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Author	Topic: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj Luke, Padme-- post #6 11/26/04!
Meredith_B_Mallory Registered: Oct '01	Date Posted: 11/14/04 7:21pm Subject: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj Luke, Padme-- post #6 11/26/04! - Date Edited: 11/26/04 7:42am (4 edits total) Edited By: Meredith_B_Mallory
	Alright, let's try this again. I accidentally posted this to 'The Saga' forums, instead of here, where it should be. Please forgive me for the multiple threads. ^^ At the advice of my glorious beta, Miss Leia_Naberrie, I'm posting this story (which was started back in-- gasp!-- 2002) to the Beyond the Saga boards, as well as the Classic boards. There is a brand-spanking new post up on the original thread-- you can reach it here. In the mean time, I'll be posting the old parts here, until we get caught up. I hope no one minds. ^__^ Here we go again, ladies and gents... +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The Widow Skywalker by Meredith Bronwen Mallory mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com http://www.demando.net +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "... and no Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we seem to be out. I understand completely, yes, but I still can't help you. If you can wait a week, Widow Skywalker may bring some to town with her." There was every chance he'd misheard it, Luke rationalized. It had only been a disembodied voice, after all, heard through the din of the market place. The young man cursed inwardly; those words, so surreal and out of place, had thrust him forcably into uncertainty. He had paused there, in the middle of the market, his heart, lungs-- indeed, the whole of him-- stilled. There awakened then old dreams, the dreams of a child without mother or father, longing for answers more detailed than the ones given by his aunt and uncle. Insanely, he'd wondered whether or not he'd stepped into one of those dreams. It was wishful enough, the idea of finding his mother by mere chance. By the time he managed to process the words, the scope of that sentence, he was unable to locate their speaker. Was he only to have a glimpse, and then be turned away? The Jedi, the only Jedi, paced back and forth restlessly in his hotel room. Coming to the wall, he turned went back the way he came, until he met with the other end of the room. So much for calm, he though dispairagingly. He tried, without success, to employ the Jedi calming technique, but each time it was shattered by the fragments of thoughts he hadn't allowed to form. Images tried to crystalize, built on those slight moments of rememberance that would sometimes strike his sister. Six times since the Battle of Endor, she had come to him-- sometimes in the middle of the night-- her eyes alive with something she'd thought lost. "I remembered something," she'd say, and he would open the door to let her in. Never once did he prompt her or ask her what she meant. There were times she would sit on his couch for perhaps a full ten minutes before she could even begin to articulate what she'd discovered. In the end, her words for it were as simple and unexpected as the way she remembered in the first place. Eating lamplight fruit for what she thought was the first time, Leia remembered another occassion. "The tree was so tall, and Mother held me up to reach them," she said, swallowing as if she could still taste it. Then, in the market place, she'd seen a woman with a gold circlet in her hair. "Mother wore her hair like that sometimes. It was a dark brown and long-- it went down past her knees. I used to play with the end of her braids." This was said softly, and Luke could see in her face a type of wonder, as if Leia couldn't quite believe it herself. Other times they were simply images, and Leia would wait while he brought something from the kitchen. Then they would sit together, on the couch, and their hands (even his mechanical one) would reach out and hold tightly. As vocal as Leia was concerning her unwillingness to train, those where the times she reached out through the Force. "I want you to see," she'd said, turning away her candid brown eyes, "and I couldn't bring it across right unless I show you this way." And she would share the images, so that he too might own them, though it broke his heart that he'd never had them in the first place. Luke sat down heavily, his arms resting themselves against the faded, over-stuffed chair. Each of the images was polished, as vibrant and complete as when they'd first been transferred to him through Leia's hands. He thought about them, stilled pictures, traveling through his arm, carried on his blood until he could see them with his closed eyes. A loving, safe shadow of Mother, bent over Leia's crib and seen again in a dream. Mother pushing herself away from the table, food untouched and smile faint, the look in her eyes one of almost sweet sadness. Glass beads, blue like Luke's own eyes, held in Mother's hand as she helped to pick up Leia's broken necklace. That was it, that was all he had. Three little memories that were not his own. Some nights he would lay awake, no matter what planet he was on, and stare blindly upwards. He would bring the images to the fore of his mind, memorizing the detail, gazing at them because they were his mother's only legacy. Thinking back on this, he realized he had done it more and more of late. Perhaps, he considered, it was simply the fact that his search for Force-sensitives to train had taken him far from Coruscant, and what was left of his family. Luke shook his head, as if that would help to clear his mind, and climbed to his feet once more. "Widow Skywalker," he murmured, trying to get a feel for it. Those two small words brought back the sounds of the market, as if to act as a background. Widow Skywalker, Mother; it seemed almost obscene that he was this close only by chance. But how many Skywalkers could there be in the Galaxy? "Alright," he said aloud, his real hand unconciously moving to touch the handle of his lightsaber. It was his, formed by his hands and his skill, but there were times it felt foreign. He could touch it, trace over the lines he'd made himself, and know instictively that they were in the wrong place. But as much as he remembered the contors of the other (his father's) lightsaber, he could not dublicate them properly. Nor should he, Luke reminded himself sternly. It was automatic, though, and he barely thought about it. He moved restlessly, possibilities stirring in his veins. If Obi-Wan had been there, Luke would have been quite embarassed at his lack of composure. "Alright," he said again, more firmly this time. He put his hands against a nearby table to stop the pacing. "Tomorrow I'll go to the market and see what I can find out." Artoo beeped questioningly from his place in the corner, and it occured to Luke suddenly that the little droid had no idea what he was talking about. At times it seemed Artoo was more of an extension, like the lightsaber, somehow always knowing his thoughts. Most of the time, Artoo was able to predict them with startling regularity. Fondly, the young Jedi reached over and placed his hand on Artoo's silver dome. "Just a lead I found, Artoo," he explained, "I think it's worth following up." The decision calmed Luke more than anything else, though it seemed to him that there had never been any question. To turn his back on this discovery, even if it consisted only of words over heard in the market place, would be violating a part of himself. Peace settled around his shoulders once more, and he smiled. Peace was a learned