Title: What Could Never Be
Author: Jedi_Nifet
Genre: Romance, I guess :)
Spoilers: For JA #4 and minor for JA #5
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn writes a letter to Elan
Author's note: I have to give a credit to the man who prefers calling
himself O-D for
the idea of this pairing. Also I took liberty to alter Jude Watson's story
just a tad. This was written for the Love Letter challenge.
*** *** ***
Dear Elan,
Qui-Gon leaned back in his stiff chair and looked at the written words from afar. A sad and fleeing smile touched his lips briefly. In no way was it usual for him to write a letter on paper – datapads were much more handy, he had to agree – and even more unusual was what he was about to write. Still these words demanded to be written on paper, to be more personal than printed words on a cold datapad screen.
These words... They are so official and aloof. They seem extracted from a notifying letter of Coruscant Transport Department. Like: "Dear Master Jinn, we regret to inform you that once again your Padawan..."
Old wound, recently aggravated and barely starting to heal flared with almost physical pain. Eyes involuntarily landed on a static holo occupying the honourable place on his overfull bookshelf. Raven-haired boy winked at him from the holo, his cunning smile wide. A face of another young boy emerged from carefully shielded nook of the Jedi Master's memory. Another mistake in the long row. Qui-Gon shook his head and forced his eyes to return to the sheet before him.
No, these words don't suit my letter. They don't suit HER.
Strong calloused fingers crumpled the paper steadily and threw it into a waste bucket next to his table. Picking another sheet, he leaned over and started anew.
My dearest Elan,
Today I had a walk around the Temple's Art Galleries. Yes, we do have such a thing here. One can always find time for art, even someone whose life is as regulated as Jedi's is. But today I was not craving for art - truth be said, I barely noticed what I was seeing at all. I suppose I went there to find solitude and time to think, to escape the suffocating confines of my empty quarters. They shouldn't be this way, and I even was beginning to imagine they wouldn't be for a long time, but... Yet this is a story I do not wish to bother you with. Enough to say that everything is way too different from what I, old fool, was expecting...
And walking those Art Galleries was when I found it – her. I cannot bring myself to call this graceful piece of beauty an "it". It was a statue – and something much more than that. Made by traditions of old, she looked ancient yet so fresh and full of life as a newborn. I didn't read her name – I had no need to. For me she was you, Elan. And she brought up memories of the days you and I spent together.
From the first moment I heard your name I knew you. It was not a connection through the Force – it was something much deeper, much more human, much more emotional. It was because of this connection that I ventured to intrude into your land. It was because I was absolutely confident I knew you very well that I did it.
Do you remember that time in the tent where you helped me dress my wounds? I can still feel your hands over my skin – warm and calming like a balm, soft. Your hair were brushing my back... Do you remember the kiss we shared? It was too sweet to be true, pure, almost innocent: a manifestation of what we felt. And I know you felt the same way I did.
This statue... She is very much like you: strong, fearless, independent, proud. Kind. And at this time of despair I find myself wishing you were here next to me. Maybe your miraculous hands would have been able to heal those invisible wounds running deep through my heart.
But you are not here. This feeling we shared for those brief days was doomed from the start. It is something that didn't come true and was never meant to be. Yet I keep catching myself thinking: what if... What if it could happen?
I am not used to put my thoughts into words so openly. I will probably never have a heart to send this letter to you, and maybe it is better that way.
Be safe and may the Force be with you, always.
Yours forever, Qui-Gon Jinn
Elan folded the paper neatly and leaned back in quiet contemplation. The letter bore a date of twelve years ago. It seemed Qui-Gon never meant to send it. Yet the post-droid had brought it to her today – after so many years. What made Qui-Gon send it after all, she'll never know.
Picking the envelope Elan looked it over carefully. The address was written in a bold hand – undoubtedly his. All of it, safe for her last name. He could not have known it back then, she hadn't been married yet. But some other hand had added her new surname.
Elan's heart constricted as unexpected, unprovoked dread engulfed her. Unable to stay motionless she rose and stepped up to high open window overlooking their vast garden. Long silky iridescent dress, thoroughly prepared for the evening's ball, rustled around her as she walked. Leaning on the windowsill, her hands folded over each other, she thought that Qui- Gon would have never recognized the proud leader of the Hill people in her present self. That Elan he had known was forever lost to the unrelenting merciless time.
She heard her husband approach from behind, and his arms wove around Elan as he leaned to rest his chin on her shoulder.
