Master Apprentice 
Archive
Sand and Ashes
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Archive: m_a, everyone else pls. ask
Author's webpage: http://www.ravenswing.com/ravendreams
Category: Vignette
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: none
Summary: Thoughts on a fallen master
Feedback: Pretty please, with sugar on top?
Disclaimers: The almighty Lucas owns everything. I own nothing. Happy?
Authors' Notes: This is MJ's bunny, not mine. I'm not to blame.
It was a cloak, just dark brown cloth worn thin at the edges. The seams were simple and strong. No decorations marred it, nothing to interrupt the eye. The folds had fallen in the same place for so long that, even held out in his hands, the shadow of the body that had worn it remained.
That shadow intrigued him.
He turned the cloth over and over in his gloved hands, looking for some spark, some indication of power. Surely after being worn for so many years, some part of the man would remain. Nothing could live that close to that bright being and not be irrevocably changed.
Nothing ever had.
With a harsh breath he stood, throwing the cloth onto a table. His boot heels clacked as he paced, a steady, strong, implacable rhythm. He knew his former master was gone. The body was gone; his presence was gone. All that remained was his lightsaber and this cloak, lying in a pile on a metal table.
How many times had he followed that cloak, one step behind and to the left? There had been days that the only constant in the galaxy was the glimpse of dark leather boots at the hem. He had seen things that disgusted him, infuriated him, frightened him. Following that back had seemed to keep him safe and sane. His master had been the source of truth, of light, of home.
How many days had he looked up into the shadow of the cowl, looking for approval, for acceptance? Those hard eyes, bracketed by lines of pain and worry and steadily disappearing laughter, could warm him, wound him. He could remember thinking that nothing could hurt as much as his master's disapproval. He had been a naïve child.
Naivete was a luxury he could no longer afford.
Stretching out his arms, he wondered at how much smaller the cloth was than what he remembered, than he had believed it to be even a day ago. Memories are faulty, but in his mind his master had been a hero, huge in the Force. A great swordsman, a great mediator, a great Jedi Knight, his master had been all those things and more. As a boy he had been in awe of the great man enveloped within. That awe had changed, of course. It was inevitable.
Heroes fall.
Sand still clung to the fibers, catching the light and a frisson of mingled fear and fury crawled up his spine. Tatooine. How different would things have been if the Jedi, the men known as Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi, had never seen Tatooine, never heard of it? The smell of those unending wastes of sand lived in his brain, slowly eroding his hope.
He would never be free of those sands.
It was a cloak, a Jedi's cloak. He looked closely, searching with eyes and mind and Force for something, some remnant of its owner. He searched, ached for a single whisper of hope.
The cloth was as silent as the space in his mind where a bond had once lived.
With uncharacteristic heat, he ripped the cloth in two, hearing the snarl as the fibers tore. Steadily the fabric was destroyed, threads separated and burned, until all that was left was the smell of ash and sand and death.
Gone, the cloak was gone and its owner was never coming back. At once he felt freedom and crushing loss. Never coming back. Finally away from the burning shadow of expectation and friendship and unavoidable, unforgiving hope. He held the emotions close, trying to get warm, to fight back the chill that sank itself into his organs.
The chill swallowed the hope with a chuckle.
"Lord Vader, the Emperor awaits your report."
The fear and hatred fed him even as it devoured him. "I am on my way."
Obi-Wan's lightsaber was set aside, to be added to his master's trophies. He had done well. His master would be pleased.
The end