Thank you for the comments on part one
*
In the process of writing this part I was given details of the late Mon Mothma's personal life of which I was not previously aware. Since these details have been skirted in the official fiction, I've chosen to ignore them in my little drama, since it's somewhat AU anyway. Ah, the power of writing.
*
Once again, I'm making no money from this story and none of these characters belong to me. They just visit sometimes.
*
Part Two ~ Shall We Dance
The room sparkled and shone. Light streamed in the windows and couples laughed and danced. Sentients smiled in delight at meeting old friends, and in the middle of it all was a celebration of union and happiness. This was the wedding of Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker, possibly the most cheerful event since the signing of the peace treaty. Certainly, it was the happiest moment in the lives of the bride and groom at least. Mon Mothma had made that comment to Garm Bel Iblis and he'd turned to her in surprise.
"You approve?"
"You don't?"
Garm felt himself backpeddling quickly. She was the only person who could make him do that.
"No, I do. I'm just rather surprised that you do."
She raised her eyebrows and waited while he continued.
"After all your speeches stating that nothing good could ever come from the Empire, and your assertions about the jedi."
"Old Republic Jedi, Garm, had a different galaxy to live in. Luke Skywalker is a new jedi for a new galaxy."
"When did you write that?" he asked shrewdly.
"I didn't," she responded breezily, "I read it in his profile in last month's Coruscations.
He caught the tiny grin as she turned back to the view of the dance floor.
"And the new galaxy needs married jedi?" he asked, hoping to capitalize on that smile. He saw it all too rarely.
She didn't disappoint.
"The jedi need to integrate themselves with society. I told Master Skywalker that a year and a half ago. Jedi doctors and teachers; a jedi in every city-."
"A nerf in every oven," he cut her off.
"Now you're making fun of me," she responded.
"Wouldn't dream of it." was the quick response as he offered her his arm,"care to dance?"
She looked slightly startled. "No I need to get home."
"So soon?"
"Yes, it's getting late."
"And you have a high powered meeting to go to tomorrow?" his expression was comically skeptical, and seemed to fluster her a bit.
"No, I."
"Or maybe you have a sunset to watch."
She looked startled for a moment but quickly recovered, "The sun went down half and hour ago, Garm."
"All the more reason to stick around and enjoy the celebration. Weddings are supposed to be a good time."
"I've been to a few of them before."
"I remember when I got married," Bel Iblis went on, a nostalgic smile on his face.
"So do I," she murmured quietly.
He watched her profile in silence for a moment then touched her arm.
"Just one dance," he said quietly.
"I'm retired, Garm. I'm through with making political statements."
"Dancing with me is a political statement?"
"It could be viewed that way."
The room erupted into applause as the new Skywalker couple embraced at the centre of the dance floor. Under his hand, he sensed Mon Mothma flinch.
"I'm sure it will be dwarfed by the other political statement in the room."
He tucked her left arm under his right. "Come on. I haven't done this in years."
"I never have."
Despite his surprise at her admission, he didn't miss a step as he led her onto the floor. Tentatively, she placed her left hand on his shoulder and he took her other hand in his. Without preamble, he, briefly, instructed her in the steps and then pulled her a bit closer and said, "Just follow my lead."
"You've waited a long time to say that to me, haven't you?"
"Years," he agreed.
She chuckled a little and allowed him to lead her around the dance floor.
They kept their silence for a few minutes, settling into the upbeat rhythm of the music. As Bel Iblis shifted his hand from her waist to her back to guide her in the steps, he began to feel awkward, as though his arms and legs were big cumbersome things that could easily miss a step or beat and embarrass them, or more importantly, her. He hadn't felt like that about dancing for years and he didn't think this was the best time for such adolescent reactions to suddenly return. He had to admit to himself that there were few, if any, other dance partners who could make him this nervous. So when song ended and he asked if she wished to continue, he was admittedly relieved when she stated again that she should go home.
"I'm not as young as I once was, and certainly not as young as most of the group here." She'd said wryly.
Strangely, he hadn't noticed.
His request to escort her home was greeted with a strange, far too discerning look and then a tentative acceptance.
They offered their final congratulations to Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker and walked out slowly, their arms at their sides.
The night was surprisingly cool for the summer, a reminder that even on the planetwide city that was Coruscant, the seasons changed from warm to cool and then back to warm again. The cycle of life went through its phases like a moon, always returning to where it began and following through again.
"Well," began the former general. His voice strained in the awkward silence, "that was one of the most pleasant events I've been to in years."
"It was lovely, wasn't it." Mon Mothma agreed. "It's a symbol of the rejuvenation of life following years of destruction, and it's a fabulous precedent. After all, if Luke Skywalker who has lost so much can find happiness and move forward, maybe the rest of the galaxy can - to say nothing of Mara Jade."
Bel Iblis found himself slightly annoyed by her comments.
"Why does it always have to be about politics with you?"
Her response was quick.
"Because I'm a politician."
"A retired politician."
