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Author	Topic: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance, Drama. Now COMPLETE! 9-28
Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 2/21/06 11:25am Subject: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance, Drama. Now COMPLETE! 9-28 - Date Edited: 9/28/06 10:50am (17 edits total) Edited By: Elana
	Title: The Slumbering Princess Author: Elana Characters: Shmi, Anakin, OC's Timeframe: Pre-TPM Genre: Romance, Drama Summary: Difficult questions from Anakin and an old fairy tale lead Shmi to remember the joys and sorrows of her past, and the circumstances surrounding Anakin's conception and birth. Notes: This was inspired by a line in my story "From My Point of View...", but it stands alone; you don't have to have read that one to understand this. I'll do my best to post at least every 2 weeks to a month. I anticipate about 5-6 posts total, but the story keeps growing as I write it, so no guarantees. The Slumbering Princess “My father was a navigator on a spice freighter, and Mom says he promised that someday when he saves up enough money he’s going to come back and buy us both and take us back to Corellia with him.” The younger slave children gathered around Peyna murmured in awed envy, but the older ones snickered scornfully. “Yeah, right.” Seek threw a handful of sand at her, which she ducked with the quick reflex of one used to dodging blows. “Like that’s ever going to happen.” “He will! He promised.” But Peyna had been disappointed by far too many broken promises for her voice to hold much conviction. She turned to the boy sprawled beside her in the little clear area behind the slave hovels where the group of children had gathered in the precious few minutes of free time between the end of the work day and suns-set. “What about you, Anakin? Did your mother ever tell you who your father was?” Anakin shrugged. “Oh, I didn’t have a father.” Seek laughed. “Of course you did. What, does your mother not know who he was? Or which one?” He snickered, elbowing the boy next to him, who joined his taunting laughter. Anakin abandoned the pile of sand he had been idly shaping into a pod race arena. “No, I never had one at all.” He met the mocking stares of the older children, bewildered. “What’s so weird about that? Lots of kids don’t have fathers.” He turned to his best friend for support. “You don’t have a father, right Kitster?” Kitster squirmed. “Well, not anymore. But… yeah, I used to.” Seek shook his head in disgust at the younger children’s ignorance. “Everybody had to have a father. That’s how babies get made in the first place.” Shella, a Twi’lek a year or two older than Seek, spoke up. “Not Amebans. They don’t even have babies; they just split in half.” “Well, okay, not them,” Seek admitted. “But most species kids have to have a mother and a father. Twi’lek’s do, right?” She nodded. “What about Rodians, Wald?” Wald wasn’t a slave, but he often hung out with the slave children. “Yes, mother and father both.” The children nodded sagely, and a bit enviously. He was one of the few of them that actually lived with both of his parents. “See? Most species. And definitely humans.” Anakin shook his head stubbornly. “Not me.” Seek peered at him. “You really don’t know, do you?” “Know what?” Anakin was starting to feel defensive, but at the same time inquisitive. “About men, and women, and how babies get made…” Anakin’s expression remained blank, although his face was starting to burn with embarrassment that there was apparently some highly interesting and important bit of information he was ignorant of. At least a few of the other younger children also looked baffled. “About sex, dummy!” Sure his cheeks were flaming as bright as Sebulba’s racing silks, Anakin shook his head. “No,” he mumbled. But intense curiosity overpowered shame at his ignorance “Tell me.” Seek and the other older children tittered and drew into a closer huddle around Anakin. “You’ve seen men and women kissing, right?” “Yes, of course, but what’s that got to do-” “Well, sometimes after they kiss, they do other stuff…” Seek, with many interruptions and additions from the other children, proceeded to give Anakin a thorough and – although crude and embellished – reasonably accurate account of the biological facts of reproduction. Anakin listened, fascinated and disgusted by turns. When finally they fell silent, he ventured, “You’re sure that’s the only way…” “Absolutely.” Seek nodded emphatically. “Well, except for clones. You’re not a clone, are you Ani?” “I don’t think so…” Kitster spoke up. “He can’t be a clone of his mother, or he’d be a girl. So even if he were a clone, he’d have to have a clone-father.” Anakin shook his head, bemused. He struggled to reorder his understanding of the universe around this new knowledge. “So my mother must have… done that. With someone.” “She might not have wanted to.” They all turned to Peyna, who’d remained quiet for a while. “You remember Nainee?” Anakin nodded. Nainee had been an older girl, another of Gardulla the Hutt’s slaves, like Peyna. She’d been sold and taken away from Mos Espa a couple years before. “A man paid Gardulla a lot of money so he could do that with Nainee. She wouldn’t stop crying afterwards. Then he talked Gardulla into letting him buy her and took her away with him.” Anakin stared at her in horror. Then he ducked his head and bit his lip, his hands clenching to fists in his lap. If anyone had dared do that to his mother… Even Seek was subdued after Peyna’s story. None of them could quite look at each other any more, so great relief greeted the first call in to dinner. The children quickly scattered to their various homes. Shmi could tell Anakin was troubled as soon as he dragged his feet through the door, in marked contrast to his usual bounding rush. He ate hungrily, for food was scarce and he never got quite enough to satisfy the needs of his growing body, but his normal enthusiasm was missing. She waited patiently, for she knew eventually he would spill his concerns to her. He remained silent as she cleared away the dishes and brought out the mula fruit she had been saving for a special treat. The fruit was small, not even as large as her fist, and slightly shriveled, but still sweet. She turned her half on her plate, hiding the place where she had pared away the patch of mold that had allowed her to bargain the price down to the merely extravagant. Anakin smiled as she set his half before him, and ate it with something more like his usual enjoyment. Reluctantly he savored the last small bite, and then set his fork down with a sigh. He turned to her with worried eyes. “Mom…” “Yes, Anakin?” “After work today, some of the kids were saying… I mean, they were talking about… about… fathers.” He said the word in a rush. Shmi froze, understanding smile fixed on her face. She had known this day must come, eventually. Sooner or later Anakin would start to ask questions. All children did. And all parents struggled to find the right answers. But Shmi’s task was much more difficult than most parents’. She swallowed, steeled herself, then sat down beside him and nodded her encouragement. “And when I told them I didn’t have one, they said I had to, and they told me…” He poured out the shocking revelation to her, flushed with embarrassment, comforted that she neither withdrew in horror nor laughed. “Is it true, Mom? Is that where babies come from?” She sighed. If only it could be that simple for her. But she smiled reassuringly. “Yes, Ani, it’s true.” His eyes dropped. “And Peyna said…” His voice fell to a whisper. “…sometimes girls don’t want to, but men make them… Is that true too?” Shmi would not lie to her son, though her heart ached that he must confront the ugly truths of the universe so young. “Yes, Anakin, it is.” She hastened to add, “But when both people want to, when they love each other, it can be very beautiful, Anakin. It is a wonderful thing, to share your body with someone you love, to conceive a child together.” He looked up hopefully. “So did… did you… I mean, who…?” He blushed and looked down again. She found, much as she wanted to be honest with him, that she could not explain, not when she didn’t truly understand herself. She stared down at his tousled blonde hair. For a long moment there was silence. Anakin squirmed, embarrassed, and twisted toward his sleeping chamber. “Never mind, Mom. I shouldn’t have asked.” Shmi caught his chin in her hand and turned his face up to hers. She gazed into his bright blue eyes, so different from her brown ones. “Anakin. It’s all right.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted a child to love, Anakin, and you came to me. Does anything else really matter?” The intensity of the love and trust shining up at her from those eyes dazzled her. He shook his head, mutely, and she allowed him to slip away to his room. Later, after he’d tinkered for a while with his latest project, he readied himself for sleep and crawled under his covers. She came and sat on the edge of his bed, brushing the tousled hair out of his eyes. For many years this had been their nightly ritual, but lately he’d protested he was old enough to go to bed on his own. It had been a while since she’d had the pleasure of watching his tired body relax into sleep. But tonight they both felt he needed her presence. “Would you like me to tell you a story?” He loved to listen to her stories. She would weave fantastic tales for him, of times long ago and places far away, to free his imagination, at least, from the dreary bonds of reality. She drew on her memories of the traditional tales her own mother had told her, passed down for generations, freely adding to or altering the stories as her mood dictated. “Yes, please.” He snuggled closer to her. “Let’s see…” One of the old folk tales leapt into her mind. “I don’t think I’ve told you this one before. This is the story of the Slumbering Princess.” Her voice took on a dreamy, singsong quality. “Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, before the Republic or even space travel, on some world like Alderaan or Naboo where they still had kings and queens, a royal princess was born. The King and Queen were overjoyed, and decided to throw a grand festival for her naming ceremony. All the most important people in the country were invited. Many powerful good fairies lived in that country, and the King and Queen invited them all. But one, terrible, evil fairy also lived there, and the King and Queen chose not to invite her, because they feared her, and did not want her evil presence to cast a shadow on the festivities. “The day of the festival arrived, and all was grand and glorious. One by one all the visiting dignitaries came forward and presented their gifts to the infant princess, gold and jewels and other treasures. Then each of the fairies came forward with magical gifts. They endowed the princess with beauty and grace, a quick mind and a strong body, talent and good fortune in whatever task she set her hand to. And all the people rejoiced that their kingdom was blessed with the extraordinary person the Princess would grow up to be. “But near the end of the ceremony, when almost all the gifts had been presented, a shadow fell across the assembled company, and a chill of foreboding touched every heart. Into the hall strode the evil fairy, terrible to behold, tall and deadly, robed and hooded in black. She climbed the steps to the dais, and glowered down at the Princess where she lay in her cradle. Then she fixed her stare on the King and Queen and spoke. “‘You did not see fit to invite me to your celebration – ‘ “‘We forgot,’ stammered the King. ‘It was a terrible oversight. We are sorry…’ “‘But I have come anyway,’ she continued, ignoring him. ‘I, too, have a gift to give your daughter.’ She turned back to the baby, who had begun to cry. ‘Truly as she grows she will display all the gifts she has been given, and will be lovely, and talented, and strong. And so she will come to womanhood. But on the day before her first child is to be born, she will burn her finger in a candle flame – and die.” “With this she whirled her cloak about herself and vanished. The Queen snatched the child from her cradle and held her close. The King called for his guards to come and seize the evil fairy, but it was too late. She was gone. There was a great uproar and clamor, as all present exclaimed over the evil fairy’s curse. “Then, among the chaos, the last good fairy, the only one who had not yet presented her gift, stepped forward. She was very old, and very powerful, and very wise. She took the Princess in her arms, and the child quieted at her touch. She studied the girl’s face, and a hush fell over the crowd as they waited to hear what she would say. “Finally she looked up and addressed the King and Queen. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I cannot undo what has been done…’” Shmi’s voice faltered, and the rhythm of the tale was lost as the words she spoke burned on her tongue. She fell silent. Anakin looked up at her curiously. When the silence had lasted a long moment, he spoke. “Then what happened, Mom?” But Shmi did not hear him, for she was too deeply lost in her own thoughts. She understood, now, why she had chosen this story to tell tonight. She sat beside her son, and she remembered… Shmi’s hand shook with weariness as she ladled the thick stew from the enormous cauldron. Beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks as she retreated from the heating unit toward the counter where the long line of her fellow slaves waited to be served their one substantial meal of the day. She made her fingers, stained purple from the long morning of peeling tubers and knuckles scraped from the long afternoon of grating roots, clutch the hot bowl tightly, for the head cook had threatened her with dire punishments if so much as one drop of stew spilled and was wasted. She believed him, for Jabba the Hutt’s compound was notorious among slaves for the capricious brutality of its discipline. Three days ago, when she learned she’d been sold to Jabba, she had barely been able to contain her horror. Her last owner was not the kindest she’d ever had, but he was tolerable, and now, after her first day laboring in Jabba’s slave kitchen, her previous life seemed almost luxurious by comparison. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she longed to devour the stew she carried, though it was dull grayish-brown in color and lacked any spices or flavorings to enliven its bland nutrition. But the drudges of the slave kitchen, lowest ranking in the hierarchy of the compound, were not allowed to eat until all the other slaves had been served. The head cook glowered at her to hurry, so she quickened her steps as much as she could while still keeping them smooth enough that the stew did not slop. At the head of the line a tall blond man waited, chatting and laughing with the group clustered behind him. As she reached across the counter to hand the bowl to him, he glanced over at her and smiled. She caught her breath, dazzled by the light in his grey-green eyes, washed by the warmth in his flashing grin. As his fingers, reaching out to take the bowl, brushed hers, she snatched her hands back, releasing the bowl before he had a good grip on it. It tilted and crashed to the ground, and she stared down in horror at the spreading puddle of stew. He bent to pick up the bowl an instant before she did. He winked at her, jerking his head to where the head cook was approaching, hand going to the short whip at his belt. Straightening he grinned and shook his head in bemusement. “Well, I’m just a clumsy bantha today, aren’t I?” He pressed the empty bowl into the head cook’s hands. “I’m so sorry. That was all my fault. Let me help clean it up.” “No, no.” Shmi was startled to see the head cook act almost obsequious. Surely the blond man was another slave. Only slaves ate here, after all; Jabba’s free servants and employees ate in a different dining hall. The cook whirled on her. “Girl! Get him another bowl!” Shmi hurried to comply, the cook’s eyes hard on her back. She knew he suspected she had dropped the bowl, and seethed with frustration that he was prevented from punishing her by this kind stranger assuming responsibility. Carefully this time, she handed the man his bowl. His hands closed over hers. “You’re new here, aren’t you? What’s your name?” “Shmi,” she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. “I’m Kern.” He smiled, and refused to release her hands until she returned a trembling smile. “I’ll try not to spill this one!” He turned to his waiting friends with a sardonic joke at his own expense, and Shmi hurried to fill more bowls and pass them out. She watched him, as she passed food to the endless line of hungry slaves, her actions quickly becoming mechanical. He was not loud, or flashy, but people swirled around his center, drawn to him like moonmoths to a floodlamp. No sooner had he seated himself at a table then it filled with others, men and women eager to bask in the glow of his easy charm. It wasn’t me, she thought, throat tight with irrational disappointment. He’s like that with everybody. Soon he finished his meal and rose to leave. Only two-thirds of the long line had snaked its way past Shmi. As he passed her, he caught her eye with his quick, flashing grin, and mimed holding a bowl tightly in front of him. Despite herself she giggled, and waved him off with a shooing motion. She tried to concentrate on her work after that, but every now and then the image of his conspiratorial smile would slip into her mind’s eye, and her eyes would sparkle and the corner of her mouth tilt up. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/21/06 11:45am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story
	Wow! The children were so realistically portrayed! And Shmi's explanation to Anakin was absolutely beautiful: Shmi would not lie to her son, though her heart ached that he must confront the ugly truths of the universe so young. “Yes, Anakin, it is.” She hastened to add, “But when both people want to, when they love each other, it can be very beautiful, Anakin. It is a wonderful thing, to share your body with someone you love, to conceive a child together.” I can't wait for more! An incredible story you've got here! -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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Kestrel_Kenobi Registered: Sep '05	Date Posted: 2/21/06 4:30pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story
	Lovely story Elana - You portrayed little Ani wonderfully. I look forward to more! -----signature----- I had a baby girl! July '08! Drabbles of an AU Snape - http://boards.theforce.net/non_star_wars_fan_fiction/b10808/29704506/p1/?2
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 3/15/06 11:57am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story
	VaderLVR64 - Thank you, master! Kids are fun to write. And we're going to see more of what's behind Shmi's words. Kestrel_Kenobi - Thank you! Here's some more. That night, after she was shown the tiny alcove where she would sleep, and had gathered with the other female slaves in the common area of the women’s quarters, she summoned up the courage to ask who he was. “Kern? You must mean Kern Bluesand.” The woman paused from brushing her long black hair. She was a dancer, Shmi thought she remembered, one of Jabba’s own entertainers. She was almost sure the woman had said her name, but today had been such a blur of new names and faces that she couldn’t remember it. “You have good taste. But don’t get your hopes up. He’s far above you.” “He’s a slave, isn’t he?” “Yes, though you’d never know it by the way he acts. He works in the garage, as a mechanic. He’s the best; I’ve heard Jabba won’t let anyone else touch the engine of his personal speeder.” “Oh.” Hearing Kern’s name, a number of other women had clustered around them. Their expressions ranged from wistful to avaricious to resigned. They began an animated discussion of Kern’s positive qualities that quickly strayed into territory that had Shmi blushing and retreating to the far corner of the room. “Oh, don’t mind them.” Shmi looked around to see who had spoken. A young woman about her own age with close cropped red hair was beckoning to Shmi, indicating the place beside her on one of the benches that lined the wall. Shmi gratefully sank down beside her. “I’m Darna. This your first day here?” Shmi nodded. “Well, like I was saying, don’t pay Marishelle and her bunch any mind.” Darna wrinkled her heavily freckled nose in the direction of the black-haired dancer and the other gossiping women. “They’re just jealous. You can bet Kern never smiled at any of them. There’s not a one of them that wouldn’t fall all over themselves to get so much as a glance from him. Personally, I think he’s a bit of a cold fish, no offense intended. If you like him, I mean. So, where are you assigned? I didn’t catch your name, by the way.” “I’m Shmi Skywalker.” Shmi was rather overwhelmed by Darna’s talkative manner. “They put me to work in the kitchen.” “Not bad. Me, I’m in the laundry. Nasty work that, and hot as blazes. Droid work, really, ’cept slaves are cheaper than droids, leastwise with as much maintenance as they take to keep working, what with the sand and all. You didn’t happen to slip a little extra food out, did you?” “No. They watch us pretty closely.” “Too bad. If you ever get the chance, I sure would appreciate it. I could probably get you an extra clean tunic every now and then. Those dancers may be able to get by on the rations they give us, but those of us doing real work need a bit more. Not to mention…” Darna face took on a sly, secretive look, and she patted her belly, which Shmi now noticed was rounded just a bit out of proportion to the rest of Darna’s lean frame. “…some might have reason to be a little extra hungry, if you understand me.” Shmi’s eyes widened. “You’re…” Smugly, Darna nodded. “Yep. Three months gone, near as I can