thing, sure enough, but it certainly helped get things done more quickly. There was little for Luke to do for the rest of the evening save take his supper alone in his room and retire to bed. His recent 'little scrape' on Calamari, coupled with the long voyage to Koe, had taken more out of the Jedi than he'd suspected. The lower the small, red sun of Koe slipped, the more Luke found himself longing for sleep. Yawning lightly, he finished up the plain meal of fish (which, oddly enough, reminded him more of Beru's cooking than anything else) and pulled a small, rented computer unit into his lap. Leia, though she understood the need for Jedi in the New Republic, made no secret of her personal dislike for the idea. Rationally, Luke knew that he shouldn't blame her, but he always found the thought a bitter one. If the desperate need to hold onto their memories of Mother pulled the twins together, then the memories they had of Father pushed them apart. "I just don't understand it," Leia would say, sometimes mournfully and other times with accusation. Often, the subject would be far from the one at hand, but Luke knew it dwelt in his sister always. Days came when Leia looked at him with half-concious suspicion, and he knew those were the times she was doubting her own origins. Her eyes would rest on him, looking like the eyes of someone else, and she would shake her head. Once or twice she put her hand on his shoulder-- to show that her confusion didn't matter-- but most of the time she turned away because it did. There was no way Luke could express to her the change in Vader, and Leia could not concieve of the idea on her own. But in spite of-- or perhaps, he admitted, because of-- her dislike for the subject, Luke always made a point of sending a report to her whenever he got the chance. She didn't always respond, he though wryly; the last messsage he'd recieved had said only that she was happy to hear he was well. Nothing regarding his search for Jedi, or his request that Threepio look for records in the Master Computer on Coruscant. Leia probably had set Threepio to the task, Luke considered, her failure to mention it was only to remind him of her distaste. 'Siblings,' the Jedi thought with a small, cynical smile. At least he had a sister to fight with. Still, when he left out any mention of 'Widow Skywalker', he didn't bother to question himself. Why get Leia's hopes up?-- or, so the rational went. Inwardly, he held the possibility of his mother close. In theory, she had always existed, but he regarded her as one regards a towering mountain. 'Mother' was a nebulous idea; he'd never had one before. He'd known surprisingly few others, he realized. Camie's mother had been a tall woman, body bent and shaped by the winds of Tatooine, her eyes the color of sand. His only memory of her, probably the only time he'd actually seen the woman, was the sight of her leaning over Camie and fusing with her hair. Aunt Beru had been a mother in a way, he supposed, but she carried with her an air of childlessness that had shadowed her bright blue eyes. It was only now that Luke wondered why she'd never had any children of her own. Outside, the dome of the sky changed to red glass, lit only by the vanishing sun. Luke slipped into bed, ordering each muscle in his body to relax, but his eyes were always on the hill outside the window. A strong breeze ran across the land, moving in the tall grass that was only a shade darker than the sky. As the Jedi waited for sleep to claim him, his mind filled with images of a childhood on this planet; himself small, running after Leia through the jungle of tall copper grass. Just wishful thinking. He was aware of the mechanics of sleep and, as the last cog slipped into place, Luke was almost certain that tonight he was sure to dream of Mother as Leia sometimes did. In the end, he dreamt of Aunt Beru, seen through the kitchen door as she waved him off to play. He woke, but couldn't find it in himself to be disappointed. ++++++++++++++++++++++ to be continued… Feedback Song: [happy birthday] Please give feedback to me, Please give feedback too me, Come on, give me some feedback, Please give feedback to me ... eeh.. that wasn't my best. sheepish -----signature----- Meredith Bronwen Mallory Evil Mad Scientist / Darth Bronwen Apprentice of Darth_Fruitcake Proud Master of the wonderful and ever-glorious Msna "That is not dead which can eternal lie, and after many strange eons even death may die."-- The Necromonicon
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Meredith_B_Mallory Registered: Oct '01	Date Posted: 11/14/04 7:23pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	"I entrust my body to the traps of time. Where will I wash ashore?" -'Daybreak', Hamasaki Ayumi, "I Am" Album +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The Widow Skywalker 2a/? by Meredith Bronwen Mallory mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com http://www.demando.net +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Market places, Luke thought, had to be the common language among worlds. They were all fundamentally the same, with latitude enough for variation that made each one unique. Of all places, the Jedi felt strangely at home in them. The crowds were a comfort, almost-- a reminder that he, too, was human; and there was a sense of something underneath the dull murmur of collective speech, something like a language under language. Supersticiously, he returned to the uneven cobble stone corner he'd been at the day before, waiting to hear the words again, as if they might echo. Nothing, and he moved within the living maze, wandering. He paused, asking different faces 'have you seen' and do you know', but their eyes were almost always guarded and suspicious. Having grown up on Tatooine, he knew why-- but their indifference still stung. He felt younger than he had in years, stripped of all his certainty, and father loomed large in his mind like the spectre of childhood nightmares. He remembered, now, the red glow he would see behind his eyes as a child, and the black sillohette; how he would scream and scream in the desert night. The memory of Aunt Beru's touch was almost real as the cool wind wound its way through the mass of bodies crowding the street-- she would kiss his brow, as if soothing the invisible eye that made him see such things. She had been very pretty, when he was a child, but still a long way from beautiful, and it seemed to him now that it had all just vanished one day, underneath the shadow of his father he saw in his dreams. The Widow Skywalker would have been Lady Skywalker once, would have been a maiden before that, who touched and knew and talked to the person that lived under Vader's armor. He tried to see her face, how she must have smiled (or did she ever smile? Was she happy to live, or resentful-- as Owen had been in the end?) -- it was like dipping a crystal in water and trying to divine from the colors. His mind called forth the softness of his childhood voice, asking questions of the woman who wanted to be his mother. "What happened to my real mother?" he'd said, and the implication was that the desert woman before him, who existed in varying shades of sand, was somehow fake. A poor imitation. Unreal-- a mirage just out past Mos Espa. For a moment, he wanted his aunt by his side, not to ask questions about the woman who's flesh had made his but to say... to say... Luke rested briefly against the stone wall of a small shop, putting a hand on Atroo's cool silver dome. That sensation seemed to help anchor him in a world filled with half-glimpses. He missed Beru, as desperately as he had when the applause stopped in the