The flash of pain shot through Obi-Wan's mind, silver bright, waking him from a deep slumber. It held the bittersweet tang of remorse coupled with a deep, primal feeling of loss. It was gone in an instant, replaced by soothing meditations and reflections on ancient Jedi tomes.

To Obi-Wan's great surprise, he realized the pain was coming from his master. He rose and quickly padded to the common area he shared with Qui-Gon and found him standing at the viewglass, looking out over the Temple gardens, a great courtyard filled with dark green things smothered by bright winter snows.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon turned toward him and Obi-Wan blinked at the sight of his master's eyes, sad and overbright in the dull artificial light. "Forgive me for waking you, padawan. I just opened a communique that would have been better left until morning."

"What is it? Is everything all right?" Concern filled his voice, and Obi-Wan made no effort to hide it.

Qui-Gon considered for a moment, then nodded. "Nothing is truly amiss. I . . ." Hesitation. "I learned this evening that my mother has passed into the Force."

Another sliver of pain, this one shared. Obi-Wan walked over and stood silently beside his master, his head bowed.

Qui-Gon faced the garden, his expression unreadable. "What you felt over our bond was surprise, I suppose. Intellectually, I knew this day would come, but in truth, never was a child born who truly believed their parents could one day die."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I believe you are right, Master, and I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan. But there is no cause for sorrow. My mother lived a long life and was healthy until recently. I am grateful for the years we've shared and look forward to the eternity we have yet to share within the Force." Qui-Gon held out a hand to his apprentice and Obi-Wan took it, shyly entwining the large calloused fingers between his own, amazed as always at their gentle strength.

Qui-Gon sighed. "It's hard not to have a few regrets though." He turned, smiled softly at Obi-Wan. "I'm sorry she never met you. She would have enjoyed spoiling you, especially this time of year."

A curious glance. "This time of year, Master?"

"On my home planet, the first week of winter is called Illuminocture -- The Feast of Light and Twelve Days." Qui-Gon's voice faded, softened with hints of the past shading his tones with sepia hues and touches of gray. "You would have liked it, certainly."

He tucked his and Obi-Wan's entwined hands into his cloak pocket and smiled wistfully. "Nothing but warm fires, hot cups of tea and more food than any human could think of consuming. Work is forbidden and sleep is inevitable, even when you are blinded by the shine of hundreds of firelights reflecting from the colored foils that hang throughout the house. And the snow . . . it falls for days on end, and then . . . " Qui-Gon stopped suddenly and Obi-Wan felt it again, a sharp pinprick of regret.

His hand was released and Obi-Wan unobtrusively pulled it away. "I am sorry, Master." He lowered his gaze, not wishing to intrude on Qui-Gon's pain, on memories he couldn't share, on sorrows he could never fully understand.

Qui-Gon's expression hardened. "No, it is I who am sorry. Forgive me, padawan. I'm a poor example to you. This is the precise moment I'm supposed to impress upon you how meaningless such ties and celebrations are, how there is no death, no sorrow, and how we as Jedi are to live without regrets." He sighed, suddenly looking older than his years. "Well, even masters receive, and fail, new tests I'd suppose."

Obi-Wan felt the thick, unwelcome weight of helplessness settle in over his heart. "Can I get you anything? Some tea or . . ."

"No, padawan." Softly, and the same gentle hand brushed Obi-Wan's cheek, effectively silencing him. "Go back to bed. It is late and tomorrow is a busy day for us both."

A short bow, and Obi-Wan walked away, turning his body, but not his mind away from his master. Uncomfortable it was, a child's sorrow emanating from such a strong heart, he thought ruefully. Comforting as well, to know his master was just as any other human being, and that his fears and sorrows were as common as Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan returned to bed, but didn't sleep. Instead, he stared out over the snow-covered gardens, using touches of Force to melt away the frost from dying leaves and watching as what was now water dripped away, revealing green life beneath the ice. He painted idly through the snows with his power until he felt a gentle admonishment from Qui-Gon over their link.

//Leave the garden be and sleep, my Obi-Wan. All living things need their rest, even the flowers.//

//Yes, Master.//

With a sigh, Obi-Wan turned away from the viewglass and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to find him and take him to a place where flowers bloomed even when covered with snow.

=======

The next day was very much the same as any other for Qui-Gon. He rose, went to Obi-Wan's room and found his padawan already gone to his classes. He gazed ruefully at the empty pallet, wishing they'd had time to share breakfast, wishing he hadn't ordered Obi-Wan back to bed so quickly the night before . . . wishing he could stop grieving for moments lost.

He turned and left their quarters with a sigh. Walked the hallways of the Jedi Temple, politely greeting various Masters, laughing over small jokes with some, arguing finer points of the Code with others. Spent a good hour or two extricating himself from the grip of overzealous Senators and their fast-talking aides with all the grace he could muster, annoyed at their intrusions, but not willing to show it.

It was bad form, and besides, what difference would it have made?

He ate a sensible midday meal, began to read an important work by a great writer, abandoned it in the middle for a pleasant work by someone unknown and drank more tea than was wise.

A day just as any other he thought, even as the memory of his mother's soft smile haunted the deep corners of his soul.

