Lament
By BrightFeatherDisclaimer: Star Wars does not belong to me. If you think it does, you're sadly mistaken. I borrowed it, hugged it, squeezed it, called it George, then gave it back like a good girl. All things Star Wars belong to George Lucas.
Author's Note: Just a little bunny that bit me in the middle of the night.
"I have been in Sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountains wrapped in rainbows with a harp and a sword in my hands." --Zora Neale Hurston
It was beautiful here once. It held thousands of years of work, craftsmanship, and knowledge. But that was before the dark times; before the Purges. In some ways, despite the marks of fire and destruction, some parts of it still are. My twin brother and I were thirteen when the self-appointed emperor sent Darth Vader and his clone soldiers out to destroy us all.
As I look around the ruins of what used to be our home, before the rise of the Empire, I can now remember without knife-sharp pain how we escaped. Our Masters felt it coming. Perhaps they had visions. But before the destruction had reached us completely, they gave us pouches stuffed with credits, information on our origin, and sent us out of the Temple. Go to Alderaan, they said, as our Padawan-braids were cut off. Shield yourselves tightly and, for Force sake, until we find you, forget you were Jedi. If we don't come, find your family--they'll take care of you.
But that is a different story. Forgive an old man's ramblings. This was the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The water ran clear and pure here once. Now the fountains are broken. What water is left lies fouled and murky in a few stagnant pools. Blaster marks score the walls, and the gardens are overgrown and wild. Sadder still, the bones of the unburied dead are caught in unkempt vines.
The bodies were never taken care of. I vaguely remember running through this room with him, speaking through our twin-bond in our special language, fighting the horror of seeing our Clanmates' bodies in the burning Temple as we fled for our lives. My best friend's bloated corpse was floating in this pool. Her bones probably lie at the bottom of it still. The Empire did not bury bodies of its enemies.
They were warnings. Look, see what we have done to the Jedi, the protectors of the old order. Do not cross us, or you, too will die and lay unburied as an example. You will lay dead in the streets for strangers to shake the dust from their feet on with the contempt that is reserved for traitors and oathbreakers. We were neither, but for that reason, the remains of our once-beautiful Temple were left standing. As a reminder not to cross the Emperor. My brother and I went to Alderaan. We were children still, but we were hunted.
In better days, Jedi were welcome. But fear was so great when word reached the rest of the galaxy that many did not want to harbor even children for fear of reprisal. Lucen, my brother, my twin, my other half, died the second year. But before he did, I promised that if I survived, I would fight. I bounced around, waiting to be old enough, waiting so that I could join the Alliance, waiting for the chance to regain our beautiful home in the capitol.
Now, I am here. The Creché, where I grew up, is all but gone. The half-cremated skeletons of the younglings that were cut down lay in the shattered remains of the playroom, most huddled together for comfort. The marks of lightsabre and blaster wounds can still be seen on their tiny skeletons. The windows and mirrors in the sallés have been shattered. Years of dust, debris, and neglect have gathered among the unburied. What is left of my home is a tomb; the tomb of the once-great Jedi Order. But it was beautiful here once.
Lucen and I dared not find our family. We had heard of supporters of the Order being slaughtered along with the Jedi. If our biological family was not already dead, we could not bring death to them with our presence. I grieved with him when we felt his Master die. He grieved with me when mine became one with the Force. We still had each other, for a time. Like the other deaths, it was senseless. Unlike the others, Lucen was not killed by the Empire. It was a mugging, and I was alone.
When our twin-bond snapped, I was incoherent for days. When I came to myself, I was not entirely sane. But the galaxy had gone mad, so I fit. And I joined the Alliance. The Emperor is gone. The Empire has fallen. And I, like the handful that escaped the Purges, have made our way back. It was so beautiful! But it has long since been spoiled. Now our dead can finally be buried. So few of us escaped! Thousands of Jedi once lived here. Life, and love, and knowledge made the spare, elegant surroundings sing.
The bones of the dead serve as a testament to the injustice that happened here. But it was beautiful here once. Now the Council chamber is shattered and open to the winds that gust over the city-planet. The towers have fallen. The living quarters ripped to shreds. The library destroyed. The Temple defiled. It may never be what it once was. But it was beautiful here once…
Finis.