Archive: master_apprentice, all others please ask, I don't
bite <g>
Category: AU, this is a mood piece, rather sad.
Rating: G I'd say, but I'm not that familiar with the American
rating system.
Warnings: I don't want to ruin the story, so just that much
Ladies...I needed to cry.
Spoilers: None that I'm aware of, this is AU.
Summary: A brooding Jedi on a walk.
Feedback: Yes, please, any comments welcome.
Notes: This is my FIRST story ever, so please be gentle. Thanx
to my Master Hiperbunny, she said the grammar was fine, so any
mistakes are to blame on her now <eg>. Without you this
would not have been written.
And I promise, as soon as this is out I'll go back to my duties
as your faithful PadaWAN.
Rain, is that rain? I am not sure. The drizzle sprays so
softly, that it hides the simple houses behind curtains of
mist. Or this could be heavy fog I'm walking through.
Everything seems distant, set apart, not real. Houses emerge
from the unfathomable, like phantoms with big hollow eyes, then
gather milky veils around them and retreat into the silent
world of their own. Yes, I could be walking through fog. Except
for the smell. This is not he biting stench that feels like
acid in your lungs and makes you want to stop breathing, but
the clear smell of a new day.
As I walk through narrow streets I take deep lungfuls of the
cool humid air, that carries this distinct yet indescribable
smell of wet cobblestones, bricks and metal. My boots make far
too much noise for an hour this early and I try to tread
carefully, not to wake the ones who sleep behind the gawking
windows.
I reach the first trees of the alley that leads to the small
spaceport at the edge of town and the woody smell of chestnuts,
rich and promising, makes me smile. Maybe I can have some
toasted chestnuts before I leave. I love alleys, the light tang
of moist bark and rotting leaves tingles against my palate and
I wonder how everything has its own smell right now. Later all
this will blend into the earthy smell of a late autumn day, but
right now everything is pure and on its own.
I draw my robe tighter around me and find my hands wet. The
brown fabric is too rough for the myriads of tiny droplets to
soak in at once. So they collect on the hood, the shoulders,
the wide sleeves, everywhere on my robe. Covering me with a web
of filigree, transforming the simple man into a being of
unearthly mysteries. For only Fairies wear that kind of
jewelry.
It is insidious for men. It soaks through clothes too slowly,
steals your body's warmth too imperceptible for you to notice
that it aims to chill you to your very bone.
But that I need not fear.
In the beauty of the moment nothing can harm me. And that is
where I live. In the moment.
Besides I'll soon reach the spaceport anyway. I'll have a bowl
of steaming Desquopa to chase the last hazes of sleep and hang
around in the hangar for a while. I am in no hurry to leave
this place, so I'll take my time and watch the incoming
shuttles and freighters for a while.
Maybe I'll pick one because of it's unorthodox modifications or
for its captain's daring stride.
Not that I seek adventures, I had enough of those lately. But
the small smuggler ships provide the anonymity I seek. No
questions asked, for I had no answers anyway. I don't know how
long I have been on the hop like this. Staying on a planet for
a couple of days, then moving on.
It must be quite a while already, because I am near the Outer
Rim.
And I started on Coruscant.
I can remember speaking before the Council. I can remember the
breathtaking sight from the panorama window. The busy traffic
lines, criss-crossing, intertwined like characters of some
strange and obscure language, magically written into the
evening sky. The golden touch everything had, as if the world
was on fire, yet not burning, more gleaming from within. The
world was beautiful that night.
So beautiful it made me ache.
I must have lost myself in the view, because I can remember
someone clearing their throat, I can remember the sudden
awareness of two dozen eyes gazing at me, deep and meaningful.
Compassionately.
I was there to give my report on our last mission. And I
probably did. I probably told them about the weapon stocks we
had discovered on both sides, about the obvious preparations
for war, about our impression that the negotiations were doomed
to fail right from the start. About the ambush.
I probably told them. But I can't remember.
