This was the first piece of Star Wars fanfiction I ever wrote. Constructive criticism is, as always, very much welcome. Flames, however, will be used for the sole purpose of roasting marshmallows. I do not own our beloved galaxy far, far away, though I do play there occasionally. I also keep a winter home on Hoth.
ANCHORED: A JAGGED VIGNETTE
Six years ago, if you'd have told me that I'd be a major player in one of the most devastating wars in galactic history, I'd have laughed in your face. It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did.
And yet, that's still not the most surprising thing that's ever happened to me. I never would have guessed that I'd meet someone who would completely change my life in our short time together. It was beyond my imagination that I'd bypass the Chief of State of the New Republic to meet a lowly pilot. She told me I was grim. I miss her.
I remember our wedding so clearly. She was beautiful. Her dress was lacy, and it clung to her in all the right places. There was a long-sleeved jacket made of the same material that went over it. Her long hair was braided, and it was wrapped around her head like a crown. There were little white flowers tucked into the braid. I remember the feel of her smooth hand as I slid the silver ring onto her finger. I couldn't tell you who was shaking the most.
Four months later, she told me she was pregnant. I couldn't believe it. There we were, in the middle of a terrible war, and my wife was carrying our child. Those nine months went by so quickly. More often than not, she was ill, plagued with fevers and chills. I don't like remembering her that way, but it needed to be said. I wish I'd paid more attention to the warning signs.
One night, not so long ago it seems, I awoke to hear her calling my name. She told me it was time. Then, the seizure struck. It terrified me to see her flailing about so helplessly. I screamed for the medic, suddenly thankful that we'd moved into an apartment so close to the med-ward. She was hustled away on a hover-stretcher; I followed anxiously behind it. Before she was whisked into surgery, she told me she loved me. Her pain-filled, brown eyes told me so much. I felt my own eyes welling up, and my tears began to spill as I whispered my love for her.
Later, the medic came to speak to me. His words will be forever etched in my memory: I'm sorry. We did everything we could. But it wasn't enough.
That was two months ago. Much has changed since then. Jaina's death opened a floodgate of emotion from Jacen, leading the Jedi to successfully rescue him. A small victory against the Vong, but at what cost?
The medics tell me that my daughter is blind. Apparently, it's the result of Jaina's illness. They also insist that there's nothing they can do. Somehow, I don't think it matters. She might not be able to see me, but lately I've noticed that she can track my movements. Jacen and Leia have both assured me that she's strong in the Force. Luke doesn't think it will be a problem to train her. It will be her choice, though, when the time comes.
Throughout these last two months, one thought has saddened me more than any other. My daughter, Emily Jaina, will never know her mother. Although I will never again see Jaina's lopsided grin, smell her fragrant hair, hear her whisper my name, taste the sweetness of her kisses, or wake up to feel her in my arms, at least I have those memories. My daughter will never have that chance.
Every time I leave to fight, I know that there is a chance I won't come back. But I think of my baby girl, my sweet Emily, and I fly solely for her. She is my anchor to life, and I will keep fighting for as long as I am able.
The End