Author: Loteva
Title: How The Mighty Have Fallen
Written: 11.11.2012 – 9.01.2013
Genre: Parody/Humour
Time: Many years after FotJ (which I didn't read, so no spoilers)
Warning: Character death.
Standard disclaimer applies.
A/N: This story was inspired by the idea of what can go wrong on Luke's funeral, about which I read in Onimiman's fanfic "Death at a Funeral". That's my take on it. Hope you enjoy!
When nine hundred years old *you* reach, look as good *you* will not, hmm?
- Yoda, Return of the Jedi
The Grand Hall of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant was bursting at the seams with the multi-species crowd, which consisted of the Jedi, their families and friends, government officials and holonews reporting crews. All were dressed in blacks, whites and other colours associated in their cultures with mourning, but the simple gray easily dominated over the others, as it was worn by the protectors of peace in the galaxy. Clad for this special occasion in their traditional garb of long robes, with the hoods drawn and their faces shaded, they were surrounded by the air of mystery.
The Grandmaster of the Jedi Order slowly took in the sight of the literally entire Order gathered together in this one place for one specific purpose – to say goodbye to the late Grandmaster and its founder and to give him back to the Force. The man swallowed nervously, realizing he would soon have to rise and deliver the eulogy before all these people. It was his first real public function since becoming the new Grandmaster two weeks ago. Actually, it was him who found the cooling down body of his venerable great-great-great-great-grandfather sprawled over the kitchen table, face down in the bowl of morning porridge. He made sure not a single soul would know of the circumstances surrounding the death of the Greatest Hero of the galaxy and he fully intended to take the secret to his own grave.
Understandably, he was nervous as hell.
His six-years-old son tugged on his sleeve, trying to get his attention. 'Daddy, grandpa Luke...' the small boy began, but was promptly hushed as the ceremony was about to start. The Grandmaster didn't need this kind of distraction in such a critical moment.
When the first notes of the funeral march came, he straightened his spine and stood at attention, steeling his resolve. No matter what, he couldn't fail in this task, not when everyone in the Order depended on him. As the music reverberated through the Grand Hall and the silence fell, he stepped up and took a place behind the podium next to the dais upon which was laid the body dressed in the best, pristine white Jedi robes.
The Grandmaster inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and began.
'Two weeks ago, we have experienced the unimaginable loss. Luke Skywalker, our beloved Grandmaster, joined the Force. Not only was he my great-great-great-great-grandfather, but also the grandfather to everyone in the Jedi Order and all of his grandchildren will miss him greatly.'
He barely started and there was already sniffling and sobbing sounding through the enormous hall. The holoreporters stirred, like stung by an angry bee, the holorecorders, which were kept at ready, flashing and softly whirring, all to capture the mass crack in the Jedi composure that was bound to happen anytime soon.
The Grandmaster caught the smug smirks and the predatory looks thrown about by the reporters and only his strong willpower and inborn luck prevented him from succumbing to the panic. The firaxan sharks smelled the blood, to say metaphorically and he, the Grandmaster, absolutely had to stop them from ruining the unflappable Jedi reputation, which was earned by centuries of hard work of their PR specialists! He wouldn't allow that!
Straight back, you dirty little womprats! he projected through the Force with his best Luke-impression.
The bellow of the signature saying of their late Grandmaster, which he's used during the most nerve-wracking, mind-numbing and body-crushing training missions on the most wretched, Force-forgotten ditches in the galaxy, was like a kick in the pants for his disciples. All sounds of weeping instantaneously ceased, the postures stiffened in a reflex formed in the hours of harsh training.
With the crisis averted and the face of the Jedi Order saved, the relieved Grandmaster continued the eulogy without any farther interruptions. He spoke of not only the many heroic deeds, but also of the normal, everyday activities his ancestor had been partaking in. All of the being in the Grand Hall and the billions watching the ceremony before their holoprojectors saw a picture of a truly noble man, powerful warrior, wise negotiator and benevolent leader painted effortlessly by his own great-great-great-great-grandson.
The speech was applauded by the tearing up mourners, which lamented the loss of the brightest star in the galaxy.
