Saga - Legends "Rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light" (drama about Palp´s niece, a mix of legend & canon

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The sky is an azure blue, the waters below us crystal-clear. A multitude of islands are scattered in the ocean, some of them totally overgrown with dense jungle and others having sandy beaches.


Years ago, Scarif had been the backup plan for the wedding party that Sheev wanted to give for Barin and me. But in the end my husband-to-be and I had favoured the Gold Beaches of Corellia.


There are no military machines to be seen apart from our transporter. The spot that we are heading to is untainted by industrial waste and army buildings. All in all, Sheev's island is far away from all the important things going on.


I am the worst spy ever. The only secret that I was able to find out was Orson has carte blanche. He can go anywhere at any time. No paper work, no unnecessary explanations.


So I guess I will just to have enjoy my holidays, paid by my uncle.


I flatten my nose against the window of our armed escort shuttle, which earns me a morose sound from Orson. “What?” I ask. “Only looking.”


“Never a dull moment with you,” he mumbles.


I know the inflections of his voice and what they signify. My spine stiffens as I scrub my sleeve over the glass. Then I gaze at the grey stripe on the nose of our ship. “Why do we travel under the Imperial flag?” I wiggle in my flight seat. “This is really nailing the colour, is it not?”


Orson looks tense and that has nothing to do with him piloting our ship. “The Emperor prefers to let people think that you are his cast-off but still respected concubine.”


“And what legend did Sheev weave for you?” I wonder. “That you are my lap dog? My personal valet?”


A muscle in his jaw ticks.


“He should give you full recognition for your architectural miracles instead, shouldn't he?” I state, sounding more courageous than I feel deep down. “You deserve glory and honour. Not being stuck with me for eternity.”


Orson closes his eyes for a brief second. “If you really want, I can fly straight into the ocean and they will never find us.”


Despite his threat, he continues to stay right on course. His flight style is smooth and self-controlled. He is a good pilot as far as I can tell.


“I hope you got your current rank of Lieutenant Commander for more than the prospect of babysitting me.” I smile. “You crave so much to play along with the big boys, do you? Tarkin, Yularen,...”


His knuckles look awfully white, while he holds on to the controls. “Are you done torturing me, Ina?”


“For now, yes,” I answer.


With great care, Orson sets us down on a small landing platform.


“Not bad, mate!” I praise him and clap frantically.


Wordlessly, he loosens his seat belt and gets out of the space craft.


I have overstepped my boundaries. This is very clear to me now. I bet that I have given him at least a dozen grey hairs over the past hours. Especially when I had him search for my sun glasses in two different moving crates.


Orson zooms straight up to the building, a familiar wooden cottage.


Sighing, I unbuckle myself and leave the ship.


I make my way to the beach as quickly as possible.


As a Naboo, water is like a magnet to me. The waves sound like a big heartbeat calling my name.


Quickly I get rid of my boots.


It was very foresighted of me to wear my tankini swimming suit right under my normal clothing.


Grinning, I strip and drop my dress, my suspenders and my stockings.


I love the feeling of the sand between my toes. It is soft and soothing. Nothing coarse or rough about it.


I move on, embrace the waves. The water is warm and pleasant. I hope nothing poisonous or otherwise dangerous awaits me in there.


Naboo's legends house various water spirits that dwell in springs, wells and fountains. As a child I often had yearned to turn into a mermaid. Until I found out that they had tragic ends.


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Water is a feminine energy and highly connected with the aspects of Shiraya. Used for healing, cleansing, and purification, it is associated with passion and emotion.


Nothing disturbs my freedom. It is just me floating in my most beloved element.


As I gaze towards the holiday house, I see a person coming out it. It is unmistakably Orson. His stride is smooth and unhurried. He scans his surroundings for me. His white cape billows in the wind like a pennant.


My instinct is to dive under the water, but my personal record is five minutes at best. Sheev was a very stern, yet efficient swimming coach.


Grumbling to myself, I swim back to the beach.


Of course, Orson is right there when I arrive. He holds out a fluffy towel, but I fetch it out of his hands before he has a chance to wrap it around me. The look he gives me is not disappointed, though. I am flayed by the love in his eyes, by the pity and regret.


My mouth turns dry. “No, he had no right to tell you.” I start walking backwards. “It is my story, not his. He has his own.”


“Ina.” He says my name as a plea, opening his arms.


I hide my face behind my hands. “This changes everything between us.”


“Nonsense,” he argues calmly. “It has just helped me to solve the complex equation that is you. That is all.”


“This is what I am to you? An equation?” I am enraged.


“Do not be silly, Ina,” he assures me with a wry smile. “You are a wonderful and inspiring person. Without you my life would have been a bleak affair. You taught me to live my dreams, to reach out for the stars.”


