| Author |
Topic:
~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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Jedi_Riniel
Registered:
Dec '07
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Date Posted:
4/28 9:49am
Subject:
RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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Chapter Twelve
The Burdens That We Bear
I am not alone.
It was the one and only thought that pumped blood through his veins, urging his body to move faster and push beyond the stabs of pain in his leg and the sharp ache in his side. Obi-Wan felt his spirit lighten with each step closer to the hangar bay, and cheerfully recalled the instant he realized that his life would not be the sole monument to the desecrated Jedi Order.
Staring at the Port Control viewscreen, the Jedi Master had known right away that the newly arrived vessel was not an Imperial Star Destroyer. Instead of the easily recognized triangular shape, their “visitor” was a blockade-runner of Corellian design – a diplomatic cruiser. And then the ship’s ID flashed upon the screen. Obi-Wan’s brow had wrinkled in confusion. Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan – in the outskirts of the Rim worlds?
Before he could get much farther in his contemplations, another Force presence brushed against his psyche. Like the swell of the tide as it breaks across the shore, this presence was at once familiar and foreign, due to Obi-Wan’s damaged perceptions. He had tried to withdraw, as trust was now an unknown emotion in this blackened universe – when the slightest flash of insight gave him pause. In his mind’s eye, he saw an unfathomably deep green gaze staring at him from across the stars, and felt a burst of surprised delight emanating from a mind as ancient as it was wise.
With a fresh surge of energy, Obi-Wan rounded a corner – narrowly avoiding a passing med droid – and skidded to a halt before the hangar bay control room’s main viewport. As he watched with increasing joy, the Tantive IV floated through the hangar doors and settled on the floor, jets of air erupting from its underbelly. Once he was certain that the hangar bay atmosphere was pressurized with breathable air, Obi-Wan quickly entered the turbolift, slapping the control panel to take him down to the main floor.
He slipped between the turbolift doors as soon as they opened, loping towards the ship with an awkward gait because of his cast, but he no longer noticed the injury. The boarding ramp hissed open, lowering to the bay’s metallic floor, and Obi-Wan glimpsed a diminutive figure standing at the threshold.
Relief flooded his entire being, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Force for protecting the eldest of the Jedi caused Obi-Wan to fall to his knees. All that he had experienced since the birth of Anakin’s children had taught his dying heart to feel again in the aftermath of the slaughter at the Jedi Temple. And now his heart felt too much at one time.
In the past, he would have used his training to hold back the torrent of emotions and remain centered in the present moment. But now, he let the torrent wash over him, making him feel more alive than he had been for the last three years.
The hunched figure slowly descended the ramp, soft taps issuing from the gnarled wooden cane in his hand, and Obi-Wan looked up with blurred eyes as Master Yoda’s wizened face peered into his own. The ancient Jedi’s green eyes were unusually bright, and they gazed at one another in silence for some time – brothers in an Order that had been crushed…but not destroyed. Then, Yoda placed a clawed hand on the younger Master’s shoulder and said softly, “Pleased I am to see you, young Obi-Wan.”
“Master…” Obi-Wan swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, fighting to regain control of his wayward emotions. “I am –” he paused, searching for the right word, “–glad that you are here.”
Yoda nodded, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Knew I did, that here I am needed.” Instantly, the old Master’s countenance faded into pondering seriousness as he spoke, “Strange echoes have I felt in the Force. Unable to interpret them, I am. But widespread are these ripples, and detect them, the Emperor will.” Yoda’s brow rose just slightly, and he gestured for Obi-Wan to stand. “Answers, you have for me?”
Obi-Wan released a long, deep sigh and pushed himself to his feet. “Follow me, Master. We have a lot to talk about.”
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There was nothing worse than lying to oneself.
And yet Anakin had done it for nearly the whole of his life. Growing up as a reckless, bold child on Tatooine, he went through the motions of his daily chores and Watto’s orders as if he chose to obey – rather than being forced into submission as a slave. As an apprentice in the stagnant, emotionless vacuum of the Jedi Temple, he lived as though nothing and no one could touch him – not the heartache of missing his mother nor the ceaseless whispers and stares of his peers. While maturing under Obi-Wan’s tutelage as a Padawan, he tried to pretend that he was learning to be the stoic, passive Jedi that he was expected to become…but there had been moments – many moments – when he allowed his personality to contradict the mold that his education was constraining him to fill. He could recall only one point in his life when all of the lies he told himself had fallen away…and that had been the heartbeat after Padmé had whispered that she loved him. Since then, the lies merely intensified.
He wore many masks as he wandered and fought throughout the galaxy. He was the great Jedi Knight that Obi-Wan had been proud to train. He was The Hero With No Fear that the citizens of the Republic revered and celebrated. He was the husband that strived with every fiber of his being to make Padmé happy and give her the love she so rightfully deserved. He had done all these things – lived all these lives – for so long and become so good at feigning that he was capable of everything expected of him…it was all too easy for him to lose sight of his internal darkness while basking in so much light. The light radiating from his angel, sending glitters of contentment and love across their bond as it fostered the glow of the spark in his chest. And the pure, innocent light that illuminated Luke and Leia’s tiny faces and intuitive eyes, combined with their mother’s luminous soul made him forget the bloodstains on his hands.
Now, as the name of the oldest, most powerful Jedi rang in his eardrums, the crushing weight of his sins thrust Anakin back into harsh reality. His knees threatened to buckle, so he braced both palms atop the console, lowering his head as the room spun dizzily before his eyes. The small holo of Administrator Tuun was calling his name, yet Anakin could form no reply. Voices called out all around him – shrieking, begging, shouting his name in horror and shock – and bodies fell before him like toppled trees, but he had not spared them a second glance – focusing instead on the shaft of blue-white light in his hand and the imprint of Padmé’s agonized, tear-streaked face upon his mind from his nightmares.
There was a flurry of movement behind him, which Anakin barely noticed, and then a small, slim hand wrapped around his large, shaking one – and from the corner of his eye he saw wisps of brown curls brushing against a slender, white-clad waist. Padmé’s Senatorial voice carried authoritatively in the small room as she replied, “Thank you for informing us of the situation, Administrator. Anakin and I will remain here with our children until Masters Yoda and Kenobi contact us.”
She kept an unblinking gaze locked on the Administrator’s projection as he bowed and faded from view, and then squeezed her husband’s quivering hand. “Ani.” Receiving no response, Padmé linked her other arm through his, pressing herself against him gently – and alarm sped up her pulse when she felt him shaking violently. “Ani, are you all right?”
