Hiccups….

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completed stories, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, insanity, rambling musings, short stories, small rants, star wars

Hello, all!

For a change from serious, here’s some humor for you. Really short– a lot shorter than most of my stuff– but still, I think it’s pretty funny. A reminder that Jedi have to deal with lumps in growing up, too. Enjoy!

Hiccups

                Qui-Gon Jinn settled into his easy chair and relaxed. At last, he could have the evening to himself, and he was tired. Then a peculiar sound shattered the silence.

“Hic!”

Qui-Gon started and glared at his Padawan Learner. Obi-Wan blushed and looked embarrassed. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head. “Obi-Wan, do you have the hiccups?” Obi-Wan shook his head.

“It’s—hic!—not my fault, I swear!” Qui-Gon sighed.

“I know it’s not. Have you tried holding your breath?”

“Not yet. Hic! I only just got the—hic!—hiccups!”

“Then hold your breath.” Silence. Sweet, blessed silence.

Ten Minutes Later

                “Hic!”

“Obi-Wan!”

“Sorry, Master… hic!”

“Obi-Wan, if you hiccup one more time, I’ll turn to the Dark Side!”

“Oh no!” Obi-Wan gasped, then waited for the next hiccup.

It never came. Qui-Gon grinned.

“I really had you going there, didn’t I? Scared the hiccups clean out of you.”

“I was scared all right,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Works every time,” Qui-Gon said, almost smugly.

The End

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The Sidewalk Exhibition

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Hello, everyone! Just for a change of pace, I thought I would bring you something interesting, from our sidewalk to …

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We Don’t Have To Be Cinderella

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alternate universe, completed stories, short stories, small rants, star wars

Hello, all! Here’s another story from my archives of various Star Wars shorts. It’s just something I threw together because, well, it’s all too rare to see a story where Padme and Obi-Wan are interacting that doesn’t have them in a romantic relationship. I mean, SERIOUSLY?! That just weirds me out… There’s Satine and Siri, I’m honestly tired of the whole stupid set-up… and Obi-Wan and Padme might have been a great pair, but honestly, let’s stick with Padme and Anakin being married and not risk any love triangles, shall we?! Oh, and then there’s the small matter of Ventress…
Shut up, Erin, and just post the story. Oh, one last thing… this is an alternate universe story. I don’t think that it requires any more explanation…

We Don’t Have To Be Cinderella
It was the night of one of the less formal Senate balls; more exclusive than the annual formal, but still a Senate ball. Padme walked gracefully across the floor in her high heels and formal red dress, exchanging gracious greetings with everyone she met, whether she liked them or not. Diplomatic courtesy was such a burdensome thing sometimes.
As Padme made her way around the slightly crowded rooms, she found herself looking for one person in particular. Anakin Skywalker was offworld tonight; he wouldn’t be there. But his mentor and her confidante, Obi-Wan Kenobi, might be there. But if he was, he was probably in a corner somewhere, watching the hustle and bustle on the floor, the retiring scamp. He preferred to watch from where he couldn’t be seen, probably a result of being in all those battles. It was an instinct, of self-preservation. Padme remembered the haunted look in his eyes the last time they had met, and wondered what had happened, but she knew better than to ask, especially since she had been honor-bound to pay more attention to Anakin than to the older man. What a painful circle they made; Obi-Wan worried about all of them, but especially Anakin; Anakin worried about Padme and Ahsoka; and all of Padme’s instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong with Obi-Wan. Why Anakin couldn’t see it was beyond her; if he didn’t see it soon, she would have to give him a talking-to…
Without warning, a hand shot out of a curtained alcove and dragged her in behind the curtains. Padme fumbled instinctively for her blaster. The war had left her with survival reflexes as well, though not to the point it had forced them upon Anakin, or Obi-Wan. However, she desisted as a strong hand grasped her wrist, keeping her from injuring herself, and she looked up into a pair of very familiar, changeable, stormy eyes, now sparkling with amusement. Despite her awkward position, pinioned by both wrists, Padme grinned. “Obi-Wan. I was hoping I might see you this evening.” Obi-Wan smiled back, like sunlight breaking out from behind clouds, and released her.
“Stop thinking so loud,” he said quietly. “You’re deafening me.” Padme scowled at him, not too happy with this reminder of his ability to read her mind. Obi-Wan winced. “Can I help it?” he asked.
“I guess not,” Padme said, still frowning. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Do you think I like living my life with other people’s thoughts in my mind, other people’s lives running through my head?” he asked. Padme flinched at the graphic description.
“No, I guess not,” she repeated, more gently this time. “What are you doing in the alcove?” she asked, though she already knew. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Hiding,” he replied truthfully. “Some of your colleagues don’t seem to understand the fact that I’m not eligible.”
“Oh, they know that,” Padme said lightly.
“They certainly don’t act on it.” Obi-Wan muttered.
“You know, I’m starting to agree with Senator Rabanna. You are uptight.” Obi-Wan winced at the name of his most determined… admirer.
“I simply don’t see the point of flirting, especially when it leads to nowhere,” he said. Padme sighed dramatically, fluttering her eyelashes in comic imitation of the determined Rabanna.
“It can’t do any harm, can it, Master Jedi?” she drawled. Obi-Wan started and instinctively jumped away from her. Regaining his control, he held himself still, though not without stiffness. Padme laughed and returned to her own mannerisms. “I’ll never understand how you can be so naive and innocent, and clever and brave and street smart at the same time.” Obi-Wan slowly began to relax.
“I’m just not one to fence around what I mean,” he said softly. “I’ve been plagued with the gift of clairvoyance. A step further and I’d have Mace’s shatterpoint ability as well.”
“You know,” Padme said, regarding him thoughtfully, “you’re like a riddle. Unbelievably complex and incomprehensible on one side, and absurdly simple on the other.”
“And you’re one of the few people who has ever found the answer to the riddle,” Obi-Wan replied, lifting a water glass from the table and eyeing her over the edge of the rim. “Go to most other people, especially other politicians, and they’ll only see what they want to see about me. They won’t see what I am deep down.” Blue gray eyes stared deep into her, seeming to see the very depths of her soul, just like they always did. It was never unpleasant, though; she didn’t have to worry about hiding things from her friend. That was part of what she liked about Obi-Wan—he understood her boundaries, when to stop. He was trustworthy and honorable, and loyal on top of it all. Not like Anakin—sometimes she felt uncomfortable under Anakin’s gaze. Never under Obi-Wan’s. Still, those complex blue eyes staring deep into her always gave her a bit of a turn, at first. Now, though, she noticed with a start that something was different. The eyes she looked into held a slightly haunted look, shadowed, wary black depths that she had never seen there before. There was also a veiled, predatory gleam, though its interest was to something else, not her; still, it was faintly disturbing. Padme gave an inward huff. As if he wasn’t disturbing enough already, at the same time as he was extremely reassuring. She didn’t like what she was seeing.
“Bad mission lately?” she asked. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Maybe, a little.” he said quietly, sipping at the water again. The thought sprang into Padme’s mind, unbidden. He’s glad I wasn’t there to see the horrors he’s witnessed. Padme swallowed hard.
“You seem… disturbed. And disturbing.” Obi-Wan sighed, suddenly vulnerable.
“It was Anakin’s victory, not mine.” Padme suddenly became painfully aware of the hitch in his breath, the slight twitch of his fingers toward his side. She reached for it, but Obi-Wan caught her wrist before she could reach it. She glared at him through the tears in her eyes.
“You’re injured!”
“I was sent back here to recuperate,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s mostly healed now, so I have no excuse for not attending the ball…” He dropped his eyes quickly, not wanting, seemingly, to meet Padme’s soft brown ones. “It’s not a pretty sight,” he confessed. “And… I’m just not healing properly like I used to. Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to say, it’s basic Jedi nonsense, but the Dark Side is stronger than it was ten years ago, and getting stronger still. I have an unusually deep connection to the Force, and… well, let’s just say that healing is connected to the Light, and the Dark Side feeds off of pain and hate and anger and loss of life, so naturally it would interfere with my healing properly.” Padme caught in her breath.
“Is there any way to… fix that?” Obi-Wan sighed.
“Not unless I could go to some place where the Light was completely unhindered and went into a very deep meditation, and I hardly know of any such place.” Padme reached again for his side.
“Let me see,” she urged. Obi-Wan pulled away again.
“It’s hardly the time or the place,” he protested.
“Then…” Padme drew in a deep breath, hoping with all her heart that he would answer favorably, “at least… come and dance with me?”
“I would like that, Senator,” he said quietly, with perfect honesty. Padme smiled. At least he wasn’t fighting her over that. She rested her fingers on his black-gloved arm—he had lost the gauntlets, at least for now—and they left the alcove.

As they crossed the floor, they were flagged down by the head of defense, a tall, angry man named General Stalgard. Padme knew his flawless reputation as a stalwart soldier and a solid tactician, but personally she disapproved of his totalitarian air. “General Kenobi,” Stalgard snapped. Obi-Wan paused, his diplomatic presence flawless, and bowed, giving no sign of what he was thinking.
“General Stalgard,” he said deferentially. Padme, who knew diplomacy well, could see that every element of Obi-Wan’s stance and words and tone was carefully designed to avoid offense, to assuage and sooth upset tempers, to sidestep affront, avoid a confrontation. However, Stalgard, as always, was spoiling for a fight.
“General Kenobi, what do you mean by attending a formal event out of uniform?” Obi-Wan drew himself up to his full height; he was still smaller than Stalgard, by several inches.
“I have been active in the field as a Jedi for twenty-four years as a Padawan, Knight, and Jedi Master, and my attire has never been a cause for offense before,” Obi-Wan said, switching tactics. “Is there a problem, General Stalgard?”
“There is a problem when you’re out of uniform, General Kenobi,” Stalgard grated. Obi-Wan retained his calm mask, though Padme thought he must be inwardly seething. There was no apparent reason for Stalgard’s sudden attack.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. My Jedi robes have always been good enough before—”
“This isn’t before, General Kenobi. And I am not speaking to you as a Jedi, I am speaking to you as a general of the Grand Army of the Republic. This breach in regulations is disgraceful, especially for someone as high-ranked as you.”
“Yes, Sir.” Obi-Wan said quietly.
“Salute and stand at attention when you speak to your superior officer!” Stalgard barked. Silently, Obi-Wan obeyed. Padme stiffened behind him. “That’s better,” Stalgard snapped. “Now, as long as you are standing on the bridge of your own cruiser, I don’t give a nexu’s rear what you’re wearing, but while you’re here on Coruscant, you wear your uniform.”
“Yes, Sir.” Obi-Wan said again. He saluted and walked away. Padme quickly reclaimed his arm.
“That was uncalled-for,” she hissed in his ear. Obi-Wan murmured softly in reply.
“Indeed.” he said, his voice still neutral, emotionless. “There’s only one problem, I fear.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t have a full-dress uniform.” he whispered conspiratorially. Padme giggled in spite of herself.
“Why didn’t you tell him that?”
“What good would it have done?” Obi-Wan said inscrutably. Padme scowled at him. Obi-Wan smiled regretfully at her. “Unless we’re in the middle of an emergency, I think this will be the last time for the duration of the war that you see me wearing my Jedi robes.”

