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

This scene struck me as a 'calm during the storm' type of setting. The injured people being treated outside let you know the storm was still present, but the pleasant interaction inside acted as the prelude to what is to come. I definitely see the parallels to Shaolin monks that you referenced in the last response to me here, showing kindness, while also teaching. I particularly liked this part:

Baze leans in on me. In a gesture of blessing he places his thumb on the centre of my forehead. Exactly where the third eye – called Agya chakra – is meant to be. “Remember the rule of our forefathers!”

Nice job, Angel!

 

Thanks, The Ascendant. For an inter-cultural project at my former kindergarten I had to make a lot of research on Asian culture and I always loved martial arts movies. Et voilá, the Jedha scenes formed in my mind bit by bit.

Okay, everybody. This story continues. I have to update today, because I am off to the local SW Dinner barbecue tomorrow and on Sunday we might go and see "Wonder Woman", DarthUncle and I.

For next week I will be very busy at work & seeing a musical with an old study pal on Friday evening (23rd June). So I might not be back before next weekend.

I hope that I am allowed to tag earlybird-obi-wan, Darth Gangrenous, Kahara (who kindly found time to beta Chapter 24 here... ), WarmNyota_SweetAyesha & Cowgirl Jedi 1701 as well. Please tell me PERSONALLY if you hate me tagging one of you!


(still Chapter 24!)


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“The Sith are back,” Chirrut repeats for the sixth time in a row, staring at the large light-bow that rests in his lap. His usual smile is gone. “The Sith have returned.”

His best friend Baze puts his tea mug down. The only sign that he is getting impatient. “So Nagina just told us.”

“Her uncle, the Sith Emperor, will know that she shared her knowledge with us,” Chirrut mumbles. “Sooner or later he will come around to correct that mistake.”

“You can still shoot the messenger,” I suggest.

My self-irony makes Baze smile. “I do not like to shoot doves.”

“Doves?” I wonder.

“Brother Gaetano sent one of his best animals over to us in advance. Just in case you would have not made it here personally, Nagina.”

Each time I look into his brown eyes, I see the beauty of the Force emanating from Baze.

“As for our beloved Bathseba here,” he smiles, “Well let us say that she sent herself to watch over you. She is the oldest being in the temple.”

I gaze at the animal with love and respect. She blinks back, happiness in the large dark eyes.

Baze leans in on me. In a gesture of blessing, he places his thumb on the centre of my forehead. Exactly where the third eye – called Agya chakra – is meant to be. “Remember the rule of our forefathers!”

I have no trouble recalling the right words.

“Respect yourself, and everyone will respect you.Understand yourself, and everyone will understand you.There are mirrors all around you:Strive to see and understand yourself.Strive to have the heart of the Force.Stop doing bad things, only do good.Do whatever you can to help others.In these ways you help yourself.Help yourself, and you help the universe.”

Chirrut makes a guttural noise. “Wouldn’t you say it is time to bring Nagina to the washhouse?”

Only now I realize that my clothing is a complete mess of dirt and blood. But both men seem not to be overly alarmed by my state and, due to the influence of the blue lotus, I decide to not worry either.

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

In the wash-house Baze and Chirrut help me to wash my hair with cedrelaleaves.This lightweight fragrant wood is believed to stimulate hair growth. I remember that Padmé Naberrie used it throughout her life.

After I manage the famous “battle maiden hair style”, Baze gives me a traditional buyao. The hairpin is adorned with movable flower branch-shaped pendants. “It belonged to one of our sisters who is not longer with us.”

Hesitantly, I accept the gift.

Chirrut throws away my ruined clothing and provides me with an entirely new outfit: a black Kasayarobe. It makes me look like a protector of the kyber myself. I am also given a padded jacket to wear above my tunic.

Bathseba, who cruised around while I got dressed, settles down on my shoulder again. Her soft whistling tunes seem to mean that she approves.

But then I am startled when Baze starts to wrap the red scarf of the Enlightened Ones around my waist.

“Are you sure that… that… I... I can...”, I stutter.

“Nagina, you had the heart to warn Jedha of the storms that are to come,” Chirrut assures me, his laughter lines deepening. “For this alone you deserve to be a fellow guardian of the kyber, too.”

A large kyber crystal, still small enough to fit into the handle of a light sabre, is placed in my hand. It pulses like little star.

“This is not only for remembrance,” Baze states. “As a teacher you need to pass on the torch of wisdom. The Jedi are no more, which is a pity. And what is left of their order is scattered by the fury of...”

He is interrupted by Orson, who storms into the room. My self-appointed white knight is in his full Imperial regalia again. His cloak floats around him like a threatening cloud.

