My eyes are kinda going crazy today with allergies, and nothing looks quite right. I'm doing my best, but I'm not really happy with this. Daily drawing 2440.
This is how it feels to be Sabine Wren now, at the end.
Far, far away, without a home, without a clan, without a friend, you sit atop a mount - a howler, they've called it - awaiting your promised freedom, your release into the wild unknown to complete the last leg of your journey.
Somehow, it had been easier to brandish bravado in front of your captors. Confidence and courage were easy masks to wear in the face of a familiar foe.
But here, alone, it is different. Deep in the ghastly heart of the witches' fortress, the heat of your snark and your smirk have cooled, leaving you shivering as you contemplate your complicated past and uncertain future. The seconds tick by eternally while the eager howler dances beneath you and your heart thunders like the drums of war.
It’s then that you realize that, succeed or fail, this is the end of everything.
Everything - the good, the bad, the whole of your life - has brought you here.
So much hinges upon what happens next.
Upon you. Upon the gamble that you made.
And the Darkness whispers gleefully,
"Are you afraid?"
Your breath becomes quicker, shallower, and you think that you might be afraid. Terrified, even.
The what-ifs are stifling, strangling -
-Until a blessedly deafening KER-CHUNK startles you, scattering all thought.
Heavy, ancient doors part regretfully from where they're joined, the grinding of stone and metalwork obliterating the silence as they creep apart.
Light, blindingly white, rushes in at cracks and crevices until it's bathing you and everything else in its purifying fire, burning the Darkness away and illuminating the path ahead.
Your blink until your sight returns. You breathe deeply.
And, finally, warmth sparks in your chest.
Of what should you be afraid?
Of failure? No. Thrawn would never send you on an empty errand. Ezra lives. Out there. Somewhere. You’re the closest to finding him that you’ve ever been, and you’ve got three whole days to do it.
Of what should you be afraid?
Of success? No. You have no regrets about the gamble that brought you here, and you know that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. Let the truth of your actions and their imminent consequences come when they may.
Of what should you be afraid?
Of death?
Of...
...death?!
At this you swallow a laugh. Death is an old friend. Your one constant companion. You have wielded it, stared it in the face, wailed against its unfairness, and survived it again and again, nearly but never completely crushed under the weight of its grief while its flames danced around you.
Because it would not take you.
Not with your Clan. Not with the Mandalorians. Not with the Rebels.
And every time that you looked up from the dying embers and the wreckage, you began again. You chose to live. To hope.
Just as you are choosing to now.
Perhaps, you think with a smirk, it is Death that should fear you.
With that thought and a nudge to your mount's flank, you are carried fully into the light. Once more, you are reborn. Unafraid. The howler trots down the path, faster and faster, while the ashes of your past, a life of grief and despair, of interminable waiting and impossible choices, of grit and battle and strife, are kicked up behind you into the dust.
Like the sigil you have chosen for yourself, you are the Starbird rising again, racing into a new life with a smile because you know that in this life, you will find Ezra.
After that, the rest will take care of itself.
This is how it feels to be Sabine Wren now, not at the end, but at the beginning.
*GIF by the amazingly talented and infinitely resourceful @jedi-nurse Thank you so much!
*Written in the style of Matthew Stover's Revenge of the Sith Novelization and inspired by East of the Sun, West of the Moon
My preferred way to watch the Star Wars movies is 4,5,1,2,3,6. Not saying this is objectively the best way, but it preserves most of the plot twists. In this order, the PT functions as an extended flashback after Vader reveals himself as Luke's father, showing what happened to him and providing context for both Vader's internal conflict and Palpatine's machinations in RotJ.
Additionally, the birth scene in RotS when Padmé names the second baby Leia becomes a kick in the teeth for first time viewers. If you watch OT then PT, you already have that information. If you watch PT then OT you don't even know those characters yet. This way it becomes a reveal that follows up on Yoda's "there is another" line and Leia being able to sense Luke with the Force in ESB. It works as well as any version of that reveal possibly could given the framework.
Also this way, you see Anakin's whole fall to the Dark Side, and then the next thing you turn on is RotJ, and Luke's first appearance in that movie has him lightly Force-choking Jabba's guards while wearing black Jedi robes similar to Anakin's in RotS. It offers just that little bit more uncertainty over whether Luke actually could fall.
I have my issues with TPM, but if you cut it, you lose a bunch of stuff.
You lose getting to see what Obi-Wan was like as a student.
You lose the scene where Anakin gives Padmé the jappor snippet, which comes back in RotS.
You lose the context that Anakin used to be a sweet kid, and the scene where Shmi tells Qui-Gon that he doesn't know greed! That's an important scene for Anakin's character!
Removing Qui-Gon makes a couple moments in AotC and RotS make no sense.