It was months before Padme saw Obi-Wan again. This time, it was not an official Senate ball, but one that Padme was personally hosting.
As she mingled with the crowd, fulfilling the duty of the hostess, Padme stepped away from an overweight man in a military uniform and almost collided with another man. He was not above average height, but in much better shape than his fellows, and, setting him apart even further, rather than being some gaudy color such as burgundy, the uniform was stark, bleached white, with gold epaulettes. Padme took all this in at a glance, her political training kicking in. She had to remember everyone she met; it was a prerequisite of public life. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said politely, evenly, stepping away from the man. He turned suddenly.
“Padme?” he asked. Padme gasped. It was Obi-Wan, but he definitely didn’t look like himself in the starched uniform coat, the ironed trousers tucked into smart black boots, polished to a shine per regulations. Quickly glancing around to be sure they weren’t being observed, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him quickly into the same curtained alcove they had hidden in at the last ball.
“Obi! I didn’t recognize you dressed like that!” she hissed through her teeth. Obi-Wan smiled sadly.
“I told you, didn’t I, that that was going to be the last time I came to a formal occasion dressed in my plain Jedi robes?” he said softly. Padme let out a string of curses, sotto voce, that did not sound in the least ladylike.
“That snob! He’s taken the life out of you!” she hissed angrily, looking at Obi-Wan again, from the boots up. The uniform was as plain as possible, under the circumstances, but still unbelievably… fancy… for the Jedi Master. Along with the epaulettes, there was gold braid on the sleeves, a gold cord laced across the front of the coat, and a small colored bar pin, denoting his rank. Perfectly spotless white gloves covered his hands. Certainly, Obi-Wan was presentable, even smart, in the uniform, but it did not suit him. It was cut to be flattering, showcasing his slender, muscular, lithe form, but Padme was overwhelmingly aware that it could not conceivably be a comfortable outfit. The white did not offset the healthy color in his cheeks like the light beige of his Jedi tunic did. The uniform made him look pale, unwell, and for a moment Padme wondered if he had been wounded again. The only sign that Obi-Wan was really a Jedi was the lightsaber that hung by his side. Obi-Wan shrugged, uncomfortably.
“Better that I make a smart turn-out and be uncomfortable than make a public scandal in clothes that are my own,” he said awkwardly.
“But it isn’t you,” Padme said in a choked voice. “I don’t like this. Something is wrong with the Republic when they make you dress up like… this… and make you hide who you really are.” Obi-Wan looked down.
“I can’t tell you how much I hate being General Kenobi. I know my family has been dedicated to military service for generations, time out of mind in fact, but that was under different circumstances. Dressed like this, I wonder if I’ve suddenly traded places with Hadrian. I thought I came to terms with that years ago… I’m not Hadrian, and I could never be.”
“Who is Hadrian?” Padme asked softly. Obi-Wan reached into a pocket in the uniform coat, and pulled out, not a holopic, but an unusually detailed and beautifully done sketch, colored with inks and watercolors, displaying a wealth of untapped genius on the artist’s part. He handed it to Padme.
“That’s the way I remember him,” he said softly. Padme studied the sketch closely. It was of a young man, bearing a remarkable resemblance to Obi-Wan, but with hazel-gray eyes, instead of blue-gray-green ones. “He was my half-brother, fifteen years older than me. My father married my mother after his first wife, Hadrian’s mother, died. Hadrian was a cadet at Hale Gray. He died in a training mishap when I was five.” Obi-Wan swallowed, looking down at the spotless gloves. Padme handed the sketch back, thinking that Obi-Wan had probably done it himself, but not wanting to ask.
“Were you there when he died?” she asked suddenly. Inwardly, she groaned. What in the galaxy had prompted her to say that? Obi-Wan glanced at her, not noticing her discomfort. His eyes had dimmed to a lusterless black.
“Yes,” he said, a deep ache that he couldn’t hide in his voice. “He was the first person I had ever seen die. He was encouraging, he was my idol…” Obi-Wan swallowed and took a deep breath. “I’m not the prince in the fairy tale.” he said softly. “I’m the stepmother’s son. Hadrian was special, though, he was…” Padme watched as he sought to fight off the thirty-two-year-old grief. She stood up slowly.
“Dance with me again?” she asked quietly. “We don’t have to be Cinderella.” Obi-Wan was silent as he followed her out to the empty hall. Quietly, Padme put her hand on his shoulder. They began to dance.
“Is Satine here?” Obi-Wan asked softly.
“No, she’s still on Mandalore,” Padme said quietly. “Busy, as usual.” Obi-Wan gave a deep sigh.
“It’s as well. I wouldn’t want her to see me dressed like this.” Padme sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. There was something between Obi-Wan and Satine, she could tell, though exactly what it was was harder to determine. Suddenly, Padme spoke up again.
“Have you ever… have you ever been in love, Obi-Wan?”
“How did you guess?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost wistful.
“I don’t know. I guess, maybe the way you act, maybe… I don’t know.” She hesitated again. “Is it Satine?”
“Yes.” Obi-Wan replied, even more quietly than before. “I’ve tried to hide the way I feel, lock it away, but it doesn’t seem to work. I have to accept it and move on, I suppose, however much I’ll regret it. Sometimes… sometimes I wish I didn’t have emotions, or… that they wouldn’t play tricks like this on me. I’ve loved other women as well… when I was maybe fourteen, there was a girl who died on Melida/Daan, but everyone loved her… and then there was Siri… but I love her more like my own sister now… I can’t seem to come to terms with this, though. With Cerasi and Siri, I always felt more like myself around them. But, with Satine, even though there’s that, I just get so confused. I don’t understand it, and it is the nature of humans to dislike what we don’t understand… but I couldn’t go against this if I wanted to.”
“I know how you feel,” Padme said quietly. “How did it happen?”
“We were around each other for a full year. Things tend to happen in three hundred sixty-five days, and I didn’t know as much about life as I do now. If I had, I might have nipped it in the bud, but as it is, I didn’t know how to. Neither of us ever crossed the line, but…” Obi-Wan fell silent. “It was almost as bad as if we had pushed the boundaries.” There was a short pause. “Facing death every day, these philosophical arguments we got into… they always wound up making us, and my master, laugh… our choice of subject matter to argue over varied from the public schools to when warfare could be called justifiable… It partly helped me to get back on my feet after a particularly rough assignment, but when I left, it felt like I was leaving behind part of myself. I guess… I guess Satine was just everything I would ever hope to be. She was always the brave one, not me. I was the survivor; she was the warrior. I know it sounds funny to say that, but… it’s true.” They fell silent, moving to the music.
“I’m glad you told me,” Padme said quietly. “It just makes you seem more human, I guess, and maybe… maybe I was thinking of you as being some kind of higher being that didn’t understand human emotion.”
“Oh, I have emotions, all right,” Obi-Wan snorted mirthlessly. “I just never show them, and I never let them control me.”
“I think I like you best when you’re vulnerable,” Padme said. These nights are all that’s keeping me alive right now, she thought. She was almost startled when Obi-Wan replied in kind, without even using words, directly into her mind. Padme just relaxed into the strong shoulder that was a constant support, and they danced until dawn, long after everyone else had gone home, completely oblivious to the fact that their hostess had, summarily abandoning her duties, vanished into a secret place to dance with a Jedi. The sunrise was something to remember, though she was so tired; Padme barely recalled Obi-Wan carrying her to her own bed before he vanished into the dawn.

It was not until the next spring that Obi-Wan came back to Coruscant again, somewhat out of persona still after his escapade as Rako Hardeen. Given his confession, Padme had privately wondered how he had apologized to Satine for the deception, but knew better than to probe into his business by asking. This time, the ball was the full formal, and Padme knew with some regret that there would be no vanishing into a side room to dance, this time. However, she did have Obi-Wan to herself for some time, as Anakin arrived characteristically late.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to come,” Padme said softly as he walked into the room.
“I wasn’t,” Obi-Wan said in reply.
“Do you ever decide to make the decision to come back on your own?” she teased gently. However, her companion was in no mood to tease. His heart-stopping eyes were gray with fatigue, almost black. There didn’t seem to be any of the gentle, bright blue left in them, Padme thought. Her heart wrenched at the thought. The change in him was becoming more evident. The war was changing him. He was older, sadder. Almost, part of her was screaming, What have they done to him? She dearly missed the young man she had once known.
“Qui-Gon and I are going to start operating as a team again,” he said without inflection. “He’s worried about me.”
For good reason, the nagging part of Padme’s mind whispered. Instead of saying it aloud, she asked, “What happened?”
“There was an incident. We lost… a group of… children. So many…” he sighed, putting his head in his hands, leaning what looked like his full weight on the railing of the balcony where they stood, waiting for Anakin to appear. He was just waiting, Padme realized, for a reason to slip away discreetly… Wasn’t that just like him? To run away when she wanted to help him, hide from her when all she wanted was to talk? Padme decided to use the time she had left wisely.
“How are you coping?” she asked gently.
“Badly,” he replied with a deep sigh. “Thank goodness they weren’t Force-sensitive. That would have destroyed me completely. As it is, I can still hear their screams. The Defoliator that surfaced early in the war has come back into use. And the Separatists… I just can’t believe that they’d sink to… burning… children. Alive.” He sank to his knees by the side of the railing. Padme gripped his shoulder, wishing she could do more. “I understand why Satine wants war abolished completely,” he said bitterly. “And I feel just as guilty as the man who ordered those children’s deaths. I should have been the one to die.” As she looked at him, Padme wondered how old he was. She racked her memory. Thirty-seven—thirty-eight, maybe, at most. And yet he looked at least fifty, easily twice his age, even. It wasn’t in his face or his stance, but in his eyes. Obi-Wan suddenly stood, self-consciously, dusting off the uniform jacket. “Here comes Anakin,” he remarked, trying to sound unconcerned. “Late, as usual.” Padme looked over the railing at her secret husband. She leaned back, blinking with surprise.
“He’s still dressed in his Jedi robes.” she commented. It wasn’t lost on her companion.
“He’s the Prince Charming of the galaxy, the Republic’s darling. He can do whatever he wants; no one cares if the Hero With No Fear is out of uniform. In fact, our favorite scoundrel is expected to bend the rules. Unlike boring Master Kenobi.”
“And what do they call you?” Padme teased. “The Negotiator. That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
“Well, it seems that General Stalgard’s wrath was assuaged by jumping at me,” Obi-Wan commented. “The old hypocrite. Still, maybe he thought I was… how did you put it? ‘Too uptight’?”
“I believe I just said ‘uptight,’” Padme commented.
“He may have had my reputation in mind when our dear friend so kindly suggested that I come to all official functions dressed in this ridiculous foppery.” Obi-Wan backed away and bowed. “And now I’ll bid you good night, so you may fly down to your preferred escort, milady.” Padme could tell from his eyes that he was teasing and not offended in the least, but she still felt disturbed when he vanished. She should have done more to help him…

