Let me tell you a story about the Jedi as they were: on a planet, far from the heart of the Republic, a being came into existence. After some period, the Jedi came and brought it to Corsucant. While it was young, it was given water enriched with the minerals of its home planet; the lighting in its quarters were matched to the wavelengths and periods of its home sun, but as the beeing grew stronger, it was able to dispense with these comforts. It learned and grew and stretched; it was first a Padawan, then a Knight, and finally a Master. The Force ran through it as strong as water, bright as the stars through space, and one day, a Senator came to the Temple.
His planet had been a member of the Republic for some period, but had only recently achieved the honor of being able to send a delegate to the Senate, and he was meeting with a few of the Council members to coordinate a relief mission to the mountain tribes. He had never been to the Temple before, and he only had the memories from his childhood, when his planet had joined the Republic. He remembered his father negotiating with the Trade Federation and the tall figures in brown who had been quiet, but caught the attention of all assembled when they spoke.
The Council was making him wait, though, and to pass the time stood, the Ambassador wandered along the corridor where he had been told to wait. It was along, narrow corridor, sparsely decorated. In fact, by the rich standards of his home planet, it was almost severe. The only orn was a door, cut into a plain-looking garden that featured low grass and a single tree. Nevertheless, many paused at the doorway and bowed.
The Ambassdor caught one with the hanging braid of a student. He had bowed particularly long and low. "Why do you bow when passing that garden? Does it hold the grave of a great Master?"
The student -- Padawans, they were called -- looked confused. "No, Senator. The Master is still very much alive. I believe he's awake this month, too, as far as he's ever really awake."
"The Master?"
The Padwan pointed.
And the ambassador followed the finger and found that the Padawan was pointing to the tree that stood alone in the center of the garden. It was not particularly large, nor was it particularly majestic. It appeared to be in good health, but to visitors who had seen, for example, the metal trees of Deeran or the wind roots of Abdale IV, it was not particularly impressive. The Padawan nevertheless folded his hands in front of him and bowed again, deeply, from the waist.
"The Master is the first of all its kind to be a Jedi," the Padawan said. "It has a name, but I don't know how it translates into sound. I believe it came to the Temple as a seed in the time of my master's master."
"But he -- it can't move. Or speak. He has no -- no hands for a lightsaber. How do you know his name?"
In return, the Padawan smiled slightly -- it was a strange expression on a face as young as that and a person so plainly dressed; it seemed to suggest, in the most polite way possible, that the Ambassador had completely missed the point -- and then bowed a third time, though this time to the Ambassador and held it just a fraction of a moment shorter than he had bowed to the tree. General apologies followed, for he must take his leave, being as that he was late for a lesson; the Padawan scurried away at great speed.
A few moments later, the Senator was shown into the Council chamber.
...
Some years later, when the Ambassador had passed to old age and the Padawan he met had grown and taken a Padawan and lost him on Mustafar, the Ambassador watched footage of the Temple burning. The flames reached as high as the highest spire; it ran through the hallways, and it was certainly enough to consume a tree, no matter how gifted or awake or bowed-to. Of all the ways to destroy the Temple -- letting it fall into ruin. Having it torn down by the troopers.
Fire.
The Temple was destroyed; there were to be no Jedi anywhere in the empire. Despite his jeweled robes and luxurious suite and honorable retirement, the Ambassador shivered.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2007-11-22 04:58 am (UTC)His planet had been a member of the Republic for some period, but had only recently achieved the honor of being able to send a delegate to the Senate, and he was meeting with a few of the Council members to coordinate a relief mission to the mountain tribes. He had never been to the Temple before, and he only had the memories from his childhood, when his planet had joined the Republic. He remembered his father negotiating with the Trade Federation and the tall figures in brown who had been quiet, but caught the attention of all assembled when they spoke.
The Council was making him wait, though, and to pass the time stood, the Ambassador wandered along the corridor where he had been told to wait. It was along, narrow corridor, sparsely decorated. In fact, by the rich standards of his home planet, it was almost severe. The only orn was a door, cut into a plain-looking garden that featured low grass and a single tree. Nevertheless, many paused at the doorway and bowed.
The Ambassdor caught one with the hanging braid of a student. He had bowed particularly long and low. "Why do you bow when passing that garden? Does it hold the grave of a great Master?"
The student -- Padawans, they were called -- looked confused. "No, Senator. The Master is still very much alive. I believe he's awake this month, too, as far as he's ever really awake."
"The Master?"
The Padwan pointed.
And the ambassador followed the finger and found that the Padawan was pointing to the tree that stood alone in the center of the garden. It was not particularly large, nor was it particularly majestic. It appeared to be in good health, but to visitors who had seen, for example, the metal trees of Deeran or the wind roots of Abdale IV, it was not particularly impressive. The Padawan nevertheless folded his hands in front of him and bowed again, deeply, from the waist.
"The Master is the first of all its kind to be a Jedi," the Padawan said. "It has a name, but I don't know how it translates into sound. I believe it came to the Temple as a seed in the time of my master's master."
"But he -- it can't move. Or speak. He has no -- no hands for a lightsaber. How do you know his name?"
In return, the Padawan smiled slightly -- it was a strange expression on a face as young as that and a person so plainly dressed; it seemed to suggest, in the most polite way possible, that the Ambassador had completely missed the point -- and then bowed a third time, though this time to the Ambassador and held it just a fraction of a moment shorter than he had bowed to the tree. General apologies followed, for he must take his leave, being as that he was late for a lesson; the Padawan scurried away at great speed.
A few moments later, the Senator was shown into the Council chamber.
...
Some years later, when the Ambassador had passed to old age and the Padawan he met had grown and taken a Padawan and lost him on Mustafar, the Ambassador watched footage of the Temple burning. The flames reached as high as the highest spire; it ran through the hallways, and it was certainly enough to consume a tree, no matter how gifted or awake or bowed-to. Of all the ways to destroy the Temple -- letting it fall into ruin. Having it torn down by the troopers.
Fire.
The Temple was destroyed; there were to be no Jedi anywhere in the empire. Despite his jeweled robes and luxurious suite and honorable retirement, the Ambassador shivered.