De Medietate Lunae
Title: De Medietate Lunae
Rating: T/PG-13
Fandom: Star Wars
Summary: “Many are the good men who died in the fight for liberty - and for freedom. Today, on the birth of the New Republic, I ask you all lend them your respect in silence. For the Empire would not have fallen without them.”
-
“Congratulations on your election, Chancellor.” The man says. Finis Valorum lives in a world of false plastered smiles, and knifed backs. He knows that most of the Senators that congratulate him are scarcely genuine. This man, however, is Bail Antilles of Alderaan, and a good man, and Finis knows that Bail can be trusted.
“Thank you, Bail.” He says. He clasps Bail’s hand briefly, whispers a promise that they can talk later, perhaps over glasses of maedhl. He moves on, past a sea of smiles and whispered words. Even now, when he has just emerged victorious from the elections, the Senators who voted against him are being friendly. Vying, perhaps, for some advantage.
“Congratulations, Finis. I knew you would be most suitable for the post.” That is Palpatine. There is something about Palpatine - not the genuine open warmth of Bail Antilles, nor the quiet dignity of Mon Mothma. In any case, Palpatine always seems disarmingly vulnerable - quietly frank. And yet sometimes, Finis has the faintest of impressions he has never known the real Palpatine. Palpatine is a practiced politician, like the best of them all.
That is the world of the politician, really. Finis Valorum lives in a world of deception, self-profit. He lives in a world of compromises, and a world of grey-edged shadows. He knows that good is an illusion, and evil is the lie that hides within the kernel of that illusion.
His world is a world of masques - a permanent masquerade, and he will never know if a flash of character is a man’s true face.
“Congratulations, Chancellor.” The man says. He is tall, and rugged, with a broken nose. His hands are large, and there is a rustic look to the homespun robes he wears. He gives Finis a small bow, and shakes Finis’ hand.
Beside him is a slender youth, tall for his age. But one can’t really tell what age the boy is at - just that he isn’t moving with the unconscious, deadly grace that his Master is. The rough brown robes are large on him, but the cylinder clipped to his belt belongs there.
The youth bows. “Congratulations on your election, Chancellor.” He says. His voice hasn’t yet broken. Unlike the man’s lined face - he is fresh-faced and eager, and perhaps just a bit too nervous.
“Thank you, Master Jinn.” Finis says. He regards the Jedi who had been assigned to guard him during the assassination attempt on his life. Somewhere along the way, Master Jinn became more than just a bodyguard. He became a friend, and perhaps, someone that Finis looked up to.
The Valorums had always been friends of the Jedi, during their long tenure in the Senate. Finis had always looked up to the Jedi, and always hoped to be one of them. He’d never had the potential. But he’d never stopped trying to emulate their ways, even when it was hardly possible in the Senate.
“Thank you, Padawan Kenobi.”
He doesn’t say much more. Not in front of the wave of holocams turned his way, and he closes his eyes reflexively at the flare of snapshots.
-
“So, when are you going to be instated?” Qui-Gon asks, over the mug of Tavarian tisane. Finis still can’t believe it. He is the new Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.
“Next week.” He says. He pauses, breathing in the sharp smell of honey and cloves that rise from the steaming mug. He is aware of every sensory detail to this moment - the taste of honey, clove, and pear on his tongue, the sharp scent of the tisane, and the slightly uncomfortable heat of the mug pressing against his skin. All of them are magnified, in the hyper-awareness that exists after the results were declared.
Finis can’t believe it. He still can’t, and the endless waves of sense data seem distant and detached, as if he’s in a waking dream, and he hasn’t woken up yet.
It is the dream that haunts and tantalises in the dark hours of the night - he thinks it is a dream, he knows it isn’t, and doesn’t want it to be a dream, doesn’t want to wake up in his bed, tangled in the confining sheets.
“The customary mourning period, of course.” He says, more quietly, aware of the grief that nestles like a sharp knife between his lungs, just waiting for him to breathe for the pain to return. He’s aware of the warm plast mug against his fingers, too hot, just as the memories and the faces are too cold. “State funerals take time.”
The Jedi Master bows his head. “Your father was a good man. And a good Supreme Chancellor. I am sorry I could not save him.”
“I only wish his assassins could be brought to justice.”
“Unfortunately, we will never know.” Qui-Gon says, sombrely. A silence descends between them - born of painful memories of Anteres Valorum before he had been assassinated, and a Jedi Master’s respect for Finis’ raw grief.
“Perhaps that was why I won the elections. And I had expected Bail or Palpatine to be elected.”
“Perhaps.” Qui-Gon concedes. He does not try to say that was untrue. They both know sympathy for his father’s assassination has bought Finis some votes, and the memories of the former chancellor have won him some other votes. They have lost him some votes as well. “But they also felt you were the best candidate there.”