I am scared that he reaches out too much. A man like him is able to pluck the stars out of the sky like his father used to pick the apples in the Krennic family orchard.


Orson takes a step towards me, keen to give me the solace of his arms. I suppose he means well. But I cannot, will not be touched right now.


I draw one deep breath into my lungs, and run as fast as I can.


It is pointless though. He closes in with the determination of a harvest machine.


Breathing heavily, I come to a halt and lean against a palm trunk. “Did... did you... speak to Sheev on the holonet again?”


“That was not necessary,” answers Orson as he approaches me. “A certain hospital report was waiting for me in my bedroom.”


I fix my burning eyes on a set of palm trees nearby.


Arguing is pointless. The facts are crystal-clear. The severity of my injuries back then, especially the inner ones, speaks for itself.


I draw all my strength together and turn my face towards Orson. “That all happened a life time ago. I survived.”


He kneels down in the sand, a fist pressed against his chest.


“Please, don't!” I beg, having a vague idea what is coming next.


There is steely determination in his eyes. “I swear this sacred oath that I shall protect you, Nagina Cassandra Mandré Palpatine, in service to the Galactic Empire, and shall, when soever I am asked, be prepared to surrender my life for this oath.”


Abruptly sick, I empty the contents of my stomach in racking, violent heaves into the sand.


Orson hurries towards me, grabs my hair and pulls it out of the firing line.


I groan.


“From now on, I will protect you from being a target. Even from my ambitions. Your safety is non-negotiable to me,” he assures me.


Then he produces a handkerchief from his uniform and cleans my mouth with it.


********************************************************************

(To be continued!)

 

I am not quite sure what shift just happened between Orson and Nagina, and due to her feelings about it I feel uncomfortable, but intrigued. I like how Nagina is happy about her 'tankini' and the water - in fact, this whole story must be mostly difficult for her, but she still manages to find kindness and happy moments.

 

DarthUncle: Sheev told Orson indirectly (via a hospital report) what his father, old Cosinga, did to Nagina when she was three years old.

This is why Nagina is upset. She never wanted Orson to know this dark chapter of her past. He can be "chronic" (overbearing) with his protection aim. Just now he made a vow to her that is very similar to the one that the Red Guards make to Sheev, her uncle.

 

Knowing how busy earlybird-obi-wan is, I decided to tag her for a reminder.

 

Well, you left a comment at "I-Div", so seemed churlish not to return the favour.

Read Kahara's review, which got me caught up on Chapter 16, then I dove into 17.

Best parts of that were Nagina's quip to Orson that he better not try to jump onto her arm; and in the context of coping with your illness, that you managed to compose such beautiful prose about men not seeing unicorns and the surrounding texts.

I liked seeing Krennic experiencing a bit of succour with the cabbage soup, before he again flew off the handle over a cat - I would take another look at how you got from A to B there.

His delight and relaxed attitude over the admission(?) that the neighbour was a lover read as genuine, which I liked.

I liked her wrapping the bedcover round herself and waddling over to him before that, for being a break in her feeling terrorised by his control, and for being a comfortingly feminine visual.

Now, you outdid yourself with the bathed in blue light, caught blue-handed on the toilet scene! Excellently well played and described!
And Sheev still managed to scrape a victory out of it!

During my last tenure here, when Orson turned up on Lothal the first time to announce his guardianship, I assumed he would be in orbit, doing surveillance on her property; not all the way at drokking Geonosis! How does Palpie expect him to guard her from there?!
Disney's idea of hyperspace travel times will be a help in shortening his commute though, so, silver linings.

Scarif holiday. Good idea of yours. Well described, as well as her interaction with beach sands, the water, snatching the towel off him.

Interesting and subtle reminder of her own Force talents, with the non-linear text of her reacting to Orson's new knowledge of her tribulations at Cosinge's hand, before you reveal that he has just read the report.
That should ruin the babysitter / babysat dynamic!

Great stuff as always.

Last thing, though: I read your first vignette in its 12-vig thread. Noted with interest that Nagina's knowledge here, of how Orson's dog died, differs just a leeeeetle bit from what Gita knows, or thinks she knows.
On the other hand, given Nagina's latent Force talents, isn't she more likely to be right, than the foster mother?

 

I have been busy but now again reading and liking what Nagina is doing

 

Thanks for the long feedback, Sith-I-5.

To write Orson Krennic is very difficult. Therefore thanks for pointing out the tantrum that he suddenly threw about Nagina having a cat. Here is a little explanation: he is like a very capricious tom cat. To share Nagina with others has always been difficult for him. But what he hates even more is lack of information (and trust old Sheev Palpatine to do that non-stop) and also being lied to (in this particular case by Nagina who tries to protect her latest visitors to her humble home: Xizor and Lor).

