Day of Days

Timeframe: Post-TGOF, pre-TVOS

A fair wind brushed by her face, teasing her long hair with its warm embrace. It smelled faintly of sweet grass, a favorite scent, one that was so very different from the sharp tang of the trees that flourished on her former world. She liked Naboo, with its beautiful artistry mixed with pragmatic usefulness, where there were literally thousands of open fields and meadows to explore, with no abnormally large or wide trunks made from micro-sized particles of cellulose to haunt her with memories. She liked the clean, clear-running streams that populated the planet where she had lived for the past twelve months; it wasn't often that she couldn't be found sitting by a pool or stream of clean water, usually inhabited by amphibious creatures and delicately grown flora. Such infestation of her quarters as can only be done by that evil Villain of Plantlife, the climbing ivy upon the outer walls were a source of constant struggle between her and the gardener in charge of the maintenance of her home.

Smiling softly, she pulled up a blade of grass with her toes, taking care to preserve the clump of wildflowers nearby. They were blue, their petals soft and warm with the sunlight coming to embrace them from the Nubian Sun. She loved it here, where there no memories of her family, adoptive or otherwise. Her smile broke as without warning, he intruded on her thoughts. Against her will, she thought of how much he might've liked Naboo, too, if given the chance to truly see it. Instead of being destroyed by a weapon of ancient malice. A gasp gurgled up from her throat and her hands clenched at her sides.

What was wrong with her? Just a moment ago she was happily wasting away what free time she had by relaxing in her garden, then suddenly this? Him? Why now? But it was useless to question...she already knew the answer. Today was that day all over again, the day his place in her heart was ripped away so violently and she was tempted with the Nothing. For that's what it had been: Nothing; the opposite of Everything, the Force. The Jedi were taught that all life was built with the help of midi-chlorians, that it was sustained by their existence. And it was true. She had enough of her mother to realize that; it was what wasn't taught that had nearly destroyed her that night a year before. Twirling the blade of grass between the tips of her fingers, she rose from her place on the lawn and walked in the direction of the fountain. There she placed her hands on the edges of the stone basin, and stared at her reflection.

There must always be a balance. That was the way of the Jedi, the teaching of the Goddess Temple...her father had believed that, as had her mentor. Her mother, she realized with a sudden pang, had been the result of what would happen if there was no balance. What is given must be given back. An old saying from Dysis, it was almost ironic how well it applied to her mother in this case. Was it so strange to be thinking of her now, instead of him? But she was, in a way. From a certain point of view. Her father had given Mala his pain and doubt, but Mala had refused to give him hers. She had loved him with all her heart and soul, had traded a part of her Essence to be with him, despite the machinations of Fate. Their daughter had once blamed him for Mala's death, but as she grew and was mentored by the Priestess of the Goddess Temple, as the memories that had been unwittingly given to her by her parents, she had come to see that Mala's death was not her father's doing. The fate that followed, the deaths of Mala's sisters, was not his doing. It was what had to be, the Priestess had said so many years before, when Alia-known-as-Cadis had run to her for protection from those bullying her, asking why Matis had ever brought her to this horrible, horrible place.

Shivers dancing along her spine as she stared into the water, she recalled what else the old woman had said to her frightened child-self. The paths of all are shrouded in mist, but the paths of few are as entangled in darkness and light as yours. You are meant to be where you are, Cadis, for good or for ill; there is no escape.

A brush of wind touched her then, bringing again its sweet scent. As she breathed in deeply, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and she whipped her head around in startlement. Nothing. A shaky chuckle escaped the confines of her throat, and her brooding thoughts suddenly vanished.

What was the point of dwelling on the past now, of all times? Tucking a strand of wind-tossed hair behind an ear, she turned to go into the house, her thoughts coming to rest upon a certain Jedi Knight and his Padawan, wondering what they were doing on this day of days.

Her thoughts preoccupied, she didn't notice the subtle change in energy as she left the garden, heading up the path toward the house. A shape appeared, its form tall and male, outlined in blue. A wistful expression appeared in his eyes, followed by a slight, rumbling chuckle as he felt a breeze kiss the grass at his feet.

"I know, I know," he said, looking again toward the house, "I cannot interfere. But that does not mean I cannot wish to."

His eyes grew soft as his voice lowered.

"We will be looking after her, won't we?" he asked, and it warmed him to feel the response. He whispered, "I was not able to protect her when I was alive, but I have the power now."

A shining light appeared at his side, fading in brilliance until a woman as tall as he stood by him, her eyes strange and vivid, both innocent and yet so wise. Almost unconsciously his arm slipped around her waist as they stood in silence. After a moment he turned to her, and she caressed his cheek. Closing his eyes he brought her close and breathed in that warm, familiar scent that belonged to her and no other. In the fading light the two ghosts glowed with the light of the setting sun, when they suddenly looked into the eyes of the other, and each smiled. Taking his hand, Mala led him toward the direction of the ceremony.

They flew over the housetops of Theed, their passage soundless as they rode the sweet-smelling wind that carried them toward the southern portion of the city. There, before the entrance to the Palace, lay the statue that was built in commemoration of the sacrifices made during the Battle of Naboo. And it was there that Queen Amidala, devoid of face paint, made a moving speech about the cost of war, about the price of greed, and how the memory of those who gave so much would remain forever in the hearts of all Naboo, be they human or Gungan. And it was there that the ghosts, unseen by the living, were set down behind their daughter, whose brilliant, unnaturally blue eyes were bright with unshed tears, and whose task it was to light the soon-to-be-custom ceremonial fire.

Even though the hand clenched inside her pocket was shaking, the one holding the firebrand was not. When the memories of her last such ceremonial fire threatened to swamp her control, Qui-Gon laid a hand on her shoulder, and she was calmed by the unknown source of gentle comfort. With his hand steadying her, she was able to make it through the rest of the ceremony without embarrassment. At last, he withdrew his hand, and with it her source of comfort, and his daughter unconsciously sought that feeling of protection. When he looked up, however, Qui-Gon was hard-pressed to follow the rules. Only Mala's grip on his translucent tunic kept him from succumbing to temptation of using his power to warn her.

"Lady Alia," said a voice off to her left. She turned to look, and smiled at the man coming toward her.

"Chancellor Palpatine," she said warmly in reply.

End