Author: Lia Jinn (ladonnadelmare@hotmail.com)
Title: Ashes
Genre: PWP, Vignette
Rating: PG (slight angst)
Disclaimer: Not george.Nor ee cummings.
Feedback: An it please you, ladies.

Ashes

his flesh was flesh, his blood was blood
no hungry man but wish him food
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill only to see him smile.
            -- e.e. cummings


      I watch him for a little while everyday.
      I have my various methods-- he has no idea how well apprised I remain of
his
coming and goings. They are mine, there to be claimed by an act so simple as
lifting my
eyes to a screen, or punching a button for audio. Every stride of his
leonine grace, every
gesture, every word of wisdom-- when does he speak that his words are not
wise? Yes,
you are right-- these are the musings of the obsessed. I am obsessed with
him.
      Love? I don’t know. Hate? At times. Passion? Undeniable. Pain? Constant. He
lifts
a finger of his left hand and I grasp my weapon, whiteknuckled... he lifts a
finger of his
right hand, and I am in tears. Fool-- Xanatos, you are a fool. But every
time I am resolved
to rid myself of this madman’s game, he turns his face blindly to me for a
single,
unknowing instant and it’s as if his eyes have met mine, just as they used
to... those eyes
that bear the weigh of things unnamed, yet the joy of a heart that gives of
itself-- gods!
That I saw myself within them still!
      I dismiss him, and my eyes return to the small screen on my console. He is
laughing, his eyes sparkling with delight. I grip the arm of the chair-- I
do not understand
how he does this to me--
      There was a time when I thought I could do without him. When the madman’s
vision first came over me, when I thought the world lay uncorrupted before
me to roam at
my leisure like the king I had always believed myself to be. Qui- Gon...
that was partially
your fault. I was so damned precocious... so talented... you treated me like
the Crown
Prince of the Jedi. You believed in me almost as much as I believed in
myself.
      That was a very long time ago.
      What would you say now if I ran to you in tears? If I threw that vaunted
red blade
at your feet, and humbled myself before you, with a broken and contrite
heart? Would you
believe me? Would you take me back? Would you--
      Would you love me again?
      Gods-- oh gods, I know /just/ what you do, you fool... Your arms would
open,
and those great blue eyes would swell with tears; you would defend me to the
death,
against the council, against your Padawan, against all those whose hatred I
had brought
upon myself... you are Qui- Gon Jinn. The beautiful. The noble. The hearth
of the
prodigal.
      Damn you! Has there ever been a time when you weren’t /right/? I don’t
think you
begin to understand how close you stand to the edge with me. You have no
idea... one
discreet communique on my end, and I could spill your blood on the very
steps of the
Temple. I should do it. I should purge myself of you, now, forever. You
revolt me! You
/sicken/ me!
      Agony erupts in my gut and snakes through me. I want to lash out, twist
furiously,
scream with the anguish, but I cannot. It is an invisible cancer whose
scourge I bear,
wrapping its talons around my soul and eating me hollow. It is a fire; a
fire whose kindling
is shame, defeat, remorse-- and ego. It consumes me. And I am but flesh--
soon, all that
will remain of me is ashes.
      The ashes of what has been. The bitter ashes of what *might* have been.
Cold,
dry-- I feast on them every night. They are all that is left me, and the
only pain I could not
withstand is to lose them. Better ashes than a vacuum.
      I gaze on the screen one last moment. His face seems frozen in profile; I
want to
weep for his beauty. My eyes begin to burn-- /Master.../
      In one motion I switch off the screen, stare at the blankness a moment--
and weep
for myself instead.

                              * * *

      I cannot weep.
      I cannot shed a single tear to extinguish this dry agony in my soul.
      Anakin, at my side-- he does not weep, either. I hope it is not for my sake
that he
refrains. It is not strength to stand tearless in the face of such grief; it
is, rather, a spiritual
suicide. He is too young--
      Kenobi, you fool. This boy has already lost his entire world, and you think
to
instruct him in the ways of sorrow? Rather, you should mind him and his
manner; perhaps
he will show you the path to redemption.
      Master. Was this your intent? That you give me this boy, less for his sake,
than for
mine? It would be very like you.
      I watch the fire lick at your body-- it seems it cannot consume you, and we
shall
burn an eternity in your stead. Where are you now? Give me no Code rhetoric;
I don’t
want the comfort of the Force just now. I want to see the color of your eyes
in the wind at
my side.
      The dirge sounds round us; every face here is a familiar one. Silent,
watchful, they
think on you-- your courage, your kindness, your nobility-- those things
about you that are
apparent at almost first glance. Really, a glance is all that most of them
had a chance to
glean from you. But I, who have known and felt your heart...
      An hour’s grieving will not begin to touch upon the worlds we carried
between us.
      You are so radiant; those who knew you only in passing might think that the
glow
around you is cast by the flames of the pyre. But you are a luminous being;
it seems
impossible that you should leave any corporeal remnant. Slowly, steadily,
the pyre will do
its work, and all that is left of you will be ashes, soon to be scattered
upon the wind. But
ashes are not what I carry with me.
      The pure flame that is your heart burns still; burns here, within me. You
remain--
you survive-- you exceed the daggers of mortality. Your gentleness is an
icon of hope-- of
survival. More than just survival-- life.
      What, I wonder, does /he/ feel now... the One who betrayed you? Does he
feel the
loss? Does he care? He lost you long ago; he lost you anew, every day. I
lost you but
once, and even so-- you are with me still.
      Does he begin to fathom what he has lost?
      Can I begin to fathom what I have?
      A knot rises to my throat, and I am strangled upon it momentarily. The
flames are
beginning to die-- you are no more.
      The flames of turmoil have burnt away the occlusive flesh, and you are pure
light--
a fragile, eternal flame.
      My heart burns with your presence. At last, one tear pricks at the corner
of my
eye... /Master/...
      When I am lost, love will find you; love will bring you back to me.
      Love has bound the hands of time forever.