Author's Notes: We are getting into the angst... angst warning!!
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.
The sun sets in the sky, like a brilliant ember extinguishing itself in the sea. It closes out a beautiful day, full of frolicking and singing among the orchards. Your baskets are full of fruit, and you have enjoyed the day immensely. You can see the dust on your feet, and bang your feet against the hard wood of the porch. The grains fall where they will, and you sigh in happiness. The festival is drawing to a close, and soon you will have to return to your duties as teacher. Your holiday as a singing, collecting orchard maid has left you happier and more content than any woman has a right to be.
The basket makes a loud clump as you set the woven mass down on the wood. The purple of the ripe fruit is dark and most tempting against the ecru woven strands of the bushel and your mouth waters at the sight. Only a few minutes and you will soon feel the juice running down the back of your throat. Oh heaven! The only thing that mauls this celebration is the absence of both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. But they should be returning shortly. Wiping your hands on your apron, heavy and gathered at your waist, you think of the message that you received two days ago.
Qui-Gon had seemed tired, but genuinely happy to be seeing you. His blue eyes were slightly shadowed, his cheeks a little drawn…and he was red from sun exposure. A detour to Tatoonine…little known world on the outskirts of the galaxy…he had told you. A slight change of plans…mission longer than he had anticipated…but that he would soon be back. He had ended the short transmission by smiling, and whispering: “I love you.”
The tones that he had used, even now, make your toes curl.
Extremely endearing even after all this time…that a simple change in the cadence of his voice can make your knees weak and your head spin.
You push on your door, your head down. So much to do to ready the fruit for preserving…so much….
The basket crashes at your feet, the fruit spilling forward to stain the floor.
“Tira…” Mace reaches forward, his hood falling back from his head and his arms extending from the depths of the cloak. His unblemished skin is shining in the late afternoon sun. He tries to and succeeds in stopping the descent of the remaining fruits. “Gods…”
“You startled me!” you almost laugh, realizing that you had jumped at his presence. “I didn’t know that you were coming…”
“It was a last minute detour, I’m afraid.” He answers, his face drawn tight.
“Delivering Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to my door in person?” you joke, turning your back on him to place the basket in the drainer by the basin that you use for food preparation.
Silence meets your last question. At first you continue your actions, cleaning the fruits, and stacking them by the side of the basin. Your hands are dawn-tinted from the leaking juices, but the stain is made up for in the heavenly aroma of the fruit as it fills the room. It breathes life into every corner, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
A tap of wood on wood stops your movements.
A walking stick.
Yoda.
You turn back to Mace, your eyes traveling down to gaze at the small Jedi Master. With a short bow, you acknowledge the ancient Jedi. “Master Yoda…?”
Yoda eyes Mace with a wizened and sad look. Mace returns it before he moves toward you, skirting the edge of the table. And you back away…
Step after step.
A hard edge….the basin…digs into your back.
And stop.
Your hand comes up before he can reach you…it shakes…trembles…like a leaf on the wind. Like… Your eyes turn to Mace’s kind brown ones, now eyeing you warily. Quietly, as if across a long distance and from countless years off, you hear your voice. “Which one?”
Mace holds out his hand, as if to grab your elbow. You turn, standing up next to the ewer, your hands falling to grip at the edges. Steady…think…train….concentrate…answers…need…them…ask.
“Which one, Mace?” you gulp, looking out the window. “Obi-Wan, or Qui…”
Mace doesn’t answer you, and stands stock still behind you. You can almost feel his heart breaking in his body. You turn to look at his face, knowing that yours is tight in pain and agony. He opens his mouth, but does not speak, lowering his hand to grasp at your elbow finally. Contact…warmth…
Yoda answers, his small body bent over the walking stick as though it is the only thing that is keeping him erect. His voice tremors like a tree being shaken for its fruit. “Qui-Gon…it was.”
“How hurt is he?” you blurt out, going to move…hurt….Qui-Gon…they don’t come here….critical…bag…packed…under the bed…by the closet. “Where is he?”
“He’s…” Mace starts, his voice husky, teary in the coming twilight. “He’s gone, Tira.”
Gone…
Gone…but that is ridiculous…
Gone…where would he go? This is the only home that he truly has.
Gone…as in…no
NO
By the Gods, No.
You do not realize that you have not moved until Mace’s gentle hand lands on your waist, steadying you. Holding you erect. You feet are cold, your hands are cold. Cold. Frozen…in place…in time…your heart…cold… His hands are the only thing that is warm. Even the sunlight is not warm….threads of ice, that’s what it is.
Mace sighs with pronounced anguish, holding your waist as if it were a fragile egg. “It was a duel on Naboo…a fight with an enemy. Both he and Obi-Wan were fighting with this intruder. A saber duel…Obi-Wan got flung away, into a shaft…Qui-Gon retailated, gave chase and got separated from Obi-Wan. He couldn’t hold out until Obi-Wan could catch up again…”
You realize that your hand is covering your mouth as you next try to draw a breath. Mace takes pity on you and remains holding you. Your hand is coated with moisture, and you feel the splash of tears. The salt trickles down the fingers that are in your mouth and tickles your tongue. All you hear is the beating of your own heart, strong and firm. The rushing of blood echoes through your ears.
Mace goes to speak again. His fingers are like a vice in your ribs, in your hip bones. But you stop him. Reaching out, you press your hand against his chest to both steady and to keep distance. This is ridiculous. Qui-Gon is a Jedi Master…there is hardly a man alive that can beat him with a laser sword and very few dead that could come close. There is a mistake. He might have run ahead and then there was an accident…he might be hurt…but not dead. He could not be dead… you would know. Damn it, you would know…
Mace grabs at your chin. “Stop it, Tira. Stop shaking your head…”
You have been happy all day…laughing in the fields. Climbing the ladders to reach the fruits, joking with neighbors, singing…you would have felt it. You would feel it. Wouldn’t you?
“Tira.”
You shake your head once forcefully. “Take me there.” you demand lowly. Tear streaks make your face feel like liquid. “Take me to my son and my love.” So cold. Freezing. Agony from the numbness. Empty, bottomless pit….
Mace nods slowly and picks up a small bag that you had not seen before. His hand remains on your body, leading gently, as the other one moves to open the door. You could care less as you walk away. Your feet are bare against the grass, the wood. The dew feels like liquid fire, so cold are your toes. Trees pass overhead, the leaves rustling…but not a bird is heard. Twilight swirls, sound disappears…
Cold.
So very cold…
You feel so barren…alone…and battered…and all you know is Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan…the two men…you must get to them…to be with…them… You round the corner of the path that Qui-Gon carried you down so many years ago, past the aged citrus trees, and into the darkness that the coming night affords and the silence of grief.
And behind you, the spilled fruit, laughter and a sole light in the bedroom, burning brightly in the night.