Saga Celtic challenge: "Down in the willow garden" (re-load), story 8: Lyra Erso just got gunned down

Since all the stunning authors of the Celtic challenge keep to continue their work, I try to do that with my first challenge attempt, too.

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha is so nice to beta-edit here and there together with my Dutch husband @DarthUncle.


Title: “Down in the willow garden”, an Orson Krennic & Nagina vignette with many parts for the Celtic challenge on the JC boards

Author: AzureAngel2

Co-Author and editor:@DarthUncle

Story 1: “The river picnic”

Time frame of Story 1: The story takes place about 2 weeks after the events of RotS (19 BBY).

Planet of choice: Chandrila

Summary: An Imperial officer marches along a Chandrilan river, a picnic basket in one hand and a blanket rolled up under one of his arms. His former babysitter girl, the secret niece of his Emperor, is with him. He has some murderous thoughts in his mind.

Reader warning: Please excuse my weird English! I am German. English is only my Second language!

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company



You pass by willow trees and many public gardens on your way down to Lake Sah'ot. Oh shavit! You did not mean to return to Chandrila. The past is the past and that's about it.

But with Ina things are always different. Not because she is the Emperor's secret niece, his only living relative. That does not count for you. The two of you go way back.

When your own mother, some eco freak from Laxrul, was overtaxed with you, Ina volunteered to come over and to babysit you occasionally. And suddenly, you had an audience. Somebody to realize your genius, your potential. Without her you would have been stuck between a hard place and a rock.

Ina helped you to enrol at the Future Program on Brentaal, even though you let her down three years earlier. You were sulking when she had to leave for her university studies on Alderaan. But despite ignoring her HoloNet calls and destroying her messages unread, she kept fighting for you.

And then you let her down again, when you managed to get kicked out of the program for a while, due to your 'nocturnal carousing' and partying. As if having fun once in a while would have stopped you from being brilliant.

The divorce of your parents made things even worse. The fact that you were not eighteen yet, helped your mother get custody over you.

Being stuck in the Outer Rim again, on provincial Lexrul of all places, made you re-discover your love for music. With your rough, sexy voice and your guitar skills you had no problem to gather some people to form a band: 'Lost River'. Good can come from bad.

It was the Naboo crisis that brought clarity back to your life and, in honour of Ina's home planet, you joined the army which earned you the credits back to finish your exams on Brentaal.

From there it was a piece of cake, really. You rose to the fore in the Republic Corps of Engineers, as deserved. You dreams had finally come true for you. You were able to supervise large on-world projects. And then, finally, even deep space constructions.

There is no woman in your life, because you have had enough stupid chicks hanging around since your time as a lead singer. You are married to your work. And you are very much in love with 'Project Celestial Power', a true beauty.

The only female influence that you allow into your life is Ina. She is a sort of older sister for you. She's the only other person you would lie and even kill for. All to make her safe and protected.

That the Emperor assigned you as her protector is an honour. It will certainly propel you right to the top of the Imperial food chain. You might get the main price: full control over 'Project Celestial Power'. Tarkin will not like that, but he is a Wowser. Constantly, he is looking down on you. Just because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and you are but a working class bloke, the son of biological fruit farmers.

You secretly scan Ina, while you walk right behind her down the river bank, holding on to the picnic basket. You do not mind carrying it for her. The bottle of wine is actually quite heavy. It is one of the little treasures the Emperor left behind on Scarif and somehow it feels right drinking it only with her.

Hopefully, Ina will not get as tipsy and annoying as she did during your short beach holiday. Some folk in this galaxy have too big a conscience. For some reason she feels guilty about the death of her former queen, Padmé Amidala. She thinks that it should have been her duty to talk her uncle out of his master plan: the annihilation of the Republic and the founding of the New Galactic Empire.

You tried to understand this nagging guilt of hers, but you failed. It is so illogical to be true blue to the Republic. Only a stable dictatorship under the rule of her uncle can bring back peace, order and stability to everybody. And the great technological marvels the Republic was too chicken to start. Why is she not able to see that? Like your old school chum Galen she is a dreadful pacifist. Her solutions might work on her kindie school, but will not for grown-ups. Violence and the very threat of it are the only chance to get people back in line.

Your eyes drill into her back like a saber.

Why can't she be more open to your views on the universe? You always obliged her when you were a boy.

At least you are relieved to have escaped the farm of her fosters, the Anils. The five children they care for at present are unnerving. You already have trouble dealing with Jyn, Galen's baby daughter. How are you supposed to survive an entire bunch of ankle biters?

But the worst part is Gita Anil. She is one of those women who see too much for their own good. Somehow she managed a talk with your old man, something that you have avoided for years.

Ina claps into her hands, not like the forty year old woman that she is, but like a dear little girl. “Look, Orson!”

And you do her the favour and gaze out to the crystal-clear waters of Lake Sah'ot.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” she beams.

It would be a good place for a hydro-dam. Beautiful indeed. She's a great spotter.

Smiling, you set down the picnic basket and unroll the going-with-it blanket that you had jammed under your left arm. You sink down and pat on the ground next to you, hoping that she will stop dancing around and join you.

Panting and rather unceremoniously, Ina clonks down on the blanket.

Forgotten are all your earlier fights and discussions: on Lothal, on Scarif and on Jedha. She was always bad at being resentful. Her heart is as big as an ocean, containing so much love. Even for low-lives such as Boba Fett, Prince Xizor and the surviving Jedi traitors.

