Chapter Text
“What is grief if not love persevering” – Marvel's Vision
Obi-Wan felt his blood pumping through his veins. The only noise he heard was the roaring of it in his ears as he watched the Sith fall, coupled with his own harsh, overly loud breathing. For a second, his eyes followed the tumble of the monster's two halves down the melting pit.
Then, as if struck by lightning, he snapped out of his numb stupor, out of the state of fatigue he had fallen into as soon as Qui-Gon's lightsaber had cut through the Sith's body. The lightsaber falling from his powerless fingers cluttered to the ground, forgotten, and he raced on trembling legs to his Master's fallen form. His knees hitting the hard floor, Obi-Wan fell down next to the older man, and gently took his upper body into his arms.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon rasped. “It's too late...”
“No!” Obi-Wan almost felt as if he'd choke on his own tears, frantically brushing trembling fingers over Qui-Gon's cheeks. He felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do to help his Master, and deep down, he really knew that it was too late.
Inadvertently, the teachings of his youth flitted through his head, the Jedi Code: There is no death, there is the Force. And for a moment, he honestly considered letting fate take its course, let death claim his Master, and give him eternal peace.
But then, he looked into the dark blue eyes. So beloved, so familiar. And he knew that he couldn't, damn the Code. Let the Council cry attachment, he loved Qui-Gon too much to let him go now.
Having no idea what he was actually doing, just knowing that he had to do something, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and lowered his head to press his forehead against Qui-Gon's. He calmed his breathing, his heartbeat, and let himself sink into the Force so deeply like he'd never done before. He trusted it to guide him to do the right thing.
A feeling suddenly raced through him. A warmth he had never felt before in his life. It felt so right, so strong, and he let go completely, let himself be carried away by this breathtaking power, trusting in it with his heart and soul.
Qui-Gon gasped. Pain seared through his body, coalescing in the one point in his stomach where the Sith's red lightsaber had pierced his flesh. The pain became worse, swelling to an almost unbearable heat that robbed him of his senses and sanity all alike. Then, it stopped, and the painful heat abruptly changed into a tingling, comforting warmth which slowly faded completely. Feeling life return into him rapidly, Qui-Gon managed to sit up, blinking in befuddlement. What was happening here? He should be dead by now. Or at least unable to move even one muscle. Instinctively, he turned towards the warm presence he sensed close to him, planning to demand some answers.
“Obi-Wan!” he cried though when his Padawan collapsed next to him without warning. Only his Jedi reflexes enabled him to catch him in his arms before the young man could hit the hard ground.
Shakily, Qui-Gon brushed a hand through Obi-Wan's spiky red hair now darkened with sweat, then down to cup his cheek. “What have you done?!”
Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open weakly. “The... only... thing that's... right,” the young Jedi gasped, every breath he took coming harder and harder. “Had to save you...”
In denial, Qui-Gon shook his head frantically, not caring in the slightest that all his Jedi calm evaporated in the despair of holding his dying Padawan in his arms.
And that Obi-Wan was dying was an irrefutable, horrifying fact he knew in the deepest pits of his soul.
Running his eyes over Obi-Wan's steadily weakening form, a wounded noise got stuck in his throat. He couldn't make out any visible injuries, but he had by now realised what his Padawan had done. He knew that underneath Obi-Wan's tunic, there was a cauterised hole in his abdomen in exactly the same place that it should have been in Qui-Gon's own stomach. He didn't know how Obi-Wan had accomplished this miraculous feat by switching his own life energy for Qui-Gon's, probably wouldn't understand for the rest of his his life, but in that moment, he only wished that Obi-Wan had never managed.
“How could you, you foolish, foolish Padawan?” he accused, his voice breaking under the tears that suddenly fell, and which he wasn't too ashamed to allow. “I'm just an old man. You've still got your life ahead you.”
Struggling for breath, Obi-Wan shook his head stubbornly. “Don't care,” he wheezed. Weakly, he raised a trembling hand to caress Qui-Gon's cheek, then slid it to the back of the older man's neck, gently pulling him forward with all the strength he had left. Willingly, Qui-Gon complied with the weak yet insistent demand so that their faces were only a hairsbreadth apart.
