Author's Notes: This is actually, sort of, three stories melded into one. Each involves Qui-Gon's death in some way. First a letter, then a sad goodbye, then a view from the other side.
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment purposes and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author. Not to be archived without permission of the author(s).
Dear Obi-Wan,
If you're reading this, it means that I have died. And if Master Yoda gave you this letter, it means that I died before a proper farewell could be said. I asked him that if anything happened to me on a mission, he use his judgement to determine whether you should be given this letter.
It's the will of the Force, Padawan, that all things pass away someday. I know that now you'll be denying that, but it's true, and you know it.
I have never been good at expressing my emotions. All I can say, Obi-Wan, is that you have been dearer to me than any biological son could have been. You have been my apprentice, my friend, my comrade... and my child. I have foreseen, for a long time now, that you will become a great Jedi, Obi-Wan. You will face great joys and sorrows. You will spend years of anguish, but will triumph ultimately. Your life will be bitter, but will end sweetly. Don't be afraid of whatever might be ahead--whatever happens will be for the best.
Be well, my Padawan. You have a marvelous journey before you. I will watch over you...
--Your Master,
Qui-Gon Jinn
She came to the pavilion without her ceremonial makeup, without the elaborate dress that was laid out for the funeral that evening. Instead, she wore the sturdy battle-dress that she had worn to retake the palace.
Padme stopped at the side of the pyre, her brown eyes burning as she looked at Qui-Gon Jinn's still face. He had been dressed in fresh garments that hid the horrible black mark in the middle of his rib cage. His face was composed and peaceful, as if he were only asleep.
But, odd as it seemed, it didn't look like it was really him on the stone table. There was no life in his body, no sparkle in the closed eyes, nothing said or heard.
For a moment, her lips moved soundlessly, as she tried to summon the words. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I doubted you."
Padme slowly sat down on the steps, looking up at the pyre. "I wanted to say how grateful I am," she added, feeling awkward. "You saved my people. You saved Anakin from slavery and Naboo from becoming a slave world. I just wish that you hadn't..." Her voice drifted off, and she sighed. "I hope that you're happy, wherever you are."
She turned and slowly walked from the stone building, feeling tears prick her eyes. But she would not cry. A Queen does not cry...
She was at the funeral that night, her face once again painted and her body shrouded in the purple silk that Eirtae had gotten out for her. Amidala watched as the red-hot fires began to burn under Qui-Gon's body, slowly reducing it to ashes. Like a setting sun, the flames died to cinders.
As she slowly glided from the pyre, Amidala could have sworn she heard a chuckle, Farewell, young handmaiden.
A flash of light, enveloping the dying Jedi. He felt it permeate his very being, sweeping away all thought and emotion, throwing him into a state nearer ecstasy than he had ever reached, in his wildest dreams.
So this is death, he mused. Why is it feared?
The light melted away, folding in on itself and sweeping Qui-Gon with it. He welcomed it, the power and warmth as he was drawn wholly into the Force, feeling himself melding into what he had been able to touch, to immerse himself in, like a warm pool of water. But he had never been one with it.
And then the swirl stilled, and he was where he had begun.
He found himself standing — not near, but above — the melting room. He saw Obi-Wan, curled up like a child, cradling the body of his master. He no longer looked like the self-assured padawan that had been at Qui-Gon's side for over a decade now — he looked like a frightened child, and for a moment Qui-Gon ached to comfort him.
"Obi-Wan," he whispered. "Obi-Wan, please... please don't cry for me."
He dropped next to his former apprentice, but the young man continued his crying, for once allowing the tears to flow freely. Qui-Gon's heart ached at the sight of it... he had never seen Obi-Wan cry. One or two tears, seeping past his guard and then the feelings were locked away, out of sight. He had never seen him cry like this.
"Obi-Wan..." he whispered brokenly, as the young man rocked back and forth, his mind swirling with misery and anguish.
Then the scenes shifted, and Qui-Gon saw two other figures, in the simple, elegant throneroom in the palace, the polished walls and floors shining almost silver in the waning daylight. Young Padme... Queen Amidala, still in her battledress, speaking to Anakin. Her dark eyes were full of pain, making her seem older than her fourteen years. The boy's round face was smudged and reddened, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.
"Ani," Qui-Gon said softly.
As if on cue, Anakin's face crumpled, and he rushed toward Padme with glistening trails cutting through the grime on his cheeks. She hugged him as he launched himself into her lap, rocked him back and forth. Anakin's face was buried in her shoulder, her hand on his rumpled blond head, making it impossible for him to see her tears.
Qui-Gon stood and watched them, inwardly screaming, I'm here! I'm here, right beside you! "Padme... Ani," he said softly, as the crying children were whisked away into the mists.
And then darkness. Lit by fire, fire in the middle of a ceremonial temple. Obi-Wan was there, his hood drawn over his face, with Anakin. Jar Jar, his froglike head bowed low, his clumsy body still and composed. Amidala was also there, her painted face somber and still as she watched the pyre burn. Somehow, Qui-Gon was not disturbed by the sight of his own still body — it was only a shell, like a wax figure made in his likeness.
Mace Windu and Yoda were there, but talking quietly in the corner, away from the friends and comrades who stayed quietly by the side of the pyre, paying their last respects to their friend. Qui-Gon saw each of them clearly, was touched by the sorrow and the pain that so many wore like second robes.
And Obi-Wan's sorrow was lit by a single flicker of happiness, of triumph. Qui-Gon's spirits rose at the sight of it, and he quickly was at his side. "Obi-Wan," he said to his former apprentice. "Train Anakin well."
Obi-Wan stiffened, and his blue eyes softened ever so slightly. Qui-Gon felt like shouting for joy as he realized that, his emotions and thoughts at peace, Obi-Wan had heard his call, his last message for a long time, probably years.
Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, almost fearfully. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asked quietly.
"The Council has given me permission to train you," Obi-Wan replied in a low, but happy voice. "You will become a Jedi."
Qui-Gon smiled, slowly melting back into the Force. He knew that the years ahead, for Obi-Wan and Anakin both, would be terrible and horrifying. But he would watch. Watch and help them, however he could.