Title: What's in a Name?
Author: AsianScaper
Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.
Rating: G
Category: Drama/Angst/Romance
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to asianscaper@edsamail.com.ph. Advice is highly sought after!
Summary: A woman representative, swollen with child, endeavors to talk with the newly risen Dark Lord of the Sith.
Archiving: Just email me the URL to allow me a peek.
Dedication: To my family, to God, and to my friends.
Author's Note: Another vile experiment on my writing style. Tell me what you think!
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Part I.
The dress wore different garments, chased by the moon and stolen by day that as it fell from the many-colored skies it was a shower of meteors bled from the shadow of the planets. Anakin Skywalker had never seen ships fall as wraiths upon the living do. The heat cast sweat-shadows upon his arms and neck, and face; humanity's face marked by gashes and still bleeding wounds.
This third planet from the sun, once lush and serene, was suddenly moaning.
Jes'Dameer was afire with sorrow, anger, and desolateness so appealing that he who stood alone on the hillock marveled at the sight. His curiosity was born by his own queer upbringing, when all the advice he truly sought was the advice filtered by his own, limited being. Listening was never an art for him. It was a burden for the dead, when they lay quiet from the decay of their own lips.
His mechanical hand fell forsaken beside him, quiet, unmoving, golden yet useless, as a king's touch had been when he craved the world. The quakes had begun to wrench Anakin's fingers from him and oftentimes, he did not feel the hand that was not there. He merely knew its existence because he could see.
A pitiful, strange, alluring thing…the unnaturalness.
And yet…a hand is a hand is a hand. The thought was lodged into him and he spoke it aloud, with barely recognizable kindness. There was no fault, no weakness, in bidding oneself good-bye.
"A hand…is a hand…is a hand." And the thunder rolled like great vessels bequeathed with the power of height.
Stars fell.
Anakin blinked.
It began raining. The young man shook the liquid from his mantle and bringing the hood towards his face, was lost to the warmth beneath. Tearful droplets hung gently on his eyelids, memories of long ago, exploiting his actions as he wiped his eyes. For he never wiped away his tears or nature's tears. Gently, gently, they muttered to his lids. Where was the water?
Nonono. The real water, they said to him. The one that heralded joy, anguish, defeat? He could not remember and he frowned.
Rain's fingers traced the line of his cheeks for he had no weather of his own to cry with. How could they miss his tears so much?
Another question, young one.
Where was the yellow light? Ah, the light of the bees; the light which crossed the spectrum to gift any with the sight of honey. Anakin looked up and found only lightning and clouds. Just noise and black light and noise. There was only the bitter gall in his throat and the emptiness that gnawed within his chest like a beast wandering into the entrails of its prey.
The sun shine on thee, and keep thee, and give thee peace.
He suddenly felt ill. To him, the sun was missing. It hid. It delivered. Yet it hid!
His laugh, burgeoning like iron petals from his throat, was shrill and hoarse, as if it were dragged with chains from his heart, to his tongue, and then to his lips. As if rust was sprinkled unto it as onion fruits were used to buy tears. He laughed more often now, unfortunate laughter born from the musings of the crow! For what else could a man do but chortle at his fate and possess it? He was mad. He knew. And he was not a man.
The darkness embrace thee, and keep thee, and give thee peace.
It is done. The deed is done. Fate calls.
"Commander," he said. "Send for the transport. We leave for Sassanoth."
"Yes, Lord Vader."
The armored figure behind him trudged on to his shuttle, leaving footprints in sand. With eyes already blind, Anakin turned from the sight of ships hailing from the heavens, as if the phantom vision would leave when he did. But the noise! The terrible, ceaseless noise!
The earth trembled beneath him as another Jes'Dameer ship full of survivors careened to the mounts below and dismembered its own parts with the power of its fall.
It was not the human hand, which clenched into a fist. It was the machinated one, the one that gave him use of something that never was. Power glinted across his dark eyes. Hunger was ever present there. A blundering thing that drowned in the soup of greed. Power.
I will not fail. Never…never…never…
He laughed once more.
He was mad. He knew.
For a time. For a time. Only in the beginning, Skywalker. Only in the beginning.
***
Part II.
"Jes'Dameer has fallen, Senator."