Without warning, Anakin’s large frame crumpled, bringing them both to the floor, for Padmé had not the strength to support his muscular weight even if she were not still weakened from the delivery. Her hip struck the hard floor jarringly, but the pain was fleeting as her focus was solely on her husband. “Anakin!” she cried out, their limbs a tangled jumble of white, “Anakin, what’s wrong?”
He was slumped over like a rag doll, his chin nearly touching his chest, tremors wracking his strong body…and for an eye blink, Padmé was suddenly back on the ruined veranda, soaked with rain as the man she loved sobbed with all of the grief in the universe. “Anakin…” She scooted closer to him, coiling a slender arm around his broad shoulders so he could feel her beside him, and with her free hand she gently coaxed him to raise his head, cupping his cheek in her palm. The back of her throat prickled with sadness when she felt moisture under her fingertips.
Wide, cerulean orbs awash with tears locked onto her gaze, and a desperate, throaty voice Padmé barely recognized as Anakin’s muttered bleakly, “I can’t do this. I can’t face them – I just can’t.” Shadows of what had transpired within the halls of the Jedi Temple still flashed across his vision, even as he willed himself to concentrate on Padmé’s warm dark eyes. “I…I betrayed them. I betrayed them all, and I killed…” His gaze fell; he could not bear to look into his angel’s eyes as he relived his sins. “I killed…their friends, their students, their family…” The Jedi had never been Anakin’s family, although Obi-Wan and occasionally Padmé tried to convince him that they were. He thought of Obi-Wan as a brother, and some of the others could be considered comrades-in-arms, but the rest – they had been simply faces in the crowd. But each of those faces had been a life – a soul, full of hopes and dreams and the promise of a bright future – and he had treated their deaths as callously as a woodcutter felling trees, clearing a path through the forest because it was required of him. And the Younglings…
His eyes immediately sought out the tiny sparks of hope whose mere presence had revived Padmé’s spirit and filled his battered heart with a love so pure and so vast he’d have never thought it possible, nestled safely in their blankets on the storage closet floor. If anyone ever tried to harm them… He shuddered at the memory of the unbridled rage and darkness that had coursed through his veins in the bunker on Mustafar. He was certain that black moment in the midst of red heat and chaotic flames would pale in comparison to what he would be capable of if anything happened to his angel or their little stars. And that wisp of thought terrified him more than anything else. Because he knew that it was still inside of him – it had to be, for evil never gives up its prey so easily.
He was…stained.
He had touched the dark side in its purest, most toxic form – he had immersed himself in it, expecting never to surface if it would avert the unbearable fate that his nightmares had pronounced for Padmé. Now his beautiful, precious angel was irreversibly tied to him – their souls bonded almost as one, sharing thoughts and emotions as freely as the air they breathed – and Anakin was horrified that whatever darkness might yet defile his soul would contaminate Padmé’s fiercely burning light, using their link as a conduit.
An angel…sharing her soul with a fallen hero, a traitor, and a murderer.
That’s what I am – a murderer.
Two slim hands gripped his face, turning his head until Padmé filled his vision, her brown eyes blazing with intense conviction. “No, Anakin,” she said firmly, and Anakin abruptly realized that he must have spoken his last thought aloud. “No. You are not a murderer. You are not that man – not anymore, and I don’t care what Obi-Wan, Yoda, or the rest of the galaxy says or thinks. I know you.” A droplet of saltwater sparkled on her eyelashes and splashed onto her cheek, and instinctively Anakin lifted a hand, brushing away the stray tear with his thumb. Padmé paused briefly, struggling with her emotions as the achingly tender and familiar gesture threatened to break her rigid self-control, and then she repeated, “I know you – better than anyone else, even Obi-Wan. And I know that you are different.” She could see the doubt coloring the jewel-like facets in his blue irises. “I know,” she insisted passionately and grabbed his right hand, pressing it to her bosom – right over her heart. “In here, I know that you are not the same. You are not a Sith.” Anakin swallowed hard, and tried to pull his hand away, but Padmé held it against her chest with surprising strength. “A Sith would have no regrets, no craving for forgiveness, and would not allow himself to feel remorse – even if he should. But you feel all these things, and that tells me what I already know: you are a different man.”
Her expression shone with a quiet, intense inner light, and Anakin was drawn towards it helplessly, like a moth to a flame. He leaned over quickly, touching their foreheads together and murmured in a low, anxious voice, “Being a different man does not change the past. It cannot undo what I have done. I don’t deserve their forgiveness, Padmé – how can I even ask for it?”
“Forgiveness is never ‘deserved,’ Ani, and it cannot be earned, either. It takes a great deal of courage to ask for forgiveness – but it takes a great deal more to show mercy.”
He pulled back a little to meet her eyes, staring at her in amazement – something he experienced frequently around her. Her wisdom and discernment was truly a rare gift, and she never used it for her own benefit – only in the service and betterment of others.
Padmé watched some of the despondency ebb from his blue eyes, and she stroked his cheek gently, shaking her head with mild disbelief. “If Yoda cannot see how much you’ve changed, then he is not the wisest of the Jedi Masters,” she announced in a feeble attempt at levity.
This wrung a small half-smile out of him, and then he looked around as if suddenly remembering where he was. His brow furrowed in confusion as he wondered why they were sitting on the floor, and then he glanced at his wife with concern. “You shouldn’t be on the floor – you need to rest.” He scrambled to his feet, and before Padmé could draw another breath he enfolded her in his arms, lifting her from the floor.
As much as she enjoyed being coddled by her husband, Padmé remarked pointedly as he carried her towards the bed, “I can walk, you know, Ani.”
“I know.” He flashed her a quick grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and laid her carefully on the mattress. “But you’re not supposed to move so much too quickly or it’ll put too much strain on your body.” Padmé smiled inwardly. She knew that he would be doing his research – her Ani was, if anything, an overachiever. “It takes time to heal, Padmé,” he added, fluffing her pillows as she settled on the bed.
Padmé quirked an eyebrow. “This from the man that said he could do Form I lightsaber moves with cracked ribs and a broken collarbone.” They shared a quiet laugh, although it was more for the purpose of consoling one another than for actual humor. One of the twins moaned, and Padmé sat up with a startled gasp. “Ani! I left them on the –”
“I know,” he murmured soothingly, laying a finger over her lips, “I’ll get them.” Anakin headed over to the closet, bent down, and swept Luke into his arms. He stifled a chuckle when he saw how intently Padmé was watching him carry their son, but he couldn’t fault her for worrying – it was just that she needn’t have, because Anakin was more than determined to be the best father ever to Luke and Leia. But he was not about to give up an opportunity to tease her, so he stopped at her bedside and inquired mock-seriously, “Do I pass your inspection, Milady?”
