into my personal ocean, but it fights my desire to wish it away. I do not want to lose our new closeness, this melding of hearts and bodies that makes us a greater whole than our individual selves. Already I am stretched and frail, even though you're standing mere meters from me.

I've never felt like this. It frightens me, and I should feel no fear.

Are you frightened?

I clench my jaw, struggling to compose myself. I need to taste you, savor the texture of your skin, sink your scent into my memory. I want to feel your body prove your love to me again and again until I can hold that love in my hands, tangible and real, to turn to when you cannot be with me.

My wandering attention is sought by more representatives of the recovering planet, thanking me for my part in the treaty that we have negotiated. Truly, I merely offered suggestions and alternate points of view, for you are the one that steadily coaxed their tentative kinship into existence, like a malformed piece of silver hammered and bent until a perfect bowl takes shape, a precious vessel to hold all the promises of a better future for themselves.

You are my precious vessel, shaped from our separate but twining lives, within which I entrust my love, my self, my body, all that I am. Without you, I would be less than nothing, a void, as empty and aimless as I was until you pierced the self-pitying veil of my life so many years ago.

I fear facing the emptiness that threatens with our impending separation.

Do you fear the emptiness?

I inhale deeply, my shaky composure threatening to fail. The stagnant air in this dingy room is unsettling, and I need your presence close to me. I need to press you to, and within, my heart.

Oh, how I love you. My light, my life and breath. Do you find in me your vessel, the keeper of your soul, of your heart? Am I truly worthy of them?

I step back, half-hidden behind one of the ghastly tapestries, and watch with profound admiration your progress among these emissaries of a nearly lost tribe of people. They perceive a savior in you, a prophet and promise of the future, and yet they know so little of you, the truth of who you are, the distinction of your personality, the rarity of your spirit. They will never know you like I do. I alone am privileged in that respect, and I am humbled by it.

No one will ever know me the way you do. I am yours alone. I waited for you for so long.

I blink rapidly, tears creeping into the corners of my vision. I need to see your eyes, to lose myself in them, to bask in your love shining from them.

Finally freed from the accolades, you seek me out behind my shield of dusty fabric, your beloved face masked with concern at my reticence. I reach for your hand, desperate for your soothing touch. I take a deep breath and find calm again, my childish fears fading into the background behind the radiant truth of you standing before me.

Your lips brush mine, a gentle reassurance of your love for me, and your smile carries with it the ultimate promise of your body. That is what I need, a physical release, a spiritual claiming, to melt into you. I need you. I want you to need me.

A brief look of weariness flickers across your face, and I can see that you wish to leave this close, dark room, to escape the bustle and noise. I pull your unresisting hand to my chest, placing my other hand on your waist, guiding you through the oppressive weight of the crowd, murmuring our goodnights and well-wishes to those remaining to celebrate the brotherhood that you showed them they already possessed but could not see for the blood.

Pushing our way out the heavy wooden doors, we gratefully step into the cool breeze of a clear spring evening, drawing in deep, cleansing lungfuls of crisp, pure air. We wander down the road through unfamiliar lands, seeking only privacy, space, and the familiarity of each other, leaving behind the dust and grime of verbal battles, ruined buildings and broken families.

We lean against the gnarled trunk of a tall and massive tree, looking past the reaching branches dripping with soft green moss to the stark, harsh blackness of the galaxy beyond, pinpoints of light shining as a candle through fabric, marking those distant planets yet to visit, to bring peace to, to protect.

Which one awaits your gentle hand and word? Where am I to go, besides apart from you? Apart, after all these years. For worlds that are so far away that they are but pale, flickering sparks, they are maddeningly close as our mission here rapidly comes to an end.

You turn to me, the tears on your cheeks mirroring mine, and I gather you close, the understated calm you have presented for the past few days falling apart as I clasp you in my arms, your body shaking with suppressed sobs as the strain of your efforts, combined with the truth of my melancholy, finally break you down. I am honored by your simple trust in me, to care for and keep you while your composure is lost, but lost only for a moment, for as much as you are a man, you are Jedi. We are Jedi.

And yet, we are but men.

We sit, leaning against each other for support, our hands clasped as we further contemplate the nighttime sky, white whisps of clouds occasionally obscuring the fainter stars, the sharp, brilliant crescent of the moon rising over the fields and hills of this embattled settlement.

We need to seek out our hidden, soft and tender spots before our time is denied.

Hungrily, we grasp at each other, tasting and touching, stroking and arousing, banishing the lurking specter of farewell by living in the moment, for it is in this moment of joining that we are one soul, one being, all that is true and right. We each find solace in the warm, living body of the other, loving and being loved, whispering promises and affirmations, until we collapse beneath the blanket of never-ending night that is our ever-changing home.

We will have to be a changeless, enduring home to each other.

The sun obstinately rises, the dawn muted and cold, pale pink rays sadly caressing your face, and we are called away. Duty first, hearts second.

You know I love you. Keep safe. Come home to my heart, love. I need to see my reflection in your eyes once more.

~end