Her name slept silent on the man's lips for she had none. Her children would never know the fruit of her identity. But that was what she wanted and fallen from the world of sound was her person. Sitting across the dais where the fellow begged audience, she was a mantle from the pins and needles of a sad legacy. Dark and only dark hid beneath the wrinkled skin of her frown. All else, including her eyes, were bright and dead.
"What does this…Dark Lord want?" she asked. That name, too, was foreign on her tongue. What was in a name? She sighed and there within that breath, Death fled from her dullness. She would not surrender to the blight of names, the joy of names, the power of names.
I cannot fail.
"We have known their plan, Senator. Yet Jes'Dameer has fallen and the Dark Lord of the Sith will stop at nothing. They have already destroyed the academies of Jedi thought in the system of Latriea. And the borders of Manisuli and Reirenthafir…"
"Stop." She stood from her bench, flanked by the leaders of the Alderaan homeworld. "I will meet with this Dark Lord of the Sith."
The hall rose into a cacophony and white robes mingled with white robes, their fists thrust into the air, begging the sky's approval. Pandemonium. The devil's temptress. It was easy to lose oneself in noise, inside the hellfire of a thousand tongues, a thousand minds. There, only to gain honor from the conflicts of intellect. She raised her hand and in a voice conceived from the arches of palaces, exclaimed, "Only for the beginning, gentlemen! Only for the beginning!"
The gong of her strength clouded all vision and the hall was resplendent with her voice. It was enough. The devilry subsided and their eyes were upon her. Tails vanished behind the pillars of the hall and padded feet dashed for exits, that the marble would not burn their feet.
Another sigh echoed tiredly within the convenience of her soul. She felt so old. Too old.
"This is only the beginning," she said, too quietly for them to hear that they leaned towards her, both craving her words and more so, her vivacity.
"Pardon, Senator. You had something to say?" one asked.
Her smile was kind, though somewhat white with rage. "First we talk. There's civility left in us, I should think. We cannot merely react. Act first."
The child had spoken and she was complete. The elders of the court blinked, seemingly jerked from their realities to the one she was proposing to consecrate. Respect hung heavily in the room and she was suddenly afraid. They spent their energies on the trust they dropped coins for, in her box of endeavors. Too much. But the weight was familiar and she carved it silently, into a staff she could lean on.
The perpetual light cradled her, to comfort her, treading down the corridors, from the pillars.
"Very well, Senator," the eldest said. "We will arrange a transport to rendezvous with the Dark Lord's Star Destroyer in Sassanoth. We insist that you take an honor guard, however."
"You may insist on whatever you wish. Just not on retaliation. Not yet."
"Of course. We will do as you say for it seems the wisest course." She chuckled gently, remembering the saucer gazes of little boys and girls. They were so much like children without the benefit of a gentle parent.
What then, if it proves the opposite?
Another chortle. Oh yes. They were blind in their following, yet wise in their blindness.
She would lead them.
A man had asked it of her once, as these men did. Just one man with the power of a strong gaze, built like a gale of sorrow and happiness. One that swirled to her own music and gave her roses for summer, daisies for autumn, bright orchids for winter. Then for spring, his rich bouquets were the fountain kisses of endless joy bestowed like sweets upon her lips. One that he shared generously. One that did not hide his dark, brooding sadness, his dancing fear. For he tried to hide it so often.
And she was not there when he decided to show it to the world.
She closed her eyes at the memory and names swirled within her sight, like ashen snow in a festering squall.
A lightsaber, she could remember. The handle worn from use, caressed by strong fingers that engulfed her own. The great noise of his cape against the hurricane outside, his boots sauntering by the wind-swept ground. Crunch, crunch. A percussion of farewells.
Wind blew in gusts, the singer of a song choked by sobs.
When the widow weeps, what then, do you see?
Was that a ballad? From a galaxy far, far away? It was closer to her vicinity now, for she could hear it amidst the silence of the hall, amidst the great expectation of men. Her expression faltered slightly. She was but a girl, in a galaxy with a song transported through the star-spangled sky for her sake.
Courage was always there when she chose to speak. It came, with a noose to deem her worthy of sacrifice.
