(no subject)
Almost A Whisper
Rated: PG
A Luke/Mara Vignette on loss and letting go...
ALMOST A WHISPER
She is holding onto the smooth, gray stone of the monument, fingers digging into it as if by grasping hard enough she can somehow hold on to what she knows she must relinquish.
I can hear her whispering in the cool evening air, but her words are not meant for me. I stand uneasily beside her, an unexpected emotion for me. Perhaps it is because I rarely see her so broken, so distraught. She is strong, as her name implies...she is a fierce warrior and a challenging partner. Her temper can match the fiery colour of her hair, and she’s deadly with a lightsabre.
I’ve seen her take out her enemies with cool calculated precision, and I’ve seen her single-minded dedication to her training. I’ve seen her stand up to men twice her size and I’ve seen her go head to head with my sister. I’ve seen her dance gracefully on our terrace and I’ve seen her gently cradle our newborn son.
I’ve almost never see her cry.
Mara is quietly sobbing now...
I want to hold her, but I know that is not something she would welcome at this moment. Her knuckles are turning white from the death grip she has on the edges of the stone, and I fight the urge to pry them off and kiss them gently. She cries herself out, still unable to look at me. A ragged sigh leaves her, and a sense of tired resignation falls around her, like a soft shimmer silk mantle.
Finally, Mara turns her tear stained face up to mine and says the only thing she is able to. “Why?” she utters brokenly, “Why, Luke?”
I fight the urge to cry myself now. “I don’t know, love. I’m sorry....” I kneel now in the soft earth next to her. The warm scent of the newly turned dirt rises up to me, and mingles with the sweet fragrance of the mountain of flowers which surrounds us. So many blossoms from all over the galaxy have been sent....it is overwhelming. I feel almost as if I might drown in a cascade of wildflowers, or at least in the scent of them. I pick one up absently, twirling the stem in my fingers as I search for the right words to say.
But there are none, and we both know it.
The wind begins to stir, the skies are turning dark overhead....threatening rain. It is the warm wind of a summer storm, and it picks up Mara’s red-gold hair and tosses it over her shoulders, streaming behind her. Even in her deepest grief, she is ephemeral, incandescent.
“I wish I had all the answers, Mara, but I don’t. I wish I could answer your every prayer....but I can’t.” I reach out to touch her shoulders gently, and she leans in to my embrace. The dirt has stained the hem of her dove-gray tunic, and has clung to her hands. The same hands I’d had to pull away from the grave as she desperately and madly dug through the freshly turned earth. I’d had to drag her away....force her to leave the small plot until she calmed down. We’d walked then, for a time....Leia and Han watching a distance away, Ben with them. Only when I’d felt she had sense enough about her had I let Mara return to the little monument and the flowers. A small, gray ship adrift in the vast sea of blooms.
It has started to rain now. A gentle, soft rain. Not even enough to warrant pulling up the hood of my cloak. It falls around us, rolling across the field and surrounding our little memorial like a shimmering gray curtain. It adds a gravity to the surreal experience of burying our child. It adds a subtle grace to the scene. The rain alights on Mara’s hair, set upon it like a million glittering diamonds. It is heartrendingly beautiful.
She takes the flower from me, lying it across the top of the stone. She takes a moment, then says, “It seems harder, somehow.”
I am glad she is speaking to me, glad she sounds as if she is able to think coherently. So I ask, “What is that?”
She smiles sadly, then purses her lips. “This. This whole...situation. I know that for others, non-Jedi, when someone....” she cannot bring herself to say it, chokes on the word, then pushes through, “passes on...they don’t disappear, they remain.” Mara looks to me now, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Their loved ones have a ceremony, and they bury them.” She shakes her head. “But not Jedi....we don’t remain. We fade into the Force. There is no interment.” She reaches out to touch the stone. “Why didn’t she fade away, Luke? Why did she remain?”