"What is it, darling? You are so sad that birds cease their songs to cry for you," he half-joked.
"It's nothing, sweetheart," she replied, mimicking a tiny smile. "Just a little bit of past."
*** *** ***
Dear Elan,
Qui-Gon leaned back in his stiff chair and looked at the written words from afar. A sad and fleeing smile touched his lips briefly. In no way was it usual for him to write a letter on paper – datapads were much more handy, he had to agree – and even more unusual was what he was about to write. Still these words demanded to be written on paper, to be more personal than printed words on a cold datapad screen.
These words... They are so official and aloof. They seem extracted from a notifying letter of Coruscant Transport Department. Like: "Dear Master Jinn, we regret to inform you that once again your Padawan..."
Old wound, recently aggravated and barely starting to heal flared with almost physical pain. Eyes involuntarily landed on a static holo occupying the honourable place on his overfull bookshelf. Raven-haired boy winked at him from the holo, his cunning smile wide. A face of another young boy emerged from carefully shielded nook of the Jedi Master's memory. Another mistake in the long row. Qui-Gon shook his head and forced his eyes to return to the sheet before him.
No, these words don't suit my letter. They don't suit HER.
Strong calloused fingers crumpled the paper steadily and threw it into a waste bucket next to his table. Picking another sheet, he leaned over and started anew.
My dearest Elan,
Today I had a walk around the Temple's Art Galleries. Yes, we do have such a thing here. One can always find time for art, even someone whose life is as regulated as Jedi's is. But today I was not craving for art - truth be said, I barely noticed what I was seeing at all. I suppose I went there to find solitude and time to think, to escape the suffocating confines of my empty quarters. They shouldn't be this way, and I even was beginning to imagine they wouldn't be for a long time, but... Yet this is a story I do not wish to bother you with. Enough to say that everything is way too different from what I, old fool, was expecting...
And walking those Art Galleries was when I found it – her. I cannot bring myself to call this graceful piece of beauty an "it". It was a statue – and something much more than that. Made by traditions of old, she looked ancient yet so fresh and full of life as a newborn. I didn't read her name – I had no need to. For me she was you, Elan. And she brought up memories of the days you and I spent together.
From the first moment I heard your name I knew you. It was not a connection through the Force – it was something much deeper, much more human, much more emotional. It was because of this connection that I ventured to intrude into your land. It was because I was absolutely confident I knew you very well that I did it.
Do you remember that time in the tent where you helped me dress my wounds? I can still feel your hands over my skin – warm and calming like a balm, soft. Your hair were brushing my back... Do you remember the kiss we shared? It was too sweet to be true, pure, almost innocent: a manifestation of what we felt. And I know you felt the same way I did.
This statue... She is very much like you: strong, fearless, independent, proud. Kind. And at this time of despair I find myself wishing you were here next to me. Maybe your miraculous hands would have been able to heal those invisible wounds running deep through my heart.
But you are not here. This feeling we shared for those brief days was doomed from the start. It is something that didn't come true and was never meant to be. Yet I keep catching myself thinking: what if... What if it could happen?
I am not used to put my thoughts into words so openly. I will probably never have a heart to send this letter to you, and maybe it is better that way.
Be safe and may the Force be with you, always.
Yours forever, Qui-Gon Jinn
Elan folded the paper neatly and leaned back in quiet contemplation. The letter bore a date of twelve years ago. It seemed Qui-Gon never meant to send it. Yet the post-droid had brought it to her today – after so many years. What made Qui-Gon send it after all, she'll never know.
Picking the envelope Elan looked it over carefully. The address was written in a bold hand – undoubtedly his. All of it, safe for her last name. He could not have known it back then, she hadn't been married yet. But some other hand had added her new surname.
Elan's heart constricted as unexpected, unprovoked dread engulfed her. Unable to stay motionless she rose and stepped up to high open window overlooking their vast garden. Long silky iridescent dress, thoroughly prepared for the evening's ball, rustled around her as she walked. Leaning on the windowsill, her hands folded over each other, she thought that Qui- Gon would have never recognized the proud leader of the Hill people in her present self. That Elan he had known was forever lost to the unrelenting merciless time.
She heard her husband approach from behind, and his arms wove around Elan as he leaned to rest his chin on her shoulder.
"What is it, darling? You are so sad that birds cease their songs to cry for you," he half-joked.
"It's nothing, sweetheart," she replied, mimicking a tiny smile. "Just a little bit of past."