Months passed once again. Obi-Wan Kenobi came back from Mandalore with some new sorrow which he carefully kept secret, and a report of Darth Maul’s activities in the system, which the Senate duly ignored, adding just one more item to his list of troubles. More missions went by, and time dragged heavy on Padme’s hands when she wasn’t kept busy. Occasionally, Qui-Gon would send her a report on Obi-Wan’s well-being, for which she was grateful, but it just wasn’t the same. She wanted to see her friend herself. At times like these, she wasn’t sure who she missed more; Anakin, or Obi-Wan. She needed them both, she felt; she needed Anakin’s love, but she needed Obi-Wan’s support. Feeling more than a little jealous of Anakin, and annoyed with him that he wasn’t pressing his advantage in having Obi-Wan around all the time to the fullest even though she encouraged him to do so, Padme let work take control of her time, slipped into its oblivion. Punctually, at least once a month, and often more often than that, she received a letter from Obi-Wan, all of them closed with some variation on “Anakin says hello, and he will write when he has time (which is never, apparently.) Give my regards to all those at home. Your faithful servant, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” in his neat, elegant, old-fashioned hand, and occasionally a post script, such as: “P.S. Jar Jar turned up at our base today. Why, I don’t know. He sends ‘all meesa lovin for yousa and a big gooberfish kiss.’ N.B., I quote him directly.” “P.S. Anakin has upset a jar of paint on his head somehow. Just thought you might like to know. A holopic is enclosed, so you have something to blackmail him with.” “P.S. Anakin got into the kitchen today. You don’t want to know. I wish I was there so I could mind-trick you, but… he’s coming back home. Oh, he didn’t give himself food poisoning, but this is almost as bad… Forget I said anything.” And once, “P.S. Obi-Wan got sick and I’m supposed to post this stupid letter for him. Wish I could read his handwriting so I know what he’s been saying about me… Anyway, love you lots, and see you soon, I hope. Anakin.” Padme always hesitated before writing back. She knew it wouldn’t bother the Jedi Master if she didn’t, and she always felt awkward writing letters.
And then, late one night, Captain Typho walked into her room and said, “Milady, you should come downstairs. There’s someone there… I didn’t know what to do with them, so I came to you.” With some surprise, Padme came along, slipping on her robe as she did so. There could not be any danger, or Typho would never have let her near it, but that only raised more questions. Who could have come to visit in the middle of the night?
As they entered the lobby, Padme bit back a gasp. Her midnight visitor was none other than Obi-Wan. He was dressed in his normal Jedi robes, but they were practically in rags, both ripped and burned. He was missing his outer cloak, and the leather of one boot was scorched; the other had been slashed and scraped badly in several places, scoring it badly. His hands were bare, half-hidden by the tattered sleeves that partially covered them. Padme stared at those brown, scarred hands, wondering when was the last time she had seen him ungloved. It was probably when the war began, she concluded. Obi-Wan was sitting lightly on the very verge of the sofa, and seemed uncharacteristically edgy, reacting almost imperceptibly to every noise, every sudden movement. As Padme entered, he rose formally to greet her. “Senator Amidala—I’m sorry to intrude—” Padme sucked in a gasp as he swayed and almost fell, catching himself on a mantel. His knuckles whitened as he gripped it, trying to hold himself upright. He swayed again. Padme leaped across the room and grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the couch.
“Sit down, man!” she cried, finding her voice. “You’re not well!” Obi-Wan collapsed weakly onto the sofa, breathing hard. Padme felt his forehead, wondering if his current mental state had induced some sort of nervous breakdown. He was feverish, no doubt of that. Probably somatoform, she decided. “What happened, Master Kenobi?” she asked, motioning anxiously to her handmaidens to bring a glass of water and other various necessities.
“Bomb… in my quarters. Thank goodness Ben and Nasriel weren’t there. Ben’s on assignment… and Nasriel’s spending the night with Zaina Daemes. Council… sent me here… said… assassin would never suspect… I didn’t agree. I don’t want you in danger… all over again.”
“It seems to me you didn’t have a choice,” Padme said sternly, helping him swallow. “And you know I would always be willing to help.” Obi-Wan smiled weakly.
“They… said so too. I… was… no condition to argue.”
“I should say not! What happened to you?”
“I’m… just bruised. Nothing more. Just tired…” Long ginger lashes fluttered closed. Padme looked up at Captain Typho.
“We’ll put him in the guest bedroom,” she said decisively. “Reset the security system. Code red.”
“As you wish, my lady,” Typho said. He nodded and went out. Teckla Minnau hurried across to Padme, beckoning hurriedly to Dorme.
“We’ll help you get him there, my lady,” Teckla said. Padme smiled at her in relief.
“Have Yane get the medical supplies,” she said. “From the fever he’s running, I’d guess that he’s probably dehydrated. We’ll need to establish an IV line. Yane? Yane! Get Shai Ledon up here now and tell him we need him. And…” she paused for a moment, “his patient may have a concussion.”
“Yes, milady,” Yane said, hurrying off. A hum of activity surrounded the apartment for a while. Padme stayed close to Obi-Wan the whole time, not wanting to leave; she wanted him to at least have a familiar face nearby when he awoke. She caught Yane moving to remove the lightsaber from his belt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded with unwarranted harshness. Padme winced inwardly. “I’m sorry for snapping, Yane. Leave his lightsaber where it is. He’ll panic if it’s not there when he wakes up. The last thing he needs is more stress at the moment.”
“I’m sorry, milady,” Yane said. “I wasn’t thinking.” Padme touched the handmaiden’s shoulder.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a long night. For all of us.”
It wasn’t until the IV was established and Shai Ledon had come and gone, stating that the Jedi Master’s collapse was due to exhaustion, and not any serious injury, and taking care of a bloody bandage that had missed the cursory inspection, that Obi-Wan awoke. He blinked, his eyes flickering open, a heady swirl of confused color before settling into a semi-distrusting jade color. Padme leaned over him. “Awake, sleepyhead?” she teased. Obi-Wan swallowed before speaking.
“Hello, there,” he croaked.
“Hello,” Padme said, smiling. She took a glass from the bedside table. “Here. Drink.” She guided his shaky hand and was gratified to see the glass half-drained. Obi-Wan swallowed and pressed it back into her hand. Padme set it back. “You gave us quite a scare, there, Obi-Wan,” she said teasingly. Obi-Wan swallowed again and spoke, more clearly this time.
“I scared the Jedi Council worse,” he replied lightly, in kind, wincing as his injured arm twinged. Padme frowned.
“That bad?” she asked, instantly wanting to slap herself. “Well, of course it’s that bad,” she continued. “Someone planted a bomb in your quarters… but to do that they’d have to get inside the Jedi Temple… and that’s supposed to be impossible… isn’t it?”
“No, actually. It’s been done before.” Obi-Wan half-whispered. “At least three times in my memory, and I was kidnapped out of my own bed one of those times. So no, it’s not impossible.” Obi-Wan suddenly leaned back and groaned. “And there I go, giving out information you’re not even supposed to know!” he whispered. Padme took in a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone,” she whispered back. Obi-Wan made a move to sit up. Out of habit, Padme pushed him back down.
“I have to get back to my duties,” Obi-Wan said, determination steeling in his eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Padme replied adamantly.
“Padme.”
“Obi-Wan.”
They stared into each other’s eyes, at an impasse. Padme was amazed that she was able to look at him this long without blinking; she was finding his constant gaze slightly hypnotic. Finally, Obi-Wan gave in. “All right, I suppose I’ll rest.” He leaned back onto the pillows, looking annoyed. Padme began to quirk a smile.
“It’s a good thing you decided to give in when you did. I was beginning to be afraid you were going to mind-trick me, or something.”
“I doubt it would work,” Obi-Wan grumbled. Padme giggled.
“You’re sounding much better now,” she said, then grew solemn again. “Something’s wrong when you aren’t safe at the Temple anymore,” she said.
“I’m not safe anywhere anymore,” Obi-Wan corrected. “And that’s wrong.” Padme frowned.
“I wish this would just be over,” she whispered. “And we could go back to being…” she paused. “Well, there wasn’t really a time when we were like family… I mean together, that sort of thing.”
“So, we’re talking about a someday dream, or just a nice thought that would never really happen?” Obi-Wan cut in.
“I hope it’s a someday dream,” Padme said softly, half to herself. “But it’s really not that realistic… I guess I was just hoping that someday, you… and Anakin… and Ahsoka… and I… and Qui-Gon of course,” she added as an afterthought, “we might… we might actually get to be… be… a family.” Obi-Wan smiled at her.
“We already are, Padme,” he said quietly.
“How?” Padme asked, feeling tears rise in her eyes.
“The deepest sense.” Obi-Wan said. He looked at the window, its shutters closed. “I used to look ahead to the future too much. I had anxiety to an extreme, bordering on being a mental disorder, partly as a result. I think one of the most important things my master ever taught me was how to live my life the only way I can.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “One day at a time.” Padme stood up.
“Sometimes, you look so… so vulnerable, so young,” she said quietly. Obi-Wan looked quietly up at her, but at that moment, Shai Ledon came in to remove the IV line. After he was gone, Padme continued. “So innocent. And yet, other times, you look like you’re aging so fast, you’re burning your life out far quicker than it should be burning. I guess it all comes down to living your life one day at a time, after all.” She looked down, then up at him again. “Dance with me?” she asked.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt myself, or something?” he asked quietly.
“It’s not that easy to get overtired in a bedroom this size,” Padme said solicitously. Obi-Wan shot her a quick glance, his eyes laughing.
“You’d be surprised.” he said.
Padme put a disk in the radio. “I made this song up,” she said quietly. “I was… just bored, and lonely, one day, and I suddenly remembered the day we danced in the garden, all those years ago… The night you were crying for Qui-Gon, because his life was hanging by a thread, remember?” Obi-Wan nodded. “And then, all those nights we would put in old country or folk music and dance alone in the ballroom of the palace? Well, I was thinking of that when I wrote the song.” She played the song. It was a recording of herself, singing.
Sometimes I feel like dancing
Across an empty floor
It’s getting late and the party’s over
But I just want one more
Even alone where the candles grow dim
Midnight’s tolled long since
Yet it’s here in the silence, it’s here in the dim light
It’s here that a friendship begins:

The first time we did this
You seemed so alone
Abandoned on the dance floor
Lost, forgotten, on your own
Your hand was so cold then
But now it’s gotten warm
And the light that was frozen over
Has taken a charming form:

Let’s dance, dance, dance
The whole night through
Alone in the ballroom
Just me and you
Let’s dance, dance, dance
The night away
For here in the shadows,
A light is at play
We don’t have to be Cinderella
No one’s asking to fit on a slipper
And expecting all those dreams to come true
But let’s dance together,
Just me… and you.
Obi-Wan reached down and set the player to record. Without any further planning, he continued the song.
I saw you dancing
The moonlight within
And all of me wondered,
Where did you find the strength to win?
But then you asked me
To come dance with you
And the loneliness of one
Became friendship of two

Each day the weak dream
In dancing grew stronger
And each hope that brought daylight
Steadily grew longer.
At first I was afraid I was dreaming,
But then the music started to play,
And I walked to the empty floor
And we danced the night away:

Let’s dance, dance, dance
The whole night through
Alone in the ballroom
Just me and you
Let’s dance, dance, dance
The night away
For here in the shadows,
A light is at play
We don’t have to be Cinderella
No one’s asking to fit on a slipper
And expecting all those dreams to come true
But let’s dance together,
Just me… and you.
Together, they sang the chorus again. Then Padme played the completed song.
And they danced.

Epilogue
Obi-Wan walked along the long hallways of the safe house on Taabar. Padme watched him from a curtained alcove, where she was sitting with Siri, hiding from the twins. Padme suspected that Ahsoka and Shaniel must have their hands full with the growing twins, but she wasn’t about to feel guilty about relinquishing the claims of her rambunctious children to the Padawans for just a short time. Siri peeped out through the curtains. “Here comes the Chosen One,” she remarked. “Head in the clouds, pondering some great moral mystery as usual. How he survived all those battles in the Clone Wars I’ll never guess.” Padme peeped out, giggling at her friend’s description.
“It probably had something to do with the glowering master who is currently following him around, trying to talk him into eating or getting some rest while he has the chance to do so.” she laughed. “What a team they make. Have you ever heard the insults that get bandied back and forth between the two of them once Master Jinn has worn Obi-Wan’s cool exterior away?”
“They’re men, what do you expect?” Siri drawled lazily. Padme giggled again. True, she had heard worse, between Obi-Wan and Anakin.
Anakin.
No, I won’t! she told herself fiercely. I won’t start feeling guilty about what happened to Anakin! I won’t let it spoil my happy moment! Padme curled her fists into the soft cushions of the couch. She willed herself to get back to thinking about Obi-Wan instead. Even though something about him always made her heart flutter, she had never felt romantically attracted to him. Instead, she felt protective of him, as she would feel protective of her brother, if she actually had a brother. But she did, sort of. Obi-Wan was an orphan, and though she had not known it at the time, she had adopted him, almost unconsciously.
Padme felt comfortable around Siri. Siri and Obi-Wan had loved each other deeply for years, and it had matured more into a fraternal affection, as passion died away. They could live without each other, just what Padme had been unable to do with Anakin. There was complete trust between them; they were more like brother and sister than lovers now. But at least Siri could understand what she was going through. There was a caring side to the Jedi Master, under her bluff façade. She and Siri and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and Ahsoka, along with a lucky few others, had become like a family. Their common factor? Obi-Wan. Whether people were just naturally attracted to him, or whether he just bonded with subconscious ease, she wasn’t sure, but he was the heart, soul, and backbone of the group, and they were there for him when he was tired or lonely.
Padme studied Obi-Wan as he walked the corridor. He looked completely exhausted, and this time, it was more than just his eyes; it was in the slump of his shoulders and the way he dragged slightly as he walked. There was a smudge of dirt on his left cheek, and a suspiciously reddish-brown smear along with it. Siri shook her head sorrowfully. “Most Shendi tend to be slightly longer-lived than other humans, but Obi-Wan… He’s tired, and you can tell. He always did take things rather too seriously.” She smiled sadly.
“I have an idea,” Padme said, moving to slip out of the alcove, but a movement spotted out of the corner of her eye stopped her. Asajj Ventress had appeared out of a side corridor and greeted the two Jedi Masters cordially. Padme watched with some amusement the fatherly way in which Obi-Wan acted towards the former Separatist. Asajj had been a fierce enemy—to an extent—of Obi-Wan’s in the Clone Wars, and had displayed a confusing sort of attraction to him, an obsession in some strange form; now that Obi-Wan and she were on the same side, she seemed to regard him with the same reverence that Obi-Wan showed to his own master. For now, all was right, or at least, as right as it could possibly be with one of their own number gone.
Ventress passed on down the hallway, and Padme decided to leap out and accost Obi-Wan before anyone else could turn up. She slipped out from the curtain and into Obi-Wan’s path, barring the way. He looked at her as if he hadn’t noticed her before, half-tired, half-challenging. It was good to see that the familiar spark was still alive in those changeable stormy eyes. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Padme snapped, mock-sternly. “Good to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed somehow.” Obi-Wan merely gave her a tired look and moved to slip past her. However, she moved along with him. Obi-Wan froze, echoing his Jedi training. Padme suddenly smiled. “We haven’t danced in a while,” she said softly. Obi-Wan sighed.
“Padme, that’s true, but I’m in no mood for…”
“Remember, we don’t need the glass slippers.” Padme said. “We don’t need the orchestra or the ballroom floor. All we need is the music and the star-spangled sky.”
“Very poetic,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “But, not now. I’m exhausted, Padme.”
“Obi-Wan, please dance.” Padme said quietly. “Remember, we don’t have to be Cinderella.” Then the music took hold.

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter VI

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! This chapter: Dooku is curious, Obi-Wan has a vision, and Sidious is evil. No warnings this time around, and sorry to disappoint you… the clincher is not also a cliffhanger. Ah well. We can’t always be having cliffies, now can we?

[10/27/2013: Edits to fix errors.]

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter VI

                Dooku eyed the young man who lay in the other seat of the speeder in a limp heap, due to the effects of the slave chip. The Sith waved a hand over the chip, deactivating it. Only a Dark Sider could deactivate the chip; Kenobi could not do it himself unless he used the Dark Side.

Which, despite all that had happened to him, the young man was still reluctant to try.