I fold my hands quietly in my lap, musing over what to say. “I’m not sure, my love. I....I’ve maybe had more experience than most....with Obi-Wan and Yoda. With my Father. I can’t explain it, Mara. The information we’ve lost, with the Jedi purges....I’m still searching for the meaning of a lot of things. I’m sure we’ll find it, but.....I know that doesn’t help...now.”
She smiles again, and places a palm against my cheek. The faint scent earth and flowers is emanating from her skin. It is her silent thank you. She reaches for the ground in front of her, picking up a handful of soil and letting it run through her fingers. I could understand what she meant...how this was harder. When Vader died I’d taken his remains to Endor to cremate him. After the fire had burned out, with nothing left but ash, I’d felt a sense of peace. My emotional turmoil had been spent with the flames. It had been difficult to watch, true. Harder than seeing Obi-Wan or Yoda fade to nothingness. But this.....this was by far the most gut-wrenching thing I’d ever had to do. We were not even able to have her cremated, our little daughter. It seemed...harsh to have something so young and innocent consigned to the flames. So we’d picked out a small memorial stone, a peaceful patch of earth, and buried her.
Mara turns her face up toward the rain, breathing it in, like a balm for her soul. But I can feel her inner torment. From behind us, a distance off, the sound of Ben calling us reaches our ears. It is a beautiful sound, a song carried by the wind. He is only four, but seems grown beyond his years. Through all of this ordeal our son has been patient and reserved. He has observed the swirling emotional whirlwind of the past week with a depth of understanding which would shame most adults. He is our hope, he is our future. He is what we must cling to now.
“Don’t give up, Mara....please don’t.” I am pleading with her...she is just a breath away from falling apart again and I fear she may not recover. “You have to believe...”
She stops me, “In what, Luke?” Running her hand down the stone again, she mutters, “in what?”
I sigh and cast my gaze to the earth. Looking back up, I catch her gaze and turn my head slightly toward our son...toward Ben. “In us, Mara.” I take her hand. “You have to believe that we can go on. We have to move toward hope, now.”
She gives a bitter laugh, shaking her head slowly. “After all we’ve been through, another pregnancy which we never thought would happen....having her, a daughter...” she gestures toward the marker with her chin, “I had believed in hope.” She turns her head away, looking off into the centre of the storm. “Now...I’ve given that up.” Mara was always the cynical one, although after we were married and especially after Ben came along, she became more open, more forgiving. But now I can see her slipping back into the hard shell she broke out of all those years ago.
And I am desperately searching for a way to bring her back from the brink.
I run a hand through her hair, slightly damp from the soft rain. “Mara, I know you may not want to hear this.....but...maybe this was meant to be.” She looks to me sharply, hurt more than anger flashing through her pained eyes. “Everything happens for a reason, my love. The will of the Force.”
“You can’t believe that, Luke, you can’t. How can you?” she whispers brokenly.
“I have to, Mara. I must. Not just because of this.” I pull her to me. “Because of everything. War, suffering, pain, death....all that we’ve been through. I have to believe it has happened for a reason. Some sort of greater picture I’m a part of. If I don’t, I can’t go on. It would be to painful.”
She snuffles quietly into my chest. “More painful than this?”
I nod against her hair. “Yes, even more painful than just losing her. Every terrible, senseless thing that I’d ever had witnessed would rend my heart to pieces. I would not be able to breath, I’d suffocate under the weight of it. And I’d never be able to cope, never be able to go on, move forward....protect others.”
She gives me a watery smile, “Typical self-sacrificing Jedi...hell bent on saving the universe.”
I return the smile in kind, cupping her cheek. “I would have saved her if I could, my love. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I know...” she sighs, “I know, Luke.”
I kiss her forehead gently, and we sit for a time in front of the memorial stone. The skies begin to clear, and we can feel Ben approaching us solemnly. As quiet as a ghost, he glides like a mist across the meadow. He settles between us, and we all three embrace in the sea of flowers.
I can feel Mara’s trembling acceptance, as she tenderly holds our son....and softly she begins to breath again.