Anger bloomed in her eyes.
"The day you stop analyzing military tactics is the day I stop seeing the political significance in daily events."
He sighed, "Okay, I'm sorry."
She nodded but did not otherwise respond.
They walked on in silence.
The walkway they were on was nearly deserted, most of those who lived in this part of the city being long in bed. The air traffic around them seemed far away as well lending the illusion of privacy to the whole situation.
"Perhaps we should have taken an air taxi." Mon Mothma finally suggested' "I'd forgotten it was such a distance."
"Are you tired?" he asked, slowing his pace to a stop and surveying the airways to see if there were a taxi nearby.
Somehow she missed the genuine concern and instead took it as a taunt.
"Of course not. It's not that long a walk. It just seems rather out of the way for you."
"Well, I'm not so decrepit I can't handle a bit of a walk."
"No, of course you're not,"
Decrepit was the last word she would ever use to describe him. This led to the internal question of what word she would use to describe him: competent, loyal, charismatic. He'd always had a remarkable sense of humour. He was tall, a fact made all the more evident in the way he carried himself: like royalty. He and Bail had both walked ever as though they wore crowns on their brow, and the responsibilities of state on their shoulders. After all these years, after the weight of it all, Garm still walked with that presence.what she had once believed was arrogance. Belatedly, she realized that they still stood in silence, each one gazing at the other, no closer to home.
"Would you like me to flag down a taxi?" he asked, recovering his composure first.
"No, that's okay," she said, "I'm fine if you are."
"I'm fine."
They walked on in a silence that was now awkward, filled with the uncertainty of two people who no longer understood their roles in the play: two actors listening desperately for a hushed cue from a prompter. What do I do next?
After a few minutes of unbroken quiet, they reached the steps of Mon Mothma's complex.
"Thank you for walking me home," she said in a stilted fashion, unfamiliar with the etiquette of the situation, or perhaps, she had to admit, all too familiar with it.
"Thank you for the dance," he responded with equal uncertainty, voices that he hadn't heard in years yelling advice in the back of his mind. None of it was applicable here. None of it would work with her.
He ignored it.
"I'm afraid this event has kept us out terribly late." She said into the silence, noticing, over Bel Iblis' shoulder how close to the towers the moon had become.
"Or awfully early," he remarked, refusing to follow her gaze.
She smiled, " Yes, or very early."
There was a slight chuckle in her voice that made him smile too.
"Goodnight Mon Mothma." He said, inclining his head ever so slightly.
"Goodnight, Garm."
In the process of writing this part I was given details of the late Mon Mothma's personal life of which I was not previously aware. Since these details have been skirted in the official fiction, I've chosen to ignore them in my little drama, since it's somewhat AU anyway. Ah, the power of writing.
*
Once again, I'm making no money from this story and none of these characters belong to me. They just visit sometimes.
*
Part Two ~ Shall We Dance
The room sparkled and shone. Light streamed in the windows and couples laughed and danced. Sentients smiled in delight at meeting old friends, and in the middle of it all was a celebration of union and happiness. This was the wedding of Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker, possibly the most cheerful event since the signing of the peace treaty. Certainly, it was the happiest moment in the lives of the bride and groom at least. Mon Mothma had made that comment to Garm Bel Iblis and he'd turned to her in surprise.
"You approve?"
"You don't?"
Garm felt himself backpeddling quickly. She was the only person who could make him do that.
"No, I do. I'm just rather surprised that you do."
She raised her eyebrows and waited while he continued.
"After all your speeches stating that nothing good could ever come from the Empire, and your assertions about the jedi."
"Old Republic Jedi, Garm, had a different galaxy to live in. Luke Skywalker is a new jedi for a new galaxy."
"When did you write that?" he asked shrewdly.
"I didn't," she responded breezily, "I read it in his profile in last month's Coruscations.
He caught the tiny grin as she turned back to the view of the dance floor.
"And the new galaxy needs married jedi?" he asked, hoping to capitalize on that smile. He saw it all too rarely.
She didn't disappoint.
"The jedi need to integrate themselves with society. I told Master Skywalker that a year and a half ago. Jedi doctors and teachers; a jedi in every city-."
"A nerf in every oven," he cut her off.
"Now you're making fun of me," she responded.
"Wouldn't dream of it." was the quick response as he offered her his arm,"care to dance?"
She looked slightly startled. "No I need to get home."
"So soon?"
"Yes, it's getting late."
"And you have a high powered meeting to go to tomorrow?" his expression was comically skeptical, and seemed to fluster her a bit.
"No, I."
"Or maybe you have a sunset to watch."
She looked startled for a moment but quickly recovered, "The sun went down half and hour ago, Garm."
"All the more reason to stick around and enjoy the celebration. Weddings are supposed to be a good time."
"I've been to a few of them before."
"I remember when I got married," Bel Iblis went on, a nostalgic smile on his face.
"So do I," she murmured quietly.
He watched her profile in silence for a moment then touched her arm.