figure. See, that’s why I’m not jealous of you, like all those other girls. I’ve got my man already. Works the laundry with me. Now if you were to set your sights on him, I might take issue with you.” “But how…” “Oh, there’s ways. Jabba doesn’t care, really, if the men and women get together. Doesn’t encourage it, mind, but doesn’t work too hard to get in the way, neither. When one of us girls turns up pregnant, he sells us off to Rinadda the Hutt. He’s got a big breeding operation on the other side of Mos Espa. Pays Jabba a nice bonus. Yep, this little tyke is my ticket out of here. Soon as I’m big enough it slows me down, I’m off to the good life for a few months, at least. ’Course, sooner or later they’ll probably sell me back here. Unless I get lucky and get bought by someone easier than Jabba.” “But what about your…” Shmi couldn’t quite bring herself to use Darna’s casual “man,” but couldn’t figure out how else to phrase it. “Oh, I’m getting tired of him anyway. He’ll find someone else soon enough. Long before I come back here, if I do.” Shmi gaped at her. She knew this sort of careless attitude about sex and romance was common among her fellow slaves, but she had never encountered it so openly before, and the thought was so foreign to her nature she couldn’t help but let the shock show on her face. Darna tossed her head. “Believe me, there’s better than him out there. He was fun for a tumble or two, that’s all. You’ll learn soon enough, that’s all they want from us anyway.” “What about your baby? Will they… take it away from you?” The thought horrified Shmi. “Sure, after a few months. That’s what they did with the other two. Unless someone wants to buy us both.” Darna shrugged. “Good riddance to the little brats. Rinadda has a whole set up, raising and training them.” “You don’t care?” The woman next to her seemed suddenly alien to Shmi, and she drew back. Darna’s bright green eyes had gone hard and cold. “No, I don’t. Why should I?” Shmi sputtered. “But… they’re your babies, your children… you’re their mother…” Darna stood up. Her voice was coldly dismissive. “I see. Well, I must be going. I have better things to do than sit and chat with someone who obviously has no interest in making friends with me.” Suddenly she leaned close to Shmi, and her voice dropped to a hiss. “How dare you sit in judgment on me like some pampered princess? You’re a slave just like me, no better than I am, and if you don’t learn what that means pretty quick, I promise you’ll be sorry.” She turned her back on Shmi and strode across the room, trailed by the women who had begun to cluster around to listen to their conversation. Shmi sat, stunned, surrounded by a clear area in the crowded room, Darna’s threat ringing in her ears. Wherever she looked, none of the other women would meet her eyes. When she recovered her composure, she tried to approach a few of the other women, but none of them would speak to her for more than a moment before drifting away. Hurt and bewildered, Shmi sought the privacy of her little alcove well before lights-out. Her thoughts buzzed in confused circles, replaying her conversation with Darna, trying to understand how it had gone wrong. She hadn’t meant to be judgmental. She had a sick feeling that she’d just made her time in Jabba’s compound much more difficult than it might have been. She was sure Darna could be a dangerous enemy if she wanted to. Shmi consoled herself that by her own statement, Darna would be gone soon, sold to the Hutt with the breeding compound. She turned her thoughts away from the other woman, seeking anything pleasant or hopeful. Kern. She saw his smile again before her eyes, felt his touch warm and strong on her hands. The memories comforted her, and she was able eventually to relax into sleep. Over the next few weeks, Shmi’s days settled into a routine. The work in the kitchen was heavy enough that by night she was worn out, able to ignore the cold unfriendliness of the other women as she quickly sought her bed. She was accustomed to loneliness, after all. At most of her previous owners’ she’d been the only slave. This exclusion wasn’t really all that different. The moment each day that she placed Kern’s meal in his hands became more and more the one bright center of her existence, the event she looked forward to all the long hours of labor, and thought back on before she dropped off to sleep at night. He would always have a smile for her, and often a friendly greeting. At first she could only smile shyly back, but soon she was laughing at his witty remarks, or even joking in return. One day he was not in his accustomed place at the head of the line. She looked for him anxiously, more and more worried that something had happened to him, but finally he appeared, almost to the end of the line, in among the lowest status slaves, the young, the old, and those assigned the most unpleasant tasks. She was so relieved to see him alive and unhurt that she had to stop and close her eyes a moment, before she could resume her task. By the time it was his turn and she was scooping out his portion of doughy casserole from the vast pan it had been baked in, her heart had slowed enough for her to feel annoyed at him. “Where were you? I thought you might be hurt.” Her tone was sharper than she had intended. He was unrepentant. “I had to work late.” He accepted his plate, grinned at her, and moved on. When finally the last of the line had been served, she was free to take her own small portion and seek a spot at a table. Her eyes roamed the long rows of benches, searching for him. Perhaps she could choose a place where she could watch him unobserved. “Mind if I join you?” The quiet voice next to her ear made her jump, and his hand came up to steady the plate that trembled in her grip. He stood close beside her, and the hairs on her arm prickled and stood up, so acutely aware was she of his nearness. “No! I mean yes. I mean, I don’t mind.” She felt foolish and awkward. She took a deep breath. “I’d like that.” They chose a spot at one end of one of the long trestle tables. He seated himself across from her. Shmi stared fixedly down at her food as she ate, feeling his eyes often upon her as they both partook. He let her eat without speaking, for which she was grateful, until her food was gone and her hunger, though never truly satisfied, was at least dulled. He leaned forward and tried to catch her eye. “So, Shmi, how are you adjusting to life in Jabba’s household?” “Well enough, I guess. The work is much harder than at my last owner’s.” He nodded gravely. “Jabba works his slaves harder than anyone else on Tatooine. Some falter under the weight, but others grow strong.” She looked up in surprise at the thoughtful, almost bitter tone in his voice. His eyes were looking far beyond her, and his face was carved with lines of weariness and pain. Then he shook his head, and she wondered if she had imagined it, for all his easy humor was back in his eyes and the lines of his mouth. “I brought you something.” She blinked in surprise at his announcement. With one hand he rummaged in his belt pouch; with the other he reached for her hand and pulled it forward. Gently he deposited a tiny plant on her palm. She bent her head to study it. Sandy soil still clung to hair-thin roots. Narrow oval leaves sprang from a slender stalk. A cluster of minute star-shaped flowers crowned the stalk in a spray of white and gold. “Even on Tatooine there are flowers.” His voice was low, his head bent close to hers. “This one grew beside a path, in a crack between two rocks. I used to look for it every day, when I passed. Today someone had stepped off the path, and knocked it loose from its place.” He reached out the tip of one finger to stroke it. “It’s tougher than it looks. It still clings to life. Something inside it won’t give up that easily.” His hands cupped around hers. “I think it could survive, if someone replanted it, gave it a little water – not too much – a little sunshine, a little nurturing. What do you think?” He was so near his cheek nearly touched hers. Trembling, she nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. He smiled down at the flower in her hands, tender and gentle. “I thought of you, when I saw it. Still alive, still fighting to live, after all it’s been through.” He rose as he spoke and came around behind her, eyes still focused on the flower. His hand settled briefly on her shoulder. “Still growing, still green… still beautiful.” She swiveled around to look at him, but he was gazing at the plant in her hands. His fingers tightened momentarily on her shoulder, then released it. “See you tomorrow, Shmi.” Then he was gone. She stared after him, breathing hard. What had just happened? Had it been merely a gesture of goodwill, friendship, camaraderie from a fellow victim of grinding oppression, or could it have been – she hardly dared to think it – something more? She licked lips gone suddenly dry. Her hands started to clench into fists, but she stopped, cupping them protectively around the precious scrap of life he had entrusted to her. Even if all he offered was friendship, that would be a dear enough treasure to be cherished in this lonely and hostile place. She dared not hope for anything else. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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KELIA Title: The Pretty in Pink Fan Fic Manager Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 3/15/06 3:31pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story. Updated 3-15.
	I just came accross this - it's wonderful! You are doing such an amazing job telling Shmi's story. I love the vivid descriptions and emotions. Looking forward to more -----signature----- "Do or do not, there is no try." Master Yoda A Light In The Darkness: http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/28150602/p1/?8 NaNaWriMo Progress: 32,105
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Yorkshire-Gal Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 3/22/06 7:08am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story. Updated 3-15.
	Ive just found this and i think its brilliant, ive always been interested in shmi's portrail of things, that when in such dire circumstancies she always see's the bright side of life. Ive always loved reading your stories, and i think this is definatley something special -----signature----- " I wasn’t elected as Queen, chosen as Senator, and married to a Jedi Knight for nothing"-Padme'Warm Breeze in the Snow Storm' If you havent read that story, pull that finger out of your ass and do it!
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 3/22/06 7:40am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story. Updated 3-15.
	I love a good Shmi fic! And this one is excellent! Bravo! -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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karebear214 Registered: Sep '02	Date Posted: 3/22/06 12:21pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story. Updated 3-15.