Strange, stormy eyes opened, several colors swirling and mixing, as the boy looked up in some confusion. Dooku did not miss the hard, sharp look that was flung at him. “Lie still and don’t try to struggle. The paralysis will wear off with time.” Kenobi gave an inarticulate groan, which Dooku ignored. He continued on his way.

Much sooner than he expected, Kenobi cleared his throat and said in a somewhat hoarse voice, “Where are you going?”

“Since you have seen fit to interrupt my business, boy, you will have to accompany me upon it,” Dooku said. “Sidious won’t miss you, don’t worry. Your chip is deactivated, which you could never do for yourself. The transmitter will be clear enough to tell Sidious that you must be with another one of us.” Dooku raised an eyebrow at the young captive. “You show a distinct lack of manners in trying to escape before our chess game, boy.”

The colors steadied and stilled, settling on a deep, uniform, steely gray. “If I see a chance to escape, I’ll take it.”

“Fool,” Dooku remarked. “You would never get beyond the palace walls. As I’m sure you’ve found out,” the Sith finished. The lad took up a stance of passive defiance, after trying to raise himself without success, letting out a hiss of pain in the process.

“I am not averse to a chess game,” Kenobi remarked. “However, I could find better company.”

“With less intelligence,” Dooku said. Kenobi perked a slight smile.

“It may be preferable, at times.”

“And at the same time, dealing with your inferiors becomes tiresome after a while.”

“I wonder why I’m even listening to you now, then.” Kenobi said dismissively. Dooku gave a deep chuckle.

“You’re not truly arrogant, so what are you?” he said, almost curiously. The young man’s eyes flashed a brilliant, dazzling blue before closing off, shutting down to almost-black.

“A riddle.” he replied with complete and serious honesty.

“Indeed,” Dooku replied. Kenobi shifted slightly in the other seat. Dooku spared him a swift glance. It was impossible to tell what the boy was thinking right now, at this moment. Dooku gave the young man a quick appraisal. Kenobi’s stance spoke of weariness, nothing else… except for the slight arch in his back, which gave the impression of passive defiance. By the time they had arrived at their destination, Kenobi had recovered somewhat. His outfit included a short midnight-blue cloak with a hood and a scarf; the slave pulled up the hood and covered his face with the scarf. Without a word, he followed Dooku into the office of the businessman.

Obi-Wan was privately amused by Dooku’s reaction—or apparent lack thereof—to his appearance. Evidently Dooku had his own reasons for wanting to keep Obi-Wan close by, though it was anyone’s guess what those reasons were. Obi-Wan was almost grateful for the scarf covering his face. It added nothing to his previously-existing defenses and carefully-controlled expressions, but at least he felt more sheltered, as if Dooku’s gaze was not burning his skin at every moment.

“Your display with Maul last night was impressive.” Dooku said. Obi-Wan fought the inward shiver that ran up his back, making sure that his shields were still in place, and made no comment. “I would almost say that you had been trained to use a lightsaber.” Obi-Wan met Dooku’s gaze icily.

“I’ve had more than enough chances to observe your acolytes in training,” he said. Dooku lifted an eyebrow.

“And yet, it’s almost as if you have a natural gift for swordplay,” Dooku mused. Obi-Wan silently bowed. “You fight using our motions, but not inspired by the same motivations. Your style is devastating, yet… restrained.” Dooku led him forward through an all-but-empty lobby to a lift. “Curious, is it not. I wonder what you could do, fully trained… and without those petty scruples that you call ideals.” Obi-Wan’s eyes sparked as he stared defiantly at the Sith. Dooku looked back at him. “If you did not hesitate, you would be unstoppable. And yet, you still fight against it. You are a curious man, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I fear I’m beyond your comprehension,” Obi-Wan retorted, sotto voce.

“Perhaps, my young friend, you have simply placed yourself… beyond my reach?” Dooku studied the adamant eyes. “I will admit, your natural shields are the most impressive I have ever seen. And you have proven yourself capable of strong deceptions. You are clearly firmly within the light, but your presence is shrouded behind a cloak of gray. Curious—very curious.” Obi-Wan stared levelly at the Sith, disdaining to answer. The lift arrived at the top floor.

After an hour of having to listen to debate and business parlance, Obi-Wan was thoroughly ready to depart. He was, however, concerned by the object of said debate. Something was definitely up. He felt cold inside as the Dark Side suddenly pulsed around him.

Master, I have a bad feeling about this.

                I don’t sense anything.

                It’s not about the mission, Master, it’s something… elsewhere… elusive…

Obi-Wan blinked. Where had that come from? Was it in the future? No, that wasn’t quite right… Obi-Wan choked back a gasp at the other possibility.

An alternate reality. A might-have-been.

A might-have-been which was lighter and at the same time darker… Lighter, in that the Sith did not rule the galaxy.

Darker, in that the other-him and other-Jedi did not know that Palpatine was Sidious, was the enemy…

It was Sidious that the other-self had sensed!

Suddenly, there was a burst, an explosion of life in the Force. And yet, it was shrouded by darkness… A thousand doubles of one person… but how was that possible? What was it? What…?

A world in a rainstorm. The name ‘Kamino’ burst upon his mind unbidden. A meeting with… someone… walking through white, sterile, too-bright halls… meeting another man… Jango…

                An army in action, all wearing the same gear and equipment, each soldier physically identical to every other soldier…

                “Come on Cody!” his other-self shouting at a man in armor… armor that was vaguely familiar…

                Death.

                The soldiers had turned on his other-self. The Force screamed with a rift of bereavement as friends… names he did not even know… were torn away. Pain ripped through Obi-Wan, sending him to the ground in a welter of agony. Shrieks of pain, howls of death… The Force was suddenly a void, cold and dark and unwelcoming. The Dark Side had risen. The Sith had won.

                He walked into a building, strangely familiar. It felt like home more than any place he had ever been before. It was home, something whispered to him. Bodies. The floor was littered with them.

                “Who could have done this, Master Yoda?”

Obi-Wan came awake with a gasp, feeling as if an iron band was restricting his chest. He couldn’t breathe properly, and he felt as if sharp claws had locked into his flesh, ripping at his stomach and throat. Anguish poured through him as he struggled for breath, choking, drowning in the cold whirlwind that the Force was at the moment. He couldn’t move, and he was being battered away…

Someone grabbed him and pulled him back, away from the icy, howling void, back into the material world. Obi-Wan gasped, panting, his whole body still wrapped in cold. Light. Gray light. Colorless, but still… visible light. Slowly, color returned, and the world didn’t look quite so washed-out. “I thought you were lost for a moment, there,” Dooku’s voice remarked nonchalantly. Obi-Wan made a move to get to his feet. They were in the lift car again, and Dooku had—apparently—hit the emergency stop button. Dooku pushed Obi-Wan back down, then pressed the ‘resume’ button.

“I’m a’right,” Obi-Wan argued, his voice coming out more like a croak. Dooku gave him an extra push, just to make sure.

“Lie still. I’ve never seen a reaction quite that bad,” Dooku said with a warning tone in his voice. Obi-Wan glared up at him. “The Unifying Force is none too considerate of its fragile vessels,” Dooku observed. Obi-Wan groaned. His head pounded as if it had been slammed into a wall, repeatedly. Pain. It washed over him in another excruciating wave. He focused on just breathing for a moment, then stood up. The pain receded, though he staggered against the wall, falling clumsily against Dooku as a dizzy shower of sparks turned the world gray. He took a deep breath and it washed away. “What did you see?” Dooku asked, finally giving into curiosity. Obi-Wan rounded on him like a cat that has been provoked.

“That does not concern either you or me!” he snarled, then turned on his heel and exited the lift, which had by this time arrived at the ground floor. Dooku raised an eyebrow as he followed.

Apparently, the young slave did have his limits, after all.

The trip back to the palace was made in complete silence, though Dooku could sense tightly controlled indignation seething and bubbling just below the surface. Upon alighting, Obi-Wan left the speeder without a word of thanks, returning in angry silence to his own room, where he dropped on the bed. His stomach was still churning, and his head throbbed. He gave a low groan and fell onto the bed, closing his eyes in an attempt to quell the burning behind them. He slipped into meditation, allowing the restless emotions to disperse. The vision was unclear, uncertain, though horrifying in its implications. He needed to think, but more than that, he needed to clear his mind. Obi-Wan groaned. He was supposed to serve lunch to Sidious and some of the Sith’s associates, and it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. With another groan, Obi-Wan regained his feet and went to get the food from the kitchen.

“Taris has risen again, my lord,” one of the dignitaries commented. Obi-Wan fought down a yawn. Intelligence that he already knew. He glanced across swiftly at Sly Moore and saw her blank gaze looking off into space. Was she as bored as he was? Obi-Wan almost snorted at the thought. Never had he dreamed, even in his wildest imagination, that he would ever be in the same boat with Sly Moore.

“It matters little,” Sidious said in a bored tone. “There is nothing behind it but certain citizens becoming dissatisfied with our perfectly-good government.”

“I heard there was a disturbance on Kamino,” said a younger, green-haired man, who looked human but probably wasn’t. Obi-Wan knew this one by repute, an ambitious neophyte to the political game, a fangless aspirant to the vipers. Jackarr Bomani. “Didn’t the security force make an arrest? I thought I heard on the holonet that she had been brought here.” Sidious smiled—to Obi-Wan’s experienced eye extremely unpleasantly—and leaned forward, a grin that seemed cadaverous, like the grin of a skull, on his face.

“Yes, indeed,” the Sith Lord purred. “She was brought here. She is, at this moment, in the depths of this palace.” Obi-Wan almost caught in his breath. Whoever “she” was, “she” must be important indeed to be imprisoned here, instead of in the public or military prisons. “Perhaps, Jackarr, the Jedi were not so extinct as we once thought,” Sidious said, running a finger around the rim of a glass. Obi-Wan’s heart raced ahead, time blurred around him. A prisoner, perhaps a Jedi, almost certainly Force-sensitive, probably a Force user. Obi-Wan kept his attention on the present; Jackarr seemed flattered by Sidious’ confidences. However, the young entrepreneur missed the look that passed between Sidious and Sly Moore. Obi-Wan noted it, though. However, he was still more interested in the prisoner, whoever it was. Still, he would have to warn Jackarr of the danger… It was no less than his duty as a Jedi, to serve and protect. He wasn’t a proponent of defeatism or passivism by any means.

After what seemed like a long time of more commonplace banter and idle conversation, which Obi-Wan without conscious effort filed away in an active mind, the guests finally prepared to go out. He went out on a pretext, and “accidentally” bumped into Jackarr Bomani, under cover of the movement grabbing the entrepreneur’s arm and pulling him gently but swiftly aside. The man spluttered with anger. “How dare you, slave?” he demanded. Obi-Wan shot him a hard glance.

“If you value your life, you will be off of Coruscant and under a different name before nightfall. Sidious simply does not throw information about like that with loose ends around, and he kills for sport.” he said under his breath. In an instant, Jackarr’s face went from angry and outraged to frightened and grateful.

“Thank you,” the man whispered. “Oh, thank you.” Obi-Wan watched as Jackarr walked off, an unsteady hitch in his walk, as if he had a concussion. Obi-Wan’s mind was still. So much, so many betrayals… and yet this man had never been betrayed before. Oh, the bitter, bitter irony…

Obi-Wan thought out a mental expletive as he realized that he still had his chess game with Dooku to look forward to and instantly set off in that direction, offering no apology to Palpatine.

After all, since when had he been beholden to Sidious for anything?

Except for constant mistreatment.

There we go, for once it’s not a cliffhanger… X-P See?

Insanity… types and subclassifications

Tags

completely random posts, confusing nonsense, insanity, long rants, rambling musings

Today, I had a run-in with insanity in general. And not the good kind– which is, by the way, my normal state of mind– but the mundane, tear-my-hair-out, forms-and-social-security-number kind. Yes, insanity exists in levels. Why do you ask? *shifty eyes*
The first level of insanity, and in my mind the best type, is the sort that risks public censure but gives rise to wonderful results, such as creativity and amazing stories. All but the privileged who suffer from this form of insanity have a tendency to underestimate it, and mock those who participate in it, or stare in awe at them. They don’t really understand us, and as such they feel the need to either make fun of us, or to gawk.

The second level is what some people call the creative “zone.” Have you ever run into a National Novel Writing Month participant who does 5,000 words or so on the first day alone? They’ve found their groove. You never want to interrupt someone in this level. It’s just plain not a good idea. You’re probably going to get snapped at, or worse, have something thrown at you.
The other class (NOT level!) of insanity is the kind where you don’t have any inspiration, no stories going on, and as a result you can’t even enjoy everyday life. And then all the mundane little things– like paperwork, and forms that have to be filled out, and legal addendums and driver’s licenses– catch up to you, and you just want to tear your hair out. Why does insanity have to be so… man (or woman)-of-the-world? Because I know I’m definitely not.
Also, there’s just one more thing to note… There’s a difference between going crazy and being crazy. Going crazy is when you bounce off the walls. Being crazy is when you stay up until 10 p.m. to finish a story. ;-P

The Hero’s Dream, Chapter V

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, all my readers out there. You know who you are (even if I don’t. ;-P) It’s that time again!!!! *does fiendish grin*
As for this one, nope, I don’t think there’s anything that needs a warning… Wait, no, there’s a bit of a nasty Sith lady. That’s about it.