I quickly stuff the kyber crystal into my bra.

“They did not want to tell me where you are!” Orson fumes, bristling with dominance. “And, what... what are you wearing?”

The convor grumbles at him.

Orson points at my little companion, his features full of loathing. “Where did you find this... thing?”

“Actually, Bathseba found me and brought me into safety.”

“What comes next?” he flusters. “An eopie? A rancor? Do you want to have a frekin' animal farm on Lothal?”

“Orson,” I state, slightly embarrassed about his appallingly bad manners. “Meet Baze and Chirrut...”

He makes a swishing gesture with his left hand. “Ina, I have no time for pleasantries with humans or dumb animals. You have been attacked by a madman and his gang. I do not take such insults lightly.”

The convor flies off.

With just a few steps I am at his side and clinging to his waist. “Please be in a forgiving mood! Do it for me!”

Orson basically pants with rage at my suggestion. “Too late. Jedha is a crisis area. It needs government support.”

“Just because Gerrera stopped by in a brief attempt to assassinate you? Don't you think this is an overreaction on your part?”

“Ina! That brute split your lip. And I do not want to imagine what else he had in mind.”

I shrug his misgivings off. “It's my birthday tomorrow and I am in a forgiving mood.”

His gaze turns softer. “There are better presents that I can give you.”

Bathseba screeches.

“What about roasted bird with Chandrilan potatoes?” says Orson, while eyeing the convor. “Or a feather boa?”

“All I want is to go to my fosters and celebrate my forty-first birthday in their home. With all of my family, including you.” Then I add a word that will call him to order. A magical one. “Brother.”

He inhales sharply.

“Please!” I wheeze.

Baze and Chirrut sneak away, concerned looks in their eyes. But Bathseba stays, silently flying her rounds high above our heads.

“Why do I always feel good when I oblige you, Ina?” Orson asks, his gaze softer than his words.

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

It costs me a lot of strength to distract Orson from the kyber crystals and the Gerrera issue. The Force mind trick works only on the weak-minded and I was never any good at it. As a kindergarten teacher I have just learned to be persuasive by natural means. Which is no match for Orson's stubbornness.

Together we walk to his military transport ship, a delta-class T-3C that awaits us right at the foot of the temple stairs.

While we walk down the long staircase, I hold Bathseba on my shoulder again. Earlier on, Baze told me that the convor wants to stay with me. The Force seems to will it. And who am I to argue against it?

“Are your men not coming with us?” I ask as innocently as possible.

“My Death Troopers have work to do,” Orson assures me with a smile that almost makes my heart stop. It is as wintry as the sky above Jedha.

Bathseba produces a mournful sound, and when I look towards her I spot the dagger-shaped line of capital ships gathering in the moon's orbit. Venator-class Star Destroyers, no doubt.

“There will be no massacre in the temple of the Whills?” I probe anxiously, while we walk unto the ramp.

“Of course not.” He does some eye rolling as if I just said something extremely stupid. “I do not want you to hate me for all eternity, Ina. Besides those men in there saved you. I owe them. And so does the Emperor.”

A Palpatine always pays his debts. Nobody knows that better than I do. But I see it as atonement and not an act of revenge. In this Sheev and I differ profoundly.


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(To be continued!)

 

Wonderful with Nagina being able to keep Orson from discovering the crystal She is getting good at diverting his attention successfully.

 

One can see she's a branch of the Palpatine family I guess - she's indeed good at massaging people into doing things, though in small ways rather than in betraying themselves and their believes, I think.

This scene does have a bit of a slapstick to it for me, though it fits with Nagina, and Orson (both not shy to use some hyperbole, I think). My anwer would be:

no, I'm quite certain wanting him taken care of isn't an overreaction

Though, Imagine if he had, Rogue One would have turned out a bit differently ... so thanks Nagina for being there to distract the Ors (das Krennchen?).

 

WarmNyota_SweetAyesha: But unfortunately Nagina is not perfect or a Mary Sue. She cannot stop the darkness to come! But she keeps fighting "against the dying of the light".

DarthUncle: It would actually be "Ors, das Krennichen", my darling! Now I am getting re-dressed for the local SW dinner because it is a long way to the back lands of our city.

And about Nagina: yes, she is a gatekeeper of hell for House Palpatine. As legend demands it from her.

 

You can see she is a Palpatine, but unlike her uncle a good one

 

Updating for my wife

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

Not much later Orson leans over the controls and sets the flight coordinates for Chandrila. While he does his calculations I fondle Bathseba, who uses her beak to stroke me back continuously.

When the course is set properly, Orson reaches across the seat and curls his hand around mine, lacing our fingers together. Then he starts singing,

“You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, it's you and me.
It's you and me won't be unhappy...”

