.                        Snow and Cinder
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 1 of 5)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


The cliffs of San Michele are dangerous this time of year, snow
and ice turning serene contemplation into possible suicide.   I
can't find it in myself to care - about that, anyway.  The
distance between us makes me feel like a dead thing-I can't sense
you in my mind.

And you are not in my heart.

I left Naboo and your bedside in anger, in a childlike snit, a
fit of despair at your gentle rebuff.  You were so calm, so
poised, though you breath rattled in your chest  like the gasps
of a dying man. You are not dying-modern medicine and my own will
pulled you back from the Force's eternal embrace.  My will and my
strength in the Force, the skill you taught me, but mostly my
love.

So, yes, you are healing instead of dying.  If anyone is dying
here, it's me. 

I don't know what I expected.  We've saved one another's lives
before, countless times.  Why this time would be any different I
can't imagine.  Only my foolish schoolboy dreaming made me think
it might be.  Just this once, just this last time...  

The wind cuts through the many layers of clothes I wear, whips my
braid across my eyes, cheek, lips, lashes in rapid succession. It
stings, I guess.  The sting seems to say 'This is what you are. 
This is all you are.' I sniffle, battling tears and winning.  I
don't really want them freezing to my cheeks, but if they did I'm
not sure I could bring myself to do anything about it.

A ripple in the Force brings my head around, hand going to my
'saber with automatic caution.  But the ripple fades and there is
nothing but a single figure, a man, to be seen.  Dressed in
winter white, cloak, tunics, pants and heavy black boots, his
hand raises in acknowledgement of me as he continues up the
hill.  I turn back towards the sea, not wishing for company but
also not willing to run from just a man.

His boots crunch on the thin layers of snow as he takes a place
beside me.  I glance his way; black hair, tall, lean frame under
the cloaks, brown eyes. No, green... no, blue... finally all
three and none of them.  And that nose!  It's a wonder it doesn't
tip him over when he walks.  He is silent, watching the waves
fling themselves against the rocks below him, not returning my
scrutiny.  When finally he does speak, the tones remind me of my
own accent.  I wonder where he is from, to speak that way.  My
own voice was carefully schooled to be of all lands and of none. 
His words are simple, but mystifying.

"You'll not want to stay past sunset.  The cold will kill you in
an hour and I'll tell you: freezing is not the most pleasant way
a man can die."

I frown at that.  Who is this, a man who had come to look after
the little lost Jedi?  He must be from the fishing village not
far from where I landed.  Odd that it took the locals this long
to come find me, question me.  Odder still that someone would
even want to.  Or is that my own despair talking?

"Come on then," he invites.  "The cliffs will still be here in
the morning, as will the sea.  As will be your questions and your
sorrow.  For now, let's eat, have a beer - or two or three -
together.  Mine ekel esata vren ekel."

I should refuse.  I came here to be alone, to marinate in my own
anguish, not to be succored by a stranger.  But almost
automatically (after all, you did drill manners into me), I nod
once and he sets off at an easy pace, the stride of a man with
somewhere to go and all the time in the world to get there.  We
descend from the cliffs in silence, traverse the village proper
and go beyond it somewhat.  His house is a low, stone structure
snug against the winds, proof against the weather.  Inside is
warmth.  A kettle hangs over a cheerful fire, whistling merrily.

While I shed my outer garments, my supposed benefactor busies
himself with tea-making, leaving me to my own devices.  I look
around the little house, taking in the small workbench, dataset,
incongruous fireplace, and a large, comfortable looking bed in
the shadows.  One room holding all the comforts a single man
might want in this lonely place.

"So, how long have you been at the Temple?" he inquires,
stripping his own winter warmth off.

I chuckle shortly, unsurprised at having been rumbled so
quickly.  "Twenty-three years."

"Your whole life, then?  Good.  Best not to waste time if you're
going to be a Jedi," he smiles in approval and hands me a
steaming cup of tea.

"You seem to know much of it, " I reply, sipping at the minty
brew.

