Beyond the Saga So Long Lives This (adult Jacen, elder Hera, Kanera; OTP #34 Sonnets Roulette)

Title: So Long Lives This
Author: Findswoman
Era: Beyond the Saga, ca. 60s ABY
Characters: Jacen Syndulla, Chopper (C1-10P), Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus (via flashbacks)
Genre: Family, mush/fluff, memories of romance
Summary: A grown-up Jacen, sorting through his elderly mother’s effects, finds love poems written by his mother to his father long ago, which spark his psychometric senses.
Notes: Written for OTP Challenge #34: Sonnets Roulette, in which @Mira_Jade graciously picked a number for me. I was lucky enough to receive Shakespeare’s classic “Sonnet 18,” from which my title comes (text is under the spoiler cut).

Spoiler: Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Once again, I thank good friend and fabulous Kanera maven @Raissa Baiard for beta-reading.

---

Jacen Syndulla had spent the day cleaning out the Ghost. One by one, he sorted through the contents of each drawer, footlocker, and storage compartment, deciding what could be kept and what could be thrown away, and generally tidying up as he went. Faithful old Chopper, the family astromech droid, assisted him in moving crates and boxes to the common area, where they could be more easily sorted through, and offered his advice (sometimes solicited, often not) when Jacen was uncertain what to do with a given object.

It was exhausting work, and even though he and Chopper had been working since early morning, Jacen knew they were far from done. The beloved VCX-100 freighter, which he and his mother owned jointly, was not small. Nor was Jacen, now sixty Standard years of age and a decorated veteran starfighter pilot whose career had left him with a few lingering injuries, getting any younger.

But these were not the only challenges Jacen faced in carrying out this gigantic task, nor were they even the most difficult ones to surmount. Since his youth, Jacen had been gifted with psychometry— the ability to read memories from objects through the Force. He quickly found that sorting through his mother’s effects took much longer, and was a much more tiring process, when the humblest power coupling, flimsiplast scrap, or caf mug had the potential to spark lengthy, vivid flashbacks to his parents’ lives. Of course, Jacen knew how fortunate he was to possess this ability, as it was rare even among Force users. Not only had it taught him first-hand about his parents’ trials and adventures during the days of the Rebellion, but it had given him one of the greatest gifts of his life, one inaccessible to most other beings in the universe: the opportunity to personally get to know the father who had died before his birth. But now, with so much work and sorting and tidying to do, the constant sparking and inpouring of memories felt more like a hindrance than anything, and Jacen needed to rest often. At this rate, he estimated, it would probably take most of a week to get through the whole ship.

But he was in no great hurry. There was still ample time, and he was resolved to take his time to do the best he could in getting the Ghost tidied up. He knew how much it would mean to his mother.

Hera Syndulla was eighty-five now. Although her mind was still in reasonably good shape, age had dimmed her eyes and dampened her reflexes, and she had not been able to fly for several years. That had been a sad change for her, but she found comfort in recounting the stories of her service and friendships during the Galactic Civil War. Jacen and his family— his wife, his children, their spouses, and as of very recently, a newborn grandson— visited her often and loved hearing her stories as much as she loved telling them. “That’s the way I fly now,” she always would say.

It was now early afternoon. Hera and Jacen had had a brief lunch together in the common area, after which Hera had retired for her customary afternoon nap. Jacen, meanwhile, had made himself a nice large lattecino (the old N’espresso Vertuolino in the galley, gifted to Mom by Uncle Zeb many years ago, still worked admirably). He was sipping it leisurely in the common area when Chopper rolled in and presented him with a box.

Jacen looked at it. It was fairly nondescript, and not large— it probably had been a shoe or boot box. Its most notable characteristic was a large sticker on one side featuring an affectionately caricatured drawing of Jacen’s father, smiling and flexing one arm muscle against the backdrop of a moon, with the Aurebesh word “Moonbeam” below.

“What’s in here, Chop?” Jacen asked.

“Bwaaah,” came the reply. “Bwop bwop bwop. Bwop bwop ba bwaaah bwah.” [Not sure. She’s never let anyone look in there.]

