Challenge from fialleril
Well, fialleril challenged. And so I tried this.
The challenge had to be a pairing in a genfic. I suppose I might have danced the lines a little, especially because I didn't intend to write any kind of romance between Anakin and Padme, but more of a detached compassion.
Passion
He didn’t look at all like how she imagined a Sith Lord would appear, she decided. Or perhaps Naboo had been part of the Sith Imperium for so long, Padme Amidala could no longer see them as anything other than the tyrannical, power-hungry warlords they were.
He sagged along the streets of Theed, shackled hand and foot with stun-cuffs. They shocked him endlessly at irregular intervals, enough to distract him and disconnect him from the Force. Or so the Jedi had said. And yet, even then, he was ringed with Jedi, all with hands to their lightsabers, stern-faced with grim triumph.
He had been powerful, whispers came. Had. This dispirited he who stumbled wearily down the street seemed completely harmless. And even then, rocks hurled down the street. They came close to hitting him, once or twice, but they were repelled by an invisible force around him. Sometimes, the rocks came too close. Even infallible Jedi could hate, it seemed.
Padme didn’t blame them. The Jedi were still painfully few. They had been hunted down in the years following the Battle of Ruusan, but while the Sith had grown arrogant, the Jedi had waited, gathering their strength, and growing in the darkness of space.
And finally, they had struck. The Sith Imperium had fallen, and so had the Emperor. And with them, the Lord Heir- Lord Vader. Vader had been legendary for his viciousness and his phenomenal power, and in capturing him, three Jedi had fallen, while four were injured. One would never walk again, another had his lungs crushed and forever would require a respirator. There was a Twi’lek who had her lekku forever severed, while another female, Bultar Swan, had lost her left arm.
The Jedi’s sacrifice would be forever remembered. Plans had been already drawn to immortalise the moment of victory forever, in sculpted stone- despite some protests that this was not the Jedi way.
It didn’t matter. They threw rocks at him, some jeered and laughed. There was overall rejoicing when the Jedi had been honored as they walked down the streets earlier, particularly the one who had finally brought Vader down- an Obi-Wan Kenobi. There had been showers of flowers, the soft white petals whispering in the breeze.
Now, there was nothing but scorn, rocks and hatred.
Padme knew she ought to feel anger towards this Sith who had led the extermination of the Wookies, and who had crushed Alderaan into shards of powdered rock with nothing but the Force. But instead, she felt curiosity. Perhaps pity, dulling the edge of the anger and hatred. Could this swaying man be the Sith Lord Darth Vader?
And yet, he had to be. The Jedi strode on. Obi-Wan Kenobi, with his humble brown Jedi robes, and the hilt of his lightsaber by his side, glanced at her for a moment and smiled. She wasn’t sure if she smiled back- they had worked alongside each other for a while, when they had been plotting rebellion, after the First Dissolution.
And even Obi-Wan had not gone unmarked- a burn scar marked the left side of his face, almost a twin of the burn on Vader’s right cheek. Both were lightsaber scars.
Vader stumbled, and staggered, falling to the ground. There was a savage murmur of delight from the crowd- someone hurled a ceramic pot at him. It shattered on the street, undeflected by the Jedi, and some shards sliced Vader. Blood flowed, beading his arms and face. Someone else tried to break free from the crowd- but the Jedi stopped her, and another one took her into custody. She thought that one must have been stone-faced Mace Windu.
He got closer, and she saw his face clearly for the first time. It was a grim face, and yet, perhaps, she wondered if it could be considered handsome in some kind of way. He was cleanshaven, and golden hair descended to his shoulders, slightly wavy. His eyes blazed a red-gold, the likes of which she had never seen before, and yet the expression on his face showed nothing at all.
Perhaps it was the set of his shoulders that told her he was resigned and ready to die.
But she quashed any involuntary sympathy. This man had killed many. He had the blood of billions on his hands, and the only thing they could do was to trial him for war crimes (successfully) and sentence him to die.
Strangely, she found herself wondering what color his eyes were, or if the molten-lava hue was something Vader had been born with. Obi-Wan had only spoken distantly of Dark Side corruption, and she wasn’t sure if that unnatural glint of his eyes had something to do with it. He would have had blue eyes, she decided. Eyes of the most amazing blue.
Vader fell again, and this time, harder. Blood now flowed from the ripped knees of his tunic- he must have torn his knees on the cobblestones. His side was bleeding as well, although slightly. Wounds had been torn open. The Jedi paused, before Obi-Wan pulled Vader- not gently, to his feet.