About the killing of the dog, perhaps I ever let Krennic himself tell us via a fic what really happened.

Again, thanks for the time & your kindness.

earlybird-obi-wan: I hope you like the new entry then, which will wrap up the current chapter.





And here is the rest of Chapter 18:



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We remain on the beach, because I am still dizzy and miserable. Together we sit in the sand, Orson framing me carefully with his lean body. He uses his cape as a blanket for us.


I am grateful that he does not talk to me, and I enjoy the silence between the two of us. It is like in the old days, when we sat by the river and just looked into the water together.


Back then, it was always me enfolding him in a gentle embrace. He had been such a delicate child, not really meant for the hard demands that daily life on a farm presented.


From my pocket money, I had bought Orson his first building bricks. He had amazed me with the artistry of his constructions immediately.


With the help of my foster mother, we soon organized more complex building materials for the gifted boy: translucent magnetic tiles. Those gave him a fun way to explore geometry concepts. A 'Mega Magnets Construction Set' – consisting of globes and cylindrical dowels – and a '3-D Magnet Builders'followed.


Reflecting on the past, a question forms in my mind. Am I responsible for all his army projects? For all the space stations and military building complexes?


I dare to ask the question aloud, looking up into his face, “Have I possibly loved you too much in your childhood, not able to see your potential for evil? “


“These days you drop words on me like bomb shells, Ina.” His mouth twists ruefully, but he tries to keep his tone more neutral. “It is also not fair to make me choose between your happiness and your safety non-stop.”


I consider my answer. “Growing up in my uncle's bad graces was to learn about psychological warfare first hand.”


His face falls apart, as he guesses the underlying meaning of my words. “The Emperor let you actually watch when he was breaking down people?”


I meet his questioning glance with a nod. “If you really want to know, I also watched him taking human beings apart limb by limb, too. Just once, but it certainly left an impression on me.”


His brows rise.


“I was five years old and the trophy in a fight. Sheev never negotiates with a kidnapper as Grandfather Cosinga was to find out the hard way.”


Orson makes a face, disgusted beyond means.“You should honour your uncle instead of making him the bad guy all the time. He sounds like a reasonable person, carefully weighing his chances before engaging into action.”


I am flabbergasted. “Are you serious?”


“Be grateful that the Emperor does not want any monitoring technology for you! Let alone any agents of the Intelligence Service digging into every aspect of your precious life.”


“And what are you, Lieutenant Commander?” I challenge him.


“I am still a humble engineer, building examples of architecture.”


I huff. “Keep telling yourself that!”


“To me, Ina, you will always be the universe itself. The elder sister that my parents failed to give me.” He rubs his nose gently against mine. “Even when this sister is very mean to me of late.”


My upsetment with him drains away, leaving me weary.




Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:
thongs = flip-flops
deadset = 100% sure of it. Without a doubt.
mate = friend

 

I really like reading tidbits like

that explain more about their bond, and why she has time for him (apart from being stuck with him on account of her Uncle, of course).

This period in the story is an interesting interlude (or is it an interlude?), with her being in a golden cage, but one with wheels/agency to get her places, and him then being compelled to stay with her out of seemingly genuine worry for what will happen to her, including harsher measures to keep her safe and away from vital Empiric action. Maybe it also gives him some respite from not being able to get Galen to cooperate though!. Anyway, it is an interesting dynamic, as are so many of the interactions we see between Nagina and the (previously/potentially) bad guys of future and past.

 

DarthUncle: For such an adequate comment plus the fact that anybody cares for this story still, I will gather my hurting bones together and pack my fitness bag. I think I have spent enough time reading fan fiction today, because writing is something that comes less and less easy to me these days. It is kind of you to try to persuade to me that it is a fitting hobby for somebody with my large imagination.

Also thanks that you get the dynamic between Nagina & Orson. Plus Nagina & the rest of her "fan base".

 

love what you write about Orson

 

earlybird-obi-wan: Even though he is complicated and capricious? With ever changing moods? But do NOT worry, he is no descendant of Lucien. He is, as I told Sith-I-5 before, something like a moody tom-cat & he wants to be the centre of Nagina´s universe.

 

And here is is, the first bit of Chapter 19. Freshly beta-edited by a dear Kahara.

Perhaps I still have readers in DarthUncle, errand husband in the Netherlands at present, and earlybird-obi-wan.

I do not dare to tag anybody else unless JC users really want me to.




Chapter 19:


Thousands of white daisies await me in the bedroom. I hardly spare them a glance and move on towards the balcony, forcing the double winged doors wide open.


The sun is low in the sky. It is sunset here on Scarif.


