fic: absolution [obi-wan kenobi, beru lars, post-rots]
I bring fic for my beloved aubreys_master ! I know it's late and not what you asked for, but the muse has been deader than a dead thing recently and I figured one late fic was better than no fic at all ...
Title: Absolution
Author: albumsontheside
Characters: Beru Lars, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Owen Lars
Timeline: post-ROTS
Word Count: 1515
Summary: Beru and Obi-Wan talk when Luke is brought to Tatooine. ROTS missing scene.
It is too hot to leave his shelter today. No, that's not right: every day will be too hot, too dry, but today has to be the day, has to be, and that's what he tells himself, sticks with the archaic belief of persistence and self-sacrifice even though there's nothing left to sacrifice. No self.
He takes a deep breath and raps twice on the door, even though he guesses that the outcome wouldn't change if he just barged in. It's a minute or so before she answers, hair half-pinned up and clothes dishevelled, but it takes her only a fraction of a second to recognise him, and frown. She sighs.
"Owen won't let you see him." The words are blunt, rehearsed. There is no greeting.
"I see." He says quietly, hands fingering the hems of his sleeves. His composure, like everything else he prided himself on, is dead. "And you agree with this?"
"I trust my husband's judgement." Beru replies, unsmiling. There is a pause. "You can't see him. He's with Owen right now. They went out."
"It's not him I came to see." He lies, still proficient in doing so. "I came to speak to you."
She eyes him suspiciously, drying her hands on her apron. "You'd best come in." She replies at last, and he gratefully follows her into the cool of the house, still unused to the heat of the desert. (The cold of space, and of everything else, was something that he had never become used to.) The kitchen is scrupulously clean, the walls bare. Beru Lars does not believe in extravagance.
"He's settling in well now." She begins, stooping low to pick up a large canteen of water. "He wouldn't sleep at first, especially if one of us wasn't with him."
He nods his thanks as he hands him a glass and, not understanding its importance, downs it in one go. She frowns her displeasure, and replaces the lid of the flask. There will be no more water. "I'm glad that he's sleeping." He mutters, lost in thought, barely noticing as she sits opposite him, her own glass in hand. "Has it really only been an evening?" She looks at her hands, and doesn't reply. There is an uncomfortable silence.
"Why are you here?" She asks eventually, not bothering with pleasantries.
"It's complicated." He says without thinking, the old lie. "I trust you are aware of his father?"
"How could I forget?"
"He … I need to see Owen." He continues uncomfortably, rubbing the sunburn on the back of his neck. "This concerns him too."
"You said that you came to see me."
"I came to see both of you."
"Why?"
"Do you watch the news, Beru?"
The sudden change in topic startles her slightly, and her voice wavers. "When I can get it. We don't have a holofeed here, and I didn't get the chance to go to Anchorhead yesterday. What's going on?"
"The … Empire is coming to Tatooine."
"What Empire?"
"The Galactic Empire that was formed from the dissolved remains of the Republic." He explains, not meeting her eyes. "This week. The day of Luke's birth."
"Have only Republican planets been assimilated into it?"
"There's been talk of expansion further outwards." He admits. "Into Hutt Sectors. Here."
"I see." She says quietly, face betraying little of her thoughts. He is nonplussed; Beru is anything but stupid. "Is that why you're here?" The question is innocent enough, but the way her eyes dart from side to side betrays her. She does not like Jedi. "Because of politics?"
"No." Kenobi swallows, grips his empty glass. "It's not like that anymore."
"I don't understand."
He frowns, purses his lips, and looks from side to side, head lowered in pain, repeating the sequence again and again. "There are no Jedi left, Beru." He whispers, breaking the silence. The words are emotionless. "None."
Beru opens her mouth in shock, half-ready to protest at the notion, to say that it's absurd (because it is absurd, the idea of there being no Jedi, equally as absurd as the idea of an Empire coming to Tatooine), and then closes it again, slowly. "I see." She repeats after a moment's pause, equally bland, and he will remain forever thankful for this, that she didn't ask why. "And his father?"