"I make it my business to know what kind of warriors I'm likely
to meet, wherever I am," he smirks. "Have you a name?"

"Yes."

After a moment he continues, rambling on as he gathers things
from cupboards, making a meal.  I settle down onto the floor, not
wanting to let myself be too comfortable.  Not sure why I'm here
at all.

"They call me the Malkavian, though I doubt they really believe
I'm a bloodsucking deamon.  They're probably down at the pub
making up songs about the Jedi and the Witch anyway, just to keep
up appearances.  My own fault, really.  I let them see too much,"
the Malkavian shrugs.  "I, too, have a name."

I hold my peace and he his.  He gives me a plate of bread, fruit
and cheese, fare I am long-tired of but most accustomed to.  It
goes down well with tea and I find myself comfortably filled when
the meal was done.  I begin to rise, to make my goodbyes when he
pins me in place it a hard stare.  "Beer," he reminds me.  "There
is much to speak of, yet." 

I subside, accepting the nut-brown drink when it arrives. It is
rich and good, warming places the fire couldn't touch and I
wonder if perhaps the local brew has been improved upon by some
outside influence.  At that moment, in that place, I find I do
not care if it has not been.  Perhaps if I drink enough of the
brew, I won't need to listen to my host for very long. Or to
myself. Or to you.

"Ever seen a fire before?" he asks

It seems a safe enough subject, so I reply honestly. "Rarely."

"I've always thought it quite a shame that so many civilizations
have gotten away from the hearthfire.  Oh well.  I expect we'll
come back to it sooner or later.  The fire, you know, is life."

I consider those words, studying the flame almost reflexively, as
I would have considered a new lesson.  The fire snaps and
crackles, licking upwards towards the chimney, giving light and
warmth to the room.  It is very pretty, but I can not see that it
is life.  The Force is life, though not half so attractive at
times.

"Methinks the Jedi doubts my words," my host grins.  "Have
another beer."

I look down, surprised to see that my glass is empty.  He takes
it to the small keg next to the workbench and refills it.  "So,
well, you're wearing a braid, so you're still a Learner.  Don't
get too many of your sort around here.  More often than not, I go
drag some Knight off the cliffs and smack some sense into him,"
the man lounges on the rug before the fire, sipping from his own
cup.  "Yoda doesn't pay me enough for this crap."

I jump at the name, then let my shoulders sag in resignation.  I
should have known that little green...Master hadn't suggested
this place on a whim.  "You know Master Yoda?" I inquire glumly.

"But of course, mon cher.  He was the first Knight I hauled off
the cliffs, lo these many moons ago.  Though to be honest, I
think he was more here for the beer than the company.  At first I
thought he was your garden variety lunatic, muttering about the
Force and Passion and Anger for hours on end.  I finally worked
out that the Force, whatever that is, led him here so he wouldn't
be a danger to other Jedi.  Well, eventually we worked everything
out for him and he went on home.  Sent me a little gift, he did,
sort of as a thank-you, I suppose.  Anyway, ever since then I've
been hanging around here, off and on, keeping a Jedi jump watch. 
Fast forward several years and here you are."  He tips his glass
back, swallowing rapidly.  "So what's your sin?  Hate? Anger?
Fear? Passion?"

I must have made some show of surprise at that, because he
chuckles low in his throat.

"Passion.  Ah, the poison of youth, to have their hearts run away
with their head.  Now what is it you're so passionate about that
you nearly turned yourself into a Jedicicle trying to get away
from it?  Money? Power?  Freedom?  No, nothing so ethereal for
one so young... ah.  A lover."  He smiles as though pleased he
has figured out a tricky puzzle.

"Are you a mindreader or just a very good guesser?" I inquire
archly.  The bitterness in my voice actually surprises me.

"Sorry kid.  After a while the mysteries of the human soul just
aren't all that darn mysterious.  There are only three real
motivations in this Universe: love, sex and death.  Since you're
not out there doing katas as if your life depended on it, I know
you are neither the hunter or the hunted.  So that leaves two
things, which at your age, probably don't seem all that far
removed one from another," he smirks again.  "Another?"

