Title: Fire and Ice
Author: AsianScaper
Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.
Rating: G
Category: Drama
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to asianscaper@edsamail.com.ph. Advice is highly sought after!
Summary: Sequel to 'What's in a Name?". The council convenes and the Rebellion is formed. Obi-wan Kenobi seeks to console his Padawan's wife and finds his own forgiveness in her kindness.
Archiving: Just email me the URL to allow me a peek.
Dedication: To Alison, who insisted on a sequel and eventually inspired it.
Author's Note: Another vile experiment on my writing style. Tell me what you think!
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Part V.
"If we walk the fine thread, Senator, and rescue the Jedi in Jes'Dameer…"one miscreant said, in tones as silver and tinkling as a stream about to break into flood.
"Rescue?" another villain protested, his own shimmering slightly with rain and the beginnings of great thunder. "There is nobody left alive!"
"If we came near Sassanoth or any system thereafter, we would be killed."
"Oh, by shade and light," the Alderaan representative exclaimed. "Be not misconstrued! This is a noble court! Made by people! Do keep your musings and alter noise! Silence!"
They did tamper with the rising bedlam and Padmé was grateful. Beginning to think that they all seemed against her ruminations, she had lost hope of ever getting their attention again.
"Thank you, Senator," she told the Alderaan.
The Alderaan bowed respectfully, for she was a woman as well, and in league with the praise they bestowed upon the youngest of them. "Peace, my lady, is a hard thing to acquire these days," she whispered tiredly, though with a witless smile. In it, strength was apparent, and generous. Padmé gratefully accepted all that the other had to give.
Names were seemingly non-existent here. For what was in a name? Nobility, a man's worth, she had said. What fairy tales had she woven from one, very important question? As men do, she had tried too often and too much for a name. This alliance was another, the people in it thrown into a bowl mixed by the new enemy.
Sighing, as often she did, she stood once more, her dress as effervescent as she was ashen. No light left her eyes, only the falling colors of brown interspersed with black; aridity caused by night.
"What did this Darth Vader have to say?" a man in garments of the lowly peasant said.
Kez Kathar was a diplomat from Amistal, the vanguard planet, which had fallen to ruin. He did not care that his robes did not bear the colors of coin and was admired for it. It was the man beside him who first agreed vigorously, in a loud, vagrant voice.
Padmé could barely keep the bile from her throat. She was getting too delicate for these matters. Perseverance, though, never made her yield.
A murmur of agreement rose in a dangerous tide and even then, the slight gurgle of worry was apparent in the air. Humming, Padmé thought. The same when a cannon charged itself for bereavement.
The regally dressed leader of Higdain, in his fur cape and glittering emeralds, was seated beside the Amistal ambassador. He tugged self-consciously at his coat collar, for he was dressed in peacock hues.
"We would like to hear of Vader's opinion, his plans, Senator," the man said disparagingly.
Padmé waved the rich garments of Naboo that they would see her fist revealed from under the many pleated coats.
"He is bent in conquering," she started, her tone confident though tinged with injury. Her meeting with the Sith Lord did nothing to allay her fears or her heart. There was something peculiar about this villain; not that he bent the Force around him to frightful casts, but that he bent and waved his shoulders like…like… "He was able to destroy the contingent in Dathween."
"And is there news of the young Anakin?" someone endeavored to say.
Padmé's eyes darted to the speaker yet she could not find the one who spoke. Too many mouths were moving now.
"He is lost, it seems. Presumed dead," the person beside her said and in seeing her face, stumbled precociously, "Though they have not found his body. He may still be alive."
The council had an irreverent way of telling her how misplaced her love was. She ignored it and was, by far, ignored in turn.
Padmé could feel her face turn to rock and her frown as ruthless as when her people were first attacked by their foe. She did not respond but her anger made each man in turn, delay his speech. She commanded silence with the fell contemplation of her grimace. Young as she was, she was respected beyond even the eldest of the cluster. She did not have to ask quiet of them. Her gaze was thankful, though harsh when all remarks ended where she began.
"The young Padawan will be well," she whispered, half to herself. "As for the Dark Lord of the Sith, his new advent will be a bloody and pitiless one. You cannot rely on him for rebate on any of our losses. We must fight."
"A New Rebellion then," old Grathus said, his figure seated on a chair, his long white hair dropping ivory tresses over his shoulders and face. A cane protruded from his side and he used it verily to bring himself up.