[10/27/2013: Edits to fix minor errors.]

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter V

                “We are not truly extinct,” Qui-Gon said. “They hunt us, trying to find the scattered pockets of light-side Force users. However, what they don’t know is that we are not just a scattered two or three. We are an organized, cohesive unit. We will not hide forever. When the time comes, we will strike, and strike hard. Either we claim the victory, or we go to our death. There is no capitulation in this war.”

Padme watched the blades, entranced. There is something fascinating about a weapon that glows white-hot in the center and shimmers at the edges. She was almost disappointed when they deactivated their blades. Obi-Wan returned his to Qui-Gon. There was genius in that, Padme reflected. How could the Sith find the lightsaber when it wasn’t there to be found?

Anakin crept to Padme’s side and slid his hand into hers as Quinlan challenged Obi-Wan to a practice duel with training sabers. Padme watched with interest. This was completely different from the other duel she had witnessed. Though that had been to the death, while this was only for training purposes, this seemed far more serious than that had. This was a fight between two well-trained and fairly-matched young men, not an attack on the one side and a desperate defense on the other. Padme watched Obi-Wan with no little wonder. Gone was the clumsy, stumbling, desperate demeanor, the close shaves, the last-second survivals. He was quick, agile, decisive, clever, devastating. Not a whirlwind destroying everything in its path, but a precise, skilled, accurate fighter. Padme noted that he always seemed to be a step ahead of Quinlan, never overextending himself, never walking into a situation that might turn awkward. Qui-Gon crossed his arms and stood by her side, watching the mock battle. “They’re at it full strength tonight,” Qui-Gon observed. Padme gaped, open-mouthed, at the fight.

“Obi-Wan is better at this than Quinlan, I think,” she added.

“He is a true swordmaster,” Qui-Gon acknowledged. “From the beginning, he’s had talent. He might become the greatest lightsaber master of our day… if he lives long enough.” Underscoring the words was an undercurrent of regret, but also the hint that stated that he was perfectly ready should the apprentice be suddenly called from his side. Silently, Qui-Gon and Padme watched as the apprentice continued the mock-battle with his friend. It ended, unexpectedly, with Obi-Wan turning a reverse, back-flipping over Quinlan’s head, and then scoring a kill point by simply tapping the latter on the side of the neck. Padme watched Obi-Wan closely. Even though he used the fighting techniques of the Sith, something in his execution made it clear that here was no Sith. Perhaps it was the fact that, though fierce in the attack, he was merciful in victory. The two combatants bowed to each other.

“Not fair, Kenobi.” Quinlan grumbled. “All the rules are backwards when I’m fighting you.”

“Can you really blame me?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, the look in his eyes not particularly safe, or comforting, both haunted and haunting. Padme shuddered. He gave her the impression of controlled energy, veiled danger. He was enigma, riddle, and peril. He was contradiction. He was comfort and cold, fire and ice. Only one thing was certain, Padme decided. Never would he give her something sugary and insubstantial. Perilous or safe, it would have meaning.

“No,” Quinlan admitted. “You know,” he remarked, “I have the oddest feeling that, if things had been different, this would have been the other way around. You—you fight like an assassin.”

“Do I have a choice?” Obi-Wan asked softly.

“No.”

“Then it’s done.” Obi-Wan bowed, turned slowly toward Qui-Gon. For a moment, he looked as innocent as a child. Then the sad look of the knowledge of lost innocence came across his face.

“It’s a bitter cup to drink, child,” Qui-Gon said softly, brushing the ginger hair back from the young face. “And the dregs… they are no less bitter.”

“I have never once regretted it, Master.” Obi-Wan replied quietly.

“You have been a good apprentice, Obi-Wan. Your training is nearing its completion. I foresee that you will become a great Jedi Knight.” Obi-Wan bowed his head.

“Thank you, Master.” he said softly. “I will do my best to honor your teachings.”

“Obi-Wan…” Qui-Gon looked Obi-Wan in the eyes, and saw there something he could not quite name. The way the Force swirled around the younger man… The boy was not merely a confluence, but a convergence—something about him was important. Call it fate, destiny, but its mark was clear upon Obi-Wan. “Be safe.”

“Always, Master.” Obi-Wan spared Qui-Gon a quick grin, then vanished quickly into the shadows in a swift swirl of deep blue cloth.

Obi-Wan sat on the bed, reading a slender book, rocking slowly back and forth, his lips moving quickly as piercing eyes darted back and forth across the page. A sound alerted him to another’s presence, and he quickly closed the book and shoved it under the pillow. A small woman, dressed in a long blue robe with jingling coin trim, peered around the door. She was unusually small, even for a Ka’siin, and Obi-Wan remembered her as having an unusually blanked mind. Her mind had been completely destroyed by Dark Side influence, and though he had tried once to heal her and restore her to life once again, he had not succeeded; he had woken up screaming in agony due to the dark that surrounded her. Her expression was as flat as her blanked, non-existent mind. There was something odd about… well, not quite her expression, but something about her eyes… He wasn’t sure quite what it was, but it made him uneasy. He looked at her, his expression giving nothing away. “Vaquessa.”

“Lord Vader requests your presence in the long hall immediately,” she said shortly, then vanished. The message had been too short to glean much from, but there had been some flatness in the tone that warned him to be on his guard. Unsure of what had prompted it, yet not wanting to keep Anakin waiting, he rose. It could be nothing more than the Vader part of Anakin acting up worse than usual. Vader had come out in full force once and Force-choked Obi-Wan, but Anakin had been shocked by “his” actions into overcoming the darkness and releasing the older slave. Obi-Wan made his way toward the room that he had been told to go to.

The “Long Hall” was in fact one of the few areas where the Sith rarely came. It was almost always empty, and as such was the favored place for unseen battles. It was in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind the entire time that he might be walking into what could very easily be an ambush. Still, he had little choice but to go forward. Obi-Wan stepped lightly into the hall, poised for anything. Slowly, the door rumbled shut behind him. He didn’t bother to glance behind himself. “Anakin? Where are you?” His hand slid stealthily to his belt, where he had hidden a short, heavy stick. Instantly, he knew he was being watched… and he doubted it was by Anakin.

“I should think you’d know better than that,” a voice called, seeming to come from everywhere. Obi-Wan stood still, holding himself confidently.

“What do you want with me?” he demanded.

“I want… your attention.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, turning slowly.

“Where are you?” He thought he had pinpointed his unseen adversary’s position, but was not certain.

“Come, come, surely you can tell?” the voice mocked him. Suddenly, Obi-Wan darted sideways, striking out with his stick. However, his attacker was too quick for him. Materializing out of the shadows, she flipped over his head and struck him from behind, knocking him flat. A booted foot landed on his back. “Well done, slave. Sheddra Azhrahai respects a worthy opponent.” Obi-Wan didn’t struggle, not yet. He remained perfectly still. “As you’ve already guessed, that worm Vaquessa was under a Force suggestion. She’s rather an easy one to coerce, don’t you think? Even for a weakling like you.” Obi-Wan reached out in the Force, flipping the Sith off his back and leaping to his feet. For the first time, he saw the face of his attacker.

Sheddra was by some standards devastatingly beautiful, but Obi-Wan had never been one to judge by outward appearances. He knew very well that physical beauty was only skin deep. In this case, he was repulsed by the cold feeling around her. Truly evil, he wasn’t sure if she even was alive… Sith had that effect on him. He always wondered if they were actually living beings.

Obi-Wan held the cold eyes, the eyes of a predator, with his own cool gaze. He stepped sideways out of the corner, so that he had the open hall at his back. She edged toward him; he moved back in response. “I wanted to speak with you, Korzu.”

“That isn’t my name,” he said, a dangerous thinness in his voice.

“It is the only name I know to call you by,” Sheddra replied silkily, inviting a revelation of his true name. Obi-Wan remained silent. In ancient Shendi tradition, call someone by their true name—not the honor-name—and order them to tell the truth, they could refuse to speak, but they could not lie, and no Shendi would give an enemy even their honor-name willingly. “Will you not speak to me?” the Sith continued.

“I am a prisoner here, why should I speak?” Obi-Wan replied icily.

“Do you not wish to know what I’m after?”

“I think I can guess, and I do not want any part of it.” Obi-Wan backed away slowly.

“Oh, come. You’re a slave… you have nothing to lose!” Sheddra’s fine speech was interrupted as Obi-Wan’s cautious backing away brought him up against the window. As Sheddra continued forward, Obi-Wan flung himself backward, through the window. A rain of shattered glass fell around him, slashing the sky. A sharp flare of pain shot through him, then the world went black.

Whoops, another cliffhanger. Oh dear. Heehee… 😛

The Hero’s Dream: Chapter IV

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

Hello, everyone! Yes, “The Hero’s Dream” is back!!! There will be some violence (and lots of intrigue) in this chapter; something that almost classifies as momentary mild torture as well. Almost, but not quite. It’s still covered under the fringes of general battle.

[10/27/2013: Minor edits, to correct small errors.]

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter IV

                Obi-Wan leaped sideways in a desperate effort to avoid the blade. It would be hard not to revert unconsciously to his Soresu training, which could be applied to unarmed combat as well as lightsaber technique; a reversion that would be particularly damning, seeing that it was a distinctly Jedi style due to its non-aggression, and rare was the Sith that studied it for its own sake. If he were to display his ability with Soresu, it would be enough to give him away as Jedi trained, since the knowledge of Soresu was not something he would pick up by watching the Sith’s training sessions. Ataru, on the other hand…

Obi-Wan leaped instinctively out of the way as Maul attacked again, trying to make it look more desperate than it truly was. Amedda threw his stick at Obi-Wan. Reflexively, Obi-Wan ducked, then caught it, sweeping it briskly at Maul’s legs. The Sith Lord merely jumped over the staff. It wasn’t Amedda’s staff in reality, Obi-Wan realized. It lacked the headpiece… and it had an odd sort of hum that made his fingers tingle…

Obi-Wan activated the blade of the lightsaber pike just in time to block Maul’s next attack. The Sith backed up a few steps, then activated the second blade of his weapon. Obi-Wan prepared for Maul’s next attack. Two blades in a staff. Quarterstaff, and singlestick, Obi-Wan thought. Don’t let him get any blows in. Obi-Wan blocked the next strike, leaping sideways clumsily. Two objectives… keep his cover, and stay alive. Obi-Wan was almost relieved to find that, though at his level in saber training, Maul was letting anger rule him, and was largely intuitive rather than calculating. Obi-Wan might not be his superior in saber skills, but he was intellectually on a higher level. And, too, Maul’s control was rather weak… Obi-Wan made another bladelock, slowly giving way to maintain his energy and exhaust Maul, then suddenly swept the long haft of the saber pike under, giving Maul a hearty whack in the midsection. Obi-Wan bent gracefully back, avoiding Maul’s broad sweep, coming up inside Maul’s guard. It was an unorthodox tactic that came as a complete surprise to Maul. Though Obi-Wan was technically trapped by Maul’s arms holding the lightsaber, the surprise factor was more than enough to compensate. Obi-Wan struck Maul hard in the jaw, and Maul dropped the saberstaff in an instinctive attempt to get away from his aggressor. Obi-Wan spun neatly around Maul, catching him in a sleeper hold to subdue him. He thought that the duel was over for a moment.

The next moment, he was writhing in agony on the floor, having lost control of all his muscles thanks to Sidious’ Sith lightning.

Obi-Wan back-flipped as Maul attacked again. This time, the contest was brief to the point of being anticlimactic. Obi-Wan grabbed the pike up, crossed blades, disengaged suddenly, disarming Maul, caught up the saberstaff and spun, then froze. There was absolute silence, the only sound the vicious hum of twin red blades extending out from Maul’s back.

Maul’s rage had been his fatal error. Obi-Wan had outmaneuvered him, and Sidious’ attack had cost the Zabrack his life. Maul would never find his way to the backstabbing and manipulative way of the Sith.

Obi-Wan deactivated both the lightsaber pike and the saberstaff, tossing them away, distaste wrinkling his nose. Padme looked on in shock and probably horror. Sidious watched him, a calculating sneer on his lip. He clapped three times. Obi-Wan bowed, icily. “Impressive,” Palpatine murmured, “most impressive.” Obi-Wan returned to the alcove behind Palpatine’s chair in icy silence. A long space of silence in which no one but Sidious moved as the Sith sipped at his wine. Mas Amedda cleared his throat, awkwardly. The fight was unquestionably over.

