This story is set up to be the first of several related short
stories. Each chapter could stand alone but because they are connected I
intend to put them together.
My posting does not depend on my receiving reviews but may affect how quickly I post since interest will probably motivate me to move faster. It's just human nature.
*
This story is about a couple I believe could have a love story of their own. I haven't seen anything else about this couple, but I hope you enjoy what I think could exist. It is set immediately following the signing of the peace treaty.
Besides the main line of Pre-NJO EU novels, some of the background information in the story is from the novella "Interlude at Darkknell" by the dynamic Zahn and Stackpole. It's found in Tales of the New Republic and as such I lay no claim to it or any of the other characters, locations or plot details. It all belongs to Lucasfilm and those who reside therein. I'm writing this because once an idea comes into my head I can only get rid of it the hard way. Enjoy!
*
Timing
Part One - Reflection of a Politician
Mon Mothma stood in the empty room that had, only a few hours ago, housed one of the most momentous occasions of galactic history. She found herself contemplating whether it was a stranger sensation to be walking freely around the Imperial flagship or to face the fact that she didn't feel any of the emotions she expected.
Instead of the satisfying relief suffused victory she had always assumed she would feel as signatures were added to a just and right peace treaty, all she felt was empty. Wistfulness had been an integral part of her personality for many years now. Every victory for the rebellion and then the New Republic had come with a high price, and the more years passed the higher the price seemed to be and the more the weight of it sat on her shoulders. She'd watched lights blink out on battle displays, faced the return of depleted ranks missing familiar faces. She'd written letter after exhausting letter of official condolence to the families and she'd seen the faces that gazed on her in anger and despair for her mistakes, mistakes that had cost lives. She'd done it all, and at the end of each day she would stand in her suite alone gazing out the window. She'd look out over the streets of Coruscant and believe that when they won the war she'd feel fulfilled and know that it had all been worth it. Or maybe she was just hoping she could begin living.
And now she stood at this moment, and there was no life for her to live. What was left for a retired diplomat who'd dedicated her life to rallying the galaxy around a cause that no longer existed?
The door opened behind her and she heard quiet measured footsteps. They seemed loud in the deserted hall.
"And now life begins anew." A familiar voice said quietly as the footsteps came closer.
"Waxing poetic, General?" she asked, turning to greet her long ally and adversary. "I've come to believe it is a result of spending too much time in hyperspace. Staring at the starlines in that eerie nether world does strange things to the head."
"Perhaps," came the reply although it was doubtful how much she'd truly heard. It didn't matter. He'd just been using conversation to bridge the ever uncomfortable gap between them.
"It's over." Bel Iblis stated softly, almost more to himself than his companion, "It's over."
"Such a relief at last." She lied.
"Or that's what you told the holoreporters anyway," was the knowing response.
Mon Mothma looked up at him and her lips drew tightly into a flat line. Perhaps he'd always been able to catch her lies and equivocations. Maybe better than she ever had. And this time she knew all too well which lie he was talking about.
"Garm, it was never."
"I know. The politician is often obligated to do things for her cause, her people. No matter which individuals might be hurt, she must do what is best for all." there was the trace of a smile on his lips. "You have always been the consummate politician." "And you, the consummate general," she answered plainly.
There was a long pause as Bel Iblis regarded her, shock barely discernable in the lines around his eyes. He seemed to be searching for an appropriate response to the tribute he had been paid by many but had never expected to hear from her lips.
Finally he just said, "Thank you. I never knew you thought so, particularly since I abandoned the war."
"I know why you left." "I shouldn't have."
A wistful smile flitted across her lips and face. "Perhaps."
He wouldn't take that from her.
"There was no need for me to try and divide the Alliance. It was tentative enough right then and I knew it. There was no reason for me to leave and try to drag others with me."
"Perhaps there was reason." "No! No there wasn't." he was insistent, "Somewhere I always knew that. It was pride."
"It was justified." She answered in a tone that brooked no argument. This man may have walked away from the alliance, but he'd returned just when they'd needed his knowledge, despite it all.
"Wars never run smoothly," she said awkwardly, not sure exactly what she was trying to tell him. "Credit isn't always."
"I know. I know that now. We needed unity and you were the only one at that time who could give find it." He shrugged, "It took me a long time to realize that. That's why I came slinking back."
Mon Mothma chuckled, "Senator turned General Garm Bel Iblis never slunk anywhere."
"You'd be surprised," he answered, "I still believe I owe my life to the quick thinking of my contact and a smuggler who taught me how to slink around." He sighed, "after Arianna and the children were killed."
"I'm sorry, Garm."
He looked at her, surprised. "Sorry for what?"
She met his gaze, "I never told you I was sorry about your family." He turned to stare out the transparisteel.
"My losses were only among countless others." She struggled with the words.
"I wrote literally thousands of letters to the families of soldiers expressing my sympathy, but I never turned to you and said those words. I am sorry, Garm." He shook his head in a dismissal of her apology.
