Empty Shell
"Qui-Gon? Wake up," said a soft alto voice. The padawan drifted from sleep, feeling his shoulder being shaken by hand presumably belonging to the mysterious voice.
"Leave me alone," Qui-Gon replied quietly, trying to roll over on the couch without falling off. He blinked his eyes, momentarily confused by the darkness surrounding him. "What time is it?" he asked, the sleep fading away with the realization he must have been slumbering for some time. The padawan sat up and rubbed his eyes.
The medical assistant sat back on her heels and waited a moment for Qui-Gon to finish waking up. "It's about two in the morning," she replied. The padawan looked at her and it occurred to him that something was wrong. He hadn't seen a single member of the medical staff in his rooms past around eight o'clock. The shock must have registered on her face, because she put a hand on his knee and looked into his eyes before telling him, "Qui-Gon, your master has died. The bacterial infection finally overpowered him. Do you want to say one last good-bye to him?"
The world turned sickeningly for a moment, then Qui-Gon stood up slowly. "Riley," he whispered, stumbling into his master's bedroom. He approached the medical bed, so incongruous in his room, his master's room. Riley's face was smooth, and it looked to the padawan that he was asleep, except for the yellow tint of the skin and the way he was completely still. Qui-Gon suddenly felt foolish, though. This was nothing to say good-bye to, nothing but an empty shell of the man who used to be his master. He shook his head and turned away.
The medical assistant was standing at the door, looking obviously unsure of what to do. Qui-Gon brushed past her back into the main room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. It took a moment for the assistant to realize he was crying, or at the very least, his shoulders were shaking. She walked over and sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders.
"I don't understand," the padawan said, drawing a shuddering breath. "I don't know why it happened, or what's supposed to happen to me now. I'll probably be yanked from here and shoved with someone else. I don't want someone else."
"I know it looks bleak now," the medical assistant told him, "but the Force has a reason for this, if we can find the understanding in it. The Council may not move you or suggest you're paired with another master. You just have to wait, for now."
Qui-Gon shook his head, and she saw tears glistening on his cheeks. "I don't understand; this is all I've known, all I've wanted." He gave an odd half-sob, half-laugh which was a heart-wrenching sound. "I don't even know who you are, and I'm pouring my heart out to you."
She smiled slightly. "I'm Avi Maralday, an assistant for the infirmary. As for listening, that's part of what I'm here for. Listen, why don't you try to get some sleep? Tomorrow will be another long day. The Council will want to see you, and there will probably be a ceremony for your master's funeral pyre. You will need the rest and the strength."
Qui-Gon wondered at his ability to do something as mundane as sleep, but he knew her suggestion made sense. "You're right," he said in resignation, "I think I will try to get some sleep."
She nodded and turned to leave. "I'll probably be in the infirmary if you need anything," she offered, although it sounded rather futile and hollow. He nodded, and she disappeared out the door. Then, the masterless padawan trudged to his room and curled up on his sleep-couch, silent tears making tracks on his face as his eyes looked towards the empty room, unblinking.
***
He stared at his wall for a long time, seeing nothing except the memories within his own mind. Qui-Gon also heard the quiet shuffle of feet beyond his door as well, but he knew the others were there to collect Riley's body and prepare it for his funeral rites. He couldn't muster the energy to leave his small room or face the people taking away his master. Instead, he remained huddled beneath his blankets, soaking in the warmth that did nothing to touch the profound feeling of hollowness, of being alone, within him.
Qui-Gon awoke the next morning without the memory of falling asleep. His cropped, dark brown hair was tousled and his tunics wrinkled and out of place. Oddly, he felt devoid of feeling. He walked out into the kitchen area, sitting in one of the chairs that surrounded the table. He didn't know what to think, even though his thoughts raced without much order.