"Dead." This lie is easy. This lie is true. "I didn't know the mother. None of us did."
"Did he?"
His next breath is sharp, needle-like. "Naturally."
"Of course. Forgive me." There is no contrition in her tone. Whoever the Padmé woman was, Kenobi had never known her. That was Anakin's lie. "As for Luke -- I assume he's to take our name?"
"Luke? Luke Skywalker?" A pause. "He is the only thing I have left." He admits quietly, running a hand through his limp hair, still smelling of smoke. "The only thing we have left."
"Not all of us want there to be anything left." She says acidly, and he almost flinches at her tone.
"You never knew him, did you? Anakin?"
"I knew an angry man who had too much fear to accept it."
Don't say that, Master. You're like a father to me. "Yes." He swallows, hands shaking, the stolen lightsabre a dead weight in his pocket. "That was Anakin."
Silence. "I don't like it." She frowns, looking nervously at the door. "If this Empire does come out here, then --"
"How many people would have heard of Anakin Skywalker?" He presses her, real urgency in his voice. "It's a slave's name, Beru. There will be hundreds of them. Thousands."
"But I'm not a slave." She gives a harsh laugh, cold and high. "I'm his mother."
"And I am his Master!" He snaps, rising. "We all have a--"
"What did you say?" She hisses, real anger in her tone, the words so vicious that he takes a step back despite himself. "His Master, are you? Going to take another innocent child and make him into a Jedi? Treating another boy like property?" Her voice is trembling with rage, now, and he wonders when he remembered how to acknowledge fear, let alone fear of his allies. "I've heard about Jedi."
"Anakin was a good man." (The past tense. It's so easy now.)
"I saw the Tusken camp."
"The what?" He frowns, confused, and she realises that Anakin must not have told him about this, too. That Anakin had not told him about a lot of things. (Then again, Anakin didn't tell her about this, either. Neither did Padmé. There had been no words.)
"The evidence." She snaps, and doesn't bother to elaborate. It's a secret, now, a dead man's secret. "And you're telling me that you want my son to become that, too?"
"A Jedi? Yes. In time."
She rises, now, eyes harder than steel. "Get out of my house."
"Beru --"
"Get out of my house." She points at the door, fingers shaking. "And if I hear one more word about this from you, consider yourself reported."
"You wouldn't dare."
"I would. For my son."
"Anakin's son."
"Anakin is dead."
"No. He isn't." He looks at the table, then, at the baby blanket on the floor. "Not any more."
She swallows, looking down. "Kenobi. Just go."
"Luke --"
"Go."
The sound of the speeder outside startles him, and he vanishes just before Owen enters the house. Her husband is jovial, smiling, carrying a sleeping Luke in his arms.
"How was it?" She asks neutrally, trying to seem unaffected. "Were the Darklighters well?"
"Well enough. There's been talk, though. Something about politics."
"I've heard." A pause. "And Luke?"
"He fell asleep just outside Anchorhead. I think he likes the heat." Owen says proudly. "A real desert boy."
"Mm."
Her lack of interest worries him. He pauses, looks at her properly. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, fine." She says easily, wiping down the counter. A pause. "Kenobi came by just after you left."
"Oh?" Owen tries to keep his tone light, his voice even. Luke shifts uncomfortably in his arms. "What did he say?"
"The father is dead. So is the mother. Nothing of importance." She sighs, running her hands through her now dishevelled hair.
"We're that to him now." He smiles, stroking the baby's hair. "Luke Lars."
"Is it …" She is surprised by this, her reaction to the hurt in Kenobi's eyes. "Owen … he won't have anything else left."
"He'll have us."
"He'll have a lie." A pause. "He'll want to know."
"No, he won't."
"Wouldn't you?"
Owen flinches like he's been slapped, but keeps his tone neutral. "… Luke Skywalker." The silence is heavy.
"Are you going to put him to sleep now?" She asks, avoiding the argument. She doesn't want to have to think about this any more, not now. Especially not about Shmi, Shmi and her kindness and her angry, dead son.