She blinked, and opened her mouth to admonish him – but it snapped shut an instant later as she felt her face heat in embarrassment. Her eyes silently told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to get it, and he turned to put Luke in the crib so Padmé wouldn’t see the smirk curving his lips. When his son was tucked in comfortably, Anakin reclaimed Leia from the floor and placed her alongside her brother, his large fingers working deftly to ensure that both infants were wrapped snugly in their blankets. His smile of parental delight melted from his expression as a grim notion entered his mind.
If Master Yoda and Obi-Wan did not or refused to see his repentance, what then would be done with him? More importantly, what would happen to his family? Jedi had been banished before; would they send him into the Unknown Regions?
I’d like to see them try, a shadowy voice whispered in the back of his skull – but it was swiftly silenced by an overwhelming sense of defeat. He was no Jedi – or a Sith, for that matter. The Force had abandoned him, or he had abandoned it to escape his fate – it made no difference. He could not challenge the eventual decree of the two remaining Jedi Masters even if he wanted to – he was an average citizen of the galaxy, now.
And if he was banished, he would almost certainly go alone.
He would live out the rest of his days without his angel…and would never see their little stars grow up and set the universe ablaze with their bright light. They would be Jedi – he had sensed it days ago, shortly after Padmé had told him of her pregnancy. What else would they become, with him as their father?
But…if he was banished and cut off from his one source of happiness…would Obi-Wan take them away from their mother? It had been the practice of the Order for millennia to separate Force Sensitive children from their families in order to avoid the trap of attachment. Would his old Master do that?
And if Padmé lost both him and their twins…
No. This voice was full of strength, and resounded from somewhere deep within his being. He would never allow that to happen. He cared not what Yoda and Obi-Wan did to him – but he would not allow any mistreatment, any shred of unhappiness to befall his family.
With that resolute promise ringing within the caverns of his heart, Anakin slowly turned from the sleeping twins to face Padmé, who was regarding him with somber and compassionate dark eyes. “Do you think you can sleep?” she asked, although she could predict his answer. He shook his head, looking aside as he bit his lower lip. When he glanced back at her, she glimpsed that little blonde-haired boy that had both charmed and astonished her all those years ago, and she understood that he was feeling as lost as that little boy had, sitting in a strange ship’s main hold without his mother – and had looked to her for reassurance.
Padmé’s face softened, and she patted the empty spot next to her on the bed. “Stay with me?”
Anakin moved immediately, just waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He crawled under the covers, and she tucked herself into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He tightened his embrace slightly – careful of her mending body yet wanting to make sure that she felt safe – and dropped a tender kiss on her brow. Warm breath tickled her ear, and he whispered, “Forever.”
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Silence was a state of being that Obi-Wan was vastly unaccustomed to experiencing in recent times. He found it both peaceful and disconcerting – a contradiction that puzzled him to no end. Nevertheless, he quieted his thoughts by drawing from the immense reservoir of patience that had been quite useful during Anakin’s apprenticeship, and simply waited. Watching the stars flicker amid the ebony expanse of deep space and the asteroids endlessly circling Polis Massa’s gravity well outside of the conference room’s numerous viewports, Obi-Wan became dimly aware that his throat felt dry. The lengthy monologue he had delivered to Master Yoda seemed to have released the buildup of tension in his soul; he must have spoken for over an hour, pausing only for breath or to reorder his emotions, and now he waited for the wisest being in the galaxy to give him the answers he craved. Or at least some of the answers.
Obi-Wan now knew that Palpatine had survived the battle with Yoda; he had suspected as much, given the haunting quality in the old Jedi’s expression as he had listened to Obi-Wan’s narrative. Yoda had not disclosed any detail of what had transpired between him and the Sith Lord, and he probably never would – but Obi-Wan had noticed the absence of Yoda’s lightsaber on his belt, and there were other, smaller signs as well – visible to one who spent a considerable amount of time in the Jedi Master’s presence. In fact, Yoda had said significantly little since his initial arrival on Polis Massa. He had absorbed Obi-Wan’s words in complete silence, eyes blinking slowly at occasional intervals, his expression unchanging – and when the younger Master concluded, Yoda made a tiny noise in the back of his throat and then closed his eyes, settling further into his chair.
And that was how they had remained – without any concept of time – seeking guidance from the Force.
Obi-Wan desperately wanted to know if Anakin’s…attack on the Force had affected Yoda in any way, but thus far the ancient Jedi Master had demonstrated a proficiency in the Force characteristic of the most powerful Force Sensitive in existence – second only to the Chosen One – who, as of this moment, was a dead spot within the Force.
Obi-Wan gave up on striving to concentrate on the view, shifting in his seat as little as possible to study Yoda’s face. The dusky green, wrinkled face that had a place in his earliest memories was surprisingly smooth, but every so often the brow furrowed slightly, almost as if the old Master was having a conversation. Obi-Wan found it very interesting, and contented himself with the idea that if both he and Yoda had lived through the Emperor’s betrayal – perhaps other Jedi were still alive, as well.
He wondered then why he no longer considered that atrocity to be Anakin’s betrayal, too. Treachery was the way of the Sith; if the Council had been aware that the leader of the Republic was a Sith Lord, they would have expected something like this to occur. Maybe it was because his old friend was both the betrayed and the traitor.
“Why are you asking this of me?”
Anakin had felt betrayed by the Jedi Council for granting him a seat, and then denying him the rank of Master. The sting had only deepened when Obi-Wan relayed to him the assignment that the Council wanted him to undertake, off the record – spying on the Supreme Chancellor. An act, which Anakin had stated heatedly and truthfully, went directly against the Jedi Code. “No Jedi shall interfere with the affairs of government – be it local, regional, planetary or galactic.” A rule that was open to subjective interpretation, but its meaning was irrefutable: the Jedi had no standing in the politics of government. Their duty was to the people, not their leaders.
But he had seen the accusation and the traces of frustration in Anakin’s blue eyes as Obi-Wan tried to justify the actions of the Council when he himself did not believe that it was right.
“The Council is asking you.”
They had expected far too much from him.
Could he actually fault Anakin for his anger against the Council’s apparent hypocritical dealings with both him and the Senate as a whole? Could he rebuke the young man’s inflated sense of pride when the entire Republic – including those on the Council – looked to him as the bringer of peace to a war-torn galaxy? Anakin had felt trapped – backed into a corner with no foreseeable means of escape. He would have taken any, any way out.
“You’re going to need me on this one, Master.”
He had turned to Obi-Wan first – using flippant, light-hearted banter to disguise his growing desperation. The Jedi Master had dismissed the faint impression he had sensed from his friend as Anakin’s thirst for adventure, but then Anakin apologized for disappointing him with his attitude – a frequent apology, to be sure, but that time it had been so unmistakably sincere, like he was sorry for something that had not yet happened…
I should have seen it. I should have helped you, Anakin. Obi-Wan’s gaze fell to the floor, his head lowering sadly. But I could not see beyond my own expectations for you. That was why you never told me about your marriage to Padmé. He did not regret his failure to confront Anakin about his supposedly dangerous attachment anymore. His only regret was that he had not proven trustworthy enough for Anakin – his brother in all but blood – to seek his aid.