You uncork the wine bottle, pull her a glass that you take out of the picnic basket.

Ina scuttles a bit away from you, but only to lean against a willow tree. The sound that escapes her throat reminds you of that dreadful Loth-cat she now owns as a pet. But coming from her such a moan sounds cute, endearing.

“Sing me a song, Orson!” she begs.

You want to argue against that, but then you finish your own wine glass and find yourself fulfilling one of her wishes again.

Thinking hard on what to sing, your mind involuntarily wanders back to Lyra, Galen's wife. She's been an annoying speed bump in working with him.

Smiling, you start singing an old ballad.

“Down in the Willow garden

Where me and my love did meet
As we sat a-courtin'
My love fell off to sleep
I had a bottle of Burgundy wine
My love she did not know
So I poisoned that dear little girl
On the banks below

I drew a saber through her
It was a bloody knife
I threw her in the river
Which was a dreadful sign
My father often told me
That money would set me free
If I would murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connolly

My father sits at his cabin door
Wiping his tear-dimmed eyes
For his only son soon shall walk
To yonder scaffold high
My race is run, beneath the sun
The scaffold now waits for me
For I did murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connolly”

When the song dies on your lips, Ina raises an eyebrow. “A murder ballad?” she wonders.

Suddenly, you wish you had chosen something more cheerful. Something that fits better with the blue, careless sky above you. It feels as if you summoned something old and forbidden. Something you did not want to share with others. That part of you is not for Ina.

Before you can say anything she twitches her nose. “There is no need to murder me for my foster mom's apple crumble, Orson Callan Krennic.” She laughs and her green-gray eyes are alight with glee. “I am willing to share with you.”

You are relieved to hear that.

With amorous rapture you watch her cutting the tart.

Ina is an unusual person, but then again she had the most unusual upbringing by her uncle. No wonder that she ended up in Gita Anil's care at some point.

All in all you can be glad that you have her back after all these years of self-chosen radio silence. In order to keep her around and happy like today, you need to work hard. On your temper, on your trust issues. But it will be worthwhile.


Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:
Wowser = a person who seeks to deprive others of behaviour deemed to be immoral or “sinful”
bloke = man; fellow; guy
true blue = loyal or faithful;
kindie school = kindergarten
ankle biters = a toddler


Sources:
The song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt
A bow to Ben Mendelsohn for staring the movie "Lost River"
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

Here comes the next story, working with some of the text lines:

“I drew a saber through her
It was a bloody knife
I threw her in the river
Which was a dreadful sign”

Let us see if they fit nicely into the next vignette.




Story 2: “A dreadful sight“ (Orson Krennic and the Twi'lek groupie)

Time frame of Story 2: The story takes place about 16 years before RotS (19 BBY).

Planet of choice: Lexrul

Summary: An angry youth tries to get rid of his one-night-stand. As the lead singer of a band he can chose any skirt he wants in this galaxy. But he actually wants money to return to Brentaal for the Futures Programme of which he has been dispelled. Murderous thoughts roam his twisted mind.

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company


It is a dreadful sight. She still lies in your bed, when you come out of the sonic shower. You roll her eyes at her, scowling.

There is just girlish admiration from her.

When you exercise, sweating and bleeding profoundly, you do that to tune your body into a deadly weapon. Not to impress skirts.

Dreamlike, her brown eyes – the only thing not alien about her – are checking you out.

Solving the problem at hand is likely to be as messy as the usage of 'spice', a refined form of the Ryll ore.

Your gaze hardens and your voice, that can sing gentle ballads on stage, adapts immediately. “I thought I had made it perfectly clear to you that I do not want to see you on my return.”

Her mouth gapes open and she stares back at you in astonishment.

How much you despise groupies! They basically throw themselves on you. With all their dreams and hopes.

“Out!” you snarl, not even making the effort to cover yourself with the towel.

She does not move an inch. Just blinks at you with those perfect brown eyes, who remind you of somebody important to you. Too important.

“Get lost!”

Perhaps the Twi'lek is as daft as a doorpost. The females of her species do not have ears, but those strange cones.

You should have picked out a human woman, but last night you were in an exotic mood. Desperate to blend out the reality of your life.

Having been kicked out of the Galactic Futures Programme!

By now you expect that even Ina has gotten wind of it. Your former babysitter is very attentive, but you have not opened her last two-hundred-and-three HoloNet messages to you. You simply do not dare. It was you who severed the connection eight years ago. After you had called her names, very bad ones, during her own birthday party, there was no way back for you.

You set your lips in a firm line, drag away the groupie's bed sheet.

“But Orson…!” she protests.

“Listen, tail-head!” Your temper explodes. “Your time is up! And that's that!”

Her face is a wreath of mortification. “How can you be so cold?”

“You have no idea,” you breath.

When she still makes no move towards the exit of the hotel chamber, you walk up to your wardrobe and open it.

Your laser blaster is next to the discrete Holoframe with Ina's photo.

“I hate repeating myself!” you tell the Twi'lek, pointing the barrel right at her.

“You are mad!” she shrieks and scrambles out of the bed in a blind panic.

“Perhaps,” you mumble and add a bit louder. “But I am still a good shoot.”

You aim at the tacky painting right over her large head and fire.

Grabbing the bed sheet, the Twi'lek flees the room.

You close the door behind her and lock it.

Now there is just the loud beating of your own heart and nothing else. It is a sound that calm you a lot.

You hate it when skirts try to stay on after a one-night stand. Attachment is a handicap for you. Only power and influence makes you safe.