His voice fades into silence.

Warmed by the effort Orson just made for me, I smile. “Was that my birthday song already?”

He returns the smile. While it broadens, he relaxes visibly, allowing some of his tension to ebb from his body. “Nope, an attempt to ease the tension around here. Singing instead of snarling at you.”

“I appreciate it.”

“And you owe me a couple of uneventful days, birthday girl,” he says. “I am sure I have at least a dozen more grey hairs on my head since yesterday.”

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

For the rest of the remaining time is a peaceful flight. Orson whistles while sitting behind the controls. I recognize some traditional drinking songs from Chandrila. But then his comlink beeps and he leaves the flight cabin over-hastily.

It is obvious to me that he needs to discuss something 'classified' out of my hearing range.

The ears of a kindergarten teacher are a miracle though. I gather enough scraps of the conversation together to know that there is some trouble. It is caused by the crystallographer who used to be his school chum during the 'Futures Program' on Brentaal: Galen Erso.

I only can hope that Boba is already busy with his investigations. Perhaps I can chat him up to contact either Bail Organa or Mon Mothma about it. The two senators worked closely together with their colleague Padmé, when they formed an opposition against my uncle.

With a sigh, I lean back in my flight seat. Bathseba, who sits on the head piece, hops into my hair.

I hate being a conspirator. This is something I was not born to. But it is a necessity now.

“Never play with a Sith lord!” I tell myself while gazing ahead of me. “Your soul is at stake.”

“Really?” says Orson and plunks back into his pilot seat.

“Even when you think you have the higher ground, you are in deep, deep trouble,” I answer truthfully.

He leans in, his face inches away from mine.

Bathseba starts hissing.

“Stop it!” Orson warns the animal. “Or I'll pluck you alive for your last journey!”

Protectively, I reach out for Bathseba, who jumps down on my right underarm with gracefulness. “Don't you dare!” I say to Orson in a serious kindergarten teacher tone. “She is my friend.”

“And what about me?” he sulks.

“You are my brother,” I sigh.

“It bears repeating,” he says, a sly smile on his lips. “For I like the sound of it.”

 

Super update. And Nagina is so so right. You have to work hard to have the higher ground with a Sith Lord in the game Enjoyed the mention of Galen Erso and the mentions of other conspirators -- if Orson only knew (he will eventually) Galen pulled a clever trick with the superweapon

 

There remains a coridality (is that a real word? ) between Nagina and Orson that makes me want to care for him, even though I know there's a bad guy there from most of how he behaves. And indeed WarmNyota_SweetAyesha, Nagina is quite right; though she seems to be careful in her conspiracy, there are limits to what she can do, and she's frustratingly aware of them. but without being frustrated by it; worried, yes.

It's also, from a story telling point, well done in that it is in a way a plot device to explain why she didn't change history in this galaxy in a saga-destroying way, but without being obvious, illogical or silly - it makes perfect sense in a Dune series sort of tragic way, where the reader sees the tragedy coming, and people in the story can sometimes see it themselves but do not know how to prevent it. Powerfull stuff.

 

DarthUncle, mijn botsautootje!

earlybird-obi-wan: Let me quote the following from the Darth Plagueis novel:
"The Naboo have a legend about six impenetrable gates that hold back chaos. House Palpatine is one of those gates, Damask."―Cosinga Palpatine, to Hego Damask

WarmNyota_SweetAyesha: Pst. River Song like spoilers! On "Rouge One".


And again, husband:

Van harte bedankt! Dankeschön! Thank you! Go raibh maith agat! Merci!

 

As promised the beginning of Chapter 25 and I hope I am allowed to tag DarthUncle, Kahara, earlybird-obi-wan, WarmNyota_SweetAyesha, Darth Gangrenous & Cowgirl Jedi 1701. If that is NOT the case, then please tell me via PM:



Chapter 25:

When we reach the air space above Chandrila, I ask casually, “Can we take some time to meet your dad before walking over to my fosters’?”

“The old man won't be in,” Orson assures me darkly.

“Why?” I inquire, stroking the puffed up feather ball in my lap.

“If you really need to know: prostate gland cancer. He is on and off his radiation therapy.”

This is why all my recent letters have not been answered yet. I should have known better. “Then we need to visit him,” I decide.

“Whatever for?” Orson raises an eyebrow. “His health insurance company made me pay his bills the past two years. I have done my share.”

“Your share?” I repeat, a shiver in my voice. “He is your parent.”

“The man who was involved in my procreation, I know.” There is only soulless cold in his gaze. “I owe him nothing.”

“Orson, he is your loving father,” I plead, while I glimpse Chandrila's two main continents beneath us.