“I... couldn't bear to live... a life without you in it,” Obi-Wan whispered, then tilted his head up so that his lips brushed Qui-Gon's.
The older Jedi's breath caught when he felt warm, trembling lips touch his. He'd never thought that Obi-Wan's feelings towards him could be of this nature!
A soft, pained cry from his Padawan brought Qui-Gon out of his surprised state. He looked Obi-Wan deeply in the eye.
The young man, although a grimace of pain raced over his features, managed to glare firmly at Qui-Gon. “Promise me that you will live.”
Nodding quickly, Qui-Gon had to swallow heavily around the lump in his throat. “I promise.”
Sudden peace settled over the beloved, much too young features, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Qui-Gon heard the other man's breathing become more shallow, felt his light in the Force weakening by the second.
“I love you,” Obi-Wan whispered, the confession nothing more than a soft wisp of air. “Always have...”
Then, his eyes fell closed. His bright light in the Force that once upon a time had saved Qui-Gon from a life of miserable solitude suddenly died down like a candle's flame dying in the wind.
Qui-Gon gasped as the the pain of their training bond snapping like a bowstring raced through him, leaving, in his heart and soul, a gaping abyss that he knew could never be filled again.
The Jedi Master had lost every sense of time as he sat hunched on the cool floor of the reactor pit, and cradled his beloved Padawan's lifeless body close. With his head bowed down, and his face buried in the crook of Obi-Wan's neck, he simply breathed; in and out, in and out, but even that natural reflex was almost too much, too unbearable, and mundane in the face of the tragedy that had happened today.
He didn't know what snapped him out of it, but eventually, Qui-Gon raised his head to look down at Obi-Wan's peaceful face. Gently, he caressed the young Jedi's cheek.
“I promise,” he repeated his earlier promise full of earnest conviction. “I will cherish your gift.”
If not for his promise, Qui-Gon knew he would succumb to bitter despair. But since he had given his word to Obi-Wan, he would live. For Obi-Wan. For the Jedi Knight he would have become.
Every single bone in his body aching, he picked himself up, and carried his Padawan's body from the reactor room.
In the upper levels of the palace, he was met with shocked stares at the lifeless body in his arms. Obviously, not only little Ani had thought that nothing could kill a Jedi.
A couple of the queen's handmaidens that he encountered, the young women tired to the bones yet with a victorious, firm gleam in their eyes, directed the Jedi Master to a couple of rooms where he could place the body for the time being.
“Please take care of Anakin,” he managed to ask the handmaidens before they left him alone; he was shocked, in a detached way, how raspy his voice sounded.
The girls smiled comfortingly at him. “He will want for nothing.”
Nodding absent-mindedly, Qui-Gon turned away from them, and heard the door hiss gently closed a moment later.
The set of rooms he'd been shown to had an adjacent fresher next to the bedroom. Dazedly yet grimly determined, Qui-Gon gathered washing supplies. Reverently, he undressed and started washing the body he had placed on the wide bed, just to get rid of the worst grime for now. With every gentle wipe of a soft cloth over Obi-Wan's pale skin, with every single drop of cooling sweat and grime he washed away, the irreversibility of what he was doing and what was coming became clearer and clearer to him. The thought of giving his beloved Padawan over to the flames in a couple of days became unbearable to him. Still, he soldiered on. Wetting the sweat-soaked copper hair, Qui-Gon's fingers came to rest on the long Padawan braid dangling from behind Obi-Wan's right ear. Gently stroking over the smoothly braided hair, Qui-Gon lowered his eyes in sudden grim determination. Quickly, he pulled a small knife from his utility belt, and reverently sliced the sharp blade through copper hair.
“I Knight thee, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he whispered, his voice once more raspy with new tears. Firmly winding the long braid around one hand, he bend over the still body, and kissed Obi-Wan's forehead. “You would have become the best of us,” he said full of conviction, then, not even having to think about it, placed a gentle kiss onto Obi-Wan's lips. “You were the best.”
It was already dark outside when there was a tentative knock on the door. Since Qui-Gon didn't react to the noise, the door slid open a moment later, and Queen Amidala entered. Their eyes met briefly, then the young woman's gaze flitted down to the still form on the bed Qui-Gon sat next to. A brief grimace flitted over her face as she took in the young man's still body who, covered with a sheet up to his shoulders, only looked as if he were sleeping peacefully.
