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25 April 2010 @ 03:10 am
Fic: ‘rumination and memories: Padmé.’  
Title: rumination and memories: Padmé.
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: (G)
Time Period: tPM: after Qui-Gonn’s funeral.
Summary: A newly-knighted Jedi meets a young Queen by happenstance.

Author's Note: Part II of VI.

All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Lucas; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by him.


Love is universal and encompasses many relationships. It is indefinable and yet it is something we seek to define, to categorise, in order to understand a fundamental aspect of our lives as sentient beings. It is indescribable but so easily described. It is a flame; it burns us with its passion and consumes us in heart and spirit.
Padmé Amidala

Wrapped in a soft robe, I stand on the bridge between the Funeral Temple and the Livet Tower; the cool air lightly brushes my skin. I watch the water below, my hands around a cup I snuck out of the palace; its tassels tickle my hands. In the distance, fireworks burst into the velveteen night and I smile as the coloured stars fade. A quiet breeze stirs tendrils of brown hair escaping the braided loops; it makes me acutely aware of my bareness. I am myself on this bridge and do not represent my village or my people.

“You should be with your people,” a voice quietly informs.

“I am precisely where I wish to be.” I glance over my shoulder to the approaching shadow; he keeps to the dark, away from the flickering light of the flame from the Tower. “Are you?”

“I am.” He stands beside me, arms folded and hands hidden within his robe. He looks to me, blue eyes searching my face for any clue. “Why are you here, Your Highness?”

“I must admit surprise you know who I am,” I smile though traces of regal tone seep into my words; my hands tighten around the cup.

“You feel the same as you did when unmasking yourself to the Gungans.”

I cannot help but look at him then, to see where he’s standing when he spoke. I chuckle softly at myself. “Through the Force,” I finish.

“Through the Force,” he affirms. “Why are you here, Your Highness?”

“To remember and to honour,” I reply simply. Our voices are hushed but they disturb the night’s stillness which makes them louder than they are.

“Why have you come?” He asks. “He was not of your people.”

Whether he will admit it or not, his mask of Jedi serenity is cracked. “To remember and to honour,” I gently repeat. “He was not of my people but, with you, he saved us.”

“You saved your people. We simply fought an unknown assailant.”

Without a word, recognising that words would not work, I reach over and rest a hand on one of his arms. My gaze meets his and I bring the cup upward, enough so he can see what it is. “This is a memorial cup,” the light from the Tower catches the silver chasing and it catches alight in our world of dusk and shadows, “made from the tusk of a tusk-cat when it died.

“It was a tusk-cat who served Naboo loyally and well.” Amazingly, my voice remains even. “It deserves to be given back to the planet, to honours its life and to honour your Master.”

“Thank you.” He turns his attention to the side of the bridge and then looks to the waters of the Solleu below.

I withdraw one of his hands from the sleeves of his robe and press the cup into it. My hands close around his and I study his face. He clings to his mask and I know in that moment that I will not force it away; he is a Jedi and it is what he knows. Who am I to take that away from him? “Cast it into the river,” I instruct. “Let the waters carry it away to become part of Naboo.” I let go of his hand and step away, to witness.

He stands, indecision written in his shoulders. I place a hand on his shoulder and peer into his face; he is struggling. “I cannot,” he finally admits.

“You cannot cast the cup into the waters?” I ask, pulling the red robe around me closer.

“This is not the Jedi way,” he turns to face. “This is not my way.”

“It is the way of the Naboo,” I reply, lifting my chin a little; it looks regal but, in reality, it lets me meet his gaze. “Your Master died on this planet.”

“We followed your customs for his funeral.”

My mind races quickly. My hands clasp his. “Honour your Master with me,” I invite. “It is my way and we will honour his life once more, for a final time, privately.”

It is a statement with which he finds no argument and he knows that, were he to refuse, he would risk insulting the monarch of the Naboo. I have put him in an impossible place but it is one that will give him what I feel he needs. I do not know the ways of the Jedi; I know only the ways of my planet. I silently pray there has been no insult to the Jedi Order; I only want to give a person a way to grieve, privately.

He nods once and I keep holding the breath I am, unknowingly, holding. He lowers his hands over the side of the bridge and lets the cup fall. A distant splash is heard when it meets the water. Unless it dropped straight to the bottom of the Solleu, it will be carried to the waterfall near the Temple and be lost.

“Thank you, your Highness.”

I smile, very slightly, and nod. “You are welcome, Jedi Kenobi.” I curtsey and when I straighten, I tug my robe back onto my shoulders. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you, your Highness.”
Armchair DM: Carson: No no no AIEEE!!armchairdm on April 26th, 2010 05:50 am (UTC)
That's what I think about being a Jedi would be the hardest - not no love/relationships etc - but that grief is frowned upon.
F. J.: Lanterns: Warmmorethanacandle on April 26th, 2010 12:33 pm (UTC)
That's what I think about being a Jedi would be the hardest - not no love/relationships etc - but that grief is frowned upon.
I think it would be as well which was why, when this idea occurred, I was happy because Padmé would be able to give him a ‘way around’ that.
Angel... Dark Wings Descending...angel_in_tears on April 26th, 2010 11:08 am (UTC)
I second armchairdm's comment about the fact that dealing with grief would be the hardest for a Jedi.

I like how Padme draws him out of that shell, and gets him to participate in her custom.
F. J.: Lantern & Candles: Warmmorethanacandle on April 26th, 2010 12:37 pm (UTC)
I like how Padme draws him out of that shell, and gets him to participate in her custom.
I agree with armchairdm regarding Jedi and death which was why I was really glad when this idea came along as a way for Padmé to draw him out of the shell, admit (even if only to himself) that he is grieving and gives him a way to express it.
"MJ": Stock: Reading in the grasslondongirl27 on May 4th, 2010 10:44 pm (UTC)
I could definitely see young Obi-wan behaving this way after Qui-Gon's funeral. It felt very natural and in line with Padme's character to have her reach out to him in this manner. Not too little or too much. Very nice work. :)
F. J.: Golden Candlesmorethanacandle on May 5th, 2010 01:46 pm (UTC)
Thank you; I wasn't certain if this worked, even after the above comments from armchairdm and angel_in_tears. Most fiction, when dealing with the aftermath of the funeral, usually set it in the Theed palace (its gardens or within the palace itself; I've done that) so I was very nervous about this part of the story.