“Doing the reconciling thing again?” He huffs. “You are the only family that I ever had. Please get that into your head!”

“Families cannot be chosen like items on a lunch menu,” I try to reason.

“Oh yeah? Try me! I can do whatever I want in life.”

I stare down at the gold-brown plumage in my lap.

To be a convor must be beautiful. The Force is the only master they have to answer to. Obligations can therefore be chosen freely. The heart is the compass, unfailing and true. Worries are far away.

“Ina, you of all people must be aware that I probably didn't come from a particularly great template for relationship building,” Orson says, cutting into my day dreams. “The vagaries of the jobdon't help either. Besides, I don't do talky-talky, chummy-chummy.”

I remain stubborn. “He is your father.”

“When I needed the old man, because my mother gave in to her pregnancy brain, he was busy with his apple trees.”

“Your mother suffered from a severe depression after you were born,” I try to convince him.

“I was rejected and neglected when it mattered most,” Orson spits out, his jaw tight. “The only faces above my crib where yours and those of your fosters.”

In order to invoke energy, my fingers switch into the Prana Mudra. “You will fly me to your father now!”

He closes his eyes for some brief seconds. When he looks at me again, there is great weariness in his eyes.“I have reordered time, I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me.”

To hear Orson quote from 'Labyrinth', one of my favourite childhood books, makes me smile. He tried his best to prepare for the job of being my guardian. But I have Palpatine blood in my veins anyway. We are of cruel stock. “Let us buy some yellow roses in the hospital shop.”

Orson does not look happy. “Why yellow?”

“Yellow roses stand for friendship or devotion. Your dad taught me that a long time ago.”

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




Agrippa Doran Krennic and I have been pen-pals these past decades, but he never mentioned his illness to me. His skin is as transparent as parchment paper. I can see the stark outlines of his skull. He is more dead than alive.

I am angry with Orson for not telling me about his father's bad state.
“N...a...g...i...n...a!” the fruit farmer breathes out. He raises a thin hand to summon me closer.

When I step forward, I hear Orson hiss from somewhere behind me, “There is no way I am saying hello!”

I spin around to give him a levelled look. “Then leave and take your bad attitude with you!”

“You want to kick me out of this room?” Disbelief is evident in his voice.

“If I must!” I say bluntly. “Sheev taught me Krav Maga.”

He shoves his hands into his belt, his anger pushed away by curiosity. “Why would he do that?”

I mean to answer Orson that empowerment and resilience are very important for children, but I think better of it. He may be a genius in many things he does, but there is a great discrepancy between his intellectual and social abilities.

A slight frown mares his face. “Did you ever use your knowledge?”

“About twenty years ago I managed to bring Tarkin down effectively,” I grin, flooded by memories.

“Tarkin as in Wilhuff Tarkin?”

“Out! Now,” I order Orson with a calm dignity, usually reserved for Sheev's minions and naughty children.

He huffs at me and takes his leave.

I start moving towards the sickbed again.

“Y… o… u...” Agrippa is overwhelmed by tears.

I race to the fruit farmer and give him a gentle hug, feeling his tears through my robe. For a long time I do nothing but hold him against me. He feels so frail.

Orson finally has the decency to close the door.

“Stayawayfrommyson!” Simon Krennic wails, his words melting together now. “Heisdangerous.”

“I am not afraid,” I try to convince him.

“Butyoushouldbe.”

I frame his wrinkled face with both hands. “Agrippa, I bet Gita and Chetan never told you who my maternal grandfather was?” I kiss his brow and let go of him again. “That man unwillingly related me to an even greater monster. His first-born, now Emperor Palpatine.”

He gasps for air like a colo claw fish out of water.

The door opens with a loud hiss.

“That was very nice, I am sure of it,” Orson sneers while sauntering towards us. “But Ina is my play date for the rest of her stay. Not yours, old man.”

“I am not quite finished in here,” I announce in a dignified manner. “I first needed to reassure your father that the Force is greater than science.”

“Righty ho!” Orson sneers. “A private 'show and tell' session. During your holidays. I should tell your new employer.”

While Agrippa sinks back into his pillows, I squeeze his left hand reassuringly. “Your son will soon be sorry in one way or another!”

“Don't you dare to make decisions for me!” Orson grumbles.

“Vice versa!”I say and step to the window to open it.

Bathseba flies straight to the old patient and hops onto his belly, which is covered by a white blanket. With a loud chirp, she closes her wings.

“Great, in an attempt to show me how Midi-chlorians work you let the flea bag contaminate a hospital room,” Orson points out. “You know how fragile the health of a cancer patient is, right?”