thunderous Yavin temple. The grief was somehow fresh and new. Aunt Beru was gone now; fire had polished her into a husk of black Onyx, crumbling in the sand, but he so wished he had remembered to tell her he loved her before he'd taken the t-16 out into the brightness of the morning. Artoo rocked back and forth, very suddenly-- as if his delicate instrumentation was also attuned to sensing temors within his master. Luke folded his lean body down beside the droid, sitting on the curb with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "I don't know, Artoo," he said in response to the brief string of inquiring beeps. "I... found Father, and Leia had Mother all that time ago. Maybe this is all I get." His artificial hand clenched around the real one, bringing pain. "It doesn't seem right, though. "I want to see her, and not just to understand Father better, but because..." How could you explain it to a droid? Say that you hand within you an illusive, quicksilver memory of someone warm and kind? That you heard her voice just before you dropped off into true sleep, and that sometimes when you thought of the man your father had been pretending to be, you also saw her shadow-- as if the darkness was not strong enough to push her away? The little astromech droid pushed against Luke's side, gently, giving a coo that was oddly expressive. "I guess you're right," he replied, sensing in Artoo only vague concern and question. Only Threepio could truly follow the little blue machine's language. "I shouldn't give up so soon. I'm just frustrated." Briefly, he touched the Force, and a smile came to his face. Rising, he patted Artoo's little dome once more, "Come on. We should try asking around some more." =========== Because it was the nineth day of the week, she rose early; thrusting aside the heavy quilts and climbing from the curved basin that served as her bed. In Koe's early morning veil of gold, she shivered unconcously-- it had been a long time since she hadn't been always cold to her core. Padme Naberrie Skywalker padded softly throw her one-room stone house, moving through the unguarded threshold and out into the garden she tended with all of her souring love. Rain water had collected in the wide barrel near the house, and Padme splashed the water on her face, disturbing the small golden leaves that floated on the surface. She looked away quickly as the water settled, not wanting her broken reflection to reassemble itself. On Alderaan, life-times ago, she had seen things He sent her in the water, in the curve of a silver brush, in anything reflective. There were no mirrors in her house. Now, to the rows and rows of oshiibara, which looked like the little pearl rosettes that had been sewn into her wedding gown. Tenderly, Padme caressed the stems as she harvested, as if to show them that the memries they stired did not upset her. Plants, oshiibara and otherwise, were much kinder than humans-- they could not speak, and thus made no promises, no false words of love. Rising to her feet, buds in hand, she turned back towards the house, her deep brown hair trailing the grown behind her-- flowers and leaves knotted in the locks as though they were welcome. She was very beautiful, still, but in a way that would hve made her a stranger to Dorme or Bail, if they still lived and could see her. A breeze, now-- chill and unnatural-- as she entered the house and Padme smiled her tears at the touch of Anakin's ghost. She said nothing, instead tracing the long, raised line of burnt skin on her arm-- she had felt him die, a pain that overwhelmed her as she worked by the fire. His soul's shattering had washed away all other sensations, and now she felt his nearness as easily as her own breathing. She was afraid, afraid to speak, to ask, and thus begin the painful wheel all over again. Breakfast was oshiibara, boiled in the last pint of Padme's clean water; she ate the petals absently, the wind moving through the house and teasing her short shift. She resented her body, in someways, for holding out so long, and now she fed it only grudgingly. This chore completed, she wound her hair up under her black ribboned cap and stepped into the folds of her loose black dress, singing as she did the fastenings. "With silver buttons, all down her back--" An old nursery rhyme, about a girl and her coffin. The large, now empty water jar was tied to a wooden framework, and rested against Padme's spine like Leia's piggy-back seat once had. She kept her children's faces clear in her mind, loving them though their lives stretched before her with a mocking blankness. At the crooked gate, she saw Anakin-- he leaned his non-existant form against the irregular bars and watched her with a sad smile. He flickered too-- first the young man she had fallen in love with, then the young boy who's love had conjured her own. It took all her strength not to try and touch him, however briefly, as she passed. Down the slopping hill, past the beginnings of an abbandoned foundation and all along the coppery grass feilds, her bare feet on the dirt road. Padme paused as she saw the sillohette of a building rise in the distance, knowing her journey was halfway through. The house was larger than her own-- not a difficult task-- and rambled off its main foundation with startling assymetrical chaos. The sun was just coming up over the ocean of copper grass, but Padme saw a stir of movement within the shed. "Oy, Widow Skywalker!" a male voice, as dusty as the surroundings of the man who owned it. "Shindor!" Padme raised her hand in greeting, tarrying from her walk to peer into the shadows of the shed. Shndor was a large man-- a gentle giant, with a head of black hair and eyes that seemed set too far back in his skull. "Rest your feet a minute, won't you?" he inquired, not taking his eyes off the holoproj he was teasing with the delicacy of a doctor opperating. "Thank you, I will," Padme hiked up her dress and settled her self and the jar on the remnants of a landspeeder. "How are you?" "Fine," Shindor drew the word out as he tried to settle something into place. A snap, and he hissed like a dewback kept from its food, "Damnation and all that." "Still not working?" she asked, gazing at the holoproj with a disinterested eye. "I had it working before!" Shindo protested, rubbing his forehead with one large hand, "Ask Sintalia-- she was with me." He raised his gaze to meet Padme's, "Speaking of which, she's still hot set on having you embroider her wedding--" The very word seemed to make Padme tense, "I can't." "I know," Shindo's smile was fatherly, "Maybe I sorta understand, who can tell? Sintalia on the other hand..." "She still asleep?" the widow asked. "Yes--" "Then I best be on my way," she replied, obviously eager to avoid a confrontation. Shindor nodded, and she was halfway to the wide hole in the shed tha served as the door, before his voice reached to stop her. "Wait!" when she turned back, he was scratching his head in embarassment, "Didn't get to tell you what I picked up on the holoproj." "Oh." "Good news, I guess-- for the rest of the galaxy. Out here, I suppose it doesn't matter much," Shindor shrugged, "Still, I'm damn pleased, for some reason." Padme frowned, "What is it?" "The Rebellion-- against the Empire," Shindor's smile was wide and unself-concious, "I picked up the Geonosis station tha relays the Coruscant wave. They're saying the Emperor, and the Empire-- it's all dead." There was an empty joy in Padme-- triumph laced with poison-- and despite herself, she cried. They were slow tears. Shindor watched her, waiting but also a little uncomfortable. "That's good..." she said suddenly, smiling past the pain, "I'm glad-- that's the best news I've heard in years!" "I didn't get much of the details," the man replied, pleased that she shared his enthusiasm. "Just that they're working to set up a government, and that this Alderaanian girl is mostly in charge of granted political, um, er..." "Assylum?" Padme offered, her mind racing. She didn't dare hope-- she couldn't remember how. "Yeah, that's it-- trying to smooth things over," Shindor nodded triumphantly, "Rhea Organa, or something like that. The missus thought it was a pretty name." "Leia?" Padme whispered, having turned away. "That's it!" Shindor sounded confused, "Hey, Padme..." "Thanks for the news, Shindor," she paused out in the dry feild, arms curled under her breasts. Then she turned, and continued down the path; stumbling and-- when she was far enough on her own-- crying a little as though the loss was as fresh as today. "Leia..." Above all, there was happiness. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ [to the tune of "Old Mc Donald"] Crazy Meredith has a fic, feedback, feedback, oh-- and about this fic she wanted to know, feedback, feedback, oh-- Was it good or bad, Was it happy or sad? Here she asks, there she asks, She's always wanting feedback, Crazy Meredith has a fic, feedback, feedback, oh-- -----signature----- Meredith Bronwen Mallory Evil Mad Scientist / Darth Bronwen Apprentice of Darth_Fruitcake Proud Master of the wonderful and ever-glorious Msna "That is not dead which can eternal lie, and after many strange eons even death may die."-- The Necromonicon
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Meredith_B_Mallory Registered: Oct '01	Date Posted: 11/14/04 7:31pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The Widow Skywalker 2b/? by Meredith Bronwen Mallory mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com http://www.demando.net/ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Alive. Somewhere, Leia (my Leia, my small silver piece in the eye of the storm) was alive. She breathed, her heart pumped blood, which in turn flowed through her veins. She was a real person who could think and feel and maybe there was someone she loved. Maybe, maybe, there was someone who loved her. After Koe's coppery wind had brushed away her tears, Padme began to laugh, just a little, frightening herself. Her time in the Imperial Prison had made it so that she no longer trusted her own mind, but the irony was still sharp like berry wine on her tongue. Leia helped to tear down what her father had built. For a moment, she understood those who sought redemption through their children-- an image, herself weaving complicated patterns of black and red, as Leia sat and unraveled the threads back into oblivion. Sometimes, Padme didn't believe in the past. It was so fresh and painful, but so far away. Nothing concrete, it seemed to change from day to day. Had she really loved a boy named Anakin? Where her children hidden away, or simply stillborn? (She had that awful reoccurring dream, where she climbed the hill, and the twins' graves were exposed, and she could see the tiny baby bones curled up in the coffins. Luke had been taken away so quickly, she sometimes wondered if he'd ever been born at all.) Between herself and the woman called Senator Nabberrie lay the golf of her hellish time in the camps-- needles, always needles, piercing her everywhere, bringing night and the dark and those things that come in the dark. There's a reason those things come in the dark; if they come in the light, you would see them. They, the masked Stormtroopers who sometimes seemed like devils and other times seemed like clowns, said the injections would help her forget, but she was trapped in her memories. They lied, they always lied. She never forgot a thing. Hearing someone else speak of Leia made the world much clearer, as if she was the princess in the high tower with a divine spyglass. Perhaps, Padme smiled bitterly, she thought in fairy terms too often, but she had not been a child during her childhood, and it was so much easier to believe in things like hope and love and peace in the vague land of myth. It was like walking into a painting-- looking at the Koe morning, Padme thought it was rather like the abstract vision of a madwoman-- its two-dimensional, and you can't convince yourself it's real. After all, in fairy tales, the prince is never the same as the warlock. Maybe that was the problem. "Widow Skywalker!" inwardly, Padme winced, realizing she was standing still. Her feet had halted near the old plantation, with its crumbing iron gates, as if she felt safer if she had bars to look through. Is the tiger relieved to have the humans barred from him, as he is barred from them? For a moment, she considered starting her journey again, but she simply sighed and turned around. The figure approaching was small and willowy, but growing with hurried pace. Padme hadn't even needed to look up to know it was Shindor's daughter, Sintalia. "Morning to you," Padme greeted, when the girl had come close enough. Sintalia grabbed the older woman's hands without preamble. "Widow Skywalker," she said, breathless, "Please, I know my mom and dad have talked to you, but... you have to make my wedding gown! You just have to!" Sintalia's rather unremarkable eyes widened-- she was not much more than a child, and could afford to use pity in her favor. "I've already explained," Padme gently freed her hands from the younger girl's grasp, "that I simply can not do it." She turned slightly, to show that her distaste was not for Sintalia, but the subject. "But you're even making Mom's dress for the wedding! No one within three cities is half as good as you are! I'm the bride, but my mother will outshine me because she'll be wearing something you made." "Your mother's dress is very simple and respectable, Sintalia," Padme said patiently, "she has no intention of drawing attention away from her blushing daughter." "My wedding is the most important day of my life!" said Sintalia passionately. In a swift movement of wind, Padme was facing the girl-child, holding her shoulders in a grip that was firm, but not unkind. "Is it?" Sintalia saw the strange topaz fire flash behind Padme's eyes, "You dress up in lengths of white and pearls, you carry flowers. It's all ceremony! What happens when you toss your maidenhood out the window? What happens to the rest of your life? This can't be the pinnacle." At the shattering expression of surprise on the girl's face, Padme hung her head, "I'm sorry I spoke harshly. Please forgive me." She turned, feet moving at last, glad for the weight of the water pitcher on her back. A hand-- how she wished it was Leia; with whom she had never had the chance to talk or advise or argue-- reached out to touch her arm. Padme did not turn, and Sintalia's voice seemed disembodied. "Can you tell at least tell me why?" Padme's eyes hid beneath her lashes, as if she could see something more than the grassy horizon, and did not want to look. "Because, I'll poison it. It's bad luck for a widow to make a wedding dress. Because your gown would be beautiful, but it would break your heart like mine was broken." A shuddering breath from the other girl. Padme said, "Please don't ask me again." She walked on, and knew Anakin was walking beside her on the other side of the fence. * * * * * * * * * * * * * In Clockwork City-- which was not so much a city as it was a cluster of clay buildings surrounding the thundering canal-- Padme followed the brightly-robed young women towards the central bridge. There, in the shadow of the huge canal gears and water mill, she removed the jar from its sling and drew the life-giving fluid. n Koe, the water was