"No one did, really," he said, "It just wasn't discussed." He sighed.
"Everyone had the same story to tell, the same reason for fighting the Empire. Acknowledging it wasn't necessary."
He looked at her then with a quizzical expression that revealed a long held emotion.
"Every one of us was there because the Empire had finally hit close enough to wound us personally," he paused, "Except for you."
"And Bail," she responded with a speed that suggested she'd been expecting this, "and I don't see why you've seen fit to leave yourself out. You were working for the rebellion before."
She trailed off.
"Yes," he interjected, "and if I'd jumped instead of just dabbling my feet, they wouldn't have gone looking for me on Treitamma and gotten them instead."
"You can't blame yourself." Mon Mothma responded. It was an overused cliché but she meant it.
He chuckled bitterly, "Indeed. You mean that don't you. And you say it to everyone but yourself."
"Perhaps." Was all she said. She seemed distant even though she was standing right beside him. Her eyes were glued to the starscape before them. The dim light made her seem cold, like an ivory statue built as a monument to her work.
He stared out at the stars in silence too, as unsure as ever of how to bridge the parsecs that had stretched suddenly between them. Distance and time had always fluctuated like that, as around a black hole.
"You should be proud, you know." He finally said candidly. She looked at him.
"Madame Chief of State, Senator-"
"I no longer own either of those titles." She cut him off firmly.
"I use them out of respect. If anyone deserves them it's you. Madame Chief of State, you have built a galaxy to be proud of."
"Thank you, Garm." And she turned away from him again but not before he caught sight of the small tears at the corners of her eyes. He placed a hand on her arm.
"It's too late, isn't it?"
Her gaze stayed fixed on the window. "Yes. It always was."
They stood like that, frozen in silence, for a long time as the ship drifted in space. The reception in the next room could be heard dimly through the walls. Joy and laughter seemed, somehow, far away from this place.
"Do you suppose we'll still be invited places?" Mon Mothma finally said.
"To ceremonies and receptions?" Bel Iblis smiled, "I'm sure we will. After all, by now we're historical relics. We could go on tour."
She laughed politely.
"Let's get out of this dark room." He suggested cheerfully. "People are going to believe we've gone senile."
"It wouldn't do for them to think that now would it?" she responded in the same tone as she took his arm.
"I don't know. It could add some real colour to the galactic history texts." He replied with a twisted but genuine grin.
She looked at him and shook her head.
"Every once in awhile you remind me you're Corellian."
My posting does not depend on my receiving reviews but may affect how quickly I post since interest will probably motivate me to move faster. It's just human nature.
*
This story is about a couple I believe could have a love story of their own. I haven't seen anything else about this couple, but I hope you enjoy what I think could exist. It is set immediately following the signing of the peace treaty.
Besides the main line of Pre-NJO EU novels, some of the background information in the story is from the novella "Interlude at Darkknell" by the dynamic Zahn and Stackpole. It's found in Tales of the New Republic and as such I lay no claim to it or any of the other characters, locations or plot details. It all belongs to Lucasfilm and those who reside therein. I'm writing this because once an idea comes into my head I can only get rid of it the hard way. Enjoy!
*
Timing
Part One - Reflection of a Politician
Mon Mothma stood in the empty room that had, only a few hours ago, housed one of the most momentous occasions of galactic history. She found herself contemplating whether it was a stranger sensation to be walking freely around the Imperial flagship or to face the fact that she didn't feel any of the emotions she expected.
Instead of the satisfying relief suffused victory she had always assumed she would feel as signatures were added to a just and right peace treaty, all she felt was empty. Wistfulness had been an integral part of her personality for many years now. Every victory for the rebellion and then the New Republic had come with a high price, and the more years passed the higher the price seemed to be and the more the weight of it sat on her shoulders. She'd watched lights blink out on battle displays, faced the return of depleted ranks missing familiar faces. She'd written letter after exhausting letter of official condolence to the families and she'd seen the faces that gazed on her in anger and despair for her mistakes, mistakes that had cost lives. She'd done it all, and at the end of each day she would stand in her suite alone gazing out the window. She'd look out over the streets of Coruscant and believe that when they won the war she'd feel fulfilled and know that it had all been worth it. Or maybe she was just hoping she could begin living.
And now she stood at this moment, and there was no life for her to live. What was left for a retired diplomat who'd dedicated her life to rallying the galaxy around a cause that no longer existed?
The door opened behind her and she heard quiet measured footsteps. They seemed loud in the deserted hall.
"And now life begins anew." A familiar voice said quietly as the footsteps came closer.
"Waxing poetic, General?" she asked, turning to greet her long ally and adversary. "I've come to believe it is a result of spending too much time in hyperspace. Staring at the starlines in that eerie nether world does strange things to the head."
