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generallynerdy · 3 years

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One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)

Summary: On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like...the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

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Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, and feeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around him now, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lava burns. It burns like shame, like failure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force and folds the two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so...so strong, so pure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hope so.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because you did save me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except...you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin is healing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’t horrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds...nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. It aches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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starwarsfic · 4 years

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Innocent Bystander

Originally posted October 5, 2020

Summary: Plo might be the closest thing Jon has to a friend. For the Marry Plo Challenge.

Details: Jon/Plo. Friends to Spouses. Trans!Jon.

CW: suggested child abuse, a transition during the fic (ie misgendering, but not maliciously)

xxxxxx

Plo thought he was the only Jedi for systems.

To find two others was...surprising. Until he realized who they were.

"Master Kuro," he bowed, carefully, attention in the Force darting to the Padawan at her side who he vaguely recognized.

"Knight Koon." She was respectful, but cold, always so cold, in tone and in the Force.

Master Tyvokka had not been fond of her, he remembered, had sometimes spoken out against the way she trained her Padawans. Which was probably why there was no knowledge of them being there--she was taking a detour to force poor Padawan Antilles to do who knew what.

"I have been called by the Force to assist you in your mission."

He frowned behind his mask. Kuro was a successful Master and Padawan Antilles was near her Trial, and not much younger than Plo by human standards, but...it was a more dangerous mission than a Padawan would normally be assigned to.

As if sensing his hesitancy, Kuro continued, "With the three of us, rooting out these pirates should be much simpler."

"...As you say, Master."

Of course she'd appear after he'd had to stop sending comms to the Temple, because of the risk of the signal being spotted by the pirates' scanners. He had no way of running this by the Council.

A typical An'ya Kuro move, according to reports and the Temple rumor mill.

"Sorry about this," Antilles muttered as they fell back, Kuro taking the lead as though this weren't Plo's mission.

He shook his head. "Reining in one's Master is not actually the responsibility of a Padawan, even if it often feels like it is."

And, just to re-enforce what he was saying, he sent playful understanding through the Force. From the way Antilles tensed, Plo thought she might not experience anything like that often, and he made a note to bring it up to Tyvokka--it was unhealthy for a Force sensitive, especially as powerful as Antilles, to be without commune with others.

"We'll be out of your hair soon. She doesn't like to stay anywhere for long."

"...Maybe you should both come back to the Temple for a rest? This traveling can't be good for your studies."

She wavered, looking closer to her age than the stern mask she wore for her Master would show, but shaking her head. "I'm studying remotely. I'll be back for the end of term exams, anyway."

"Right."

They did successfully take care of the pirates, though with more outright violence than Plo's plan had called for and a small injury on Antilles' part that she waved away like it was nothing (which Plo would also be making a note to mention).

Then they separated and Plo moved on with his Knighthood.

***

He gave a brief thought to Antilles when he'd seen the list of successful Trials, but it was over a decade before they met again.

Plo had a Padawan of his own by that point, one he very carefully left behind at the Temple when he went on his most dangerous missions, despite their protests. Antilles had no Padawan, had not even been seen at the Temple in years, except to update his personal records with changes he might have hesitated to make sooner. He'd gained his Knighthood and all-but fled, possibly from Kuro, who was only getting worse, possibly from the foreignness of the Order for someone who had spent so much of his life outside of it.

It seemed like a lonely way of living to Plo, but he would not do Antilles the disservice of bringing it up.

"Jon," he was told, after he'd helped Plo protect his charge--a local political leader--from an assassination attempt. "I'm going by Jon, now."

There was a small table between them, a mostly empty tap caf in vague disrepair around them, but it felt like a private moment. Plo wasn't sure how many other Jedi Antilles had spoken to at all since becoming a Padawan.

"I like it," Plo had said before he could think better of it, not sure if that would sound too much like he thought Jon required approval. "It is simple. Too many human names are...not."

Jon smiled with his teeth, more like a predator might than most humans. "Yeah, I...didn't want anything too memorable. Not with what I do."