Jacen chuckled and gave Chopper an affectionate thump on the dome. “’Course that doesn’t actually mean you haven’tlooked, does it, ol’ boy?”

“BWAAAAH!” Chopper burst out, pulling away. “BWOMP-BWOP! BWOP BWOP B-BWAAAAH!” [No! Of course not! What do you take me for, some common murderbot?!]

Jacen winked. “Well, y’know….”

“Bwghhhh!” With a binary exclamation that sounded suspiciously like an exasperated sigh, Chopper rolled off.

Chuckling to himself, Jacen took a sip of his lattecino, then opened the box.

It contained scraps of flimsiplast of all sizes, colors and types, from memo pad pages to Stikk-Itt notes to paper napkins. All of them were written on in his mother’s handwriting, and the words written on all of them were poetry.

Yes, poetry. And not just any poetry: love poetry, composed by his mother about his father. Jacen took a fortifying swig of lattecino, suspecting he might need it, and held one representative specimen up to the light to get a closer look.

Already he could feel the old familiar psychometric sense tingling upward through his fingertips to his mind…

*

I wake, I blink, and then I finally spy
Two more eyes that blink beside me: you.

They glow like stars, they warm like suns. But I
Can’t quell one question: are they green or blue?

Azure or emerald? Both or neither? Why?
I squint, I tilt my head. No good. No clue.

And then you ask me, “how’d you sleep last night?”
And my whole heart explodes in cyan light.

*

Hera has just gotten up. She sits in the common area, alone and bleary-eyed, without even a comforting cup of caf beside her. She looks like she has a lot on her mind: the Empire’s latest atrocities, upcoming missions, what to do with that new kid Ezra. It is probably all of those things.

Then Kanan enters, carrying a steaming cup of caf in his hands. Its warm scent fills the room.

“Good morning, Hera,” he says, then sets the cup on the table before her. “Freshly brewed Sutamra Dark. For you.”

She seems to revive at the heady dark caf scent and turns to look at him. “Thanks, Kanan,” she says. “That’s my favorite.”

“I know.” His bright blue-green eyes smile back at her (it really is difficult to tell what color they are). She remains looking at them, at him a few more moments, as if trying to figure that out, before they share a quick kiss. Quick because there is much work to be done this morning, but it fills the dim galley with warmth and light.

Afterward they sit together and talk of the next mission, or Ezra, or something. It doesn’t entirely matter what. What matters is that they are awake, and happy, and together.

*

Suddenly a shadow of another, later scene interposed itself, one Jacen had seen before…

His parents stand facing each other in a dark, deserted alley on Lothal. The streets are deadly silent, and the grim miasma of the Imperial occupation hangs overhead. There is no warmth and light here, or at least not much.

“I wish I could see you,” Kanan says wistfully.

Hera removes his mask to reveal his eyes: no longer blue-green and bright, now cloudy-white and blind— but still facing her as if they can see her.

“You could always see me,” she says.

*

Jacen replaced the scrap of flimsi in the box and took out another. It was a light green Stikk-Itt note on which the following words were written in bright green stylus:

What’s this stuff called hair
Lush brown mosses gently float
In air, through my hands

*

It is a breezy summer evening on the steppes of Lothal. Kanan stands thinking, perhaps meditating, looking out toward the rock spires lining the horizon. His chestnut-brown queue flutters in the wind.

Hera comes up beside him and puts her hand up to touch so that the floating brown locks flutter between her fingers.

“Hey, I’m trying to concentrate here, you know.” Kanan says it cheerfully, chuckling, as he turns to her.

Hera chuckles back. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It’s… kind of new to me, you know.”

He turns to look at her. ”What is? You mean… like… us?”

“Well, yes, that too.” She shrugs. “But I meant… hair. Your hair.”

Kanan simply smiles, then frees his hair from its queue. Hera watches all of it flutter in the breeze, looking very much indeed like “lush brown mosses.” Again she runs her hand through it. He turns to her, drawing her gently close.