I wonder what time it is for Lor on Coruscant. Thinking of him also reminds me of the fallen Jedi temple. Of the massacre that took place there. Not a single soul spared. Great warriors like General Skywalker killed side by side with innocent younglings. Were there mass graves? Or had there been huge pyres in the Naboo style?


“Pushing daisies,” I mumble and step onto the balcony, not caring if Orson hears me or not. “In the end it does not matter. We all die in one way or another.”


He comes to stand next me, but manages to keep a somewhat respectful distance. “This is not about death. It is a matter of the heart for the Emperor.” His face is composed and quiet, but his fingers twitch. “Who among us hasn't plucked the petals of a daisy, wondering about the affections of another person?”


“If there is a greeting card with the flowers, I will tear it apart,” I announce. “Unread.”


Alarmed, Orson states, “The Emperor had no hidden agenda with those flowers, believe me. But since he ordered white stargazer lilies for the brand new mausoleum of Senator Amidala...”


“Innocent flower arrangements do not suit Sheev after all the bloodshed he committed,” I interrupt him, trying to hide my pain about the passing of the great Naboo politician.


“The Emperor tries very hard, Ina,” Orson explains the obvious. “He is sorry that he had to turn your life upside down.”


My chest heaves futilely. Below the raging waves of my anger, I find the core of silent grief. Orson has not the faintest idea what he is talking about. I take a deep, shaking breath before stating, “Nobody can win my heart with manipulations like this.”


“Never say never!” he winks at me, carefree. “Let us go down for dinner now, shall we?”


I make no move.


He smooths an errant lock of hair out of my face. “It would be a pity not to open the two bottles of vintage that I bought for the occasion. One for the main course and the other one for the dessert.”


********************************************************************


It is a silent meal and my gaze is fully on my plate. I am still in my tankini, but I wear a simple beach tunic with long sleeves and a V-neck shape over it. This way, I look more decent for the occasion.


We have lobster soup as a starter, but I only manage to get down three spoons of it. I do much worse with the seafood dish, which contains various fish species and squids. The fruit dessert I leave completely untouched.


Throughout the evening I can feel Orson's eyes on me, but he does not dare to address me. Instead, he pours me more wine than he should. And I, a willing partner in crime, I drink too much. After the third glass, my tears fall like silent rain.


Padmé Amidala is buried somewhere on Naboo and I will never be able to visit her graveside.


I attempt to clean off my tears with my napkin.


Deep inside me, I yearn to tell the former senator that I am sorry. For her brutal death. For her unborn child slaughtered in her womb, possibly with a light sabre. To underscore the fact that the Jedi did it, no doubt.


“Is this about your former queen?” Orson inquires, exhausted.


I hate his ability to read others so well.


More tears flood my eyes.


“I never thought you to be a royalist, Ina,” he tries to joke and, seeing that his words have made the situation worse, he adds, “That was out of place. I am sorry.”


“He murdered her unborn child,” I whisper.


“Whom are you talking about?”


“He cut her down like a rose,” I slur. “Because he did not want to have her in his garden any more.”


Orson rises to stroke my hair, the curiosity in his gaze turning to concern. “It's better if you stop drinking right now.”


With defiance in my eyes, I empty the entire glass in front of me. “I can’t be arsed to do it,” I answer in the broad accent of the Chandrilan working class.


“This is not a request, Ina. It is an order,” he says in a soldier's clipped tones.


I struggle to make my voice hard, to match his tone. “You mistake me for one of your underlings.”


His face shows perplexity in the fleeting light of day.


“There is always a choice, you know!” I insist. “The Force does not take sides, but we do.”


“The Force.” Orson gives a humourless laugh. “You really believe that a mysterious energy field is behind everything in this galaxy, do you not?”


“Now you will tell me that science is the only significant criterion in life.”


Something flickers in his mien. “A wise man once said that religion is the opium of the people,” he answers. “That it is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions.”


“If you conclude now that the Jedi are the root of all evil...” My chest is too tight to continue speaking. I fight for every breath.


Orson looks at me, implacable and unwavering. “Those Force benders tried to kill your uncle, Nagina. There is heavy evidence against them.”


“You are aware that Sheev has full power of the media, have you not?” I ask. “That he has been manipulating public opinion since his election during the Naboo crisis. Besides, he has always wanted the secrets of the Jedi. All of them. Not only their precious kyber crystals.”


There is a feverish look in his eyes, close to lust.


“The crystals in the main temple. The big ones!” I call out, suddenly aware of the truth. “You both wanted them for the super weapon all along. But now that you have them, they will not be bend to your combined will. They are too sacrosanct to...”


“Stop this at once, Ina!” he bites out, obviously trying not to yell at me. “And be glad that I am not Colonel Yularen. The things he would do to silence you...”


