Master Apprentice Archive Shadows Beneath the Surface Quick search:

Archive: M_A. Anyone else, please ask first.

Category: POV, Angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: Character death

Spoilers: Yes, for the end of TPM

Summary: Amidala's thoughts at the end of TPM

Disclaimers: Star Wars, Amidala, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Panaka all belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilms. No copyright infringement is intended and no money changed hands.

Feedback: This is my first posted story (maybe that should have gone under warnings), so I'm holding my breath and turning blue.

Author's Note: Huge amounts of gratitude to Kat who was kind enough not only to beta for me, but also to soothe my anxieties. Thanks Kat!

Before today, I never gave him much thought. He was simply there -- an extension of his master, his deferential shadow. I should have known better. How many times have I used a similar blindness to my own advantage when people's eyes have passed over my handmaidens without seeing? And it was more than that. He was Jedi, a person to be reckoned with in his own right.

But seeing his still eyes and composed face, at that moment I felt a wave of such dislike it startled me. He stood quiet and unmoving, his cloak wrapped around him -- the perfect image of Jedi calm. Anakin, excitement at what he'd done overcoming his fear of being scolded, ran to him. Anakin didn't yet know what I did. He hadn't been with me when Captain Panaka reported. Master Qui-Gon Jinn was dead.

I watched as the Jedi spoke, hearing the quiet tones of his voice, but still too far away to hear the words. Anakin shook his head and bit his lip. The Jedi laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, and as I approached, I heard him say, "Master Qui-Gon is not gone, he is one with the force now, Anakin." At the sound of those measured, gentle words, I felt my anger evaporate. That is what the Jedi believed.

Still, I couldn't help but watch him a little, looking, I think, for signs of pain or grief. I realized I wished for them. I wanted him to suffer. It would show he was human, not mystical Jedi, serene beyond all human ken. Oddly, his master sometimes seemed to me more human then any I'd ever met. Although Qui-Gon Jinn bore himself with the calm and reserve suitable for a Jedi Master, his eyes were warm and brightly alight with life and humor. It seemed wrong that his apprentice should be so unfeeling. So perfectly Jedi. Master Jinn deserved better.

Now, I have done as much as I can for my people today. The ravages the Trade Federation dealt my planet will be a long time healing. But I must be strong and look to the future. Tonight, my people will rest, and with the sun we shall celebrate, to remind ourselves that what we have achieved is worth the cost. But what cost.

I brace myself, for there is one more task that requires my attention.

"Are you sure, your Majesty?" my faithful captain asks.

"Yes, Captain. It is important for me to understand the cost of our victory." I have seen the price my people paid for their freedom, now it is time to see this as well. He nods, resigned, and starts the recording.

There are security cameras everywhere in the palace, without exception. So now I watch the battle between the Jedi and the black demon unfold. It is, despite my knowledge of the outcome, despite the evil emanating from the Sith -- which I can feel even over this poor recording -- a thing of beauty. Master and apprentice move utterly in synch in this skillful dance, perfect extensions of each other.

My heart pounds as I watch. I know how the journey ends, but I do not know the path it will take. The padawan did not volunteer the information, and I had not pressed him. So I watch, hands clenching as master and apprentice are separated by the force shields, watch as the apprentice races forward, but even he cannot make it past the last shield in time.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" The scream of denial is like a thing torn bleeding from the fabric of the air. My heart feels as though it has stopped as I watch the end of the padawan's battle, his fall into the pit, and then the recovery. The Sith dies, and is forgotten by Obi-Wan, by me. I watch the master and apprentice, as Obi-Wan crouches over his master as though he is trying to keep death from approaching. I watch as the life leaves the elder Jedi. Obi-Wan is unmoving, still bent over his master, his form looking suddenly small and fragile.

I wonder at myself. How could I have been so blind? There is pain here, more than I could have possibly imagined. Shame and remorse wash over me, mixing with the grief.

I sit as unmoving as the two Jedi on the screen. A lifetime passes before Obi-Wan stirs. With hands that shake at first, and then which grow increasingly steady, he carefully straightens the dead man's limbs, smoothes his hair, folds his hands and then leans forward to kiss his lips. He rises and nearly falls. But he steadies himself and walks away. The cameras follow his slow progress through the force shields, across the walkways to the place where it began. He picks up the two cloaks and retraces his steps. Returning to his master's side, he touches the still face for a moment before unfurling the darker cloak and letting it fall over the body. When the cloth has settled, he wraps himself in his own cloak and clutches it to him for a moment as though he is freezing. But then he straightens and walks away.

Captain Panaka steps forward then and turns off the recording. I had forgotten he was there, but I turn to him and am vaguely surprised by the tears in his hardened, soldier's eyes. I blink my own dry eyes and ask abruptly, "Captain, where is Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Perhaps it is remorse at misjudging him, at wishing his pain, that drives me. Really, what words can I hope to say to him?

My eyes pass over him once without seeing him, he is so still. He is kneeling beside the pyre on which the Master Jedi's body rests. He has been kneeling there, unmoving, for hours, the guard whispers to me.

I nearly turn to go, feeling that it is a selfish desire to expiate my own guilt that brings me here rather than a real ability to offer any comfort. Nevertheless, I walk forward and kneel beside him. His eyes are closed, his face pale as stone. But then with a suddenness that startles me, his eyes open, an unexpected flood of brilliant blue-green. He merely looks at me, offering no greetings or courtesies and that in itself is a sign. His eyes are still pools, reflecting only my own image back at me, and revealing nothing of what turbulence may lie beneath the surface. But, oddly, looking into them, I hear again that tearing scream of denial.

Quietly I say, "I am sorry." It is not enough, but any more unhelpful platitudes would be belittling. Feeling awkward in the silence, I begin to speak. I tell him of the time I spent on Tatooine with his master -- not so much the events but the impression his master left with me. I know he is listening, and my awkwardness drains away. When I'm finished, I fall silent.

At last I ask, "Will you train Anakin?" I know the answer. I heard Master Jinn's last words.

"I will." His voice is almost startling after his long silence.

This quietness, this iron control -- it cannot be a good thing. Though I know only a little of the way of Jedi, today has shown me that they are human, and no human can survive without grieving its losses.

"I will take care of Anakin," I tell him, thinking this the obstacle. "You may take whatever time you need to grieve."

To my surprise, his mouth crooks a little. "The boy is already too old as it is." I do not understand, and perhaps sensing this, he continues. "There is no time for grief now, if I am to convince the council to let me complete the trials. I cannot take Anakin as a padawan unless I am a knight." His lashes briefly hide his eyes before he looks back at me. "The council would not be well disposed toward me in either regard if they find me a quivering mass of hysteria." His tone is wry, but it falters a little at the end. And suddenly, the surface of those quiet eyes is brittle before stilling again. After a moment he adds, "And the boy must not be given more cause to be frightened."

He has not looked toward the pyre once since I entered. Qui-Gon, I suddenly wonder, did you understand what it was you asked of him?

I think it is wrong, but I am queen to my people, and I know the harsh, unmerciful face that reality too often shows us. If I had not known it before, the last few days have thrust the lesson home.

And the reality is that there is no time for the young man beside me to do anything but lock away the grief that, beneath the stillness of his eyes, waits to consume his soul.

So I shed my role of queen for a while, and I weep for him.