“Oh ye of little faith!” I tut.

“Just checking.”

The convor starts to march up and down the fruit farmer's crotch.

“Miracle healing? Through owl poop?” His brows are like thunder clouds, his eyes like lightning. “In some cultures and on some planets you would be burned as a witch right now.”

“Then do your worst, Lieutenant Commander Krennic!” I stretch my arms out wide. “Fire at will.”

“I never will pull the trigger on you, silly, but another Imperial officer might, one fine day.” He shakes his head disdainfully. “A Krav Manga attack on Tarkin. You really have a way with people.”

Having said that, Orson marches out of the room as if for a military show.

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(To be continued!)

 

Nagina is wonderful. I love her compassion with Agrippa and outspokenness with Orson with his incorrigible bad attitude.

 

Orson is just mad that he doesn't have the SpaceTube video of Nagina defeating Tarkin -- he would totally play that on repeat a hundred times. Or he would once he has to work with him a while. Loved the Labyrinth reference -- there is often something Jareth-like about Orson's mood swings between superiority and petulance. Nagina continues to be a delight; it's fascinating to see how she's bonded with Agrippa even though his own son apparently never forgave him enough to try.

 

Nagina has quite the power on Orson

 

I shouldn't be surprised Orson doesn't care about his own father's decreasing health, and now that I think about it, I'm not. Nagina again weaves her way through conversations with Krennic with masterful blends of defiance and acceptance of his loathsome place in her life. At least until he does something to the convor, which the very idea of is both sad and fascinating. Nice update, Angel! Keep them coming.

 

Although my mental image of Nagina is a sweet, almost matronly lady, I also have no difficulty imagining her kicking Tarkin's butt. Go figure.

 

WarmNyota_SweetAyesha: Orson cannot help being himself and will remain so until... mega Rouge One spoiler... kaboom!

Kahara: You deal with a happy Jareth fan girl here. Thank you!

earlybird-obi-wan: Please don´t tell Orson! he might get one of his tantrums!

The Ascendant: As you wish! I am happy to oblige you with a new update! And happy that my dynamics within the Orson and Nagina relationship work as planned by me (the author). I wanted it to be far away from teeny angst because I am 41 now. And he is NOT Jareth the goblin king. But a villain who deserves a truthful portrayal of his character.

@Cowgirl Jedi 1701: She was much younger when that happened. Here is the actual story as I wrote it for the Disney challenge:


4. Wilhuff Tarkin

The harm is done. You can tell that from the way your son gazes at you. There is something that you never have seen in Garoche's eyes before. A tiny spark called hope.

Eriadu is not a place for hope and dreams. It is all about the survival of the fittest. About power and self-control.

You look down on the child your wife has born you five years ago.

Natural selection never favoured sentimentalism. Your cousin Edna is the best example of such failure. The Carrion Plateau became a point of no return for her. Unlike you she had not excelleled in the Tarkin family tradition. You had come across her scattered bones during your own initiation ritual.

A veil slides across your eyes like the nictitating googles of a stone hawk. “Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten,”you repeat, your lips tight and without joy.

The boy nods slowly. At least he is truthful.

“This is unacceptable,” you state.

You raised a little soldier; somebody who can suffer pain. As swift as a Gurlanin, as tough as nerf leather, and as hard as duracrete. All weakness had to be chiselled away. With drills and laser guns. With push-ups and water cures.

Perhaps you can call in a family council and ask for the favour to send Garoche into the wilderness before his eleventh birthday.

You turn around to face your guests, mostly Palpatine's entourage. But in between the illustrious Coruscanti and Naboo you also spot members of the most prominent Eriadu families.

It is like gazing at a herd of animals, gathered at the water hole.

An ugly smirk appears on your face. You don't need to hide it. Only Garoche pays attention to you. Everybody else is either busy filling food on a plate, getting a glass refilled by an attending servant or engages in gossip.

To spot the person who dares to defy your educational methods takes some time. But than she reveals herself to you anyway, because she stands as still as a pillar of salt. She does not interact with any of the other guests and wears a little, somewhat worried frown.

“Got you!” you whisper triumphantly and scan her features thoroughly.

You are known for recalling images, names, words, and numbers with extreme precision.

The woman is about five or six years younger than you. Her brown hair is done in a plain hair style that you believe to be from either Alderaan or Naboo. She is neither a great beauty nor an ugly wench. In her fine clothing she seems totally out of place. Somehow she gives the impression of a servant girl that has stolen into the dinning room, adorned in the garments of her mistress. Like a shy mammal she hovers at the edge of the gathering, holding on to her silver wine goblet.

“Did she tell you her name?” you ask your son.

He presses his lips together as if he tries to be loyal to a total stranger, an intruder.