“I'm sorry, Master Jinn,” she said softly, and looked up at him again, a sudden resolved look on her face. She stepped closer, and placed her hand onto his shoulder. “Let my people care for him now,” she gently urged. “You have to think of yourself. You have to be strong now.” Her eyes narrowed in fierce resolve. “Especially for Ani. He needs you. You were the one to uproot him from his life, now you have to take responsibility for him.”
The seasoned Jedi Master found himself evading the young ruler's piercing gaze in sudden shame. He couldn't help but admit that she was right, and that, ever since foisting off the boy on to the handmaidens, he hadn't thought about Anakin Skywalker any more.
That was what the Order considered so dangerous about attachment. The grief had taken such a firm hold of him that he had shoved all other responsibilities aside. Once, he'd done it after Xanatos' betrayal. Also after Thal's death so that he had back then neglected his young Padawan for the sake of his revenge. And now he was doing it again.
Obi-Wan would have been ashamed of him.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Qui-Gon nodded. “You are right, of course. Forgive me. This is not what a Jedi should behave like.”
Amidala cocked her head. “Nor should a queen, yet sometimes, it is excusable.”
He briefly inclined his head in gratitude about her show of understanding and forgiveness.
“I won't fail Anakin,” he promised her. “Not like I failed Obi-Wan,” but he didn't say that last part out loud.
“I know you won't. You're strong; once you've overcome your grief, I know he will be in the best of hands with you.”
Qui-Gon stood up from his place beside the bed so that he now towered over the small woman again. “I promised,” he said firmly. “I promised Obi-Wan and Anakin both. And I intend to keep my promises.”
Inclining her own head, Amidala indicated the door. “Please allow my people now to take your Padawan to the morgue. When the time is right, we will give him to the flames as is your and our costume. I imagine you will want to properly prepare the body for the pyre in a couple of days?”
Mutely, Qui-Gon nodded which Amidala returned before she went the the door. Outside, a couple of her people waited with a hover-stretcher. At her beckoning, they entered, bowed deeply before their queen as well as the Jedi Master, and then carefully lifted Obi-Wan's body onto the stretcher.
“You will be informed when you can attend the body. Your luggage will be brought shortly so that you have spare clothes for you both at hand, or we can provide different clothes if you wish.”
“Thank you, your Highness.”
Her eyes briefly flitted down to the braid wrapped around Qui-Gon's left hand. “If you allow; to show my and my people's respect and gratitude towards you and your Padawan, I would like to offer you a gift.” She indicated the braid. “We have a special craftmanship here on Naboo, developed for jewellery-making. If you like, I would hire the most skilled of our craftsmen to preserve the braid so that you could always keep it close without any harm coming to it.”
For a moment, Qui-Gon hesitated, and unconsciously tightened his grip around the precious braid. He was unsure what the queen offered exactly, but after a moment, he nodded slowly nonetheless. If nothing else, he had learned that he could trust this woman implicitly, and he knew that she would treat the most precious of his possessions with utter care and respect.
His hands were still reluctant as he loosened the braid around his hand, and carefully placed it in the queen's outstretched palm. Her small hand closed around the rust-coloured hair, and reverently tucked it away in an inside pocket of her robe.
With a last firm nod, she followed the hover-stretcher out of the room.
Once again this day, Qui-Gon found himself alone. This time though, he really felt alone. Obi-Wan wasn't only gone spiritually but physically now as well. He had to acknowledge that he had never felt as alone in all his life as he did now.
Heeding the queen's advice, Qui-Gon forced himself to eat the simple dinner that was brought to him a while later. His body felt better afterwards, but his soul felt as tattered and weary as before.
The packs the two Jedi brought to Naboo had been delivered together with dinner, so at least Qui-Gon now had some spare clothes at hand. He steadfastly didn't look at the second pack that stood in a corner of the room.
Shedding his sweaty, dirty clothes, Qui-Gon dragged himself into the fresher and the shower. For the longest time, he simply stood under the hot water, and tried to think of nothing.
