INTERLUDE: A MOTHER'S COMMAND

DK and I are taking a break from the main story for the holidays, so that we might make it through (mostly) unscathed. To tide you over however, here's the event which kicks off one half of this story, about two years before Gen 2 - LS

...

He was king. After endless scheming, after doing everything short of putting a sword through Dendup's neck, Sanjay was king.

Really, it was for the best. Dendup was old, and he didn't have an heir to speak of. Last Sanjay heard, when he was still playing the part of the loyal advisor, was that the old man planned to pass the throne onto a second cousin. A second cousin who was currently a fugitive criminal! He couldn't sit back and let that happen. Sanjay was younger. He gave Onderon a good fifty years, at least. Taking the throne was the right thing to do.

Well, that and he liked the way the crown looked on his head. For the first time in his life, Sanjay was powerful. He was the king, and the king could do as he liked. He didn't have to answer to his advisors, or any of the Liege Lords, or his mother. He had to answer to Count Dooku, but that was only because the Count had lent his droids to stabilize the planet. He needed to check on their progress every once in awhile, and every time Sanjay assured him Onderon was well in hand. He was on the comm for five minutes, maximum, and then he was back to being king. No one could tell him what to do now.

His office door opened without a knock and Sanjay sat up a little straighter.

Well, there was one person…

Sanda Rash motored into his office in her repulsorchair, but Sanjay had no delusions about his mother's supposed frailty. It was her idea to seat him on the throne and her advice which had gotten him there. She'd never been wrong, chair or no chair, and Sanjay was willing to bet on her maintaining that streak.

"Mother," he cleared the data pads from his desk to give her his full attention. "How are you today? What brings you here?"

"I'm well," Mother didn't answer the second question until she'd firmly situated herself in front of his desk and sized him up. That wasn't a good sign.

He decided to sniff out the answer another way. "Are you planning to throw another party you need my input on?"

"In a way," she met his eyes, and then before he could brace himself she announced: "I found a wife for you."

Sanjay resisted the urge to slam his face into the desk.

"Mother…" He didn't even know how many times she'd done this before, introducing him to someone or other's daughter and shipping the two of them off on dinners that went south before their salads arrived. None of the women measured up - one too boisterous, another too meek, another profoundly dull. Well, Sanjay supposed she wasn't profoundly dull. She just wasn't right. None of them were right. They weren't Shara. "Mother, we've been over this before -."

"This time it's not negotiable." Mother didn't budge. "You are a king, and a king needs a queen. You need to produce an heir for the crown and for House Rash. I know you want a child more than anything, Sanjay. You don't simply want one, you need one if you want to keep everything we've worked for over all these years."

"And I'll get a child," he promised. "I just haven't found the right woman."

"I have. She's a suitable queen and she's your best chance for producing a child, but we don't have much time. We need to act now before she's snapped up by someone else."

Sanjay wished he could say he hadn't heard that before. He boredly rested his head in his hand and asked "And who is this perfect queen?" Some baron's near-spinster daughter? A social-climbing vassal like his mother? Some beast rider with half a connection to the Kiras?

"Dalla Blackwell."

Sanjay lifted his head from his hands. "Dalla Blackwell?"

His mother nodded.

Admittedly, Sanjay could brush up on northern genealogy but he did know this much: Shara had married into the Blackwell family, and it was too much to hope that she'd changed her first name. Especially because he'd heard that name, Dalla, before. But from where? It was a common name, but he'd heard it somewhere specific. In the palace when he was asking Mina about the Separatist cause, while she was explaining why she had to leave early. I'm sorry Lord Rash, but I need to go. The Blackwells just commed; they were in a terrible crash. Lady Lana didn't make it and their daughter Dalla was hurt…

"Dalla Blackwell," he repeated, praying he was wrong. "Marlon Blackwell's daughter, and Shara's niece. Who was injured in a shipwreck two years ago."