A sigh. "I don't know. You know what the nights are like, Beru. I'm there the whole time, and it's just the same thing. Ever since Kenobi left, he hasn't stopped crying."
Title: Absolution
Author: albumsontheside
Characters: Beru Lars, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Owen Lars
Timeline: post-ROTS
Word Count: 1515
Summary: Beru and Obi-Wan talk when Luke is brought to Tatooine. ROTS missing scene.
It is too hot to leave his shelter today. No, that's not right: every day will be too hot, too dry, but today has to be the day, has to be, and that's what he tells himself, sticks with the archaic belief of persistence and self-sacrifice even though there's nothing left to sacrifice. No self.
He takes a deep breath and raps twice on the door, even though he guesses that the outcome wouldn't change if he just barged in. It's a minute or so before she answers, hair half-pinned up and clothes dishevelled, but it takes her only a fraction of a second to recognise him, and frown. She sighs.
"Owen won't let you see him." The words are blunt, rehearsed. There is no greeting.
"I see." He says quietly, hands fingering the hems of his sleeves. His composure, like everything else he prided himself on, is dead. "And you agree with this?"
"I trust my husband's judgement." Beru replies, unsmiling. There is a pause. "You can't see him. He's with Owen right now. They went out."
"It's not him I came to see." He lies, still proficient in doing so. "I came to speak to you."
She eyes him suspiciously, drying her hands on her apron. "You'd best come in." She replies at last, and he gratefully follows her into the cool of the house, still unused to the heat of the desert. (The cold of space, and of everything else, was something that he had never become used to.) The kitchen is scrupulously clean, the walls bare. Beru Lars does not believe in extravagance.
"He's settling in well now." She begins, stooping low to pick up a large canteen of water. "He wouldn't sleep at first, especially if one of us wasn't with him."
He nods his thanks as he hands him a glass and, not understanding its importance, downs it in one go. She frowns her displeasure, and replaces the lid of the flask. There will be no more water. "I'm glad that he's sleeping." He mutters, lost in thought, barely noticing as she sits opposite him, her own glass in hand. "Has it really only been an evening?" She looks at her hands, and doesn't reply. There is an uncomfortable silence.
"Why are you here?" She asks eventually, not bothering with pleasantries.
"It's complicated." He says without thinking, the old lie. "I trust you are aware of his father?"
"How could I forget?"
"He … I need to see Owen." He continues uncomfortably, rubbing the sunburn on the back of his neck. "This concerns him too."
"You said that you came to see me."
"I came to see both of you."
"Why?"
"Do you watch the news, Beru?"
The sudden change in topic startles her slightly, and her voice wavers. "When I can get it. We don't have a holofeed here, and I didn't get the chance to go to Anchorhead yesterday. What's going on?"
"The … Empire is coming to Tatooine."
"What Empire?"
"The Galactic Empire that was formed from the dissolved remains of the Republic." He explains, not meeting her eyes. "This week. The day of Luke's birth."
"Have only Republican planets been assimilated into it?"
"There's been talk of expansion further outwards." He admits. "Into Hutt Sectors. Here."
"I see." She says quietly, face betraying little of her thoughts. He is nonplussed; Beru is anything but stupid. "Is that why you're here?" The question is innocent enough, but the way her eyes dart from side to side betrays her. She does not like Jedi. "Because of politics?"
"No." Kenobi swallows, grips his empty glass. "It's not like that anymore."
"I don't understand."
He frowns, purses his lips, and looks from side to side, head lowered in pain, repeating the sequence again and again. "There are no Jedi left, Beru." He whispers, breaking the silence. The words are emotionless. "None."
Beru opens her mouth in shock, half-ready to protest at the notion, to say that it's absurd (because it is absurd, the idea of there being no Jedi, equally as absurd as the idea of an Empire coming to Tatooine), and then closes it again, slowly. "I see." She repeats after a moment's pause, equally bland, and he will remain forever thankful for this, that she didn't ask why. "And his father?"
"Dead." This lie is easy. This lie is true. "I didn't know the mother. None of us did."
"Did he?"
His next breath is sharp, needle-like. "Naturally."