	This story is amazing. I'm always looking for Shmi stories, and this one is well worth reading. You capture personality dead-on, and the writing is realisting and believable. I'm looking forward to more. -----signature----- "I don't like it that you can win an argument without using verbs." - Luke Skywalker to Ben, "Outcast"
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 4/18/06 8:30am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story. Updated 3-15. - Date Edited: 4/18/06 8:39am (1 edits total) Edited By: Elana
	KELIA - Thank you! Yorkshire-Gal - I love Shmi's quiet wisdom too. You can just see on her face that she's had a tremendously difficult life, but come through it with her faith in the universe intact. VaderLVR64 - Thanks, Master! karebear214 - Thank you! Sorry this update took so long. I was strugling to work out a few elements of the plot so they all fit together. But I've got that taken care of, so updates ought to come more regularly now. Chapter 3 The next day she wasn’t surprised when he came late, and waited to sit with her. “I’ve got something to show you.” She was antsy with anticipation, but she made him sit and eat first, bolting down her own food as quickly as she could. The dining hall was close to empty when they had finished. They stacked their bowls with all the rest of the dirty dishes, which it would soon be Shmi’s task to wash, but she kept the cup that held the last bit of her meager water ration for the day. She led him to the kitchen, checking carefully to make sure they were not observed, then out the door in the back that led outside. It opened into a walled courtyard that housed the garbage pile, where all the kitchen waste was dumped to rot and desiccate under the baking light of the twin suns. There, in the far corner, she had planted the little flower. He knelt beside her as she carefully poured the last few drops from her cup at its base. It was a bit wilted still, and she studied it, worried. “Do you think it will make it?” “I think it might.” She turned, to find him looking not at the flower, but at her, his warm smile lighting his eyes. She looked away quickly, but an answering warmth kindled in her belly and washed throughout her body until it tingled in her toes and fingertips. Greatly daring, she turned back, and smiled hesitantly in return for a moment, their eyes meeting. Then she scrambled to her feet and darted for the kitchen door. “Come on, we can’t let them catch you out here. I’ve got to get started on the dishes.” It became their custom, in the days that followed, to eat together, and to slip out afterwards to water the flower. Its roots took hold and its stem perked up, and though it dropped a few leaves, by the time a month had passed it was obvious it would survive and thrive. Shmi gradually became more comfortable in Kern’s company. They talked, at first of superficial things, the gossip of the slave quarters, the challenges and successes of their work. But over the days and weeks they slowly began to share more personal subjects. “I can just remember when it happened. I was four, I think. We had traveled for vacation to another planet, and were returning home. The pirates boarded the ship and took all the passengers prisoner. Those that had wealthy friends or relatives were ransomed, and the rest of us were brought here to Tatooine and sold into slavery. I was kept with my mother for a few years, until I was seven or eight, I think, but then I was old enough to do a full day’s work, and our owner didn’t need us both, so I was sold.” She stared down into her bowl of stew, remembering how she’d screamed and kicked and bit when they dragged her away, the silent tears running down her mother’s face, the endless nights of hopeless weeping. She couldn’t tell him that part, not yet. She wondered if she ever would. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. “I was born a slave.” His voice was soft, reflective. “My mother was owned by a rich merchant in Mos Eisley. He had a wife, and grown children, but he used her for a bedmate sometimes. He sired me. He favored me because of it, and saw to it that I was educated. When I showed mechanical aptitude, he had me trained at the best shop in Mos Eisley. When I was sixteen Jabba made him an offer for me, and he accepted. I think he meant well; Jabba is the most wealthy and powerful being on Tatooine. He knew I would have status and respect. But he couldn’t understand that none of that really mattered. Not if I would always be a slave.” The bitterness was in his voice, and the weary lines on his face. She didn’t see them often, but every now and then he would allow them to show. She laid her hand over his, giving what comfort she could. Once he brought a ragged deck of handmade cards, and started teaching her to play sabaac. She protested her ignorance, and early on made every classic beginner’s mistake, until the pile of the pebbles they wagered for grew tall in front of him. But gradually she gained skill and began to win a hand or two. She enjoyed their games, though he told her the two-person version they played was a pale reflection of the true game. “You can’t really say you know sabaac until you’ve played with a seven through a full hundred and three rounds. It’s just not the same with less. Ketrell and his gang of Gamorreans – they’re guards, they spend most of their time when they’re not on patrol huddled around their cards in a corner of the garage – they’d laugh at our pitiful little twosome.” Shmi rifled the cards thoughtfully. Perhaps… “Do you mind if I take these with me? I might be able to get some of the other women to play with me.” “Go ahead. Just bring them with you tomorrow. I still need to show you how to build a six-card orbit.” That night, in the common room, Shmi looked nervously around from her place on a bench near the door. The women had split up into their various groups, as usual. On the far side of the room tinny music projected from an ancient recording device, the prized possession of the most favored group of slaves, the dancers and other personal and ornamental slaves who had the privilege of service in Jabba’s own presence. Marishelle, the tall, black haired dancer, was showing some of the other girls a new move she was perfecting. They offered her fawning flattery and begged her to teach them how to do it. A green-skinned Twi’lek frowned in concentration as she painted intricate designs on her lekku, and several women of various species were giving each other massages. Shmi looked away. None of them would ever dream of socializing with the likes of her. A cluster of comfortable chairs held the next highest-status group of slaves, the skilled workers and those in positions of authority over other slaves. The women who worked in Jabba’s own kitchen, preparing the fine cuisine he demanded, were there, along with a few mechanics from the garage, the head seamstress, and the leader of the cleaning crew. They leaned close together in earnest conversation. Shmi shook her head. She would have no luck trying to recruit players for her game among them either. She turned her attention to the largest group of women, to which she was loosely attached. They clustered, chatting, on the chairs and benches around her, the common workers of kitchen, laundry, sewing room, cleaning crew, and all the other myriad tasks required to keep the huge compound running smoothly. Friendships and alliances among these women were constantly shifting. Their numbers were always changing, as slaves were bought and sold, so the politics of status, of inclusion and exclusion, were never far from the surface. Shmi had never been owned by one of the big compounds before. She had been mostly isolated from the company of other woman since she was eight years old. So she did not understand how the game was played, or how to find a place for herself within it. She only knew that since her first day there, when she had unwittingly alienated Darna, she had been relegated to the edges of the circle, barely tolerated or rejected outright, along with a handful of other outcasts. Darna was always near the center of the swirling spirals of relationships. Shmi had watched her carefully since that first day, and come to realize that beneath her friendly, folksy exterior Darna possessed a cunning intellect and a ruthless ambition. If Darna targeted you as an enemy, you were shunned as thoroughly as the poor alien girl whose mouthparts could not form Basic as anything but a meaningless mumble, or the woman that a too-severe beating had left with wandering wits and a vacant stare, or the two old women who scrubbed out the refreshers and always carried the reek of their duty with them. But there were a few Shmi thought might be open to a friendly overture. There was a new girl who seemed just as bewildered as Shmi by the intricacies of rank and position. Another who always held herself a bit aloof from it all, seeming to consider it beneath her. One who was just inherently sweet natured, incapable of coldness to anyone. A few more. Shmi located them in the crowd, eyeing them nervously as she dealt out the starting position of a solitaire game on the bench beside her. As she worked her way through the deck, placing each card as best she could, she pondered the best way to approach them. Birnette, the new girl, drifted over to watch Shmi play. Shmi had just come to the conclusion that the solitaire configuration was one she had no hope of winning, so she gathered up the cards and smiled shyly at Birnette. “I know a game two can play. Would you like to join me?” Birnette looked around worriedly, then shrugged and seated herself next to Shmi. “I guess.” Shmi pulled out a handful of hairpins from her apron pocket to use for wagering and started to explain the rules of sabaac to Birnette. Before long several others had gathered around them. Shmi included them in her instruction, passing out hairpins and cards. As the game gathered momentum and the players’ voices grew more animated, Shmi felt a warm glow building inside her. It was working! She gathered the cards at the end of the hand and shuffled them. As she dealt them around the circle, Paulia, the kind-hearted one, smiled at her, warm but a touch uncertain. “You know, Shmi, you seem much nicer than I’ve always heard.” Shmi paused and looked at her, a chill washing through her body. Paulia blushed. “Not that I ever believed all those ugly things they were saying about you. “Ugly things?” Shmi felt a flush creeping across her face, not sure if it was shame or anger, or a mix of the two. “Like what?” “Like… um… well…” Her stammering trailed away. “I mean, they were all obviously lies. Look, forget I said anything.” Paulia made a show of studying her cards. “Let’s just play.” Shmi nodded, and the bidding went around the circle, but the comfortable camaraderie that had been forming was spoiled. When that hand was over, each of the other women found some pretense to excuse herself, and Shmi was left sitting alone, with the deck of cards in her hands. Defiantly, she shuffled and dealt out a game of solitaire again, but halfway through had to quit, tears blurring her eyes so the markings on the cards swam and ran beyond recognition. She gathered them up and fled to her alcove. As she left the common room she noticed Darna watching her from across the room, a hard look of satisfaction on her face. The next day she pressed the cards back into Kern’s hand. “No one wanted to play.” “No?” He sounded disappointed, and a bit surprised. “That’s too bad.” He studied her, and Shmi turned away so he wouldn’t see the brightness in her eyes, or how hard she was biting her lower lip so it wouldn’t tremble. “Did something happen?” “No.” It was none of his business how the other women felt about her. But his concern was so genuine she felt she had to offer some explanation. “It’s just… I’m not very popular with the other girls. None of them like me much.” Kern made a disapproving noise. “They’re just a silly flock of loofie birds, then.” Picturing