Remembrance
There isn't a single bright color around us, there isn't a shade of white, a touch of wheat against all this darkness. Nothing to tear our attention away from the burning pyre feet away, orange red flames licking at the body laid out. From the corner of my eye I can make out a gray color, threatening to throw off the dark shades of burgundy around us. The Queen's headdress…of course, because the Queen of Naboo would not have anything to match the Jedi's dark cloaks.
I'm glad for these cloaks now, when before I had considered them bothersome. It is easier to wield a lightsaber without dragging sleeves and heavy fabric licking at you boots, holding you back, keeping you from moving quicker then usual. But in the end, it really didn't come down to cloaks.
And even that thought can't make me hate these traditional articles of clothing, because without them, my face would be readable to everyone. A single glance would have been able to tell them the suffering I must have endowed in those last moments…and I don't want that. I don't want there apologies, their heart filled mourns and promises to be there when they can. They don't have the right to apologize, because if they had been there, they couldn't have stopped it either.
I couldn't stop it…
I choke back the cry that wants to come forth and raise my head a little higher, once more proud to have the dark hood up and over my head, its heavy cloth casting shadows over my face, cloaking the torment in my eyes. I didn't want to come to this; didn't want to see my Master's body laid out before me for the fire to burn away. But out of respect, I forced myself from the bed and dressed, felt my feet lead me to this place of sadness and despair.
For as much as I did not want to appear, did not want to see this, I can't move my eyes from this ceremonial burning. I can't make myself look away, and it pains me to even blink, because I think I've finally realized…that this is the last time I'm ever going to see him. So to glance away would destroy me, I need to memorize what I already know.
There's not a sound around us, nothing but the smell of burning clothes, and soon to be burning flesh. Flesh I'd traced with my fingertips, with my lips, committed to memory in case… in case I ever lost what I knew so well. What my heart and soul had doubled with, in more ways then one.
My mind reaches out, followed by my soul, and I don't know why I've allowed myself to do it, when I know nothing will touch me in return. There will be no answer, because there is no link, there is no bond that holds me to him. No Master…no Padawan. No connection; nothing. Nothing but the silence, the growing shadows and hissing flames, bright when they should be dull, because everything else is.
Even the Force can't help me now, can't make this feeling go away, this guilt that's sunk into my skin and made it crawl, shudder as if I had burned it. And no one will understand what I'm feeling now, this emptiness. To have your heart and soul torn from you in one second, and then loose the power you've had all your life. The Force is comforting, it can heal almost anything if you try, it's light…that's what it is. Light that fills your veins and let you be peaceful, take away your pain, clear your mind. Qui Gon new this, and so do I. It just can't seem to work now, when I need it the most.
When I need skin and clothes, blood and words, long hair and blue eyes. When I need the familiar smell of clean flesh and patient, smiling lips, with an even more patient voice, tender and yet strict. Commanding, in its own way.
Master Yoda says to let the Force be what I want, to replace the urge for skin on skin, with power and energy. But, if I can't even touch it, then how am I suppose to use it now to replace this want?
The softest of sounds jars me from my thoughts, and I find myself turning my head, eyes breaking from the mound of flames to look down at the young, light haired Skywalker. I frown at his sadness, and my voice is nothing but a dead tone, even as I try to be the Master Qui Gon was for me. "You will be trained, Anakin. I promised Qui Gon." My fingers grip his small shoulder lightly as I turn my head back around, close my eyes behind the shadows and cloak hood.
*****
It wasn't supposed to happen like it did, it wasn't supposed to happen so soon, and with him so helpless. I saw it coming…and I think that's what hurts the worse, is that I saw his flaw, his mistake, and in that instance I screamed out with my mind. Too late.
And only seconds later would my voice follow. I shouldn't have cried out, shouldn't have screamed. It's not the Jedi manner…Jedi's are supposed to calm, supposed to use their soul and mind when things fail, and all is lost, not fall to screaming. But what would the Council have expected of me?
My heart raced, my pulse quickened, and every inch of me seemed to burn as this light, this connection between Padawan and Master was slowly…fading. The once strong link was burning out, dwindling rapidly, leaving me alone.
I don't remember my movements, I don't remember the energy shield switching off. I don't remember falling, nor jumping back up, Force allowing me to grab a hold of a lightsaber I'd seen in battle so many times before, but never left laying on the ground like that.
I remember the hum of energy on energy, the disgusting smell of burnt skin and sizzling green saber slashing into a red one. His flaw was easy to see; his mistake. Just like Qui Gon's had been easy to see, and even now…I can't help but think that he shouldn't have died like this. Shouldn't have been struck down by a creature so unworthy of defeating my Master.
I remember the site of a Sith Apprentice being split into to, the tumbling masses falling down into a hole of blackness. I remember the darkness that hit me then, the feeling of emptiness, like having the sun removed from your world, leaving you ice and ebony for comfort.
I don't remember walking, or was it running, over to the fallen body. I don't remember kneeling beside him, and in my haste, I think I might have dropped the lightsaber.
I do remember though cradling him as if he were the younger man, his head in my lap, my arms around him, long hair spilled out across my knees. I remember his words, his pleas to train young Skywalker. I remember…his fingers at the corner of my mouth, and I remember my tears, my pain.
I remember what I still see, what I dream about in an empty, cold bed. What I image on my eyelids is no comfort to me anymore, because he's not here. I don't have his body to let my fingers dance over, his clothes to remove, his skin to taste.
I don't have his voice to scold me, or to praise me, or to lecture or to even say good morning. I don't have the familiar link of mind and soul, of heart and love and understanding. I only have memories, memories that I cherish.
I have what I remember.
And right now, I remember these flames.