Rated: PG
A Luke/Mara Vignette on loss and letting go...
ALMOST A WHISPER
She is holding onto the smooth, gray stone of the monument, fingers digging into it as if by grasping hard enough she can somehow hold on to what she knows she must relinquish.
I can hear her whispering in the cool evening air, but her words are not meant for me. I stand uneasily beside her, an unexpected emotion for me. Perhaps it is because I rarely see her so broken, so distraught. She is strong, as her name implies...she is a fierce warrior and a challenging partner. Her temper can match the fiery colour of her hair, and she’s deadly with a lightsabre.
I’ve seen her take out her enemies with cool calculated precision, and I’ve seen her single-minded dedication to her training. I’ve seen her stand up to men twice her size and I’ve seen her go head to head with my sister. I’ve seen her dance gracefully on our terrace and I’ve seen her gently cradle our newborn son.
I’ve almost never see her cry.
Mara is quietly sobbing now...
I want to hold her, but I know that is not something she would welcome at this moment. Her knuckles are turning white from the death grip she has on the edges of the stone, and I fight the urge to pry them off and kiss them gently. She cries herself out, still unable to look at me. A ragged sigh leaves her, and a sense of tired resignation falls around her, like a soft shimmer silk mantle.
Finally, Mara turns her tear stained face up to mine and says the only thing she is able to. “Why?” she utters brokenly, “Why, Luke?”
I fight the urge to cry myself now. “I don’t know, love. I’m sorry....” I kneel now in the soft earth next to her. The warm scent of the newly turned dirt rises up to me, and mingles with the sweet fragrance of the mountain of flowers which surrounds us. So many blossoms from all over the galaxy have been sent....it is overwhelming. I feel almost as if I might drown in a cascade of wildflowers, or at least in the scent of them. I pick one up absently, twirling the stem in my fingers as I search for the right words to say.
But there are none, and we both know it.
The wind begins to stir, the skies are turning dark overhead....threatening rain. It is the warm wind of a summer storm, and it picks up Mara’s red-gold hair and tosses it over her shoulders, streaming behind her. Even in her deepest grief, she is ephemeral, incandescent.
“I wish I had all the answers, Mara, but I don’t. I wish I could answer your every prayer....but I can’t.” I reach out to touch her shoulders gently, and she leans in to my embrace. The dirt has stained the hem of her dove-gray tunic, and has clung to her hands. The same hands I’d had to pull away from the grave as she desperately and madly dug through the freshly turned earth. I’d had to drag her away....force her to leave the small plot until she calmed down. We’d walked then, for a time....Leia and Han watching a distance away, Ben with them. Only when I’d felt she had sense enough about her had I let Mara return to the little monument and the flowers. A small, gray ship adrift in the vast sea of blooms.
It has started to rain now. A gentle, soft rain. Not even enough to warrant pulling up the hood of my cloak. It falls around us, rolling across the field and surrounding our little memorial like a shimmering gray curtain. It adds a gravity to the surreal experience of burying our child. It adds a subtle grace to the scene. The rain alights on Mara’s hair, set upon it like a million glittering diamonds. It is heartrendingly beautiful.
She takes the flower from me, lying it across the top of the stone. She takes a moment, then says, “It seems harder, somehow.”
I am glad she is speaking to me, glad she sounds as if she is able to think coherently. So I ask, “What is that?”
She smiles sadly, then purses her lips. “This. This whole...situation. I know that for others, non-Jedi, when someone....” she cannot bring herself to say it, chokes on the word, then pushes through, “passes on...they don’t disappear, they remain.” Mara looks to me now, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Their loved ones have a ceremony, and they bury them.” She shakes her head. “But not Jedi....we don’t remain. We fade into the Force. There is no interment.” She reaches out to touch the stone. “Why didn’t she fade away, Luke? Why did she remain?”
