A Parody of Manners, 9/? PG-13: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Palpatine, Padmé, Bail Organa, others
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This travesty story is purely a work of fan fiction, and I am not making any profit from it.
Chapter title from Matchbox Twenty's "Bed of Lies."
A PARODY OF MANNERS
~ CHAPTER NINE ~
and they're only a whisper away
Padmé led the way to a little cabin, just upstream: it was supposed to have been a fishing lodge, some years ago, but for as long as Padmé could remember it had served as a bath house for visitors to the gentle river.
“We keep it stocked with spare robes and linens,” she explained, wandering into the darkness beyond the door. “In case of ... well, probably not exactly such a case as tis, but some sot of emergency, anyway. It’s not hooked into the power system, but we have some oil-burning lamps. I used to think they were very exotic.”
Ryn snorted, peering around the dim interior. “Oil lamps,” she repeated softly, shaking her head. “We don’t have power generators on Loreth. Not many oil lamps, either.” She surveyed the gloom with a thoughtful expression, her mouth twisting in rueful amusement. “I ought to feel right at home.”
She knew from Anakin that his Lorethan friend was younger than either of them - younger even than Padmé had been when she served her first term in the Senate, just a kid in a lot of ways. But not for the first time, Padmé was conscious of an odd dissonance between Ryn’s manner and her young face: she had the strange sense of standing in front of a being of timeless certainty, unknown but oddly compelling.
Unnerved, she shook off her fancies and said, “I hope you will make yourselves at home.”
Orn Free Taa murmured the requisite polite nothings; Ryn, proceeding deeper into the cabin, just glanced back over her shoulder and favored Padmé with an exquisitely wry grin, clearly amused at her hostess’s expense, only too aware that Padmé could cheerfully have wished her to the ends of the galaxy.
Under other circumstances, Padmé thought she might have taken the brief glimpse of humor in a comradely spirit; afraid for Anakin’s secret as well as her own, she could only seethe inwardly and wish she had not yielded to Palpatine’s subtle hints that a house party in such "genteel company" might be the very thing to civilize the Jedi’s dangerously wild pet barbarian.
“I am afraid Miss Orun’s ... unconventional ... upbringing reflects badly on the Jedi Order,” the Supreme Chancellor had admitted reluctantly. “As capable a fighter as she is - and certainly no one could doubt her courage - her lamentable lack of discretion - lack of breeding, one might almost say - is continually drawing unfavorable attention. It troubles me, too, that her name is so often coupled with young Anakin’s. They are such close friends, you know - and it’s not as if I can tell him to choose between her and me!” He had shaken his head, never noticing the impact his words were having on his visitor. “If only the girl - I hesitate to call her a lady - would acquire some polish. A little time to mix with genteel company might prove ... instructive.”
That had been weeks ago, but then Sola had begun planning her house party, and Ryn’s name had come up again ...
Padmé had had every intention of setting her up with an eligible young man during her tenure on Naboo. She was beautiful enough to satisfy the most discriminating eye, and Padmé had acquired enough urban polish herself (all before Anakin, of course) to know that some men would find Orun’s blatant sensuality more exotic than vulgar, at least in the short-term. And it could only do everyone good to distract her from pining after Anakin.
But Ryn had paid no attention to the carefully-chosen selection of aides and secretaries and minor commerce heirs. She had been politely unencouraging to all their advances, breezing right past them only to fling herself headlong into the arms of corrupt Senator Orn Free Taa, whom she was even now cajoling to sport a decidedly inadequate bathrobe in place of his own soaked garments.
“That won’t cover half my goods, Sweet,” Taa protested, pretty accurately.
Ryn tossed him a mischievous wink. “Afraid the temptation will prove too much for me, Senator?”
Ryn was clearly prepared to outface the scandal with him - an impulse that would have done her credit if it had been a little less outrageously inappropriate - but Padmé cleared her throat. “I may be able to help,” she said, and managed not to wince when Orun and Taa turned to gape at her with twin expressions of incredulity. “Have you found any pins?”
In the end her experience as one of her own handmaidens stood them all in good stead, and she proved herself to have more practical skills than either of her companions had evidently expected. Padmé was able to hash together an arrangement involving two robes and a towel that covered all the pertinent body parts and looked at least recognizable as clothing.