“Colonel?” I interrupt him, my courage fuelled by alcohol. “Did he lose his admiral rank already?”


He rolls his eyes at me, somewhat impatiently. “No, he just got promoted to Deputy Director of the Navel Intelligence Agency.”


To this I have but one crisp answer. “Everybody got promoted apart from you, did they not?” I regard him curiously and, pushing all safety regards aside, I continue, “This must be hard on you, Orson. Your ego always has been a major problem in your life.”


His left hand moves to his holster. He looks dismayed, close to fury. A spark kindles in his bright blue eyes.


“But what is probably worse is that you are a lair,” I attack him.


“I am not a show-off,” he stresses.


“You spend most of your time convincing everyone how great you are at everything. People who don't know you have a tendency to believe all the boasts you make.”


“You are as mean as cat's piss!” he says in his softest, most deadly tone.


As I bow in my best manner, the room reels in my vision.


“But I forgive you for you are as full as a goog, little kindie teacher!” Without ceremony, Orson scoops me into his arms and heads for the staircase. “Blimey, you are as heavy as a bantha calf!”


Irritation clears my head. “Let me down!”


He shakes his head. “Not while I attend you. No more alcohol for you, woman!”


“Give it a burl!”I shout. “Pigg's arse!”


“Fair suck of the sav!”he laughs mirthlessly. “Your esteemed fosters would be shocked hearing you talk like that.”


Swaying like a sailor on high sea he climbs the stairs, but he does not let go of me.


“If I get a lumbar disc herniation, the Emperor will get each of the medical bills personally. I swear!” he complains. “How can a small woman weigh so much? What is your diet? Durasteel blocks?”


********************************************************************


Ignoring my protests, Orson puts me to bed. But I do not stay in there for very long. When I am sure that he is engaged in a fierce HoloNet debate downstairs, I get up.


Like most drunk people, I have a guardian angel. I climb over the balustrade and cling on to a nearby palm tree. How I make it down in one piece, I do not know. Perhaps the Force is with me after all.


“Wait!” Orson exclaims and pops his head out of the dining-room window. “I’m afraid she just came down a tree. Yeah, it's a bit of a worry, alright.”


I hear gurgling chuckle from my uncle.


Grunting, I lift myself up.


Sheev says something that I cannot catch, but that does not matter. I can hear Orson fairly well.


“No, I will not set my blaster on stun. Rack off! This is Ina we are talking about. If you are so keen on catching her, come for her yourself.”


Not willing to hear the rest of the conversation of my jailers, I run.


I cannot see where I am heading. It is a moonless night and the star light from above is very weak. The sea is like a black mass all around the island. Groves of areca nut palm trees stand in my way.


When I tire, I simply flop down onto the sand. Then I draw my knees up towards my chest and hug them with both arms.


Padmé and her Anakin were to have a child, a future together.


Barin and I tried hard to have children of our own, but it never worked out for us. My childhood injuries to my womb, courtesy of Grandfather Cosinga, had been too severe.


Orson cannot know that I am also crying for myself tonight, and for the motherhood that has never been. But I am sure Sheev will brief him on that issue, too. Perhaps right now, while I am sitting here in the middle of nowhere. An unhappy heap of flesh and bones, washed ashore by the tides of war.


In a broken voice, I start muttering a song that my mother Mandré taught me when I was very little:


“Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.


Gentle Mother, strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray.
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.


Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.”


I repeat the verse lines over and over again, until I lose my voice completely.





There are still tears left, though.


For General Skywalker and his wife.


For the murdered younglings and every other member of the Jedi order.


For all those who died due to my uncle over the past decades. Even for Grandfather Cosinga.


********************************************************************

(To be continued!)

 

She writes beautiful poetry and this is a nice and touching update

 

The rest of Chapter 18.

Yeah, I can see a match between your delicate child and the cinematic Krennic.

Interesting asides with the building blocks - you should put some of that onto the Fanon thread, so that some of us with fictional younglings can give them something to do - I was initially conscious that the Death Star concept preceded him, but he would have had to make it a reality, deck by deck, so, yeah.

Another revelation on the Cosinge thing. Did this take place on the yacht?

Good stuff.

 

earlybird-obi-wan: Nagina is not into poetry writing, earlybird-obi-wan. She learned the song from her mother Mandré, whom she lost when she was just three years old. Cosinga Palpatine smashed the head of his illegitimate daughter in with a fireplace poker when he had one of his moods.

As for the lines of the song itself, I took it from George RR Marti´s fantasy epos "Game of Thrones". The youtube star Karliene has a very wonderful version of it, that I would like to share with you:



Nagina is a follower of the Naboo moon goddess. As wookieepedia explains: "The deity of Shiraya reflected many aspects common to lunar worship found in many Human cultures"

And since Nagina believes in the old ways, I wanted to give her some chants and songs and prayers, stolen from earthly lunar deities and in this case from a popular fantasy series.

