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Disclaimer: All belongs to George Lucas. I'm just playing in
his sandbox for a while. "You're Tender and You're Tired" is
the title of a Manic Street Preachers song, which is
recommended as background music to this story. Hell, that was
what inspired me in the first place.
Summary: "As a Jedi Knight you will be called upon to do many
things you don't want to do..."
I am not a nice romantic. Consider yourself warned.
You wonder, despairingly, if the rain will ever stop.
You and your lover have arrived a week ago to this mudhole of a
planet, unnoticed and disregarded. Naura is a farming planet,
with a small city that looks more like a gnort on a Gamorrean
than anything to be boasted about. Perversely, the defensively
proud frontier city reminds you of Coruscant, inviting you to
make comparisons to a life left behind.
You ignore the painful temptation.
The missive in your hand is damp, a testament to how long you
have been standing on the balcony. You almost prefer to stay
here, in the dank wetness, rather than enter the room behind
you. Cursing yourself as a coward, you nevertheless read the
terse message one more time, though the words are carved into
your memory.
"Amidala is seriously ill, and the healers do not expect her to
survive. We await your instructions. B. Organa"
You had not expected anyone to find you here, but the Prince's
messenger is relentless -- and resourceful. What was foremost
in your mind when he showed up at your door was not to ask
about the former Queen, but that if he could track you here
then so could Anakin.
Anakin Skywalker, the young Emperor of a young empire. Yet the
youth was but an illusion, for betrayal and tyranny inherent in
his kingdom are as old as legend. Palpatine, the corrupt
founder of the Galactic Empire, was said to have died in his
sleep.
You know better. You still remember the Jedi massacre.
Carefully, you tear the letter into tiny pieces and scatter
them into the wind. The storm picks up again, driving rain to
splash against your face and drip from your beard.
You whisper to the Force, what must I do?
The Force's answer is soft and full of tears, singing to you
what you already know.
You are the last of the Jedi, sworn to uphold peace and justice
in a universe where order is often bought by injustice. Every
now and then you hear of an uprising quelled by a bloodbath,
something that has become all too familiar. The Emperor's
forces are strong and ruthless, sweeping away the rebels as
easily as he had orchestrated the murder of the Jedi.
But you know the chink in Emperor Skywalker's iron fist.
His children, strong in the Force and untainted by his
darkness.
You resolve to take the daughter, and raise her as your own.
She will become a great Jedi Knight, in the tradition you
yourself have been taught. You smile slightly. If her parents'
legacy are her father's strength in the Force and her mother's
will, she would grow up to be a formidable warrior. No, you
will not take the son -- there is too much of his father in
him. And if he should prove to have inherited more than
Anakin's looks, Alderaan and Bail Organa could temper him
better you ever will.
There is a sound from the room behind you, a low guttural
laugh. You stiffen, feeling your hopes and dreams come crashing
down to settle heavily on your shoulders. You turn around,
gathering your courage as you walk through the balcony door.
The figure sitting on the bed is chuckling to himself, without
any semblance of humour. Haggard midnight blue eyes, once so
vivid and alive, stare at you from under a fringe of matted
hair. They hold no recognition in them, as empty as the day
Skywalker ripped his mind apart.
You kneel at his wasted feet, placing a trembling hand on his
knee. His gaze slides over you, then out through the window to
watch the rain. You reach out through the Force to touch his
mind, as you have done every day for the past five years. Light
mental fingers dance past his tattered shields, seeking a
familiar glow.
You find not even a faint spark, as you have failed every day
for the past five years.
He does not even notice, still staring at the droplets of
water.
Something snaps within you.
Rearing up like a snake, you curse and scream at him, finally
driven past the breaking point you have teetered on for a long
time. You plead, you beg for him to show any sign of the man
you love so much, to be alive again as he once was, to kiss you
and make love to you, oh please don't make me do what I have to
do...
You collapse, sobbing.
He finally deigns to look at you again, forehead creasing
slightly. Saliva dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and
tenderly you wipe it away. You stand, kissing the top of his
head even as salt tears soak the gray strands. Your kiss travel
down, to brush the lips that have ignited your passion so many
times. You weep again, wishing bitterly you could undo the
past.
There is no place for him in the path the Force has opened up
for you, and you would rather die than let the Emperor's dark
champions find him again.
Stepping away, you reach for your lightsaber. It feels right
and wrong at the same time, as you felt when you first made
love to your Master. The glowing blue blade casts an eerie
shadow in your love's face, and for a moment the purity of the
light seems to touch off a similar gleam in him.
Then you look into the horribly blank eyes, seeing again the
ruins of his once-beautiful mind.
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