no blue, but an almost washed-out blood red; different minerals, she'd been told. There was talk, echoing round the canal-- young talk, gossip, laughter. Padme smiled, just a little, because if she closed her eyes she could imagine she was back on her father's farm. Securing the jar's lid and refastening it to her back, Padme meandered past the stalls of the market, not really seeing anything. She could remember when water simply came from a facet. When it seemed so trivial, and Anakin's fascination with it seemed wonderful but strange. She thought she understood him better, now. At the corner stall, she bought a few loaves of bread, taking them under her arm. She turned towards the booth across the street, her expression somehow going from neutral to uncomfortable happiness without really changing. "Deip," she said, by way of greeting, passing her hands over the smooth bolts of soft synth cloth and rough farming fabric. "Hello, beautiful," Deip returned, capturing Padme's hand and cupping it to receive a few delicate glass beads. "The glass-blower down near Jaquerie finished up a whole new batch of them. Aren't they nice?" "Very," said Padme, holding one up to the light to see the intricate metal impressions. "I like this one," Deip held up a silver sphere, "It's like your eyes." "Stop that," Padme said, with more a tone of forgiving frustration than anything else. "You're mean," the dark-haired girl pouted. "Jam yesterday, jam tomorrow, but never jam today," the widow sing-songed. "Yesterday and tomorrow never happen," Deip pointed out. "Exactly." Deip's feline smile was the same as the first time Padme had seen her-- there had been another injection, and the distant jolting of her body as they moved her to a transport, and screaming-- there was lots of that-- before the drugs wore off and someone was kissing her-- not really kissing, but trying to. Then, as the world changed from a chaos of mad finger-paints to something real and true, Padme had seen Deip, crouched like a panther on the bed, smiling in a way that was not a smile at all. "Hey, Briar Rose," Deip's narrow eyes had narrowed even further, "the prince can't make it. You'll have to make do with me." Padme'd had a mind to tell her erstwhile rescuer that the prince had put her here in the first place. Then, there was the stumbling flight through the halls of the transport, bodies of Stormtroopers littered like fallen leavens. In the cockpit, the other prisoners-- women, all of them, violated, all of them, and all of them dripping in the blood of their torturers selected the furthest coordinates the hyper-drive could make, like a wild spin of the dice. They were loose, loose women, free. One of the prisoners-- it hadn't been Deip-- had said, "You can't lock up wild animals. Sooner or later, we bite." "How much do you want for the beads?" Padme inquired, casting a thoughtful glance towards the bolt of green fabric. She had three projects to finish, though, and pushed it from her mind. "For you, I'll sell you the whole batch for... three circles." "Don't favor me," the widow warned, "Your other customers will get jealous." "Hey, you're the only one I'd let have these," Deip wrapped the beads in a scrap of spare cloth, "No one else would do as well with them." A ghost of a smile, "Tell the Jaquerie grocer I'll sent my harvest to him in a few days." "He'll be happy to hear that," the other woman remarked, "he's already had a few people come looking for your oshiibara. He's had to turn them away." "That's a shame," Deip took three circles in exchange for the beads. "Thank you," Padme said earnestly. She carried the beads carefully, remembering Leia's shining, baby eyes as the little girl held up the shattered pieces f a long-ago blue necklace. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ This is the dream she has. She can have it when she's walking, when she's eating, or as she's sewing-- but she rarely ever has it went she's asleep. She did, just once, and that was enough. Maybe it was supposed to warn her, but... but even after all this time, she didn't believe in Vader. "Padme... what's wrong?" Rustling then, in the night-lit darkness. A warm body, all curves and smooth movement, withdrew towards the other side of the bed. "I had a bad dream, that's all. I'm sorry I woke you." "A nightmare?" "Yes." The way she said it told him it was more than that. Silence, then. He almost thought she was asleep. "I dreamt you were my enemy. You drew your lightsaber against me." Her voice was careful, wondering, as if she was speaking of someone else. As if it had no effect on her. "That could never happen, you know that." He hadn't meant to say it so roughly, but he needed the words. Saying it made it true. "There was a red light everywhere-" Laying still in the darkness, he held his breath. "- and blood, all dried but running down the walls." "It was a bad dream, Padme." It didn't sound condescending, but he almost wished it had. Instead it was a plea. She must not have heard him, or if she did it was from a long way off and she couldn't believe him through the dream. "There was something... something over your eyes." Her breath caught on the memory. Now it was real for her, "I couldn't see your eyes." "I would never hurt you, Padme." "I know." But it sounded like she didn't. "Padme, I love you." It had never been harder to say it, it would never be any harder to say it. "I believe you." A pause- a guilty one. The spot where she'd been laying beside him had cooled completely. "I love you too, Ani." He'd never doubted that, it had always been understood. He said, "It was just a nightmare." They laid there, together but not touching, in the darkness for a long while. "Was it?" +++++++++++++++++++++++++ She has that dream, and he has this dream, and when he wakes up the first question he asks is 'when am I?', not 'where am I?'. Red crosses blue. Lightsabers, in the dark, in the chill wind of Bespin and he is hurting. (Damn it, what did you do to Leia to Han to Chewie to everyone I care for..) Cross, block, parry. He jumps to avoid the red blade, which is cold instead of hot. "Impressive... most impressive." The shadows are deep and thick, illuminated only by the glow of lightsabers. But he still sees her, the woman throwing herself desperately against the phantom cage. She is beautiful and kind and he does not know how he knows this. She is screaming 'no' without making a sound. A brief image from the enemy: "That could never happen, you know that." "I love you." "It was just a nightmare." The frightening thing is, Vader knows she's there too. Sometimes, he wakes, and Beru's soft, weathered hand is against his face. She holds up her free hand, spreads it wide. She says she has caught his bad dream, and that she will keep it for him until he gets older. Other times, he wakes, and Han's voice calls from the lower bunk, saying boy are you loud, kid, and maybe you should have a strong drink before you go to bed. Or Leia, who's voice is soft and quiet. During the war, she says there's no use having nightmares when you're going to wake up to one. Such a nice person shouldn't have bad dreams. Or else he's alone, and the lights of Coruscant are coming through the window. Artoo's low hum is what gets him back to sleep. ++++++++++++++++++++++++ The rented speeder lurched as it came over the last hill leading to Clockwork City. Luke's vision seemed to clear, and he mentally scolded himself for not focusing more clearly. He'd felt out of sorts all day, though-- he imagined Yoda would rap him with the grimmer stick had the old Master been present. "Well," Luke said to Artoo, "Even Obiwan had to have his off days, I'm sure." He ran a