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The Widow Skywalker 2b/?

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com

http://www.demando.net/

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Alive. Somewhere, Leia (my Leia, my small silver piece in the eye of the storm) was alive. She breathed, her heart pumped blood, which in turn flowed through her veins. She was a real person who could think and feel and maybe there was someone she loved. Maybe, maybe, there was someone who loved her. After Koe's coppery wind had brushed away her tears, Padme began to laugh, just a little, frightening herself. Her time in the Imperial Prison had made it so that she no longer trusted her own mind, but the irony was still sharp like berry wine on her tongue. Leia helped to tear down what her father had built. For a moment, she understood those who sought redemption through their children-- an image, herself weaving complicated patterns of black and red, as Leia sat and unraveled the threads back into oblivion.

Sometimes, Padme didn't believe in the past. It was so fresh and painful, but so far away. Nothing concrete, it seemed to change from day to day. Had she really loved a boy named Anakin? Where her children hidden away, or simply stillborn? (She had that awful reoccurring dream, where she climbed the hill, and the twins' graves were exposed, and she could see the tiny baby bones curled up in the coffins. Luke had been taken away so quickly, she sometimes wondered if he'd ever been born at all.) Between herself and the woman called Senator Nabberrie lay the golf of her hellish time in the camps-- needles, always needles, piercing her everywhere, bringing night and the dark and those things that come in the dark. There's a reason those things come in the dark; if they come in the light, you would *see* them. They, the masked Stormtroopers who sometimes seemed like devils and other times seemed like clowns, said the injections would help her forget, but she was trapped in her memories. They lied, they always lied.

She never forgot a thing.

Hearing someone else speak of Leia made the world much clearer, as if she was the princess in the high tower with a divine spyglass. Perhaps, Padme smiled bitterly, she thought in fairy terms too often, but she had not been a child during her childhood, and it was so much easier to believe in things like hope and love and peace in the vague land of myth. It was like walking into a painting-- looking at the Koe morning, Padme thought it was rather like the abstract vision of a madwoman-- its two-dimensional, and you can't convince yourself it's real. After all, in fairy tales, the prince is never the same as the warlock.

Maybe that was the problem.

"Widow Skywalker!" inwardly, Padme winced, realizing she was standing still. Her feet had halted near the old plantation, with its crumbing iron gates, as if she felt safer if she had bars to look through. Is the tiger relieved to have the humans barred from him, as he is barred from them? For a moment, she considered starting her journey again, but she simply sighed and turned around. The figure approaching was small and willowy, but growing with hurried pace. Padme hadn't even needed to look up to know it was Shindor's daughter, Sintalia.

"Morning to you," Padme greeted, when the girl had come close enough.

Sintalia grabbed the older woman's hands without preamble. "Widow Skywalker," she said, breathless, "Please, I know my mom and dad have talked to you, but... you have to make my wedding gown! You just have to!" Sintalia's rather unremarkable eyes widened-- she was not much more than a child, and could afford to use pity in her favor.

"I've already explained," Padme gently freed her hands from the younger girl's grasp, "that I simply can not do it." She turned slightly, to show that her distaste was not for Sintalia, but the subject.

"But you're even making Mom's dress for the wedding! No one within three cities is half as good as you are! I'm the bride, but my mother will outshine me because she'll be wearing something *you* made."

"Your mother's dress is very simple and respectable, Sintalia," Padme said patiently, "she has no intention of drawing attention away from her blushing daughter."

"My wedding is the most important day of my life!" said Sintalia passionately. In a swift movement of wind, Padme was facing the girl-child, holding her shoulders in a grip that was firm, but not unkind.

"Is it?" Sintalia saw the strange topaz fire flash behind Padme's eyes, "You dress up in lengths of white and pearls, you carry flowers. It's all ceremony! What happens when you toss your maidenhood out the window? What happens to the rest of your life? This can't be the pinnacle." At the shattering expression of surprise on the girl's face, Padme hung her head, "I'm sorry I spoke harshly. Please forgive me." She turned, feet moving at last, glad for the weight of the water pitcher on her back.

A hand-- how she wished it was Leia; with whom she had never had the chance to talk or advise or argue-- reached out to touch her arm. Padme did not turn, and Sintalia's voice seemed disembodied.

"Can you tell at least tell me why?"

Padme's eyes hid beneath her lashes, as if she could see something more than the grassy horizon, and did not want to look. "Because, I'll poison it. It's bad luck for a widow to make a wedding dress. Because your gown would be beautiful, but it would break your heart like mine was broken."