The loneliness was pervasive. The rooms he'd shared with his master for the last six years were too quiet for his comfort; Riley would fill them with idle humming or simply the noise of existence. The silence amplified itself a thousand times over until it weighed as heavily as the blankets that had hidden him the night before. The feeling of the quietness was estranging. Granted that Qui-Gon had never been an overly extroverted initiate, he could almost sense the changes that cloaked him. A permanent rift had formed between him and the other padawans his age. While they continued to grow and flourish beneath the careful eyes of their masters, Qui-Gon had been set adrift with nothing to guide him but remote Jedi and his own memories. It would be difficult to put words to, if Qui-Gon could ever find the strength to say them.
He also felt as if his trust had been shattered. Trust was crucial to the Master-Padawan bond, and even his master's death was obviously not Riley's fault, Qui-Gon still felt a little betrayed. Despite the countless dangerous missions he'd been sent on with his master, death had always seemed like something not quite real to the padawan. He had been taught that it was something not to fear but to embrace, but it was still a concept that he'd never faced head on. Now, death was all too real to him, pointedly so by the empty room across the hall.
The promise of a Master-Padawan bond was also one that whispered upon forming a bond, the implied "I'll always be there for you until you have to take the Trials by yourself." Instead, this order had been broken. Master Riley Giovan was gone, one with the Force, and Qui-Gon was still there. More than his master's actual death, the padawan regretted what would never be. He regretted the fact his master could never congratulate him on passing his Trials or watch as Qui-Gon selected and trained his own padawan. He wouldn't be there to smile proudly if Qui-Gon was appointed to the Council or comfort him at the passing over of such an honor. Simply, he wouldn't be there.
No matter what, Qui-Gon realized he would have to be ultra-aware. He doubted that the Council would find him another master. The padawan was simply too old for that, and it would make little sense given that he would be raised to Knighthood in the not-too-distant future. Instead, he would have to fill in the gaps of his knowledge by watching the others around him, seeing what the Knights and Masters did, monitoring what worked and what did not. What would been intrinsic knowledge to other padawans, Qui-Gon would have to learn through hard work and close examination. However, there was no doubt that his training would be somewhat crippled by this. It would affect his future. The rest of his life.
"Qui-Gon? Wake up," said a soft alto voice. The padawan drifted from sleep, feeling his shoulder being shaken by hand presumably belonging to the mysterious voice.
"Leave me alone," Qui-Gon replied quietly, trying to roll over on the couch without falling off. He blinked his eyes, momentarily confused by the darkness surrounding him. "What time is it?" he asked, the sleep fading away with the realization he must have been slumbering for some time. The padawan sat up and rubbed his eyes.
The medical assistant sat back on her heels and waited a moment for Qui-Gon to finish waking up. "It's about two in the morning," she replied. The padawan looked at her and it occurred to him that something was wrong. He hadn't seen a single member of the medical staff in his rooms past around eight o'clock. The shock must have registered on her face, because she put a hand on his knee and looked into his eyes before telling him, "Qui-Gon, your master has died. The bacterial infection finally overpowered him. Do you want to say one last good-bye to him?"
The world turned sickeningly for a moment, then Qui-Gon stood up slowly. "Riley," he whispered, stumbling into his master's bedroom. He approached the medical bed, so incongruous in his room, his master's room. Riley's face was smooth, and it looked to the padawan that he was asleep, except for the yellow tint of the skin and the way he was completely still. Qui-Gon suddenly felt foolish, though. This was nothing to say good-bye to, nothing but an empty shell of the man who used to be his master. He shook his head and turned away.
The medical assistant was standing at the door, looking obviously unsure of what to do. Qui-Gon brushed past her back into the main room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. It took a moment for the assistant to realize he was crying, or at the very least, his shoulders were shaking. She walked over and sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders.
"I don't understand," the padawan said, drawing a shuddering breath. "I don't know why it happened, or what's supposed to happen to me now. I'll probably be yanked from here and shoved with someone else. I don't want someone else."
"I know it looks bleak now," the medical assistant told him, "but the Force has a reason for this, if we can find the understanding in it. The Council may not move you or suggest you're paired with another master. You just have to wait, for now."