The banquet continued far into the night. Some of the less pleasant guests stayed long after the others had gone home, but Palpatine remained in the room, his face coldly serene, the one center of cold, ironic, calculating peace and order in the otherwise debauched room. Palpatine remained after all the others had left or been dragged out. He had not eaten while the others were there, but now he consumed his own supper, with Obi-Wan serving him, alone, in the giant, echoing, empty banqueting hall. Palpatine was in his pensive mood, and Obi-Wan knew better than to interrupt him. Passive resistance was far better than active, and active defiance was far worse than either.

“Ah, Obi-Wan,” Palpatine said. Obi-Wan swallowed the indignation that arose in him at Palpatine’s use of his given name, and listened. “Maul mentioned that he found you in the library earlier.”

“One must make do with what is available, no matter how unpleasant the circumstances,” Obi-Wan said coldly, pretending to yawn.

“Indeed,” Palpatine said. Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed as he searched for a possible reason for this veiled interrogation. Palpatine continued, “Such an impressive display, earlier. What a pity that your natural talent shall never be refined and honed as it ought. Have you ever wished…”

“No,” Obi-Wan snapped. “I never have. If I ever wished for anything, I wished that the Sith had been conquered instead of conquering during the ancient war with the Jedi. I am not your pawn, Darth Sidious. I never desired this throne that you sit on, the throne that is my birthright, and it is a deeper birthright that runs in my blood. I am of the same lineage that gave Erin Kenobi to the galaxy, I come of the same line as Ae’enn Narshala, the Dispossessed, and I am the heir to that legacy. I disowned Deriaka before I was ten years old, and once more I renounce him. Only in name and blood am I his descendant, in nothing more.”

“The laws of primogeniture are harsh, I concede,” Palpatine began. Obi-Wan cut him off hotly.

“I am not a fool to be deceived by your fair words hiding a foul meaning, or a weakling to be bent to your will by a mind trick! I am not your pawn, and I never was your possession. You would do well to remember that.” Obi-Wan turned to walk away. He dropped to his knees as the Sith lightning coiled around his body. Sidious came nearer, quivering with rage.

“Give me another pretty, defiant speech like that, slave, and I should cut that silver tongue of yours out of your head!” the Sith hissed.

“Do that, and I’ll figure out speak into your mind and haunt you in your sleep, backstabber!” Obi-Wan returned. With an effort, Sidious controlled his rage.

“Perhaps Obi-Wan Kenobi is of more use dead than alive,” he hissed. Sidious turned on his heel and left the room. Obi-Wan struggled to his feet and followed.

Obi-Wan returned to the regal room set aside for his use, his mind in turmoil. Like all the rooms of the palace not consigned to slaves, it was richly furnished and elegantly decorated. However, unlike the other rooms, this one was—if that was possible—even more ornate and fancy than any of the others. Huge velvet drapes adorned the walls; the glow panels were overlaid with delicate filigree metalwork. Mahogany tables along the sides held many-armed candelabras, an alternative to electric light. The huge, canopied, curtained double bed was not one Obi-Wan had ever felt comfortable sleeping in. It was decorated like a nightmare version of a little girl’s dream room, except that there was no macabre version of a dollhouse set up against the right wall, and no posh decorations on the walls. No decay, either, Obi-Wan thought ruefully. It might actually be livable if it was a ruin—in a sleepover-with-Quinlan, tell-ghost-stories-and-see-who-gets-hysterical-first sort of way. Obi-Wan would much rather sleep over here, than live here. In another life, it might have been interesting as an addition to a historical museum; now, it was the last place he wanted to go to sleep.

Obi-Wan paused outside the door, danger sense prickling up and down his spine. However much his master teased him about the trademark “I-have-a-bad-feeling-about-this”, Obi-Wan’s danger sense was nearly always accurate and existed for a good reason. It had saved both his life and Qui-Gon’s multiple times.

Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath and opened one of the huge, carved, black double doors. He entered the room and took a calming breath. A second later, a ruby-colored lightsaber crossed his throat within a breath of the skin. The heat of the blade scorched his neck.

“If I wanted you dead,” Dooku’s deep voice proclaimed, “you would have never known what killed you.”

“I beg to differ,” Obi-Wan said, still immobile as the lightsaber hovered a finger’s breadth from his throat. “One would think that you Sith would be more original in your choice of venue—and introduction—to what you so obviously believe to be an important encounter. This is the third time today—no, sorry, fourth—that my life has been threatened and I owe my safety to a reflex.”

“Perhaps,” Dooku acknowledged, removing the saber. Instantly, Obi-Wan was on his guard. The Sith were never so dangerous as when they agreed with you—or seemed to. “I came to speak with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“About what?” Obi-Wan kept his face deceptively calm, already preparing to defend himself if necessary.

“About your obvious lack of training.” Dooku said, raising one eyebrow exquisitely. Obi-Wan did his best to look genuinely confused and at the same time intrigued.

“What about it?”

“You possess a great gift,” Dooku pointed out.

“And you crave it,” Obi-Wan challenged. Dooku bowed his head.

“Perhaps.” A hit.

“I am not anyone’s fool, Count. You should go find some scumbag who will actually be deceived or intimidated by you.” Strike.

“Ah, but it wasn’t some scum bag I wished to talk to.” Deflection. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the implied flattery.

“Why do you want to talk to me, then?” The direct attack, sometimes the best option. Even for a Makashi master.

“Why won’t you let me say it?” Dooku returned. A point. Obi-Wan mentally acknowledged it before moving on.

“I will listen, but I reserve to myself the right to remain silent and the right to a choice.” A flicker crossed Obi-Wan’s face, and in that moment Dooku’s respect for the young man jumped suddenly to a level he had not previously imagined. Maintaining to himself the right to not answer and the right to choose for himself? Kenobi was wise. The implication that even given a seeming choice, people were maneuvered into exactly what the Sith wanted was not lost on Dooku. He shot a look of slight surprise at Obi-Wan.

“Of course,” he said. “You speak as a man of the world, one who understands its ways, Master Kenobi.” Dooku bowed ironically, mockingly. Obi-Wan stood still, unperturbed.

“You give me too much credit, my lord.” he said.

“But more than that, your speech indicates the thought and wisdom of our greatest Sith,” Dooku continued. Obi-Wan remained in his lightly balanced, fencing pose, raising an eyebrow again.

“And now, too little.”

“Most of all, you speak as a Master of the extinct Jedi Order.” Obi-Wan froze in surprise, but pushed it aside and quickly regaining his footing.

“I am not old enough to be a Master, if the records speak true,” he remarked.

“That is only part of the record, my young friend,” Dooku said. “Like us, the Jedi chose to reward merit where they saw it.” Dooku began to pace up and down the room. “Have you never wished to learn to use your gift?”

“I would not want to use it as you do,” Obi-Wan countered. Dooku took no notice and continued to pace, beginning to circle the younger man.

“You are strong in the Force. You might become more powerful even than Sidious.”

“You offer me something that holds no temptation for me.” Obi-Wan said. “I do not wish to be twisted by what you would offer. I do not desire power for its own sake, or control of others. If I had my way, I would follow the path of the ancient Jedi.” Dooku looked at Obi-Wan, his expression hard to fathom.

“You would challenge the Sith?”

“I would try to overthrow them, with every atom of my being, so that the galaxy could live in peace and freedom.” Dooku shook his head.

“So you truly believe in those misguided ideals that the Jedi so foolishly taught?”

“I would die for them.”

“You will not consider my offer?”

“You have nothing to offer me that I might be tempted by.” Seemingly defeated, Dooku bowed and prepared to go.

“One request, Obi-Wan, if I may call you by your name?”

“My lord holds the right to take whatever he wishes,” Obi-Wan replied icily.

“Meet me at noon tomorrow for a game of chess. I believe you might make the first worthy opponent I have faced in a long time.”

“As you wish,” Obi-Wan replied with a slight bow. With a swish and swirl of his cloak, Dooku was gone. Obi-Wan sighed with relief. Now that he knew what Dooku was after, he was slightly less afraid… though he was more concerned. He would not put it past Dooku to have him kidnapped and pushed towards the dark, and if such an occurrence did take place, he doubted he could keep his training as a Jedi a secret for long.

Padme sat down on her bed, still scrubbing at her face with a washcloth. The makeup was always harder to get off than the dress, even if the dress had to be sewn onto her. There was a knock at the door, and Padme felt her heart suddenly jolt as she realized it was Obi-Wan. She wondered how she knew, but she had no time to ponder this as she rushed to the door and opened it. Her intuition proved correct. “Quickly.” Obi-Wan breathed. “Are you ready?”

“Y-yes.” she said. “Well, almost. I can’t get this stuff off.”

“May we come in, then?”

“Well, yes, but…” Obi-Wan slipped inside, followed by Anakin and Shmi. Hurriedly, he introduced them.

“Padme, this is Anakin and Shmi Skywalker. They’re friends.” Anakin looked up at Padme in wonder, even as she scrubbed her face with a washcloth.

“Are you an angel?” he asked.

“What?” Padme replied, distractedly.

“An angel. Obi-Wan told me stories. They live on the moons of Iego, I think…”

“Millius Prime,” Obi-Wan corrected absent-mindedly.

“They’re the most beautiful creatures in the universe,” Anakin continued self-assuredly.

“You’re just a little boy,” Padme said, fascinated. “How do you know so much?”

“Sometimes I get to go hear the deep-space pilots telling their stories…”

“Yarning,” Obi-Wan corrected again, standing by the door poised for action. No one took any notice.

“And Obi-Wan’s pretty smart too,” Anakin grinned.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said absently. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He grabbed Anakin and unceremoniously dragged him under Padme’s bed. Shmi dived after him. The footsteps of a guard paused outside the room. Go on, go on, Obi-Wan thought at him urgently. But the guard didn’t go on. The door of Padme’s room creaked open. Obi-Wan froze as Sidious’ presence wormed its way into his awareness. He drew a concealing fold of the Force over the three of them crouching under the bed.

“Ah, my dear young lady,” Sidious’ voice oozed. Obi-Wan swallowed. Even though Sidious did not know they were there, his voice sent a sickly sensation up the young man’s back. “I have no doubt you are wondering what you are doing here.”

“I do think I have a right to know why someone kidnaps me,” Padme retorted regally. Obi-Wan silently applauded her retort, but gently brushed her mind, warning her to be careful.

“All in good time, dear lady,” Sidious continued. “You will have your curiosity more than satisfied, I can tell you.” Obi-Wan almost attempted a mental probe to try to find out what Sidious was planning, but desisted. They had to stay hidden. “Let us just say that we did not agree with your politics. You were brought here to reconsider.”

That’s not his main purpose, Obi-Wan warned Padme silently. She tried to brush off his contact while retaining her unconcerned appearance. “I would have listened better, perhaps, were the threat—I beg your pardon, the request—made to me in less unpleasant surroundings.”

“Indeed,” Sidious said. He turned to go, pausing in the doorway. “You will not be harmed, and I suggest that you sit tight and wait patiently.” With that, the Sith left.

Obi-Wan scrambled out from under the bed. Padme gasped and sat down on the bed, terrified. “Are you all right?” Obi-Wan asked, concerned.

“That man!” Padme whispered. “He… he makes my skin crawl! And his voice slithers inside my head!” Obi-Wan inclined his head slightly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been blocking him out for so long… I’ve forgotten how bad it can get.” He grabbed Padme’s wrist. “Come on. He’s set us back an extra fifteen minutes. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?” Padme asked.

“Just hurry!”

With surprising speed, and still more astonishingly, few interruptions, they made their way down to the subterranean levels of the palace. Obi-Wan led them into a large, empty cavern beneath all the other rooms. “Almost no one ever comes down here,” he half-whispered. “It’s never warm here, even when the sun is blazing down aboveground. Even the Sith don’t care to come here, which makes it perfect for our purposes.” Obi-Wan slid off the hood of his cloak and bowed deeply as another figure came out of the shadows. “Master.” he said.

“Obi-Wan,” the man acknowledged him, taking his arm. “I’ve been worried about you… the witch hunts they’ve put out for the rest of us are getting fiercer.” Obi-Wan frowned, worried.

“Have they found any more of us?” he asked, concerned.

“Master Jabeckra went missing two days ago,” Qui-Gon said. “We’ve had reason to fear the worst.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes in regret.

“I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll have to see if I can hack the system and find out if she’s been captured.” His voice was steady, the only emotion to be heard sorrow.

“Are you sure you aren’t in danger?” Qui-Gon asked.

“No,” Obi-Wan laughed. “Palpatine can’t see past the tip of his own nose. He’s too arrogant to think that I might possibly be a Jedi. Has that idler Quinlan turned up yet?”

“This idler Quinlan, is right here. He arrived two seconds ago.” Quinlan Vos materialized from the shadows, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Hey, Kenobi. Long time no see.”

“I haven’t missed you,” Obi-Wan teased, the twinkle in his eyes giving him away.

“Still making the ladies swoon with that accent?”