A shuddering breath from the other girl.

Padme said, "Please don't ask me again."

She walked on, and knew Anakin was walking beside her on the other side of the fence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In Clockwork City-- which was not so much a city as it was a cluster of clay buildings surrounding the thundering canal-- Padme followed the brightly-robed young women towards the central bridge. There, in the shadow of the huge canal gears and water mill, she removed the jar from its sling and drew the life-giving fluid. n Koe, the water was no blue, but an almost washed-out blood red; different minerals, she'd been told. There was talk, echoing round the canal-- young talk, gossip, laughter. Padme smiled, just a little, because if she closed her eyes she could imagine she was back on her father's farm. Securing the jar's lid and refastening it to her back, Padme meandered past the stalls of the market, not really seeing anything. She could remember when water simply came from a facet. When it seemed so trivial, and Anakin's fascination with it seemed wonderful but strange. She thought she understood him better, now.

At the corner stall, she bought a few loaves of bread, taking them under her arm. She turned towards the booth across the street, her expression somehow going from neutral to uncomfortable happiness without really changing.

"Deip," she said, by way of greeting, passing her hands over the smooth bolts of soft synth cloth and rough farming fabric.

"Hello, beautiful," Deip returned, capturing Padme's hand and cupping it to receive a few delicate glass beads. "The glass-blower down near Jaquerie finished up a whole new batch of them. Aren't they nice?"

"Very," said Padme, holding one up to the light to see the intricate metal impressions.

"I like this one," Deip held up a silver sphere, "It's like your eyes."

"Stop that," Padme said, with more a tone of forgiving frustration than anything else.

"You're mean," the dark-haired girl pouted.

"Jam yesterday, jam tomorrow, but never jam today," the widow sing-songed.

"Yesterday and tomorrow never happen," Deip pointed out.

"Exactly."

Deip's feline smile was the same as the first time Padme had seen her-- there had been another injection, and the distant jolting of her body as they moved her to a transport, and screaming-- there was lots of that-- before the drugs wore off and someone was kissing her-- not really kissing, but *trying* to. Then, as the world changed from a chaos of mad finger-paints to something real and true, Padme had seen Deip, crouched like a panther on the bed, smiling in a way that was not a smile at all.

"Hey, Briar Rose," Deip's narrow eyes had narrowed even further, "the prince can't make it. You'll have to make do with me." Padme'd had a mind to tell her erstwhile rescuer that the prince had put her here in the first place.

Then, there was the stumbling flight through the halls of the transport, bodies of Stormtroopers littered like fallen leavens. In the cockpit, the other prisoners-- women, all of them, violated, all of them, and all of them dripping in the blood of their torturers selected the furthest coordinates the hyper-drive could make, like a wild spin of the dice. They were loose, loose women, free.

One of the prisoners-- it hadn't been Deip-- had said, "You can't lock up wild animals. Sooner or later, we bite."

"How much do you want for the beads?" Padme inquired, casting a thoughtful glance towards the bolt of green fabric. She had three projects to finish, though, and pushed it from her mind.

"For you, I'll sell you the whole batch for... three circles."

"Don't favor me," the widow warned, "Your other customers will get jealous."

"Hey, you're the only one I'd let have these," Deip wrapped the beads in a scrap of spare cloth, "No one else would do as well with them."

A ghost of a smile, "Tell the Jaquerie grocer I'll sent my harvest to him in a few days."

"He'll be happy to hear that," the other woman remarked, "he's already had a few people come looking for your oshiibara. He's had to turn them away."

"That's a shame," Deip took three circles in exchange for the beads. "Thank you," Padme said earnestly. She carried the beads carefully, remembering Leia's shining, baby eyes as the little girl held up the shattered pieces f a long-ago blue necklace.

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This is the dream she has.

She can have it when she's walking, when she's eating, or as she's sewing-- but she rarely ever has it went she's asleep.

She did, just once, and that was enough. Maybe it was supposed to warn her, but... but even after all this time, she didn't believe in Vader.

"Padme... what's wrong?"

Rustling then, in the night-lit darkness. A warm body, all curves and smooth movement, withdrew towards the other side of the bed.

"I had a bad dream, that's all. I'm sorry I woke you."

"A nightmare?"

"Yes."

The way she said it told him it was more than that. Silence, then. He almost thought she was asleep.

"I dreamt you were my enemy. You drew your lightsaber against me." Her voice was careful, wondering, as if she was speaking of someone else.

As if it had no effect on her.

