Flowers laid atop the grave. Queen's Heart flowers. They glowed brightly under the light of the full moon, still that characteristic vibrant red. The others had remembered. As though anyone who knew could forget.
Bernard knelt down, slowly, to gently pick one of the flowers up between his fingers.
He held it close. The petals brushed softly against his nose. They still filled the air with their fragrance. A scent that had always reminded Bernard faintly of kinship and joy. Here, he couldn't help but feel a blended bitterness alongside it. It didn't feel out of place.
He lowered the flower, and raised his gaze to regard the gravestone.
They'd kept it simple. Made from a single stone, roughly rounded out, and without decorations. Unmarked and hidden away, few likely knew it was here, and now even moss had grown all over it. The entire grove was overgrown, with flowers, moss, trees, and more. It teemed with life in a way too familiar.
Bernard rubbed away the moss, about where he expected a name to be written, but found nothing underneath. No engraving either. At a glance it didn't even look like much of a grave, didn't quite look like much of anything.
"You never did look like much of a Jedi, did you," he whispered.
The leaves rustled quietly in response. Bernard sighed. It always was this way.
Bernard shook off his jacket. An old and worn thing of leather. The only thing of note about it was the Arkanian Dragon decorating its entirety of its back. It had once shone bright gold under the lights of Coruscant, Corellia, Denon, and so many other worlds many only dreamed of visiting. Now it had faded to a dull yellow.
He held the jacket into the moonlight. The dragon still faintly glowed, and more light poured through a small, poorly stitched cut running below the right sleeve. Bernard traced it with his hand. His own scars shimmered in the light.
"But I suppose neither did I, huh?"
Bernard rose and stepped closer to the gravestone. He carefully laid the jacket out over it.
"I'm used to the cold, don't worry," he forced the smile for no one anyway. "I hope it keeps you warm this time, wherever you are."
He took a step back away from the grave again and folded his hands in front of him, only briefly. He shifted again, putting his hands in his pockets instead, but couldn't quite settle like that either. Then he shifted again to cross his arms in front of his chest. Somehow it had become difficult to look at the grave. Bernard watched the flowers sway gently in the wind instead. This had never been difficult before.
The steady beat of his heart pulsed through his shirt, against the skin of his arms. It was such a faint sensation, but it wouldn't leave his mind, always drawing his attention away from the grave and back to that constant beating in his chest. Bernard shivered, and shifted again, folding his hands behind his back this time. He tensed the muscles in his jaw and breathed in deeply.
Cold air filled his lungs with the faint scent of Timoran sunpetals. The trees swayed lightly in the wind, and stray rays of moonlight danced over moss and stone.
Bernard exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his body again at the same pace as his breath.
"I-" He began. "About ... I wasn't ...," he could feel his hear uncomfortably beating at the edge of his awareness again.
He closed his eyes and stepped away from the grave to turn toward the overgrown pathway that lead out of the grove.
"I came by to say goodbye. I'll be disappearing. Again. There's something I need to do and I probably won't be coming back for a while." he glanced back at the grave one more time. "It's possible I won't be coming back at all. Take care of the others, as you always have?"
Bernard watched the grave for a while. He knew no response was coming from the stone. He knew that. Still, he watched on.
"Farewell, old friend."
Bernard knelt down, slowly, to gently pick one of the flowers up between his fingers.
He held it close. The petals brushed softly against his nose. They still filled the air with their fragrance. A scent that had always reminded Bernard faintly of kinship and joy. Here, he couldn't help but feel a blended bitterness alongside it. It didn't feel out of place.
He lowered the flower, and raised his gaze to regard the gravestone.
They'd kept it simple. Made from a single stone, roughly rounded out, and without decorations. Unmarked and hidden away, few likely knew it was here, and now even moss had grown all over it. The entire grove was overgrown, with flowers, moss, trees, and more. It teemed with life in a way too familiar.
Bernard rubbed away the moss, about where he expected a name to be written, but found nothing underneath. No engraving either. At a glance it didn't even look like much of a grave, didn't quite look like much of anything.
"You never did look like much of a Jedi, did you," he whispered.
The leaves rustled quietly in response. Bernard sighed. It always was this way.
Bernard shook off his jacket. An old and worn thing of leather. The only thing of note about it was the Arkanian Dragon decorating its entirety of its back. It had once shone bright gold under the lights of Coruscant, Corellia, Denon, and so many other worlds many only dreamed of visiting. Now it had faded to a dull yellow.
He held the jacket into the moonlight. The dragon still faintly glowed, and more light poured through a small, poorly stitched cut running below the right sleeve. Bernard traced it with his hand. His own scars shimmered in the light.
"But I suppose neither did I, huh?"
Bernard rose and stepped closer to the gravestone. He carefully laid the jacket out over it.
"I'm used to the cold, don't worry," he forced the smile for no one anyway. "I hope it keeps you warm this time, wherever you are."
He took a step back away from the grave again and folded his hands in front of him, only briefly. He shifted again, putting his hands in his pockets instead, but couldn't quite settle like that either. Then he shifted again to cross his arms in front of his chest. Somehow it had become difficult to look at the grave. Bernard watched the flowers sway gently in the wind instead. This had never been difficult before.
The steady beat of his heart pulsed through his shirt, against the skin of his arms. It was such a faint sensation, but it wouldn't leave his mind, always drawing his attention away from the grave and back to that constant beating in his chest. Bernard shivered, and shifted again, folding his hands behind his back this time. He tensed the muscles in his jaw and breathed in deeply.
Cold air filled his lungs with the faint scent of Timoran sunpetals. The trees swayed lightly in the wind, and stray rays of moonlight danced over moss and stone.
Bernard exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his body again at the same pace as his breath.
"I-" He began. "About ... I wasn't ...," he could feel his hear uncomfortably beating at the edge of his awareness again.
He closed his eyes and stepped away from the grave to turn toward the overgrown pathway that lead out of the grove.
"I came by to say goodbye. I'll be disappearing. Again. There's something I need to do and I probably won't be coming back for a while." he glanced back at the grave one more time. "It's possible I won't be coming back at all. Take care of the others, as you always have?"
Bernard watched the grave for a while. He knew no response was coming from the stone. He knew that. Still, he watched on.
"Farewell, old friend."