"You don't have to wander, you know, just because your former Master does."

"No, that's...that's not the issue. I like it. I don't...I've never felt comfortable in the Temple. Too many people, too much...everything. Even with shielding. It's better out here."

While Plo couldn't relate, he could understand, and he let the conversation move on to some of their recent missions. The stories they exchanged were more detailed and personal than would ever make it into a report.

***

They saw each other off and on after that. If Plo was perhaps the Jedi who saw Jon the most--well, that must just be the will of the Force. Certainly not that Jon had a secure comm which Plo could send his Outer Rim mission updates to.

Eventually, Plo was a nearly appointed member of the Council, still reeling from Master Tyvokka's death and had gladly taken any and all work that the other Councilors had seen fit to give him (which was a great deal of it).

Such as a yearly review of the nomads of the Jedi Order that bothered to check in, sometimes. He'd sent out messages, requesting their presence at the Temple (or a nearby location of their choice), and just had to wait and see who showed up.

He wasn't actually expecting Jon, who had avoided such check-ins for years, to be one of the first.

"I had to see it for myself," was the answer, in a voice gravelly from disuse.

Plo chuckled, motioning for Jon to take a seat on the cushion beside him. "Is it that unbelievable?"

"After the kriff you pulled on Nal Hutta?"

"I pulled? You'll find that the report shows that you had taken charge of that mission. I was an innocent bystander."

Jon cursed, and laughed, the sound more disused than his voice. He didn't spend a lot of time around others and spoke to them even less. Socialized with them less than that.

Which actually gave Plo an idea.

At the end of the official meeting, he said, "I have a mission coming up for the Council, I wouldn't mind some company. I apparently must spend a few days in a moderately comfortable hut to show the planet's natives our commitment to waste our time on them."

He'd originally been thinking of forcing it on his friend Qui-Gon, whose Padawan clearly needed a break from him, but he could find something else for them.

Jon knew what he was doing, of course, but did not take much pressure to give in.

***

The planet was peaceful, calm. Nothing like the Outer Rim stations that Jon could normally be found in and the complete opposite of Coruscant, as well. Plo wasn't sure of the etiquette of bringing another, but the natives did not seem to mind.

There was always some discomfort in long days inside his mask, but Jon provided a welcome distraction. They had brought food, but Jon proved adept at catching it, as well. Plo himself wasn't a bad hand at cooking, although he had to stick to soups and other foods he could eat through his mask.

It was almost...domestic. Something that both of them refused to speak to, because that wasn't something they were comfortable examining.

By the end of the odd ceremonial retreat, he had almost loosened up to where he'd been once upon a time, a Knight nearly freed of a too-strict Master. He was still a little feral, as all of the wanderers were, but it was more amusing than unnerving.

Neither of them were expecting a party when they'd returned to the city--it wasn't in any of the reports that Plo had read.

"To the newlyweds!" one of the natives crooned as they made their way to the center of the celebration, shoving a ring of flowers onto Jon's head.

Jon, who was glowering at Plo as though this was somehow his fault. "If I said I didn't know, that I was completely innocent in this, would you believe me?"

"If you make it sincere, I might make your death quick and report it as something less than embarrassing."

There was no doubt in Plo's mind that Jon knew how to cover up truths in his reports to the Council--there was, after all, that kriff Plo had pulled on Nal Hutta--but he was hoping murder might be an exaggeration.

"Divorce isn't an option?" Jon took a step closer, eyes glinting in the shadow under his hood, but he let his amusement flavor the Force in answer to Plo's own.

xxxxxx

A/N: I was trying to come up with a ship for this that I hadn't seen before but I could still write as something more than complete crack and was like running through my head of the lesser known Jedi and, well, here you go lol

I may or may not be doing more for the challenge, but I've paid my dues haha

#character: plo koon #character: jon antilles #ship: plojon #theme: alien culture #theme: jedi culture #theme: hurt comfort

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