And any trapped creature turns aggressive when it feels threatened.
No, the betrayal had not been Anakin’s. It had been fostered by Palpatine, and implemented by Vader, his Sith apprentice – not Anakin. Obi-Wan had thought that Anakin Skywalker was dead, but he had been resurrected by Padmé’s love and strengthened by the arrival of Luke and Leia.
A twinge of apprehension prickled Obi-Wan’s spine.
Anakin was alive…but that did not mean that Vader was dead – nor could he be killed. The dark side is a part of everyone – appealing to base passions and the shadowy nature of selfishness. A Jedi is taught to resist such temptation; as to embrace it means disaster and a fall into the twisted version of what it means to be a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was more wary of the dark side now…but the mental and emotional barriers instilled in him during his training were either eroded or gone, and once he regained even the smallest measure of the Force – the darkness would take him.
But perhaps he was giving the dark side too much credit.
Anakin defined his life by the ones he loved – after all, he had agreed to become Palpatine’s apprentice purely because he had thought the dark side held the secrets of life and death, and a way to keep his wife with him. He sold himself into slavery in order to save Padmé…and in the end, she was the one saving him.
The irony was commendable, to say the least.
Anakin’s love for Padmé and their children was at once his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.
How the young man would be able to resolve the balance between those two extremes, only the Force knew. But Obi-Wan did know that he would gladly give his last breath to protect the Skywalker family.
It was an absurd notion, since not two days ago he had been prepared to kill Anakin – but now it was one of the few things in his life that made sense.
He raised his head, observing that Polis Massa’s sun was visible in the rightmost viewport, as opposed to the center, where it had been when he and Yoda first entered the conference room.
Somewhat amazed by the amount of time that had passed, Obi-Wan moved his stiffened shoulders – and froze when he glimpsed Yoda’s green eyes slowly open. “Master Kenobi,” he said quietly, his thoughts indiscernible as his gaze remained fixed on the stars.
“Yes, Master?”
“Time it is, to send for Anakin. From him, answers do I need.” He met Obi-Wan’s stare, and each was suddenly and vividly reminded of the last conversation they had about the young man. Obi-Wan tried to see the faintest hint of what the elder Jedi Master was thinking, but Yoda’s eyes were shuttered and his Force signature was carefully guarded – a precaution against the Emperor.
But Yoda had called Anakin by his name.
“I will send for him,” Obi-Wan replied as he came to his feet. Striding into the Administrator’s office, his back to Yoda, Obi-Wan allowed himself to feel the tiniest glimmer of optimism. He honestly had no idea how the ancient Jedi would react to Anakin, or what he might have in store – for Yoda was rarely predictable. But Yoda never wasted a word. He had deliberately used Anakin’s name rather than his Sith title – surely that counted for something. Obi-Wan surmised that Yoda was reserving his final judgment until he spoke to Anakin face to face, and then he would either incriminate or redeem himself in the eyes of the remnants of the Jedi Order.
Administrator Tuun was just returning to his office when Obi-Wan approached and requested, “Administrator, would you please contact Anakin and have him join us in the conference room as soon as possible? We have some matters to discuss.”
He said this in a mild, noncommittal tone – but Tuun had an affinity for the seriousness of their situation and responded immediately. “Of course, Master Kenobi. I’ll contact him at once.”
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks and returned to the conference room. Yoda was sitting in the exact same position, gazing intently at the view…and Obi-Wan was suddenly struck by the magnitude of what was about to occur. Anakin would be asked to recount his actions – and Yoda, and Obi-Wan himself would make a decision on how to proceed. It was a trial in every sense of the word.
Obi-Wan had done his best to describe the changes he had witnessed in Anakin’s demeanor as well as his behavior towards Padmé and their children, and what he had sensed in the birthing room…but he had not mentioned his peculiar vision. He was not entirely certain he should mention it – just the memory of what he had seen and heard made his skin tingle and caused a chill to seep into his veins. Besides, he knew that it would not make a difference with whatever path the future took from this moment on.
That was up to Anakin.
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She always had a way of making him feel safe.
Padmé’s slight, soft warmth rested comfortably against him, with one hand splayed on his chest as the other tenderly stroked the back of his neck. She shifted briefly, her head tucked securely under his chin, and Anakin tightened his embrace just noticeably, gently rubbing her arm with his palm. Her long, dark curls pooled around them atop the mattress, and he twirled one loose strand around his finger with deliberate care, watching the light catch traces of gold and auburn in the glossy spiral. And he could think of no better way to spend his time than simply enjoying Padmé’s nearness.
Anakin knew that he should try and get some sleep – he was barely functioning on five or six hours’ rest within a 60-hour time period, and the exhaustion would overcome him in due course. He was certain that his wife’s goal was to lull his racing thoughts to a standstill and help him fall asleep; the way she wrapped her body around his and caressed his skin immediately soothed his tensed muscles, and he had to fight hard to stay awake. He wanted to cherish every second that he had with her and the twins.
Both of them were trying to pretend that they were not waiting for the galaxy to come crashing down on their heads, and while Anakin held his angel in his arms he began to believe that peace was more than just a vague inclination. He could accept the steadfast trust that Padmé placed in the man that she saw when she looked at him – and for a handful of heartbeats he almost saw himself as that man. Almost.
But the lie had lost its power, and the masks had all fallen away – exposing his true self to the universe, and to himself. It was the one aspect of the Trials that Obi-Wan was never entirely convinced that he had passed – the ability to face one’s reflection without fear, and accept who one has become.
Hence, the reason for the lie to exist in the first place.
Because Anakin could not peer into his inner being and just…accept what he saw. It was easier and far more beneficial to display countless versions of Anakin Skywalker, and strive to be whoever was most needed, whenever he was needed. And that mindset had left him with no sense of identity at all. Instead of providing him with the mental grounding he had sought throughout the whole of his life, the lie had stripped him bare like a sapling in the dead of winter. There was nothing left to hide behind anymore.
At least he knew now who he wanted to become. He glimpsed that man within Padmé’s velvety chestnut orbs each time she looked at him, and when he watched Luke and Leia’s sweet expressions light up as he held them in his arms. He wished with every fiber of his being that he would have the opportunity to become that man after he paid the consequences for his actions.