"Perhaps," came the reply although it was doubtful how much she'd truly heard. It didn't matter. He'd just been using conversation to bridge the ever uncomfortable gap between them.
"It's over." Bel Iblis stated softly, almost more to himself than his companion, "It's over."
"Such a relief at last." She lied.
"Or that's what you told the holoreporters anyway," was the knowing response.
Mon Mothma looked up at him and her lips drew tightly into a flat line. Perhaps he'd always been able to catch her lies and equivocations. Maybe better than she ever had. And this time she knew all too well which lie he was talking about.
"Garm, it was never."
"I know. The politician is often obligated to do things for her cause, her people. No matter which individuals might be hurt, she must do what is best for all." there was the trace of a smile on his lips. "You have always been the consummate politician." "And you, the consummate general," she answered plainly.
There was a long pause as Bel Iblis regarded her, shock barely discernable in the lines around his eyes. He seemed to be searching for an appropriate response to the tribute he had been paid by many but had never expected to hear from her lips.
Finally he just said, "Thank you. I never knew you thought so, particularly since I abandoned the war."
"I know why you left." "I shouldn't have."
A wistful smile flitted across her lips and face. "Perhaps."
He wouldn't take that from her.
"There was no need for me to try and divide the Alliance. It was tentative enough right then and I knew it. There was no reason for me to leave and try to drag others with me."
"Perhaps there was reason." "No! No there wasn't." he was insistent, "Somewhere I always knew that. It was pride."
"It was justified." She answered in a tone that brooked no argument. This man may have walked away from the alliance, but he'd returned just when they'd needed his knowledge, despite it all.
"Wars never run smoothly," she said awkwardly, not sure exactly what she was trying to tell him. "Credit isn't always."
"I know. I know that now. We needed unity and you were the only one at that time who could give find it." He shrugged, "It took me a long time to realize that. That's why I came slinking back."
Mon Mothma chuckled, "Senator turned General Garm Bel Iblis never slunk anywhere."
"You'd be surprised," he answered, "I still believe I owe my life to the quick thinking of my contact and a smuggler who taught me how to slink around." He sighed, "after Arianna and the children were killed."
"I'm sorry, Garm."
He looked at her, surprised. "Sorry for what?"
She met his gaze, "I never told you I was sorry about your family." He turned to stare out the transparisteel.
"My losses were only among countless others." She struggled with the words.
"I wrote literally thousands of letters to the families of soldiers expressing my sympathy, but I never turned to you and said those words. I am sorry, Garm." He shook his head in a dismissal of her apology.
"No one did, really," he said, "It just wasn't discussed." He sighed.
"Everyone had the same story to tell, the same reason for fighting the Empire. Acknowledging it wasn't necessary."
He looked at her then with a quizzical expression that revealed a long held emotion.
"Every one of us was there because the Empire had finally hit close enough to wound us personally," he paused, "Except for you."
"And Bail," she responded with a speed that suggested she'd been expecting this, "and I don't see why you've seen fit to leave yourself out. You were working for the rebellion before."
She trailed off.
"Yes," he interjected, "and if I'd jumped instead of just dabbling my feet, they wouldn't have gone looking for me on Treitamma and gotten them instead."
"You can't blame yourself." Mon Mothma responded. It was an overused cliché but she meant it.
He chuckled bitterly, "Indeed. You mean that don't you. And you say it to everyone but yourself."
"Perhaps." Was all she said. She seemed distant even though she was standing right beside him. Her eyes were glued to the starscape before them. The dim light made her seem cold, like an ivory statue built as a monument to her work.
He stared out at the stars in silence too, as unsure as ever of how to bridge the parsecs that had stretched suddenly between them. Distance and time had always fluctuated like that, as around a black hole.
"You should be proud, you know." He finally said candidly. She looked at him.
"Madame Chief of State, Senator-"
"I no longer own either of those titles." She cut him off firmly.
"I use them out of respect. If anyone deserves them it's you. Madame Chief of State, you have built a galaxy to be proud of."
"Thank you, Garm." And she turned away from him again but not before he caught sight of the small tears at the corners of her eyes. He placed a hand on her arm.
"It's too late, isn't it?"
Her gaze stayed fixed on the window. "Yes. It always was."
They stood like that, frozen in silence, for a long time as the ship drifted in space. The reception in the next room could be heard dimly through the walls. Joy and laughter seemed, somehow, far away from this place.
"Do you suppose we'll still be invited places?" Mon Mothma finally said.
"To ceremonies and receptions?" Bel Iblis smiled, "I'm sure we will. After all, by now we're historical relics. We could go on tour."
She laughed politely.
"Let's get out of this dark room." He suggested cheerfully. "People are going to believe we've gone senile."
"It wouldn't do for them to think that now would it?" she responded in the same tone as she took his arm.
"I don't know. It could add some real colour to the galactic history texts." He replied with a twisted but genuine grin.
She looked at him and shook her head.
"Every once in awhile you remind me you're Corellian."