#quileia

So technically I’ve written a short Leia and Qui-Gon drabble, but I’ve not written more than that, and there’s something really intriguing to me about the conflict that happens when you stick the two of them together.

They’re really similar in a lot of ways, not just in terms of character traits (hello stubbornness) but the way those traits manifest. They both have a tendency to steamroll anyone in their way (hello stubbornness again), both have a staunch devotion to their ideals that they refuse to compromise on (even when it would be better for them to listen), and they’re both big-picture thinkers (sometimes to the point of not being able to see the littler but equally important things).

Part of my philosophy for writing Qui-Gon is that he should always be forced to cooperate with people who challenge him, but challenge him in a way he can push back against. He doesn’t grow as a character when he gets stuck inside his own head and becomes totally set in his own opinions, but to be able to argue, he has to be working on a similar wavelength. It’s why it’s hard to write him and, say, Luke arguing—Luke is operating on a totally different level, with a totally different understanding of how the galaxy works and a very dissimilar ideological background. Leia, on the other hand, is a perfect opposing force for Qui-Gon.

Leia also needs someone to push back against—there’s a reason she doesn’t go for nice men—but in addition to that, she sets a standard for the people who love her and want to be around her to live up to. Han actively has to work to become a different person if he wants her not just to love him back, but to see him as an equal. Leia knows what she needs—a true partner—and she doesn’t settle for less. But sometimes she goes too far and falls into the same trap as Qui-Gon—thinking everyone has to meet her on her terms—and that’s not good for her either.

"Stop whining," Leia orders, pressing the comb down firmly into his scalp. "You're the one who asked for this."

Qui-Gon winces as she drags the comb down, scraping hard enough to bruise, and glares at her in the mirror. She's technically right, but this isn't at all what he'd been envisioning when he'd asked her to braid his hair back. At the very least, he'd been expecting slightly more gentle touches—a caress, maybe, if he was lucky. Instead, she's subjecting his scalp to torture a Sith would be jealous of.

"Do you often—" He hisses as she yanks the comb through a tangle, not in any way gentler for all that she's the reason it's there. "Do you often subject your partners to such tender mercies?"

"Jealous, Master Jedi?"

"I was wondering if there was anyone I might commiserate with."

"Well." She pulls a section of hair taught, then tight, then so roughly Qui-Gon flinches. "Seeing as my husband is sixty years in the future."

When he looks at her in the mirror, her face is frozen and hard, and Qui-Gon feels most of his ire melt away.

"Did you ever do this for him?" He asks, voice lower and softer than it had been a minute ago.

Her hands pause in their work, and when he looks at her there's a faraway expression on her face.

"No," she says, quiet and desolate. "He kept it shorter than you do." She pauses, resuming her work, but her hands are lighter now. "When my mother was very sick, before—everything, I used to do it for her."

Qui-Gon hums, leaving room for her to keep talking if she wants. She goes quiet instead, finishing the braid with fast, near-unconscious movements. When she steps away, he turns his head to look at it in the mirror.

It starts at his temples, tiny braids crossing over and under each other at the back of his head where they weave through the rest of his hair, bound up into a five-strand braid.

"Thank you," he says, and means it.

Luke: Well, yeah, you'd have to climb, it's not like you could reach his face from down there.