An Ending
Qui-Gon watched as the flames licked carefully at the inert form of his master. They had formed a fitting kind of shroud over Riley, folding over him like soft, vibrantly colored blankets, warming his last sleep. Then, the fire would crack and hiss and pop, making evil sounds in the quiet room, restless in the death of a Jedi. The moment would pass, as everything was as it should be again, or as close as it would ever be. Qui-Gon hugged his arms to himself, drawing in his outer robe closer, despite the oppressive heat from the pyre.
The padawan was comfortably numb for the moment. He felt hollowed out, as if he'd shed every last tear in his being, felt every range of betrayal and loss and grief, watched every memory too many times. He wanted with an intense desire he'd never experience before to be able to leave, not to watch as his master's body was returned to its origin. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," he whispered inaudibly to himself. However, he couldn't muster the courage to leave the small room. Qui-Gon understood his master was dead; watching as his body was cremated to have the ashes put to rest in the Honorarium, an eternal flame lit next to an onyx plaque with his name, was merely reaffirmation of what he knew. But the knowledge never touched his heart.
The room was oppressive in its own way. There were heavy scents in the air, the smell of ritual to cover the more acrid scent of the burning of a person. Qui-Gon took a deep breath, feeling the heady perfume seep into his lungs, almost overwhelming. The fire popped, sending a plume of sparks into the air only to drift back again.
That is what I am, Qui-Gon decided. A drifting point of light, separated from that which I thought would always be there. Lost in a world not to its understanding. Perhaps I can learn, though. Perhaps some day I'll be able to pass my spark of fire to someone else. Perhaps some day I'll live to know my master's regrets, to know I won't be there when I'm needed and longed for, that someone else will hurt because I no longer walk among them. He shivered slightly at the thought, feeling suddenly cooler in the warm room. May that never be, he decided.
It was such an odd feeling to be so acutely aware of his own mortality. Death had always been something he was aware of, but never really acquainted with. Jedi his master had known had died. Qui-Gon had even been to the ceremony of a padawan who'd died in an accident, a remote associate from his classes. But this wasn't the same. He'd never known the visage of the person upon the pyre in the expression of anything except smooth silence, the quiet of sleep and stillness. Riley's face, however, had rarely been in the expression it now wore. His eyes had always sparkled with amusement or cunning, a deep, encompassing intelligence glowed behind his eyes and in his face, the apparent consideration of all things; a mind that never stopped. Never had his master been this still, not until death had taken his liveliness.
There was no way around it. This was an ending, a good-bye. Qui-Gon felt his heart wrench at that thought, and his numbness was suddenly replaced by a rush of wordless sadness and grief. Although it felt like a dream, he knew he wouldn't wake up. Every time, he would wake up alone, a masterless padawan. He was alone for whatever reason that had been divined for this turn of events. It was the ultimate farewell, the unforeseen, tears-upon-cheeks, one last cry of affection type of good-bye that happened to one person in a million. Qui-Gon was the lucky one, or perhaps the damned one, the one personality who would be shaped by it, finding strength within instead of without, understanding in what made him different from everyone else in his thoughts, perceptions, relations, and everything. The emotion was strong within him, surpassing the limits of communication and even his capacity to fully experience it. Qui-Gon Jinn, padawan of Riley Giovan, hated farewells.
Qui-Gon watched as the flames licked carefully at the inert form of his master. They had formed a fitting kind of shroud over Riley, folding over him like soft, vibrantly colored blankets, warming his last sleep. Then, the fire would crack and hiss and pop, making evil sounds in the quiet room, restless in the death of a Jedi. The moment would pass, as everything was as it should be again, or as close as it would ever be. Qui-Gon hugged his arms to himself, drawing in his outer robe closer, despite the oppressive heat from the pyre.
The padawan was comfortably numb for the moment. He felt hollowed out, as if he'd shed every last tear in his being, felt every range of betrayal and loss and grief, watched every memory too many times. He wanted with an intense desire he'd never experience before to be able to leave, not to watch as his master's body was returned to its origin. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," he whispered inaudibly to himself. However, he couldn't muster the courage to leave the small room. Qui-Gon understood his master was dead; watching as his body was cremated to have the ashes put to rest in the Honorarium, an eternal flame lit next to an onyx plaque with his name, was merely reaffirmation of what he knew. But the knowledge never touched his heart.
The room was oppressive in its own way. There were heavy scents in the air, the smell of ritual to cover the more acrid scent of the burning of a person. Qui-Gon took a deep breath, feeling the heady perfume seep into his lungs, almost overwhelming. The fire popped, sending a plume of sparks into the air only to drift back again.
That is what I am, Qui-Gon decided. A drifting point of light, separated from that which I thought would always be there. Lost in a world not to its understanding. Perhaps I can learn, though. Perhaps some day I'll be able to pass my spark of fire to someone else. Perhaps some day I'll live to know my master's regrets, to know I won't be there when I'm needed and longed for, that someone else will hurt because I no longer walk among them. He shivered slightly at the thought, feeling suddenly cooler in the warm room. May that never be, he decided.
It was such an odd feeling to be so acutely aware of his own mortality. Death had always been something he was aware of, but never really acquainted with. Jedi his master had known had died. Qui-Gon had even been to the ceremony of a padawan who'd died in an accident, a remote associate from his classes. But this wasn't the same. He'd never known the visage of the person upon the pyre in the expression of anything except smooth silence, the quiet of sleep and stillness. Riley's face, however, had rarely been in the expression it now wore. His eyes had always sparkled with amusement or cunning, a deep, encompassing intelligence glowed behind his eyes and in his face, the apparent consideration of all things; a mind that never stopped. Never had his master been this still, not until death had taken his liveliness.
There was no way around it. This was an ending, a good-bye. Qui-Gon felt his heart wrench at that thought, and his numbness was suddenly replaced by a rush of wordless sadness and grief. Although it felt like a dream, he knew he wouldn't wake up. Every time, he would wake up alone, a masterless padawan. He was alone for whatever reason that had been divined for this turn of events. It was the ultimate farewell, the unforeseen, tears-upon-cheeks, one last cry of affection type of good-bye that happened to one person in a million. Qui-Gon was the lucky one, or perhaps the damned one, the one personality who would be shaped by it, finding strength within instead of without, understanding in what made him different from everyone else in his thoughts, perceptions, relations, and everything. The emotion was strong within him, surpassing the limits of communication and even his capacity to fully experience it. Qui-Gon Jinn, padawan of Riley Giovan, hated farewells.