The Jedi was a little shocked when he looked into the mirror afterwards; he looked exhausted, but overall, he looked completely fine. He did look nothing like he felt on the inside – as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest and being burned to ashes right in front of his face. He thought his grief should be reflected in his outward appearance, at least a little.
Detached, he then spied the rounded burn scar in his abdomen. New grief welled up inside him as he knew this mark – which he had also found in Obi-Wan-s abdomen – would always remind him of the brave Jedi who had sacrificed himself for his foolish old Master, would always remind him of the love Obi-Wan had borne him, and which he'd only known a small aspect of. This scar would also remind him of his own failings for the rest of his life. Ultimately, it was Obi-Wan's decision to give his life in exchange for Qui-Gon's, but it had been Qui-Gon's arrogant foolishness to believe he could take on the Sith alone that had led to today's disastrous outcome.
Sleep wasn't granted him tonight yet since, late in the evening, he found himself confronted with the whole Council via holo – he wouldn't have found any rest anyway, so what did it matter.
He stared into various shocked faces when Qui-Gon briefly and as detached as possible explained what happened today without going into any excruciating detail. Not even Mace could hide his shock about the news of Obi-Wan's death, and Yoda's long ears drooped in sadness.
When he came to the end of his report, after the whole Council had finally grudgingly admitted that the mysterious attacker must indeed have been a Sith, and after Qui-Gon had reproached the Masters vehemently (earning himself a furious tongue-lashing from Mace which he, frankly, didn't care about at all) that Obi-Wan could still be alive if the Council had only taken Qui-Gon serious, and send reinforcement with them to Naboo, there was one last thing he had to clear up.
“I want to talk about the recognition of Obi-Wan's rank as a Knight,” Qui-Gon said firmly, raising his chin in grim determination.
“Excuse me?” Ki-Adi exclaimed, one eyebrow cocked in disbelief.
“I Knighted him posthumously. He deserves to be recognised as such. Being a Knight was all Obi-Wan ever wanted.”
“But he...”
Brusquely, Qui-Gon cut Depa off, feeling anger surge up inside him. “It was Obi-Wan who killed the Sith, not me. If not for Obi-Wan, I would be dead.”
The whole Council needed a moment to digest these surprising information.
“You didn't tell us about this little detail in your report earlier,” Adi Gallia frowned.
“I'm doing it now.”
“And, pray tell, if Obi-Wan saved your life, why is he dead instead?” Mace asked, irritation clearly visible on his face even through the monochromatic blue of a holo-projector.
Drawing in a deep breath, Qui-Gon once more raised his chin, bracing himself for what would surely find no understanding with the Council – which was why he hadn't mentioned Obi-Wan's sacrifice yet. “Because after killing the Sith, Obi-Wan swapped his life energy with mine.”
A pin being dropped could have been heard in the Council chamber as they all gaped at Qui-Gon in utter shock.
Then, all the Masters started talking at once so that Qui-Gon couldn't understand a word, even if he'd tried. Only when Yoda crashed the end of his stick onto the tiled ground, the noise so loud that it must have been Force-enhanced, did the cacophony of shouting voices die down.
Chastened, every single Master looked to the ground and wouldn't meet Yoda's eyes. The small Master didn't pay them any heed though. His sole focus was fixed on to Qui-Gon. The long ears twitched, a clear sign of disapproval.
“The security holos peruse, we will,” the Grand Master then decided, ignoring Qui-Gon for the time being.
Having anticipated this, Qui-Gon reached for a datapad kindly provided by Captain Panaka, and send the security footage to the Council.
Mutely, the twelve Master's watched what had happened deep in the bowels of the royal palace. Rapt, Qui-Gon followed the fight as well since he'd already been struck down by the Sith at that point. Fierce pride filled his fractured heart almost to a bursting point as he watched his Padawan hold himself against the Sith masterfully. But only moments later did he have to avert his eyes. The feeling of Obi-Wan's body becoming weaker and weaker in his arms until there was nothing of his spirit left, until he lay unmoving in Qui-Gon's embrace was still so fresh in his mind as if it had only happened mere minutes ago – and he instinctively knew that it would still be that way in the near future; he'd probably feel this horrible moment for the rest of his life. He simply didn't have the strength to re-watch the worst moment of his life right now.
