Requiem Aeternam
Luke bowed his head, studying the curving trumpet shape and vibrant orange hues of the flower in his hand. He breathed its lush tropical scent. Ironic that this flower would represent Biggs' life, for surely nothing remotely like it had ever thought of growing on Tatooine. But the Rebel Alliance must make do with what it could find, even when it came to the ceremony for honoring the fallen, and Leia had told Luke that it had become their custom to use whatever beauty the planet they temporarily inhabited offered, whether that be faceted crystal, green bough, or coiled seashell. But flowers were preferred, and Yavin 4 had provided generously. The cluster of friends, family, and loved ones waiting to play their part in the ritual bloomed like a sunlit jungle clearing, a dozen vibrant shades topping the long stalks each participant clutched.
Luke turned his attention to the front of the vast hall, where Leia stood on the dais, an empty vase on a small table beside her. Later this assembly would rejoice, celebrating their victory. He would have a role in that portion of the day's events as well, to his pride and embarrassment. But first they must mourn the dead.
Leia had spoken these words before, and surely would again, many times, before their long struggle against the Empire was over. But this was the first time Luke had heard them.
"We gather here to remember those who have given their lives in the battle against tyranny. By their sacrifice, the day when the galaxy will once again know freedom and justice is brought closer to reality. Let us honor them for their courage, and hold their memory in our hearts, that we may never allow their deaths to be in vain. May the Force be with them, and may they rest in its peace forever."
"May the Force be with them," Luke echoed, in unison with all the gathered company.
Then the first of those holding flowers stepped forward, and walked slowly down the long center aisle. When he reached the dais, he stepped up beside the waiting vase, and turned to face the silently watching crowd. As he placed the flower into the vase, he proclaimed, "Jek Porkins."
One by one, each of the flower-bearers followed. One by one, the names rang forth.
"Davish Krail"
"Tiree Sinden"
"Dutch Vander"
Luke had barely had a chance to meet any of them. Arriving mere hours before the battle began, he had only blurred memories of quick introductions, a few vague impressions of faces to go with the names. But they had been his comrades. They had fought alongside him. Some of them had saved his life. Without them, he would never have had the chance to fire that fateful shot.
He blinked eyes suddenly damp, and cleared his throat, wondering if he'd be able to speak when his turn came.
Finally, last of all, for Biggs had been the last killed, it was his turn. As he walked down the endless aisle, he remembered that moment. One minute Biggs was there, his X-wing close behind Luke's. Then in the next instant, a flash of flame, and he was gone.
It could so very easily have been him, Luke knew. Someday it might be. It was all too probable that someday Han or Leia would be called on to speak his name as they placed a flower in a vase.
He thought of Biggs' parents, far away on Tatooine, not knowing yet that their son was dead. The Alliance would send a message when they could, but because of the secrecy required to safeguard them from the Empire, it might be many months, or even years, before the news arrived.
Until then, he must fulfill this duty. He had claimed the right, as Biggs' oldest and closest friend. He remembered endless sunny days in the desert, when they would race their T-16's in wild chases over the golden dunes, dreaming together of heroics in the far distant Rebellion.
Well, Biggs was a hero of the Rebellion now, and so was Luke. Their childhood dreams had come true. And if there was a dark side to those dreams, death and destruction that had never entered their innocent fantasies, that was only the price of making them real. Luke was sure the price was worth paying, considering the worth of what Biggs' sacrifice had bought, but still in that moment the cost seemed terribly, terribly high.
He reached the dais at last, and turned to face the assembled members of the Rebellion. The vase was full now, a riotously vivid bouquet. But there was room for one more blossom, and Luke tucked in the long stem at the very front. His voice was clear and steady as he called his friend's name.
"Biggs Darklighter."
Another world, another time. The shattered fragments of another Death Star rained bright streaks in the dark sky as they burned in the atmosphere of the forest moon. And once more the Rebel survivors of the battle had gathered to honor their dead. For the last time.
Endor, too, had been generous with flowers, and white, many-petalled blooms nodded in the hands of the mourners. Their fragrance was delicately sweet as Luke joined the group of those who waited.
The familiar faces of his fellow Rebels looked at him curiously, for none of the Rebel pilots killed in the assault on the second Death Star had been particularly close to him, and each of them already had a representative ready, flower in hand. But Luke merely smiled back at them and remained silent.
Leia stood at one end of the Ewoks' gathering place, suspended high in the trees. As many people as could fit had crowed in, while others watched from nearby platforms or branches. Beside her a carved wooden vase waited, empty.
Her words this time differed subtly from all the other times Luke had heard her lead this ceremony.
"We gather here to remember those who have given their lives in the battle against tyranny. By their sacrifice, the day we have all worked so hard and given so much for has at last become a reality, and the galaxy once again knows freedom and justice. Let us honor them for their courage, and hold their memory in our hearts, for we know their deaths were not in vain."
But the concluding words were the same as always. "May the Force be with them, and may they rest in its peace forever."
"May the Force be with them," echoed the throng. Luke clutched the flower stem until the rough bark on the woody twig dug painfully into his fingers, and forced the ritual phrase through a throat grown suddenly tight. He understood so much more clearly now what those words truly meant.
One by one the flowers were placed, and the names called, until the vase was mounded high with soft white clouds. Again Luke waited until last.
All eyes watched him, wondering, as he made his way through the crowd.
Luke blinked back tears. The price had been high indeed, but it had been paid willingly. And what the sacrifice had bought was precious beyond measure.
His hand shook a little as he tucked the flower stem into the vase, front and center. He worried that his voice might crack, but it held clear and steady, and the name rang out, though the assembly, into the darkness of the night.
"Anakin Skywalker."