Who: Ahoska What: Building a pyre When: Late sunday into Monday morning Where: Somewhere with an ocean view Rating/Warnings: Mentions of death and grief
It had been simple enough. A nudge with the Force here and there, to ensure that Li’s body was released to her. Ahsoka couldn’t remember what, exactly, Li had wanted, but she’d known what she would have liked, and a funeral pyre was better than a grave, or a regular cremation. A funeral pyre was the only thing appropriate for a champion of Li’s stature. Li had defeated the prime evil of her universe, and the effort had cost her her sanity and her life.
She chose a spot, far from civilization, on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Carefully, she built a pyre, each piece of wood and stone positioned with quiet grief. Ahsoka felt numb. Later, later, she’d return to fighting the undead, in a way that would be far too reckless. But right now, little by little, she built that pyre. Because if she took the opportunity to think she wouldn’t be able to continue.
Once she was satisfied that the pyre was perfect, she slowly walked towards her Starfighter, where Arseven chirped at her. Tied to the front was a still figure wrapped in white. Ahsoka had prepared the body in the Jedi way though with special attention to what she knew Li preferred. Washed and cleaned her, made up her hair in her favorite style and even applied her favorite makeup.
Ahsoka had held up admirably, the task she set for herself simple and straightforward enough to keep her from becoming a complete emotional trainwreck.
Because Li was dead. Beautiful, intelligent Li. Ahsoka would never hear her voice again, or listen to her music beyond the few precious recordings she had. And she didn’t know when, just yet, she’d be able to listen to the song that Li had composed especially for her without feeling anything but pain.
They were luminous beings, the Jedi had taught. Housed in temporary shells. Ahsoka had told Li that to give her some measure of peace at the end. Or maybe it had been for Ahsoka’s benefit. To believe in the idea that Li’s spirit might pass on to a place with no nightmares, and no Dreams and that somewhere she’d be safe and sound and whole.
Removing the ropes, Ahsoka carefully lifted Li’s body. Twin rings jangled from a chain on her neck as she carried Li to the pyre and laid her on top of it. Her touch lingered on Li’s face, through the cloth before she stepped back.
There’d be a memorial, for Li’s family and friends, Ahsoka would make sure of it. Yang in particular she knew would be hit hard.
But this, tonight, this was for the two of them, and whatever gods might care to pay attention. In a way, a kind of ironic one, it was exactly how Ahsoka would have preferred a wedding. She reached up, clutching the rings, and then exhaled. Her emotions were a whirlwind, and she was so, so close to losing it. There was the woman she was when she wasn’t Jedi or Padawan or Fulcrum. A woman who barely an adult, who was in love and hurting and was screaming somewhere deep inside of her, and it was only all the discipline of her training that had made it so she could come this far.
Carefully, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through it until she found what she was looking and then pressed play and set it on a rock.
The music that played was from Li’s violin. It was a song of her own composing that she played frequently, one that she often turned to when she needed a moment for herself or needed to think. A familiar tune in their apartment and Ahsoka had a particularly rough and emotional recording of it.
Whether by accident or providence, the fire caught on quickly, tongues of flame crackling into the night sky, sparks rising to the heavens. She remembered, from her Dreams, the smoldering remains of Anakin’s pyre on Endor, and how she’d arrived too late for the fire. Her fingers tightened around the rings as Li became truly luminous.
It was only when the sun began to rise behind her and the fire finally went out that Ahsoka let herself cry.