“Yes, please?” you say, lowering your voice like a dagger.

He is still, like a tiny bird that dies.

“I grow tired of asking this, so it will be the last time: what is her name?”

A shiver goes through the boy. “Veré, her name is Veré. She is a kindergarten teacher.”

You master yourself at this revelation. Only a muscle in your right cheek twists.

Kindergarten teachers are the worst kind of specimen that there is in the universe. Starry-eyed idealists who pry into the affairs of other people constantly. Early child education is a family matter only. Social skills, personal hygiene and basic reading skills are a question of parenting and not of the Galactic Republic.

When the first settlers came to Eriadu no soldiers or the unworldly Jedi knights helped them to fend off the local fauna or the pirates.

Suddenly, the woman gazes back at you. Across her ordinary face you witness a movement like the shiver of water when a stone crashes the surface. Then her features close up like a Mandalorian war fan.

Puzzled, you watch her coming towards you, never breaking eye contact. She seems like an eopie calf ready for the slaughter, but in the depths of her eyes is a strength you cannot explain to yourself.

“Is this your sire?” she asks Garoche and kneels down to look at him.

The boy nods slowly.

“Could you leave us alone, please?” she requests. “This might get ugly and I do not want you to witness it.”

“You stay were you are!” you command your son.

“Please, Garoche!” she begs quietly.

And then the unbelievable happens, he does as she pleases and walks away without looking back. Not even at you.

“How dare you!” you snarl.

In front of your eyes, she seems to become bigger and more solid. “The Convention on the Rights of the Child is the most rapidly and widely ratified interplanetary rights treaty in history.” Her gentle voice is like a whip. “No violence against children is justifiable; all violence against children is preventable.”

“And where did you learn those precious gems of wisdom?” you jeer. “At the University of Alderaan, overcrowded with nutcases, day dreamers and free thinkers?”

Your intense disregard should have unsettled her. Unblinking, she moves on as if you had said nothing of great consequence. “Recognizing that the child, for the full and harmonious development of his or her personality, should grow up in a family environment, in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding.”

You take a step closer to her.So close that your chest touches hers. That you can see the pulse in her temple.“ Garoche is my child, not yours, little kindergarten teacher.”

“Do not underestimate the power of Child Care Services! They will be in contact with you soon.”

She turns around to join the other guests that are unaware of your little quarrel, but you will not let her slip away so easily.

When your fingers close around her right shoulder blade, she moves with a speed and grace you have not expected her to be capable off.

With your groin and your throat on fire you lie on the floor. But that is not the worst of it. Everybody stares at you, including Sheev Palpatine. The latter even claps his hands together and laughs.

“Oh, my sunshine!” he chuckles and looks at her lovingly. “It always pays out to have you around. Such fun.”

While the elderly politician laughs on, you swear to yourself that you will have your revenge for this face losing act. It does not matter when or how. But you will get back to her about this.

Much later, Sate Pestage passes you by with a cordial in his hands and whispers barely audiable, “For the record, my dear Wilhuff. Her name is not Veré, but Nagina. Nagina Anil from Chandrila. She is my ward.”



Sources:
“The theory of evolution by natural selection”, first formulated in Darwin's book “On the Origin of Species” (1859)
The Naboo legend of Veré and Seth
Hitler's speech about the German youth:“The weak must be chiselled away. I want young men and women who can suffer pain. A young German must be as swift as a greyhound, as tough as leather, and as hard as Krupp’s steel.”
Slightly altered quotes from 'The United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (commonly abbreviated as the CRC or UNCRC)'
“No violence against children is justifiable; all violence against children is preventable.” (UN Global Study on Violence Against Children, 2006)
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia



But now the new update, still Chapter 25:


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Convorees are popular as pets throughout the galaxy, but only a very few people know that they are messengers of the Force itself.

“Is… there… hope?”

I smile indulgently. “There is always a new hope, Agrippa.”

Bathseba opens her wings. Light glitters in her feathers.

“She will not let a good man die,” I assure him. “Not when so many lights have been diminished the past weeks.”

“Pretty… bird,” the old man exclaims, and tries to stroke her.

“Bathseba is a guardian of the Whills,” I let Agrippa know. “But she chose to leave Jedha and help in other places, where she is needed more. My uncle and your son are working together in an attempt to destroy the faith. They will not succeed. Because you are a believer and so am I.”

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

When I face Orson outside the hospital room again, he scowls at me like a Gamorrean. There is even some spit in the corners of his mouth. “Is this your revenge?”

“Revenge?” I ask straight back. “For what?”

His eyes are distant, almost vacant. “Revenge on me for turning your life upside down. Because I read all your letters to my father last week.”

