He was tired. So very tired, his eyes drifting closed even when he should
have been paying attention. He hadn't ever been this tired before. Every
thought seemed to take an hour to reach him. How strange. The tips of his
fingers were growing numb. Numb and tired.
He was just tired.
Not so much as tired of that day, but tired of life. It was his time to die, his time to kneel over, let his spirit be one with the Force.
Close his eyes and never wake up. Leaving behind- nothing. A former Padawan who wouldn't speak to him. Friends who were no better than enemies. A life as a Jedi that would easily be forgotten. So many had died and joined the dirt.
He smiled a little. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Everything he had strived so hard for to be forgotten and left behind.
His own life was ashes, and he would be only too glad to let it be dust. What was it that the Masters used to say during the old ceremonies? He remembered it, yes. His Master had died, and they had said:
"One candle dimmed leaves a darkness, even in a sea of a thousand lights."
And they had snuffed the candle out, the one at the foot of the dead Jedi, and polite tears had fallen at their feet. Polite tears, the only kind that any would shed for such a Master.
He supposed that his tears had been real. His Master had cared about him once, before everything changed. Yes, once they had been friends, been more than that, been father and son, back when he was a young idealistic fool who thought that all Jedi, especially his Master, were perfect.
But he knew now that he had been wrong. Still, he cried at the funeral for who his Master had once been, had been before it had begun, had been before he left him alone. His Master had lived beyond many battles, and in the end, it was old age that had killed him, old age and regret. Regret that he had ever known his Padawan. Somehow, the man had carried it over to his own Padawan, a student who had been sheltered and did not understand how someone could be hurt. He had been similarly protected from "real life," but had he ever been so blind?
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, right? That was what he needed to believe. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
He reached over and turned out the light.
And all the worlds shall pass away.
Obi-Wan wished it would come soon.
It had been years since Obi-Wan had really been out in the sunshine, felt the calm breeze on his skin, and, thinking this, he threw up his hood. Covered in his cloak he was just a Jedi, and no distinctions were made.
He walked briskly out of the Temple. What had once been his home was his prison, but it didn't matter so much, did it? As long as he could escape it sometimes, feel something... it didn't matter.
The first thing he found was a small restaurant, not high class, but tiny and homely, where the foods were called what they were, and no signs bragged about sanitation. The booths were cracked bantha leather, and the shiny stools didn't spin quite right. He took a seat and ordered a mixed drink.
Obi-Wan sipped it, the taste momentarily burning his throat. He wasn't used to hard alcohol, but certain situations demanded it. He remembered once when he and Qui-Gon had landed on a planet where their version of water was a stale-tasting beer-like liquid.
But he didn't like to remember Qui-Gon, it made him uneasy, made him want to forget some more. He swilled the drink down faster than he ever had before, and looked around blearily. The liquor didn't sit well with him on an empty stomach, so he hurried to order a platter of friend chunnu, swallowing the small meaty pieces hastily. He dug though the pockets of his robe, tipped the waitress, and left.
He hadn't expected, upon sitting in the aircar, and backing out, that he would crash. And that the last thing he saw before his vision went black was...
"Master?"
He awoke with a cold hand on his back. Looking up, the man saw Qui-Gon's stormy blue eyes intent on him.
"Good. You're awake," the Master said in a flat voice devoid of emotion.
"And alive," Obi-Wan retorted, trying to sit up, "which is more than I can say about you." But the hand that pushed him back against the unfamiliar sleepcouch was solid.
He trembled. "I saw you die! I know you're dead, Master!"
"There is no death; there is the Force," Qui-Gon said, his pale lips curving in a smile. "Did you not say those same words to me, at my funeral? Only then, they had a little bit more spirit in them..."
"But there was a funeral! I was there- I saw you burn to ashes! It isn't possible that-" He flew back against the wall, smacking his head on the cold steel, hardly daring to look up at Qui-Gon's flaming eyes.
"The Force works in mysterious ways, Obi-Wan. I suppose that day you thought you were its instrument."
"I saved the Order! You would have-"
"Wrong, Padawan! You killed the Order! Whatever you did on that day wasn't supposed to have happened, and it was you and only you who destroyed the Jedi!" He smiled that thin-lipped smile again. "But I am not dead, Obi-Wan. Not anymore."
"I saw what would have happened," Obi-Wan said through clenched teeth. "I had to act!"
"Yet you were part of your own vision," the Master said softly, "and you were not similarly killed. Why is that, Padawan?"
"Do you forget nothing?" Obi-Wan asked with a weak sigh. "I thought that it was finally over..."
