My first A/T, a long time ago. Canon.
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She is old, for a human. She is young, for a Tusken Raider. She is the last of the Yuuzhan Vong, and the first of the Tattooine Force users. But to Anakin, she is always just Tahiri.
Every time he sees her, she is older, more weathered, the wind and the sand and the sun wearing her down to her apotheosis. He doesn't even see her, not underneath the layers and layers of protective clothing the Sand People wear. He doesn't know if her hair is still bright golden-blonde, if her nose still has freckles on it, if her eyes still laugh green. All he knows is that she feels like Tahiri, so she must be her.
Tahiri? Tahiri? Look at me, Tahiri! Speak to me, Tahiri! Acknowledge me, Tahiri!
He screams this to her, down the brittle and faded tie they shared. He does not understand why she doesn't look at him, why she ignores him like she always does these days. He doesn't understand why his best friend doesn't seem to know he exists.
But this time is different. This time she looks at him, really looks at him, and he feels a peculiar sense of elation. She hasn't forgotten me!
But then she takes her goggles off and begins to unwrap the layers of cloth from her head, and he finally sees her.
It's been…a very long time, hasn't it, Tahiri?
"It's been about fifty years." Even now, there is compassion in her voice, love, dimly muted grief.
I love you.
"I know, Anakin. But love isn't enough, not when you're dead." She looks at him, white-haired and wrinkled, and her eyes, while still green, aren't laughing.
"I got married, Anakin. I have five grandchildren." And with that, she looks inward.
I moved on, Anakin. It's time for you to move on as well.
And she cuts that last tie, the last tie to life, to the living, to the ones he loves.
The Tusken Raider wraps the strips of cloth around her head, putting on the goggles and adjusting the breathing gear. She walks back the small encampment a mile north, becoming just a dark dot on the horizon.
Anakin Solo is dead. There is no need to dally here.