Darna as one of the round, clumsy birds that clustered at the edge of Tatooine’s cities, pecking at scraps, brought a wan smile to Shmi’s face. Encouraged, Kern flapped his elbows like wings and did a credible impression of a loofie’s shrill screech, which reduced Shmi to a puddle of giggles. Kern dissolved into laughter with her. “There, that’s better,” he said, when they had quieted. “If they don’t want to get to know you, that’s their loss. You’re just about the most likeable person I know.” “Really?” Shmi blushed, flattered. “Really. I feel lucky to have you for a friend.” “Not nearly as lucky as I am to have you for a friend.” His words filled Shmi with a warm glow. She was indeed lucky. She did her best to ignore the little pang of disappointment that stole around the edges of her happiness. Was a friend all he would ever consider her? She had much cause to be grateful for his friendship, and the brief time they were able to spend together each day, in the following weeks. The other women had grown even colder and more distant with her. She gave up even trying to interact with them, retreating to the solitude of her alcove each evening. After a while though, the ache of her isolation grew too miserable to bear, and she resolved to try once more to fit in. This time she decided to go straight to the source of the problem. It was difficult to catch Darna alone, because usually she was surrounded by a group of whichever women were in her favor at the moment. But one evening Shmi managed to stop her in the corridor as she headed toward the common room from the refresher. “Darna, could I talk to you?” Darna regarded her with a lazy smile, crossing her arms above the now prominent swell of her belly. “What do you want?” “I… I think we got off to a bad start, when I first came here. I was rude and insulted you, and I just wanted to apologize.” “It took you long enough.” Darna’s voice was flat. “Yes.” Shmi squirmed beneath Darna’s bright green gaze. “Well, that’s all I had to say, really. That I’m sorry. And… some of the other girls seem to have heard things about me that aren’t true, and I was hoping you could help me stop the rumors.” “Hmmm… I hope you’re not suggesting that I started any of these rumors, are you?” Darna smiled, sugar-sweet. Shmi hated the way Darna was forcing her to lie. She knew very well the red-haired woman was the source of the slander. But she made her voice as conciliatory as she could. “Of course not. But all the girls look up to you, respect you, so I’m sure they would believe you if you said they were mistaken.” Darna cocked her head appraisingly at Shmi. “I might be able to help you. But if I do, I think it’s only fair that you do something to help me.” Shmi felt dirty, groveling for Darna’s favor this way, but if that’s what it took… “I could bring you extra food.” Yawning, Darna looked off toward the common room door. “Food’s good. But you’re asking me for quite a favor, you know. I would think you’d be willing to offer more in return.” Darna had her right where she wanted her, Shmi realized, begging to be restored to her good graces. She could see the pleasure the other woman took in her humiliation. “I could give you some of my water ration, or some of my turns in the shower. Really I don’t have very much.” “You’re friends with Kern Bluesand, aren’t you?” Shmi stared at her, startled and confused. Darna stroked the curve of her belly possessively. “I’ll be going to Rinadda’s pretty soon. When I get back – if Jabba buys me again – you could introduce me to him. I’ve taken a bit of a fancy to him lately. He is one of the most handsome men here.” Shmi shook her head, trying to find her voice. “Kern wouldn’t… I couldn’t…” Darna cocked one eyebrow at her, smiling sweetly. Her voice was almost a purr. “It’s your choice, dear. You give me a chance with Kern, and you’ll be amazed how popular you suddenly become. You could even have him back, after I’m done with him. Friends share with each other, after all. If you want to be my friend, you’ll share with me.” She wasn’t a loofie bird at all, Shmi suddenly understood. She was the clawcat stalking the loofie, anticipating a mouthful of warm meat and feathers. It amused her to play with her prey, driving it one way and then the other, until it ran to impale itself on her talons. Well, Shmi wouldn’t fall into that trap. She trembled, knowing she would forfeit all hope of ever being accepted by the other women by refusing Darna’s demands, but the memory of Kern’s warm affection fortified her against Darna’s false sweetness. “No.” For a moment Darna’s eyes narrowed, but then she assumed again an air of nonchalance. “Are you sure?” Shmi wavered. Darna might never come back to Jabba’s compound. Even if she did, Shmi would surely be justified in reneging on an extorted bargain. An empty promise now, and she could enjoy the benefits of Darna’s influence in her favor, knowing she would never actually have to pay the price. But she found she could not do it. Her friendship with Kern was the one good, real, sacred thing in her life, and she could not bear to sully it so. “Very sure.” Darna shrugged. “If that’s what you want. It would be a shame, though, if more of those ugly rumors got started. I wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop them.” “No.” Shmi’s mouth was dry. “I don’t suppose you would.” She pressed herself against the wall of the corridor as Darna swept by, clenching her fists to contain her rage, fuming inside. She despised Darna with an intensity the like of which she had only ever before felt toward the pirates who had sold her into slavery. The next week she lurked in the corner of the common room watching the other women cluster around Darna, making a show of tearful good-byes and earnest wishes of good luck. News had come that Darna and her impending offspring had been sold to Rinadda the Hutt, and would depart the next day. The hypocrisy of the maudlin scene turned Shmi’s stomach, but she could almost have joined in with those proclaiming their desire that Darna’s journey be quick and easy, just for the relief she felt that Darna would be gone. With any luck, she would be sold to some owner far away from Jabba’s compound, and Shmi would never have to face her malice again. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 4/25/06 11:52am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, Anakin, OCs, Short Story Updated 4-18.
	Where'd everybody go? I've got a fair bit written ahead now, so updates ought to be more regular from now on. Chapter 4 After Shmi had been at Jabba’s compound for six months, the head cook decided he was pleased with her work, and moved her to the servant’s kitchen. Now she cooked a slightly higher quality of food for the paid employees of Jabba’s household. A newer slave was given her old job in the slave kitchen. When she was first told of the promotion, her stomach lurched sickeningly with fear that she would no longer be able to see Kern. But she was still required to eat her own meals in the slaves’ mess hall, and now she could wait in line with Kern as well, giving them a few extra precious minutes together each day. One day, not long after the change, she joined him in line, eyes sparkling with mischief. He knew immediately that she had some secret, but she refused to tell him, gesturing around her at the press of bodies surrounding them. Only when they had retreated outside the kitchen door, and sat down by where the little plant had grown and spread into a patch of flowers blooming among the rocks, would she reveal it. “Look.” She pulled two slightly squashed balls of sweet dough from her apron pocket. “We were making these for dessert, and I managed to hide a couple. One for you and one for me.” She pressed his into his hand, and bit into her own, the creamy filling tasting more wonderful than anything she could remember. She watched him take his first bite, heart glowing with satisfaction that she could give him this pleasure. He savored the little pastry slowly, eyes fixed on her. When he had finished, he licked the last traces from his fingers and regarded her, expression grave. The smile faded from her face. “Didn’t you like it?” “It was wonderful,” he assured her, his grin flashing, then gone. He reached out and took her hands, and leaned toward her. “Shmi, do you trust me?” The intensity in his eyes frightened her. She clutched his hands, warm on hers. “With my life.” “And can I trust you?” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. Her heart pounded. “You know you can.” He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “With my life.” He glanced around, though no one ever disturbed them out here. Then he bent to his belt pouch. He opened it and rummaged down in the very bottom. He drew out a bundle of greasy rags, which he unfolded carefully, offering her a glimpse of a small, shiny object. Then he tucked the bundle closed and quickly secreted it back in his pouch. She didn’t understand, but she knew what she had seen must be infinitely precious, and dangerous. “What is it?” He spoke so softly she could barely hear his reply, “It’s a key to one of Jabba’s speeders. I duplicated it secretly.” She looked up at him, eyes wide with wonder. “You have a plan to… escape.” Her lips and tongue scarcely shaped the word. “Yes.” He studied their hands, once again clasped between them. Then he turned his eyes back to her face, and they met hers, burning. “Come with me, Shmi.” His eyes dropped again, and his voice faltered. “I don’t… want to go… if it means leaving you behind.” Then, in a rush, “But it will be terribly dangerous, and I can’t bear to think I’d be putting you in danger –” “Hush.” She silenced him with a hand on his lips. “Of course I’ll come with you. I’ve dreamt of freedom every single day for as long as I can remember. I want it more than anything in the galaxy!” That was true; it had always been true. So why did it feel like a lie? Or at least, not quite the whole truth… Was there something she wanted even more, now? His lips were so soft beneath her shushing fingers. She pulled her hand away. She looked away, but her eyes were drawn inexorably back to his. Her heart raced. She couldn’t imagine daring to speak, but the word escaped almost of its own volition. “Except…” “Except…?” His head bent close to her, eyes questioning. His arms reached hesitantly to encircle her. “Except…” Her face tilted to meet his, and she melted into his embrace. Then his lips were on hers, soft and unbearably sweet, like cool fresh water flooding that arid place, quenching her terrible thirst. She drank him in, and the pleasure of it washed in sparkling waves through her body. At length they drew apart, and she buried her face in his chest, soaking in the warmth of his body, marveling at how perfectly safe she felt with his arms strong around her. His hand stroked her hair. “Oh, Shmi.” His voice was ragged. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I have so little to offer you…” She pulled back, indignant. “Do you think I care?” He refused to back down. “I have no right to ask anything of you. A man should be able to take care of the woman he loves, to provide for her, not take from her and give nothing in return but disgrace and danger.” His hands twisted the hem of his tunic. “And… I do love you, Shmi.” Time stretched and distorted, and the words hung suspended between them. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only swim in the endless depths of his eyes. But somehow her lips could shape her response. “And I love you, Kern.” She gave a little cry as she threw herself again into his arms, and he met it with a groan as he crushed her to him. After a long time, which nevertheless felt like only the tiniest sliver of the eternity she wanted to spend there, she dragged herself out of his embrace. Though it was the hardest thing she’d ever done, she struggled to her feet and stepped away from him, smoothing her hair and rumpled clothes distractedly. “We’ve got to go. They’ll come looking for us if we’re not back at work on time.” “Yes.” He climbed to his feet also, and they stood staring at each other. Finally Shmi turned and ran, blinded by her tears, back into the compound, through the kitchen and dining hall, slowing and scrubbing her sleeve across her eyes only when she had passed well beyond the corridor he must turn down to go back to the garage. All the rest of that day she threw herself into her work, concentrating so intently on her tasks that there was no room left for thought or memory, hope or despair. But in her bed that night she could no longer hold back the flood, and she relived every moment of their brief time together, the sensation of his lips flaming anew on her mouth. Her sleep was restless, her dreams an endless succession of kisses, each more passionate and sensual than the last. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 4/28/06 10:13pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance. New Chapter 4-25, Cover Art 4-29