Dread knots my throat. “You mistake me for a Sith. They are into revenge. I serve the light side.”

“Ina, I never cared for sport matches,” he says in a curt voice.

“The struggle between the dark side and the light is not a sport...”

“Force fanatics do not interest me.”

“Just their kyber crystals. And my uncle has all the big ones, now that he has raided Coruscant and Jedha.”

A nurse rushes by, frowning at us.

“Why don't you hang up a note on the blackboard downstairs?” Orson's voice is like acid now. “Just to make sure everybody knows about my likes and dislikes. Or even better, make the blueprints of my project public. Via the HoloNet.”

I cannot believe that I just made him say that in cold rage.

Of course 'Project Celestial' has blueprints like every structure and building Orson ever came up with. That gives me an idea.

I lean in on him and give him a cheeky kiss. That deflates him again.

“We struggle like real siblings, don't we?” he says in a low voice.

I just look at him.

He reaches out for me and draws me into his arms. “I don't want to fight, Ina.”

“Me neither.”

Orson leans his chin on my head. “Will it always be thus?”

“Maybe,” I add for consideration.

A shiver runs through his lean body. Then he says, “Let me fly you to your fosters now. Otherwise you will be late for your own birthday.”

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

(To be continued!)

 

Exquisite dialogue. You really are good at the emotive dynamics. There is a striking contrast here between the animosity and the affection.

 

Love the convor and the discussion between Nagina and Orson

 

Well said, a very intruiging update, great interaction between Orson and Nagina.

Ugh, I forgot for a while, how absolutely harsh Tarkin is.
And I cheered inside, no doubt together with Orson, when Orson said

And indeed she does, with him too, clearly, for she perhaps doesn't fully change his opinions, but he sure does mend his ways a lot for her. Pity she hasn't been able to help him rid himself of the victimisation he apparently constantly feels.

Heh, well said Kahara, I bet he'd really like to leak that holovid to the whole crew of his project just before Tarkins' next visit!

 

WarmNyota_SweetAyesha: Thanks for the praise. Writing emotive dynamics, which I witness on a daily base as a kindergarten teacher, is much more easier for me than fighting scenes.

Then you shall have more soon, @earlybird-obi-wanrd-obi-wan.

DarthUncle: Thanks for always taking the time to stop by.

Here is more now, not yet beta-read by Kahara but I post it anyway, hoping she can enjoy herself, too, by reading this:



(Still Chapter 25)



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

The first person to greet me is little Mara. Like a whirlwind she sweeps over the veranda, down the staircase and towards the ship. The landing ramp is still in the process of lowering down when she basically flies into my arms.

I am happy that Orson is still inside the cockpit to shut down the main power. This way he is not able to see the girl's Force Leap.

“Nagina, Nagina! I felt you arrive hours ago. Why did you not come earlier? Mom made a cake for you when I told her. Oh, I missed you so much. Where have you been?”

I sink down on my knees and just hold on to Mara, enjoying her company as much as the flow of her words. Her presence is like that of an open hearth, warm, comforting and homely. The wind plays with her red mane, making it dance like little flames.

“Is that your ship? Are you alone? I feel something strange onboard. What is it?”

She frowns when Orson comes to stand behind us.

I can tell what this antipathy is. It is not the first time I’ve seen it rising so quickly in his presence. There is something about him that either inspires awe or loathing. It is clearly the latter for Mara.

“Mom said we can share a bed,” the girl stresses, glee rising in her voice. “Oh please, let us do that! I liked sleeping next to you during the kindergarten pyjama party last year.”

Now Orson clears his throat, but we both ignore him, too consumed with one another.

“Did you bring something for me?” Mara asks, hopeful.

I let one of my hands dive into my cleavage, fumble around in my left bra cup and produce a small item. “Keep it safe, keep it hidden! You might like to use it when you are much, much older.”

Without opening my hand, I give the precious object to Mara. Her eyes widen, when her fingers close around it. A single tear of joy runs down her cheek.

“This is really for me?” she breathes, awe written all over her small face.

“My friend Bathseba says it is.”

The convor shoots out of the ship, as if on cue.

“Oh!” beeps Mara, her jade eyes as round as her mouth. “A messenger of the Force.”

“Just keep ignoring me!” complains Orson and starts walking towards the house. “For the record: I will not fend off your nightmares tonight, Ina.”

His cape wallows behind him like an angry cloud.

“Face them alone!” he threatens me.

“Listen!” I whisper to my former kindergarten ward. “Normally, the crystal chooses the Jedi. But we are both not Jedi. Their age is over. For now, anyway. Just stay true to yourself! This is all I ask of you.”