"That could never happen, you know that." He hadn't meant to say it so roughly, but he needed the words. Saying it made it true.

"There was a red light everywhere-" Laying still in the darkness, he held his breath. "- and blood, all dried but running down the walls."

"It was a bad dream, Padme."

It didn't sound condescending, but he almost wished it had. Instead it was a plea. She must not have heard him, or if she did it was from a long way off and she couldn't believe him through the dream.

"There was something... something over your eyes."

Her breath caught on the memory. Now it was real for her, "I couldn't see your eyes."

"I would never hurt you, Padme."

"I know." But it sounded like she didn't.

"Padme, I love you." It had never been harder to say it, it would never be any harder to say it.

"I believe you."

A pause- a guilty one. The spot where she'd been laying beside him had cooled completely.

"I love you too, Ani." He'd never doubted that, it had always been understood.

He said, "It was just a nightmare."

They laid there, together but not touching, in the darkness for a long while.

"Was it?"

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She has that dream, and he has this dream, and when he wakes up the first question he asks is '*when* am I?', not 'where am I?'.

Red crosses blue. Lightsabers, in the dark, in the chill wind of Bespin and he is hurting.

(Damn it, what did you do to Leia to Han to Chewie to everyone I care for..)

Cross, block, parry. He jumps to avoid the red blade, which is cold instead of hot.

"Impressive... most impressive."

The shadows are deep and thick, illuminated only by the glow of lightsabers.

But he still sees her, the woman throwing herself desperately against the phantom cage. She is beautiful and kind and he does not know how he knows this. She is screaming 'no' without making a sound.

A brief image from the enemy:

"That could never happen, you know that."

"I love you."

"It was just a nightmare."

The frightening thing is, Vader knows she's there too.

Sometimes, he wakes, and Beru's soft, weathered hand is against his face. She holds up her free hand, spreads it wide. She says she has caught his bad dream, and that she will keep it for him until he gets older.

Other times, he wakes, and Han's voice calls from the lower bunk, saying boy are you loud, kid, and maybe you should have a strong drink before you go to bed.

Or Leia, who's voice is soft and quiet. During the war, she says there's no use having nightmares when you're going to wake up to one. Such a nice person shouldn't have bad dreams.

Or else he's alone, and the lights of Coruscant are coming through the window. Artoo's low hum is what gets him back to sleep.

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The rented speeder lurched as it came over the last hill leading to Clockwork City. Luke's vision seemed to clear, and he mentally scolded himself for not focusing more clearly. He'd felt out of sorts all day, though-- he imagined Yoda would rap him with the grimmer stick had the old Master been present.

"Well," Luke said to Artoo, "Even Obiwan had to have his off days, I'm sure." He ran a hand through his hair, "Maybe I should have listened to that clerk-- we'll never get back to Jaquerie before nightfall."

Artoo whistled long and low.

"Hopefully this will pay off," the Jedi returned. He sped up a little a pulled to a dare-devil turning stop as he reached the city's outer gate. The droid beeped indignantly, but Luke just grinned boyishly-- he missed racing. Securing the lock on the speeder, he lifted Artoo down to the cobble-stone walkway and turned towards the city.

The first row of stalls in the market place turned up nothing but guarded eyes, and the brief mention that Widow Skywalker did some dressmaking for the locals. Luke fought down his frustration with this new bit-- he at least had a trade. Briefly, he remembered Leia saying that she was always much handier with a blaster than a needle, and that as a child, her fingers had been picked unto death. Leia and Mother, sitting somewhere under Alderaan's blue sky, Mother demonstrating stitches-- the image was surprisingly clear.

"Artoo, I-- HEY!" Luke turned quickly, watching the stranger who'd bumped into him moments before. A young man, not much older than himself, trotted away with his brown cloak trailing behind.

'Come on!' a voice seemed to say. Possessed with a sudden purpose, Luke followed, Artoo squawking in protest. He turned the corner, now following a young boy in desert grab (was this the same person?). Another corner, and back to the young man. 'Here!'

"Can I help you?"

" Pardon?" Luke, startled by the intensity of the 'vision', looked up suddenly.

The woman running the fabrics stall looked a little perplexed, "Do you want to buy something?" She gestured to her wares with a broad, long fingered hand.

Cautiously, Luke said, "Actually... I was wondering if you could answer a question for me."

"Oh?" the woman's eyes seemed to slant, "Sure, kid, shoot-- but not literally."

Luke allowed himself a laugh, before sobering quickly.

"Do you know the Widow Skywalker?"

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