Finally, the time for the ceremonial Burning had come. The Grandmaster eyed his ancestor's body with carefully masked unease. Usually, immediately after their deaths, Masters' material shell disappeared as their spirits joined with the Force. If it didn't happen, often a Master had one last message for the living. However, Luke still didn't come to any of his family or students to deliver his own parting words.
The lit torch was handed to the Grandmaster who imperceptibly gulped and approached the dais.
'Grandmaster Luke Skywalker, if you wish to speak to us, please do it now. Otherwise, may the Force be with you,' he said calmly.
All of the present at the funeral – the entire Jedi Order, their families and associates, the government officials, the holoreporters and through them the billions of beings throughout the whole galaxy trained their eyes on Luke Skywalker, awaiting a Jedi miracle with bated breath. The universe itself seemed to be held still in suspense as the seconds ticked on...
Luke snored.
'Due to the lack of response, hereby I conclude this the end of Grandmaster Luke Skywalker's material existence... and his joining... with the Force...' At first, the new Grandmaster carried on the Burning ceremony, ignorant of the shocked silence and the sheer disbelief radiating in the Force, but his voice steadily lost the strength and faltered as the brain finally caught up on the fact that actually there was a response, just not in the form of a glowing Force-spirit. He gaped at Luke openly, his eyes wide to the point of almost bursting out of the sockets.
Luke snored again. And all hell broke loose.
The torch slipped out of the slackened grip and fell straight on the long, white beard of the Jedi leader.
Luke Skywalker, the respected founder of the Jedi Order, presumed dead, leaped into the air from his slumber, letting out a high-pitched scream. After skillfully landing on his feet, he frantically tried to pat himself down, however the flames didn't let up. Simultaneously, the rest of the present also woke up from their shock-induced stupor and a roar of combined gasps, cries, shouts for help and unrestrained exclamations of various sorts rumbled throughout the Grand Hall of the Jedi Temple. Many jumped in to stop the fire, however it has already spread on Luke's grey hair. The old Jedi, using a Force push made a way to the nearest exit and ran out on the courtyard to throw himself into the fountain. The Grandmaster, who followed him out, at last regained his wits and took stock of the situation.
The tumult in the Grand Hall was slowly reined in, as the Jedi centered themselves in the Force and found the equilibrium lost due to the bizarre occurrences. On the other hand, the non-Jedi attendees momentarily went from shell-shocked to outraged. But the absolute worst were the holoreporters, who were already in the process of gleefully narrating the juicy news and interviewing whoever they could lay their hands on.
It was probably the single greatest PR disaster in the known galactic history.
However, the wave of foreboding he sensed wasn't coming from the direction of the hall but rather from behind. The Grandmaster turned around, shaking in his boots, the premonitions of great suffering chilling him to the bone. There, roused from the depths not unlike some kind of a sea monster, stood the looming form of his venerable ancestor. The Grandmaster turned chalk white upon meeting the eerie gaze of impossibly pale blue eyes, subjecting him to scrutiny so intense, he shifted uncomfortably.
Then he took in the appearance of the old Jedi leader – the soaked robes covered with wet soot spots on the front, the charred remnant of the usually long and white, well-taken care of beard overhanging in sad, dripping clumps from the chin, finally he caught sight of the fried hair, some of which fell away creating a few bald spots on the head.
The Grandmaster knew he had nothing to lose. He was already a dead carcass on some Force-forsaken, shitty mudball.
So he burst out laughing, albeit it soon took on a clearly hysterical tone.
After the spasms of laughter subsided, Luke Skywalker, still standing knee-deep in the middle of the fountain, spoke.
'Luke Skywalker the Fifth,' he intoned serenely, 'for interrupting my meditation and trying to put me in my early grave... you are grounded for life.'
Then he walked back into the Grand Hall and stepped on the podium to address the crowd and all the holo-watchers across the galaxy.
'I am not dead and there wasn't any funeral. You will erase all of the false recordings. Dismissed,' he said firmly, making a sweeping gesture for the massive, galaxy-wide mind wipe.
Years later, Luke Skywalker's great-great-great-great-grandson still wondered why his grandpa wasn't allowing him to go on any Jedi missions and why it was always him on the kitchen duty. However, it remained one of the mysteries of the universe for eternity.
A/N2: As always, I'm open for all of the opinions, critiques, advice and suggestions.