Eagerly, Mara nods. “I will not disappoint you.”

“This is not about me,” I correct the girl. “This is all about you and your place in this universe. There is an old saying on Jedha.”

She continues to gaze at me in silence.

“Watch your thoughts, they become words.
Watch your words, they become actions.
Watch your actions, they become habits.
Watch your habits, they become your character.
Watch your character, it becomes your destiny.”

Bathseba settles down on my shoulder, rubbing her feathery head against my right cheek.

“When you start to build your own light sabre, please remember...”

“Nagina!”

Mara and I turn our heads towards the farm house.

Waving lovingly, my foster father stands on the front porch side by side with Orson.

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

Chetan Anil, social pedagogue and hobby gardener from Naboo, always had the ability to create a sense of normality for me. Under his care I have grown into the person that I was always meant to be. Slightly damaged by the past, but able to live a fulfilling life.

“Hey, dad!” I wheeze when I finally stand in front of him.

His blue eyes twinkle with delight. He is about 1.8 metres high, which makes him just one centimetre bigger than Orson. “Hi, darling girl!”

Standing close to my foster father I can see that there are many threads of silver in his brown hair. Fascinated, I reach out for them.

“I’ve stopped counting those,” he laughs.

Chetan is about Sate's age, but he looks much younger and, I must say, much more healthy. Working in child care can do that to a person. Children keep their care takers young.

We hug. Good and long and hard.

“I help Mom!” Mara lets us know.

He smiles about her enthusiasm. “Good idea, sunshine,” he acknowledges his youngest foster child.

The girl bounces into the house.

“How nice of you to make it on time for your own birthday,” he laughs.

“This is not my doing,” I give him to consider, and incline my head towards my companion. “Orson was so kind as to drop me off.”

“Oh, it is more than just a drop off, Mister Anil,” my eager guardian cuts in. “We are actually staying on Chandrila for a couple of days. If you will have us.”

I can see that Chetan is preparing a somewhat peppery answer and so I throw in quickly, “Where is Mom?”

“In the kitchen.” The eyes of my foster father never leave Orson's face. “A little bird told her that you would show up today.”

Mara. She must have felt me coming. The Force is indeed strong in her.

To my surprise Orson cuts in, “I better offer Mistress Anil my help, too.”

“You might like to change into something more comfortable first, lad.” My foster father raises an eye brow. “That Imperial uniform of yours looks like a real challenge for any dry cleaner. It would be a pity if things were to get dirty... in the kitchen.”

The two men stare at one another like two local bulabirds ready to rumble.

Finally, Orson gives Chetan a curt nod. “Of course, Mister Anil.”

“Mister Anil was my father and he has been gone half a century already. Just call me by my first name.”

I can almost feel the electrical charge when they shake hands.

Then Orson leaves us in order to retrieve our luggage from the ship.

“Why is Krennic junior flying a military transport?” whispers my foster father, while he hugs me gently. “Did he bring an entire occupation army with him?”

“No, he left his six body guards behind on Jedha,” I answer, staring ahead of me.

“A man as unpopular as him would need those, of course.” Chetan narrows his eyes. “But why, in the Name of the Force, were you on Jedha? Your last message said that you were off to Scarif.”

“You taught me that it is worthwhile to fight for freedom, dad.” I bite my lip, knowing there is no point in hiding anything from him.

“Sheev will not take such an interference lightly.”

“Then let him come and discuss that face to face with me.” Tears dwell in my eyes. “I will not stand down while the entire galaxy is on fire.”

“Of course not.” My foster father puts his arms around my waist. “But I wish it were not the Krennic boy watching over you.”

“It can't be helped,” I sniff into his chest.

“You should see what he did to his father's apple orchard very recently. Took a canister of combustive agent and a flame thrower to it.”

 

Sweet reunion with Mara & her foster-dad. He has strong opinions about Krennic.

 

love to see Mara and the discussion between Orson and Chetan

 

Remains amazing how much Nagina gets away with right under Krennic's nose, though I suppose he had to let the Jedha temple guards take care of her then. I am glad to see he is somewhat trying to 'blend in' with the family!

 

Interesting to see that Nagina is taking some sort of small mentoring role to Mara. It can't be too obvious given that Sheev has such influence in their lives, but she's at least given her former student some kind of resources to develop her Force abilities in a positive way. Which is probably good since the kid seems to be becoming more alert to precognition and other senses by the day. And she's not the kind to passively wait around with these powers she doesn't understand.

I like Chetan! It's always nice to see when characters have that sort of continuing friendship and respect that goes both ways with their parents. (Though in fiction, as in real life, things don't work out that way for everyone -- poor Skywalkers.)