They went on. All of Theed was watching- and through various hovercams and holocams, so was all of the galaxy- through the Holonet.
This is the price of freedom. Blood. She thought, distantly.
The sun shown behind him, gleaming about his hair. Blood seeped from a wound on his forehead- crowning him red-gold in the shafts of the sun.
The last fall had been the hardest, right in front of her. The crowd jeered again- the Sith Lord was humbled now, before them. Padme watched, as Obi-Wan dragged him to his feet again. This time, Vader swayed back in his grasp- he was weakening.
Their eyes met for a moment- gold with brown.
This is what you deserve. She thought. No more, perhaps less.
But the edge of her hatred was dulled- she could hate the incomprehensible Sith Lord, but she could not hate the weak man she saw before her, a ghost of the undauntable Sith. Instead, she felt nothing but a cool compassion. He was suffering, he had brought their hatred on himself- but still he suffered.
What was more important was that no matter how barbaric Vader had been, no matter how cruel- today, they would all sink to his level as they demanded his blood, his suffering, with the same lack of feeling. And they could not fight barbarity with barbarity. They had to stand firm, honorable and civilised- to be the light to Vader’s darkness.
She made her decision. She reached her hand out to the flower Obi-Wan had given her earlier, after his honor-ceremony- moved forward, pressed it into his hand.
The crowd surged, and she retreated. They cut her off from him, and then the rocks came again. Now, some threw buckets of slops from the ‘fresher, or decaying muja fruit. The Jedi were forced to force the crowd back again.
For a moment, the coast was clear again. She saw him, and he stared at her- was that puzzlement she saw?
And then, perhaps, the ghost of a smile, as he held the white flower she had given him, staring slowly. The white elewuri symbolised death, for to them all, white was the incomprehensible mystery- prime of which was death. There was the other aspect of the elewuri- Life, the incomprehensible mystery life was. That was why the Queen of Naboo used white face paint- she held the power of life or death over the people of Naboo.
And perhaps, it spoke of something else, too. That neither could exist without the other. We do not hate you, the elewuri whispered, but you must die for us to live again.
For a fleeting moment, she thought his eyes had been blue after all. Perhaps he had understood. And perhaps he hadn’t.
Then she watched, dispassionately, as he moved past- and headed for the execution grounds, beneath the flowering elewuri trees in the courtyard of the prison.
The challenge had to be a pairing in a genfic. I suppose I might have danced the lines a little, especially because I didn't intend to write any kind of romance between Anakin and Padme, but more of a detached compassion.
Passion
He didn’t look at all like how she imagined a Sith Lord would appear, she decided. Or perhaps Naboo had been part of the Sith Imperium for so long, Padme Amidala could no longer see them as anything other than the tyrannical, power-hungry warlords they were.
He sagged along the streets of Theed, shackled hand and foot with stun-cuffs. They shocked him endlessly at irregular intervals, enough to distract him and disconnect him from the Force. Or so the Jedi had said. And yet, even then, he was ringed with Jedi, all with hands to their lightsabers, stern-faced with grim triumph.
He had been powerful, whispers came. Had. This dispirited he who stumbled wearily down the street seemed completely harmless. And even then, rocks hurled down the street. They came close to hitting him, once or twice, but they were repelled by an invisible force around him. Sometimes, the rocks came too close. Even infallible Jedi could hate, it seemed.
Padme didn’t blame them. The Jedi were still painfully few. They had been hunted down in the years following the Battle of Ruusan, but while the Sith had grown arrogant, the Jedi had waited, gathering their strength, and growing in the darkness of space.
And finally, they had struck. The Sith Imperium had fallen, and so had the Emperor. And with them, the Lord Heir- Lord Vader. Vader had been legendary for his viciousness and his phenomenal power, and in capturing him, three Jedi had fallen, while four were injured. One would never walk again, another had his lungs crushed and forever would require a respirator. There was a Twi’lek who had her lekku forever severed, while another female, Bultar Swan, had lost her left arm.
The Jedi’s sacrifice would be forever remembered. Plans had been already drawn to immortalise the moment of victory forever, in sculpted stone- despite some protests that this was not the Jedi way.
It didn’t matter. They threw rocks at him, some jeered and laughed. There was overall rejoicing when the Jedi had been honored as they walked down the streets earlier, particularly the one who had finally brought Vader down- an Obi-Wan Kenobi. There had been showers of flowers, the soft white petals whispering in the breeze.
Now, there was nothing but scorn, rocks and hatred.