“Delightful!” Ryn assured Taa, looking him over. Her smile conveyed more determination than conviction, but it was dazzling nonetheless. (Padmé reflected, rather bitterly, that Ryn would probably be dazzling in sackcloth and industrial waste.) “Senator Amidala, your talents are quite wasted in the Senate!” She said it with a pretty fair imitation of the upper-class drawl affected by Sola and her peers in public, accompanied by an exaggerated bat of her already extravagant lashes, and Padmé hardly knew whether to laugh or take offense. But then she saw Orn Free Taa’s shoulder’s ease as he wheezed a chuckle, and she realized that this display of drollery was not meant for her at all.
She told herself that this was for the best, but her jaw was beginning to ache from clenching.
: : :
Anakin stuck his head in as they were preparing to leave, with the information that the entire walking-party had decided that the best course would be to head back to the lakehouse and take stock of their situation, and consequently they would have plenty of company on the trip back.
“You want me to hang back with Obi-Wan and help scout?” Ryn asked, evidently reading between the lines of Anakin’s statement as she smoothed Orn Free Taa’s sash into place.
Anakin frowned at her. “You’re not feeling well,” he said disapprovingly. “I’m not sure -”
“No, but I am,” Ryn answered pertly. “I’m a good scout - better than you, maybe. And I’m feeling better since I threw up.”
Anakin looked doubtful; Ryn waited. “One of us should remain with the Senator,” he said finally.
“So trade places with me,” Ryn said. “It’ll give you a chance to catch up with Senator Amidala, anyway - and you’re the more experienced bodyguard.”
Anakin shot Padmé a grin that weakened her knees. “Yeah, look how that turned out last time.”
Ryn snorted laughter, not nearly as reserved with Anakin as she had been with Padmé and Taa. “Try not to rush into the middle of a galactic crisis this time,” she warned him. “I would hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Slow learner,” Anakin drawled in answer, and the look they shared then was so full of warmth and friendship and history that for a sharp, bleeding second all Padmé wanted to do was cry. She had faith in Anakin ... but how could she possibly compete with years of intimacy, a shared loyalty forged in a past Padmé had never even known?
“I’ll see you back at the big house,” Ryn said, as though this were some sort of ranch. “Be careful, okay? We’ve got one man down, probably a spy, and definitely an assassin on the loose. Don’t do anything reckless.”
Padmé thought Ryn was probably wasting her breath, but she forebore to say so, afraid her voice would betray the intensity of her interest. Orn Free Taa was under no such compunction: “Hero With No Fear,” he reminded Ryn helpfully.
“He can borrow some of mine,” Ryn retorted, clearly unimpressed. “I mean it, Anakin. This is a house party, not a podracing circuit. Behave yourself.” She made two swift, curt bows. “Senator, Senator.” And then she was gone, leaving Padmé alone with the man she loved and a very unwelcome chaperone, whose faint wheezing punctuated the romantic meeting.
: : :
Obi-Wan glanced up in some surprise at Ryn’s approach. “I thought you were staying with Padmé and Senator Orn Free Taa?”
“I traded places with Anakin,” Ryn said, briskly unrepentant. “I thought I might be of more use to you, if you plan to search the area.”
Or you thought Anakin would be happier with Padmé. Obi-Wan didn’t like suspecting Ryn of subterfuge, but he knew all too well that there was precious little she wouldn’t do for Anakin. “Did you see the trajectory of the weapon?”
Ryn shook her head. “I didn’t even hear it hit. Which suggests low-powered projectile weaponry, by the way.”
“Agreed,” said Obi-Wan. “But a direction would be helpful.”
“Excuse me,” said Bail Organa at his shoulder, glancing from him to Ryn and back again with growing tension, “but don’t you think you should report this to the authorities?”
Obi-Wan regarded him with a lifted eyebrow. “You mean like the Jedi and the leader of the Senate?”
“I mean,” said Bail with exaggerated patience, “that perhaps it would be unwise for us to sit here with an assassin in our midst while no one outside the Lake Country has the slightest idea what is going on. Especially when the Supreme Chancellor’s safety is at stake!”
Obi-Wan smoothed a hand down his beard, preparing to give Organa the reassurances he needed, but Ryn distracted him by saying, “Two.”
Organa blinked at her. “I ... sorry?”
“Two assassins,” Ryn elaborated. “Beiy’ssa and whoever killed her. Unless the lab test on that drink comes back harmless, in which case she’s off the hook.” She glanced at the body, her mouth twisting. “For all the good it does her.”