When the footage stopped, utter silence once more reigned among the Council. Eventually, the first reactions were drawn out of the Masters. Qui-Gon didn't need to be Force-sensitive to recognise the clear disapproval on some faces, even despite the grudging awe they felt about Obi-Wan's accomplishments – not only that he'd defeated a frighteningly well-trained Sith, but what he had done afterwards, attachment-driven or not, had been an incredible feat in the Force. Masters thrice his age probably couldn't have done what he had, but Qui-Gon knew very well that Obi-Wan had only found the strength to save Qui-Gon because of his so-called foul attachment to his Master.
“I don't understand,” Yarael Poof eventually said into the grave silence, his small brow crinkled in disapproval. “He was so young. Why did he sacrifice his own life he had still ahead of him to safe his Master?”
Qui-Gon barely held back a bristling sneer. Because you could never understand love even if it bashed you over the head, he thought viciously. Because I didn't teach my Padawan to shun love like you preach to do.
But he didn't say any of that out loud. Instead, he simply gritted his teeth, but by the scrutinising look Yoda regarded him with all of a sudden, his Grandmaster knew very well what crossed his mind right now.
Ki-Adi, what a surprise, nodded in agreement to Yarael's words. “He should have accepted Qui-Gon's death if it was the will of the Force.”
Once more, Qui-Gon had a hard time holding his tongue in check.
“Enough that is now,” Yoda unexpectedly came to his Grandpadawan's aid while still scrutinising Qui-Gon intensely. “What done is, done is. Recognise young Kenobi's accomplishments we should, not question his motives.”
Mace nodded at that curtly in a no-nonsense attitude. “Obi-Wan Kenobi did what no Jedi has done in a thousand years. His memory, his bravery, and his skill in the Force and with a lightsaber will be recognised and remembered; we hereby grant the rank of Jedi Knight to Obi-Wan Kenobi. May he find peace in the Force, and may the Force be with you, Qui-Gon.”
Recognising the dismissal as what it was, Qui-Gon bowed in thanks before, in the next second, the holo-transmission was cut off abruptly.
The next couple of days until the Council's arrival on Naboo passed for Qui-Gon as if in a daze. He was busy almost day and night, helping the queen and her people to bring back some order into the destruction left by the Trade Federation, helping mediate between the Naboo and the Gungans, helping take care of the wounded. He ate when someone put food in front of him – mostly only because Anakin was determined to take care of Qui-Gon –, and pretended to attempt sleep for a couple of hours at night. And yet, his thoughts almost always were with his Padawan laying lifeless in the morgue, his body put in cryo-stasis until the time he would be delivered into Qui-Gon's hands to prepare him for the pyre.
The day the Council arrived with the newly appointed Chancellor Palpatine, Obi-Wan's cremation was scheduled for that evening. Although Qui-Gon had Obi-Wan's spare clothes at hand, he accepted the queen's offer to honour the young Knight who had given everything for this mission by at least providing him with new clothes. Despite the lavish, formal wardrobe the queen herself favoured, Qui-Gon never for one minute worried about what kind of clothes she would have delivered for Obi-Wan. When he was shown into the elegantly decorated room where the Naboo tended to dead royalty, a set of brand-new clothes were already waiting next to the table Obi-Wan's ice-cold body was placed on by the morticians, washed properly already. They looked very similar to Obi-Wan's normal Jedi attire. Only upon touching them could Qui-Gon identify the fine fabrics the trousers and tunics were actually made of.