Padme knew she ought to feel anger towards this Sith who had led the extermination of the Wookies, and who had crushed Alderaan into shards of powdered rock with nothing but the Force. But instead, she felt curiosity. Perhaps pity, dulling the edge of the anger and hatred. Could this swaying man be the Sith Lord Darth Vader?
And yet, he had to be. The Jedi strode on. Obi-Wan Kenobi, with his humble brown Jedi robes, and the hilt of his lightsaber by his side, glanced at her for a moment and smiled. She wasn’t sure if she smiled back- they had worked alongside each other for a while, when they had been plotting rebellion, after the First Dissolution.
And even Obi-Wan had not gone unmarked- a burn scar marked the left side of his face, almost a twin of the burn on Vader’s right cheek. Both were lightsaber scars.
Vader stumbled, and staggered, falling to the ground. There was a savage murmur of delight from the crowd- someone hurled a ceramic pot at him. It shattered on the street, undeflected by the Jedi, and some shards sliced Vader. Blood flowed, beading his arms and face. Someone else tried to break free from the crowd- but the Jedi stopped her, and another one took her into custody. She thought that one must have been stone-faced Mace Windu.
He got closer, and she saw his face clearly for the first time. It was a grim face, and yet, perhaps, she wondered if it could be considered handsome in some kind of way. He was cleanshaven, and golden hair descended to his shoulders, slightly wavy. His eyes blazed a red-gold, the likes of which she had never seen before, and yet the expression on his face showed nothing at all.
Perhaps it was the set of his shoulders that told her he was resigned and ready to die.
But she quashed any involuntary sympathy. This man had killed many. He had the blood of billions on his hands, and the only thing they could do was to trial him for war crimes (successfully) and sentence him to die.
Strangely, she found herself wondering what color his eyes were, or if the molten-lava hue was something Vader had been born with. Obi-Wan had only spoken distantly of Dark Side corruption, and she wasn’t sure if that unnatural glint of his eyes had something to do with it. He would have had blue eyes, she decided. Eyes of the most amazing blue.
Vader fell again, and this time, harder. Blood now flowed from the ripped knees of his tunic- he must have torn his knees on the cobblestones. His side was bleeding as well, although slightly. Wounds had been torn open. The Jedi paused, before Obi-Wan pulled Vader- not gently, to his feet.
They went on. All of Theed was watching- and through various hovercams and holocams, so was all of the galaxy- through the Holonet.
This is the price of freedom. Blood. She thought, distantly.
The sun shown behind him, gleaming about his hair. Blood seeped from a wound on his forehead- crowning him red-gold in the shafts of the sun.
The last fall had been the hardest, right in front of her. The crowd jeered again- the Sith Lord was humbled now, before them. Padme watched, as Obi-Wan dragged him to his feet again. This time, Vader swayed back in his grasp- he was weakening.
Their eyes met for a moment- gold with brown.
This is what you deserve. She thought. No more, perhaps less.
But the edge of her hatred was dulled- she could hate the incomprehensible Sith Lord, but she could not hate the weak man she saw before her, a ghost of the undauntable Sith. Instead, she felt nothing but a cool compassion. He was suffering, he had brought their hatred on himself- but still he suffered.
What was more important was that no matter how barbaric Vader had been, no matter how cruel- today, they would all sink to his level as they demanded his blood, his suffering, with the same lack of feeling. And they could not fight barbarity with barbarity. They had to stand firm, honorable and civilised- to be the light to Vader’s darkness.
She made her decision. She reached her hand out to the flower Obi-Wan had given her earlier, after his honor-ceremony- moved forward, pressed it into his hand.
The crowd surged, and she retreated. They cut her off from him, and then the rocks came again. Now, some threw buckets of slops from the ‘fresher, or decaying muja fruit. The Jedi were forced to force the crowd back again.
For a moment, the coast was clear again. She saw him, and he stared at her- was that puzzlement she saw?
And then, perhaps, the ghost of a smile, as he held the white flower she had given him, staring slowly. The white elewuri symbolised death, for to them all, white was the incomprehensible mystery- prime of which was death. There was the other aspect of the elewuri- Life, the incomprehensible mystery life was. That was why the Queen of Naboo used white face paint- she held the power of life or death over the people of Naboo.
And perhaps, it spoke of something else, too. That neither could exist without the other. We do not hate you, the elewuri whispered, but you must die for us to live again.
For a fleeting moment, she thought his eyes had been blue after all. Perhaps he had understood. And perhaps he hadn’t.
Then she watched, dispassionately, as he moved past- and headed for the execution grounds, beneath the flowering elewuri trees in the courtyard of the prison.