Summary: Lest I forget.
Pairings: Obi-Wan x Sabé
Author's Note: You'd sort of need to read Too Late to Say Goodbye to understand some of the issues presented here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
Her watercolor world had turned all to drab shades of gray. Sabé had supposed it would eventually.
The court of Naboo had had been painted saffron gold and vivid shades of red. Coruscant had been a cool gray-lavender, and Alderaan, serene blues and greens. All the Rebellion bases Sabé had been to since unofficial exile from the latter two and sanctioned exile from the former—the very thought stings, that an outside power can see fit to bar her from her own home—have been gray, painted intermittently with the blood of fallen soldiers.
She couldn't even maintain her own color, not now, and Sabé knew that anyone who had known her before would see only a washed-out, faded shadow of the woman she had once been—not that she had been vividly blinding with color to begin with. She'd always painted herself in black and dark blue anyway.
Sabé had given of herself to the Rebellion, and the Rebellion took away everything as it ate its own.
And now, after so many years of hiding, fighting, struggling, when she didn't have even Leia's company to comfort her anymore, Sabé began to forget the colors of those she had known and loved.
It was an alarming discovery, one of the few things that could truly jar her anymore. Rabé and Eirtaé, Cordé and Moteé and all the others seemed like little black shadows, what they had always cultivated themselves to be as handmaidens, but they shouldn't be black now. They should be shades of… shades of…
Sabé can't remember what colors they should be anymore.
She can't remember Anakin or Amidala's shades either, but that's almost a relief. They were the influences in her lives that hurt her most, tore her apart and tossed her along for a very bumpy ride. She had little desire to remember their colors, especially not Amidala's, even if she would never forget the influence Amidala had wielded over her, charismatic and powerful, enthralling to the point that even when Sabé almost couldn't stand her at all she couldn't imagine a life without her.
She's even starting to forget the watercolors she painted Leia in. Was it yellow, or violent red? Was it blue, or regal purple? Or was it pure, unblemished white?
It was difficult, but Sabé had long since lost the ability to see people in color.
Except…
Except she still remembered him, remembered Obi-Wan Kenobi in the colors Sabé had assigned to him.
He was the only one Sabé could remember now. He was the only one of the long dead she still lit candles for anymore.
Because he alone still existed in color in her memories—warm brown and green—and he was one of the few who really mattered to Sabé, anymore.