Holding on to your weapon, you murmur the random lines of a Chandrilan folk song that comes into your mind.

“I drew a saber through her
It was a bloody knife
I threw her in the river
Which was a dreadful sign”

You are glad for the Twi'lek that she left. She doesn't deserve death. She was but a great distraction. But sometimes you could slaughter the entire universe. Only one person is safe from your fantasies of violence.

Ina was there for you when you needed her. For that you will always be grateful. But you do not dare to have her around. Not before you have achieved greatness.

The blueprints of your space station with the super laser are still in your mind after all those years. You will build it. It will be an instrument of peace and your ticket into the higher society of Coruscant. Lexrul, Bentaal and Chandrila are just backwater planets.

But for now, you will try to make the necessary money with your band. You can buy yourself back into the Futures Programme. Of that you are certain. Some of the chair persons are greedy, others you can blackmail easily. You will not be denied access into the scientific world.

The door opens unannounced.

A flustered chamber maid stands in front of you, human by all means. Fluffy and blond, but pleasant to look at. “Sir, there has been...”

“Yes?” you ask sweetly, knowing she just recognized you for the celebrity that you are.

“I… may I… have?”

“My signature?” you say and rise to your full height.

She blushes, which reminds you strangely of Ina.

“Unfortunately, I have nothing to write on me… right now.” You give her your most dazzling smile. “But if you stay put for a while?”

The chamber maid does.

And much more.


Sources:
Once more the song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt
A bow to Ben Mendelsohn for staring the movie “Killing them softly” this time
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

And because I forgot to link possible readers, I will not do so again:

earlybird-obi-wan, Kahara, DarthUncle & Darth Gangrenous




Story 3:“Cabin door”(Orson Krennic and his father Agrippa Doran Krennic)

Time frame of Story 3: 1 week before RotS/ 19 BBY

Planet of choice: Chandrila

Summary: A Lieutenant Commander in the Republic, working in the Special Weapons Group, is on a personal mission. In order to please his chief-in-commander he has to fly to a place full of childhood memories. He is even prepared to gun down the man who sired him. For a bundle of compromising letters.

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company




Nobody is with you for this private call. Not to bail up an old man. But it's tempting to have a full complement of special troopers lot at your disposal.

Out of habit you land the Delta-class T-3c shuttle was within cooee. At the edge of the farmland to be exactly. You like to have one foot out of the door. It's an old childhood habit really.

Another advantage of this spot is that you can see the Anil farm just fine. You are half-way between both properties now.

You smile without joy.

It is but a small walk towards the farmhouse, through an apple orchard. The trees are full in bloom. It's spring here in this region of Chandrila.

Of course you know all the apple varieties that surround you: Akane apples, Beacon apples, Cameo apples, Dawn apple and so many more.

A sneer appears on your face.

You learned to hate apples long before you were able to walk. Their sight, their smell, their taste – everything about them disgusts you.

You glare at the trees around you. It is their fault that sweet, silly Lucky is no more.

The truth is, you did not aim for the family dog on the day he died. You wanted to burn a hole through one of the apple trees. The poor thing, hunting a grasshopper with dedication, got in the way. Ever since, you trained yourself and practised and drilled yourself on marksmanship.

In dismay you shake your head.

The fact that Lucky is gone these thirty years now doesn't ease the loss. He was such a lively character, licking you off at every occasion. You got more affection from him than from your own parents.

The Krennic family farm holds too many unpleasant memories for you. This place is rotten from the inside out. Like a worm-eaten apple.

Eliminating a living being is far easier than to eradicate a patch of land, but you are working on it. Sooner or later you will burn this place to the ground.

But today you are only here to meet the fruit loop who sired you. An encounter that you are not enthusiastic about.

Passion is an emotion that you get about your projects, but when it comes to family affairs, your don't care. You were neglected at a time when parental love would have most mattered, and now it is too late. Far too late.

Ina, the true anchor point of your life, claims that your mother could not help the post-partum depression, or the “baby blues” as she sugar-coats it over and over again. She probably also has some cock-and-bull excuse for your father.

While you approach the farmhouse your old man sits on the veranda. He is in his favourite rocking chair, puffing away at a meerschaum pipe. Smoking is perhaps the only thing that you have in common with the old man.

He gazes in your direction, a hand over his brow to protect his eyes from the midday sun.

The random lyrics of an old murder ballad come into your mind.

“My father sits at his cabin door
Wiping his tear-dimmed eyes”

You expect no tears from him. Neither tears of joy nor of sorrow.

Agrippa Doran Krennic is a taciturn farmer, defining himself through the hard work he does on a daily basis. For him praying to the Living Force, hah, is an act of never-ending labour.

You never really got that concept of a mystical energy field that binds the universe together. There is no place for hocus-pocus in your life, only for logical approach and facts; maybe post-facts if the empire asks it. As long as it means structure and stability in your existence, the instalment of the Empire is something you can fully agree with.

“Orson,” your old man greets you courtly, when you come to stand still right in front of him.

“Agrippa,” you reply in a low tone of voice.

He has aged profoundly since you last saw him. There is an unfamiliar fragility about him. Because his health insurance company made a mistake and sent the bills for his radiation therapy to you, you can name his disease. But you wanted to see for yourself. It does not bring you the pleasure that you hoped it would.

“I am here about the letters,” you start.

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Of course... I can... pay you back,” he speaks under great effort. “Any time.”