Sith-I-5: I am glad to see you back again and having some time to comment to this story.

Since I watched Ben Mendelsohn make his first public performance as Director Krennic during the SW Celebration 2016 I was in love. (Which still makes my husband DarthUncle grumpy at times, because I can be such a fan girl.)



I started writing about Orson even before I got the SW novel "Catalyst" from MsLanna (= an AMAZON voucher). It amazed me how good I actually caught the character. The more information leaked about him online, the more I tried to work them into my already existing plot.

It started to amaze me how many character traits he shared with Sheev Palpatine. Therefore it seemed logical to me that Nagina´s uncle wanted somebody to watch over her who ruthlessly loves her as well and would protect her by any means not hindered by a conscience.

The Emperor is also a sabbac player who likes to play dirty. So he puts an enormous pressure on Krennic and the poor man has to fight a two-front war (= Tarkin and the Death Star project, keeping Nagina safe from possible threads & enemies).

Now the thing about the building blocks: to work with a gifted child is never easy. That much I can tell you as a kindergarten teacher and somebody who also has experience in the elementary-school sector and the secondary-school sector. You do not only need to give the child in question intellectual "food", but also see to the personal development. The frustration level can be extremely low, the social skills need special fostering. (Besides, the discussion "nature versus nurture" is very old.)

Nagina, having grown-up around a Sith lord, sees some disturbing signs in Krennic as a young child, but believes in the power of love. And so she tries to promote him, seeing devotion and education as a means. Failing to see that "Project Celestial Power" comes to life right under her eyes. The by now famous death of the Krennic family dog is just another step on the way.

As for putting something into fanon that concerns characters of mine, I never did that before. Can you offer me any advice here? Or you, Kahara? Anybody?

 

Something that I forgot to mention before, when Nagina asked after her Imperial code name, I think it would have been neat and fitting if it matched one of the codes that Jyn Erso read out at the Scarif databank while trying to find the Death Star plans.

The only one I recall was "Blacksaber"

Anything that you have created for your world-build - from childrens toys up to planetary environs - you can do a single subject in a post in the Fanon Thread.

It can elicit discussions, and you are allowing other writers to include your material in their fics, and they have to credit you, and tag you so you know.

I have a few lines about a concussion missile system, or law enforcement agencies, but also a big, for me, post about one of my favourite class of Imperial cruisers.

 

Sith-I-5: I chose "Black Rampion" as her Imperial code name, because Sheev saw her mother Mandré, his illegitimate half-sister, eat those in the herb garden of Convergence, the ancestral home of House Palpatine.

The idea behind that plant name comes from the German original of the "Rapunzel" fairy tale. A childless sorceress makes the wife of a farmer yearn for her magical plants and demands the first-born as a payment.

Sheev Palpatine, especially in my fic, will remain childless forever due to something horrifying his father Cosinga did. Therefore Nagina is the sunshine in his life, the impossible girl. (I am such a Doctor Who fan girl at times, tsk.) She more than a niece to him. She is daughter and much younger sister alike, too.

And Nagina knows about suffering, as the children did with whom I worked as an internship in an orphanage once. I wove some their stories together and altered them.

When Nagina is barely three years old, she loses her mother due to Cosinga. But it does not end there. Palpatine, anxious to leave the child alone in his bachelor´s den in the City of Theed where he hosts dangerous Sith artefacts, continues to find the most unlikely hiding places for the girl: the attic, the boat house, the hunting lodge, secrets outings to the temple of Shiraya.

But one day old Cosinga finds the grand-daughter that was never to see the light of day. He does something horrible and disposes of her unconscious body in the waste container. Sheev, just back from a mission for his dark master finds the little body and, out of his mind with panic and sorrow, races up to the hospital with her. Some pedestrians die due to his driving style. (This incident is mentioned in the book about Darth Plagueis. But from a totally different point of view.)

Nagina is given to a foster family in Theed, but two years later Cosinga has found her whereabouts and uses her to blackmail Sheev. He wants his son to stop working for Hego Damask. Seeing his precious niece wounded again, the Sith disciple unleashes his anger and with it the dark side of the Force. His entire family is whipped out, apart from one member.

Sheev manages to get Nagina´s fosters move to Chandrila and take all their foster-children with them, while Darth Plagueis, not aware that "a little obstacle exists" in his student´s life, gets rid of the evidence of the massacre.

I will write about both incidences (to a certain amount anyway) in either one of my vignettes or in the sequel to this story.

As for the fanon: I might consider doing that any time soon. When my life is back in order again and I have recovered fully from the latest dramas.