Later that evening Qui-Gon walked back to his quarters while outside the snow still fell. He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do, but took no pleasure in his work.

Not that day. For that day, Qui-Gon discovered it was hard to take pleasure in life when the one who bestowed it on him could never be embraced again.

Foolish old man, he berated himself. There is no death, there is only the Force, he silently chanted, but the creed rang hollow. There *was* death, it was inevitable and one was never prepared for it, no matter how many sayings one repeated to themselves day after cursed day, Qui-Gon thought bitterly.

These were dangerous thoughts he knew, but he'd already failed his test of serenity the night before, so what was one more small failure added to it? He would correct himself in the morning and become the Jedi Master he ought to be, but for one day, he would allow himself his mortal, and supposedly menial, sorrow.

Besides, what choice did he have?

With a sigh, Qui-Gon passed his hand over the lock to his and Obi- Wan's quarters. The door slid open and he blinked at the sight that greeted him.

Firelights. Dozens of them, carefully placed throughout the room, saturating it with a warm, hazy glow as the scent of fresh breads and sweet tea filled his nostrils, bringing back memories he'd thought long forgotten. In the center of the dining area stood a large queltnr plant, decorated with strips of brightly colored, feather-light foil, reflecting the firelights in shades of silver, blue and gold.

The entire room glowed with unaccustomed warmth and Qui-Gon peered around, confused. He looked questioningly at his padawan, who sat kneeling before the low dining table, his eyes bright in the golden light.

"Good evening, Master." A tea tray sat on the table, containing two bowls and streaming pot of something that smelled wonderful. With a smile, Obi-Wan motioned for his master to join him.

"Good evening, Padawan. What have we here?" He nodded toward the firelights and the queltnr plant with a curious expression.

Obi-Wan didn't immediately reply, but instead, carefully lifted a delicate teabowl from the tray and placed it with studied formality onto his master's place setting. "I went to the library today and read about the feast you described to me last night. I found it very interesting . . . and very educational."

Qui-Gon knelt at the table, tucking his legs beneath him. "I see." He slowly turned his bowl three times, the traditional signal to pour. "What exactly did you learn?"

Obi-Wan gingerly lifted the teapot and obliged his master. "That the ritual you spoke of is more than just a winter's feast. Its meaning is profound, and I think, appropriate to contemplate." He looked up shyly at Qui-Gon. "Especially on this night."

Qui-Gon lifted his bowl and took a small sip. It was hot, sweet and very welcome. "Really? And what parts of the ritual did you find appropriate for our contemplation?"

"Well, let's take this flower for example." Obi-Wan lightly brushed the queltnr plant and the foils adorning it shimmered beneath his touch. "During Illuminocture it's brought inside and adorned with decorations thereby honoring its life, even in death. Upon reflection, I believe it represents our prayer for rebirth even when the days are at their darkest . . . and their coldest." He smiled at Qui-Gon. "It reminds us that there is no death, only the Force, and throughout the galaxy, we understand, and celebrate, the circle of life which naturally ends in death."

"I see." Qui-Gon took another sip, this one to hide the tiny smile that was curling at the edges of his lips.

Obi-Wan motioned toward the flickering firelights. "Next, with these small flames we extend the light of day, which grows shorter in the winter months. We recreate the warmth of the stars which sustains us and that teaches us not to fear darkness, for there is always a light available, a light that can never be extinguished, which is the Force."

He glanced diffidently at Qui-Gon who said nothing, but nodded for him to continue.

Obi-Wan picked up a small sweetbread and broke it in half, placing the larger portion before his master. "Then, when we feast for the twelve darkest and coldest of days of the year, we show our faith in the cycle of life and disavow the fear of want. We will wait patiently and fearlessly for the spring to come, having no doubts as to its eventual arrival. We believe in the promise of the Force, which is the promise of life."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard, and blinked back the dampness that was threatening his eyes. He remained silent, and encouraged his padawan to continue with a small wave of his hand.

Obi-Wan bit his lip thoughtfully. "Then I thought about the ritual itself and realized it is repeated, year after year." Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly. "And that repetition teaches us remembrance. Through the ceremony we learn that all living things need their eternal rest, but that doesn't mean we should forget them and the gifts they've bestowed upon when they were alive, does it, Master?"

"No, padawan." Hoarsely and Qui-Gon held his hand out to his student, feeling the warmth between them filling the haunted parts of his soul with peace.

Obi-Wan smiled and took the hand that was offered. Squeezed it tightly. "So, I thought perhaps we could spend this night remembering your mother while celebrating this feast she loved so much. I'd be honored if you'd share your memories of her with me, Master."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, I think that might be a very good idea." He lightly touched his student's cheek and marveled at the light that shone from within his padawan . . . marveled at the illumination that could enlighten and warm a heart that he thought had grown as cold and weary of life as a frost shrouded meadow.

A heart like his own.

The next few hours were spent in remembrance, and when Qui-Gon was finished, he and Obi-Wan sat together in companionable silence, both of them looking out over the gardens. Together, they used the Force to trace their names in the snow, watching as the water dripped away showing the green of life beneath.

Waiting together for the firelights to fade, and the promise of the day's renewal to begin.

========= fini