“Not really. The last one slapped me in the face.”

“Okay, Kenobi. What did you do?”

“I,” Obi-Wan said aristocratically, “did nothing whatsoever. Obviously she did not like the idea of being told to clean up her act by a slave.” Quinlan burst out laughing.

“Let me guess, you read her the whole riot act, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t see reason to mince my words,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I gave her a shawl to cover it up, as well.”

“Excuse me,” Padme said in annoyance. “I’ve been languishing here in hopes of an introduction…” Quinlan gave a wicked grin.

“You’ve been waiting for him to introduce me? What a charming lady. Quinlan Vos, at your service.” Quinlan gave a wicked grin and a roguish bow. Padme eyed him coldly, with some inner amusement.

“I’m not in search of a date, merely an introduction.” Quinlan grinned again, elbowing Obi-Wan in the ribs.

“Might want to stick with this one, Kenobi,” the miscreant murmured out of the side of his mouth. Obi-Wan flushed hotly and smacked Quinlan upside the head.

“Shut up, Quinlan. I’m not interested.” Quinlan merely whistled innocently. Obi-Wan gave an annoyed huff and turned to Padme. “I apologize, Padme. This is my mentor, Qui-Gon Jinn, and this irredeemable reprobate is the scoundrel known to the world as Quinlan Vos.” Padme bowed.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jinn, Mr. Vos.” she greeted. Quinlan grinned and elbowed Obi-Wan again. In response, the Shendi firmly placed his heel on Quinlan’s toe.

“Pretty manners, too,” Quinlan said. As Obi-Wan’s heel landed on his foot, he added, “Ooooh! Cold, Kenobi, cold! You wound me.” Obi-Wan raised his eyes skyward in frank supplication.

“Lead me not into temptation…” he said. Anakin folded his hands, as in prayer.

“He can get there on his own,” the little boy added wickedly. Padme snorted.

“Isn’t someone going to explain the meaning of the incident someone referenced earlier, to me?”

“Naturally,” Qui-Gon Jinn said, shooting an amused look at the two young men. “Obi-Wan has a high standard for what constitutes decent dress, and is not about to doublespeak in order to sugarcoat the truth if it’s violated.” Padme laughed. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“It would help if the Sith didn’t have such a penchant for revealing attire,” he said. “But that’s beside the point. Master, I brought Padme here because I’m afraid Sidious has some plan involving her.”

“But how are you…” Padme began.

“Going to help?” Quinlan finished for her. “You’d be surprised.”

“Padme, I think it’s time you knew.” Obi-Wan said. “What you are about to hear will contradict everything you’ve ever been told, but it’s true. I am absolutely sure that you can be trusted to keep silent about this…” He summoned a cylindrical object from Qui-Gon’s belt and ignited it. A perfectly slender shaft of blue energy extended from the hilt. Padme watched, open-mouthed, as Qui-Gon and Quinlan activated them as well. These were not red, like the weapons of the Sith; Obi-Wan’s was blue, while Qui-Gon’s and Quinlan’s were each green. It took her a moment to realize what they were, given the difference. Obi-Wan saluted her with the gleaming weapon.

“The Jedi do exist.”

On Order, Character Development, and Tea

Tags

bbc merlin, clone wars, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, long rants, rambling musings, star wars, stories in progress, story dynamics

This morning, I sat down to attempt to organize the future scenes of “The Hero’s Dream” into some semblance of order so that the story’s future will not be total non sequitur. Almost nine hours later, very little success.
What in the name of the Force is going on here?!
Well, I believe this deserves an explanation… You see, I have a habit of writing my stories… somewhat… backwards. Of course, I am a somewhat “backwards” person. Erin Kalana Kenobi II writes her stories out of order, basing them from scenes and cut-and-pasting until they make sense and she has a real plot. I believe in writing with a passion, because otherwise some of your dialogue won’t be worth keeping.
Of course, this also means that the editing stage is a bear. As in, the giant roaring Kodiak spirit bear that will come to haunt you if you don’t whole-heartedly sacrifice your entire manuscript on the altar to Stevenson, Tolkien, Lewis and the rest. Because, after all, it’s not your story. It doesn’t belong to you. It writes itself, and uses you to write it. IT owns YOU. So dash on ahead! You are free to write out of order and then cut and paste it into a novel as long as you’re willing to tackle the editing stage. And if you like the results, the story may begin to make you some money– after all, it’s the best it can do, after using you like that, day after day. Who said writing was easy?! Liar. They should eat their dictionary.
Sometimes, I find that my characters understand me even better than I do myself. As you all probably know by now, I am a proficient author of fanfiction (probably mostly drivel), and because not everyone is likely to understand me if I say that Jay has my anger issues, and at the same time helps me to control them, I’ll use other characters to make the point.
For instance, there is Obi-Wan in the corner over there. He never speaks up very often, but occasionally acts up, and then Qui-Gon always says it’s a sight to be seen, and they should sell tickets to the bloodthirsty mob of Coruscant’s underbelly. Obi-Wan is like my more sane side, and at the same time he’s my scientific, calculating, somewhat unfeeling side. We all know the feeling. Like he’s been hanging out with Sherlock too much. The one Season Two Clone Wars episode where they have the brain worm thingies and Obi-Wan grabs one… Five seconds later…
“Anakin, NO! I was going to STUDY that!”
“Study the bottom of my boot.”
Decorum, gentlemen. And show a little common courtesy, Anakin.
Obi-Wan likes to play it safe, but sometimes curiosity gets the better of common sense. And sometimes it’s stubbornness that gets his goat, but my dad is not as patient as Master Jinn.
Ahsoka is like my spunky and brave side. She gets scared sometimes, but it still doesn’t stop her from speaking her mind and doing her duty. She’s good with the Younglings, and (shhh! Don’t tell Tarkin!) such a sweetheart!!!
Qui-Gon… he’s patient, even more so than Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is patient through long practice. Qui-Gon is patient by nature, and not too “flashy”, but reliable. His pupil bodes well to outstrip him, but in the end, the student follows in the master’s footsteps, and chooses to fade into the background and out of the spotlight, which is left to Anakin. Pity Ani never learned THAT particular lesson.
Padme and Shmi are the moms, and Padme is the faithful wife. But Padme has a mind of her own, and nothing keeps her down for long. Leia is the precocious Princess, and Luke the unassuming savior. I must admit, I’ve always felt more in tune with Luke than Leia. Mine is a curious breed of romanticism– I don’t like flirting or love stories so much, because passion is overrated. But I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT CHIVALRY IS DEAD. So there.
And there’s Merlin, trying to perfect the spell that will give Mace Windu a pink wig out of nowhere. Merlin is like my wild side. When I stop at a stop light and someone behind me is being a rude and inconsiderate driver and part of the reason I stopped was because it will make a point, and possibly annoy them, that’s Merlin. Did I mention that I wish I had magic, if only to be able to prank my three-year old sister Raya? Obi-Wan says that Merlin reminds him of Qui-Gon, what with Merlin always bringing in strays, and maybe he’s right. Though Merlin’s carefree attitude is… well, let’s say it’s not CURRENTLY Qui-Gon’s jurisdiction.
Gaius. Gaius has sense, and is smart, and probably my favorite character other than Merlin. Gaius’s gruff exterior might be enough to turn some people off, but inside he has a heart of gold. You know what they say about how the mentor must have something in common with the student? Well, they do. Both of my mentor/student groups (Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and Merlin and Gaius) share a strong sense of right and wrong and a LOT of determination. But a mentor and pupil must also complement each other. Both Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan and Gaius/Merlin are very much polar opposites. Where Obi-Wan and Merlin are impetuous and impatient, Qui-Gon and Gaius are cautious. Where Merlin is… *ahem* flighty, Gaius is considerate. Where the youngsters lack experience, the elders are competent. Where Obi-Wan sees the future in his dreams, Qui-Gon moves the future forward in the present. They compliment each other. And though the path is rough, they help each other along. And eventually, the student winds up teaching the master something.
Frodo is my quiet side, and Sam is my determination to fight injustice, however humble I am. I believe that you can learn a lot about the author from the lives, personalities, and interactions of the characters in his or her stories, and the author’s hidden personality speaks through his characters. We authors tend to be a bit of a reticent lot– probably due to censure and misunderstandings from the circles we move in. Which, unfortunately, are not always inhabited by kindred spirits. However, read a writer’s work, and in a sense, you’re reading his soul. This is something he worked and sweated and cried over, good reader! So have the grace to be at least a little merciful. On the other hand, authors (at least the good ones) tend to be perfectionists, and we thrive on feedback. In the end, kind-hearted but honest criticism is healthy.
Mmmmm… *stares blankly into mug* I’m out of mint tea. It wouldn’t be such a problem, if I didn’t put it on the shopping list every other week. And Mom teases Dad about his coffee habit… I should probably be glad I’m off the radar!!!!! What is it with writers and caffeine…? Never mind… I probably don’t want to know.

The Hero’s Dream: Chapter III

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, shifting tides series, star wars, the hero's dream

There is going to be some violence in this chapter, but I hope it’s not THAT bad. Anyway, enjoy!

[10/27/2013: Edits to correct minor errors and lack of italics where they should be.]

[11/2/2013: Changed tagging to reflect current story status; aka, completed.]

Chapter III

                Obi-Wan hurried along the corridors on his assigned duties, helping Anakin dress, bringing Shmi her breakfast (an extra item that Shmi insisted was spoiling her unnecessarily,) and bringing Padme hers as well. He hesitated briefly before taking Padme’s breakfast up, wondering if she would even be up yet, if she would be upset at the intrusion, but at last decided that it was as well to do it now as to wait. He made his way up to her room and knocked at the door. “Who is it?” Padme’s sleepy voice called out. Obi-Wan winced. Bad timing, but he still had little choice. He went in.

“I wish I had the comfort of knowing you could lock your door from the inside,” he remarked. Padme sat up suddenly in the huge double bed.

“Obi-Wan!” she gasped. “Why aren’t you resting?”

“Limitations don’t really concern me,” Obi-Wan remarked. “I do have my limits, my breaking point, but the Sith have never succeeded in reaching them yet. In fact, in trying to reach them, they only remove them further.” He set the tray down. Padme eyed it with some distaste.

“Have you eaten yet?” Obi-Wan was caught off-guard by the question.

“Well, no, but…”

“Then you’d better have breakfast,” Padme decided regally. “Sit down and stop blustering, silly boy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Obi-Wan said meekly. Padme sniffed suspiciously at the air, then pointed to a small dish covered by a cloth.

“What’s that?” She whipped the cloth off and inhaled deeply. The aroma was delicious.

“Kulu berry muffins,” Obi-Wan explained, somewhat lamely. “I guess I just… I somehow… I thought…”

“How did you know?” Padme whispered. A tear trickled down her cheek. “They’re exactly what mom used to make me when I was lonely or depressed.” Obi-Wan bowed his head.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” he said quietly.

“No, never!” Padme said fiercely. “This is exactly what I needed.” She gestured to the muffins. “But how did you know?”

“Intuition, I guess,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve always had it. It’s not like I look up your personality test scores or anything, I just… know.” Padme picked up a muffin, taking a big bite.

“Oh, these are heavenly. I’ll bet you five credits that the palace cook never did these.”

“You’re right,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I like to cook, but I get precious little chance to. Another five credits that you’re about to do something that will embarrass me.” Padme blushed and hurriedly backed up. She had been thinking about kissing him on the cheek a moment before, now she tried to bluster her way out of it.

“No, I wasn’t, you silly boy.”

“And I’ll go another five that you’re lying.” Padme scowled fiercely.

“Shut up, you’re crazy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A comfortable silence stretched out. Finally, Padme swallowed and asked, “I don’t understand something, Obi-Wan. Last night… after you passed out… Palpatine referred to you as ‘his Highness.’ And you’re royalty, but a slave… and Shendi… and the royal house isn’t.” Obi-Wan looked down.

“It’s a long story, and involved as well.”

“Well, now seems like a good time to me,” Padme countered. Obi-Wan sighed.

“I’d better start at the beginning then. Oh, if you get confused, stop me and I’ll try to explain. But I really don’t remember most of it myself, and I don’t understand some parts either. Still, I’ll try.

“When Darth Aggradus’s child was born, they realized that the baby wasn’t Force-sensitive. You see, Darth Deriaka had done something—I don’t know what—so that all of his heirs would be Force-sensitive. Palpatine, who was the only one present there, had the child left out to die and told Aggradus that his daughter had been stillborn. Then Palpatine went on a search for the true heir. Many, many years ago, Deriaka had married a Shendi woman. Their first and only child—a daughter—was entrusted to the care of a nurse, a former Jedi Padawan, by her mother, and the nurse took the baby girl away, leaving the woman to tell Deriaka that the child and nurse both had met with an unfortunate accident. In his rage, Deriaka killed his wife and married another woman, whose child would become Aggradus and Palpatine’s ancestor. But the daughter practically vanished. It turns out that she married a Kenobi, one of the few to survive the great Purge; they had fought in the war, allied with the Jedi against the Sith. And the line passed down from generation to generation, until the true heir was a woman called Sharya Kenobi—the name means ‘hope’ in Shendi. Somehow, Palpatine tracked her down and discovered that she was the true heir. He took her back to the palace and hid her so that no one would ever know that Aggradus was not the rightful emperor, and thus Palpatine was not the rightful heir. Sharya was my mother.” Obi-Wan hung his head.