hand through his hair, "Maybe I should have listened to that clerk-- we'll never get back to Jaquerie before nightfall." Artoo whistled long and low. "Hopefully this will pay off," the Jedi returned. He sped up a little a pulled to a dare-devil turning stop as he reached the city's outer gate. The droid beeped indignantly, but Luke just grinned boyishly-- he missed racing. Securing the lock on the speeder, he lifted Artoo down to the cobble-stone walkway and turned towards the city. The first row of stalls in the market place turned up nothing but guarded eyes, and the brief mention that Widow Skywalker did some dressmaking for the locals. Luke fought down his frustration with this new bit-- he at least had a trade. Briefly, he remembered Leia saying that she was always much handier with a blaster than a needle, and that as a child, her fingers had been picked unto death. Leia and Mother, sitting somewhere under Alderaan's blue sky, Mother demonstrating stitches-- the image was surprisingly clear. "Artoo, I-- HEY!" Luke turned quickly, watching the stranger who'd bumped into him moments before. A young man, not much older than himself, trotted away with his brown cloak trailing behind. 'Come on!' a voice seemed to say. Possessed with a sudden purpose, Luke followed, Artoo squawking in protest. He turned the corner, now following a young boy in desert grab (was this the same person?). Another corner, and back to the young man. 'Here!' "Can I help you?" " Pardon?" Luke, startled by the intensity of the 'vision', looked up suddenly. The woman running the fabrics stall looked a little perplexed, "Do you want to buy something?" She gestured to her wares with a broad, long fingered hand. Cautiously, Luke said, "Actually... I was wondering if you could answer a question for me." "Oh?" the woman's eyes seemed to slant, "Sure, kid, shoot-- but not literally." Luke allowed himself a laugh, before sobering quickly. "Do you know the Widow Skywalker?" +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ [to the tune of "I've been working on the Rail Road"] "I've been working on a ficcie, All the live-long night... I've been working on ficcie, And I hope it's not a blight. Can't you send me some feedback? So in the morning I'll read it? Can't you send me a comment? I would love you and I mean it. -----signature----- Meredith Bronwen Mallory Evil Mad Scientist / Darth Bronwen Apprentice of Darth_Fruitcake Proud Master of the wonderful and ever-glorious Msna "That is not dead which can eternal lie, and after many strange eons even death may die."-- The Necromonicon
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Jedi Trace Title: • SouthEast RSA • FanFiction Manager Registered: Dec '99	Date Posted: 11/14/04 7:44pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	I'd heard about this fic for a long time, and finally got caught up with it on the Classic board. Thank you so much for continuing this story! -----signature----- "Luke Skywalker kicks ass. Next question." - Tom Taylor "Sometimes bad guys are the only good guys you get." - Leverage
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 11/14/04 8:31pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	VaderLVR pushes the other readers out of the way. Hey! They all followed me over here! Get out of the way! Okay, that's better. Thrilled to see this story being reposted, I've loved it since I read it the first time! -----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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rhonderoo Title: Former Head Admin Registered: Aug '02	Date Posted: 11/14/04 8:58pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	So glad this is being reposted!!! -----signature----- DT421 FYI: You don't deal with me. I deal with you. Damned right the Jedi's fire has gone out of the universe. I was the bad-ass Class C extinguisher who snuffed them. - @darthvader (Darth Vader on Twitter)
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Padlei Registered: Mar '03	Date Posted: 11/15/04 7:23am Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	Ooh... SO glad this story makes its return! Can't wait for the update. And glad to see your muse returned after the ROTS teaser. -----signature----- 1-ROTS, 2-AOTC, 3-ROTJ/ESB/ANH, 6-TPM Brazil world champions in 2010.
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rhonderoo Title: Former Head Admin Registered: Aug '02	Date Posted: 11/15/04 7:42am Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	Okay, I got caught up to Ch 6 from other location, and am patiently (or not) waiting for more.... -----signature----- DT421 FYI: You don't deal with me. I deal with you. Damned right the Jedi's fire has gone out of the universe. I was the bad-ass Class C extinguisher who snuffed them. - @darthvader (Darth Vader on Twitter)
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leia_naberrie Registered: Sep '02	Date Posted: 11/15/04 1:22pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	O Merry, I feel so awful about the whole board mess. I should have remembered when I advised you to post in 'The Saga' boards. Your story is still wonderful - wherever you choose to post it! -----signature----- http://io9.com/5111680/avatar-casting-makes-fans-see-white Upset about the casting for the Last Airbender movies? Write to Paramount about it. http://aang-aint-white.livejournal.com/1007.html
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BrokenNoseOfQui-Gon Registered: Nov '04	Date Posted: 11/15/04 2:46pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	Awesome story! I am a reformed lurker, but I had been following this one on the Saga board. Happy to follow it here! -----signature----- My Name is Boba Fett http://boards.theforce.net/The_Saga/b10476/18371227/?0 Broken Nose of Qui-Gon http://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=16981717& Luminous Beings http://boards.theforce.net/Before_the_Saga/b10475/17766838
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Lady_Jade Registered: May '04	Date Posted: 11/15/04 6:36pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	This is reallys good!! I can't wait for Luke to finally run into Padme! -----signature----- "Do or do not. There is no try." ~Yoda, ESB 6 years of schooling + 6 months of training + 6 hours of sweat and pain = one very proud black belt
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Meredith_B_Mallory Registered: Oct '01	Date Posted: 11/16/04 12:28pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	Jedi Trace- You've heard of me? blushes violently Wow... I hope I was worth the reccommendation. ^^ VaderLVR64- Now, now, play nicely. ^_~ Seriously, I'm glad to see you here! rhonderoo- Thank you. I'm glad people are still interested! I am working on the next post... Padlei- That trailer was a thing of evil, wasn't it? Uncle Geroge is such a tease! wails May is just to far... Ahem. Thank you for the comment. Leia_N- Dearest, it's not your fault at all! If I'd been using my brain, I would have realized what you meant... ^^;; I guess Carol made off with that, too. ^_~ BrokenNoseOfQui-Gon- I adore your SN! It's always nice to see a lurker post! shakes BNoQG's hand Lady_Jade- Thank you! And now, for post yon ban me! (sorry, too much time studying for Japanese class. ^^) ===================================== The Widow Skywalker 3a/? by Meredith Bronwen Mallory mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com http://www.demando.net/ ===================================== "Do you know the Widow Skywalker?" So strange it was to say the name in connection with someone else. All his life, Luke had been the only Skywalker, a name somehow daring and flashy amidst the sand. 