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matrilApparently my brain has needed a break from writing original fiction, because ever since I finished my last novel, I've been writing copious amounts of fan fic. This one is a kind of missing moment scene. Yay for female friendship and all that. ;) Then I have an AU scene, as well as a longer, multi-part fic that's currently almost 6000 words and will probably end up at least twice that long. So, copious.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Beru insisted, beckoning Padmé toward the doorway. “You need a place to sleep just as much as the rest of us, while you’re waiting here. I only worry it’s a lot smaller than you’re used to.”
Padmé peered into the room, a glorified closet with a sparse sleeping bunk. Then she gave Beru a look of gratitude. “If you have so little room to spare, it makes your generosity all the more valuable.”
Beru let out a quiet laugh. “Thank Cliegg and Owen, not me. I’ve been depending on their generosity for years. My parents’ homestead is on the other side of Anchorhead.” Obviously she didn’t talk to Outlanders very often, if she assumed that Padmé had any idea where Anchorhead was. “Sometimes I stay here for months at a time.”
“That’s different,” Padmé replied, shaking her head. “You’re like family to them.”
“Well...it’s not as different as you might think. We feel like we know you.” Beru entered the cramped room and began straightening the bunk’s blankets. “I’m glad to finally meet you. Shmi always spoke very highly of the girl who came here with the Jedi.”
Padmé trailed after her, awash in bewilderment. “Of me? Anakin, of course. But she hardly knew me.” Beru looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I was only here - in Mos Espa, I mean - for a few days. We repaired our ship. And then we took her son away.”
“The Jedi took him,” Beru said, unruffled, and sat down on the bunk. “And he was giving him a better life. Shmi was very happy for Anakin. She missed him, of course. But she’s never expressed any bitterness.”
After a moment’s hesitation Padmé joined her on the bunk and asked, “What did she say about me?”
“That you were quiet and thoughtful...but didn’t hesitate to speak your mind when it was important.” Beru smiled. “Which is a pretty good description of Shmi as well, now that I think of it.”
In Theed and on Coruscant, Padmé had received ample flatteries and compliments, all designed to win her political favor and advance someone else’s cause. None of them could have affected her like Shmi’s soft-spoken praise. She was honored, and deeply sad that she would probably never hear such kind words from Shmi’s own lips.
Beru must have been thinking something similar, as her face reflected Padmé’s somber mood. She sighed, then went on, “In any case, she said she was glad to know that Anakin would have a friend to keep him company on the way to the capital.”
“He did,” Padmé said quietly. It was a piercing thought, knowing how lonely Anakin had been and how, in spite of its promising beginning, their friendship had lain dormant for ten long years. Was that why her feelings for him had enflamed with such startling ferocity, as if to make up for all that lost time? Or was it only because she was painfully lonely as well, isolated in her high office, still mourning the loss of one of the few friends she was allowed in the form of a selfless handmaiden? Probably both.
(And it didn’t hurt that he had transformed from a round-faced child to a young man with well-proportioned, striking features, with the hypnotic grace of a Jedi and eyes she could easily drown herself in...)
But now, abruptly aware of this starving need for friendship, Padmé found herself reaching out to Beru. “I wish I knew all of you as well as it seems you know me. Tell me, how did you meet Owen?”
Beru laughed again, this time reddening a little. “Oh, well, all the moisture farmer families know each other, I guess. But I remember the day I noticed him in particular. It was at Tosche station. There was this shopkeeper, Jal-ev. He was always trying to cheat us. Owen was bartering with him, and we all knew he deserved more than what Jal-ev was offering."
She was becoming more and more animated as she told the story, and Padmé smiled at the flush spreading over her cheeks. “But Owen didn’t start hollering or shaking his fists. He just looked up into that guy’s face - big scaly fellow, at least two and a half meters tall - and said in a calm, steady voice, ‘You know these parts are worth more than that. And I know you know it. Let’s not insult each other by pretending otherwise.’ And the shopkeeper grumbled and complained a bit more, but eventually he gave Owen his due.”
“And then?”
“Then? I went up to him and invited him home for dinner. We’ve been together ever since.” She added brightly, “If the next harvest goes well, we'll get married this year.”
Padmé blinked, startled. Was it that simple? Decide you liked someone, find that he liked you too, and start building your lives together? She never imagined herself envying a pair of moisture farmers.