	I added some cover art to the first post. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 5/2/06 2:46pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance. New Chapter 4-25, Cover Art 4-29
	Chapter 5 The harsh klaxon woke her in the chill darkness before suns-rise next morning, calling the slaves to their labor. In her hazy half-wakefulness it was difficult to distinguish dream from reality, and for a desolate moment she was sure none of it had been real. But the shock of her warm bare feet hitting the cold floor drove the last mists of sleep from her mind. She pulled on her leggings and boots, and belted her day tunic and apron over the shift that served for both sleep and undertunic. Then she paused, though she knew she must hurry if she were to have time to grab the slice of stale bread and cup of weak caf that were all the breakfast the slaves were provided. Her hand drifted to her lips, and touched the echo of his kiss that lingered there. That had been real. She jumped up, unable to contain the wild energy that filled her. She whirled and snatched her comb, dragged it through her hair, and threw it down. She raced to join the long line of bleary-eyed, grouchy women waiting to use the refresher. She quieted then, holding her excitement close within her. She wished there were someone she could tell, another women she could whisper and giggle with, but the poison Darna had sown had lingered long past her departure, and she had still been unable to find a friend among the other slaves. Her time working in the kitchens that morning crept more slowly than ever before. As the cold desert dawn gave way to the ever-increasing heat of the day, her excited anticipation flagged, replaced by nervous apprehension. When finally the head cook dismissed them to their own meals with an impatient wave of his hand and an admonition to not be a millisecond late returning or he’d take it out of their hides – with a glare at Shmi, who yesterday had slipped in, sweaty and out of breath, several minutes after the rest of the slaves had resumed their work – she was torn between the urge to hurry to meet Kern and a strange reluctance to face him again. How would things have changed between them? Would their comfortable camaraderie be replaced by awkwardness, embarrassment? He was already there when she arrived at the dining hall, saving her a place near the head of the line as usual. Their eyes met, and understanding flowed between them. All her tension evaporated as she took her place beside him. His arm encircled her waist and pulled her close to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder a moment before drawing back just a little. “So, Kern, how was your morning?” Their conversation was as easy and light as ever. She hoped no one watching would be able to sense the difference, the sparking tingle of energy that played between and around them, transforming their familiar friendly interactions into a dance. Just being with him was wonderful, even under the stares of so many watching eyes. She glowed with the joy of it. All her senses seemed heightened; colors shone brighter, the stew smelled delicious and delighted her tongue with rich flavors, the babble of voices around them was rhythmic and musical. Though a distant part of her mind was aware how quickly their meager moments of togetherness were slipping past, most of her consciousness was focused firmly in the present, savoring the time they were given. Relaxed, unhurried, they disposed of their dishes and made their way through the kitchen and out into the courtyard. Then, as the door closed behind them they turned toward each other, and she was once again where she belonged, in his arms, his kiss sweet on her lips, more glorious even than she had remembered. She drew him to the farthest corner of the courtyard, behind the garbage pile, even its familiar stench of decay less offensive today than usual. “So,” she said, seating herself on a rock, “tell me everything. How are we getting out of here?” She had perfect faith, today, that his plan would work. In the blessed glow of their love for each other, nothing could ever possibly go wrong. He sat down beside her, catching her enthusiasm. “It will have to be at night. I’ve been making friends with the guards, asking questions here and there. From midnight to dawn there’s only a light watch. We’d have to get past the guard at the entrance to the slave quarters, but the compound should be deserted between there and the garage. Then it would just be getting past the perimeter patrol. The key operates one of the little two-man guard speeders. It’s fast; it could take us to Mos Eisley before suns-rise. There were rumors, when I was growing up there, of people who would help runaway slaves. I learned a few of the signs and signals, though I don’t know if they’d still be using the same ones. If we’re lucky, we could find passage on a ship and be off-world before we’re even missed here.” He shrugged, diffident. “It’s a long shot, I know. But if we could get to Naboo or Alderaan or one of the other Republic planets where slavery is illegal, we could claim asylum, and they wouldn’t send us back.” “I think it’s a good plan.” Shmi spoke confidently, but her heart quailed at the dangers entailed. “If we’re going to do it, it will have to be fairly soon. They’ve got those new explosive implants now. Jabba doesn’t think they’re stable enough yet – I heard Gardulla lost three slaves the first week after she had them put in when they triggered spontaneously – but as soon as they come out with an improved model Jabba’s sure to have us all fitted with them. I bet within a year or two every slave on Tatooine will have one.” Shmi nodded. She had heard rumors of the new devices, implanted deep within a slave’s body, programmed to explode if the slave ventured outside their permitted area. She shuddered. Once Jabba adopted the new technology, escape would be essentially impossible. “What can I do to help?” She doubted there was much she could do, but she had to try. “The trickiest part will be getting past the guards. I’ve found out as much about them as I could. The usual night guard for the slave quarters is Irneeto.” Shmi nodded. She’d seen the tall, indigo-furred, three-armed alien before. “He’s a Mordantian. They’re nocturnal, so they’re good at night jobs. I’ve been stopping by his post most nights, chatting with him, getting to know him. I think he’d be open to a bribe, if it was the right thing. Not money; Jabba pays him well and he’s not the type to crave more. But something.” “I’ll start talking to him when I can,” Shmi promised. “Maybe he’ll let something slip. What else?” “Well, all the perimeter guards are Gamorreans, Ketrell and his gang. They’re a tight group. Gamorreans don’t trust other species, especially humans. I haven’t had any luck with any of them.” “I think I know the ones you’re talking about. They eat in the servant’s dining hall; I serve them every day. I’ll watch them.” Kern nodded. “I think that’s all we can do now, watch and wait, look for opportunities, and keep making plans.” He stared pensively into the distance. She scooted over and leaned against him, and his arm wrapped around her and drew her close. He smiled at her, and their lips met, and for a long lovely time they explored the delightful intimacy of kissing. Eventually she drew back with a sigh, and grinned at him. “Come on. The head cook is going to be furious if I’m late again.” Hand in hand they hurried into the kitchen and through the corridors, parting with a lingering touch where their paths diverged. As she served the employees their evening meal that night, she watched for the guards Kern had told her about. There were the Gamorreans, tusks protruding from their long snouts, laughing and joking among themselves, demanding huge portions of food, always remaining in a tight, insular cluster. Irneeto couldn’t have been more of a contrast, as he shuffled in alone just before they stopped serving. He took only a small portion. The bright smile Shmi aimed at the large golden eyes set deep in his furry blue face was completely ignored. He sat alone, downed his meager meal quickly, and was off before Shmi could muster an excuse to venture near his table. Watching his retreating form, she thoughtfully tucked a few more of the fruits he had chosen into her pocket. Late that evening, well after suns-set, when she would normally have been crawling into bed in preparation for another early morning and long day, she slipped out to the main entrance to the slave quarters. The heavy metal grate was closed and locked, and Irneeto leaned idly against the wall next to it, eyes wandering back and forth between the right corridor, which led to the women’s rooms, and the left corridor, which led to the men’s. He spotted her well before she drew near, his eyes glowing at her with the concentrated reflection of the single dim light that burned beside the gate. She approached him nervously. “Excuse me, sir.” “You should be in your quarters, slave.” His voice was bored. She tried to keep her voice from squeaking. “I know, sir. It’s just… you took so little, at supper, that I thought you might get hungry, so I brought you this.” Her hand only trembled a little as she extended a fruit for his inspection. His lazy posture didn’t change, but the center of his three arms reached quickly for it. Eyes fixed on her, he sniffed it, then polished it on his fur before sinking his long, sharp teeth into it. He chewed, and swallowed. Only then did a small smile soften his stern features. “I suppose you want me to let one of the men by, so he can come to your bed. Very well, which one shall it be?” “Oh, no.” Shmi felt herself blushing hotly. Would he really let Kern pass, if I asked him? “That’s not it at all. I just wanted to do something nice for you…” The blue alien made a disbelieving noise, and eyed her sardonically. She looked down, pulled another fruit from her pocket, and held it out to him. He sighed, exasperated but with a touch of humor, and took the fruit. “Your ploy is transparent, but at least you’re observant. If I want to eat at all, I have to get up ridiculously early, and join all those sun-lovers stuffing themselves, when I can barely stomach a few bites. Then at full dark, when I would welcome a hearty meal, there’s no food to be had, so I go hungry all the night long, until finally when I can barely keep awake the kitchens are serving again. You chose your bribe well, offering me food. Next time, make it a nice hot bantha steak, and I’ll be quite blind when your lover goes by.” “I’ll remember that.” She backed away, bobbing a curtsy and nodding. When she felt she was far enough away she turned and fled down the corridor, his barking laughter echoing after her. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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Persephone_Kore Title: TFN Fan Fiction Archive Editor Registered: Jan '06	Date Posted: 5/2/06 10:30pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance. Updated 5-2.