Swallowing heavily, he turned back to the body. The gentle light of the afternoon sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, basking Obi-Wan in its golden shine, almost giving him the appearance of still being alive, of only being asleep. With trembling hands, Qui-Gon reached out to gently card his fingers through Obi-Wan's spiky hair that shone like molten copper in the sunlight. Instinctively, but completely against his will, his gaze strayed down the pale body until it came to rest on the lightsaber wound in Obi-Wan's abdomen. A thick lump formed in his throat that threatened to choke him when he saw it again after so many days. His other hand flew to his own stomach where the scar sat as a prominent, eternal reminder of what had happened. Bitter regret streamed through Qui-Gon as he looked down on the cauterised hole marring his Padawan's pale skin. He quickly looked away again when the full impact of what Obi-Wan had done hit him with a vengeance.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken and rough with emotion. He was sorry he hadn't been better, that he hadn't waited for Obi-Wan. He regretted his arrogance in thinking he could take on a Force-forsaken Sith all on his own. He regretted the feelings Obi-Wan held for him which compelled this bright young man with a brilliant future ahead of him to give his life for a foolish old man. Qui-Gon almost felt something akin to anger, even though he didn't know if he was more angry at himself for being a failure as a teacher or at his Padawan for loving Qui-Gon. He bitterly bemoaned what could have been, and had to forcibly remind himself to abide by the lesson he preached constantly: Live in the moment.
Gritting his teeth, Qui-Gon, for the moment, set aside all emotion to instead attend to the task before him. Reverently, Qui-Gon dressed Obi-Wan in the provided clothes until he looked as impeccable as if he'd readied himself for his Knighting ceremony. Instead of a ceremony, all the young man awaited now were the flames of his pyre.
A knock some time later startled Qui-Gon out of the daze he'd fallen into.
“Just a moment,” he called, then turned back to Obi-Wan. Leaning down, he gently pressed a kiss onto his Padawan's forehead. “Goodbye, my Knight,” he whispered.
Straightening again, Qui-Gon admitted the morgue attendants into the room to take Obi-Wan away to the small temple where he'd be cremated.
Qui-Gon had refused to see any of the Council beforehand, and much to his surprise, his wish to prepare his Padawan's remains and say goodbye to him in private had been honoured.
Now, he stood among his fellow Jedi, hood turned up to hide his stoic face, and with little Anakin pressed closely against his side. He stared into the flames that devoured his Padawan until his eyes hurt. On the inside, he felt nothing; this ceremony was nothing more than a formality to him since he'd said his goodbyes in private already.
His hands crossed in front of his body, hidden in the wide sleeves of his cloak, Qui-Gon's grip tightened around his left wrist. Before he'd lit the pyre, Queen Amidala took him aside to present him with Obi-Wan's conserved braid as she promised. The fiery copper braid was now encased in a see-through material that was brilliantly clear, and hard, and durable as glass or transpirasteel, but at the same time relatively flexible, and equipped with a sturdy clasp so that Qui-Gon could wound the long band around his wrist as a bracelet. He couldn't ever express how grateful he was to the queen for this gift while, at the same time, he felt the clear disapproval of some Councillors about so much sentimentality like something palpable in his back. Qui-Gon couldn't have cared less about their disapproval.
The only approval that still was of any importance to him right now was Anakin's; and he clearly felt that he had that. Anakin was all he had left now. They were alone now, and had to stick together. Anakin, compassionate, loving little Anakin who so dearly clung to his mother was the only one who understood Qui-Gon. Not that his fellow Jedi didn't feel compassion to the Master's grief, but they didn't understand Obi-Wan's sacrifice, would never understand it. The Council, but also Qui-Gon himself still puzzled over the fact about how they came to find themselves here right now. It should have been Qui-Gon's body burning on this pyre, not Obi-Wan. It took an incredible faith and deepest understanding of the Force to accomplish what Obi-Wan had done. Nobody had ever heard of a Jedi doing something like this. Qui-Gon couldn't help but snidely think that of course nobody had ever done something like this since Jedi were taught to not be so attached to others that they would ever even think about sacrificing their life for another like that. Sacrifice themselves for innocent others, for the greater good, but not because they loved someone so deeply that the thought of living in a world without this other person in it was unbearable. It was long, long ago that such love had been tolerated in the Order before the Code becoming effective after the Sith Wars snuffed out all these dangerous notions and feelings. Of, he wasn't so presumptuous as to think nobody before him had ever loved or that none would after him. But most Jedi still chose... not to. And maybe, in some aspects, they were wiser than Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon once again wished that Obi-Wan hadn't done it, hadn't loved him so much that he now condemned him to living through his love. But nonetheless, he swore that he would honour the life Obi-Wan had given him. He didn't want this chance, but for Obi-Wan, he would live.