Mother shrugged. "She isn't pretty, not in the least, but pretty faces don't produce children. She's young and healthy and can give you the heir you need. Take her to the medcenter if you want; they can make her to your liking."

But Sanjay had other fish to fry: "Marlon Blackwell's fifteen-year-old daughter?"

"Yes, that's the one." She noticed Sanjay debating whether or not to grab the waste receptacle to yack in and scoffed. "Don't look so scandalized, Sanjay!"

Sanjay made a strangled sound. "Mother, I'm thirty-six!"

"Your father was thirty-seven and I was seventeen," she argued. "We had a workable marriage, and more importantly I gave him children. Something you need to do."

Considering he was one of the children in question, Sanjay didn't know how to argue with that.

"All you need to do is fetch this girl," she continued. "Have her brought to the palace and take her to wife. You had no problem before, with that lowborn trash."

Sanjay jumped. "I loved Shara!"

"Love has nothing to do with it and it's about time you forgot her anyway. This is a highborn, suitable queen. Wed her, bed her, and get a child by her. Once you have that, you'll forget all about that beast rider."

He would never forget about Shara, not if he had all the women in the galaxy.

"We can arrange for the militia to retrieve her from Blackhold tomorrow," Mother continued. "She'll be upset when she arrives, but if you talk to her..."

"No."

Mother blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No," Sanjay repeated, shocked that it was coming out of his mouth. "We're not doing anything while this girl is underage."

"Sanjay -."

"You married when you were seventeen, and she'll do the same. Mother, it's safer this way. She's a child, think of the risks of carrying a baby at this age. All sorts of awful things could happen." He wasn't a doctor, but he was praying to all the gods that he was right and that Mother would listen to reason about her potential grandchild's welfare. "No. In two years, we can talk to Lord Blackwell. But until then, I don't even want to hear that you've commed the family about this." Hopefully in two years Dalla would grow so that having a baby in her belly wouldn't snap her like a twig. That and Shara won't think I'm a predator, he added to himself.

Mother pinched her lips together in a sour line. "If I hear even a rumor of Lord Blackwell looking to betroth her elsewhere, I'll send the agents immediately."

That was the best he was going to get with his mother. "That won't come to pass."

He breathed a sigh of relief when she wheeled out of the room, thanking the universe that Mother wasn't going to send people after the girl tomorrow and sweating that she wasn't backing down from the proposition.

It wouldn't be awful if she was of age. And if I wed Shara's niece, I'd have a legitimate excuse to see her again…

He rubbed his temples. He needed to get out of here and clear his head in the one place his mother didn't touch, where he could sit and think in peace. He always felt better in his studio.

When he finally made it there after wading through staff and advisors but thankfully not his mother the first thing he did was sit himself down in front of his easel and gaze at his most recent painting. Shara, or at least the model whose features he'd altered to look like her, was positively radiant in a red gown. Gods, he wished he'd had Shara pose for him more when they were married! She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the universe. No one could ever compare to her.

With a sigh he removed the canvas from the easel and replaced it with a fresh one, then bent to prepare his palette. His mother wasn't one to forget an order, even over two years. Like it or not, sooner or later, he was marrying this Blackwell girl. He might as well get used to the idea, and that started with having a mental image of his new wife. Maybe having a physical likeness would help the process.

When he was finished he took a step back to examine his handiwork and his stomach sank to his feet.

The girl in the picture looked like Lana Blackwell's head glued onto Shara's body. That was understandable; he didn't know what Dalla looked like, but he had seen her mother. Of course they would look alike. And Shara's body - that was a reflection of desire, he'd admit. But worse than any of that was Dalla's facial expression. She looked so terribly sad, like she was going to burst into tears. Gods, Sanjay didn't think he could look at a face that sad the rest of his life and know he was the cause of her pain.

He set his palette down and extended a finger toward the girl's cheek, stopping a hair's breadth from the paint so he wouldn't smear it.