“Me?” Finis scoffs. “Not when Karis Antilles was in the running.”
The Jedi Master stands to leave. “I am due back at the Temple, Chancellor.” He says, formally. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
As he walks towards the door, his hand brushes Finis’ shoulder. “You are a good man, Chancellor.” He says, quietly.
Perhaps it is a form of a Jedi benediction. But Finis does not forget the Jedi Master’s words.
-
Qui-Gon Jinn might have been too optimistic.
Finis finds himself increasingly powerless in a Senate that constantly blocks motions from the good-hearted Senators such as Bail Organa, and Mon Mothma. It is hard to explain to Bail; Bail understands, but he doesn’t understand. Now, Finis understands the immense weight of the burden on his father’s shoulders - and the weight of the burden he himself shoulders.
But Palpatine understands, and they spend many a late night talking. Palpatine sympathises, and he can often suggest solutions to issues that Finis has difficulty with. He doesn’t always listen to Palpatine, especially since he is aware that Senators have their own agendas. But most of the time, Palpatine is fairly neutral and affable, as things go.
Perhaps Palpatine is one of the few Senators who doesn’t seem to want something from him, as the Supreme Chancellor.
The best of the good things that Finis finds himself doing is increasing cooperation between the Senate and the Jedi. He talks often with Qui-Gon Jinn - often enough for a Jedi Master, anyway. Jinn is often off-planet these days, training the not-so-young Obi-Wan Kenobi.
He starts to hear murmurs of how ineffective he is - how can he be, in a Senate controlled by credits which buy power? Voting blocs like the Xi’in-Na systems of the Ki’in League stymie efforts to send Jedi intervention - or even Republic intervention - into oppressive regimes.
The power of the Senate - and of the Republic is dwindling, slowly dwindling.
Then comes the blockade of Naboo.
-
Finis Valorum isn’t sure which to feel - relieved or betrayed. Instead, he simply feels numb as he cradles the glass in his hand. He is still wealthy - he is, in fact, one of the wealthiest men in the Republic.
All he knows, however, is that he has been implicated, since the resolution of the Dorvalla incident between the Nebula Front and the Trade Federation. But who would implicate him, and why?
To impeach me, the cool political voice in his mind whispers. But that raises more questions - why?
He also remembers the look on Palpatine’s face, apologetic, but the motion of no confidence came from Queen Amidala, which meant Palpatine had sanctioned it. And in that moment, he first touches lightly on the edges of the idea that Palpatine has meant to betray him. He has been used.
He feels unmentionably filthy, and hurt in some way. And relieved - the burden can go to Palpatine’s hands.
Does Palpatine care for the Republic? His mind asks. Finis knows the difference between campaign rhetoric…and deeds. At this moment, he ignores those creeping doubts, because he thinks that is jealousy, bitterness, and resentment speaking.
And why shouldn’t you feel bitter?
Perhaps the worst thing is, he has no answer to that.
-
Qui-Gon Jinn slips in at about midnight.
“I’m sorry.” They both say, at approximately at the same time. Qui-Gon inclines his head, and Finis continues.
“My hands were tied by the Senate. I could do nothing.”
He owes Qui-Gon more. Qui-Gon is the one who was risking his life on Naboo. The Jedi reports of the unsanctioned Trade Federation invasion are clear. But the Ki’in League and others with them block any motions for action on Naboo with a filibuster, and outvote the Citizen Watch, and their scant allies.
“You were doing the best you could.” Qui-Gon says. “The Senate is becoming more corrupt, more mired in…debate. Naboo is only a symptom of a greater problem.”
“But what is the problem?” Finis asks, earnestly. “Greed?” He laughs, a little harshly. “The Republic has stood for over a thousand years. This will not be the first time greed has ever seized the Senate. No, this is something more.”
Qui-Gon nods gravely. “Sometimes,” He confides, “I think there is something…directing this all. Something bigger that is…radiating all this greed, corruption, ruthlessness…and selfishness into the Force. A Sith Lord. The Force grows clouded, my friend.”
“You are the Jedi Master. You know better than I would.”
He doesn’t ask if the Jedi Council can do anything about this - he knows they can’t. Their hands are as tied as his are, and Master Jinn is known as a maverick within the Jedi Order. That alone may discredit his opinion. The Sith are barely recognised by the Senate, except as an extinct army that was defeated on Ruusan by the Jedi Army of Light.
“Yes, but sometimes…we overlook that which is right in front of us.” Qui-Gon passes a weary hand before his eyes. “Forgive me. I have not slept for long since we escaped from Naboo. And then I have had to settle Anakin in…and to make my reports to the Jedi Council. I came to pass my regrets along.”
“You need rest.”
“Don’t we all?” Qui-Gon asks wryly, but he takes the hint. As did Finis.