Knowing his finances all too well, you are one-hundred percent certain that he cannot. But you have a deal to offer, one he can't afford to refuse. “As I was about to say: I am here to fetch all the correspondence Ina and you had over the past decades.”

He crumbles right in front of you, an old, dying man with no strength left. “You have… no business...”

Ugly laughter breaks out of you, having been trapped in your chest for too long. “There is no privacy of letters. Not any more. Not within the new order. And certainly not when Ina is involved.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You never... cared answering… her letters… before. This is why… she started… to write… me.”

It is true, you shut Isa out of your life on the day she turned sixteen. One of her party guests had inquired when the winter term would start at the University of Alderaan. Looking into her flustered face, you knew.

With a loud wail you had smashed her birthday cake on the floor, called her dreadful names and ran off.

Ina had left her own party behind to console you, had gone all the way to your farm house. But you couldn't face her, couldn't not even tell her you were sorry. You had barricaded yourself in your room. Inside your wardrobe you just had felt betrayed that she was bound off-world. For studies that would enable her to work with other children. For more money than your own parents could ever offer her.

It took more than a decade to understand that she did not betray you. That she was not a money-grubbing Toydarian. Everyone needs to get off this world and move on to better things. But you cannot undo the past. You can learn to understand her better though, when you start analysing those letters.

His answer is as sharp as a single laser blaster. “No.”

You reach deep into the pocket of your Imperial uniform. There is an official document you would like him to see. “The Supreme Chancellor personally assigned me to be her legal guardian from now on. I can basically walk inside and start fossicking through the kitchen drawers.”

He narrows his eyes, obviously trying to read the contents of the flimsi foil. To check if you can really make your threat true.

You square your shoulders. “I hate to have Ina incapacitated, but it is for her own good, believe me. We all face hard times and she won't be able to make it on her own.”

Sheev Palpatine made that very clear to you and you believed him. As fantastic as Ina is as a person, she has to be protected from herself.

In an act that costs him a lot of strength, your old man lifts himself from his seat. “Orson!” he snaps and directs a stern pointer finger to you. “If you… do not… leave on… your own … I'll call Chetan over!”

This threat, involving Ina's foster father, comes unexpectedly.

“Nagina deserves… better. Much better!” he hisses.

Age has shrunken the once impressive labourer down to non-threatening size and so you can tower above him. “You will hand me the correspondence… now!”

He stares you right into the eyes. There is a clarity in his gaze that was not there before. Combative spirit with a mix of pride. “What is… wrong with you?” he inquires. “Why do… you hate… her as well… now?”

Anger flushes your face deep red. “I frecking love Ina! That is why I need her frecking letters. She compromises herself all the time, might even have spilled secrets of state.”

Of course she would not have done so out of evil ambitions. She is is always too helpful, too truthful.

“Be… gone!” your old man commands you.

You put your hands on your hips. “I would love coming back with six heavily armoured soldiers. They will blast Mister Anil and you into pieces.”

He huffs. “Beware of... Mistress Anil! She will… have your… head!”

You decide to come back another day. Preferably when your old man is confined to a hospital bed in the capital. You will check his medical appointments. Maybe bribe the doctor and nurses to keep him longer. Those letters will be yours.

“May… the Force… be… with you!” he calls after you, his voice weak.

That blasted Force, his trees might need it to be with them on their dying day.

During your most recent visit on Scarif you saw clone troopers train with flame-throwers.

Smiling and with your head held up high, you leave the place of your childhood.


Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:
bail (somebody) up = to corner somebody physically
within cooee = nearbye
fruit loop = fool
fossick = search, rummage



Sources:
Still the song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt
Now a bow to Ben Mendelsohn for staring the series “Bloodline”
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

He sure is angry at all

 

earlybird-obi-wan: As a kindergarten teacher I have to deal with a lot of tantrums on a daily basis. This is why Orson Krennic fascinates me much more than Kylo Ren.

 

That is very typical for how you show the threat Krennic is - understated and implicit, but definitely (seemingly) casually chilling - I also recall moments like that from your Lucien (though he used to be more dramatic on the outside, rather than on the inside - quite a different character from Krennic, certainly).

I don't know how bad a father Agrippa was, but he doesn't deserve a son like Krennic, noone does. Very sweet how he tried to defend Nagina while bedstruck, and the letters are nice too. But sheesh, Krennic could also just call Nagina to ask how she's doing, no wonder he doesn't have more friends.

 

DarthUncle: Some folk do not like me for the chances I give a bad character (= Lucien, Sheev, Krennic and so on). But the motto "No child left behind!" always sticks to me. Perhaps all of my "villains" are like that black blopper thingy from "Star Treck: the Next Generation" series that killed Natasha Yar.



So, yes at times I cannot let go of an issue like dear Orson.

 

Another Krennic update dear

@DarthUncle
@earlybird-obi-wan
@Kahara

And this time it´s the right thread. So many Celtic challenges! That gets me crazy!



Story 4:“Beneath the sun”(Orson Krennic and Sheev Palpatine)

Time frame of Story 4: about 1 week before RotS, 19 BBY

Planet of choice: Coruscant

Summary: The head of state goes where he pleases. Even in the middle of the night if he has too. One of his minions has to find out that it's not always an honour to win the interest of his commander-in-chief.

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company


The 'Kessel Runners' are one of your favourite bands. Not only because they popularized the jango genre in the first years of the Clone Wars. They totally rock.

With your naked feet on the living-room table you listen to your most cherished track. While your fingers drum along to the rhythm, your eyes are closed.

