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.
Early morning on Alderaan is always peaceful, always beautiful. The eternal artist of the sky wakes each morning and paints his vast canvas with the colors of renewal…pinks, reds, purple and dusky blue. Mothers speak to their children, telling them of the story…of the pride that the artist takes with each dawn. Sometimes you wonder if the story is true; today is one of those days.
You sit on the porch, your body encased in Qui-Gon’s outer tunic- the material barely covers your legs. You rest back, your arms extended on the wooden surface, your fingers curling in the wood. A light breeze dusts your legs, rumpling the tunic. Your mug of tea, bitter and hot sits next to your hand and you bask in its gentle warmth. Such a pacific morning…it always is the daybreak after a storm. The world breathes anew in the release of pressure…even the atmosphere seems lighter.
A deep inhale draws the seabreeze and sweet air into your lungs. As you hold it there and release it, you feel a pair of arms slip around your waist and a pair of legs extend on either side of you. Suddenly you are wrapped in the smell of clean man and morning once again, as his head comes forward to rest on your shoulder.
“Good morning,” he rumbles in your ear before enclosing the shell in his mouth. The heat from his mouth awakens your nerves and you arch momentarily before resting back against his chest. He loops his hands together in front of you, and sways momentarily. “You left bed early…”
“It was time for the artist’s show…” you sigh, closing your eyes as you hear him hum. His head tilts and you can tell that he is looking at the sky canvas above you. His head nods quickly and shortly and he rumbles again, “Quite a show it is too.”
You press your hands into his, allowing him to continue to rock you slowly. He sighs as you turn to dead, peaceful weight in his arms. Silence returns like an old friend around you. It is only broken by the repetitive pounding of the surf on sand, the rustle of the leaves overhead.
Hours seemingly pass, but time stands still.
“I want….not to fix this, but to reconstruct it somehow…” Qui-Gon murmurs, lifting his head to place his chin on the crown of your skull. “To build it better…”
You sigh, opening your eyes to turn and look at him. “I was sure that it was over…”
His hands land on either side of your head, holding you still in his gaze. A sole thumb streaks out to dust your cheek with care. “I love you. That would not change…it is not something that turns on and off…like a communicator. I just could not understand…and the pain…”
Before you can speak, his thumb stops on your lips, sealing them together. “But I saw last night…I saw all the feelings that you have had for me…and your pain…and an idea why you did what you did…”
You turn complete in front of him, coming to rest on your knees. His eyes are dusky blue this morning, swirling and reflecting the sky like glass. You stroke his beard with the back of your hand, as if stroking a baby. “I was so scared in the beginning…the very beginning…that you would leave me…stay away…”
His look of shock melts your heart.
“That only lasted the first three or so months that I was pregnant with Obi-Wan. Then I began to realize that you would not leave me…”
“Of course, Tira…” his voice is choked a little.
“…but that you would stay with me. You could not make promises to me…not because you didn’t want to… but because you simply could not. You didn’t know where life was leading you. And you had/have an oath, a purpose…” His eyes bore into yours. His hand cups your chin and you feel the strength bleeding out of his hand and into you. “At that time, it was true…and what you say about me hating myself and eventually you by choosing to abandon that purpose…that might have had a ring of truth to it too…”
The admission rocks you a little. His hand presses a little harder, steeling you under his gaze. “I was young and foolish once, just like the rest of galaxy. I might be a Jedi…but that does not mean that I am some emotional rock and infallible…although Mace might argue that point with you.” He smiles at your teary grin, and continues, “I am not the same person that you fell in love with all those years ago.”
“And neither am I,” you answer.
“Purpose is simply a star to guide your life by, not the rules by which to live it. I know what is important now…” he says, as his eyes search yours.
You chuckle for a moment, as he releases your head and you fall slightly forward into his embrace. His voice continues to rumble through his chest and graces your ears as well. “We need to forgive each other.”
Your arms tighten imperceptibly around his neck and you sigh. “And I need you to know that I regret hurting you. That I am so so sorry to have caused you pain…to have denied you your son…”
His sigh is followed by his head falling on your shoulder. “In a way, you have done the only thing that can keep me in touch with our son, Tira. If I were any other man, and Obi-Wan had been taken to the Temple…I would have missed his entire childhood. But Yoda and Mace have kept me aware of him his whole life… And I have the chance to be with him completely now, at all times…”
“It is just…”
“The secrecy…the need to hide things from me…although I understand what and why you did what you did…”
You nod. “It was what I felt I had to do…”
He agrees, tightening his arms, “I know.”
Silence drags out again and makes itself at home. The sun slowly climbs the sky, beginning to warm your back.
“Where do we go from here…and how?” you ask.
“My only guess is to continue. And work things out, talk them out as they come. Make it better.”
“And strengthen the commitment.” You add, “we can not start it over…”
“No…we can’t. But we can just live and work around it.” He smiles, you can feel it in your hair. “For some reason…I feel free.”
You nod, turning slowly in his lap to face the dunes once again. “So do I, love. So do I.”
His arms pull you completely to his chest. “It will take time…”
“As everything does, Qui-Gon.”
He nods and lapses into silence again. A gust of wind batters the path between the dune. It has been doing that for years now- moving sand over the worn footpaths. And you have, for years, been debating on what you need to do to stop the movement, to save the path. But as you sit here, you see that while the sand is covering the path, it is opening up another trail as it moves. Moving…evolving. The path might not end up where it always was, but its purpose…to be a way to the sea…remains the same…it simply has changed in facet, in position. Like this relationship. It will always exist, it just might shift, evolve.
It is time honed and can survive. And the only thing you have to look forward to…is the rest of your life. And the rest of your life starts now, by enjoying the last streaks of color in the deep blue sky. The artist is putting away his paints for another day.