Archive: master_apprentice, everybody else, please ask, I
don't bite
Category: mood piece, angst
Rating: PG I'd say...
Warnings: it's sad and dark
Spoilers: none, this is AU
Summary: a Jedi brooding over a bowl of Yunack
Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome.
NOTES: Okay, lean back, because there are lots of notes on this
one...
This is the second piece in my yet unnamed mirror-series. I
think about "Reflections" or "Echoes" as series title, but I am
not sure...I am open to suggestions though!
The first piece "When You Want To Bleed" was told from
Obi-Wan's point of view. This one "When The Cuts Are Too Deep"
is told from Qui-Gon's point of view. Yeah, I now, Quigs was
dead last time. But this is the mirror universe, where Obi-Wan
died on the shuttle...
I hope I can write one of these every week. I might have to if
I want to
stay sane...Real life is such a REAL BITCH right now, that I
even started to smoke over this. The nicotine makes me sick,
maybe I'm doing something wrong...I feel like shit, but I need
that, otherwise I would throw things, preferably against some
peoples heads...I need emotional release...BADLY!!! So be
warned you tender hearts out there, this is angsty.
Thankyous go as always to my Master Hiperbunny. She betaed
this. I am sure it is a pain to put up with me throwing
unmotivated commas into every other sentence... You said this
made you feel better, good, consider this devoted to you. Just
because.
Beloved, I am glad.
I am glad you can't see me like this. You would not like what I
became, what I am doing.
Sitting on the bed in yet another cabin on yet another shuttle,
my back pressed against the wall, I am clinging to a bowl of
Yunack for warmth. Yes, Yunack, the dark twin of Desquopa.
Incredible how the place you grow a Tamrjilla alters the nature
of it's juice. In warm and dry climates you get a crimson
juice, rich and heady in its bittersweetness.
The Desquopa you make with it can raise the dead. At least near
the Outer Rim. It never ceases to amaze me how the Desquopa
gets lighter and flatter the closer you are to Coruscant.
Almost as if it was watered on purpose because so refreshing
and stimulating a drink could shake the Senate from its
bureaucratic routines.
Good, strong and bitter Yunack on the other hand, you can get
almost everywhere. It's made from the midnight blue juice of
Tamrjillas grown in wet and temperate climate. It is poisonous
in the long run. Which is why it is illegal.
But I don't care. Nor does anybody else. This is Rim Space,
Hutt controlled territory, the Republic and it's laws have no
meaning out here. Nor are the Jedi anything but a good laugh.
And looking at my reflection in the small window I can
understand why. I am no pretty picture. Too thin and too pale
in the dark robe. Signs of not enough time, not for sleep and
not for food.
For how could I rest.
I am after your murderer. The figure behind the sinister plot
that threw a whole sector into chaos and shook the Republic to
it's very core. I am on my way to Opakuna and I hope I will
find some answers there. I have to, because I can't go on like
this for much longer.
For months I've lived on freighters and shuttles now. For
months whenever I set foot on a planet it is already night and
not yet dawn when I leave again.
I can't remember what a midday sky looks like. All I see from
out of my window are the bright stripes of Hyperspace. They
look a bit like polar lights. Except for the alignment. Polar
lights are veils of light, shimmering across the night skies,
stirred by the soft breath of a world sleeping. But Hyperspace
looks more like a glass fiber cable or a ray of light from
within.You are always aware of the incredible speed, you always
know you are in motion.
After a while both are equally calming. Though polar lights
convey great inner peace, a sense of belonging, while in
Hyperspace you can never ignore the fact that you are
traveling, that you are in between places. You are never sure
how much you leave behind or what you will find at the other
end of your journey.
I hope I will find Sehk Marudo on Opakuna. He gave me the final
clue that lead me to the K'romu-l'hargo Chronicles, three days
after your shuttle exploded on its way to Khavek. He had
contacted me in the middle of these damned negotiations. He had
known the code word that proved he belonged to the agency I had
asked to search the book for me. He had told me, the K'romu
were on Khavek.
And I had been too caught up in the intricacies of the conflict
to wonder at the coincidence. I was almost on my way to Khavek,
when Dhorku's parliament finally signaled it would agree to the
treaty. I could not leave the summit at that point.
So you made the trip for me. Officially you were on your way to
Khavek to brief the government on the latest developments.
Nothing that could not have been done through a video
transmission. Certainly, it was a diplomatic gesture to deliver
the message in person, but actually you went to search for the
book.
I may never be able to forgive myself. I may never be able to
really enjoy the poetry of the K'romu-l'hargo. Because it
should have been me. I should have been on the shuttle. But I
sent you.
It is cosmic irony that the book indeed was on Khavek. I found
it the very day the war, we had tried so hard to avoid, was
finally joined. All our efforts had failed. You were dead. But
I had found the K'romu-l'hargo Chronicles.
I found it the very day the war we had tried so hard to avoid
was finally joined.
I had planned to read the poetry to you. I had hoped the words
would speak for me, tell what I could not, must not say myself.
Masters must not fall in love with their Padawans for good
reason. Because the youngsters depend on them, rely on them.
They are each other teacher and student, friends, companions,
brothers in arms even. But anything beyond that would mean a
betrayal of trust, an abuse of the power a Master has over his
apprentice.
I knew all that. And yet I had fallen for you.
Forgive me this crime, Obi-Wan, beloved.
I desired you, yes. I am but a man. And I spent more than a few
hours meditating over the guilt I felt because of it. But most
of all I loved you.
And I hoped.
I hoped for a future when you were not my Padawan and I was not
your Master.
That's why I wanted to read the book to you, to promise you a
time and place for us to be more. Everything if you wished.
It was not to be.
For once I stuck to the rules.
One could laugh if it wasn't so fucking sad.
I must find Sehk Marudo. He is the only clue I have. No, that's
not true, I had others, but they all ran cold. He is the last
clue I have.
I am not sure what will happen when I finally find him.
That the K'romu where on Khavek was a set up, that much is
sure. But not many people knew I was looking for them. True, I
had been trying to track them down for years, but secretly,
because I wanted to avoid the disapproving looks such a long
harbored passion surely would earn.
Yoda knew. He had told me about them in the first place. He too
had wanted to read them but never searched in earnest, because
there is no passion, only serenity.
Mace knew.
Adi knew.
Two or three Republic librarians and the Kidairo Agency I had
instructed to investigate on my behalf.
I am half afraid about what Marudo might tell me. Something is
terribly wrong here. The Hutts joined the conflict, which is
just not like them. Khavek and Dhorku are too far away from
their usual sphere of influence. And with Republican troops all
over the two systems they are too much trouble anyway.
It makes no sense. There must be a greater picture. There must
be reasons and motivations I not yet know about. But I will.
That's why I'm here.
I was pulled from regular service. I wear the black robe of an
Extraordinay Jedi Investigator now. That only whispered about
person, I never believed really existed, at least not for the
last couple of centuries, I am one now.
Little is known about these few and far between Jedi, which has
its benefits. The black robe I wear is so different from our
usual appearance, that nobody suspects a Jedi in it on the
first look. I pass for a monk or a priest, among simple folk
for a magician even.
I have to report to nobody, not even to the Council. Until I
have gotten to the bottom of this, they have to report to me.
Which worries me. No single man should be given that much
power. Especially not for the sake of truth.
Because in most witch hunts truth itself ends at the stake.
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