Only the details of that meeting are crystal clear before me,
as if it happened last night. Yoda's ears trembling, his small
hands closing tightly around his gimmer stick. Windu steepleing
his hands the way he always does when gathering his thoughts,
staring right trough me, then suddenly looking away. Poof's
pale head swinging to and fro on his thin long neck. Like a
pendulum in a clock, ticking away time. The soft ringing sound
of Bilaba's bangles as she covered her traditionally braided
hair with the hood of her robe. It was all so beautiful, so
stretched in the moment.
But it did not touch me. Not anymore.
Whatever they said to me that night, whatever words of comfort
they offered, whatever orders they gave, it did not matter. My
truth was different.
I had seen you die.
I had seen the shuttle explode. I had felt the shock waves hit
the station. I had felt our bond go silent. I had felt your
presence faint from the Force. I had felt you die.
And it should have been me. I should have been on that shuttle.
Errands are a Padawan's duty, not that of a Master. No protocol
demanded that you delivered the Vice President's orders. It
would have been my task to fly over to Khavek and brief the
Ministers on what little progress we made, or lack thereof. I,
the Padawan, should have been on my way to the planet while
you, the Master, stayed on the station and kept the
negotiations going.
But you insisted on flying to Khavek, you told me something
about a bazaar especially for old books that you just had to
visit. Your eyes got all dreamy and excited as you told me, you
had reliable information that you might be able to finally
track down the K'romu-l'hargo Chronicles, the book I can
remember you hunting for as long as I have been your Padawan.
So how could I not have let you go.
Do not worry, Obi-Wan, we'll stop this madness. We will find
a way. And I will show you the most beautiful and heartbreaking
poetry of the known universe. I will find the K'romu. I will
read it to you. This will soon be over, I promise.
Your voice sounded strange at the shuttle bay, hollow and
distant, as if it was already on the ship while you still stood
at the ramp with me. I though then it was fatigue and concern
that showed on your face. This mission had been far more
demanding than anyone had suspected. Everybody had expected the
negotiations would take no longer than three weeks, the average
time to settle an average trade conflict. But the four months
of flying to and fro between Khavek and Dhorku, the two dozen
belonging moons and countless other planets in neighbor systems
had revealed anything but a standard conflict.
Should these two worlds join war, the whole sector would
destabilize.
You were as worried about the possible outcome of our efforts
as about the obvious complete underestimation of the situation
not only be the Senate, but by the Council as well. The extreme
lack of judgement spoke volumes about the Council's sources of
information.
We were both a bit uptight that day, frustrated that we had
made no progress at all. So I reached out to you, rested my
hand on your shoulder, as much for your reassurance as for my
own. And you smiled. You smiled and brushed your hand across my
cheek. Then you turned and walked up the ramp.
And looking back I wonder if you knew.
I wonder if you knew the ship was sabotaged.
I wonder if you tried to save me.
The shuttle exploded in a great ball of fire, like a blooming
rose so bright and beautiful in the eternal blackness of space.
The most heartbreaking poetry in the known universe, indeed.
But you were right about the book. It was on Khavek. I found it
three days after you had joined the Force, the day Khavek's and
Dhorku's armadas met near Murass.
All our efforts had failed. You were dead. But I had found the
K'romu-l'hargo Chronicles.
And on my flight to Coruscant it was your voice I heard,
turning the battered pages, reading words of such pure beauty,
that it seemed impossible the hell I had just gotten out of was
real.
You have kept your promise.
Sometimes I think I should miss you, but I don't. I can't. You
speak to me trough the book.
Sometimes I think I should stop this and go back to Coruscant.
Or back to Khavek or any other place a young Jedi Knight is
needed. They raised me to Knighthood, you know. Which I find a
bit odd, because I have done nothing to earn it. Except letting
you enter the shuttle and then watching it explode.
And it is not true that I don't remember the orders I got from
the Council that night. I just prefer not to think about them.
As it is not true that I'll pick a ship spontaneously. I know
which one I'm waiting for.
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