	Your writing really amazes me.... It's very vivid, very engaging, both the romance and the obstacles. -----signature----- Protégé: Chosen: http://boards.theforce.net/f/b1/28612428 Protégé: Padawans: http://boards.theforce.net/f/b1/29531610 A Rose in the Ashes: http://boards.theforce.net/f/b1/29028814 Lost Ones: http://boards.theforce.net/f/b1/29061459
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 5/16/06 6:09pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance. Updated 5-2.
	PK - Thank you, padawan! Get ready for some more obstacles . Chapter 6 She edited out the exact nature of Irneeto’s offer when she told Kern about her success the next day. Enough for him to know that the alien guard might be willing to be bribed. Though helping them escape was a far more drastic matter than simply facilitating a liaison between slaves that his employer didn’t truly wish to prevent. She was sure it would take far more than a few fruits, or even a bantha steak, to secure his cooperation in that. She hardly dared think of the possibility Irneeto’s words had raised in her mind, but she could scarcely think of anything else. A lover was not something she had ever realistically expected to be a part of her life. She had learned about sex, of course. Her mother had answered her questions and given her a basic understanding of the subject when she was a child, before they were separated. As she grew to adolescence she sometimes thought about it with a wistful curiosity. But who could ever want her, plain as she was? Even the lecherous men who sometimes bought young female slaves for pleasure had never looked twice at her. Her life as a slave had never afforded much contact with anyone whom she might develop an attraction for. The casual couplings many of her fellow slaves indulged in held little appeal for her. So she had come to accept that romantic, physical love was something she would have to live without. Just another item added to the list of things that had been taken from her, along with her freedom, her family, her future. But now all that had changed. Kern loved her, and she him. His kisses woke in her breathless, tumultuous feelings of desire. Suddenly sex was no longer a theoretical idea, but a very real possibility. Someday soon the path she and Kern were traveling might lead there. The idea both entranced and terrified her. In the days and weeks that followed, they continued to walk that path together, a journey of ever-increasing intimacy. They never spoke of the landmarks they passed, but they shared a wordless understanding of their significance – the day she first laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart’s steady rhythm, the day his tongue first touched her lips, asking admittance that was shyly granted, the day her hands first slipped under the edge of his tunic and met the softness of bare skin. She understood now the destination their road was leading them inevitably toward, and day by day her apprehension gave way to openness, then eagerness, then a fierce, aching longing. Eventually they came together to the place where Shmi knew they could go no farther without crossing the final boundary into the realm of lovers. She waited, sure he would ask, in words or in actions, and she could whisper her secret knowledge of how to make it possible. But he didn’t. Days passed, and weeks, and he quietly and stubbornly refused to take that final step. Always he would go to a certain point, but no farther. At first Shmi didn’t understand, but as her body screamed with frustration, she realized that for some inexplicable reason he intended to hold their relationship here. Finally she dared break the silence. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and buried her face in his chest, not able to meet his eyes. “Kern, I want… I want… to love you… for you to love me…” Gently but firmly he pulled away, laying his hand against her lips to shush her. “Wait. When we’re free.” She stared at him. They had made hardly any progress in their escape plan. It might be years, yet, before their chance for freedom came. She could not, would not, wait that long, not when there was a way for them to be together here and now. She chose her time carefully. In the servant’s kitchen that day they were serving roast bantha. It had been cooking for three days in the enormous oven, the rich scent permeating all the corners of the compound. When she was sure no one was watching she slipped three thick slices between two pieces of bread and tucked them into her pocket. It wasn’t her day for the weekly bath each of the slave women was allotted, but there was a Rodian who would sometimes trade her turn, claiming too frequent washing dried her skin. She agreed to accept one of the slices of bantha meat, and Shmi made careful use of the tiny bit of water and soap provided, scrubbing herself as clean as she’d ever been. Another slice went to the laundry slave who’d replaced Darna in exchange for a clean tunic. She waited in her alcove, combing out her long hair until it was dry, letting it hang loose instead of twisting it into the knot she usually wore, arranging it around her face with trembling fingers. The time until lights-out dragged unbearably long, but eventually the signal was given and darkness and quiet fell over the slave quarters. She waited a bit longer, unsure if she dared actually go through with it, but when the star she’d chosen became visible through her tiny grated window, telling her the hour must be near midnight, she summoned all her courage, picked up the last slice of roast bantha and the bread, and made her way to Irneeto’s guard post. He smiled when he saw her approaching, for she had made it a habit to bring him food often, never asking anything in return. Until now. Her hands shook as she held out the meat and bread. “It’s not a steak, exactly, and it’s cold, but it’s the best I could do. You said… you would…” Irneeto smiled as he accepted the offered food. “I’m happy for you, furling. Of course I’ll let him by. Just tell me who.” She took a deep breath. “No. Please, let me past. Tell me where Kern’s alcove is.” His eyes widened. “Are you sure? It’s not safe down there for a little furling like you. Kern’s a good man, but there’s not many like him, and plenty that wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you, if they found you alone.” “I’m sure. Please, just tell me where to go.” She hadn’t considered that there might be actual danger for her, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her now. He shook his head doubtfully, but relented when he saw her determination. “All right. Fifth corridor, third alcove on the left. Just be careful.” “I will,” she promised, elated. She ignored his worried frown as she slipped past, down the left-hand corridor, into unknown territory. Her steps slowed and faltered, uncertain in the darkness. But the men’s quarters were laid out according to the same pattern as the women’s, and she soon found her way, silently counting the side corridors as she passed. Soon she was at the fifth, and moments later she stood before the curtain of Kern’s alcove. She hesitated a moment. She could still turn back… But no. She pushed aside the curtain and slipped inside. She worried at first how she would know if she’d found the right place, but then his familiar scent greeted her, metal and oil and warm masculine sweat, and she could see his tousled blonde hair lit by starlight above the coarse bantha-wool blanket. She slipped off her outer tunic and hung it beside his. Clad only in her thin sleep-shift, she slid onto the narrow bed beside him. For a moment she simply savored the delicious feel of his body pressed all along the length of hers. Then she stroked the plane of his cheek, rough with stubble. “Kern, wake up,” she whispered. Eyes still closed, he turned to her, arms reaching to encircle her. Shmi leaned in to kiss him. Joy filled her, as much just for the prospect of all the long unhurried hours of the night spent together as for anticipation of their bodies’ pleasure. “Shmi,” he murmured against her lips, eyes still tightly closed, hands roaming her body. She moaned in reply and pressed herself closer to him. Suddenly he stiffened, and his eyes flew open. “Shmi!” He sat up, staring at her. “What the hell are you doing here?” She giggled at his astonished expression. “I bribed Irneeto to let me by, and to tell me where you sleep.” She sat up and shook her hair in what she hoped was an alluring gesture. “Isn’t this wonderful? We can be together all night!” “And he let you? What was he thinking?” He grabbed her upper arms and shook her, furious. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?” She stared at him, astonished and hurt. “You’re not glad I came?” “No!” His kept his voice low, but he was shouting. He pushed her aside and swung out of bed. Grabbing their tunics, he threw hers at her and thrust his arms into his own. “Put that back on. We’ve got to get you out of here. I just hope no one’s heard you.” Angry tears blurred Shmi’s vision as she struggled into her tunic. She barely had both arms in when he grabbed her wrist and dragged her from the alcove. He paused only to carefully check both directions before he pulled her through the curtain and down the corridor. As they approached Irneeto’s guard post he finally slowed, and she caught her breath enough to speak. “Come back with me, then, to my bed. It’s safe there. I know the other girls do it, all the time…” “No.” His voice was hard with resolve. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but his grip on her arms was almost painful. “I can’t do this anymore, Shmi. I can’t.” Desolation gripped her harder than his hands on her arms. “You don’t want me.” “You can believe that if you want to.” “What else am I supposed to think? I thought you would be glad, I thought we would… I thought you loved me!” She could barely see his face in the darkness of the corridor, but she thought his eyes closed, lines of pain etched there. But when he spoke, his voice was cold. “I can’t see you any more, Shmi.” “What? You can’t mean… What about our plan to escape?” “Keep your voice down! It was never going to work, Shmi. Don’t you see? It was just an impossible dream, a game to make life here a little more bearable, to try and pretend there was something to hope for… But I can’t keep pretending any more, Shmi. I can’t.” He released her, and she stepped back, staring at him through her tears. Could this really be her Kern speaking? Had she ever really known him at all? “Go back to bed Shmi. Get some sleep. We have to work hard tomorrow. Because we’re slaves, Shmi, and that’s what slaves do. And we’ll never be anything else.” She shook her head in denial, then rallied and tried one more time. “Even if you’ve given up hope, even as slaves we can love each other…” “And make ourselves Jabba’s livestock, too, and breed lots of little slave children for his profit?” His voice was like ice. Without giving her a chance to respond, he grabbed her hand and dragged her on to Irneeto’s post. Seeing them coming the tall blue alien sprang to attention and put his hand on his weapon. He eyed Shmi’s tears and Kern’s cold demeanor warily. “I don’t know what she told you, Irneeto, but you shouldn’t have let her pass. Don’t do it again.” He thrust her away from him, and she stumbled backwards to the entrance of the women’s quarters. “He didn’t hurt you, did he, furling?” Irneeto studied her, worried. She shook her head mutely, starting at Kern, unable to comprehend how all her hopes and dreams had been reduced to this utter wreckage. He returned her gaze for a moment, and then turned away. She turned and fled, back to the lonely safety of her alcove, her cold and empty bed receiving her. She buried herself under the covers, hiding her head in her arms and sobbing in grief and anger and despair far into the night, until finally she fell into an exhausted sleep. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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karebear214 Registered: Sep '02	Date Posted: 5/17/06 11:46am Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance. Updated 5-2.