The hall once more rose into confusion but old Grathus took his cane and with strength he seemed not to have, rammed it against the marble floor. His wrinkled skin shook with barely hidden anger.
Once.
The clamor did not cease but one or two, who knew the old Grathus in other days, stood quiet. They, too, had grays on their hairs and if their species did not call for fur upon one's head, their appendages were lost to decrepitude.
Twice.
Younger minds held the reigns of the council, but the few who knew wit and lance to be different things, held their peace.
As Grathus raised it for yet another beating, the last senator had spoken his turn. Silence was given to Grathus but many held their seats as if ready to speak again.
"What else would you call it?" the old man demanded, his wrath bouncing off the walls like spangled wreaths of diamond showers.
It was a strong voice; a youthful warrior once dwelled there and now had gone to the dust of wintry things. His forgotten guise lay within the musings of his cant. He addressed all of them then, in a voice once made for bigger halls.
"Palpatine endures to call himself the Emperor and has resorted far from light. If the galaxy has fled from good and gone to his side for fear of hurt, then we rebel against his might. We must force ourselves to admit," he continued rather indecently, "That we have not the resources nor the manpower to win against this greater, more powerful enemy. We will have to settle for more…covert ways."
Rheumy eyes stared insistently beneath white, bushy brows and his beard moved by the mouth beneath. An aide helped him recover and seated him gently on his chair. Waving his hand in a gesture of indifference, he said, "That is all, Senator. Men and women of this court, I beg for you to consider." He had a doddery, self-deprecating smile, one that reflected his lethargy for the obstinate habits of men.
For all the warring deities within their heads, nobody spoke. Their eyes settled on the youngest of their council, who by now, was showing the glowing yet somber face of one, who would give birth in little more than a month's time. Her usual, pinkish shine was gone, replaced instead, by the exhausted mask of a woman too old to make do with things she did not have.
"We…will give a name, Senator Grathus."
That brought a cold, relentless shiver down her spine. Names, names. The power in names! The hall was silent and they watched her, not with judgement, but with real expectation. She knew that whatever words sprouted through her mouth, they would accept, whole-heartedly.
The old man inclined his head in gratitude at the younger lady. "Be that as it may, we have given a noble appellation to our cause and should obtain inspiration from it."
"Thank you, Senator Grathus," Padmé said. She addressed the forum of justice with a weary voice. "If it sits well with all of you, the council will convene in Ethmun two days from now. We have discussed enough. The business in Jes'Dameer will lie untouched for now."
They fell into a ceaseless whir as leaving, they persisted on other matters that did not lie within the hall. Padmé sighed heavily and one of her handmaidens took her arm as she felt herself sink into her chair.
"My lady, you need your rest," her handmaid murmured quietly, lulling the senator into thoughts of succor that did nothing to ease her fatigue. "Come, we will take you to your quarters."
***
Part VI.
Obi-wan Kenobi waited patiently in one of the many halls of Leithnan. It was called the Red City, not for the perpetual orange and scarlet hues of the sky or for the great fire trees mingling with the green of its thoroughfares. Instead, the large, marble pillars rode the name as did foyers long dipped in the red mountains of the planet.
The color did not ease him; it swayed too much towards death's tinge. And he felt ill at heart. The council was to convene in Ethmun to discuss their many plans and Obi-wan's gut danced, unsettled, at the choice. Ethmun was conveniently unguarded, that the Emperor's eye would not settle upon it while the council conferred.
His robes settled like dew on the marble bench that he chose to honor with his presence. They rustled gently by a warm, benign breeze. Obi-wan had little of those then. A hand reached for his temple to supply thought to his head. He was long tired and bereft of sleep.
Standing, he scratched his beard and buried his fingers in his hair in frustration. "This all does not stay well with me," he muttered to himself.
"And it does not with me," a soft, tender voice said from behind a pillar. She was confident, it seemed, and he was grateful for the balance it gave his wavering intentions.
The lady was flanked by her handmaidens and she seemed more affectionate of the swelled evidence of child. She greeted him with a smile and he greeted her with an embrace. He laughed delightfully, seeing her so young and yet…so immaculately old. He took her cheek and kissed it chastely. Holding her shoulders gently, he wondered at the elegant stand that managed to author dominion. Looking into her eyes, he caught the distant flicker of sadness.
"It is good to see you again, Padmé," he said. Sincerity marked his voice, as did fondness. "Without you, the world was thrown into a blight." The joke did not go unnoticed.