“And your father?” Padme prompted.

“We still don’t know. I was born at the palace and brought up as a slave, and here I am.” Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. “I’m the heir that wasn’t supposed to exist. It’s a horrid, disgusting, despicable thing to have a birthright to, but that’s what I am. Palpatine mocks me with my title every now and again. I’ve learned to ignore it. It’s not hard… It’s something that I never wanted in the first place anyway. As to being Shendi, well, I am. Almost completely pure-blooded Shendi. It’s the one drop that makes me Deriaka’s heir that means I’m not pure-blooded. It’s saved my life more than once—even though I am a slave, various people have wanted to put me out of the way at various times, and Shendi are immune to many exotic poisons.” Obi-Wan stood. “I have other things I need to do. For now, farewell.” With a graceful bow, he left the room.

Another day, another confrontation… Obi-Wan was beginning to wonder how many times he had to tell the Sith to get it through their heads. Obviously, they were obsessed with pushing the limits. But after running into Darth Krazhana on the way to the library, Obi-Wan wholeheartedly wished that the Rule of Two had taken deeper effect. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the library, by either the rules of the Sith or the normal rules of the Jedi, but Obi-Wan had been given a special dispensation due to his training to protect him against the temptations of the Dark Side and specialization as a Sentinel. As far as other things went, Obi-Wan was fairly normal, but he had been trained to shield his presence and had proven his faithfulness to the Order, and as such he had been given permission to make an active study of any Sith artifacts or such that he might come across. Of course, much of what he found was sickening, but there had been a few things that had been invaluable to Qui-Gon and the others.

While in the library, however, he had run into Maul. The Zabrack was a few years older than he was, and Obi-Wan would describe him as a destructive force capable of anything and worthy of the Sith. Maul obviously doubted that Obi-Wan had a good reason to be there. In the library.

The Sith hadn’t even bothered to ask.

He had just picked Obi-Wan up by the waist and flung him across the room, then left. Obi-Wan got up slowly, trying hard not to disorient himself even more than he was already, and met the sympathetic eyes of Jocasta Nu. It had confused him for a moment, until he remembered a vague note in one mission briefing about the archivist and historian—she, too, was an undercover Jedi operative.

There was a banquet that afternoon, and Obi-Wan was supposed to serve Palpatine. As usual, he was forced to submit to the indignity of identity-altering pigments added to the markings on his face. They would wash off, unlike the tattoos, but they were just another reminder of the forced servitude to which he had been subjected. Obi-Wan carefully checked that the tiny earpiece he wore was working properly. He always recorded and transmitted these events; valuable information could be extracted from the recordings. The servitors all waited for what seemed like hours behind the chairs of their assigned guests. Obi-Wan took the chance to drift off into a slight meditation until a fanfare announced the guests’ arrival.

As the guests paraded in, Obi-Wan quickly realized that this was no ordinary banquet. Under his breath, he whispered into the microphone concealed in his collar, “Garen. Something’s up. I don’t know what, but there is an unusual number of important dignitaries gathered here.”

“Can you tap into the security cams later and recover a copy of the footage for me?”

“I can try,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Here come the Banking Clan representatives… and the Techno Union one as well… Oh, and there’s that Umbaran sneak.” Of all the Sith… really? Sly Moore? Obi-Wan had grown up surrounded by Sith, and most of them turned his stomach, but Sly Moore (along with Palpatine and perhaps a few others) made his skin crawl, in addition. He was thankful that she could see in ultraviolet, not in infared. Infared-vision species were notoriously good at detecting and identifying others’ negative emotions, thanks to changes in the temperature in both core and extremities. Fortunately, there was no Ramarkan or Claustridian present tonight.

And now, Moore was moving up next to Palpatine… wonderful. Why hadn’t he bothered to glance at the place cards? There was no time, he reminded himself.

There was Dooku, still watching Obi-Wan with that curious look that was so difficult to decipher. While Sly Moore gave him the creeps and made it difficult for him to focus properly, the only Sith Obi-Wan was truly worried about at the moment was Dooku. Dooku, who seemed to guess what no one else did, who seemed to notice how impenetrable and opaque Obi-Wan truly was… the one who was equally inscrutable to the object of his concern. Obi-Wan mentally noted that he would have to see if he could hack deeper into the archive system and see what he could find out about Dooku. Other than that Dooku was the hereditary Count of Serrenno, the general use file had been bare-bones and basic.

All of the dignitaries were seated by now, and Obi-Wan carefully attuned himself to the Force in the room. The whole area was suffused by Dark Side energy, as usual, but this was the energy of greed rather than of hate, fear, and lust for power. The other three were mere undertones, janglingly discordant counterpoints to the symphony of greed. Obi-Wan covertly swept the room for any anomaly, anything unusual, by habit. He opened himself to the Force, allowing his mind to wander among the guests, noting their conversations. He opened his eyes to see fellow operative Quinlan Vos, in the guise of one of the aides of the Senator from Bellassa, and met the latter’s eyes. They would meet in secret after the banquet was concluded to compare notes; they were old friends. The Kiffar blinked twice, telling his human compatriot that he had picked up some valuable information, via his unusual Force talent of psychometry. Obi-Wan stroked his chin, thoughtfully, acknowledging the message. Vos turned back to his Senator, and Obi-Wan returned his attention to his duties. Mas Amedda came up to Sidious for a moment, exchanged a few whispered words, then turned toward the door.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present a new addition to our happy band.” the Chagrian said. “Queen-elect Padme Amidala!” Obi-Wan was careful not to stiffen as the doors opened and Padme walked in, her face concealed behind impersonal white makeup, a single red teardrop anointing her lower lip. She walked regally toward the dais, bowed icily to Palpatine, and continued to her seat.

Obi-Wan took up the pitcher from a side table and proceeded to refill all the empty cups. He whispered to Padme as he passed, filling her goblet, “Don’t touch the wine if you can’t help it. The tall pitcher to your right is water, though they don’t advertise the fact.” He nudged a small, chased-gold glass tumbler that sat close to her plate. “Palpatine has some plan concerning you,” he added as he passed her once again to set aside the jug. “I’ll speak to you later. Wait for me after curfew in your room.” Padme gave a tiny nod, scarcely daring to acknowledge him at all.

The first course concluded, Mas Amedda rose from his chair to announce a short recess, for the sake of the attendees’ amusement. Obi-Wan blinked at the announcement. It could not mean anything good…

Did not, for the very next moment he had been grabbed by Darth Maul and flung into the center of the room, off the dais, raising the dust on the floor as he fell, hard. Leaping to his feet once again, Obi-Wan stood on the defensive, watching Maul with a wary eye as the latter descended to the lower level. The Sith Lord activated a blood-red blade. Obi-Wan desperately dodged the next two attacks as Maul vented with a devastating flourish, the crimson blade screaming a hideous death song.

AAAAAAND… CLIFFHANGER! 😛 Those things are awesome… 😛 Until next time!

Dear Diary, Do I know my villains?

Tags

bbc merlin, brian jacques, clone wars, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, long rants, madeleine l'engle, redwall, star wars, stories in progress, story dynamics

Today, I think it’s time to talk about the villains. Yes, you heard me. What makes them tick? What are their motivations? Especially since an intelligent villain always has an ulterior motive. To do this, I think that the best way is to go and look at a list of villains.
1. The Sidious archetype. Another villain falling into this category would have to be “IT”, from Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time.” Her Time Trilogy actually doesn’t have any named villains other than “IT,” because after that… it’s all Echthroi. Of course, in “Many Waters,” there are the Nephilim, but “Many Waters” isn’t neccessarily part of the trilogy. (An Echthros is, for those of you who may be wondering, roughly equivalent to a demon. You know what they are. The destroyers. The haters. The dragons. The worms. Anyway…) Sidious and “IT” are archetypes of this villain because they are basically capable of anything and everything to accomplish their goals. They don’t care who gets in the way or who dies. But they each (oddly enough) run across one person whom they will do ANYTHING to corrupt and possess (i.e., Anakin Skywalker and Charles Wallace Murry.) This is not a necessary requirement for this archetype, however. This type of villain is totally ruthless, but I would not say that they were amoral, simply disgusting. For the same (probably impossible to articulate) reason, Sidious does not strike me as particularly intelligent (even though he undoubtedly is,) merely cunning, conniving. This type of villain does not seem to have any emotions, and does not go on a rage-induced killing spree under normal circumstances. Unlike her husband, I would class Lady Macbeth in this group, because she is after power and doesn’t seem to have any of the complexities that would place her in the next. Another villain in this class: Maguda Razan, from “The Angel’s Command.”
2. Dooku/Xanatos/Ublaz/Robespierre-style complex villains. Yes, you saw it. I prefer Xanatos and Dooku to Sidious. Dooku is probably the most forthcoming of these villains. These villains are heartless and truly amoral, charming and deadly. They tend to have a very high, classy intelligence (they’re the sort of people who would quote Shakespeare to their victims before roasting them alive) and taste. They don’t go in for decadent, generally (like the type 1, Sidious archetype), because they prefer understated elegance. (I say generally, because this is not a requirement.) However, they will not hesitate to throw ALL their troops at one target if they want its destruction. These villains are not prone to fits of wrath (at least, not so much; you’d be astounded by what a villain was capable of), but may have them occasionally. At the same time, they generally are not seen on the battlefield, preferring to orchestrate things from behind the scenes. But when they are there, WATCH OUT. I have heard it said that, should Obi-Wan Kenobi turn bad, he would have likely been another Dooku, only more deadly. Sure, they are kind of similar; both have an above-average intelligence, can be manipulative at times, and even come from the same teaching line. But Obi-Wan has the redeeming features Dooku doesn’t; 1. A moral compass, 2. Sincerity, and 3. a willingness to give his all for what he believes in. I would list Captain/Admiral/Grand Moff Tarkin among these intelligent, eeeeeevil villains, even though he doesn’t quite meet all the requirements. Tarkin is merely a sociopath with an agenda, not a high, proper villain, but he is the sort of villain we all love to hate. Wouldn’t ANYONE who watched “The Citadel” and its companion pieces want to kick his behind, hurl him out a window, or Force-choke him at least once? If you didn’t, it’s a sure sign that you’re a sociopath yourself. (Oh, and by the way, I would love to see Obi-Wan face down Tarkin. The jerk needs his ego taken down about a hundred pegs or so. If anyone wants to write that, tell me about it and I will LOVE YOU FOREVER.) Another villain in this class: Al Misurata, from “Voyage of Slaves.”
3. Cluny/Tsarmina/Darth Vader/General Grievous/Hitler style villains. These villains can be cunning, but in some cases are not particularly intelligent, or do not have much of an education. They are also prone to fits of rage in which they destroy anything and everything in sight (poor Sandpeoples), and have a tendency towards insanity. Some of these villains can be ridiculously childish, as well. Again, we all love to hate ’em. You know we do. More villains in this class: Both the Dutchman and the land baron from “Castaways of the Flying Dutchman.”
4. The ordinary person who becomes the villain. These types of villains tend to see themselves as the heroes of the tale, but it’s all lies. We, the readers, know that. I’m hard put to it for an example right now… I may edit this post later if I think of one. This type of villain tends to be more pitiable, though no less despicable. Oh wait– Gollum! That’s a good one, I think… Then there is Macbeth himself, who wasn’t always evil, and who at least has some regret for what he has done. And Uther Pendragon, who is also a bit amoral…
4. The villain who later becomes the anti-hero, or even a full-fledged hero. Cases in point: Romsca, Pakatugg, a few others in the Redwall books, Darth Vader, and Ventress. In the Clone Wars episode “Revenge,” Obi-Wan asks Ventress, “When did you become the good guy?” in an ironic tone. When, indeed. In these cases, there tends to be a slow progression. Nothing happens very fast when a hero becomes a villain or a villain becomes a hero. They must have motivation to change. Ventress’s came when her whole “family” was destroyed; Vader’s, when his son was revealed, and later, threatened; and Romsca’s, when she saw the Father Abbot’s good heart and thought, “I want that too.” Though I’m sure if you’d asked her, Romsca would say it was because she was always a bit of a punk anyway. These people tend to live partially overshadowed by their life as villains, but are generally able to cement their redemption. The ones that lack the determination never were meant to be heroes, anyway.
Well, I hope you enjoyed my rundown of the “types” of villain! Just needed an articulation, I’d say. Thanks for reading, and God Bless!