Anakin cast aside thoughts of the impending confrontation with Yoda and Obi-Wan, and craned his neck to the side, attempting to see his wife’s face. No matter how much he turned his head, all he could make out was a curly mass of dark hair that smelled faintly of the gardens saturating the grounds of the Lake Country villa. He pressed a light kiss on the crown of Padmé’s head, and then his blue gaze slid sideways to the crib that butted up against their bed. Anakin had pushed the sleeping twins as close as possible, stating practically that it was easier on her to keep them nearby – but that was only part of the reason. He wanted to see their perfect, tiny faces, and have the freedom to reach out and touch their small bodies without leaving his angel’s side. His eyelids slowly closed without his consent as he envisioned taking his family to Naboo. He could think of no better place to raise their children, for Naboo was filled with light and warmth and life – and Padmé was always happiest when she was amongst its lush flora and sparkling waters.
In his mind’s eye, they were standing on the veranda, watching the stars come out…and the air was perfumed by thousands of blossoms while Padmé smiled up at him, Leia tugging on her hair as Luke’s tiny fingers stretched towards the heavens…
A sharp, high-pitched beep jolted Anakin out of his short-lived rest, and his eyes snapped open as his body jerked in surprise. Padmé pushed herself up on an elbow, searching his eyes, and Anakin found her expression completely unreadable, save for the faint echo of distress traveling between their bond.
He brushed a fingertip along one smooth cheek and resolutely fell back into his place on the mattress, gently pulling Padmé down with him. She settled into her previous position, but he felt the tenseness in her slim frame as the noise trilled again. After a minute of silence, Administrator Tuun’s voice issued from the console. “Jedi Skywalker?”
So, it was back to the formalities. “Yes?”
“Masters Yoda and Kenobi are waiting for you in the conference room.”
Padmé buried her face into Anakin’s chest, and he rubbed her back soothingly as he replied, “I’ll be right there.” He waited until the comm shut off with a barely audible click, and then enfolded his wife in his arms, cradling her against him. “I should go,” he murmured into her hair, and her head bobbed slightly as she nodded in agreement. He reluctantly slipped from her embrace and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed beside the twins’ crib. Anakin looked down at their slumbering forms, shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh, and prepared to stand.
Two slender arms ensnared him with startling strength, and Anakin felt Padmé’s lips against his ear as she whispered in a fierce, broken voice, “Stay.”
He squeezed his eyes shut in agony, and she continued pleading, “Stay with me – with us. You don’t have to see them. They have no authority over you. You’re not a Jedi, anymore; you’re not the Chosen One, The Hero With No Fear – you’re just a man. You’re just Anakin Skywalker, and you’re my husband and Luke and Leia’s father.” Her words began to mingle with shuddering breaths and choked tears. “I won’t let them take you away from me again… I…” Then she repeated the phrase he had uttered not two days ago.
“I can’t lose you – not again. Not now, not ever…” Her tears moistened the collar of his shirt, and she pressed herself to him, holding his broad frame in place as she cried quietly into his shoulder.
Anakin finally had the answer that he had yearned for since the day Padmé had told him that she loved him.
She needed him.
She needed him as much as he needed her.
And it was all the motivation necessary for him to take the next step – to confront the horror of his past.
He twisted a little in her tight grasp, moving very slowly and carefully so she would not think that he was trying to escape, and surrounded her trembling body with his strong arms. She melted into the warm embrace that had only ever held her, and did not resist as Anakin lay down on the bed, still holding her close. Padmé hid her face in the thin fabric covering his toned, muscular chest, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat bringing a small bit of comfort to her anxious mind. “Padmé,” he murmured in that deep, loving voice she found impossible to ignore, and pulled away slightly, waiting for her to look at him.
With the quivering timidity of a frightened child, Padmé raised her head, tangled brown ringlets partially obscuring her expression as the loose strands clung to her damp cheeks. Gentle, calloused fingers tucked her tresses behind an ear, and she took a deep breath in an effort to halt the steady flow of tears before gazing into his sky-colored eyes.
Anakin felt his heart clench with misery as he studied his wife’s face, arranged in an expression that should not exist on her beautiful, delicate features. Her ivory cheeks were blotched red from crying, and bore further evidence of tears by the sheen of moisture trailing from her eyes. Within her large, velvety brown orbs he saw the grief that she had managed to veil whenever they had parted during the war…but he also saw the warm undercurrent of love that permeated her stare every time she looked at him, and it made what he knew that he must do a little easier to bear.
Cupping her face between his palms, Anakin fought hard to drive back the old feelings of guilt and unworthiness when confronted by Padmé’s sorrow, and gave her a feeble, lopsided smile. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” He remarked cryptically, and the corner of Padmé’s mouth barely lifted.
He leaned into her, brushing feather-light kisses on her forehead, each eyelid, her soft cheeks, and her lips. After that quiet, tender moment, Anakin gazed deeply into her eyes, his thumbs caressing her cheeks as he spoke in a soft, deliberate tone, his bright blue stare wordlessly pleading with her to understand. “Padmé…you will never lose me. Never, I promise you. We are a part of each other, and that means that I will always come back to you – I will always be with you, just as you are always with me. But I can’t run away from what I’ve done. I can’t turn my back on all those lives that I helped destroy, and the justice that they deserve.” Her skin paled, eyes widening in fear, and Anakin moved closer, declaring firmly, “Listen to me, Padmé: no matter what happens, I will come back to you. You, and I, and the twins – are going to be a family. And whatever I have to do to atone for my crimes…I will do it, so that we will all be together.
I promise.”
They stared at one another for a brief eternity – two souls that had become forever entwined by love and destiny and a power far beyond comprehension – and then soft, slender fingers reached up to touch Anakin’s chiseled, unshaven jaw. Padmé blinked her large, dark eyes once, and murmured, “I believe you.”
His face lit up, delighted as he always was whenever she announced her belief in him, and enveloped her in his arms, whispering into the soft skin over her collarbone, “Thank you.” Padmé breathed in his familiar scent, telling herself that it would not be the last time, and as they slowly drew apart, he said quietly, “I’ll say goodbye to the twins, and then I have to go.” She swallowed hard, forcing back the burning sting of tears, and nodded. Anakin clambered to his feet, avoiding a glance at Padmé – because if he took that last look he might not have the willpower to resist her heart-wrenching entreaty to stay.
Standing over the crib, he carefully lifted his son to his chest and kissed Luke’s downy blonde head. He brushed the infant’s cheek with his own, and said in the barest whisper into the tiny ear, “I’ll be back soon. Look after your mother and sister for me, okay?” Anakin lowered Luke down into the blankets, and an instant later cradled Leia in his arms.