I sigh with resignation and hand the glass over to him.  "That's
very good brew you have here."

"Not mine.  This is the stuff Yoda sends me.  He tells me it has
rather odd properties on Force-users.  Tends to make
them...receptive, which is good because I don't play well to a
hostile audience.  Drink up and we'll get to the object lessons. 
So, who is it you want to screw?"

I nearly choke on a mouthful of beer, manage to get it down
before delivering a glare.

"Ooooh.  One of those."  An eyebrow lifts sardonically.  "Okay,
who are you so *in love* with that you absolutely have to go to
bed with them?"

I sigh.  "Did you ever hear that bit about 'Be wary of rousing a
wizard's wrath?'"

"No, but probably because only a Jedi could say that without
tripping over his own tongue.  Look, I'm sorry if I don't seem
all that sympathetic to your pain, but I godda tell you, you're
not giving me a lot to work with here.  So spill.  You can't just
keep it bottled up forever.  I promise I'll never tell a soul. 
Scout's honor."  He holds up his hand in a sort of salute,
seemingly amused by his own actions.

My glare cannot hold.  Against my better judgment, perhaps helped
by the brew coursing through my veins, I relax enough to speak. 
"Oh very well, though I've no doubt you've heard it all before, o
wise and revered one.  My master and I were in a battle about two
weeks ago.  He nearly died."

Abruptly I paused to push down that overwhelming panic that
surged up my gullet at the memory of you being impaled.  After a
deep breath, I continued.  "I loved him so much I was able to use
the Force in a much greater quantity than would be my normal
capacity.  I saved his life. Later, in the hospital I told him I
loved him and he...patted me on the head and said thank you."  I
downed the rest of my beer, not looking at him. "The end."

He gets up to fetch another round.  "But that's not really the
end, is it?"

"Of course not.  I got angry, hurt at being rejected, asked to be
given some time away from the Temple.  Master Yoda suggested I
come here, which, eventually, I did.  Now 'The End'.  Satisfied?"

"Well, again, no.  Not the end.  Just the beginning, in fact, if
you assume Yoda sent you here with a purpose, which I assure you
he did.  Tell me about this Master of yours.  Tell me how he
makes you feel."

I sigh, knowing I am too far into my cups by now and not caring
much at all.  "Oh, he's wise and good and pure and Jedi to the
bone.  Beautiful, of course, all lean muscle and feline grace. 
His hair...his eyes...those hands..." I sigh again, realizing
with a start what a lovesick fool I sound like.

"But that's not why you love him," he prompts.

"No, of course not.  I love him because..."  my hand wanders up
from my lap, making an eloquent gesture of futility.  How can I
explain something that lies so deep inside me that it throbs with
every heartbeat?  How can I possibly explain, even to me? 
Obviously, I could not explain to you.

"I see," my companion smiles.  No, he grins.  It's rather
infectious, actually, and I almost grin back before stopping
myself with a reminder of how despairing I actually am.  "Then
there is some hope for you, my friend.  Regard this simple fire. 
Regard this simple trivet."

"What trivet?" I inquire, for there is none to be seen.

"Heh.  Got ahead of myself there, didn't I?  Well, that's what
happens when you get old."

He goes about the room gathering up various items.  An iron
trivet, a roll of bandages, another round of beer.  The latter I
understand and drink.  "Regard the fire, there.  It is life."

I turn my gaze upon the fire once more, trying to see what he is
telling me.  The fire did seem to be alive, dancing and
twisting.  But I knew it to be a simple chemical reaction rather
than some mystical resource.  Luckily my companion is ready to
elaborate.

"Life," he said "is not the act of living.  You can live forever
and never really be alive, trust me on that one.  Life is
experience, and what those experiences do to you.  Life is the
act of change."

I keep my gaze on the fire, trying to see change.  "I don't get
it," I finally admit.

He snorts, unsurprised.  "There you see the fire of wood.  Wood
burning.  It burns long and warm, makes water ready for tea,
makes the room livable, provides cheerful atmosphere.  That is
fire on wood.  Eventually, the fire will burn the wood away and
it will be no more."