Thank you!

 

Let's, see, I think fanon about a character is normally seen in the OC thread (if people decide to note that others can borrow the OC). Fanon about a canon character, I'm not sure if it falls within the fanon thread or not. (Maybe this could be a new Resource thread?) There are often some references to canon characters or OC's, just not in-depth bios. It sounds like a worthwhile project, you just may need to check around for the appropriate thread to put it in and/or create one yourself. Fanons for Canons?

 

You are the best, Kahara! And funny! Plus a poet.

This is the problem with my entire fanfic here actually. I mixed canon and legends so much for this story that I thought it would be better to put into legends. But sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice for Nagina, Sheev, Orson and all the others.

 

I think that parts of the discussion here could well fit into resource (though as Kahara says, where?), though here I am more likely to read it; and I like reading secondary literature to what I am reading, ie. your story about your OC

Meanwhile, your story remains a tense and changeable struggle between Krennic and Nagina. They clearly care for eachother somehow, but they are soo different (and him quite volatile too) that you have to wonder when lighting strikes between them. But then again, Sheev put a golden faraday cage around that/them both by having Krennic watch over her and making him responsible for her wellbeing and they both know it.

And that ending is pure tragedy, with the song fitting the mood very well, thanks for also providing that version of it to listen to. Sigh, it makes me think of how much better, impactfull still the last minutes of Revenge of the Sith could have been. (I don't like the way GRR Martin writes, though his story is well wrought and contains many interesting characters, and the series sometimes seems to be shocking for the sake of it, but he, and the TV-series makers, do know how to pack a punching climax of a tragedy.)

 

DarthUncle: Thanks for adding your opinion about the fanon issue/ problem. Right now I actually do not have the time or mind to delve into that. And seeing how busy Chyntuck, Findswoman, Pandora & some others are with the upcoming fan fic awards are, I refrain from tagging them and asking them directly.

The Nagina & Krennic relationship is that of siblings in a dysfunctional family really. They cannot live with one another, and Orson can certainly not live without his Ina.

 

Here we go again, DarthUncle and Kahara. Perhaps we can win earlybird-obi-wan, too.



********************************************************************


Of course I hear the shuttle arrive some hours later, but I do not move. Not even when I notice the laboured breathing of an old man running fast with his walking stick.


Then I feel a feather-light touch at the back of my neck.


“You are wearing out one of my best engineers,” Sheev rebukes me. His altered voice sends a shiver of cold fire down my spine.


“There are other architects of doom, I am sure of it,” I retort, not looking up. My head is still bowed, my face hidden between my knees and a lot of hair.


My uncle kneels down in the sand. “Cruelty is my business, not yours.”


“We could swap places and you could pretend to be a nice elderly gentleman that loves children very much instead of killing them,” I say gravely.


He starts caressing my hair affectionately. “I did not travel thousands of light years to listen to the scorn of a woman who seems to have entered her menopause in my absence.”


“Of course not, Sheev.” I square my shoulders and look into his yellow eyes. “You are too busy stealing kyber crystals in order to build a weapon that will enable you to reinforce your Sith empire. That does not leave much time for family business.”


Neither of us speaks for long moments. He is smiling, though. Then he says, “That you expend your frustration on Orson is intolerable.” He removes his hands from my hair, shears away from me a bit. “The poor man is beside himself. He loves you almost as much as I do.”


“Love?” I gulp. “You, of all beings in this galaxy, dare to speak of love?”


“Nagina, I am a Sith. Therefore, I love in ways that you might find unnatural and hard to bear. But I am not heartless when it comes to you and your needs.”


“What I want from you...” I start, but he places a withered finger on my lips.


“Do not ask too much of me! You have already worked your charm on me about Organa, and that is it.”


I hear the swishing sound of his robes, which means that he is trying to rise to his own feet again.


“Orson will sleep in the living-room tonight and I will have his room.” His voice is harsh and restrained after his physical efforts. “Normally, I do not do pyjama parties like this, but I have this niece who has certain powers over me.”


Sobbing, I press my fists against my closed eyes. “Power!”


“Yes, you do.”


I cock my head a bit, the quote of one of my childhood books in mind. My eyes drill into his. “I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.”


“You are not Jareth, the Goblin King. Neither am I. Life is not a fairytale. It is hard work and sorrow. Trust me, I know what I am talking about.” He moves away as slow as a giant tortoise. “You can follow me now if you want hope.”


Hope. A single word with so much meaning behind it.


I stand quickly, brushing off sand from my beach tunic. “Lead the way,” I say, putting in an effort to sound demure and docile.


Sheev holds out his left arm.


