Would-Be Heroes
Author: ncfan
Rating: T. Tell me if you think I should change the rating.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
Summary: The aftermath of the second battle of Naboo. A Naboo Royal Security guard ponders on his fate
The sun shone too brightly, blinding the line of the condemned. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, the chains binding their chafed and bloodied hands binding them together. As it should be, was the bitter thought of Jonathan Tallis, the second-in-command of the Royal Naboo Security Forces.
He couldn't see what was standing in front of them, it was so bright. He could however, feel the lifeblood spilling from the man to his immediate right, and see the tears of the boy to his left.
They were a line of thirteen; six guards, three handmaidens, four Jedi. They were all that remained of the battle that had rocked Theed the night before. Tallis had no doubt that if the queen had survived, she would stand among them.
This was what we fought for, Tallis mused. We fought for freedom, and now we are rewarded with humiliation, vilification, and death.
Our only hope is that we will not be forgotten, that our names will be whispered among those who foment resistance. We will be the spark to create a flame.
Blaster bolts rung in Tallis' ears. However, no one was firing in that square. In the Naboo Royal Palace, bombs were dropped on the Palace; rubble and shrapnel flew everywhere.
With no warning, Apailana fell, a small hole betwixt her eyes gushing dark blood and seeping sickly yellow fluid. Her small, ringed hand still clutched a blaster, her eyes lay open. White and red face paint made the young monarch resemble a broken porcelain doll.
The young security captain, less than five years older than Tallis himself, turned on Vader. Tallis shuddered. The Captain was a good swordswoman, and strong in the Force, but he feared how she would fare against the most powerful Force-user ever to terrorize the Galaxy.
She wielded a long vibroblade, in the shape of an ancient sword, encased in cortosis; at this point, Tallis felt some hope. The cortosis weave would allow her blade to stand against the crushing blows of a lightsaber.
They exchanged words; the two seemed to know each other somehow. Then, they erupted into battle. The Captain was swift; she believed in fighting fast and fighting hard. But she had been shot earlier that night, and it was showing. She got in two, maybe three lucky shots against her foe before Vader decided to end it.
She fell, Vader's lightsaber against her shoulder, and did not rise again.
Tallis could not be sure that she was dead. But she was not among the thirteen, and so he could only pray that either some city dweller had found her, or that her death had been swift and honorable. Tallis seriously doubted it.
There they were, a line of thirteen, brothers and sisters bound through adversity, bound through chains, now bound through the blood that commingled as they bled and waited.
A crowd had gathered; they were forced to watch. The people gathered in streets, in alleyways. They were wide-eyed, horrified, regretful, sympathetic, admonishing, all at once.
The Empire doesn't know the tempest they're creating. A spectacle like this always raises hell, no matter who the alleged "traitors" are. Tallis could almost smirk in satisfaction. They would be the catalysts.
Tallis wished he could say goodbye to his sister. But it was better this way. Neither one of them were good with goodbyes, and all she would do is weep and vow revenge. He could only hope that she would not follow her big brother to destruction.
The time was drawing ever closer. The others began to shift beside him, grimacing in anticipation. Death was not an easy thing to face, and it had always been said that the anticipation of death was worse than death itself.
Their queen waited. She, young though she had been, was a guardian to her people now, and was a guardian to them most of all. She would want them to go out like the courageous soldiers they were. Tallis did not want any of them to lose face; no one would beg for clemency. None of them wanted to.
Tallis was ready. He had spent all his time in a cramped holding cell readying himself. Where will I go? One of the eleven Hells? The Elysium, to live in eternal happiness? Or the wild, lonely Otherworld, where the fair ones walk, and I will wait to be reborn?
A small wind fluttered through them. Tallis closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the breeze soothe his sweating brow.
In the blinding light, something white was moving to take up position opposite of them. They raised something black, like cankers against clear skin.
The Padawan to Tallis' left, who continued to cry, let out a small whimper. He should not be here. The boy is all of thirteen.
The guard to the boy's left comforted him. "It'll be alright, kid. It'll be alright." Tallis felt his heart swell in pride.
"That's right," came a soft, feminine voice to the left of the guard who had comforted the boy. Now, a handmaiden spoke. "When the shadows fall, child, have no fear of the night." The words she spoke were ancient, and relayed a sweet promise.
Rosalba Aransi. Beautiful Rosalba. Young, but brave and wise, now serene beyond all the reasons to be nervous and afraid.
"Rosalba," Tallis tried to speak to her, "I..."
She smiled, and Tallis would carry that smile with him forever. "Shh. I know. You and I shall meet again where no evil may ever pierce it's golden center..."
Jonathan continued her ancient words. "...Where winter's icy grip is never known. Where there is no hate, no sorrow. Where sickness and death never lay. Where war is but a distant memory. Where none ever fear what the morrow shall bring..."
"...Where our loved ones wait for us. Where there is only joy, and love."
"It's like you've been there," the boy said, staring in awe at the young woman beside him, lovely despite her wounds, her smudged face and disheveled hair, stunning despite her rent and torn mulberry robes.
"I have not," Rosalba answered, with a small smile playing on rounded lips, a dulcet note on her low voice. "But I will be soon. We all will be." She smiled at Tallis, then looked ahead.
As the stormtroopers raised their rifles to fire, Tallis felt all his confidence desert him. His heart began to pound unnaturally fast.
Again, Tallis stared around the sea of faces to his side and behind him. He saw that none of them wept. None of them dared show tears for fear that they would be next. Little did he know that in an alleyway someone wept, someone who had already lost so much and was now witnessing the culmination of cruelty and darkness. Someone who wept for them, and all of the loved ones lost.
The boy started to cry again, but silently, with a half smile on his face.
I wish I had his courage.
We are would-be heroes. That, and nothing more, was Tallis' final despairing thought, as a shattering crack went through the air.
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Ok, my first published oneshot. Please tell me what you thought, and don't hold back. Flames (as long as they aren't unreasonable) are welcome.