"If you come to Bai'ae, you must go to the gardens. A visit is most like the other rituals of our land, not simply mere custom."

A blue robed priest led the two Jedi out of a cool, stone temple and into a dense, damp garden. Bai'ae was a land of ancient religion and ritual, a place where such practices permeated everyday life. Simple prayers and offerings were made before meals, duties and pleasures. An incense-cloaked salutary ritual had just taken place in the shrine, as countless others had in the past week. Bai'ae did not take honor lightly, and to have Jedi at your Thanksgiving Festival was a great honor indeed.

Walking quietly behind the priest, Qui-Gon glanced at his apprentice. The constant prayer in an imperfectly understood language wearied the young man. And the incense, dense clouds of sweet smoke, made Obi-Wan's eyes tear and throat itch. As if the wisps still swirled around their cloaks, Obi-Wan waved his hand in front of his nose slightly. Rubbing his eyes and coughing with his mouth closed, his padawan looked tired and delicate. Turning away as the priest stopped, Qui-Gon lifted his head as words fell softly, like a litany, from the religious man's lips.

"The tree of the Luna purple flower is sacred. Only when the moonlight shines does it spill out its beauty. The Luna flowers worship the moon." Plucking a small, wrinkled flower from the nearest tree, the priest stood before his guests.

"This meager bloom will swell and burst in the silver light." Crushing the flower in his palm, the priest let a shadow of the flower's glory out. A small cloud of fine lavender dust filled the air with a heavy, sweet perfume.

Watching the small cloud dissipate, Qui-Gon's focus shifted when he heard the muted rustle of clothing. In the hazy, warm, scented air everything seemed slower, more deliberate. His eyes followed his padawan as Obi-Wan inhaled deeply and raised his arm to his face. Fumbling for a few seconds, rubbing the tip of his nose, Obi-Wan tried to stop a tickle. In the space of mere moments, but what appeared to be ages in the mists of the garden, his breath hitched, eyes closed and a sneeze hovered at the tip of his nose.

"Hehh, ehh, heh, ahh, hahhishoo! Ihhshoo!" Half-turned away from the priest, half-facing his master, he sneezed softly and rapidly. Eyes tearing and shut, Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly.

The urge to enfold the young man in his arms rose up in Qui-Gon, he could feel the tiny sense of need in his padawan. Reaching over he tipped Obi-Wan's chin up with one finger and raised his head. Gently he touched the dark gold of his padawan's eyelashes and brushed away the fine powder that had settled there.

The priest mumbled something, a response to the sneeze, and looked curiously at the Jedi master. Glancing sidelong at the man, Qui-Gon offered the simplest of explanations in the Bai'aean tongue.

"He is sensitive."

= = = = =

Obi-Wan already knew about the homage paid to the moon by the Luna flowers. Every night he experienced this ritual, the nightly pouring out of the heady, purple mist. As the filaments of perfumed air crept into the shared bedchamber of the master and padawan, it was so much easier to sit out on the small balcony.

The thick scent could be beautiful, but to Obi-Wan it was noisome and made his eyes hot and itchy, his nose tickly and runny. Either here, on the balcony, or in bed, where the only defense from the night air was a filmy curtain, the sneezes would come. Uncontrollable, unpreventable, it was easier to sneeze it all out rather than stifle it down so as not to wake his master. A small Force push and Qui-Gon never noticed he left the bed. It was just easier.

Bathed in purple and silver light, Obi-Wan stared blankly up at the moon. The cool air chilled his body, covered only by the cotton sleep shorts he wore. The tiny prickly feeling tickled his nose and he began sneezing almost immediately.

"hehh, ah, hishoo! eshoo! ah, ahchoo! ishoo! SHOO! hahhishoo! ishaah!" Letting his breath out in a heaving sigh, Obi-Wan then turned and pressed his nose into his shoulder.

Maybe he felt lonely, or cold, or tired, he wasn't sure. The only thing he was certain of was the phantom caress of fingertips on his eyelashes.

"Ishoo! oh,ishhh! ishooshoo! ahh-CHOO!" Grunting and grabbing a handkerchief, he blew his nose. The remembered touch was like a blessing, a tiny comfort.

"Ehhkshoo! ahh, hahh, ah, ahhhishaaaah!!" Coughing a bit of a tickle out of his throat he closed his eyes. One could almost feel the air; its odor seemed to weigh down on you.

Minutes? Hours? Somehow, time passed. Obi-Wan still couldn't tell, but it felt like both and neither at the same time. The sneezes still came, fits of rapid light sneezes, only the occasional strong sneeze eliminated some of the tickle. The moon slid through the sky, ever nearing the horizon. The flowers bowed in worship, slowly closing as their goddess left her high throne.

The soft pad of footsteps roused Obi-Wan's attention. A warm, solid body pressed up against his back as gentle hands stroked his arms.

"Nightly ritual, Padawan?" Qui-Gon's voice was husky with sleep as it rumbled in his ear. A kiss warmed the tender skin behind his ear.

"Master ... Didn't mean tuhh, uhh, ihshoo! shoo! ohh, sorry! didn't mean to wake you, I, ehhISHH!! I'm allergic, I suppose." Leaning into the hug, Obi-Wan instinctively sighed with content, then shifted a little so he could curl up in Qui-Gon's embrace. "HehpTishh! huh!Tshhh!!"

"I wonder how you managed not to wake me the other nights, love. Blessings, Padawan." Rubbing Obi-Wan's stomach, he kissed the soft hair before him and nuzzled his cheek on it. His padawan, sensitive to the Luna flowers, he was right. "Yes, I do think you have a little allergy."

"Affectionate tonight, Qui-Gon?" Snuggling into his master's chest, Obi-Wan welcomed the attention.

"And how is that different from any other night, Obi?"

Obi-Wan pressed his lips to the center of Qui-Gon's chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around Qui-Gon's hips and raised his head for a kiss. A few short seconds later, he tore his lips from Qui-Gon's.

"huh, ishoo! ahchoo! hmmm, the flowers make me too sneezy." Sleep starting to overpower his allergy attack, Obi-Wan let his eyes close against his master's chest. "ahh, AhhCHOO!"

Leaning forward and lifting the drowsy sweet face of his padawan, Qui-Gon now brushed his lips over the tear damp eyelashes.

"Bless you, love. Perhaps we should go back inside now, hmm?" He looked down as Obi-Wan sniffled softly. "Practice another nighttime ritual?"

"Oh?" Obi-Wan replied and yawned immediately thereafter.

"Sleeping, Padawan. Sleeping."

With an amused sound, Obi-Wan turned around in Qui-Gon's arms. He walked back to the bedchamber, hand in his lover's, and back to the customary warmth and comfort of Qui-Gon's embrace.

finis

[Revised 16 April 2001]