"He will come to Kil Niran of Sassanoth and I shall meet him then, when he asks for our surrender."
None dared argue. They knew the value of names and the Dark Lord of the Sith had a name. She knew.
***
Part III.
"They have a representative, my Lord, awaiting you."
Anakin relied on the slight heaving of his chest, on the nervous set of his teeth, on the quivering sweat dropping from his forehead like cautious, cold snakes to know that this officer was afraid. The bridge of a Star Destroyer was a lonely place, despite the many creatures mastering its vile movements. Anakin rested on the most secluded stead, where none dared speak to him. He brooded. He exuded power.
Anakin watched the officer, his hood seeking phantoms within the room. He wore gloves of black now, denying his own eyes the nature he once was. A man. But he was not a man. Machinery charged his humanity with corruption.
"Do you have a name, Lieutenant?" he asked, patiently, clenching his fists as a hint of his rising anger.
"My Lord?" he stumbled.
"A name. Does this representative have a name?"
"She did not give one, sir."
"'She'?" Vader growled. The officer cringed, his uniform moist with fear and anticipation. "A woman?" The flash of raven black hair crowded his senses and then, the smell of flowers…daisies. Was it autumn in Naboo? Another sweet scent. He was suddenly aware of thoughts that never once in five months, creased the straight path his mind had set.
He cursed beneath his hood. There were scars on his face, and each scar was the stem of a bud shouting for freedom, for power. Power! He grinned under the cowl, knowing that the world would not see the meaningful sadness there, the seething will of anguish where the lips bent to lines of bright recollections.
He could now smell sunshine, though could not see it, and it warmed his skin. His skin was so awfully cold at times, and he marveled at the sudden heat. One he had not felt since the sky fell in Jes'Dameer.
He could now feel the hand, which was not a hand; it moved to the singular beauty of a face he once knew. Once loved. But…
A face.
He could not remember the intricate loveliness to that face. And it angered him.
There was only…emptiness.
He stood from the dark throne and watching the stars outside, was aware of a small ship docking into the Star Destroyer he commanded. A strong presence as all of the senators had. He could feel the lives within, throbbing, insistent, unlike his. His cape trembled as he quickly walked the steps to the audience room. The boots clicked heavily on the floor, reminding him of his own presence, of his untimely surrender to death., when good abandoned him. Or was it…the other way around? The easy way around? He preferred to ignore his thoughts and then, another emotion was lost to him.
He could not feel his hand again, as often as it always was numb. How horrid it was. He had touched with that hand and the sensations it owned were gone with it. A pity. A pity he could not remember that face and the softness it once must have felt. Pity. Pity.
Pity that the ship was as dark as the clothing he wore. The representative would have no light for a day.
***
Part IV.
She sat confidently as oft she did, a demure stature of faith in both the meanderings of humankind, and the fellowship she now partook in. She did not expect this to be a fruitful conversation, nor intended it to be. The Dark Lord of the Sith had only one nature, one dipped in darkness. The body this lord must have had would graze in flesh's denial while he would stare at a her, for she too, had aged. Yet not within this drooping hood she took to wearing. The dark moon of her face would provide naught and expression bare. Vigor had abandoned her as quickly as this lord had become a lord.
She did not look forward to the meeting and it seemed her own cowl was worthy of the pensive interior of this powerful vessel. Her guards were left on the small vessel supplied to her by her allies; there to bide their time. They could escape that way, if things went awry. Now, she felt more alone than ever she had felt.
But the life within her womb gave her peace and she wondered why she had taken this risk.
When the doors slid open, she saw the inkling of an answer in that dark, ethereal gaze from beneath ore and metal.
The power in names. The joy in names. The melancholy in calling him by his name! She dared not. Would not. She could hear the silent rip of her innards at the sight of this Sith Lord.
"Welcome, Senator," the voice said, quietly, unintrusive like a cat prodding the dead mouse. "We have much to discuss."
The shadow of a voice fell into the chimes of familiarity. Oddly, the face was lost to her, even as her mind skimmed through a vast aggregate of pictures she thought she had already lost. When he left. The images were…empty, oddly empty, when she caught a gaze not unlike the dull, gray quality of her own.