'Owen Lars' was a thick name, too heavy to rise off the ground, and 'Beru' was the native word for tourmaline, a precious green-pink stone. His Aunt was a lot like that, hidden away from prying eyes but still was something strange and wonderful glittering under the body she wore like an old, comfortable robe. Skywalker-- he remembered learning to write it in school, so long and hopelessly complicated. The word made him think of flying, as if he could walk off a cliff and just continue on his way as though there was a bridge beneath him and not just fickle, quicksilver air. "There is another Skywalker," Yoda had said, but Leia was an Organa-- memories of mother patched up with the kindness of her foster father. Anakin Skywalker was dead. For a moment, the woman's eyes seemed to vanish, becoming instead two inverted black crescents, the wings of some bird of prey. He started to say again, "Do you know the Widow-" "I heard you the first time," she replied, not angry, just factual. She opened her eyes, which were yellow-green like a feline, or that monster in the cave you glimpse but never really see. She turned away from him only slightly, seating her lean form on a crate. "There's the well just down the way a bit," she said, gesturing towards a nerby jar with one long, claw-like parchment hand. Her eyes met his and her pupils seemed almost triangular, "Do a favor for a tired peddler?" "Yes, Ma'am," Luke reached for the jar without thinking. She could get it very well by herself-- he knew, but this was an exchange. His un-needed kindness for her words. He tried and failed not to jog towards the well like an eager little boy; it seemed to him for a moment that he was back on Tatooine running small errands for Beru, always pretending he was a starship or a winged beast as he hurried over the dunes. Then, with his head bowed a little, he returned the jar to the woman's hands, watching as she noted his single, black-gloved hand with interest. Wordlessly, she poured the water into two bowls that were only mildly clean and motioned for him to take a seat. "I'm Deip," she muttered half into the water. Tipping the bowl to his lips, Luke tasted cool liquid and just a hint of coppery dirt. "Luke," he said his first name and took a quick breath in, to force the family title back down his throat. Deip made the shape of his name with her lips, her eyes distant as if casting back, looking for information. "Where you from?" She rested the dish in her lap. "Tatooine." Curt; "Never heard of it." "It's on the outer rim." He asked with polite interest, "Where are you from?" "Almak." Said with a quick, flick of the tongue that might be elegant on someone else. "Never heard of that, either," he said. "It' on the outer rim," she rased an eyebrow, and they both laughed a little, pretending it was a joke. This time, they sipped in perfect unison, measuring each other. There was a long pause, in which the hum and jabber of the market place was almost unbearable. "There's a gate on the east side of the city." He made no comment on this. "Take that gate-- turn off the main road just after you reach the old plantation. It's just the foundation and the fence now." Deip paused for a breath, twining her finger in one of her thick, loose curls. "You'll go on the off road for a while, then you'll see a big farmhouse. Keep going. She lives up against the canyon... if you reach the dry lake bed, you've gone too far." For a moment, Luke imagined Han was with him, straddling an vacant crate with all the lazy grace of a gundark-tamer. Han would say, "Honey," (Han called all women 'honey', but only Leia was 'sweetheart') "I've already gone too far." "I'll remember," Luke said, smiling a little, "Turn after the old plantation, pass the farm, don't go beyond the dry lake bed." Deip nodded, accepting his faithful recitation. He took one last drink from the bowl, then bowed his head as he passed it to her, "Thank you for the water." He wondered if she knew how much that meant, to a person from the thirsty desert. She stood as well, "I don't suppose you're gonna buy anything, are ya?" He glanced at her wares without really looking, "No, thank you." Deip snorted, wearing her annoyance like a crown, "Didn't your Mother ever tell you it's rude to window shop?" "No," Luke said earnestly before turning his back, "she didn't." - - - - - - - - - - - - - There was something he never told Leia; something he held from her and guarded with such carefulness that he was sometimes unsure whether he was keeping it from her or protecting her from it. There were things, too, that she owned and kept out of his reach-- she had, after all, served on the Senate and spoken with Vader on many occassions. Sometimes, there was a tinge to the way she regarded the Sith Lord, something that made her tilt her chin up and look down her nose, as if imagining her nemesis still stood before her. Remembered arguements? Subtle politics? He didn't know, had never seen Vader speak to her. Once, he'd been young (he wasn't young, not anymore-- it was strange how ageless he felt, like a relic) and filled with a sense of loss that sent him hurling towards Vader with his anger alive like vengeful justice. He had been able to see, so clearly, in his child-like imagination, the shadow of Vader betraying and murdering the bright, shining knight of his father. Stabbing him in the back. (the thrice damned Sith wouldn't have been able to defeat Anakin Skywalker any other way, no sir) Obiwan had told him just what he wanted to hear, something to counteract the resentful grunts of his uncle and the quiet, bird-like fear of his Aunt. He had lived in Beru's house and eaten her terror as surely as he cleared his plate of beans. And so, he'd been filled with his own righteousness (yes, I would have commited patricide without knowing, I'd look at my hands and never see the stains. Where is your honor, Kenobi? Dare you show it to me and let me see that it is not pristine, or do your lies not count?) and when he sat watching the Princess who was not familiar enough with him to be Leia, and he'd seen the flash from her fitful sleep, well, he'd been ready bind her with his arms and promise he'd protect her from Vader as well. Her nighmare was a memory, which was really a memory of Vader's memory and now Luke's; a faded transmission, changed with each telling. A touch on Leia's cheek. Leather. Was it the machines under there that made it seem warm? She was dressed in heavy gold and midnight, and had been turning like a perfect porcaline statuette with each noble that asked her to dance. She was thinking that she was not a real girl anymore, that her soul had gotten lost somewhere and how was she supposed to do any good when the world was so glittery and plastic and shallow? Stepping out into the night air, she bit her lip and tried to tell herself she'd forgotten how to cry just like how she'd forgotten to laugh and to have fun and really smile. Then... A touch on Leia's cheek. He was a death's head, the reaper who threshed the world into oblivion, and she could see her own wide brown eyes in his darker-than-dark mask. He drew a single finger along her flushed cheek, not straight down, but in a kind of curve. She was so afraid, and she was breathing in his rhythm. It was cold, and her parted lips made her breath into the little wings of ghosts. There was something under that terror, though, something under the muted... well, she was still very much a child and really had no words for the emotion she was gleaning from the Sith. Then, a bright and instant flash; an image (MOTHER) of a woman (MOTHER) so wonderful and beautiful and warm in Vader's memory that it HURT. Leia