Rating: G
Category: Angst, Gen. SPOILER for TPM. Mega. Huge. As in, skip this now. As in, how have you managed to avoid seeing TPM?
Summary: Obi-Wan has lost his master and gained a Padawan. As he holds his master's ashes, he thinks.
Feedback: Having a writer's crisis. PLEASE let me know if you liked this, hated this. ladywitch79@hotmail.com
Notes: Another short angsty Obi fic. Who me, projecting?
Archive: www.templevoices.com, the Temple Library, OKEB. Anyone else, please ask first.
Beta: None
The flames have long since stopped, and the ashes with the urn I hold cooled hours ago, but still I stand at the funeral platform.
I think on my master, of the life he led. I think of all the teachings he so diligently passed onto me. I think of how the majority of my life has been spent with the man whose remains I now hold in my hands.
He was my mentor, friend, and father. He always gave his everything to insure my happiness and safety. He taught me of the Force, and of life. He cared for me in ways that I can only hope to do for my Padawan.
Anakin.
My master bade me with his dying breath to train this boy, and I agreed. But I still doubt; could my master have been wrong? Jedi are not infallible. Am I up to this daunting task? Such a great responsibility for a newly minted Knight.
Birds begin their morning song, and I turn to face the sunrise. A childish part of me thinks that the entire galaxy should mourn this man's death as I do. How dare the birds sing so lightly? How could the sun shine upon another day?
Within my heart, I carry a weight of sorrow that I dare not show. Instead, I hide it deep within the darkest recesses of my soul.
I hear the tap of wood on stone behind me. Master Yoda must have wondered what was keeping me. I wait for him to speak.
"Let go, you should," he says, placing one gnarled claw over my hand as I grip the urn that holds my Master. I nod, understanding Master Yoda. The ancient being stares at me for a moment longer, and then he leaves, the tapping fading into the distance.
I lift the lid from the urn, and a gentle breeze picks up, replacing the scent of smoke with the smell of new flowers. I tip the urn, the ashes scattering in the winds, and clinging to my wet cheeks.
I place the urn on a nearby shelf, and open myself to the Force. The rising sun warms my face as I release my guilt and fear to the Force. Guilt for not being faster and stronger, and fear of not being good enough for the task before me.
When I open my eyes again, the sun is high in the sky. My burden feels lighter, but grief still holds my heart. It will be long time before that changes.
I sense Anakin behind me, and turn to him, a smile on my face despite the sadness that still grips my soul.
I can only hope I will live so long.
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