It has been a stressful day, but you survived it. Being one of the key members of the Republic Special Weapons Group demands a lot from you, but you have the drive and the iron will climb up the ladder of success even further.

When you came home, you did some work-out. It is your duty as a lieutenant commander to keep in shape. Then you had a sonic shower. Now, wrapped in your bath robe, is quality time for yourself.

Later tonight though, you will make research on a very private project of yours. A reunion with your former babysitter. For this you have to read through the latest report that Matese has for you. But right now, you can give in to the music.

Jizz makes you feel alive from head to toe.

One can say that music was your first love interest. Before Ina sang you a lullaby you had no clue of its existence though. With a heavily depressed mother and a hard working father you knew only the sound of the wind.

You smile to yourself.

Ina turned your entire universe upside down, enriched it in unbelievable ways. For this you will always remain grateful to her.

You start to wiggle your toes.

Balmgrass can be so soft and compliant when you walk on it. It was one of the few things you loved about Chandrila.

Out of a mood, you contact an escort service, that has been reliable over the years.

You never want to see the same girl twice. You like a spicy variety of females from different species. And you prefer them to speak to you only when you allow it. There is no need for yada yada yada. Not from your side anyway. You will not waste a life of greatness for some dumb skirt that clings to you.

The message is typed into your comlink very quickly. You wish no voice contact. The money will be send from your account after the acquisition is confirmed nicely efficient.

Out of a sudden, your door alarm sounds.

You raise an eye brow.

This can't be your appointment yet!

Annoyed, you rise and wrap your robe tighter around you.

Who has the frecking nerve to see you at such a time?

The monitor shows you a figure in a hooded cloak.

Hanging on to the door frame with one hand, you yank the opening mechanism open with the other hand.

“Yah?” you bark.

Too well, you know the face that reveals itself to you. Each day, since the Clone Wars came over the galaxy like a plague, these features graced most HoloNet broadcasts.

“Your Excellency,” you greet the Supreme Chancellor with wobbly knees, all anger forgotten. Even your usual cunningness cows in a dark corner.

He grants you a fatherly smile, delegates you aside with an imperative hand gesture and walks straight into your Coruscant flat.

Since years you have tried everything to be in one room with Sheev Palpatine, to be introduced to him in person. You licked many boots, including those of Mas Amedda. To no avail. Paying bribes to the slimy Sate Pestage also did not get you any closer to success.

“To what do I owe the immense pleasure of your visit, Your Eminence?” you ask, hoping that it is one of your architectural achievements, that caught his attention.

Sheev Palpatine gazes at you, his piercing blue eyes unreadable. You brace yourself for his answer, waiting to get bestowed with greatest honour and praise.

“Nagina,” he says and that makes you deflate.

In the moment of your greatest triumph her name fall on you like an anvil.

“Blimey,” you mutter, annoyed beyond all means.

In any other setting you would not have minded to hear from Ina. Right now she rains on your parade like a hail storm with the biggest ice chunks available.

The Supreme Chancellor makes no move to sit down. Regally, he remains standing in the middle of the living-room. “Nagina is dear to me since the day that she was born,” he says and you start to wonder why that is.

But what alarms you even more is that Ina is the main subject in this conversation. It should be all about you. About your architectural miracles you have constructed in the honour of the Republic! Or about the way you won Galen over to a certain project. This is not fair!

“I have not talked to Ina in years,” you complain.

“Then it is about time you do.” Sheev Palpatine is calm and composed, while you feel like kicking and shouting like a madman. “For it is my wish that you re-establish your relationship.”

It worries you that he knows of your special bond to Nagina. What part could an orphan from Chandrila play for such a powerful politician?

You narrow your eyes, try to scan his features.

Sheev Palpatine is an elderly Naboo gentleman, the only scion of his House. They say his family got lost in the depths of space during a holiday trip. Your parents never did you that favour. They kept coming back from their journeys to Lexrul, bringing more bantha poodoo with them about the Living Force.

One day you will use your super weapon to destroy the religious settlement your parents originate from. You intend to blast all Force fanatics into oblivion.

The Supreme Chancellor chuckles, as if he just shared your violent fantasies. But he is a harmless man in his golden years, not a Jedi Knight with weird powers. He puts on a large grin. “My niece is very upset after all you pulled.”

Niece.

The meaning of this revelation vibrates through you like an electroshock.

You could have used Ina as a short-cut into the highest government circles. But you can only blame yourself for having severed your precious connection to her such a long time ago.

Sheev Palpatine laughs, a warm, unaffected laugh that fits to his fatherly appearance. “She never told you about me, did she?”

“No,” you answer in a low voice, missing the joke here.

Ina talks a lot from dusk until dawn. As a child you witnessed it in person, now you have her flat and her working place wired.

“The most essential ingredients when dealing with my niece is trust. The second one is patience.” He slowly walks towards your favourite leather chair and sits down in it. “And when you add a little honesty from your side, the results are most satisfying.”

You give Sheev Palpatine a thin smile.

His advice sounds like that of an animal tamer or beast master. You do not see that it applies to Ina. She is a person full of surprises. You thought for a while that she could be as easily manipulated like most people, but that was not the case. She knows you better than anybody else in the universe, at least she used to.

“From now on you will be in charge of Nagina´s happiness and, even more important, her safety.”

This announcement startles you and you want to protest, but Sheev Palpatine already moves on. Throwing more words into your face.