He basked in her laughter, but it seemed forced, like water from a jug long robbed of substance. There were few ladies who played the light in all the plays of his heart. This one stood close to his and held most of the lampshades. Feeling all relieved and forfeited of his own emotions, he embraced her again.
"Obi-wan. I would thank you for everything. I haven't thanked you enough." Her voice came muffled from his robe.
"No need, young lady. No need." He grinned for her sake, hoping that the bend to his lips would give her strength to do the same. "You must be tired."
"I am. Though not enough to sit with you and exchange stories," she said.
Obi-wan marveled at her. She seemed almost haggard with weights both from the physical universe and one that lay within her soul. Yet she persisted. Valiantly. "No, Senator. You must rest. I will go with you to Ethmun on a transport tomorrow. We shall talk then."
"Very well, Master Kenobi."
She smiled a weak smile and in it, he found the gentle curve of memories fonder than this. "Be well, my lady. Do not push yourself too far. We have much to look forward to." His eyes fell on her swollen belly and she placed a hand on his shoulder.
He supported her thoroughly. She swam in states of distress because of his ignorance and he would gladly gain all knowledge to relieve her of pain. But the universe did not work as oft he would have wanted it to. The gloomy reality of it dared to put a thorn in his quip. The Jedi in him could not allow the hurt of one lady to diminish all that he had to do. As it should have been a long time ago, when the bidding of one Jedi should not have made him blind to sight.
"I will ensure that all goes well." And he meant this in ways that stretched to the farthest of times.
"With you beside me, I shall think of all things as such." The hand on his shoulder patted him gently. He smiled at the thought. The pregnant senator proved a whimsical scene when she comforted the Jedi. "I…give my condolences for the plight of your kin in Jes'Dameer." She did nothing to hide her sadness and in turn, he did nothing to hide his own. The smile melted.
Swallowing a cry of dismay, he took her hand and kissed it. "My thanks, dear lady. I insist that you take your leave now and rest. Fare you well."
He had committed so many mistakes; he was intent on mending them all. A young man both loved by them to start with. Though, he would not fall into the trap of thinking that he would be able to to it on his own. An old fault. One that caused too much tribulation.
Oh, what folly! He shook his head as the younger senator walked slowly to the vestibule beyond, glancing at him, searching at his features for someone they once knew. The lost encounter in her eyes expunged all thought and he almost apologized. Yet she would ask him, whatever for? The student had chosen his own path.
Watching her warmly until the tails of her dress disappeared behind a bend, his hand settled on the lighsaber by his side. Regret laced his movements and his hand withdrew quickly from the weapon. The responsibility almost claimed him for a plague. He would not allow it.
Regret, yes. But never dwell, never ever.
"If I had not been young or so naïve," he said aloud. He saved this one ridicule for himself. "If only…Oh, poor girl."
Scratching his beard, he went on another way and waited for the dawn to end.
***
Part VII.
The transport left early, and oddly enough, the universe laughed at him when Obi-wan strolled through the meadow to get to it. There were no visible structures now. Leithnan was a city lost to technology. Only the ancient beauty of something that tended to itself with nothing more than its own appendages hung like jewels on a nearby cliff. The nearest thing to a port in Leithnan was the Meadow of Tleilen Nul, and it swayed and breathed and mocked the red air around it with the vast, purple hue of palm-like grasses.
His hand was structured to its huge bay of undulating plant life, and he felt the warm sets beneath, like soft weavings of a carpet as he walked. The leather boots of his office dug into the meadow, strangely allowing the color to seep to their tight, unauthored skins. Even the minced divides of crushed foliage left a favorable and aromatic scent.
He knew the senator would have reveled at the sight, had something more beautiful not blinded her.
My Padawan. My dear, lost Padawan.
The thought shut him from the world and brought down his contrition like whips. He lashed himself gladly but did not allow the sneer of distress enter the transport as he stepped on the metal planks.
There was something odd and disturbing about man-made expressions singeing the nature beneath. He could feel it, with the Force endowed on him, as the transport lifted from the ground. The earth sighed in relief and he smiled. Those little things gave him reason to laugh.
The senator was seated, dressed in garbs more informal than the afternoon before. He studied her with an appreciative glance, giving her a chaste kiss on each cheek of which he was glad, for it enlivened him. How was it that this woman had not only the gift of a restful air that relaxed all troubles to naught but also a cordial manner despite her misfortune?