And they kiss in the summer evening breeze.

*

But again the scene changes…

His parents stand in each others’ arms in front of a large transparisteel window, with those same dark clouds of occupation hovering outside.

“Wait, wait. I have to tell you something,” Hera stammers, then pauses to let the effect sink in. “I hate your hair.”

Kanan chuckles back. His hair is cropped short now, hurriedly, painfully, and he is still blind. “It was the best I could do without a mirror,” he says.

*

Jacen flicked the green Stikk-Itt note back into the box as if it were a freshly baked topato, then took another swig of lattecino. He knew how the scene continued and didn’t care to relive it right now— and to top it all, he was tired again. Who would have thought two little flimsi scraps could do this to him? Psychometry truly was a double-bladed saber.

Just then he espied his mother in the entrance to the common area, leaning on her cane. Remembering what Chopper had told him, he slapped the lid back on the box.

“Oh, hi, Mom,” he said. “Er… sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for, son?” She made her way to the table and sat beside him.

“Well, Chop said you didn’t like anyone looking in this box, and I really should have—”

“Oh, no no no!” Hera chuckled. “That never meant you, Jace. I always wanted you to see these sometime.”

“You… did?” Jacen was incredulous. “Even though they’re— you know, love poems? I mean, if Herik and Leni ever saw my old letters to Anni…”

“Yes, even though they’re love poems, and especially because they’re love poems. Love poems from some of the best times of my life. Because then…” She paused and placed a wrinkled gold-green hand on Jacen’s shoulder. “You know, Jace, I never totally understood all the things you can do with the Force, with your psychometry, and all that. But there’s one thing I know. I knew that when you looked at these old scribblings of mine, even though they’re from so long ago, they would come back to life.”

Jacen paused. He hadn’t thought about it that way before, but that was exactly what they had done. All of those happy, tender times that had sparked the writings on those myriad scraps and slips— they now lived in his memory, as vividly as if he had been there, all thanks to the Force. (They lived in his mother’s memory, too, and she didn’t need the Force for that. But now that they were part of him, too, they would live beyond her.)

“Yes, that’s true,” he said at last. “All right, then, Mom, shall we see what else we’ve got?”

“Go right ahead!”

Jacen removed the lid from the box and took out another scrap, then showed it to his mother. As she held it close to read it, a beaming smile spread over her face. “Oh yes, I always liked this one.”

Know this: you are my other self, I yours;
Air fanning fire, water slaking earth,
Noon suns are we, igniting midnight moons,
Always twined in flame and air and space.
Never doubt that, never let me go.

And this time, as Jacen once more felt the psychometric tingle creeping through him, he also felt the warmth of his mother’s hand on his own.

fin

Spoiler: Notes

“Moonbeam” artwork: Based on this bit of nose art on Hera’s A-wing. I could see her having stickers made from the same image!

The two “later” scenes Jacen sees in the two flashbacks, and their lines of dialogue, are taken directly from episodes of Rebels. The “you could always see me” scene is from “The Occupation” (S4E5), and the “I hate your hair” scene is from “Jedi Night” (S4E10).

Jacen’s family members are all fanon. His wife Anni may be Annisoukaline Kalfus, whom @Raissa Baiard proposed as a possibility. Herik might be a masculine form of Hera, and Leni might be named for Hera’s mother Eleni Syndulla.

The poem beginning “I wake, I blink…” is a strambotto (of the eight-line, abababcc type); the poem beginning “What’s this stuff called hair” is a haiku; and the acrostic poem “Know this…” is written in blank verse.

 

Lovely to see this fic inspired by one of my all-time favorite sonnets!

This part felt so poignant.

I can imagine that it would indeed be a hard change for Hera to no longer be able to fly, but I am glad that she is able to find fulfillment sharing the stories of her past with the next generation.

This sentiment just tugged on my heartstrings in the best possible way.

I love this line.

Some more beautiful imagery here!

The poetry of this is wonderful.