He rubbed their noses together gently, and kissed the top of her dark head. Repeating what he had done with her brother, Anakin whispered to Leia, “Help your mother not to worry. I’ll be back before you know it.” He replaced his daughter in the crib beside her twin, and watched them sleep for what few seconds he could spare, memorizing their small faces and drinking in every detail. A grin quirked his mouth as his eyes roamed over the cleft in Luke’s chin, and the way Leia’s eyelashes lay like glossy fans on her round cheeks – and at this moment, both newborns resembled Padmé, with their peaceful expressions and the hint of a smile that curved their rosebud lips.
Then he felt warmth against his back, and a pair of slim arms wrap around his waist. He sighed and closed his eyes as Padmé laid her cheek on his shoulder blade and softly appealed, “I’ll go with you.”
Vividly reminded of the first time she had spoken those words to him, Anakin nevertheless shook his head and replied, “That means more to me than I can say…but this is something I have to do alone.”
“You’re never alone.”
Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, Anakin turned to face her, and she granted him that soft, brave smile, eyes shining with devotion, and tilted her chin upwards. With that silent invitation, Anakin bent down and swept her into a fierce, passionate embrace, and Padmé was dimly aware of her feet leaving the floor before the rest of the universe disappeared. All she knew was Anakin; the heat of his body, the feel of his golden hair twined around her fingers, the taste of his lips against hers…
He made himself pull away, setting her gently onto the floor, and watched her eyelids flutter open with reluctance, her breathing as rapid and labored as his own. Padmé fell into those ardent, incredibly blue eyes that burned into her with exquisite ecstasy as he affirmed in a deep, fervent voice, “I love you.”
Her arms felt cold and inexplicably empty a heartbeat later, and Padmé blinked, glancing around the room as if in a daze, and saw his swift-moving shadow arc around the doorframe just before it slid closed.
Awash in confusion and fear and hope – a mixture of contradicting emotions that she had not experienced since their last farewell – Padmé slumped to the ground in a cloud of white, her unruly curls hanging in a riotous mass around her shoulders. Staring blankly into nothingness, her heart lamented the loss of another illusion – one of her own making. It was the illusion that Anakin had at last shaken free of the destiny heaped upon him by the Jedi. The illusion that her Ani could finally become just that – hers, and Luke’s, and Leia’s. The illusion that he would be nothing more than an ordinary man to the galaxy…and everything to her and their twins. And she felt its loss as an icy blade plunged through her breast.
A harsh, ragged inhalation of air – a desperate, vain attempt to control the inevitable – and Padmé clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the sobs that would surely awaken her slumbering stars. Chest heaving, tears spilled from beneath closed eyelids, tumbling down her cheeks and over her fingers to be absorbed by the fabric of her hospital gown. She stumbled to her feet, silently cursing her unbalanced hormones as she lay down on the bed, grabbing Anakin’s pillow. Pressing her face into the pillow, the smell of him helped her stem the flow and mute her throaty cries, keeping the noise from disturbing the twins.
Padmé’s sensible nature inwardly berated her emotions for displaying such a dramatic upheaval.
She was supposed to be the strong one, the practical one, the one that thought with the head instead of the heart. She decided that she no longer cared about common sense. The man she loved more than she thought she could ever love anyone, the father of her children…could very well be on his death march, awaiting his sentence from those whom he had wronged. And for the second time in three days, Padmé Amidala Skywalker – former Queen, Senator, speaker for the Loyalist Committee, key member of the Delegation of Two Thousand, wife and mother…did not know what to do.
“You’re never alone.”
Her words – but as they reverberated in her mind, they were spoken in Anakin’s husky, soothing voice.
Padmé could almost feel his warm breath on her ear, and dewdrops of tranquility slowly filtered through her raw nerves, repressing the asphyxiating grip of panic. She hugged Anakin’s pillow tightly, vision blurring once more with salt water, and in her heart of hearts she begged him to come back to them.
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Long-legged strides carried Anakin out of his family’s presence and down the hallway as he repeatedly told himself not to look back, though the recurring ache in his bone marrow he suffered each time he left Padmé pained him with every step. He halted suddenly, bracing a palm on the wall as a wave of anguish ripped through him – anguish that he knew was not entirely his. Blue eyes widened in shock over the extent of her grief, and it was swiftly accompanied by a sense of dismay that was like dozens of razor-sharp blades flaying his heart.
It was all his fault.
It was because of him that she felt this way – that she had to hide from civilization, from the family she missed on Naboo, and that she had to even contemplate the loss of one of the three people that were keeping her from drowning in despair was tearing her apart.
Anakin felt beads of sweat blossoming on his brow, and his head whipped around, staring down the long hall towards one door that was indistinguishable from the rest. The desire to sprint forward, take them all in his arms and never be seen or heard from again ran strong within him, heating the blood in his veins as his heartbeat pulsed rapidly against his eardrums. He actually took a step forward, before the truth of their circumstances hit him like a splash of cold water.
If he did not at least try to earn the Jedi’s forgiveness, he and his family would lose their most powerful ally. They would be forever on the run, looking over their shoulders, jumping at every shadow…was that the kind of life he wanted to give his angel and their little stars? And if he never truly came to terms with what he had done…what kind of legacy would he be leaving to his children?
Fatherhood was driving Anakin Skywalker to pursue responsibility and maturity in ways that the Jedi Order, even his marriage to Padmé, had not. And it was this newly developing facet of his character that urged him to continue on the path that he had chosen; although Padmé’s sorrow bled determination out of him like an open wound, he understood that if what he hoped would happen between himself and Obi-Wan and Yoda actually took place – the sorrow she felt now would be a fleeting thing, like a passing thunderstorm on a bright summer’s day.
So he spun on heel and resumed walking onward to his original destination, while sending a wisp of thought and comfort to his angel through their bond, waiting anxiously for its message to take effect.
Anakin released a brief sigh of relief when he felt Padmé’s emotional instability level out – her worry for him did not diminish, but it was clear that his touch had alleviated the panic endangering her mind.
His right hand balled into a fist at his side. No matter what happened next, no matter what consequences he had to pay or amends he had to make – he would find a way back to Padmé and Luke and Leia.
They had come too far, persevered through too many obstacles and struggles to be defeated now.
In all of his time as a Jedi, he had never felt stronger or more centered than when he was with Padmé.
She was everything that he could ever hope to be, and a life without her was a life not worth living.
The twins were as much a part of his soul now as their mother; Anakin could see, even with the untrained eye, that Luke and Leia were bonding with Padmé – physically and within the Force. They recognized him, too, though he did not understand how. He would do anything for his children, his little miracles; they were a tangible symbol of the love he and Padmé shared – and if ones so pure and innocent could come from him, then perhaps there was some hope for absolution, after all.