“If you can prove me that you are able to protect the most important gem in my possession, then I might grant you power over the battle station.”

It is the total eclipse of the heart and you almost forget breathing.

“Tarkin is also interested. In the battle station, of course.” He looks grim suddenly. “But he loathes my niece for private reasons.”

Of course, there it is. An obstacle and a considerable one.

“Do not let me down in private and the power, the glory will be yours in public!” His coy smile reminds you of a ritual demon mask. “Fail me and you will learn that there are worse things than death.”

The temptation is too great. All you need to do is agree.

Sheev Palpatine sounds like a purring Loth-Cat. “You can have all that you ever wanted – Ina as a loving sister at your side and the command over your dream project.”

Of course you agree to the deal. It may come with great responsibilities, but the privileges are too wonderful to turn down.

An old murder ballad comes to mind, especially the following lines:

“I had a bottle of Burgundy wine
My love she did not know”

With that you offer your guest wine.



Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:
yada yada yada = coll. for et cetera


Sources:
Well, as said the song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt
Plus a bow to Ben Mendelsohn for “Animal Kingdom”
The website of outerrimnews.com
And thanks to this particular website
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

Well that certainly was quite a different end of his evening than he thought, and about a woman that he feels a very differently, well, really, just thinks of as a person, as opposed to an object of pleasure. I bet Palpatine knows what Krennic was up to and intentionally spoiled his evening though!

 

DarthUncle: Of course Sheev knew. He usually knows such things being a Sith.

 

Perhaps the bird shows up in here...

 

Sheev and his manipulations. Now he keeps Orson and Nagina together.

 

Thanks that you always care, earlybird-obi-wan & believe in the things that I do. Even if I don´t!

 

Ha, almost forgot to tag you all:

@Kahara
@DarthUncle
@earlybird-obi-wan



Title:“Down in the willow garden”, an Orson Krennic vignette for the Celtic challenge on the JC boards

Author: AzureAngel2

Co-Author and editor: DarthUncle

Story 5: “To yonder scaffold high”

Time frame of Story 5: The story takes place about 3 years before TPM (35 BBY).

Planet of choice: Lexrul

Summary: Kicked out of an educational programme for gifted children & being forced to live with his mother again, a youngster is hateful of his surroundings. He also hates the Force and farming.

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company



Lexrul is your official birth place. The woman, who gave life to you, wanted to visit her former religious community in the last weeks of her pregnancy. You curse fate for that. Chandrila, where you grew up, would have been more sufficient on your birth certificate. It is a Core World of means.

A flawless pedigree and the names of the right educational institutions on your curriculum vitae are the entrance ticket to the highest society circles. Perhaps even to Coruscant, the seat of government and culture, itself. A place where history is made on a daily basis.

You glare at the grass all around you. The flowers and the busy insects, that tear around on search for nectar, mean nothing to you. You were never a nature lover.

The worst thing about Lexrul though is the amount of religious weirdos it nurses. They grow like fungi all over the place. Especially the oddballs who believe in the Force.

There is no energy field that cares for the balance of good and evil in this galaxy. If there was, your life would be a different affair altogether. For a start, it would have bestowed you with a different set of parents. Not fruits farmers with a weird look on the universe.

A butterfly passes by extremely close to your nose and you try to hit it with the back of your hand.

You always fancied the Anils, your next-door-neighbours. They can be pretty stern, but at least they are devoted to their horde of foster children. Ina is one of those lucky beings.

Thinking of your former babysitter girl still hurts. In her honour, you force yourself to learn restraint. You also try to learn a certain aloofness to protect yourself. Both skills might help you to get back on the Futures Programme, you got expelled from three weeks ago.

Now you are stuck here on Lexrul with the chook, who has no motherly bone in her entire body. She sits half-naked in the grass. Her best friends are with her. Since they have finished their flower dance, the women have formed a circle and go “Om Shanti Om!” in an endless loop.

With your fingers you form a laser blaster and aim at their heads.

“Orson?” A rough voice says behind you.

Of course you know the speaker. She is one of the few women in your life that you respect without questioning.

Obediently, you around to face great-aunt Marjory. “Yes, please?”

The eighty-two year tries to hide her somewhat triumphant smile. She is a lean and wiry creature, the product of working class parents. A set of bird of prey eyes scans you in.

“Misbehaving as usual, do you?” great-aunt Marjory stresses. “Be glad that this is not a real blaster. The summer ritual would have been very short otherwise.”

Nothing seems to escape her attention. Ever.

She is also blessed with an incredible authority. It surrounds her like a cloak.

“Go and take your bad attitude somewhere else!” the old spinster advices you. “Pull out the cabbages instead! Or dig out the potatoes.”

Another thing that you like about great-aunt Marjory is that she makes no attempt to convince you to believe in the Force. She is tight-lipped about this particular subject, when dealing with you.

Suddenly, she leans in closer and hisses. “It would be useless spilling knowledge to a disbeliever like you.”

You blink.

Has she just read your thoughts? This is impossible! You heard fairy-tales of Jedi Knight being able to do that.

She laughs so hard, that tears show up in her wrinkly face. “For somebody with a IQ of 170 you can be extremely stupid, Orson.”

When somebody else would have spoken thus to you, you would have knocked that person to the ground. But coming from great-aunt Marjory this is a recognition of some kind.

You tilt your head a bit, hold in your breath, while you wait for more information from the old spinster.

She tucks her arm into yours, dragging you away from the others. “You think that the Jedi Order are the only Force users in this galaxy? That their way is the only truth?” she asks.