"Don't worry," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "I'll be a good husband. I've learned from the past; I'll treat you well and I'll give you a child. I...I promise."

Saying that to a painting is easy, he thought. I guess I'll just have to practice enough so I can say it to her in person, because gods know no one else will tell her anything of the sort. I don't want to see her like this because of me.

He sighed and laid the still-wet canvas along the wall to dry. He had two years to practice before he had to worry about Dalla Blackwell or a child of his own. Right now, his biggest worry was a heavy heart.

He knew how to fix that. Sanjay grabbed his sketchbook and started on another likeness of Shara. Maybe he should give her a gold dress this time.

…

He couldn't stay hidden in his studio forever. Duty called, he had a planet to rule, and the longer he stayed in his studio now the later he'd have to stay up at night to get all his work done. He liked to spend some time painting before he went to sleep, but he never worked well at ungodly hours. Instead he dragged himself back to his office and wrangled his advisors in to discuss the state of affairs in various parts of the kingdom.

He started with Iziz, as he usually did because it took the most time, and then started working into the jungles and finally… "And the north?"

The advisors blinked. Usually he paid no more attention to the north than to the light switch.

"They're still strong after Lady Blackwell's death, sire," one said. "In fact, the brother's wife is going to have another child."

Sanjay sat straight up. "Really? Shara is pregnant?"

The advisor nodded, clearly confused. "Yes your Highness, they made the announcement a few weeks ago."

Shara...pregnant.

He didn't listen to the rest of his advisors' status report, even though he probably should. All he could think about was Shara and her baby. Gods, how he'd wanted that with her!

It wasn't a stretch to imagine that Shara hated it in the north. She'd never liked the cold, she'd always worn socks to bed and snuggled up with him to ward it off. Surely a northern winter would make her long for her first husband's, her real husband's, warm embrace.

Sanjay felt himself slipping further into the daydream. Once Shara decided she'd had enough of the cold, she told those Blackwells she was going home, and they descended on her. They threw her into Jamos Blackwell's bedchamber and kept her prisoner there with no other purpose than to produce heirs for the family. So far she'd given them four but it was never enough, especially since one boy had been defective, slow, no doubt because every northern healer was a quack.

He'd send the militia to rescue her instead of after her teenaged niece, and she'd sprint down the docks into his waiting arms when she arrived in Iziz.

"Oh Sanjay, it was awful!" the Shara of his dreams sobbed into his shoulder while he comforted her. "They stole me away and kept me locked in the Hold to give children to their second son. I thought he loved me once … but to him I was only a broodmare!"

"I'll have all their heads," Sanjay swore, patting her back. "No one should treat someone amazing as you as a broodmare."

And then they would go back to the palace and he'd show her how he'd never stopped loving her through all the years. They would renew their wedding vows, for real this time, with all of Iziz to see. And he'd raise her child as his own. It would be a girl, he decided. And her name would be Melaana.

"Sire?"

Sanjay snapped back to reality and found his advisors staring at him and his page of notes. He looked down. Just as he suspected, it was covered in doodles.

"Thank you," he said, covering the doodles with his hand. "Your information is valued." Especially the tidbit about Shara. He didn't care about any of the rest.

When they finally left his alone he looked at his doodles. They were of him and Shara from his dream, embracing at their reunion. He quickly folded the flimsi and stuck it in his pocket in case his mother chanced to come by.

His mother. Finally, a good idea arose at the thought of her. Whenever Mother was stressed, she bought something. She called it retail therapy. Well, Sanjay decided he needed some retail therapy of his own. Except he wasn't going to buy something silly like clothes. No, he had something a bit more specific in mind. Something that would last.

…

"Bernard, do you believe you could accomplish this?"

The young sculptor examined the sketches Sanjay had laid in front of him once again and nodded enthusiastically. "I can," he promised. Sanjay didn't expect any less, the young man's willing attitude and love for art was the reason he'd caught Sanjay's attention in the first place, and the reason he'd personally taken him under his wing. If anyone could do Shara justice, it was Sanjay's own student.

