DEDICATED TO SERVICE

2

The contents of the tray had been handpicked by the Senator herself from her own dishes. Meticulously, she had selected the best of each fruit and the softest of the wheat and arranged the presentation herself. Dyiné left the Queen's private chambers with the meal tray balanced carefully in her arms.

She made her way to the garden over which the veranda of Her Majesty's Quarters looked. Underneath the ancient gojin tree at its the centre, sat Anakin Skywalker, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees in the classic meditative pose. He was probably meditating, thought Dyiné with some disquiet. His eyes were shut and they remained shut even when she was so close to him that her shadow fell over him.

"Thank you."

Without opening his eyes, he removed the tray from her hands which was a good thing because at the sudden sign of animation, she had nearly dropped it.

"Did you pick these yourself?" He had bent his head to shred the wheat. She was looking at the top of his head and could not tell whether he had opened his eyes or not.

Dyiné found her voice. "Senator Amidala chose them," she explained earnestly. "If they are not to your satisfaction -"

"I have no complaints." He looked up then. His blue eyes shone. "Would you care to join me?" And before she could negate him, he added: "A Jedi should never eat alone."

Dyiné had her reservations. But she was very much just a handmaiden-in-training and Anakin Skywalker interested her. She sat down opposite him and took the half of the wheat that he presented to her.

"What is your name?"

His voice was soft, deep and reminded her of the dark running waters around the city.

"Dyiné."

"Dyiné." He enunciated the name correctly and at the same time strangely. "I am pleased to meet you, Dyiné. My name is -"

"Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker." She completed. He looked at her and she tossed her head a little. "I know, of course. And I know you," she added perhaps too hastily and blushed. "You fought at the Battle of Naboo."

He bit into the wheat and chewed. When he had swallowed, he said: "That was a long time ago."

"I remember. I threw flowers at you at the Awards Ceremony." She clamped her mouth shut immediately, completely mortified and looked down.

He was silent for a long time. Just as she wondered how she could begin to her excuse herself from him, she felt a sudden rush of something - warmth. It felt like reassurance. Her embarrassment receded and she looked up at him.

"Thank you for your flowers. I was not too young to value the gratitude of this world then. But there were many other warriors in that Battle to whom you owe greater thanks - your own Queen and her handmaidens, the Gungans, the Jedi that lost his life." He fell silent.

Dyiné knew the story of course. It had gone into their history books: the Jedi Master that died in the Battle, the young Jedi Knight that had taken Anakin Skywalker as Padawan. The History Professor at the Academy had explained to Dyiné's class that the emotions of death and loss could never be explained by anything less than experience.

Dyiné knew all about experience.

"I was put in a concentration camp." Anakin Skywalker's blue eyes shot up and held hers as she spoke. "With my father, my elder sister and my younger sister. I was five. Bale was eight. Nye was two. She was little more than a baby. My mother had died giving birth to her."

She paused and waited for the wave of despair that usually accompanied this portion of the re-narration of the story. She felt it creeping up her consciousness like a dark cloud and she steeled herself against it. "There was an epidemic in Lower Jenth, the village next to ours. It had been quarantined before the invasion but of course, when the droid armies were rounding us up into camps, they could not be bothered about such petty details." The despair felt like a pair of heavy balloons behind her eyes. "We were all infected. My father and Bale survived it - barely. Nye died just before the end of the Battle."

Dyiné wondered why she was telling him this. Yes, he was Anakin Skywalker of whom she had idolized for ten years. But he was also a complete stranger. Maybe it was because he was a Jedi now. Perhaps there was something about them that inspired confidences, unburdening of consciences.

But if she had expected instant solace, she was disappointed. The tears were fighting to be freed. She shut her eyes, pressing hard on them with her palms, as if she could physically push back the wave of despair that threatened to overwhelm her. It was even worse than usual. Usually, she could always maintain composure with the narration even if internally, she was in pieces. Now, it was all she could do not to start sobbing hysterically.

Then something - like a strong wind, a bright cloud - seemed to rise up around her. It was not from within but from without. She had no time to analyze its source before it seemed to engulf her and she gasped for sheer ... she did not know the word. It was not joy or sorrow. It was like being purged. The balloons behind her eyes burst. And then she did weep but only to shed a few tears that dried before they could stain her ritual makeup.

Then everything was clear. Her mind touched on Nye briefly. The ache was there. But it was a healed wound. She had been healed.

Dyiné opened her eyes into the Jedi's blue ones. She wanted to say thank you but her voice could not utter the sounds. Some part of her metaphysical training was trying to analyze what just happened. Perhaps this had been why he had asked her to join with him. This might even have been why she was drawn to him in the first place. Perhaps, even her ten-year fascination with Anakin Skywalker had laid the foundation for this crucial meeting - and this healing.

Or perhaps, she was just at the right place and at the right time and he was a true Jedi who - what did the Professors call it? - served.

A Jedi who served.

The Jedi was now looking down at his meal tray; he selected one gover and carefully cut it into two halves. He offered her one and she accepted.

For a while, they ate in silence but somehow the emptiness of sound was a fullness of its own.