You have no idea what to say. Actually you never thought about followers of the Force so much. You despise their lot, but this is based on your own personal experiences with this community.

Great-aunt Marjory leads you away from the meadow towards the fields, where the men and some children work.

Boys and girls around here typically receive some vocational schooling once a week. During those hours they learn all that there is about the operation and techniques of biological agriculture. This way the family trait is held alive throughout the generations.

Your family only went to Chandrila because its mild climate is much better for apple trees. And because your 'mother', as she calls herself, had one of her weird Force visions. You ask yourself which of her many pills was to blame for that.

Great-aunt Marjory makes a hand gesture towards the working people. “Everything comes from the soil and returns to the soil. We are but a circle within a circle.”

You had hoped for more than just truisms. Simple shibboleth was never your thing really.

The old woman grins at you, her beady eyes alight with mirth. “Soil is a living system alive with trillions of organisms that recycle nutrients and sustain life.”

Scientific explanations are more to your liking.

“Since mankind came to this galaxy, we had to deal with a new alien life form: Midi-chlorians.”

You frown deeply.

“Midi-chlorians are a microscopic life form that resides within all living cells.”

“Ha, I knew it!” you rejoice. “The Force is a disease.”

She slaps you on the head, looking stern. “Orson! Without the Midi-chlorians, life could not exist, and we would have no knowledge of the Force. They continually speak to us, telling us the will of the Force. When you learn to quiet your mind, you'll hear them speaking to you.”

Glaring at her, you rub the back of your skull. “It is a bad sign to hear voices, auntie!”

“Argh!” she complaints. “You do not really listen, do you, Orson? This is not about you and your twisted teen feelings. The Force is so much greater than you. Then me. Then any of us.”

Now she sounds like the chook that you are stuck with. And why? Because of the curtsy of intergalactic child custody laws. Your old man at least never talks to you if it isn't necessary. He was never a talkative person.

“Stop wailing, Orson!” Great-aunt Marjory snaps. “You are to blame that you lost the right to continue your studies. Less partying and gambling would have done the trick. But what you did to that girl...”

As if heart-breaking was a crime punishable by law. It is not your fault she freaked out when you told her it was over. You were not the one who pushed her out of that window. She did that all to herself.

“Girls are not like underpants, Orson! They have feelings, too, you know.”

This you would like to believe, but it is even difficult for you to grasp the concept that they have a brain.

“You are seriously flawed, young man.” The old spinster takes you by the shoulders and looks you hard in the eyes. “A psychopath in the making.”

“Ho, auntie!” You try your best to reign your anger. “There is no reason giving me names.”

“Says the person who judges others harshly all the time and who lacks of mercy.” Her eyes narrow. “Compassion is also a foreign notion to you, Orson Callan Krennic.”

There is only another person in this galaxy who ever called you thus. There is a black hole in your heart where her sisterly love once shone brightly.

“You know what, I still have an old guitar in my room. I want you to have it. Perhaps not all is lost yet. You are a decent musician and not a bad singer either. Make something of it!”

You cannot help to grin like an idiot.

It has been a while since you played an instrument, but all is better than working in the fields, being forced among children and having to listen to Force fanatics.

Great-aunt Marjory sighs. “You think like a Sith. They also divide the universe in black and white only.”

You are not keen on asking what a Sith is. It is undoubtedly somebody who is spreading non-sense about a certain energy field that enables life without the help of science.

While you walk side by side with Great-aunt Marjory she mutters, “How we manage the soil and microbial life determines not only the health and vitality of the food but the health of the society in which we live.”

You feel no need to comment on her words. It is easy to accept that you are rotten to the core. As long as it gets you away from Lexrul again, all will be fine.

“To yonder scaffold high”, you mutter when the two of you depart from one another.


Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:
chook = 1. a hen or chicken, 2. informal for a woman, especially a more mature one
shibboleth= disambiguation


Sources:
The song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt
A bow to Ben Mendelsohn for staring in the movie “The Year My Voice Broke” (1987)
Several quotes from Qui-Gon Jinn on the Force and Midi-chlorians
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

Even as a child he is formed meeting people like Marjory

 

earlybird-obi-wan: My Orson is a person who hates most people & believes around him. He wants to have things his way. His order, his rules. And he and the Force did have a bad start in life.

 

There it is, another Krennic update.

And I wonder what happens when I tag DarthUncle, Kahara, Darth Gangrenous & earlybird-obi-wan just for the fun of it.




Title:“Down in the willow garden”, an Orson Krennic vignette for the Celtic challenge on the JC boards

Author: AzureAngel2

Co-Author and editor: DarthUncle

Story 6:“My love fell off to sleep ”

Time frame of Story 6: The story takes place about 2 weeks after RotS (19 BBY).

Planet of choice: Jedha

Summary: It is night time on a moon that has a profound meaning for religious life in the galaxy. Inside a small hostel an Imperial officer is quite awake next to the woman he is willing to protect with his life. It is more than a question of honour and duty to his Emperor. Much more than that.

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company




In her sleep Ina looks like an innocent angel. She snuggles into the hostel pillow, a sweet smile on her face. With her pigtails she looks much younger than a woman who will turn forty-one soon.

Of course you know that her birthday is up soon. Besides Imperial standard time, you keep up with the Lothal calender. As an architect, engineer and high ranking officer you have to be well informed and versatile all the time.

You kiss one of her shoulders and then smooth your hands down her arms and from there further on down her sides.