“So...” Beru’s voice had taken on a knowing tone. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Padmé answered distantly, still lost in her ruminations.
“You and Anakin.”
“Oh.” Padmé swallowed hard. “It’s not like that. He’s just - he was assigned to be my bodyguard.”
“Oh.” The single word spoke plenty. Beru didn’t believe her, and whoever would? The truth was probably written all over Padmé’s face. No one looked like that while talking about a bodyguard. She could sense Beru closing herself off, her warmth cooling.
“I’m sorry,” she burst out, then bit her lip. “It’s...it’s not easy to explain.” She shut her eyes, took a breath and said, “Jedi don’t marry.”
“Oh.” Quite a different meaning this time. Padmé looked at Beru. She was all sympathy again. “That explains it. Don’t worry; I won’t ask any more questions.”
In a very low voice Padmé replied, “It would be nice to have someone to talk to.” She paused, then added, “I know you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“No, of course not.”
She trusted Beru. But it didn’t hurt that on this middle-of-nowhere planet, there was no one she could tell. So she began, haltingly, to relate some of the feelings she had struggled with since reuniting with Anakin. She didn’t tell everything, knowing that some private moments shouldn’t, indeed couldn’t, be shared. It was enough to describe those fleeting carefree days in the Lake Country, the taste of sheer happiness that she knew could not last.
When she had finished, Beru was quiet. “I’m sorry I can’t give you any advice,” she said at last. “It’s all so different from my own experience. You’ve had challenges I can’t even imagine.”
Padmé gave a wry laugh. “You can’t tell me that moisture farming is an easy life either. In any case, I’m just glad I could talk to you.”
“Glad I could listen,” Beru answered, then stood. “But I’m afraid I need to get to sleep now. We start work very early in the morning, while it’s still cool.”
“Of course.” They bid each other goodnight, and Padmé watched her go. These are good people, Anakin had said. Jedi intuition, perhaps. Or maybe a son’s simple trust in his mother’s judgement. He knew she would have found a good family.
She only hoped that same intuition could bring him safely home again. Because amid all her conflicting emotions she knew one thing for certain: for better or worse, Anakin was an inextricable part of her life. Beru had Owen; she had Anakin.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Beru insisted, beckoning Padmé toward the doorway. “You need a place to sleep just as much as the rest of us, while you’re waiting here. I only worry it’s a lot smaller than you’re used to.”
Padmé peered into the room, a glorified closet with a sparse sleeping bunk. Then she gave Beru a look of gratitude. “If you have so little room to spare, it makes your generosity all the more valuable.”
Beru let out a quiet laugh. “Thank Cliegg and Owen, not me. I’ve been depending on their generosity for years. My parents’ homestead is on the other side of Anchorhead.” Obviously she didn’t talk to Outlanders very often, if she assumed that Padmé had any idea where Anchorhead was. “Sometimes I stay here for months at a time.”
“That’s different,” Padmé replied, shaking her head. “You’re like family to them.”
“Well...it’s not as different as you might think. We feel like we know you.” Beru entered the cramped room and began straightening the bunk’s blankets. “I’m glad to finally meet you. Shmi always spoke very highly of the girl who came here with the Jedi.”
Padmé trailed after her, awash in bewilderment. “Of me? Anakin, of course. But she hardly knew me.” Beru looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I was only here - in Mos Espa, I mean - for a few days. We repaired our ship. And then we took her son away.”
“The Jedi took him,” Beru said, unruffled, and sat down on the bunk. “And he was giving him a better life. Shmi was very happy for Anakin. She missed him, of course. But she’s never expressed any bitterness.”
After a moment’s hesitation Padmé joined her on the bunk and asked, “What did she say about me?”
“That you were quiet and thoughtful...but didn’t hesitate to speak your mind when it was important.” Beru smiled. “Which is a pretty good description of Shmi as well, now that I think of it.”
In Theed and on Coruscant, Padmé had received ample flatteries and compliments, all designed to win her political favor and advance someone else’s cause. None of them could have affected her like Shmi’s soft-spoken praise. She was honored, and deeply sad that she would probably never hear such kind words from Shmi’s own lips.
Beru must have been thinking something similar, as her face reflected Padmé’s somber mood. She sighed, then went on, “In any case, she said she was glad to know that Anakin would have a friend to keep him company on the way to the capital.”