“Farewell, Master Jinn.”
“Farewell, Finis. May the Force be with you.”
-
Year after Qui-Gon perished on Naboo, Finis remembers the Jedi’s words.
He sees the continuing descent of the Senate into petty argumentation, and power-brokering, and he is glad he has abandoned politics and taken up the family business. The Valorum business is profitable, and he devotes himself now to the efforts of developing contacts across the world of commerce.
He keeps contact with Bail Organa, Fang Zar, Mon Mothma, and even Padme Amidala. She confides in him that perhaps she was wrong to call for a motion of no confidence in him so hastily. It had been Palpatine’s suggestion.
Finis tells her that perhaps this way, things turned out for the best.
In his mind, the voices of doubt whisper.
-
Palpatine starts assuming more and more power.
And the young Anakin Skywalker - the Hero with No Fear, is on his side. Very firmly so. Bail invites him to sign the petition with the Delegation of the Two Thousand, but he declines.
“The name of Valorum on the list would greatly help our cause,” He says, persuasively.
“That was before I left politics.” Finis says, quietly. “I have no more say in the Senate, and too many will accuse me of being bitter…with my replacement.”
“And are you?”
Finis shrugs.
He hopes he is.
-
When the Jedi Temple falls, Finis is shocked, and horrified. The whispers of Sith are more prevalent now, except the Sith are being dismissed as a Jedi lie. Save that he trusts Qui-Gon, and he knows the truth.
He can’t touch the Force, but when he looks back at the fumbling mistakes he made before his term as Chancellor was ended before it was time - he realises it was the middle period of the Republic; the time between golden climax and ashen decline.
Today, the Republic breathes its last breath. His uneventful tenure has been the last of true peace, and true democracy the Republic has known, and even then, he suspects Palpatine’s hand in affairs. Such as the ingots that had impeached him. And the enormous growth in power of the Ki’in League and the Trade Federation.
Palpatine is a Sith Lord.
He cannot believe it. It turns his lungs to ash, sets his heart on fire. His chest pounds, and he takes shuddering breaths. He has helped to hand over the Republic to a Lord of the Sith. Someone who cares nothing for the people and the planets the Republic was built to serve.
When the clone troopers march on the Jedi Temple, and the Jedi Temple burns, Finis Valorum rescues two fleeing younglings. One is a human male, the other is a Arkanian - Zett Jukasa and Arlen Mikto.
Their crime - they were Jedi.
He smuggles them off Coruscant. Thus his contacts come in useful; he is able to start a movement that smuggles Jedi and Jedi-sympathetic people off Coruscant. He is one of the founders of the movement to be known as Whiplash.
-
He is too easily traced.
Some men were never meant for heroics. Some men are too good for their time. Finis Valorum is too innocent in an age of deception, and an age of backstabbing, money, and intrigue.
His last sight is the black masked visage of Darth Vader, and a crimson lightsaber burning through his heart.
With him, dies one of the most compassionate Chancellors in the history of the Republic. With him also dies one of the more unremarkable Chancellors in the history of the Republic.
-
In the days of the New Republic, Mon Mothma’s first act as Chief of State is to set up the Mpair Square memorial on Coruscant, at the Mid-Level entrance of the Jedi Temple to remember all the unnamed who gave their lives in the fight against tyranny.
Unnamed, and unremarkable in anything, save compassion, honor, and courage, names like Finis Valorum die swiftly, or are remembered only in their moments of weakness.
But goodness never dies.
Or so Therr Jukassa, Admiral of the New Galactic Republic, former member of the Rebel Alliance, can attest to.
-
The evil men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
-
A/N: Perhaps this serves better as a preface. But nevertheless, it is my custom to place author’s notes at the very end. And so a preface becomes an endnote, or perhaps some form of an epilogue, or an epitaph to a remarkable (fictional!) character. AU, because I felt the movie and its resolution did him too little justice.
What we may agree with Karen Traviss on, are the number of remarkable ordinary men and women, without Jedi abilities, who nevertheless do good things. Some heroes are so small, so ordinary they go forgotten.
No one remembers men like Chris Walsh, whose kindness affected a family of Iraqis. No one will remember him, in years to come. In the same way, Valorum will be forgotten, remembered as a weak and ineffective chancellor.
This was done in answer to the Malachy O’More challenge posed by Qoheleth. The quote actually refers to Pope John Paul I (traditionally), and means “the middle of the moon”. There were so many ways to read this - to associate the moon with madness, in the time of chaos the end days of the Republic became. To associate the phases of the moon with fluxes, and the waning of the Republic, and the decline of the Empire. To associate the moon with the gentle feminine, that it holds in Chinese symbolism. And the gentle men of honor who win, not by skills with a lightsaber, but by being beacons of light in a world of darkness.
We salute you.
-Cymru