"If I am ever elected Supreme Chancellor of the Senate, I will decree that all Jedi must demonstrate an emotion at least once a year."
It's ceremonial more than anything. When the Emperor falls, shown to the entire galaxy, exposed for his dealings with the dark side of the Force, Padme Amidala, for her part in revealing him for his true aims and bringing his cohorts to justice, is elected Supreme Chancellor in his wake. Twin children in her arms, hers and Anakin's secret now brought out of the shadows, she rules with a dignity and serenity that calms the masses in the wake of such trouble times. On the afternoon of the unveiling of a memorial to those lost to the Sith regime, she gives a speech in the gently blowing through the Naboo skies, and is reminded of something she said as a child, what feels now like so long ago.
"I remember Master Qui-Gon, who was lost to the Sith known as Darth Maul. I was young then, but I can remember promising that if I ever rose to such prominence as the Supreme Chancellor, I would decree that all Jedi be required to demonstrate an emotion at least once a year," she says with a smile quirking the edge of her lips.
There are some chuckles, some knowingly glittering eyes from the Jedi sitting amongst the crowd. Politicians, clones and civilians alike join in a tranquil hum of amusement. Her lips spread a bit wider and she points to the monument behind her, which stretches toward the heavens in a display of proud defiance against the evils that were done to those who defied the dark side of the Force.
"I will not make such a decree now, but I do encourage our Jedi brothers and sisters and family members of all sort to relocate their humanity, to recognize the suffering of the past and rejoice in the hope of the future. Our brave Jedi fought valiantly for the protection of the most basic rights to existence, but not only to exist, but to live. And it is my most sincere hope that, in the shadow of this sacred memorial-dedicated to those who were lost and sacrificed at the hands of the Sith, that we celebrate what it is to be alive."
It is not a decree, but a ceremonial encouragement. No Jedi will be excommunicated or held in contempt of governmental procedure or thrown into prison for political negligence.
But, all the same, Obi-Wan takes it as seriously as if it were galactic law. From the moment he leaves the memorial dedication on Naboo to the moment he arrives back to the Temple on Coruscant and for days and days beyond, Obi-Wan finds himself immensely troubled by their new Chancellor's decree. After all, the Jedi are not emotionless drones sent to do the bidding of the Senate. The time for all of that is past, and the page has been turned on their days as foot soldiers of Palpatine. But, even so, the Jedi struggles with Chancellor Amidala's decree from her childhood, for he has spent such a lifetime learning to control his fear, his anger, his jealousy, his compassion, his joy, his hope, that he is not sure he knows how to unlock the chest in his soul where he holds those feelings.
It is in such a state that Obi-Wan arrives in Mandalore on a chilly afternoon. Neither distressed nor at peace, he slides his T-6 into an air hangar before setting off on foot to a destination which he has never seen first hand. In all honesty, Obi-Wan doesn't have the foggiest clue where his feet are taking him, but there is a string pulsating through the Force, and it calls to him, pulling him down a path set out as clearly as if it had been laid just for him. This pulsating strand of Force energy bears a familiar weight; Obi-Wan renounced all claims to a home when he renounced his claim to attachments, but if he were asked to explain what home feels like, this is it. A beckoning of warmth even through the hazy, cold rain, it gently wraps its way around his chest, tugging him along in a loving caress.
It leads him along back streets of the Capital city and down roads he has never before seen, farther and father from the center of the metropolis, until he has reached the outskirts of this fair kingdom, where the city streets decay until the pavements dissolve into grasslands and the buildings retreat until all Obi-Wan can see is sky.
It's beautiful.
And thus, it makes such a fitting tribute to the woman Obi-Wan….to the woman he…..To Duchess Satine.
There isn't much to denote it- her burial site, that is. Underneath a magnificent tree, a small plaque is settled into the ground. With Maul on the planet and unrest across the galaxy, there must not have been much ability to give her the respect and grandeur that she deserved when she was lost.
But all the same, even in its simplest, most humble form, the sight of Satine's grave brings him to a halt. A stone's throw away, his steady, calculated steps cease, and he merely stares. The grass is beginning to grow over the letters on her nameplate and distort a few of the words, but even from here, he can read them. Duchess Satine Kyrze. In the minds of the faithful.
It isn't much. It isn't anything, really. But it is enough.
His knees feeling suddenly very weak indeed, Obi-Wan allows his body respite. Sinking to the ground, he rests, sitting as if to meditate. However, meditation is not for this moment. Instead, he remembers. He remembers running through empty hallways in the dead of night to help evacuate Satine in those early days of the Civil War. She refused to go with Qui-Gon, but when Obi-Wan extended his hand to her, asking her to join them for her safety, she skeptically agreed. If he concentrates, he can still feel the smooth lines of her palm wrapped in his as he pulled her from her study and into the lightless hall, leading her away from the mob that was steadily approaching. The feeling of her pulse against his gave him a strength the likes of which he had never felt before.
He remembers long nights around small fires, talking as the stars did their remarkable show in the night sky. Her singing voice which calmed him in the earliest hours of the morning. That fiery expression that lit her eyes whenever they quarreled. Her gentle diplomacy when regarding the pirates and rogues that they encountered during the Civil War. That small twitch of her lips when she tried to hide her amusement at Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's arguments. He remembers their adventures. Her sense of humor. Her startling eyes. Her quick wit. Her passionate love for her people.
He remembers her smile.
Her smile is like returning home after being gone too long.
Was. Obi-Wan reminds himself. Her smile was.
And never will be again.
With that revelation, one that he perhaps knew inside his mind but is perhaps actually feeling for the first time in this moment, Chancellor Amidala's directive is obeyed. For Obi-Wan is unable to keep the tears from slipping down his cheeks. He doesn't cry out in broken sobs. He doesn't scream and curse the name of all who have taken her away from him. Instead, he closes his eyes, his heart thrumming with the pain he has finally allowed himself to feel, and conjures her up in his mind as he would always love to remember her. On that day when he first arrived on her planet during the Clone Wars. When they couldn't stop arguing, but still managed to smile at each other, even if for the briefest of moments.
Like returning home after being gone too long. That was her smile.
And with this memory blazing in his mind, he whispers aloud,
"I miss you."
And in that moment, there is no rush of wind or ghostly appearance of her figure in the distance. But, the Force speaks to him in a voice that sounds much the same as hers did on that last day. A few simple words in her gentle murmur, words that speak peace to Obi-Wan's disquieted heart, soothing him until he finds the serenity to say goodbye.
"And I always will."
This is just a little drabble I wrote today! I hope you all enjoy it. :) Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts!