I'm writing
this unremarkable piece of writing as a favour to an old friend, Padmé Naberrie
Skywalker. I hope that she will be able
to read this – if not, all my love, Padmé. And all my love to your twins.
My name is Rabé
Lilkon, I am twenty-five years old, and this is my story.
Before I start,
I warn the reader that I'm no writer. This will be short and hopefully sweet. I start my story in one of the pivotal moments of all our histories –
the trade boycott of Naboo. I was left
behind by Padmé, with Yané. We were
tortured daily by the Federation fro information, but we had been well trained
as handmaidens, and so of course we said nothing.
At night I
huddled on Yané's bed. She was a whole
year older than me, and showed no fear, just like Padmé. It was on the third night that she kissed
me. I'll never forget that kiss so long
as I live. It was the most incredible
thing that ever happened to me.
I fell in love
with Yané during those miserable days. And then I saw my older brother being shot in front of me.
I couldn't keep
my handmaiden countenance. I fell into
Yané's arms, and we made love that night for the first time. I can't and won't describe it here. It's just something indescribable. I loved her with all my heart.
Then eventually
Padmé returned, and freed the Naboo. The Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn, was killed, and broke Eirtaé's heart. I don't have the words to describe those
days. I have no wish to remember
them. I've only ever talked of them to
Yané, the person to whom I told everything. Eirtaé was pregnant with Qui-Gon's child.
The days and
years passed us by without much changing; Eirtaé had to have time off because
of Tallé, her daughter, but no one replaced her. We couldn't have anyone replace our Eirtaé – she was always the
mother to us all.
Eventually, of
course, Padmé was voted out of office, and we all moved to a house in the
country. Yané and I were still going
strong. We all paired off in that house
– Padmé and Anakin (at last – it had been building up for years) and Sabé and
Obi-Wan. Saché, my ice-queen friend,
even fell in love with a local villager – Tac, his name was.
Padmé and Sabé
eventually went off to be senators – they never could settle down, it was part
of who they were – and Saché married her Tac. Yané and I looked after the house as Eirtaé grew more and more
distant. Tallé was the life and joy of
our house. Little Tallé, who looked so
much like her father and yet captured her mother's essence to a tee.
Padmé returned
with Anakin – married at last, and Sabé soon to be married also. Padmé confided in us that she was
pregnant. She also told us that she and
Obi-Wan both feared that Anakin would turn to the dark side – become a Sith.
Then, less than
a month later, Tallé drowned. It was a
horrific accident, made even more tragic by the fact that Eirtaé then tried to
kill herself. We all sat vigil with her
as she slept unconscious in the hospital. When she woke up, she was detained until her mental stability was
proven.
When I heard
that news, I wanted to cry out that Eirtaé was fine – she didn't need
psychiatric care, she was my big sister, she was my friend. But I didn't. For once, I held my tongue. We took her to her daughter's funeral, and for the first time Yané and I
showed publicly that we were a couple. I don't think anyone was surprised.
The funeral was
a miserable affair. Afterwards, Yané
and I scattered Tallé's ashes to the wind, just like Qui-Gon's. And then, a few months later, just as Saché
was beginning to show her first child (as indeed was Padmé), Anakin turned to
the dark side. He confronted Obi-Wan
and became Darth Vader.
It didn't
really come as a surprise. Sabé and
Padmé had for weeks been preparing to flee, to protect Padmé's Force-strong
twins. We all agreed that none of us
should know. We were all prepared to
die for Padmé willingly. After all – we
were handmaidens.
Then Vader came
to us as we were talking – Saché, Tac, Yané and I. I watched as he killed Tac. Then he suffocated Yané in front of my eyes. She had called him a monster. Then we told him that Obi-Wan hadn't told us where our friends would
hide. We rushed to our dead loves, then
ran to warn Eirtaé. I left Yané lying
dead on the floor. When we reached the
hospital, Vader had already killed Eirtaé. I picked up her writing as I had picked up Yané's. I glanced at it, wondering at the little I
saw, stating that she knew that Vader had killed Yané. I was confused at that until I remembered
that Obi-Wan had once said that dead Jedi could suggest things to our subconscious,
and I recalled Qui-Gon Jinn.
Then Saché and
I fled to the only place we knew we would be safe. We fled to Otoh Gunga, We
will live here for the rest of our lives, most likely. Obi-Wan, if he is still alive, will soon
come to collect our stories for Padmé, and make sure that we are safe. I feel as though I never will be safe
again. I was with Yané for twelve
years. I knew my friends for fifteen
years.
My name is Rabé
Lilkon. I am twenty-five years
old. This was my (short) life. I hope that it will prove useful to Luke and
Leia, although I suspect that the others will be more so. This is a little short and compounded. I know that Eirtaé, having more time in the
hospital, wrote pages and pages. But I
am no writer. I will live my life in a
strange city, never again to see another human except Saché.
Good luck,
little Jedi. Bear your name with honour
as I have always born mine.