I fold my hands quietly in my lap, musing over what to say. “I’m not sure, my love. I....I’ve maybe had more experience than most....with Obi-Wan and Yoda. With my Father. I can’t explain it, Mara. The information we’ve lost, with the Jedi purges....I’m still searching for the meaning of a lot of things. I’m sure we’ll find it, but.....I know that doesn’t help...now.”
She smiles again, and places a palm against my cheek. The faint scent earth and flowers is emanating from her skin. It is her silent thank you. She reaches for the ground in front of her, picking up a handful of soil and letting it run through her fingers. I could understand what she meant...how this was harder. When Vader died I’d taken his remains to Endor to cremate him. After the fire had burned out, with nothing left but ash, I’d felt a sense of peace. My emotional turmoil had been spent with the flames. It had been difficult to watch, true. Harder than seeing Obi-Wan or Yoda fade to nothingness. But this.....this was by far the most gut-wrenching thing I’d ever had to do. We were not even able to have her cremated, our little daughter. It seemed...harsh to have something so young and innocent consigned to the flames. So we’d picked out a small memorial stone, a peaceful patch of earth, and buried her.
Mara turns her face up toward the rain, breathing it in, like a balm for her soul. But I can feel her inner torment. From behind us, a distance off, the sound of Ben calling us reaches our ears. It is a beautiful sound, a song carried by the wind. He is only four, but seems grown beyond his years. Through all of this ordeal our son has been patient and reserved. He has observed the swirling emotional whirlwind of the past week with a depth of understanding which would shame most adults. He is our hope, he is our future. He is what we must cling to now.
“Don’t give up, Mara....please don’t.” I am pleading with her...she is just a breath away from falling apart again and I fear she may not recover. “You have to believe...”
She stops me, “In what, Luke?” Running her hand down the stone again, she mutters, “in what?”
I sigh and cast my gaze to the earth. Looking back up, I catch her gaze and turn my head slightly toward our son...toward Ben. “In us, Mara.” I take her hand. “You have to believe that we can go on. We have to move toward hope, now.”
She gives a bitter laugh, shaking her head slowly. “After all we’ve been through, another pregnancy which we never thought would happen....having her, a daughter...” she gestures toward the marker with her chin, “I had believed in hope.” She turns her head away, looking off into the centre of the storm. “Now...I’ve given that up.” Mara was always the cynical one, although after we were married and especially after Ben came along, she became more open, more forgiving. But now I can see her slipping back into the hard shell she broke out of all those years ago.
And I am desperately searching for a way to bring her back from the brink.
I run a hand through her hair, slightly damp from the soft rain. “Mara, I know you may not want to hear this.....but...maybe this was meant to be.” She looks to me sharply, hurt more than anger flashing through her pained eyes. “Everything happens for a reason, my love. The will of the Force.”
“You can’t believe that, Luke, you can’t. How can you?” she whispers brokenly.
“I have to, Mara. I must. Not just because of this.” I pull her to me. “Because of everything. War, suffering, pain, death....all that we’ve been through. I have to believe it has happened for a reason. Some sort of greater picture I’m a part of. If I don’t, I can’t go on. It would be to painful.”
She snuffles quietly into my chest. “More painful than this?”
I nod against her hair. “Yes, even more painful than just losing her. Every terrible, senseless thing that I’d ever had witnessed would rend my heart to pieces. I would not be able to breath, I’d suffocate under the weight of it. And I’d never be able to cope, never be able to go on, move forward....protect others.”
She gives me a watery smile, “Typical self-sacrificing Jedi...hell bent on saving the universe.”
I return the smile in kind, cupping her cheek. “I would have saved her if I could, my love. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I know...” she sighs, “I know, Luke.”
I kiss her forehead gently, and we sit for a time in front of the memorial stone. The skies begin to clear, and we can feel Ben approaching us solemnly. As quiet as a ghost, he glides like a mist across the meadow. He settles between us, and we all three embrace in the sea of flowers.
I can feel Mara’s trembling acceptance, as she tenderly holds our son....and softly she begins to breath again.