Not very likely, Obi-Wan thought. If the drink had been harmless, there was no reason to kill Beiy’ssa. Far more likely that she - like Zam Wessel - had been killed to ensure silence.
Bail was looking startled - probably not so much by what was said as by who had said it. He seemed to regard Ryn in the light of a precocious child - a prodigy, even - but at barely seventeen not a force to be reckoned with, except in the fierce edge of her own animal energy.
Obi-Wan, familiar with Padawans rather than generic childhood, found her judgments less hard to accept. “You’re probably right,” he agreed mildly. “But that brings us no closer to finding the shooter.”
Ryn was frowning. “That might depend on whether the shooter is one of us, or followed us here.”
“One of us?” Bail repeated. “Surely you don’t think -”
“If Beiy’ssa could do it, so could someone else,” Obi-Wan interrupted quietly.
“Or someone could have trailed us here,” Ryn pointed out. “It’s not like this party was a secret. This isn’t the best country I’ve ever seen for shadow-work, but it could be done.”
“Shadow-work?” said Organa.
“An umbrella term that covers reconnaissance, sniping, and other clandestine activities of a martial nature,” Obi-Wan answered for her. “But if our assassin has the means of travel ...”
“It’d still have to park somewhere,” Ryn said - forgetting, as usual, that Basic did not allow neuter gender for animate nouns. “Even with repulsors, there’d be sign.”
“If it wasn’t touching the ground,” Bail began, “then how - ?”
“Footprints, probably; it’s hard to shoot from a repulsor seat in hover mode.” Well, Ryn would know. “Fucks with your aim. Might be oil drips or lubricant, too.”
“Very few engines are perfectly sealed,” Obi-Wan explained, while Bail tried to recover from Ryn’s uncertain grammar and colorful vocabulary. “The most important thing you can do right now, Bail, is help maintain calm amongst your peers. I’m afraid Sola and Padmé are going to have their hands full.”
“Taa was pretty nervous,” Ryn added, her eyes shading with genuine concern. “I tried to settle him down some, but I am not ... soothing.”
“About as much as a wild gundark,” Obi-Wan agreed placidly, startling her into laugher, which only exacerbated Organa’s bemusement. "Take the South?"
“Meet back here,” Ryn answered, already jogging off to do the scouting for which she’d been trained.
: : :
But seven hours later, after a fairly exhaustive search of the area, they had still found nothing. Ryn came dragging into sight again looking ashen with a deeper weariness than could be explained by the rigors of their search.
“I’ve combed every inch - sorry; every centimeter - of ground in range of where Beiy’ssa fell,” she said, dragging the back of one hand across her dripping forehead. “There’s just nowhere a shooter could have lain up that we wouldn’t have seen. This rolling ground cuts your line of sight in a hurry.”
Obi-Wan had come to the same conclusion himself, so he just nodded. “Then the shooter is one of the guests at the party.”
“In attendance, anyway.”
There was nothing he could do about that right now, so Obi-Wan turned his attention to a critical survey of his companion. “You look tired, Ryn.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“You’re worried about Anakin.”
That brought a sob of startled, broken laughter, as Ryn ground the heels of her palms against her closed eyelids. “I’m worried about myself.”
Obi-Wan folded his arms so he couldn’t reach out and touch her. Attachment. “Anakin is a Jedi,” he reminded her gently. “You knew what that meant. Or ... is it seeing him here, near Padmé?” So very careful with his prepositions: near, not with, the precarious balance between sorrow and disaster.
“It’s ... everything, Obi-Wan.” Ryn lowered her hands and tried out a rueful smile. “I know you’re worried about keeping Anakin on the Jedi path. But I have the luxury of being just his friend. I can just want him to be happy.”
It was rare for Ryn to speak openly of her uncertainties with the Jedi Code - to him, anyway. Even knowing how she felt, Obi-Wan wasn’t quite prepared for the impact of her words. He took an involuntary step backward, staring at her. “You think I don’t want Anakin to be happy?” he challenged her, hearing the shock imperfectly muffled in his own voice.
Ryn’s green eyes were clear and unwavering on his, her gaze level and painfully sharp. “I think you want him to be a Jedi more.” And before he could recover from that, she hit him with another volley: “You’ve said as much yourself, haven’t you? Asking him to give up love to lead the life of an ascetic? What could possibly make you imagine that would make Anakin happy?”