had staggered away from him, feeling dizzy because there was something in her mind that was not of her mind shutting down her thinking for protection. "Apologies, Princess," Leia's memory of Vader's voice was dim past the thundering slam of her mind closing in on itself. "You quite resemble someone I used to know." And he never said anything about it after that. Only no, Luke imagined, did they undrstand the true danger she had been in that day. Leia said it was a reflex, the sheilding of her mind, and that years later on the Death Star she had used it survive. It helped that Vader had not been looking for a daughter, but a son. One child. (Who told him there was only ONE child? Who hid Leia right under Vader's nose? Was it you, Kenobi? Yoda? You taught me so much and told me so little. Or was it...?) And it also helped that during that brief time Leia's mind touched that of her father's, Vader was too focused on his-- even the memory, transfered from Leia's mind to Luke's, could not accurately name the emotion-- his need for Padme, that he had not thought to probe the girl who's face inspired such turmoil. "So," he said to Artoo. The rented speeder raced along the worn road that was little more than a dip in the dirt; the wind took Luke's words and littered them all along the ground. He wasn't sure if the droid heard him, wasn't sure it mattered. He needed to hear his own voice and make himself real. "Here's my secret, Artoo. The thing I told Leia, maybe half because I wanted to keep it to myself and half because I really don't think she'd want to know anyway." It took him a moment to gather the images, they pressed between his fingers and became smaller. Ashes, ashes. "I was trying not to hope for anything when turned myself over to Vader... to father," the word was strange on his tongue, still, "I almost believed he as just a hollow echo in that suit, not really Anakin Skywalker anymore, like Obiwan had said. Then," it was a statement, that one word. Artoo cooed lowly from his place secured in the back of the speeder; it was strange how there seemed to be sympathy in the modulated tones. The small craft slid over the breeze above the road, down a slope that revealed a rambling farm house and the sea of red-yellow feilds stretching one way as the canyon rose another. Luke steered expertly towards the rocky formation, eyes scanning the horizon. Unconciously, he flexed his mechanical hand, "I came to escort me from my cell to the shuttle, he was going to take me to the Emperor, turn me over-- I said something about Palpatine, probably one of those irreverent terms I picked up in the Rebellion, I really don't remember. Father pointed out that I and he and everyone in the galaxy were the Emperor's subjects. That the Republic the Rebellion was so fighting to reinstate was a dream, the real thing had only been chaos. He was trying to bait me, I think, just a little. I felt so strange, like I was hollow inside too. I always wondered how Leia was so passionate and yet to calm at the same time..." In the distance, he saw a structure built of rock just a little lighter than that of the canyon. It was a lopsided, small mud-bick building, huddled in the shade of a few spidery trees; the roof was scrap plank and thatch, and there was a little fence with bars and pieces that didn't match. Just beyond the building, he could see a few more closely gathered trees. There was a rustle in the golden leaves. Or maybe it was just a trick of the setting sun. Luke drew on the Force, felt it slide down his throat like cool water. "I said to Vader, to Father, that I was not and never would be the willing subject of a man who ruled only through terror and brutality. He stopped, right there in the hallway, so mechanically perfect. I think we were halfway to the shuttle, but he turned and really looked at me through that mask and said, 'You are your mother's son, as well as my own'. Just like that-- he turned, and I followed, and he never...." "Apologies, Princess. You quite resemble someone I used to know." And he never said anything about it after that. Luke couldn't, wouldn't, didn't want to finish. The house was close now, but still a ways away; he pulled the speeder into a curve of the canyon and stopped it with a jerk, apologizing absently at Artoo's squeal. "Wait here, Artoo," he pressed his lips together, then vaulted over the side of the vechile. He walked, measuring each step, up the wore dirt road that looked as if to had only known footsteps in the long years. The fading sun was warm and cold on his face at the same time. He couldn't stop himself from running. ========================================== Please, please, PLEASE give me feedback. I can't beg you enough. (to the theme of Jingle Bells) Oh, feedback, oh feedback, Does make my heart soar, I'd really like to hear from you, If my story is not a bore, yeah! Oh, feedback, oh feedback, Would really make my day, Oh I really want to hear, What you have to say! -----signature----- Meredith Bronwen Mallory Evil Mad Scientist / Darth Bronwen Apprentice of Darth_Fruitcake Proud Master of the wonderful and ever-glorious Msna "That is not dead which can eternal lie, and after many strange eons even death may die."-- The Necromonicon
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Reihla Registered: May '02	Date Posted: 11/16/04 12:30pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #3
	I loved the dream sequences, especially Padme's dream about red light, blood and something covering Anakin's eyes. Very chilling. Great hook there at the end. It feels like Luke is closing in! -----signature----- SagaJournal.com - an academic journal celebrating the Star Wars myth http://www.sagajournal.com/rslaughterofinnocents.html
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 11/16/04 1:48pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #4 playing!
	I had almost forgotten how truly wonderful this story was. Now I remember it all over again! A lovely and well written tale! VaderLVR bows to the your talent... I can't wait for more. I'm forcing myself not to read ahead on the classic board, I want to enjoy this one as it's posted. -----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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DarthBreezy Title: Retired Mos Everett Cantina Founder & JMPR Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 11/16/04 1:51pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #4 playing!
	I actually like reading this from the beginning... sigh Your imagry Mare is so... He had lived in Beru's house and eaten her terror as surely as he cleared his plate of beans. And... 'Owen Lars' was a thick name, too heavy to rise off the ground, And here, and wonderful glittering under the body she wore like an old, comfortable robe. There is a breivity, but an intense one... not cluttered but just right... Just wow... -----signature----- http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/29640754/p1 Dear Tam - an AU post ROTJ story told through the eyes of a child "It's hard, being a Jedi..." - Pem Skywalker Anywhere Is Possible
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Lady_Jade Registered: May '04	Date Posted: 11/16/04 6:13pm Subject: RE: [The Widow Skywalker]-- post-rotj au Luke, Padme (moved from classic boards) post #4 playing!
	You do such a great job describing the conflicting feelings that are running through Luke's head. It's very real. He's gonna meet Padme....yay! -----signature----- "Do or do not. There is no try." ~Yoda, ESB 6 years of schooling + 6 months of training + 6 hours of sweat and pain = one very proud black belt
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