The Draigon's Lair
Author: Archaeologist
Rating: G
Timeframe: just after The Phantom Menace to Episode 3
Summary: Enemies Anakin Skywalker and Jocasta Nu clash with dire consequences.
Other stuff: Thanks to Allison and Sue for being my beta readers. Italics means means thoughts
Disclaimer: I do not own Anakin Skywalker or Jocasta Nu or the Star Wars concept; Lucasfilm does. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No credits have changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Chapter 1 – Age 11
The Temple library was hushed.
Muted sounds of conversation and the quiet clatter of busy datapads echoed in the vast spaces, giving the boy a sensation of a mighty cathedral, a sacred place of knowledge. His footfalls were soft, tentative as he moved through the lines of bookshelves and pillars, glancing, then quietly passing tables and chairs full of beings intent on their own work, moving like a ghost or some unwanted waif towards his intended destination.
Anakin Skywalker, the eleven-year old Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi, did not want to be caught here. His Master would not be happy if he found out that his apprentice was in the library without permission. He would be even less pleased when he found out why. He would be mad at me for sure, thought Anakin anxiously, but I don't care. I need to know.
He found a quiet corner, far from the others, where a lone terminal glowed into the dusky space, pulled up a chair and sat down. His fingers flew to the keyboard and he began his frantic search. He glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously, trying to detect if anyone could see him or stop his use of the computer. But no one approached and so he relaxed, hunting all the while through the endless databases.
The computer gave a soft beep, requesting further data. Craning his neck, looking again to make sure there were no observers, Anakin turned back and obediently typed in the information required. The computer flashed - working, working - and the child leaned back in his chair, patiently waiting.
As he watched the flickering of the screen, all the while unseeing, unfocused, his thoughts drifting past the monitor, past the halls of knowledge and into the vastness of space.
Space was cold, he mused, but the frigid temperatures were nothing to the aching aloneness of his life here in the great Temple . He thought again of Tatooine, that great bright ball floating in the ether, full of heat and misery and yet containing the incredible warmth of his mother.
He missed her, missed her desperately, missed her warm smile, her soft voice and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek.
The Jedi Master who had found and freed him, Qui-Gon Jinn, knew the value of a smile and a friendly ruffle of his hair. He would have understood that the child, Chosen One or not, needed human contact as much as he needed air. Master Qui-Gon would have understood but he was gone, dead - as much as his mother was gone from him now.
Deep down, Anakin knew that Master Obi-Wan cared for him, as much as any Jedi could, but somehow it wasn't enough. Master was kind and thoughtful and never beat him as his slaver owner, Watto, had done.
But he never hugged him, either, never patted his cheek or thumped his back when Anakin had done well, never gripped his shoulder to let Anakin know that he was wanted, loved. Never touched him at all.
When he agreed to go with Master Qui-Gon long ago, Anakin had thought that the Jedi would be able to give him a sense of purpose, would stem the desperate yearning of his heart, would still the harsh whispers and glaring visions that so often cursed him, would utterly embrace him as one of theirs. But they did not, not really. And now the desolate silences in his heart were almost too much to bear. He needed to know that his mother was all right, was safe. He needed...
The computer beeped again and across the screen flashed - No Information Available.
Chuuba, mused a despondent Anakin. What do I do now?
A sound brought him up sharp, an ancient voice, gravelly and low, "May I help you?"
The Padawan turned around quickly and looked up into the worn face of the Library's Archivist, Madame Jocasta Nu. She was standing directly in back of his chair, looking first at the screen and then at him. Dressed in a beige Jedi outfit, strange arcane markings decorating her stola, her white hair pulled back into a tight bun, Madame Nu waited patiently for his reply.
"No, Ma'am. Thank you." he said, trying to suppress his twin surges of anger and guilt, thinking, Just go away!
"Come now, youngling. It appears that you have been having some problems with your research." She looked at him again, smiling slightly, apparently curious as to why he would be back here in the stacks, secluded and alone. "Or should I say, Padawan..."
"It's nothing, really. I'm done here anyway." He wanted her to leave, to let him alone. She would tell Master Obi-Wan and he couldn't have that. His guilt swelled higher and he moved his chair back quickly, trying to escape. But she was blocking his path.
"What is your name, child?" Her voice was sharp now, suspicious. Anakin knew then that he could not get away without telling her something, anything. The truth first and then maybe later, some half-truths would do.
"Anakin Skywalker, Ma'am."
"Ah, yes. Padawan to Master Kenobi..."
The severe look on her face said it all. Madame Nu's expression had changed and hardened when she realized who he was.
Anakin could almost hear her disapproval - that Skywalker boy, apprenticed to Obi-Wan Kenobi, accepted far too late in his training and completely unwelcome as a Jedi apprentice to most of the Order. Oh yes, she recognized him all right.
The Archivist straightened her already rigid back, pursing her crabbed mouth, staring at him and asked sharply. "And what are you working on, apprentice?"
Anakin didn't want to tell her. She was looking at him as did most of the other Jedi, like some kind of creepy bug. And then the aching aloneness was back, pointed as a vibroblade in his heart. He didn't want to say anything, desperately wanted to get away but she was larger than he, an adult, a Jedi to whom he was pledged to obey. He sat back down in the chair, hunched and miserable, waiting for the strike.
"Shy, are we? Here, young one. Let me help you." said Jocasta Nu and she leaned over to tap the keyboard. Anakin knew that, in a few short moments, she would be able to ascertain the real reason for his furtive quest. She knew the Archives well.
"And who is Shmi Skywalker, Padawan?" her voice was scathing, dripping with repressed sarcasm. The answer was unmistakable as Anakin squirmed in his chair, head bowed in despair, wretched and alone. Pressing the obvious point, she probed, "A relative, perhaps?"
Anakin went rigid. No one made fun of his mother, no one.
"She is my mother." he said in a miserable, defensive tone. "I was just trying to see..."
"See what, young one? The Archive records clearly state that there is no Shmi Skywalker."
"Then the records are wrong." was his quick and sullen response.
"Impossible. If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist."
Madame Nu was quite emphatic as she drew up to her full height, arms folded across her chest, glaring at him with disdain and disbelief. Anakin knew that, to her, he was a problem child, someone with no respect for his betters, someone that should not be here – at all.
Anakin's face grew even more sullen. His voice was rising in heated response. "My mother is not an item." And then his eyes filled with tears as he choked back, whispering. "She does exist, she's still alive. I just know it."
For an instant, a mere moment, the Archivist's face melted into compassion but then it hardened again. "You have no right to use Jedi resources for personal use. That is forbidden."
She backed away, pulled roughly at his chair and said, ice-filled voice pouring over him. "Go, Padawan Skywalker. I will speak to Master Kenobi about your improper use of Temple equipment. Do not come back here again without permission, written permission." When he didn't leave immediately but stood there in absolute shock, his face wet with harsh tears, she spat out, glaring. "Go now!"
He scurried away as fast as he could, body huddled in on itself, sobs echoing in the cavernous spaces. But his tears weren't enough to block out Madame Nu's disgusted words, "Looking for his mother, of all things! That boy is nothing but trouble. The Council have lost their collective minds. He'll turn for sure."