She didn’t even sound bitter about it. Just resigned: full of a weary incredulity, past the hope for change.
“Anakin chose the life of a Jedi,” Obi-Wan reminded her, suppressing a quiver of nerves and temper.
“When he was nine years old, and the only Jedi he had ever met was Qui-Gon Jinn,” Ryn answered bitingly. “That’s like asking a nine-year-old if they’d like to get married. There’s a reason why most societies have things like the age of consent, Obi-Wan. And the Jedi circumvent them by getting permission from their parents instead.” Obi-Wan couldn’t decide if she was mixing her pronouns willfully or if her Basic was just breaking down under stress. “When anybody else does that, it’s called infant enslavement, and it’s only legal on places like Tatooine.”
His ears were ringing as though she’d slapped him. “If that is what you think of us, then -”
“The Jedi are better than the alternative,” Ryn cut in, her voice sharp with misery. “Better than nothing, against the storm that is coming.” Here she was, talking about extra-galactic monsters again. Any minute now she would start in on the Soulless, whatever they were supposed to be. “That doesn’t mean I have to support Jedi policy uncritically - and neither should you.”
Instead of giving him further dire warnings, the young Lorethan turned on her heel and marched away, and not until she was almost out of speaking distance did it occur to Obi-Wan to wonder whether she had turned the argument away from Anakin, and her own troubled feelings, on purpose.
He would have asked her, but then the Force surged a warning and he hit the ground as a blaster bolt singed the air overhead, and that was very distracting.
“Ryn! GET DOWN!!!”
: : :
Padmé, meanwhile, was caught between joy and agony, flirting covertly with her husband under a few dozen pairs of watchful eyes. They were sticking close to Orn Free Taa, since he had been - according to Ryn, anyway - the first target; but this was proving something of a diplomatic challenge, as Anakin’s patience with Taa’s licentiousness and cowardice was limited. It was evident - to Padmé, at least - that the young Jedi could not understand why he might be worth killing any more than he had understood his best friend’s willingness to sleep with the Twi’lek Senator. (She’s a slut was Padmé’s preferred explanation, but she doubted Anakin would welcome that theory.)
“A little slower, Master Skywalker, if you please,” Taa panted now. “I am ... not what I used to be, you know.”
Anakin stopped and waited impatiently for Taa to catch up - not that he fidgeted, or even frowned, but he radiated the tenseness of barely leashed energy, straining at some unseen bridle like a half-tamed nexu.
The thought was inappropriately stirring, and Padmé could feel her cheeks heating even as she watched him. Then Anakin caught her staring and cast her a quizzical look - failing, as usual, to even consider that someone might be impressed with him for reasons that had nothing to do with his prowess in the Force. (Probably this was why he had tried to attract her by floating fruit.) Padmé’s face grew even warmer as she blushed under her husband’s unsuspecting gaze.
Taa eyed her with considerably more acuity, his perception not clouded by Anakin’s belief in his wife’s absolute purity. “Hmp!” he said; but to Padmé’s intense relief he did not elaborate, and kept his observations to himself.
Thank the Force for small favors, she thought, and stepped in to smooth the latest ruffled feathers.
: : :
Sola bustled into the lakehouse, already giving orders for a room to be cleared for the Jedi’s use in sequestering suspects, and only belatedly noticed a newcomer in the entrance hall: a slenderly-built man a little older than Padmé, with dark, curly hair and ...
“Palo!” she gasped, her face suddenly on fire. I didn't even warn Padmé he was coming … “Mom said ... I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow!”
Palo turned red in his turn. “I am sorry, Ms. Naberrie. If if’s not a convenient time, I can -”
“No, no!” Sola exclaimed, catching his arm as she grasped after her wits. Damn it, damn it, damn it … And then she looked at Padmé, staring at her beautiful, unattainable Jedi boy, who was watching Palo with deep suspicion … and she found herself, for the first time she could remember, taking her mother's side. “Of course you must stay here - it’s not inconvenient at all! Only we had a bit of excitement this morning, and ... but I’m sure Padmé can tell you all about it!” She thrust him at her sister, ignoring the younger Naberrie’s look of startled betrayal. “Tekla!” she called, gathering her skirts for a hasty climb up the stairs. “Prepare another room ... Tekla!”