I nod once, to show that I am following him.  It's not good
enough, because he again snorts through that beak of his.  "So
you put wood into the fire and the wood gets changed to heat and
light and soot."

I nod again.

He unrolls some of the cloth bandages.  "If you put something
else into the fire, you get a different result."  He tosses a wad
of rag into the fire.  "There, you see?  Hotter, brighter, more
flashy, but quicker, of shorter duration."

I keep still, waiting. 

He doesn't disappoint.  Whoever he is, he's had students before
and knows the thickheaded properties of the Learner.  "Fire
doesn't change all things immediately."

He picks up a long metal rod from beside the fireplace, holds it
up to illustrate, says "Poker," so I know the thing's name, and
places it on the fire.  After a moment he pulls it out again,
showing me that it was not burned.

"Okay, so some things burn and some things don't.  What's your
point?" I finally ask, losing patience.

He doesn't lose his.  "The fire, my Jedi friend, is life.  The
flame is living.  The wood?  What is that?  Is that the time you
have with your master, comfortable, useful, but destined to end? 
Yes, I think that fits.  Good analogy that, glad to see I haven't
lost my touch.  And the iron?  Let's call that love.  True love
unyeilding.  And the cloth?  How about lust?  Yes, quick, hot,
ephemeral."

He picks up the iron trivet and begins twisting the bandages
through it.  "Here's how it always looks.  Love and lust all
bound up in each other.  It LOOKS like you can't have one without
the other.  It LOOKS like they are two things making up a whole. 
But is that true?  Go ahead, throw a little lust and love into
your life," my companion grins.

I accept his offer and toss the package in.  The cloth burns away
quickly.  Life, experience, burning the lust away, leaving
the...  "Oh."  I take a big gulp of my beer to push the lump back
in my throat.  "You're good at that."

"I'm not a wise man, you understand.  Just bored."

"So what do you suggest? I ravish my Master and see if I still
love him afterwards?  I don't think he'd go for that," I chuckle,
but it sounds rather desperate to my ears.

He yawns and stretches.  "Dunno.  That's the end of my spiel. 
I'm for bed."

I stay there by the fire, watching the trivet grow hotter and
hotter, changing color in the embers.  Eventually I use the poker
to drag it back out of the fire and onto the hearth.  The sounds
of my host disrobing behind me are momentarily distracting, but I
push them firmly from my mind.  

So what now, Kenobi?  What do YOU want?  I know what you want, my
Master, you want a good little Padawan that you can be proud of,
that you can teach and train and raise to be a good little
Knight.  You don't want that good little Padawan to love you with
a passion that burns... like that fire.  But I do.  Oh, how I
do.  Fuck serenity, I love you passionately my Master, and your
rejection hurt damned bad.

Both rejections, actually.  Against my will my mind drifts back
to that awful moment before the Council when you slammed your
shields down against me the first time.  You and your damned
Chosen One.  How I wish I was your chosen one.

My beer has long since vanished and my eyes swim from looking at
the fire too long.  The pain in my chest grows instead of fading
like I hoped it would, and I feel cold.

There's a presence behind me and a hand on my shoulder.  "There's
only one bed but I'm willing to share, Jedi.  C'mon.  Don't be
alone, it's not worth it."

I look up at him and realize I'm crying, damn.  His face is a
blur as he squats next to me and gently wipes away the tears. 
"Bed, Jedi.  Everyone needs sleep.  Even people who live
forever."

Managing to get to my feet, I let him help me take off my tunics,
then sit on the bed to take off my boots.  He crawls in first and
pulls me down next to him and just holds me while I sob.  I hate
being this needy, this hurt, in this much pain, but I just can't
stop.  Finally I fall asleep.

****

--
End: Snow and Cinder ... 1/5
by HiperBunny  ChezBunny@hotmail.com
http://www.shadowynd.com/~chezbunny/index.html
MrsHamill      thamill@mgfairfax.rr.com