His footsteps slowed as the door to the Administrator’s office loomed at the far end of the hall, and the dense, chill fog of foreboding suffused his mind, shrouding his unflinching strength of will. Anakin raised a hand – and it froze a hairs’ breadth from the door as trepidation momentarily overtook him. The last time he had entered this room, it had been with the flickering wish that his relationship with Obi-Wan could be mended – that it was not irreparable in the aftermath of so much death and destruction, wrought by his hands. But his old Master had insisted on taking the moral high ground, and Anakin was barely restraining his boiling temper when Obi-Wan had bellowed those callous remarks about Padmé…
What had happened next was a hazy blur to Anakin. He could only recall vague flashes – like holo-images stamped upon his memory. Looking down at a fallen Obi-Wan, blood trickling into his beard from the split in his lower lip that Anakin’s fist had put there, the metal hilt of the Jedi Master’s lightsaber groaning with protest as his cybernetic fingers tightened around the cylinder…and then suddenly he was on the floor, brawling with his old friend in a manner Obi-Wan would call “uncivilized” – but that did not stop him from jamming his elbow into Anakin’s chin.
They had both lost control during that fiasco, and a shiver skittered down his spine when he remembered how invigorating it had felt to allow his anger to dictate his actions, to not hold back as he had when he was a Jedi and try to pretend that those emotions had no standing in his heart. Obi-Wan was right. If he had had the opportunity, Anakin would have grasped the searing power of the dark side without hesitation, wielding its blackness against the Jedi Master with vindictive fury.
Then he would have lost everything.
“I’m different now.”
He had said that before the connection with Padmé had manifested, and in light of that event Anakin truly believed, as Padmé did, that he was different. He must find some way to prove to Yoda and Obi-Wan that he was changed – that he was not a corrupted Jedi Knight-turned-Sith Lord any longer.
He must also convince them that he would never embrace the dark side again, when and if the Force returned to him. Anakin was uncertain as to how he would prevent himself from slipping backwards into “old habits” – but he felt that the key was his bond with Padmé and the love he possessed for her and their twins. He was beginning to understand that love and attachment were two very different concepts, and he wondered whether the Jedi Council had simply avoided either because one would most likely lead to the other…or because they were ignorant of both.
He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for an internal debate on the policies of the Order, not when he was preparing to face two of the beings whom he had hurt the most. Anakin laid his palm on the door and it opened with a soft gust of air that ruffled the tousled strands of blond on his forehead.
Crossing the threshold, he threaded his way through the vacant office soundlessly and paused at the entrance to the conference room. The door was closed.
A frightened voice in the back of his mind whispered that he could still walk away – but Anakin ignored its self-seeking request. Walking away from this confrontation would only offer a temporary peace, one that would rapidly degenerate into daily torture as reminders of his crimes hounded him ceaselessly, stabbing his conscience with painful precision. And he refused to let the shadows hanging over him have the slightest margin of influence on his Padmé, or Luke and Leia. He would not permit them to carry any blemish from his mistakes. Though blood thundered dully in his ears and his soul ached for the comfort and wholeness its mate could provide, Anakin knew that this battle was for him – and him alone. He was the one that had soiled his hands with the blood of countless Jedi; the one that had sealed the Separatist leaders in the bunker on Mustafar and carved their flesh with his lightsaber; the one that had thrown away every lesson, every measure of trust and brotherhood that Obi-Wan had given in a single, violent act of betrayal.
It was his burden to bear.
The immense weight of stolen lives and shattered vows would surely kill him sooner or later – only by asking for forgiveness could he hope for some relief. And the only ones who could do that were behind the door that stood in front of him with all of the opaque intimidation of a durasteel wall.
Anakin watched shaking fingertips brush the cool metal, and the conference room spread before him, illuminated by dim glow panels set into the ceiling and the faint, silvery light from the myriad of stars outside the viewports on every wall. Two figures, one large and one small, sat on the left side of an oblong table in the center of the room, facing the panorama of the asteroid belt. Unmoving and silent as statues, they did not seem to know that he was here. Anakin inhaled a deep, shuddering breath of the unusually cool atmosphere and took one step forward, the quiet footfall resounding like a drum in the stillness.
Large eyes the color of emerald leaves and orbs that mirrored a storm-tossed sea immediately swiveled to gaze at him, piercing the semi-darkness with a sharp clarity that made Anakin stumble to a halt like an animal scenting danger. Wordlessly commanding his numbed muscles to function, the young man that had changed the shape of the galaxy with one choice moved to stand before the last of the Jedi Masters – without knowing his fate, yet without fear of what might come – willingly handing over his life into the hands of those whose brethren he had slain, and clinging to the fragile thread of chance that he may be granted clemency…though it was undeserved.
And the passage of time knotted itself around this one instance, awaiting a conclusion that would not only affect a newborn family, but all time to come.
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For you I'd wait, till kingdom come
Until my day, my day is done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait
You'll wait for me
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Anakins_Kiss
Registered:
Jan '06
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Date Posted:
4/28 10:42am
Subject:
RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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great update. I really liked the way you illustrated Padme's fears of letting Anakin go.
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HandmaidenVeme
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Date Posted:
4/29 9:47pm
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RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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Great update!!!
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Angel #1 the "Mischievous" one
"Anakin Skywalker's Towel Girl"
Team Edward!
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Danaan
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Apr '08
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Date Posted:
4/30 8:54pm
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RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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Mmmmm...very interesting stuff. Pls PM! =D
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Star Wars Episode 1: The Old Order - My first fan fic (In progress) : http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/28903504/p1/?7 Forged in Steel - Vampire: The Masquerade (In Progress): http://boards.theforce.net/non_star_wars_fan_fiction/b10808/28904569/p
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Darth_Drachonus
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Oct '05
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Date Posted:
5/1 2:28pm
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RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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Add me to the update list please
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Don't **** with a Jedi Master son-Luke Skywalker
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Jedi_Riniel
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Date Posted:
5/2 11:46am
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RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
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Thank you, everyone, for your replies and compliments! 
I'm working to get this thread in sync with my postings at ff.net, so you can probably anticipate an update every week, if not twice a week.
Of course, once we're caught up, then you'll have to wait, as I'll be in the process of writing the next chapter...
The Updated PM List:
EGKenobi
Anakins_Kiss
padawan_learner86
HandmaidenVeme
Danaan
Darth_Drachonus
Chapter Thirteen
Confessions
He had heard it said that a person’s eyes were a gateway – a portal through which to view their soul. Obi-Wan supposed that this was the reason most people would not meet the eyes of a Jedi, for fear that the deepest, most secret parts of their lives would be laid bare – when in truth, it did not matter at all.
The Force allowed a Jedi to probe a being’s surface thoughts and feelings with little or no difficulty depending on the strength of the adept’s sensitivity. But when that avenue was closed, one pair of eyes could hold a lifetime’s worth of emotion.