He shared a few jests, in return for the light spirit she embedded on his shell. He would have been more generous, had it not been for the reserve in her and the strained disapproval at all things living. Knowing that the mood would not last long, though it would fester to the end, he shared stories of his adventures. He did not like to talk of dismal happenings when dismal thoughts already lessened the air between them.
Yet somehow, the fates contrived to put them at the subject loathed to be dipped in.
"What do you know of Darth Vader, Master Kenobi?" she asked.
Obi-wan stared at her, knowing that even as he did so, he could not forever. He would have to answer. A lump threatened to make him mute and deaf but he fought the shame, and the sorrow, and the incredible, tortuous regret.
"That he is young. Once a Jedi and a very strong one." Ah, his mind said, what are you up to Obi-wan? Can you not sear all unfounded wanderings through conversation and be done with it?
She spared him with a curt, "I walked with Anakin the other day."
"Pardon, my lady?" he stammered.
His tongue proved unworthy.
Had he heard what he did? He wished to choke, to fling himself to space and freeze in eternal cold. A cold that would sing him ballads of death's counterfeit. He could not face her. Now, when he should have told her every bit of truth and tottering step; he never should have waited for her discovery. Yet a small voice within his head whispered, "Obi-wan, it was not your place."
"I saw him, Master Kenobi. He is alive…yet lost. So lost, Obi-wan." Her features crumped slightly, but her noble upbringing lessened the feat to cinders. "You would not think…nor envision a tragedy such as this."
She was silent. Liquid filled the crevice in her eyes, slowly draining to the reservoir already bursting with effects of a half-year. The sorrow creeped with long, spindly fingers, to her cheeks, to her mouth, to her eyes. It did nothing to diminish her beauty and she still stood at beauty's play, furnishing the heroine's part. But the sheen of remorse took hold of him and he perceived the ill-favored sight of her grief. She did not cry, and she gave him a glassy stare, telling him with her eyes what her heart could not: support the conflagration of tearful embers.
It was then that Obi-wan pleaded, "Weep, my lady. You must."
She did, yet quietly. More's the pain, he thought. And he gritted his teeth at the searing quality of the dagger.
Tears flung from her eyes and to her cheeks, and then to her knees, as they would kneel to her sorrow.
"Oh, my lady. Of this, I will forever be in anguish," he said, wringing his hands.
They fell to his lap, where his white tunic and coarse, brown robe mingled to one, ceaseless waterfall of cloth. Clothing seemed more of a burden now, than a way to warmth. He wished to put his feeble raiment on her, that she may find repose in his office, in his noble work. Her place, however, was with the people. To touch them as Jedi could not.
She knew his fault in bringing the young Skywalker to the light only to discern the opposite. He was afraid to comfort her. That in embracing her, he would give her reason to find more water to feed her tears. He had taught Anakin Skywalker. He held a part of the young Padawan and perhaps, in his touch, would embitter her already fragile heart.
But there she sat, her hands clasped together in respite, convulsing with suffering he could not match. The children, too, would be weeping. They would hear her, through the walls of flesh and bone. Her grief would travel then, through vibrations of the inner world.
Obi-wan could not leave their mother to dower her burden. He took her by her arms arms and slowly, oh so agonizingly, he made her stand. That he may be able to cradle her like a babe, like a small child, shivering, trembling in the cold. Her orphan nature bent his greed, and he wept as he would for a daughter, for a child. For she was so like a child, when the world needed her to be such, when she was alone. He stroked her satin hair, with the reverence of the seamstress; he wiped her cheeks and blessed her forehead with warm caresses. The kindness of his hand scorched her skin and made her remember, that she was still alive. That those within her, prayed for flowers to grow, where only rocks and pebbles remained.
Like a faltering twig in a gale, she bent to him as a weed would seek for shelter in the shades of the oak. His hand held her head to his chest. He felt the tears soak his robe. Let it, he thought. Only then, will he be cleansed of his pride.
"I apologize, my lady. I am...at fault."
"There's nothing to forgive, Obi-wan," she managed to say between sobs. "The pain's…my own." At that, she was able to smile up at him and it seemed that the curtain of the tragedy had sprung aside. "I chose this path and I knew it would lead to this."
"Yet still…I did not know the path it would take. I was proud...too proud, and he fell for it. He wandered..." But he could not continue.
She was plunged into fire and ice and could not judge…if she should die of one or the other.
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-The End-