"Of course. Forgive me." There is no contrition in her tone. Whoever the Padmé woman was, Kenobi had never known her. That was Anakin's lie. "As for Luke -- I assume he's to take our name?"
"Luke? Luke Skywalker?" A pause. "He is the only thing I have left." He admits quietly, running a hand through his limp hair, still smelling of smoke. "The only thing we have left."
"Not all of us want there to be anything left." She says acidly, and he almost flinches at her tone.
"You never knew him, did you? Anakin?"
"I knew an angry man who had too much fear to accept it."
Don't say that, Master. You're like a father to me. "Yes." He swallows, hands shaking, the stolen lightsabre a dead weight in his pocket. "That was Anakin."
Silence. "I don't like it." She frowns, looking nervously at the door. "If this Empire does come out here, then --"
"How many people would have heard of Anakin Skywalker?" He presses her, real urgency in his voice. "It's a slave's name, Beru. There will be hundreds of them. Thousands."
"But I'm not a slave." She gives a harsh laugh, cold and high. "I'm his mother."
"And I am his Master!" He snaps, rising. "We all have a--"
"What did you say?" She hisses, real anger in her tone, the words so vicious that he takes a step back despite himself. "His Master, are you? Going to take another innocent child and make him into a Jedi? Treating another boy like property?" Her voice is trembling with rage, now, and he wonders when he remembered how to acknowledge fear, let alone fear of his allies. "I've heard about Jedi."
"Anakin was a good man." (The past tense. It's so easy now.)
"I saw the Tusken camp."
"The what?" He frowns, confused, and she realises that Anakin must not have told him about this, too. That Anakin had not told him about a lot of things. (Then again, Anakin didn't tell her about this, either. Neither did Padmé. There had been no words.)
"The evidence." She snaps, and doesn't bother to elaborate. It's a secret, now, a dead man's secret. "And you're telling me that you want my son to become that, too?"
"A Jedi? Yes. In time."
She rises, now, eyes harder than steel. "Get out of my house."
"Beru --"
"Get out of my house." She points at the door, fingers shaking. "And if I hear one more word about this from you, consider yourself reported."
"You wouldn't dare."
"I would. For my son."
"Anakin's son."
"Anakin is dead."
"No. He isn't." He looks at the table, then, at the baby blanket on the floor. "Not any more."
She swallows, looking down. "Kenobi. Just go."
"Luke --"
"Go."
The sound of the speeder outside startles him, and he vanishes just before Owen enters the house. Her husband is jovial, smiling, carrying a sleeping Luke in his arms.
"How was it?" She asks neutrally, trying to seem unaffected. "Were the Darklighters well?"
"Well enough. There's been talk, though. Something about politics."
"I've heard." A pause. "And Luke?"
"He fell asleep just outside Anchorhead. I think he likes the heat." Owen says proudly. "A real desert boy."
"Mm."
Her lack of interest worries him. He pauses, looks at her properly. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, fine." She says easily, wiping down the counter. A pause. "Kenobi came by just after you left."
"Oh?" Owen tries to keep his tone light, his voice even. Luke shifts uncomfortably in his arms. "What did he say?"
"The father is dead. So is the mother. Nothing of importance." She sighs, running her hands through her now dishevelled hair.
"We're that to him now." He smiles, stroking the baby's hair. "Luke Lars."
"Is it …" She is surprised by this, her reaction to the hurt in Kenobi's eyes. "Owen … he won't have anything else left."
"He'll have us."
"He'll have a lie." A pause. "He'll want to know."
"No, he won't."
"Wouldn't you?"
Owen flinches like he's been slapped, but keeps his tone neutral. "… Luke Skywalker." The silence is heavy.
"Are you going to put him to sleep now?" She asks, avoiding the argument. She doesn't want to have to think about this any more, not now. Especially not about Shmi, Shmi and her kindness and her angry, dead son.
A sigh. "I don't know. You know what the nights are like, Beru. I'm there the whole time, and it's just the same thing. Ever since Kenobi left, he hasn't stopped crying."