********************************************************************


Orson breathes hard, his chest working as if he has just run several miles. His hands are resting on the dinner table. His face is unreadable, but his eyes speak a clear message. He is not pleased.


“How nice of you to finally join us, Ina,” he says in a calm, carrying voice. “What about a nice cup of tea?”


There is a clay tea pot in front of him. No steam rises from it, even though it stands on a little samovar. Before I can wonder what is inside, he starts speaking again.


“The kava kava plant is harvested around here. It soothes temperaments. The drinker never becomes angry, unpleasant, quarrelsome or noisy, as happens with alcohol.”


My skin shivers all over involuntarily.


“Come on, try it!” Orson invites me and gestures towards the tea pot. “The natives, or what is left of their kind, swear on the virtue of this ceremonial plant.”


Of course he would not dare to poison me. He may be a lot of things, but he is not an oath-breaker.


The tension mounts between us like heat and when I think I cannot stand it any longer, Sheev intervenes. “Pour me a glass of wine!” he says to Orson with a crooked smile, peering at the bottles.


While his loyal Lieutenant Commander rushes to fulfil his wish, my uncle walks through the room with slow, majestic movements. “I happen to be an oenophile, too.”


Orson looks at him, agape.


“An inky dark red from Corellia,” Sheev praises, while he makes himself comfortable at the dining table. For inspection, he moves the glass closer to his eyes, turning it around. “The vintage year must be the year I was made Supreme Chancellor.”


“The other one is a wine of dense fruit and tannin,” Orson offers proudly. “From Naboo. I chose a bottle from Ina's year of birth.”


“Good choices! I just hope Nagina did not flush them down like a Bloogin.”


I am not some dumb avian species from Jakku. Besides, I feel redundant among two wine lovers. They will be better off without me. Especially when they can move on to other shared interests: intrigues, betrayal, murder, blackmail. Perhaps even classified subjects like building super weapons.


Defying, I stifle a yawn, but it does not have the effect that I wish for.


My uncle's yellow gaze is suddenly upon me, hard and merciless. “You will join us at this table!”


With wobbly legs I walk up to Orson and take the offered tea mug from him.


The liquid is lukewarm and looks strange.


“Imagine,” Orson whispers somewhat triumphantly, “I chewed the roots to help extract their kavalactones and other compounds.”


My stomach revolts.


“While you were out playing hide and seek all by yourself, I left the roots to soak in cold water,” he says somewhat louder for my uncle to hear. “A lot of love and affection went into the preparation. I will not be able to eat nuts or other hard food for a while. The things I do for you!”


“Yeah, like walking a hundred miles.”


His eyes glitter. “For your rescue, always. Not when you are just sulking or playing stupid games with me.”


I close my eyes and drink.


The taste of kava is not unpleasant. It has an 'earthy' flavour to it like unsweetened coffee. Therefore, there is a certain bitterness to it.




Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:
arsed = bothered
lair = show-off
as mean as cat's piss = mean, stingy, uncharitable
as full as a goog = very drunk
kindie= kindergarten
Blimey!= an exclamation of surprise or annoyance
Give it a burl! = Try (it)! / Have a go!
Fair suck of the sav! = an exclamation of astonishment and wonder, awe, disbelief
Pigg's arse! = expression of disbelief
Rack off! = very rude expression

 

She has some words with Sheev

 

earlybird-obi-wan: They cannot live with one another and also not without one another. And most of the time, they are brutally honest with one another.

 

I had a great comment written, but unfortunately, it got lost when I looked up what you wrote as a reaction to my comment in another of your stories. Anyway, this is hopefully catches some of that

Honesty, yes, and they have power over eachother, but unfortunately for Nagina, her power is not enough to stop her uncle's plans, but enough to make her feel responsible for not being able to stop him, which must be incredibly frustrating, to the point that I am glad she's determined to find hope, or I'd fear for her.

Meanwhile, it's a bit rich for Sheev to claim that she shouldn't vent that frustration on Krennic - he's only there so that Sheev himself doesn't have to do worse to her than put her in that movable goldne cage he thus creates; he knows she'll try to get out, find freedom, and this way he doesn't have to act, or blame himself for giving her opportunity to escape somehow - he can blame Krennic.

Anyway, Krennic is also, as I think I said before, caught in this situation, both by his love for Nagina (and fear of what happens with her if he doesn't cage/protect her), and his ambition and neediness to be noticed and appreciated by the emperor.

Seemingly typical of him, it leads to a sort of passive aggressive 'I love you so much that I did all this for you, so now you have to appreciate it, even if it is totally against what you'd have asked for, if I'd have given you a choice' manipulative generosity that we also see in the novel Catalyst, and in the novelisation of Rogue One. well done, because I know for a fact that you wrote this before we had access to those books, or the Rogue One movie.