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Category: Melancholy

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Feedback: is like oxygen!!!

Summary: A Hallowe'en story. Inspired by a Chopin Nocturne. This is for Alex.

He ran down the corridor, stifling a giggle. For all his height, he moved silently and gracefully, at least as gracefully as an over-tall, lanky fifteen-year-old could move. Sometimes, his legs seemed to get tangled up underneath him, but today, luck was on his side.

He strained his ears, listening for his friend's footsteps in the deserted halls. Mace was three corridors over and he grinned to himself, sprinting down the darkened hallway.

He made a left turn, then another and found himself lost. He snorted at the thought. Jedi don't get lost!! But the dim, wood paneled hall was unfamiliar. The paneling was lovely and he ran a finger down its carved edge, instinctively feeling the life within its burnished depths. For an active, sometimes rambunctious Padawan, Qui-Gon had a deep love of beauty and a truly remarkable link to the Living Force. It made him a strange contradiction. There were times he would simply drift away into a trance, lifted along by something as trivial as a falling leaf. Other times, he was just a normal young man struggling to gain control of very long, lean limbs with the energy of most adolescents.

He walked down the hallway, blue eyes drinking in the unfamiliar territory. There was a thick layer of dust on the carved panels and more than one cobweb straggled in the cornices. His quiet steps left dark impressions on the carpet.

He heard it quite suddenly, a few notes at first, quavering and a little out of tune. It surprised him so much that he stood still for a moment, then followed the sounds. He had heard that this old Temple building housed a library and a museum of sorts, along with thousands of years of accumulated art, but he knew of only one piano in the Jedi Complex and that was in the Music Museum on Level Forty in the next building. This one sounded sweetly tinny, not at all like the rich notes of the grand only Master Kellig played one or twice a year.

The sounds were louder now, a delicate, melancholy tune in shades of pianissimo so fragile as to dissipate into the still air. He walked steadily toward the open door at the end of the dusty corridor.

The windows were shuttered and heavily curtained, splashes of golden afternoon sunlight bright against the wooden floor. The piano was a small upright instrument against one wall, its mounted candelabra lit. The young man playing it turned his head and smiled.

"I didn't hear you come in." His voice was very soft.

Qui-Gon stopped in the middle of the room. He had never seen this person, a boy of about his own age, dressed as a Padawan, but oddly so. He hair was long, not cut short as it should have been. The tunic he wore was regulation beige, but of some filmy fabric never used to clothe a Temple aspirant. The tawny hair shone in a patch of sunlight, long fingers still splayed over the yellow-white keys.

"Did I disturb you?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Who are you?"

The other boy smiled and turned back to the keyboard. He began to play again without answering, another wistful, sad melody.

"That's lovely."

"Thank you." The boy's eyes were much too big, luminous and nearly transparent, the colour of a summer sea. Qui-Gon padded across the room to stand beside the flickering candle. He wanted to see those eyes again.

"Who are you?" he asked again. His voice sounded so loud compared to the tremulous notes. The young man played beautifully, his touch as delicate as the lace covered cushion on the bench.

The beautiful eyes smiled into his but there was no answer. He continued to play very softly.

"I've never seen you before. " Qui-Gon said doubtfully.

The other boy smiled at him and started yet another piece.

"I've never been in here."

"No one ever comes here anymore. " The lilting voice was as soft and sad as the music. Qui-Gon leaned a little closer.

"I like your playing."

The redheaded boy smiled at him again, a lovely open-hearted smile. "Thank you."

"I'm Qui-Gon Jinn, Padawan to Master Yoda."

"Which one is Master Yoda? I don't remember him."

Qui-Gon stared at the strange boy. "Don't remember Master Yoda!!??? But he's been here for so long!!"

The young man's shrugged, turning his attention to the sweet music he played.

Somewhere, further down the hall, Qui-Gon heard a clock striking four. Abruptly, the boy stopped playing and turned to face the doorway, his eyes wide and unmistakably frightened.

"What's wrong? Why did you stop?"

There was such pain in that young face. The boy gave a little gasp, then stared into Qui-Gon's blue eyes.

"Please. Remember me."

"But who are you?" Qui-Gon was getting panicky, although there was no apparent reason for it. He could feel the other boy's Force-signature fading.

"Obi-Wan. I'm Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon's mouth was hanging open. He watched the flimsy fabric of the boy's tunic begin to redden until the entire front was a wash of spreading scarlet. Those beautiful eyes were locked to his own as they faded away into the dust-moats that hung on the afternoon sunlight.

He stood shaking in that shrouded room for a long moment, then turned and fled back through the hallway, bumping into walls, skidding around corners, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst through his chest. Finally, he found a familiar staircase and nearly stumbled down its length.

He didn't stop running until he was back in his quarters.

Later that evening, he toyed with his dinner until his Master noticed.

"Eating you are not, Padawan. Trouble you have?"

"Master, who is Obi-Wan?"

Yoda's ears drooped. "Why ask you?"

"I saw him today. Who is he?"

"A Padawan he was. Long ago. See him you could not."

"But I did!!" Qui-Gon protested. "In the Old Library. He was playing the piano."

Yoda simply stared at him for a long moment, then began to pace.

"Many, many years ago, a Padawan there was with that name. Gifted and strong in the Force he was. Murdered he was very young." The wise old eyes raked over his Padawan sharply. "Talk to him you did?"

"Yes. But that means that---" Qui-Gon's stomach lurched. He felt dizzy and a little sick.

"Why was he murdered?" he whispered.

Yoda shook his head. "Different times those were. Jealous Master and beautiful Padawan do not a good team make."

"His Master killed him!!! But that's horrible!!"

Yoda patted his knee. "Old story is this, even when I was Padawan. Legend there is that he will return to pass on our legacy. "

The small, green Master smiled up at his young charge. "Now eat!! No more worrying about legends."

Qui-Gon dutifully ate his meal and spent a long while staring out at the stars that evening.

He tried repeatedly to find that room for years, but never did, until the memory was as faded as the dusty curtains. He only found it once, lying on a grated deck, watching his apprentice's beautiful eyes welling with tears before his own vision faded away forever.

FIN