“He did,” Padmé said quietly. It was a piercing thought, knowing how lonely Anakin had been and how, in spite of its promising beginning, their friendship had lain dormant for ten long years. Was that why her feelings for him had enflamed with such startling ferocity, as if to make up for all that lost time? Or was it only because she was painfully lonely as well, isolated in her high office, still mourning the loss of one of the few friends she was allowed in the form of a selfless handmaiden? Probably both.
(And it didn’t hurt that he had transformed from a round-faced child to a young man with well-proportioned, striking features, with the hypnotic grace of a Jedi and eyes she could easily drown herself in...)
But now, abruptly aware of this starving need for friendship, Padmé found herself reaching out to Beru. “I wish I knew all of you as well as it seems you know me. Tell me, how did you meet Owen?”
Beru laughed again, this time reddening a little. “Oh, well, all the moisture farmer families know each other, I guess. But I remember the day I noticed him in particular. It was at Tosche station. There was this shopkeeper, Jal-ev. He was always trying to cheat us. Owen was bartering with him, and we all knew he deserved more than what Jal-ev was offering."
She was becoming more and more animated as she told the story, and Padmé smiled at the flush spreading over her cheeks. “But Owen didn’t start hollering or shaking his fists. He just looked up into that guy’s face - big scaly fellow, at least two and a half meters tall - and said in a calm, steady voice, ‘You know these parts are worth more than that. And I know you know it. Let’s not insult each other by pretending otherwise.’ And the shopkeeper grumbled and complained a bit more, but eventually he gave Owen his due.”
“And then?”
“Then? I went up to him and invited him home for dinner. We’ve been together ever since.” She added brightly, “If the next harvest goes well, we'll get married this year.”
Padmé blinked, startled. Was it that simple? Decide you liked someone, find that he liked you too, and start building your lives together? She never imagined herself envying a pair of moisture farmers.
“So...” Beru’s voice had taken on a knowing tone. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Padmé answered distantly, still lost in her ruminations.
“You and Anakin.”
“Oh.” Padmé swallowed hard. “It’s not like that. He’s just - he was assigned to be my bodyguard.”
“Oh.” The single word spoke plenty. Beru didn’t believe her, and whoever would? The truth was probably written all over Padmé’s face. No one looked like that while talking about a bodyguard. She could sense Beru closing herself off, her warmth cooling.
“I’m sorry,” she burst out, then bit her lip. “It’s...it’s not easy to explain.” She shut her eyes, took a breath and said, “Jedi don’t marry.”
“Oh.” Quite a different meaning this time. Padmé looked at Beru. She was all sympathy again. “That explains it. Don’t worry; I won’t ask any more questions.”
In a very low voice Padmé replied, “It would be nice to have someone to talk to.” She paused, then added, “I know you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“No, of course not.”
She trusted Beru. But it didn’t hurt that on this middle-of-nowhere planet, there was no one she could tell. So she began, haltingly, to relate some of the feelings she had struggled with since reuniting with Anakin. She didn’t tell everything, knowing that some private moments shouldn’t, indeed couldn’t, be shared. It was enough to describe those fleeting carefree days in the Lake Country, the taste of sheer happiness that she knew could not last.
When she had finished, Beru was quiet. “I’m sorry I can’t give you any advice,” she said at last. “It’s all so different from my own experience. You’ve had challenges I can’t even imagine.”
Padmé gave a wry laugh. “You can’t tell me that moisture farming is an easy life either. In any case, I’m just glad I could talk to you.”
“Glad I could listen,” Beru answered, then stood. “But I’m afraid I need to get to sleep now. We start work very early in the morning, while it’s still cool.”
“Of course.” They bid each other goodnight, and Padmé watched her go. These are good people, Anakin had said. Jedi intuition, perhaps. Or maybe a son’s simple trust in his mother’s judgement. He knew she would have found a good family.
She only hoped that same intuition could bring him safely home again. Because amid all her conflicting emotions she knew one thing for certain: for better or worse, Anakin was an inextricable part of her life. Beru had Owen; she had Anakin.
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Date: 2016-01-27 01:40 pm (UTC)I figure they're not super knowledgeable about the Jedi on Tatooine, partly from how Anakin, when noticing Qui-Gon's weapon, calls it a "laser sword." Sure, he's a kid, but he also lives in a spaceport city and probably encounters more Outlander talk than a moisture farmer like Beru. So I'm assuming she wouldn't have any idea of details like their no-marriage rule.