All in all, a beautiful story inspired by a lovely Shakespeare sonnet

 

I meant for this to be my tenth review for WIP Month, but then this last week quite got away from me! So, let me take a moment now to commend you for the progress you made on your own goals this month, and thank you for sharing your work with us, as always!

I love how you took the immortal love as portrayed in Sonnet 18, and used that to inspire your story. This was a poignant setting in and of itself, with Jacen and Chopper going through the Ghost - even before we get into the OTP aspect of this story. Together, the combination was especially evocative.

Ooh, but this is very interesting! I don't think that I've ever seen the gift of psychometry used outside of the Kiffar, but it stands to reason that there are other Force sensitive beings that can, as well. I love how his unique talent ties Jacen to his parents' past in a tangible way, at that, in a way that wouldn't have been possible otherwise.

If it has to be a canon where Kanan and Hera are not together, this large family full of future generations and stories and love is the only way to go. That's the way I fly now just absolutely flayed me, in the best of ways.

But of course it does.

Yes, Chopper, you are the soul of innocence. But I do love how he's still going strong, all of these years later, and looking after his organics in his own way, as always.

(Although, now, after this line, I really want a story where Chopper and HK-47 meet - somehow, someway. )

Oh . . . but this was absolutely stunning. You have such a beautiful gift for poetry, too!

Awake, and happy, and together.

*squee!*

I love seeing differences in species explored in relationships such as Kanan and Hera's, and this was no exception!

Your Hera shines through as Hera - this completely rings true for her character.

Again, I love how you applied the theme from your sonnet to these characters. This was incredibly heartfelt and bittersweet, in the best of ways.

I am running out of ways to say this is beautiful and I love it so much but to say this is beautiful and I love it all so much.


Thank you for sharing this gorgeous look at love and legacy with us. It was a heartwarming read from start to finish, and I enjoyed every word.

 

Thank you all for the comments!

Thanks so much, I’m glad you enjoyed this! One is never too old to be comforted by one’s mother. It’s one way Hera is able to keep alive the loving bond she had with Kanan.

Thank you! Kanan and Hera really had such a special, one-of-a-kind love, and that made Kanan’s death all the more devastating (not my favorite decision on the part of the writers, I have to say). But if that had to be so, then this was just about the best fix-it I could come up with, with Hera loved by Jacen’s family and Hera and Kanan’s love living on through Jacen’s talents.

I am right with you concerning Kanan’s death—again, not my favorite choice made by the writers—and also right with you concerning stories that make it less depressing. That is just what I was trying to achieve, and I am so glad you felt it worked! Given those circumstances methinks it would take a certain amount of extra effort and time to build that kind of warm life, which is part of why I set the story so much later than the show—so that the dust has time to settle, kind of.

“Born to fly, just like his mother”! As to injuries, they do happen in that line of work, but his Mandalorian auntie would point out that they are honorable ones.

Yes, I imagine a lot of Force abilities like that can be mixed blessings at times! I don’t know where exactly I came across the idea of Jacen potentially being psychometric—probably just on Tumblr somewhere—but I really liked the idea, too. It’s a fascinating ability, and would be particularly meaningful for him given that he was a posthumous child.

Thanks so much! It definitely is sad to think of Hera losing her ability to fly, though that too is something that goes with the territory of advanced age. She has indeed switched her focus to treasuring what was and is, and her son has picked up on it.

Or one like it, at least! I don’t know that Zeb would part with his own, but he would certainly want one of his best friends in the universe to have one like it—only the best!

I knew I wanted to get the “Moonbeam” artwork in here somewhere! And yes, that is exactly my own headcanon concerning who made the sticker, too.

Good point, good point, that he is!

Thanks, I’m so glad you enjoyed my first attempt at a strambotto! Exactly; we knew from the start how much Hera and Kanan loved each other, but with everything going on they didn’t always get chances (at least on screen) to just let themselves be romantic toward each other, much less to let the others see that side of themselves—they both had to spend so much energy being strong parental figures to the younger crewmates. (Which was a great thing too, of course!) Hence these poems.

