Disclaimers:  Star Wars: The Phantom Menace characters and concept are property of their creators.   No copyright infringement intended.   Original story is property of the author.
Rating:  PG; Drama; M/M Romance.

Farewell, My Heart

© 2000, Samantha Agee

din vier    -  goodbye/farewell mi ja   -  beloved n'shala     -  my heart n'jelnar    -  my soul n'ja    -  my love trevath -  other self me entala bena te  -  may the Force be with you

The night before Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan leave to return Amidala to Naboo . . .


In their private quarters, after a round of lovemaking, the mood is serene, contemplative without being weighted down with undue seriousness for the upcoming day.  What will be, will be - that is the way of the Force.  The path had been decided and on the morrow, they would walk it, side by side. Whatever fate lay in store for the pair, they would face it together . . .

Lying on his side, peering down at the man beside him, Qui-Gon Jinn made a sound of contentment and watched his lover's lips as they curved into a smile.

"Credits for your thoughts, my Master."

The Jedi Master allowed his fingers a curving trail down from cheek to jaw and back, lightly blazing a path to return to later.  For now, he was merely content to gaze, to absorb the peace and serenity he always found in the presence of his trevath.

"You are beautiful, did you know that?"

"Ah."  Sudden understanding dawned and the smile Obi-Wan Kenobi was wearing warmed and softened at the sentiment behind the compliment in the words, his own more than returning it.  "I do now.  Because you have said it, and therefore, I must believe."

"Bah.  Impudent pup!"  The mock growl never stopped the wandering fingers, nor did it diminish the grin his lover was wearing.  "Perhaps I should teach you some manners."

"I live to obey and absorb the grace and wisdom of your teachings, my Master."

Laughing outright at the bold statement, it wasn't mockery, more like a shared teasing, the older Jedi Knight concede defeat.  "I cannot hope to defeat that wicked silver tongue; it is an uneven battle, not even a Jedi Master as accomplished as myself can survive such an unfair advantage.  You win, young one.  You win."

"You know, every time I call you Master, I keep waiting for the whips and chains . . . "

The wry tone and twist of the lips again sent Qui-Gon into laughter, smiling fondly at the reddened tips of Obi-Wan's ears as the younger man shared the image.  He should never have taken him to the Wrinteth district on Shreyta, no doubt that was where the thoughts had been drawn from.  "Oh, the Council would just  love that!"  The older Jedi chuckled again, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

Obi-Wan cherished moments such as this one, when the ever pious older man let himself relax, and let his softer, less serious side emerge.  He would enjoy it now, while he could, for it would surely be gone on the morrow.

"I would rather think they would not!"

"Oh, come now, Obi-Wan . . . "  A tweak of laughter was in the blue-gray eyes and Obi could not help but wonder what mischief he had unwittingly started.  "You mean you wouldn't want to attend a meeting as my slave in truth?  Liven the session up a bit?"

"No, I rather think I will pass, actually."  Blushing even further at the images his Master sent back, Obi-Wan could not help but admit his avoidance was based more out of having to entertain an audience rather than the mental images themselves.   They seemed perfectly acceptable to the apprentice, as long as his Master would be the only one to engage or witness them.

"Mmm.  Perhaps you're right."  Qui-Gon admitted, seemingly reluctant after a moment, the sparkle of mischief slowly fading as his fingers caressed the one cheek fondly.  "I'm simply not willing to share."

Acknowledging the unspoken sentiment, Obi-Wan nodded, returning deeply, "And neither am I."

"No, I suppose not."  Another smile, this one soft.  "I want you, n'shala.  Tonight, my body will be your temple."

Obi-Wan stopped and stared, too moved by what his Master was offering to answer right away.  This would be their final step; the final joining that would bind them both together for eternity and beyond.  Gathering his wits about him, the young apprentice managed a reverent, "I . . . would be honored, mi ja."

"As would I."  The solemn words were spoken with a gentle smile, and with both, an oath was made.  Now they would truly be as one; a bonded pair, made one soul by the purposeful giving of their bodies and the blessings of the Force they served.

