oh right, canon
This one was for ladyhadhafang, and a quasi-sequel to The Quality of Mercy.
title: all we like sheep have gone astray
verse: Grandmaster!Leia (QOM); prompt: the confusion of mind you dub honor
Lyra knew perfectly well that she’d violated the Order’s protocols. But she’d had to. So what if she hadn’t been there to free slaves? She was a Jedi. Fighting injustice was always her ultimate mandate.
She’d saved forty-nine people. That was worth far more than the slap on the wrist she’d get from the Council.
She didn’t really expect anything worse, even when her mother lectured her for an hour about the standard of conduct expected of a Jedi Knight. Mother didn’t care that she’d destroyed a slavery ring--but she didn’t have to care, did she? Up here in the Temple, or at her palace in Tyria, she could carry on about rules and regulations and never once set eyes on anyone who didn’t have enough to eat. Three-quarters of the galaxy lived in varying degrees of squalor and misery, but it didn’t matter because Leia Skywalker Organa didn’t.
Lyra opened her mouth, and somehow found herself blurting out that she’d never accept the crown, and yes, this was an official renunciation, and no, she had no good reason for bringing it up now.
I’m a Jedi, she thought. Mother was a Jedi, too--more Master Organa than Queen Leia, these days--but not like her, not like this. Yes, Mother had decided she wanted to be a Jedi, built the Order from the ground up --
(People sometimes said Lyra's mother had helped Uncle Luke rebuild the Order, but only the very stupid did so around Lyra. She loved her uncle, but everyone knew he’d sooner stab himself in the eye than sit around formulating policy and creating infrastructure. He’d been the first to nominate his sister as grandmaster.)
--but Mother had only done it because she wanted to. She’d chosen it. Lyra, for her part, felt less that she’d chosen than been chosen, that she might very well have been born with the greater part of her soul given over to the Force. This was her vocation; she didn’t have room for anything else, let alone time or patience.
She suspected they all knew. Uncle Luke did, anyway, because she’d spent countless hours trailing after him and complaining about it, which meant Mother probably knew, too. Not that he’d break a confidence, but things had a way of slipping between him and Mother, just like with Padmé and Bail. Lyra didn’t blame him.
But though they knew, they didn’t see. They thought there was no need to make a fuss over anything, it could just be quietly understood that she’d never succeed Mother. But it couldn’t--she didn’t--words had meanings, and Princess Lyra meant that some part of her answered to New Alderaan. It meant responsibilities and privileges and belonging, splitting herself between the Jedi and the princess as her mother had done, when Lyra was a Jedi with every shred of her being.
No.
Then they had brought up the Skywalker thing, as if it mattered that Lyra sometimes used one of her mother’s names and not the other. And, at that, the one that actually had something to do with Lyra’s life as she lived it. It wasn’t like she was an Organa in any way that mattered. She couldn’t remember the grandparents who had died with Alderaan and she had no real ties to New Alderaan -- "home" meant the Temple, and "family" meant Skywalkers, by blood or marriage.
Lyra wasn’t about to deny herself her rightful legacy just because a long-dead trio of men had denied Mother hers.
Then she’d rounded out the evening by fighting with Padmé--which was the worst by far, because Mother always gave as good as she got, while screaming at Padmé felt like kicking a baby Ewok. But Padmé had to learn what the galaxy was like, or it’d chew her up the way it had her namesake. And Grandfather, too, in a way.
Well, she’d give her report, and that would be that.
title: all we like sheep have gone astray
verse: Grandmaster!Leia (QOM); prompt: the confusion of mind you dub honor
Lyra knew perfectly well that she’d violated the Order’s protocols. But she’d had to. So what if she hadn’t been there to free slaves? She was a Jedi. Fighting injustice was always her ultimate mandate.
She’d saved forty-nine people. That was worth far more than the slap on the wrist she’d get from the Council.
She didn’t really expect anything worse, even when her mother lectured her for an hour about the standard of conduct expected of a Jedi Knight. Mother didn’t care that she’d destroyed a slavery ring--but she didn’t have to care, did she? Up here in the Temple, or at her palace in Tyria, she could carry on about rules and regulations and never once set eyes on anyone who didn’t have enough to eat. Three-quarters of the galaxy lived in varying degrees of squalor and misery, but it didn’t matter because Leia Skywalker Organa didn’t.
Lyra opened her mouth, and somehow found herself blurting out that she’d never accept the crown, and yes, this was an official renunciation, and no, she had no good reason for bringing it up now.
I’m a Jedi, she thought. Mother was a Jedi, too--more Master Organa than Queen Leia, these days--but not like her, not like this. Yes, Mother had decided she wanted to be a Jedi, built the Order from the ground up --
(People sometimes said Lyra's mother had helped Uncle Luke rebuild the Order, but only the very stupid did so around Lyra. She loved her uncle, but everyone knew he’d sooner stab himself in the eye than sit around formulating policy and creating infrastructure. He’d been the first to nominate his sister as grandmaster.)
--but Mother had only done it because she wanted to. She’d chosen it. Lyra, for her part, felt less that she’d chosen than been chosen, that she might very well have been born with the greater part of her soul given over to the Force. This was her vocation; she didn’t have room for anything else, let alone time or patience.
She suspected they all knew. Uncle Luke did, anyway, because she’d spent countless hours trailing after him and complaining about it, which meant Mother probably knew, too. Not that he’d break a confidence, but things had a way of slipping between him and Mother, just like with Padmé and Bail. Lyra didn’t blame him.
But though they knew, they didn’t see. They thought there was no need to make a fuss over anything, it could just be quietly understood that she’d never succeed Mother. But it couldn’t--she didn’t--words had meanings, and Princess Lyra meant that some part of her answered to New Alderaan. It meant responsibilities and privileges and belonging, splitting herself between the Jedi and the princess as her mother had done, when Lyra was a Jedi with every shred of her being.
No.
Then they had brought up the Skywalker thing, as if it mattered that Lyra sometimes used one of her mother’s names and not the other. And, at that, the one that actually had something to do with Lyra’s life as she lived it. It wasn’t like she was an Organa in any way that mattered. She couldn’t remember the grandparents who had died with Alderaan and she had no real ties to New Alderaan -- "home" meant the Temple, and "family" meant Skywalkers, by blood or marriage.
Lyra wasn’t about to deny herself her rightful legacy just because a long-dead trio of men had denied Mother hers.
Then she’d rounded out the evening by fighting with Padmé--which was the worst by far, because Mother always gave as good as she got, while screaming at Padmé felt like kicking a baby Ewok. But Padmé had to learn what the galaxy was like, or it’d chew her up the way it had her namesake. And Grandfather, too, in a way.
Well, she’d give her report, and that would be that.