And you lose Darth Maul. He's not as important to the overall story, but he is pretty cool.
The prequels haters have started finding this post. Sorry I didn't preface it with every single problem with those movies so it would meet your approval, but sometimes I enjoy flawed things.
maybe I'm crazy but lately I've been thinking about 1-4-5-2-3-6. still preserves all those same plot twists, but gives TPM its own space separate from the clone wars arc (the folks who think TPM is unnecessary are wrong about that but correct that it feels a little disconnected from the rest of the trilogy), and the jump from 1 to 4 would give you a real sense of "holy shit what happened" ...has anyone tried em this way?
I have to be careful about reading too many Christian themes into Star Wars, because at the end of the day this is based on Eastern philosophy, but it's hard not to, because Chapter One of the Revenge of the Sith novelization gives us an Obi-Wan and Anakin that are such a good representation of humility vs. arrogance.
Obi-Wan is the amazing pilot who doesn't like to fly. The master swordsman who has no idea that he's a master swordsman. He's a Jedi Master with a spot on the Council, and he still deals with imposter syndrome. Other masters present him to the younglings as the ideal Jedi, and he doesn't even know it. He has no thought of his own glory, he just does whatever task he's given and wants to do it well. He does what he can, leaves the rest to the will of the Force, and he's a great Jedi.
Anakin is far and away the most powerful Jedi there's ever been--he's the strongest, the fastest, the most brilliant pilot, the most daring swordsman--and he knows it. So he thinks he deserves honor and authority and a place on the council, and it galls him when he doesn't get it. Being the best Jedi, to him, doesn't mean being the one who best lives up to the ideals, but being the strongest. And he's strong, and only getting stronger, and he needs to be strong enough to save everyone, because that's the only thing he can rely on. It's no wonder that he falls, because all his greatness is driven by fear and pride.
It's not like any of this is a new observation, but it's just so great to see it all laid out so clearly.
A beat of absolute silence followed, as if the whole universe had heard and was holding its breath, enraptured.
No one else had heard, of course; it was just the two of them in the cockpit, alone except for the stars.
Din pulled his hand away.
His fingers burned and yet felt numb, distant, detached. Nevertheless, his hands found the sides of his helmet, his thumbs locking onto the hidden catches without prompting.
The seal released and slackened with a soft, familiar hiss.
Hesitation threatened but certainty quietened it. This did not violate his vow; this was a part of it.
Breath withheld, he slid the helmet off.
The moment was quick, but full. So full.
Grogu let out a surprised squeak, his hands immediately flying up and clamping over his eyes.
He chittered. It sounded far away and muffled without the helmet’s amplifier to help compensate, but Din heard it well enough; the stunned, apologetic tone made his heart twinge.
He had explained his reasons a few times, imparting this vital piece of himself as simply and straightforwardly as he could. After encountering Bo-Katan, he had launched an hours-long monologue about the Way of the Mandalore—to reassure himself or to find fault, he wasn’t sure, but his thoughts had tumbled out without restraint, without filter, until his mouth had run dry.
And the kid had listened to it all. More than that, he had comprehended its significance and he respected it.
Din brought the helmet to rest on his lap. “It’s okay, ad’ika,” he assured and smiled at the green ears perking all the way up at the sound of his natural voice. “You can see me.”
One eye peeked open and peered at him from between fingers, careful but curious. No consequence came, so he dropped his hands further.
His brow furrowed; for a moment, Din feared he didn’t recognize him. He’d heard stories of young foundlings being scared by their finder’s faces—some thinking the helmet was their true face, some just finding their faces outright terrifying.
He hadn’t been frightened by his buir’s face. He had been old enough to know he had to have one, and it turned out to be such a kind face with dark, scar-ridden skin that told stories and warm eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled.
But what about his face? Was it... was it too hard? Cold? Was he generating any readable expression? Did his eyes hold any of the things making his head spin and his heart race or were they hollow?
Grogu warbled and raised his hand, his fingers flexing in a question.
Din jerked back on instinct but then consciously leaned forward.
The little hand landed on his cheek, timid and featherlight.
The frown faded as he explored his guardian’s face, running his tiny fingers slowly, methodically across his cheeks and over his crooked nose. When he reached the stubble on his chin, he pulled back from surprise; tentatively, he returned to test the scratchy texture. Din could just barely hear his giggling.
Notably, Grogu’s touch softened as He brushed over the scar cutting across the bridge of his nose; an almost forlorn coo bubbled up as He found another, deeper one hiding on his temple, near his hairline.
You’ve been hurt, he seemed to say.
Din laid his hand over his and ran his thumb over the little knuckles as he guided the hand back to his cheek. “I’m alright now,” he told him.
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