***

The death-scene . . .


"No!"

Dear Gods, no!

Through the anger and anguish of the denial, Obi-Wan watched as his Master fell, the Sith's double-lance deadly as it dealt a single, simple stroke . . .

. . . a stroke that brought Qui-Gon to his knees, his eyes wide in denial, his hands clutching the wound that no medicine could treat.  Not here, not in time to save his life.  The Jedi Knight toppled over, his weapon deactivated and still, just as it's wielder no longer moved.

Anger and grief building inside of him, Obi-Wan waited, imperfect and impatiently as the Sith paced, a feral grin on his face; both waiting for the shield generator's time to lapse so that he could avenge his lover's . . . injury.  Qui-Gon was not dead; he could not die and leave Obi-Wan alone.  He would not allow it!

But first he had to get past their enemy.  Which he  would do right about . . . now!

The field removed, Obi-Wan charged his foe, jumping and twisting, the energy of their weapons clashing angrily as the two warriors fought fiercely; the one fueled by grief he would not face, the other by emotions so dark and foreign, the young apprentice would not even touch them.

His anger allowed Obi-Wan to absorb strikes he otherwise would have not, allowed him to break the strange, double bladed lance so that only one energy blade remained.  No longer at such a disadvantage, he struck again and again, grief and rage fueling his strength but blinding him for one crucial moment . . .

That was all it took for the Sith to knock his weapon from his hand and send him falling over the edge of the deck floor.

A few feet from the lip was a protrusion and Obi-Wan caught it, grimly hanging on as his lightsaber clanged past him, bouncing off of the metal walls of the well with sharp metallic rings.  The Sith paced above him, satisfaction and enjoyment radiating from his very being.  His mind was tightly shielded, but the Jedi had no problem reading body language.

The Sith was gloating, red and black face set in a fierce smile, red-orange eyes glowing with triumph.

Not for long.

Spotting his lover's lightsaber deactivated beside his body, Obi-Wan ignored the lump in his throat in order to concentrate.  He gathered the Force to him, springing himself out of the well.  In the same move while rolling in midair, he drew the weapon to him, activating it before his feet ever touched the ground, landing ready and able behind his Master's murderer.

When the Sith turned, it was already too late; Obi-Wan had started the arc that would cut him in two, sending both halves of the Dark Lord's body falling into the metal abyss, dead almost before the fall.

His enemy already forgotten, he rushed to Qui-Gon's side, dropping the lightsaber in favor of lifting his head to rest in his lap, hoping to offer support, not knowing what to do.

"It's . . . too late."

"No."  Shaking his head, Obi would not believe it.  If this had to be, then Obi-Wan would follow; they were bonded, two souls made one, and one could not survive without the other.  He would not survive without him.

But his Master had one last task for him.

"You must.  The boy.  You must train the boy.  He will bring . . . balance . . . to the Force."    

Once again and for the last time, finger's trailed in memorized patterns from cheek to jaw, a lover's caress and final goodbye.

"Promise . . . me, my apprentice.  Promise . . ."

"I - I promise, Master.  I will train the boy --"  His oath given, he could not help but rush to add, "-- but then I will come to you."

"Only when . . . your duty is done."

Obi-Wan bowed his head to the will of his Master.

"Yes, Master."

That reassurance given, Qui-Gon allowed himself to go limp, the duty his honor would not allow him to forsake, now safely passed to Obi-Wan.  His breathing shallow, their eyes met one last time and he spoke sadly, "Din vier, n'shala . . ."

Gasping, fighting the tears as his love let go, Obi-Wan would not let his mate slip into the Force without a farewell returned.  Even if it meant tearing his heart into tiny shreds to do so.  "Din vier, n'shala . . ."  The whisper broke his resolve and the tears reigned unchecked as he sobbed in earnest, his lover's hand held dearly to his cheek as if to hold that last, final caress.  "Din vier, n'jelnar . . .   Din vier . . . Me entala, bena te . . ."

. . .

Goodbye, my heart . . .

Farewell, my heart . . . my soul.  Farewell . . . may the Force be with you . . .

the end

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