They are indeed! That particular scene is one I can’t take credit for, of course, but sums them up in so many ways all the same.

Hah! Yes, I remember that! And just like there, with Kanera too curiosity becomes a manifestation of love.

The joy and wonder of Figuring Each Other Out! Also not something we got to see much of on-screen, but it had to have been there.

I agree; that was indeed part of the point, given what a heartbreaking moment that turned out to be in the show.

As you can imagine, mother-son bonding is a very compelling theme for me personally. I too would want to share with my child those times that brought me so much joy. The fact that Jacen’s psychometry brings those times back to life is an added bonus!

Exactly, which will not only lighten the psychic load for Jacen but make the whole experience warmer and more of a bonding experience all around.

Thank you so much, and thank you for being here to read and enjoy this story—always means a lot to me to have you here!

Thanks so much for coming by! I admit, given what a classic this poem is, that I was a bit intimidated at first: how to do it justice? Hopefully I did all right!

I imagine that when you’re a posthumous child like Jacen, your life is bound to be suffused by a certain amount of poignancy and pathos—all the more so when you have a Force ability that allows you to relive parts of the past! It’s definitely a double-edged sword.

Again, it was sad to think of her at that point, but of course it’s natural too that that would happen, and part and parcel of her making it to a very ripe old age. Hera is resourceful; even after losing such a cherished ability she would certainly find a way to celebrate and share what was!

Thanks so much! Hera has always been an ace at making the most and best of things. One reason she is so easy to love and admire!

Aww, thanks!

Thanks! In that simple, explosive moment of love, she finally found the right word for that elusive eye color!

Well, shucks, I try!

Thanks again—so glad you enjoyed these attempts of mine at poetry! I am no Shakespeare but felt it was the least I could do to pay homage to this classic in some small way. I’m so glad you enjoyed this and so grateful that you came by to read and review!

No worries at all; please never, ever worry about commenting late, because there is no such thing! I can totally understand how time can run away when things get busy in RL (happens to me constantly), and your comments make my day whenever you are able to give them.

Thanks so much! The experience of going through the belongings of an aging or deceased parent is one that has been very real for me in recent memory, and it is a process that brings up all sorts of memories even without psychometry—so it seemed like a perfect setting in which those memories of Hera and Kanan’s romance could really come alive in a way that impacts the lives of future generations. If all that makes sense!

I have no idea if any non-Kiffar in established canon lore have the ability or not, but I saw someone on Tumblr somewhere mentioned it as a head canon for Jacen, and I kind of liked the idea—and I guess it stuck with me, because it came immediately to mind with this poem as my prompt! (I should thank you here, too, because you were the one who chose the number for me! We really struck gold on this one! )

Absolutely—that’s exactly how I feel about it, too. Hera’s always been one to make the best of a situation, even a difficult one, and that has not stopped even now that she’s an octogenarian!

Of course! And even the next generation enjoys a hot, flavorful morning Zebspresso!

Indeed; he still works admirably too!

Bunny: acknowledged and filed!

Thank you so much, I really appreciate that! It was fun to try reexercising those chops after, well, mumble mumble years, and I’m glad you enjoyed these attempts; it makes me want to try more! This one in particular (the strambotto) turned out to be kind of a tough form; it’s not one that seemed to be used in English often, probably because we don’t have as many rhyme words as the Romance languages do.

The way things should be, and especially the way these two should be, if I do say so myself!

Thanks so much! Hair is already such fascinating stuff even between one human and another; it would surely be all the more so for this couple!

Aw, I really appreciate that—I’m very fond of her and really wanted to do her justice!

Thanks so much! Shakespeare’s so right: poetry really does have that immortalizing effect like nothing else—and an additional assist from the Force doesn’t hurt!

And I am running out of ways to say thank you so much, I’m so glad you’re enjoying this except for thank you so much, I’m so glad you’re enjoying this! And I mean it each and every time, of course.

You are so welcome! And here is one more extremely sincere thank you so much, I’m so glad you’re enjoying this accompanied by a great big hug.