	Delurking, 'cuz I figure I should let you know I'm still around and reading. I like Irneeto. It's good he's got a personality and is more than just the usual faceless guard. I think he cares, but he's also portrayed very realistically in that he probably can't be counted on to help any of the slaves unless it fits his own self-interests. I like that he refers to Shmi as "furling". It's cute. Makes me smile. Kern... he's an interesting guy. I wonder what's happened to him that Shmi doesn't know about. I wonder if he's lost someone. I think he had to to be so sure he doesn't want something that might make them both so happy in a life where that chance doesn't come around very much. I wonder what happened to him recently to make him change his mind about the escape plan. Someone who was defeated from the start wouldn't have planned it in the first place. I wonder if he cares too much about Shmi, and knows it, and maybe he's just telling her the plan won't work so he doesn't have to put her in danger. I wonder if he's trying to push her away before life splits them apart. So... still reading, still intrigued, still looking forward to more. Good work, Elana. -----signature----- "I don't like it that you can win an argument without using verbs." - Luke Skywalker to Ben, "Outcast"
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Elana Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 5/23/06 3:41pm Subject: RE: The Slumbering Princess - Pre-TPM, Shmi, OCs, Romance. Updated 5-2.
	karebear214 - Thanks for reading, and letting me know! I'm glad you like Irneeto. There's more of him in this chapter. I'm beginning to get interested in his backstory, so who knows, he might get his own story someday. More about Kern will be revealed eventually. Your questions have made me think more about his characterization, which is always a good thing. It would be easier if I could do some of this from his POV, but since this is all Shmi's memories, that's not possible. But it's a good challenge for me to do it this way. Chapter 7 Next morning she dragged herself from bed in a dull fog. She wished she could believe the night before had been nothing but a nightmare, but she knew better. She went through the motions of her work automatically, without thought. When meal break was called, she hung back, reluctant. She would rather just avoid the slave’s mess hall altogether, but hunger gnawed at her belly. She fell in at the very end of the line, trying not to look, but her eyes sought the head of the line almost of their own accord. There he was, accepting his bowl from the server. He didn’t look around as he approached the tables. From a table crowded with men and women, a call went up. “Hey Kern! Come sit with us.” He nodded and went to join them, seating himself between two women who had hastily scooted aside to make room. At first he was quiet, but soon his voice joined the babble of chatter and laughter. Shmi stumbled forward, nudged by the people behind her in line, eyes blurred with tears. It truly was over. She took her bowl to the furthest corner of the hall and ate in solitude, forcing down food gone dry and tasteless in her mouth. After she finished she deposited her bowl with the dirty dishes, habitually keeping her cup with its last few drops of water. She took one step toward the kitchen door, and then looked down at the cup in her hand. She bit her lip and clenched her free hand into a fist. Slowly, deliberately, she brought the cup to her lips and drained it dry. Her hand shaking, she threw the cup down among the dirty dishes, turned, and walked with heavy steps back to her workplace. The days that followed were bleaker than Shmi had ever imagined possible. Angry fantasies of confronting him, slapping him, spitting in his drink, tearing up their patch of flowers and throwing them in his face, alternated with darker visions of slipping into his alcove to cut his throat and then her own, finding some poison to put in his bowl or hers, making a doomed break for freedom so the guards would blast her into oblivion. But in the end she did nothing, for she could not truly will any harm to him, and though in her despair her life often seemed worthless, Kern had sensed truly that her will to live, like that of the desert flower, was strong, and she could not easily surrender it. So, in spite of herself, she adjusted. On the rare occasion when she could not avoid him, she looked past him without seeing, and he did the same to her. Her heart ached with emptiness, and she felt like only half herself, but work was always there, and sleep, and there was little enough time apart from those two occupations to worry about filling. She still brought Irneeto nightly tidbits, for his was the only friendly face left to her. He accepted them graciously, and chatted with her about inconsequential things, and was kind to her, which she appreciated deeply. One evening a tart, briny smell permeated the corridors of the compound. When Shmi came to bring Irneeto her offering, she was surprised to find him pacing restlessly, pausing occasionally to breathe deeply, then blowing out his breath, shaking his head, and returning to his agitated prowl. He took her food with a nod of thanks, but she could tell he was still distracted. He gazed down the corridor longingly, and then turned to her. “Do you smell that?” He seemed reluctant to speak, but she felt he needed to talk to someone. “Yes. I was wondering about it. Do you know what it is?” “Oh, yes.” His voice was sharp with bitter amusement. “That’s the smell of pickled praanto eggs. They come from Mordant, my homeworld. Every spring the praanto migrate to the tops of the highest mountains to spawn. The eggs are harvested, and preserved in sea salt and plinda-berry wine, with herbs that only grow on a certain island.” His voice had softened, and his eyes were far away. “They have a mild hallucinogenic effect. I grew up eating praanto eggs every three-moon-night and dark-night. They say once you taste praanto dreams you never loose the craving.” He shook his head and grinned wryly at her. “They are sacred to the moon-goddesses, so they’re never exported, which I knew very well when I left Mordant. But Jabba has a private supply smuggled out. He takes it as a challenge, you know, to obtain that which is unobtainable. He likes to serve them to his most honored guests. And every time he does, I have to smell them, and be reminded of what I cannot have.” Shmi caught her breath at the naked longing in his voice. “Don’t you have them when you visit your home?” His grin grew very strained. “No, furling. My leaving Mordant was… not entirely voluntary. Circumstances would have to change a great deal for me to be able to go back. I doubt that will ever happen.” “Can’t you ask Jabba…” He snorted, a mirthless, cynical sound. “I tried to buy some, the first time I found out he had them. I would have paid all my savings. When he refused, I offered to work a year at half pay. Ten years.” His eyes dropped, and his voice lowered. “I offered to sell myself to him as a slave, in exchange for a single case. He just laughed.” Shmi stared at him. He made a self-conscious shrugging gesture that involved all three arms. “No matter. But if I seem a bit distracted tonight, now you know why.” Shmi nodded. There was nothing she could say. But before she left, she reached out tentatively and patted one furry blue arm. He smiled and shooed her off to her quarters. Months passed. Shmi settled into an attitude of calm. Not depressed, but not happy either, focusing only on the present moment, working, sleeping, thinking as little as possible. She supposed she might spend the rest of her life this way, but dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. She would not think of the future or the past. Until one day her peace was shattered. She was dishing out spoonfuls of vegetables to the servants and employees who shuffled past, when the large Gamorrean guard, Ketrell, and his group of friends approached. She had never quite lost the habit of paying particular attention to them, so her ears picked up their agitated conversation even before its significance registered. “… no, Ploddle’s so stupid he wouldn’t know a six-card orbit from a hole in his head.” Coarse laughter greeted that remark. “Curse Borq anyway for getting himself blasted and leaving us one short of a seven.” A chorus of enthusiastic voices denounced the unfortunate Borq’s ancestry and personal habits, and described his desired fate in vivid language. Shmi ducked her head and blushed. “And there’s no one else in the whole compound knows sabaac well enough to be worth taking their money…” Without thinking, Shmi spoke. “Kern plays sabaac.” The huge tusked aliens stared at her. “Kern Bluesand.” His name was strange in her mouth. She shrank from their gaze, wishing could sink into the ground and vanish, but their eyes fixed on her compelled her to continue. “The head mechanic in the garage. He’s good at sabaac.” Ketrell spit contemptuously to the side. “That human scum?” She put all her effort into a shrug she hoped looked casual, but feared looked as terrified as she felt. “Just thought you’d like to know. Though if you’d rather play with six…” Ketrell accepted her scoop of vegetable on his plate and turned away. “A slave’s got nothing to wager.” One of his cronies hurried after him, almost slopping the vegetables Shmi aimed at his plate as he passed. “But Ketrell, six is no good, you know that. We could float him a loan to start out…” “Shut up.” But Shmi could see that neither he nor the other four Gamorreans who followed would be quiet for long. As they followed Ketrell to their table their voices were already raised, badgering him to include Kern in their game. Shmi turned back to her work, tears blurring her eyes. Why had she bothered? Kern had given up trying to escape, hadn’t he? He shouldn’t care anymore about finding a way to avoid the perimeter guards. But what was done, was done. She just hoped they never mentioned to Kern who had suggested they ask him. They must not have, for on the rare occasions she saw him nothing in his manner toward her had changed. -----signature----- "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." - James Baldwin The Slumbering Princess http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=23230496&brd=10475 My original fiction http://groups.yahoo.com/group/elanafic/
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