Her breathing stays relaxed and calm.

You start singing, just to be really sure.

“Through dark and light I fight to be

So close, shadows and lies mask you from me
So close, bathe my skin the darkness within
So close, the war of our lives no one can win
The missing piece
I yearn to find

So close, please clear the anguish from my mind
So close, but when the truth of you comes clear
So close, I wish my life had never come near
So close.
Through dark and light
I fight to be

So close, shadows and lies mask you from me.”

To your relief there is no reaction whatsoever.

“My love fell off to sleep ,” you muse quietly, quoting a favourite song of yours.

It makes you proud you were able to give Ina peace in a relatively short time.

While she was in the altar room, praying to her Naboo moon goddess, you did more than just smoking a hookah pipe. Considering the kava kava disaster on Scarif you did some research on muscular relaxation, dream journeys and interplanetary lullabies.

Of course you pondered hard on giving her a sleeping pill or at least a muscle relaxant. But then you asked her for her wishes. She always considered yours when you were a child. It is a question of politeness.

When Ina stated that she was fine without any medicine, you had to use a hypnotic that she would accept: your voice.

You gently stroke her hair.

Even though your voice is not what it used to be in the early years of your musical career, it still has power. Normally, you use it as a tool to manipulate people such as Poggle the Lesser, or Galen.

But Ina here reconnected you to a part of yourself that you wanted to forget. The youngster who enjoyed playing guitar and keyboard, singing to big crowds.

You carefully draw back the blanket and lie down next to her, actually spooning her from behind.

Her hair tickles a bit in your nose, but you don't mind that. Just being with her is intoxicating.

As a trauma victim there are times in her life when the past comes alive in her dreams again.

Tonight seems to be such an occasion.

The crimes that happened to her were so vile that they would have driven many people mad.

It is not only what her own grandfather did to her in the wine cellar of his Naboo mansion.

The Emperor told you straight-out what he did to old Cosinga and the rest of his family on a space ship so many years ago. Not en detail, but he did. With the pleasure of a true psychopath.

You shiver when you think about the long talk you had in your Coruscant apartment. That night you came to know things about the Sheev Aurelius Cosinga Palpatine you never thought to be possible. There is no way to blackmail him or to use your knowledge to your advantage though. It is in his power only to give you what you want most of all. Being in charge of 'Project Celestial Power'.

The price seemed to be acceptable: guarding the woman who was your babysitter and companion on Chandrila. Somebody you love more than your own life.

But around Ina things can be rather complicated. As a child you were not aware of that. Now you are.

The past two weeks have been the most intense and difficult ones of your entire life. Perhaps you idealized her too much. She is only human after all, with flaws like everybody else. And she can be damned sassy, silly and stubborn.

Your fingers wander over her left cheek. How pleasantly warm her skin is despite the frost bite of Jedha's air.

The girl you used to hold dear and regarded as an older sister is perhaps enemy number one. A fun fact for her uncle, a nightmare for some in his entourage.

Of course Sate Pestage, that old weasel, came to you right after his master did. But you did not play along and he had to leave very frustrated.

“So many want you badly hurt or dead, Ina,” you whisper. “They think the Emperor is your sugar daddy. If they knew the truth you would turn into a game ball of their ambitions.”

You are the only one who can keep all the villains from her.

But to do your job properly you need to know more about the man she started sleeping with quite recently. She still hides his identity. You hope it is just an attempt to keep his privacy.

You yawn widely, check that your laser blaster is on safety and then you drift into sleep next to Ina.


Sources:
The song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt
The song “So Close” (feat. Arnór Dan) by Ólafur Arnalds for the BBC crime series “Broadchurch” (2013)
A bow to Ben Mendelsohn performing a dramatic reading (2017) of the Lion King
Several quotes from Qui-Gon Jinn on the Force and Midi-chlorians
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

Darth Gangrenous: Your comments are always sweet & unexpected. Thank you!

 

Darth Gangrenous: Your comments are always sweet & unexpected. Thank you!

 

Wow, this is great stuff. I will be reading a novel featuring Orson soon and I will definitely insert Nagina into the back story ... the unspoken influence

 

WarmNyota_SweetAyesha: I also read "Catalyst" after writing my first Orson scenes and I was glad that my Krennic was not so much different from the official canon version. Despite the extra layers and information that I came up with. But being a big Ben Mendelsohn fan I added his love for music & playing eccentric characters in his movies & the TV series that he shows up in. (Already looking forward for his Sheriff of Nottingham!)

 

Orson is great in this

 

Thanks earlybird-obi-wan. Even an Orson Callan Krennic has his tender moments.

 

Oh, I hadn't commented on this story online yet, and I think my original comments while you were writing are long gone now in my mind, so, a fresh look:

I really like the way you show a more human Orson here, maybe more human than he's been, or will be, in any of the canon material, and probably also more like a normal human than we'll see him in your other Nagina material; intersting to think that his behaviour makes him perhaps more of an ass than his thoughts betray. Then again, there's some of the possessive, slightly creepy presence preserved here too, so it could alternatively be that he just doesn't think of it much (apart from thinking about how he uses his voice to manipulate, jikes!). But, probably because he more or less only cares about Nagina, and his career/projects, he also doesn't show anyone much real careing that could change our view of him. Or perhaps he really somewhere means some of the seemingly disingeneous things he says to Lyra and Galen Erso (in Catalyst). What remains is that in any case, he thinks pretty highly of himself, which you caught subtly, but clearly.