"Good," Sanjay said. "I'd like for you to use marble, if at all possible."

"Of course, your Highness. Only the best will do for this sculpture. She's beautiful. Who is she?"

Bernard was too young to remember the scandal fifteen years ago, so Sanjay simply said: "She was the wife of my youth."

Bernard gave him a compassionate look. "And you were separated by some tragedy?" he asked with such drama that Sanjay could practically hear the orchestra in the background.

Sanjay used to talk like that, too. "Yes, exactly that," he agreed and patted the youth's shoulder. "A tragic accident tore her away from me." First my sister's death soured her against me and then her father's drove the final nail in the coffin.

His student hung his head. "It will be my greatest work to bring honor to her memory, your Highness."

Or a proof of how I have always loved her when I bring her home to be my queen. "My teacher told me that the greatest growth came from stretching ourselves beyond our comfort zones. I know you'd rather paint than sculpt, and I appreciate your undertaking of such a momentous task."

Bernard nodded earnestly "Of course, your Highness. Anything you ask, I'll create for you."

"And I'll be happy to help with any of it." That was what Balthazar did for him, and Sanjay believed in paying it forward. "I look forward to seeing your work."

…

The last lesson they had together was held two years later in the palace gardens, in front of the statue of Shara. Bernard assembled the pieces of the ship in a bottle that they'd painted together, and then Sanjay held the bottle still while he pulled the strings to lift the miniature sails after they'd slid it in.

"You said this was a present, your Highness?" Bernard asked, admiring the completed project.

"Yes, for my new wife." The countdown had begun, Sanjay had already sent General Tandin north to fetch Dalla Blackwell. He'd be married to her within a fortnight.

Bernard whistled. "She's a lucky lady."

"I suppose so." Sanjay didn't really believe that. Not since he planned to give Dalla the ship in a bottle on their wedding night while getting her drunk on the most potent wine he could find.

"Whyever not?" Bernard asked. "Not to boast, Sire, but this is exquisite! Look at the detail; you can practically hear the waves."

Sanjay wasn't going to hear much more than wine splashing into a goblet and his own voice as he explained things to his wife. For the hundredth time, he hoped she wouldn't cry. The wine would make everything easy, but before he could get her drunk this present would have to work.

"It's beautiful," he agreed. "She'll love it if she has even the slightest appreciation for art." Not wanting to think about Dalla any longer he changed the subject and gestured to the Shara statue. "I would like to see you do more works like this sculpture here. Maybe a bust of the same woman for the studio."

"Of course, sire." Bernard nodded. "And I'd be happy to sculpt your new queen too, when she arrives."

I don't want any art of Dalla! All I want is Shara. She's all I ever wanted, and now I've had my general take her niece. She must hate me now. Dalla definitely hates me. Everyone hates me, except Bernard!

He would never question the youth's devotion. He loved their lessons together, and their long discussions about art. They were the bright spots in all his recent worry about the rebels and the Blackwells.

He had an idea. "Son, will you do me a favor?"

Bernard perked up at being called son. "Anything, your Highness!"

"My wife," Sanjay drummed his fingers. "She's young, about your age, and she's terribly nervous about our marriage. It's the case of bride jitters from haran. If I bring her to one of our lessons, maybe as our model, then perhaps you could talk to her and get her to realize that I'm not a monster? That I want to be a good husband? I'm going to tell her of course, but you're her peer. It might help her settle in."

Bernard's face softened and he nodded. "Of course I will," he said. "And not just because you're my king, but because I know it's true. You talk to me about art and about my schooling, and you wrote me that reference letter last spring. You're a good person, and if she doesn't see that then I'll do my best to help her see what I see."

"And what do you see?"

"The best teacher I ever had."

If Sanjay was a certain book character, this was the part where his heart grew three sizes.

"Thank you," he said, his voice warm with emotion. "Thank you so very much. Now, back to our lesson."