Chapter Text
Qui-Gon is laid to rest at nightfall.
In that small, royal chapel overlooking the lake country and vast waterfalls surrounding the Theed palace, the Jedi Master finds peace. Under the glow of moonlight, his soul joins the well of the Force in the afterlife – his mortal body forgotten in a bath of flames.
Your eyes can hardly leave the face of the now-Jedi Knight across the room – Obi-Wan is standing tall, hood pulled over his head and eyes set on the sight of his Master’s laying-to-rest before him. The gaze there is hollow, lacking his usual vivaciousness, and his mouth is pulled into a tight grimace.
He does not cry. He will not.
Not in front of the Royal Court.
Not in front of Anakin.
Shoulder to shoulder with the other handmaidens, your heart aches to cross the room and hold him; you wish for nothing more than to soothe the grief set so firmly across his face with a kiss. But, instead, you stay rooted in your place, throat tight with worry and mourning, as a good handmaiden would. You are simply that – not the woman the Jedi Knight has come to care for. You serve the Queen, and he serves the Force, and after this… well, he will be tasked with training Anakin and the likelihood that you may never see him again is one you’ve tried to avoid confronting.
Your heartstrings snap violently at the thought; enough to make you sick.
That night, you’re one of the last to leave – paying your respects to the Jedi Master, you bow in prayer, before touching the altar and finding Obi-Wan’s eyes. He’s staring, far-off from this moment, but softens at the sight of you.
You retire early – finding yourself drowning in the despair that hangs over the palace; your balcony doors are open, welcoming the warm summer breeze as you swipe at stray tears. Curled in a tight ball upon your sheets, you try to calm yourself down. It’s to no avail. Your satin nightgown, dark as the night-sky, clings to you as you try your best to swallow your all-encompassing grief and knot your fingers in your hair. You worry the tresses. You try to breathe.
Obi-Wan would want you to be strong – you need to be. For him.
You’re about to gather a robe and set out to find him when there’s a faint knock upon your door; you know it’s him, just from the rhythmic peck of his knuckles against the wood. It’s his staple, slower now and weighed down with exhaustion.
The moment you fling the door open, you’re greeted by his tear-stained face in the dimly lit hall. The warm light from your bedroom swallows him completely and shows his pain, clear-as-day, strewn across his face. His eyes are raw, swollen and tired. His robes hang off him, sleeves stretched and worried.
Upon the sight of you, equally as heartbroken as himself, he chokes a sob.
Quickly, you usher him into an embrace – it’s tight, the kind where he wraps his arms around your ribs and buries his face into your neck; his chest quakes, suddenly, and you push fingers through his hair as he muffles another cry into your skin.
Your heart aches. Shatters, nearly. The sound is horrifying.
You urge him up, fingers falling along his jaw to wipe away the falling tears. You can’t help your own sadness, now flowing across your cheeks – you whisper softly:
“Come lay down.”
He obeys wordlessly, nodding shakily as you close the doors to your bedroom behind him. He’s on the edge of the bed, knees bouncing and chest shaking – his face is in his hands, tears staining the dark wool of his robes – when you return to him.
You fall beside Obi-Wan, wiping your own tears away, as you croak out a soft apology.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe, hands finding his shoulders, “I’m so sorry, Obi –”
He shakes his head, swallowing his grief for a moment as he looks up at you; his face is soft, echoes of appreciation set in the tiredness of his blue-green eyes. “He was… He was one of my closest friends. He taught me all that I know and –”
Obi’s voice cracks, splintering into shards of heartbreak that he tries to catch in his open palms.
It hurts. You feel it drive straight through your chest.
You rub his back, turned completely to him on the bed – your other hand moves to steal his, knotting eager fingers in his hold. He squeezes them tightly as he speaks.
“I’m scared.”
You exhale softly, leaning to take his face into your hands. He lets you guide his gaze, face within inches of yours as you speak kindly.
“Obi-Wan… You have nothing to be afraid of,” you murmur, thumb gracing his cheek, “You are kind and loving and strong and… You are ready for whatever the Jedi Council wills. I know that – as do you, deep down. Master Qui-Gon knew as much as well. And Anakin –”
He winces, trying to pull away. You, however, don’t let him. You hold his face a bit tighter.
“Anakin is lucky to have you in his life.”