This lord's face was hidden in a helmet carved from an image of indifference. Dark hollows reflected ebony metal for his eyes, cold and unforgiving. The brow above it curved somewhat…to anguish? Perhaps not. Judging was a fine thread. She would not walk it. Nonetheless, his was a body was much like her own, though attached to contraptions achieved only by minds seeking immortality. It made her quiver. When had this begun? Decay delayed that a man may relish it?
"What are your terms?" she asked.
When she spoke, the dark lord revealed studied hesitance. It served as a charm. A slight opening in conscience. But he seemed to fight it with a clenched fist. He went onward to the dais where he sat above her own seat.
His shoulders had a familiar set, a mighty set, one that was not used to defeat or to the cries of constant disgrace. Honor was there, valor was there, evil was there. Though she felt there was good to him, for skin glanced beneath an opening to his arm and another flashed golden.
Like a hand she had once touched. One that the owner could not feel as he wanted it to feel. That picture, too, was met with the blurred sight of someone tearful enough to see only light and its components of stars. Oh, pity!
"Unconditional surrender, Senator," he hissed.
His tone was deep and thoughtful. A flight of intermediate fancy, one that stole authority and waved it like the wand.
"Unacceptable," she said, with as much rancor as her delicate throat allowed.
He breathed through that helmet with a noise that frightened and intrigued her. What was it that kept this corpse alive?
"Why then did you come?" he asked in lilting, unlit tones. It rose slightly, as if wrath sulked about the edges of his ebony disguise.
"I've come like a lamb to the slaughter, Lord Vader." She felt heavy with grief, at the sound of that name. It was a firm intonation, with sharp clicks to the tongue. Why did she come? "But we are a versatile people and despite Palpatine's betrayal…"
"You did not answer my question, Senator."
No meeting with fate was ever gentle. "To ask you about the death of three billion lives."
The Dark Lord of the Sith laughed. "Why? What life do you carry that you should care so much?" His mockery slid off her façade like oil on water.
"One, dark lord. Only one and two more to your name; the defense found in a name."
The hum of his machinery could be heard, the halting music of his soul, for she was sure this lord had one.
The silence was deafening and her hand shot up from her sides to her swollen abdomen. She felt movement there, the beginning of the beginning and lives more intent than the adults surrounding them.
And this, a beginning as well.
A murder of billions and here she was, the delegate of two. Why had she come? -her mind screamed at her. She begged the very universe, the very fates, to tell her why she had come. And memories flashed before her eyes. The trees bright in autumn, their leaves falling like ash from volcanoes of red and orange, the laughter of a man. A man. His eyes straying to the beauty around him, forgetting his hungry reality.
More free, more powerful than ever, when he walked by her side in a grin that split his cheeks to the folds of gaiety.
"A bright destiny, this," the lord whispered. "Tell me, Senator, what's in a name?" A query. A test.
She cocked her head forward. The embroidered edge of her cowl provided little comfort, and small division from the reek and aura of decay. It fell forward, bringing more of her expression to shade. "A smile, a tear, a mere whisper of letters, symbols, that show you a man's worth," were her words.
"Well then, I have none, Senator," he answered in turn. "Yet you should give your child a name. For a name's worth is more than any deed done by my hand. And I have only one to bide my time with. Go now. Before my heart flees with the darkness I've harbored." He stood quickly, his cape floundering like a drowning animal, his footsteps as frail as a man's dancing on a rickety stage.
"Then it is done. The deed is done. Fate calls." He stopped at her words and turning, seemed to weep beneath that wretched mask.
She stood alongside him. And then, in that strange moment when she took her place by the dark lord's side...
When the widow weeps, what then, do you see? Why were there images?
The dark lord walked her to the door and the black within black of his cape swirled. A confused array of colors? The same she had taken for granted on autumns when a man would take her by her waist and spin her around, like a carousel of hope. Confusion plagued her.
"Anakin..." she muttered gently, his name cradled on her tongue as dew is held dear by leaves.
The Sith Lord seemed to turn. To want to turn. But did not. For he was not a man.
What was in a name?
He had never asked for hers. In a queer flight of knowing, she knew that his ignorance was a healthy one. For now. Only for the beginning.
Only in the beginning.
For the children were safe.
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-The End-