"No, Padawan. I didn't forget." His eyes hardened. "How does someone forget when they are killed by their own apprentice?"
He was just tired.
Not so much as tired of that day, but tired of life. It was his time to die, his time to kneel over, let his spirit be one with the Force.
Close his eyes and never wake up. Leaving behind- nothing. A former Padawan who wouldn't speak to him. Friends who were no better than enemies. A life as a Jedi that would easily be forgotten. So many had died and joined the dirt.
He smiled a little. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Everything he had strived so hard for to be forgotten and left behind.
His own life was ashes, and he would be only too glad to let it be dust. What was it that the Masters used to say during the old ceremonies? He remembered it, yes. His Master had died, and they had said:
"One candle dimmed leaves a darkness, even in a sea of a thousand lights."
And they had snuffed the candle out, the one at the foot of the dead Jedi, and polite tears had fallen at their feet. Polite tears, the only kind that any would shed for such a Master.
He supposed that his tears had been real. His Master had cared about him once, before everything changed. Yes, once they had been friends, been more than that, been father and son, back when he was a young idealistic fool who thought that all Jedi, especially his Master, were perfect.
But he knew now that he had been wrong. Still, he cried at the funeral for who his Master had once been, had been before it had begun, had been before he left him alone. His Master had lived beyond many battles, and in the end, it was old age that had killed him, old age and regret. Regret that he had ever known his Padawan. Somehow, the man had carried it over to his own Padawan, a student who had been sheltered and did not understand how someone could be hurt. He had been similarly protected from "real life," but had he ever been so blind?
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, right? That was what he needed to believe. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
He reached over and turned out the light.
And all the worlds shall pass away.
Obi-Wan wished it would come soon.
It had been years since Obi-Wan had really been out in the sunshine, felt the calm breeze on his skin, and, thinking this, he threw up his hood. Covered in his cloak he was just a Jedi, and no distinctions were made.
He walked briskly out of the Temple. What had once been his home was his prison, but it didn't matter so much, did it? As long as he could escape it sometimes, feel something... it didn't matter.
The first thing he found was a small restaurant, not high class, but tiny and homely, where the foods were called what they were, and no signs bragged about sanitation. The booths were cracked bantha leather, and the shiny stools didn't spin quite right. He took a seat and ordered a mixed drink.
Obi-Wan sipped it, the taste momentarily burning his throat. He wasn't used to hard alcohol, but certain situations demanded it. He remembered once when he and Qui-Gon had landed on a planet where their version of water was a stale-tasting beer-like liquid.
But he didn't like to remember Qui-Gon, it made him uneasy, made him want to forget some more. He swilled the drink down faster than he ever had before, and looked around blearily. The liquor didn't sit well with him on an empty stomach, so he hurried to order a platter of friend chunnu, swallowing the small meaty pieces hastily. He dug though the pockets of his robe, tipped the waitress, and left.
He hadn't expected, upon sitting in the aircar, and backing out, that he would crash. And that the last thing he saw before his vision went black was...
"Master?"
He awoke with a cold hand on his back. Looking up, the man saw Qui-Gon's stormy blue eyes intent on him.
"Good. You're awake," the Master said in a flat voice devoid of emotion.
"And alive," Obi-Wan retorted, trying to sit up, "which is more than I can say about you." But the hand that pushed him back against the unfamiliar sleepcouch was solid.
He trembled. "I saw you die! I know you're dead, Master!"
"There is no death; there is the Force," Qui-Gon said, his pale lips curving in a smile. "Did you not say those same words to me, at my funeral? Only then, they had a little bit more spirit in them..."
"But there was a funeral! I was there- I saw you burn to ashes! It isn't possible that-" He flew back against the wall, smacking his head on the cold steel, hardly daring to look up at Qui-Gon's flaming eyes.
"The Force works in mysterious ways, Obi-Wan. I suppose that day you thought you were its instrument."
"I saved the Order! You would have-"
"Wrong, Padawan! You killed the Order! Whatever you did on that day wasn't supposed to have happened, and it was you and only you who destroyed the Jedi!" He smiled that thin-lipped smile again. "But I am not dead, Obi-Wan. Not anymore."
"I saw what would have happened," Obi-Wan said through clenched teeth. "I had to act!"
"Yet you were part of your own vision," the Master said softly, "and you were not similarly killed. Why is that, Padawan?"
"Do you forget nothing?" Obi-Wan asked with a weak sigh. "I thought that it was finally over..."
"No, Padawan. I didn't forget." His eyes hardened. "How does someone forget when they are killed by their own apprentice?"