"Just one dance," he said quietly.
"I'm retired, Garm. I'm through with making political statements."
"Dancing with me is a political statement?"
"It could be viewed that way."
The room erupted into applause as the new Skywalker couple embraced at the centre of the dance floor. Under his hand, he sensed Mon Mothma flinch.
"I'm sure it will be dwarfed by the other political statement in the room."
He tucked her left arm under his right. "Come on. I haven't done this in years."
"I never have."
Despite his surprise at her admission, he didn't miss a step as he led her onto the floor. Tentatively, she placed her left hand on his shoulder and he took her other hand in his. Without preamble, he, briefly, instructed her in the steps and then pulled her a bit closer and said, "Just follow my lead."
"You've waited a long time to say that to me, haven't you?"
"Years," he agreed.
She chuckled a little and allowed him to lead her around the dance floor.
They kept their silence for a few minutes, settling into the upbeat rhythm of the music. As Bel Iblis shifted his hand from her waist to her back to guide her in the steps, he began to feel awkward, as though his arms and legs were big cumbersome things that could easily miss a step or beat and embarrass them, or more importantly, her. He hadn't felt like that about dancing for years and he didn't think this was the best time for such adolescent reactions to suddenly return. He had to admit to himself that there were few, if any, other dance partners who could make him this nervous. So when song ended and he asked if she wished to continue, he was admittedly relieved when she stated again that she should go home.
"I'm not as young as I once was, and certainly not as young as most of the group here." She'd said wryly.
Strangely, he hadn't noticed.
His request to escort her home was greeted with a strange, far too discerning look and then a tentative acceptance.
They offered their final congratulations to Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker and walked out slowly, their arms at their sides.
The night was surprisingly cool for the summer, a reminder that even on the planetwide city that was Coruscant, the seasons changed from warm to cool and then back to warm again. The cycle of life went through its phases like a moon, always returning to where it began and following through again.
"Well," began the former general. His voice strained in the awkward silence, "that was one of the most pleasant events I've been to in years."
"It was lovely, wasn't it." Mon Mothma agreed. "It's a symbol of the rejuvenation of life following years of destruction, and it's a fabulous precedent. After all, if Luke Skywalker who has lost so much can find happiness and move forward, maybe the rest of the galaxy can - to say nothing of Mara Jade."
Bel Iblis found himself slightly annoyed by her comments.
"Why does it always have to be about politics with you?"
Her response was quick.
"Because I'm a politician."
"A retired politician."
Anger bloomed in her eyes.
"The day you stop analyzing military tactics is the day I stop seeing the political significance in daily events."
He sighed, "Okay, I'm sorry."
She nodded but did not otherwise respond.
They walked on in silence.
The walkway they were on was nearly deserted, most of those who lived in this part of the city being long in bed. The air traffic around them seemed far away as well lending the illusion of privacy to the whole situation.
"Perhaps we should have taken an air taxi." Mon Mothma finally suggested' "I'd forgotten it was such a distance."
"Are you tired?" he asked, slowing his pace to a stop and surveying the airways to see if there were a taxi nearby.
Somehow she missed the genuine concern and instead took it as a taunt.
"Of course not. It's not that long a walk. It just seems rather out of the way for you."
"Well, I'm not so decrepit I can't handle a bit of a walk."
"No, of course you're not,"
Decrepit was the last word she would ever use to describe him. This led to the internal question of what word she would use to describe him: competent, loyal, charismatic. He'd always had a remarkable sense of humour. He was tall, a fact made all the more evident in the way he carried himself: like royalty. He and Bail had both walked ever as though they wore crowns on their brow, and the responsibilities of state on their shoulders. After all these years, after the weight of it all, Garm still walked with that presence.what she had once believed was arrogance. Belatedly, she realized that they still stood in silence, each one gazing at the other, no closer to home.
"Would you like me to flag down a taxi?" he asked, recovering his composure first.
"No, that's okay," she said, "I'm fine if you are."
"I'm fine."
They walked on in a silence that was now awkward, filled with the uncertainty of two people who no longer understood their roles in the play: two actors listening desperately for a hushed cue from a prompter. What do I do next?
After a few minutes of unbroken quiet, they reached the steps of Mon Mothma's complex.
"Thank you for walking me home," she said in a stilted fashion, unfamiliar with the etiquette of the situation, or perhaps, she had to admit, all too familiar with it.
"Thank you for the dance," he responded with equal uncertainty, voices that he hadn't heard in years yelling advice in the back of his mind. None of it was applicable here. None of it would work with her.
He ignored it.
"I'm afraid this event has kept us out terribly late." She said into the silence, noticing, over Bel Iblis' shoulder how close to the towers the moon had become.
"Or awfully early," he remarked, refusing to follow her gaze.
She smiled, " Yes, or very early."
There was a slight chuckle in her voice that made him smile too.
"Goodnight Mon Mothma." He said, inclining his head ever so slightly.
"Goodnight, Garm."