He’s quiet for a while, lips moving to try and find some words to explain how he’s feeling, but… the longer you hold him, face wrought with worry, the more he sense you may be right, and perhaps fearing fear itself is what his mind has begun to do. A vicious cycle, Master Yoda had once said.
He exhales slowly, turning on the bed to encompass your hand with his own upon his cheek. Obi-Wan turns, kissing your palm gently and letting his eyes slip shut.
You sigh. He kisses your fingertips, one by one.
It’s when he opens his eyes that you know you cannot live life without him. That look – one warm, kind look – spells out the love that has grown between you both in the last handful of weeks.
You wonder what your life was like before he waltzed into it, lightsaber in hand and charm aplenty.
…You find you can’t remember. Nor do you want to.
“Obi-Wan, I –”
“– I will not forget about you,” he breathes, “I… I don’t believe I could if I tried.”
You wonder if he’s reading your mind.
Certainly not, he could never – you’re not weak-minded. You’re strong and radiant and glowing in his heart with the same centeredness that the Force creates; he feels no fear when you’re present, only calm and only love. More love than he knows what to do with.
“I return to Coruscant tomorrow evening,” Obi-Wan continues, noting the way you turn your gaze from him. Through your skin he can feel the discomfort at the idea ripple around you like a roaring river within the Force. It drives a great cavernous divide between his words, the hurt striking him in the lungs and robbing him of his composure, “I-I’m sorry – it is my duty –”
His voice wavers. You swipe at the tears welling quickly, nodding.
“I understand,” you manage, letting him move to dart a slow kiss across your cheek, “You are sworn to the Jedi. It is selfish of me to want you for myself.”
His chest aches. Gentle eyes roam your face, his hands now cradling yours.
“If you asked,” he mutters, gaze falling to your lips, “I would leave the Jedi Order.”
You recoil. “Obi-Wan –”
“Utter it once and I will; you have… you have stolen my heart,” he exhales slowly, a small smile coming to his face, “I tell you that because I know –”
“I would never ask that of you.”
You finish his sentence with your protesting, all without even realizing it.
A slow smile creeps onto his face that reminds you of home. “Exactly.”
You manage a laugh – cheeks glistening with tears and lids swollen with heartache – and duck your face when he runs his fingers through the hair along your temples. He urges forward, sandy brows raised.
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
“Visit me,” he breathes, “On Coruscant.”
“…Will you write?”
Obi-Wan’s heart nearly melts with the quiet hesitancy that you ask – he’s putty in your hands, leaning into a kiss that is warm with love and reassurance; you smile at that, happily pulling away as his hands cradle your cheeks and chase the question with his affections.
“Of course!” he lands another kiss on the corner of your mouth, then another on your jaw as you squirm, “You need not to ask –”
“You are a Jedi Knight now!” you cry quietly, in good humor, “You may not have time for a simple handmaiden from Naboo…”
He pulls away, eyes shining with an emotion that makes your heart feel like it’s finally anchored after a storm.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. The stars are jealous of your beauty; you outshine the moon, and the twin suns on Tatooine chase your wonder across the sky everyday – I promise you that I will always have time for you.”
The sob that escapes you startles not only yourself, but Obi-Wan.
You find his arms easily, burying your face into his chest as you both fall to the sheets. He’s quick to coo, hands rubbing along the bare dip of your spine, and mutter words of apology – you cling to his robes tightly.
“Stay tonight,” you breathe between sniffles, raising your head to eye him sprawled against the pillows, “Beside me.”
He doesn’t protest. Just kisses you sweetly, and nods, nose brushing yours as you prop yourself up on his chest – the Jedi Knight’s gaze is heavy with adoration as you do, swiping at the tears along your cheeks.
“You mean the world to me,” he says.
“And you to me.”
As the moon wanes in the sky, you fall asleep in the arms of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Come morning break, everything will be different.
You try your best to pretend sunrise will never come. You hardly sleep, waking to kiss him a hundred times throughout the night. He does the same, trying his best to remember the dips of your body, the curve of your smile, the color of your eyes. Sleep is restless and unwanted. Both of you evade it in favor of each other.
But morning comes as it always does, and after breakfast, Obi-Wan leaves on a Senate transport – Anakin’s hand in his.
The last you see of Obi-Wan Kenobi is a sad smile as the ramp closes with a hiss. The last he sees of you is a tearful smile, hidden beneath a pale pink hood, as you stay rooted beside the Queen of Naboo.
Until two years later.