There isn't a single bright color around us, there isn't a shade of white, a touch of wheat against all this darkness. Nothing to tear our attention away from the burning pyre feet away, orange red flames licking at the body laid out. From the corner of my eye I can make out a gray color, threatening to throw off the dark shades of burgundy around us. The Queen's headdress…of course, because the Queen of Naboo would not have anything to match the Jedi's dark cloaks.
I'm glad for these cloaks now, when before I had considered them bothersome. It is easier to wield a lightsaber without dragging sleeves and heavy fabric licking at you boots, holding you back, keeping you from moving quicker then usual. But in the end, it really didn't come down to cloaks.
And even that thought can't make me hate these traditional articles of clothing, because without them, my face would be readable to everyone. A single glance would have been able to tell them the suffering I must have endowed in those last moments…and I don't want that. I don't want there apologies, their heart filled mourns and promises to be there when they can. They don't have the right to apologize, because if they had been there, they couldn't have stopped it either.
I couldn't stop it…
I choke back the cry that wants to come forth and raise my head a little higher, once more proud to have the dark hood up and over my head, its heavy cloth casting shadows over my face, cloaking the torment in my eyes. I didn't want to come to this; didn't want to see my Master's body laid out before me for the fire to burn away. But out of respect, I forced myself from the bed and dressed, felt my feet lead me to this place of sadness and despair.
For as much as I did not want to appear, did not want to see this, I can't move my eyes from this ceremonial burning. I can't make myself look away, and it pains me to even blink, because I think I've finally realized…that this is the last time I'm ever going to see him. So to glance away would destroy me, I need to memorize what I already know.
There's not a sound around us, nothing but the smell of burning clothes, and soon to be burning flesh. Flesh I'd traced with my fingertips, with my lips, committed to memory in case… in case I ever lost what I knew so well. What my heart and soul had doubled with, in more ways then one.
My mind reaches out, followed by my soul, and I don't know why I've allowed myself to do it, when I know nothing will touch me in return. There will be no answer, because there is no link, there is no bond that holds me to him. No Master…no Padawan. No connection; nothing. Nothing but the silence, the growing shadows and hissing flames, bright when they should be dull, because everything else is.
Even the Force can't help me now, can't make this feeling go away, this guilt that's sunk into my skin and made it crawl, shudder as if I had burned it. And no one will understand what I'm feeling now, this emptiness. To have your heart and soul torn from you in one second, and then loose the power you've had all your life. The Force is comforting, it can heal almost anything if you try, it's light…that's what it is. Light that fills your veins and let you be peaceful, take away your pain, clear your mind. Qui Gon new this, and so do I. It just can't seem to work now, when I need it the most.
When I need skin and clothes, blood and words, long hair and blue eyes. When I need the familiar smell of clean flesh and patient, smiling lips, with an even more patient voice, tender and yet strict. Commanding, in its own way.
Master Yoda says to let the Force be what I want, to replace the urge for skin on skin, with power and energy. But, if I can't even touch it, then how am I suppose to use it now to replace this want?
The softest of sounds jars me from my thoughts, and I find myself turning my head, eyes breaking from the mound of flames to look down at the young, light haired Skywalker. I frown at his sadness, and my voice is nothing but a dead tone, even as I try to be the Master Qui Gon was for me. "You will be trained, Anakin. I promised Qui Gon." My fingers grip his small shoulder lightly as I turn my head back around, close my eyes behind the shadows and cloak hood.
*****
It wasn't supposed to happen like it did, it wasn't supposed to happen so soon, and with him so helpless. I saw it coming…and I think that's what hurts the worse, is that I saw his flaw, his mistake, and in that instance I screamed out with my mind. Too late.
And only seconds later would my voice follow. I shouldn't have cried out, shouldn't have screamed. It's not the Jedi manner…Jedi's are supposed to calm, supposed to use their soul and mind when things fail, and all is lost, not fall to screaming. But what would the Council have expected of me?
My heart raced, my pulse quickened, and every inch of me seemed to burn as this light, this connection between Padawan and Master was slowly…fading. The once strong link was burning out, dwindling rapidly, leaving me alone.
I don't remember my movements, I don't remember the energy shield switching off. I don't remember falling, nor jumping back up, Force allowing me to grab a hold of a lightsaber I'd seen in battle so many times before, but never left laying on the ground like that.
I remember the hum of energy on energy, the disgusting smell of burnt skin and sizzling green saber slashing into a red one. His flaw was easy to see; his mistake. Just like Qui Gon's had been easy to see, and even now…I can't help but think that he shouldn't have died like this. Shouldn't have been struck down by a creature so unworthy of defeating my Master.
I remember the site of a Sith Apprentice being split into to, the tumbling masses falling down into a hole of blackness. I remember the darkness that hit me then, the feeling of emptiness, like having the sun removed from your world, leaving you ice and ebony for comfort.
I don't remember walking, or was it running, over to the fallen body. I don't remember kneeling beside him, and in my haste, I think I might have dropped the lightsaber.
I do remember though cradling him as if he were the younger man, his head in my lap, my arms around him, long hair spilled out across my knees. I remember his words, his pleas to train young Skywalker. I remember…his fingers at the corner of my mouth, and I remember my tears, my pain.
I remember what I still see, what I dream about in an empty, cold bed. What I image on my eyelids is no comfort to me anymore, because he's not here. I don't have his body to let my fingers dance over, his clothes to remove, his skin to taste.
I don't have his voice to scold me, or to praise me, or to lecture or to even say good morning. I don't have the familiar link of mind and soul, of heart and love and understanding. I only have memories, memories that I cherish.
I have what I remember.
And right now, I remember these flames.