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 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.
“Obi-Wan! Over here!” you shout, throwing your arm high.
The bustle around you makes your voice hard to hear, and the height of those around you makes you hard to see in the throng. Swirls of silk and the swish of satin is harsh on your ears, and the colors reflect off of the shiny metallic surface of the gathered ships so that the world is but a whirlpool of hues – seen and rebounded endlessly. Rich purple, rose, sunset violet, dusk blue…they bathe the eyes gently and with endless charm.
In the next second, Obi-Wan’s head swings around, his long Padawan tail whipping around his head like a long rope. His face is serious- his mouth a thin line. It is a shame to see those expressive full lips of his pressed together in abject seriousness. It looks unnatural. His mouth breaks line to curve at the edges - he has seen you. You nod in appreciation with his smile…that is more like it. The boy can no sooner contain his smiles behind that mask of Jedi calm he has adopted from his father than he can contain his boyish charm. No, those things will be with him all of his life, regardless of what his father teaches.
You see Qui-Gon’s head appear behind Obi-Wan’s form as they make their way toward you. They walk in tandem, Obi-Wan’s stride now equally as long as his Master’s. Their shoulders sway back and forth, as if they are swaggering toward you…strutting. You would not put it past your son. As they break from the crowd, you smile at the sight that they make.
To see the both of them without their Jedi tunics is a sight in itself. Obi wears a pair of black pants and a gently crafted shirt…its white material setting off his sand dune colored hair and tanned skin well. Qui-Gon wears matching clothes, but his build and coloring make him look dangerous and earthen. You can only appreciate visually the tightness of the pants and marvel at the broadness of Qui-Gon from here…but you are sure that you will be experiencing the tactile beauty of him soon.
Obi-Wan’s face is smoother, less round than it was, more lean and mature. His eyes are sharp, and even from here, you can see their hazel depths. The boy has your eyes - you’re color- but Qui-Gon’s hidden sparkle that burns in their depths. He still stands a head shorter than Qui-Gon, but his build is full - full for his height, with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and powerful thighs. Oh what a problem you will have with him this trip if he mingles with the town people. Cleft chin, sharp, but small nose, strong sturdy neck….oh yes….the girls will have a time with him…that is sure…
You start to chuckle, but your laughter is cut off as Qui-Gon steps the last few feet to you and sweeps you up into his embrace with a chuckle of his own. “How long has it been since I was out of my tunic, love?”
“Since before your shoulders were this broad, I think,” you answer, allowing him to take your lips in a quick kiss hello. Your hands land on his shoulders and you smile. “Now let me down so I can welcome your apprentice.”
His eyes turn to Obi-Wan who appears to be looking anywhere but at you. “Soon to be a knight, Tira…”
You wiggle slightly until he sets you on the ground. Turning to Obi-Wan, you lean and kiss his cheek. A smile breaks your face again, almost painfully, as you see him smile in return. “Thank you for coming, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The harvest celebration is an ancient, but a very enjoyable festival. You will delight in it, I think.”
His voice is deeper than you remember, and his accent still powerful. “Master Qui-Gon has already told me I will enjoy myself immensely. And I thank you for remembering me also in your invite to him.”
With a shake of your head, you sigh. “You are always welcome here, in my home. Even if Qui-Gon is not with you.”
His smile is genuine as he answers, “Thank you, Tira.”
Qui-Gon nods, his arms still loosely looped around your waist. The steely strength that you know is evident even without them flexing, crushing you against him. You look around your gathering of feet to see the parcels that they have brought with them. “Let’s get you two settled so that you can enjoy the festivities when they start tonight.”
Obi-Wan bends to pick up the packages quickly. As he rights, his eyes skirt the crowd to land on a girl that has been watching him. They hold gaze for a moment and then Obi-Wan smiles, nods and continues on his way. Qui-Gon’s arm tightens to hold you against him as he leans down. “He is more of a pursuer than I was at his age, Tira. The holiday will be made exciting by simply watching his chases.”
“Oh Gods help us.” You comment, smiling as the hand on you guides you gently ahead of Qui-Gon through the gathered throng.
The bonfire is high, its great flame arms reaching to the sky, beseeching the heavens. Against the ink of the night, the orange is hot, and vibrant. Around the piled wood, around the twitching conflagration, people mill, dancing, talking, eating, and drinking. So hot is the fire that the sand on which it sits appears to melt. In fact the pit that is used for these fires is black glass with speck of gray, tan and white. Years of use have melted the sand into a solid disc.
The call of the flute in the night air is like the call of nature itself, fluttering in the ether like a wild bird. The pound of the drum is constant, like a heartbeat – the string instrument is plucked like heartchords. The eddy of colors as people twirl and reel around to the sound is a ballet for the eyes.
The evening air is cool against your back, but you are warm as you sit nestled against Qui-Gon on the sand. His arm rests around you, and your hand is on his thigh - the bunch of corded muscle it is. He smiles as his eyes alight on Obi-Wan as the man takes a spin in front of you with a young woman. Their two fair heads reflect the firelight, making them seems as if fire sprites… sprung to life from the very flames. With a final strum and beat, the music ceases, and you join in with Qui-Gon as he claps for the musicians.
A pause, as long as a breath, occurs, and then the music starts up again. This time, you find yourself pulled into the melee, Qui-Gon’s strong hand pulling you into the gathering. You both come to rest next to Obi-Wan, who smiles and then outwardly laughs, as he places his hands on the girl’s waist. Qui-Gon grasps at your hips as well, readying to begin the dance.
“You dance, Master?” Obi-Wan calls, his eyes sparkling. The girl he is with swats at his chest in mock indignation.
“Watch and learn, young Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon calls back, and smiles down at you. “Shall we show them how this is done, love?”
You answer by laughing out loud. Oh what a night this has been. Never has your heart sung, laughed and danced in this manner. So much happiness, so much joy! Qui-Gon grins, as if reading your mind. In the firelight, his eyes appear to be flickers of flame themselves, his hair like copper. Always metallic this man, like the steel of his arms, the iron of his chest – undeniable strength and protection.
The music calls a high note, tugging at your heart. His arms tighten and suddenly you are whirled around, passing close to Obi-Wan’s back as he twirls in the opposite direction. Your feet land interspersed with Qui-Gon’ s large ones as he twirls you. Soon the world becomes nothing but a whirlpool of flames, fabric and laughter. The two of you dance, like you did in your youth, carefree and loose. Reeling, and spinning, the only thing that you center on is Qui-Gon, his looks of love and his laughter joining yours.
All to soon the music ends.
Qui-Gon steadies you as you come to a sudden rest and he grins as your hands reach to grab his arms. “Did I sweep you off of your feet, Tira?”
You give him a look, preparing yourself for the next reel. But Qui-Gon’s eyes are suddenly serious. He leans in close to Obi-Wan, as the crackle of burning wood is all you hear. They murmur back and forth for a moment and then you are being pulled from the bonfire. His steps are quick and purposeful, leading you from the gathering, the fire, the laughter…and into the night.
You pass out of the sandy dunes and near the orchard of hirean fruit. The fragrance of ripe fruit and fallen leaves rises in the air as your footsteps crinkle in the crisp grass. He proceeds a short distance before turning and allowing his legs to fold. His collapses against a tree, sliding down its smooth oily trunk to land on the ground. You are tugged onto his lap, and you find yourself cuddled against his brawn.
“This is more like it, I think,” he murmurs, holding you lightly. “I need to speak to you about something…I needed some silence, some privacy…”
You smile and place your hands against his chest, bracing on his muscles. “Speak away, Jedi Master,” you joke.