Qui-Gon shook his head, and she saw tears glistening on his cheeks. "I don't understand; this is all I've known, all I've wanted." He gave an odd half-sob, half-laugh which was a heart-wrenching sound. "I don't even know who you are, and I'm pouring my heart out to you."
She smiled slightly. "I'm Avi Maralday, an assistant for the infirmary. As for listening, that's part of what I'm here for. Listen, why don't you try to get some sleep? Tomorrow will be another long day. The Council will want to see you, and there will probably be a ceremony for your master's funeral pyre. You will need the rest and the strength."
Qui-Gon wondered at his ability to do something as mundane as sleep, but he knew her suggestion made sense. "You're right," he said in resignation, "I think I will try to get some sleep."
She nodded and turned to leave. "I'll probably be in the infirmary if you need anything," she offered, although it sounded rather futile and hollow. He nodded, and she disappeared out the door. Then, the masterless padawan trudged to his room and curled up on his sleep-couch, silent tears making tracks on his face as his eyes looked towards the empty room, unblinking.
***
He stared at his wall for a long time, seeing nothing except the memories within his own mind. Qui-Gon also heard the quiet shuffle of feet beyond his door as well, but he knew the others were there to collect Riley's body and prepare it for his funeral rites. He couldn't muster the energy to leave his small room or face the people taking away his master. Instead, he remained huddled beneath his blankets, soaking in the warmth that did nothing to touch the profound feeling of hollowness, of being alone, within him.
Qui-Gon awoke the next morning without the memory of falling asleep. His cropped, dark brown hair was tousled and his tunics wrinkled and out of place. Oddly, he felt devoid of feeling. He walked out into the kitchen area, sitting in one of the chairs that surrounded the table. He didn't know what to think, even though his thoughts raced without much order.
The loneliness was pervasive. The rooms he'd shared with his master for the last six years were too quiet for his comfort; Riley would fill them with idle humming or simply the noise of existence. The silence amplified itself a thousand times over until it weighed as heavily as the blankets that had hidden him the night before. The feeling of the quietness was estranging. Granted that Qui-Gon had never been an overly extroverted initiate, he could almost sense the changes that cloaked him. A permanent rift had formed between him and the other padawans his age. While they continued to grow and flourish beneath the careful eyes of their masters, Qui-Gon had been set adrift with nothing to guide him but remote Jedi and his own memories. It would be difficult to put words to, if Qui-Gon could ever find the strength to say them.
He also felt as if his trust had been shattered. Trust was crucial to the Master-Padawan bond, and even his master's death was obviously not Riley's fault, Qui-Gon still felt a little betrayed. Despite the countless dangerous missions he'd been sent on with his master, death had always seemed like something not quite real to the padawan. He had been taught that it was something not to fear but to embrace, but it was still a concept that he'd never faced head on. Now, death was all too real to him, pointedly so by the empty room across the hall.
The promise of a Master-Padawan bond was also one that whispered upon forming a bond, the implied "I'll always be there for you until you have to take the Trials by yourself." Instead, this order had been broken. Master Riley Giovan was gone, one with the Force, and Qui-Gon was still there. More than his master's actual death, the padawan regretted what would never be. He regretted the fact his master could never congratulate him on passing his Trials or watch as Qui-Gon selected and trained his own padawan. He wouldn't be there to smile proudly if Qui-Gon was appointed to the Council or comfort him at the passing over of such an honor. Simply, he wouldn't be there.
No matter what, Qui-Gon realized he would have to be ultra-aware. He doubted that the Council would find him another master. The padawan was simply too old for that, and it would make little sense given that he would be raised to Knighthood in the not-too-distant future. Instead, he would have to fill in the gaps of his knowledge by watching the others around him, seeing what the Knights and Masters did, monitoring what worked and what did not. What would been intrinsic knowledge to other padawans, Qui-Gon would have to learn through hard work and close examination. However, there was no doubt that his training would be somewhat crippled by this. It would affect his future. The rest of his life.