Anakin had the most expressive eyes Obi-Wan had ever seen on another human being. He had often wondered when the young man realized that his bright cerulean orbs divulged that which he kept hidden behind formidable shields within his mind; there had been many instances when he avoided Obi-Wan’s gaze during the course of a conversation – particularly ones that contained any mention of Coruscant, the Senate, or what Anakin intended to do with his free time. Over the last year or so, he had learned to mimic Padmé’s flat, impassive “politician” stare and, combined with his unique talent in the Force, Anakin became as unreadable as one with no emotion whatsoever. It had annoyed his former Master immensely.
However, since their rather turbulent reunion three days ago, Obi-Wan had witnessed an overwhelming multitude of feelings inside those blue eyes, feelings that had never before been permitted to emerge – at least not around him. Remorse, pain, grief, even brief flashes of anger – these were all visible to the Jedi Master at some point, and he had seen them all during the war whenever Anakin was preoccupied or lost control of his strict emotional guard. But other feelings, as they permeated the ice-blue stare that could stop an entire battalion of clone troopers in its tracks, made Obi-Wan question whether he knew Anakin at all. Tenderness, devotion, a fierce protectiveness…all with an underlying current of love seemed to shine out of the indigo irises like a beacon, transforming the face that had once been twisted by hatred into a completely different man – one that Obi-Wan would be pleased and proud to call brother.
Yet it was the wide, saltwater-strewn eyes of the penitent that consumed Anakin’s ashen expression as he stumbled into the conference room. His gaze locked on Yoda, Anakin blinked once, a shower of teardrops trailing down his cheeks and clinging to his eyelashes, and then he knelt before the ancient Jedi – first one knee, and then the other. Tears flowed unrestrained from his blue eyes, and Obi-Wan literally watched the strength ebb from the young man’s powerful frame, his ragged gasps filling the darkened room. Anakin sucked in a sharp, swift breath, and his lips moved with the barest sound.
“I’m so sorry.”
Sobs were torn from his throat in earnest as the last word left his mouth, and he collapsed in a shivering heap on the floor, bent over double with his face pressed into his knees. Fragments of apology filled the spaces between the harsh cries and gasps for air, and Obi-Wan swallowed hard around the tight obstruction in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out to Anakin; as much as he wanted to lay a palm on the young man’s back in some semblance of comfort…it was inappropriate.
Instead, he hazarded a glance at Master Yoda.
The old Jedi’s expression was stony and inscrutable, his eyes fixed upon the huddled form at his feet. But Obi-Wan thought he saw the hard glare flicker almost imperceptively as Anakin’s remorse filled the conference room, his sobs continuing unabated for many minutes. He glanced back at his old friend, wishing that there were something he could do for him, something to alleviate his pain – and it was at that instant that he felt Yoda’s stare flash in his direction. Obi-Wan turned sideways to meet the Jedi Master’s scrutiny head-on, not bothering to conceal his thoughts about the broken man before them. Anakin was not gone – lost forever in the black, seductive mire of the dark side. He was alive, and he was a husband and a father…and Obi-Wan’s best friend. The emerald orbs gazing at him softened, conveying what could be defined as sympathy – but then they widened, full of meaning as they pierced Obi-Wan’s stare, and phrases leapt into his brain. Phrases that he knew all too well.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
Antipathy burned the edges of his mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It was the first time he could recall since his initial training as a Padawan that he felt disgust for the Jedi Code. The Code that he had striven to uphold and live by for nearly the whole of his life. The Code that Anakin despised, and argued against on numerous occasions. The Code that kept the Jedi tethered, fenced in from the rest of the galaxy and cut off from everything that they were expected to protect.
Obi-Wan thrust the words from his mind – yet they returned, much more forcefully, and rang throughout his skull like a resounding gong.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
Emotion was the lifeblood of the universe – even the Jedi Council could not deny that. Obi-Wan had witnessed firsthand both the dangers and the rescuing powers of emotion. And he had also seen that peace could be found in emotion, and that was a feat that rendered the entire tenet useless. What Anakin and Padmé had together was fraught with emotion, intensely strong emotion – and yes, there was danger in submitting to that intensity.
And yet, what Obi-Wan had sensed emanating from Anakin as he had entered the conference room the other day, breathless with excitement about glimpsing his children from within their mother’s womb…it was peace – the kind that can only come from a release of all hardship and struggle. His young friend had fought in vain to bring about inner peace through countless Jedi exercises as long as Obi-Wan had known him, and all along, the answer was in the emotion that he possessed with such potency for those whom he loved.
An abstract sensation of acceptance carried the phrase from his thoughts, and another surfaced.
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
Obi-Wan was inclined to agree with the concept of this tenet more than any of the others. Ignorance, while comfortable and unassuming, breeds complacency and inactivity – and he had seen what ignorance had cost the Jedi as a whole. Ignorant of the enemy standing within the Chancellor’s shell, the Jedi Order had spread itself thin, extending its Masters, Knights and Padawans into the far reaches of the Republic to wage war – when the real war was being fought in the heart and soul of one man – the man prophesized to bring balance to the Force.
Obi-Wan recognized his own ignorance as well, because he had chosen not to act when he sensed Anakin’s turmoil before his departure for Utapau. Perhaps if he had spoken to his old Padawan, or taken him on the mission to stop Grievous…things would have turned out quite differently.
But he could not place the blame entirely on his inaction – or Anakin’s reaction, for that matter.
Ignorance may be a well-disguised trap, but knowledge was a rancor on a silken leash – power barely controlled. Knowledge separated the wise from the fools, the leaders from the followers, and it became a well-used tool for those who knew how to tame its tempestuous nature. Too much knowledge, however, could make one’s mind snap. Anakin could appreciate that more than anyone.
The Jedi Master had no idea how much actual knowledge Palpatine had mixed in with the lies to snare Anakin, but it must have been enough to snap the leash. But knowledge was a two-sided street; the Sith Lord’s lack of knowledge of Anakin’s continued existence, for example, was what kept them hidden in a far-flung nook of the galaxy. And Anakin’s newfound knowledge of his onetime mentor’s treachery had served to ground him more firmly on the right path.
Again, the peculiar sensation fluttered across Obi-Wan’s psyche, and then called upon a new phrase.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
Anakin Skywalker was a creature of passion; it was how he fought, how he lived, and how he loved.
Passion was both his greatest ally and his worst enemy, and Obi-Wan had observed the scale tilt from one to the other in the blink of an eye. Anakin drew upon his passion for many things. For clarity of thought during their madcap flight to the Invisible Hand in the space battle above Coruscant; for conscience-lashing statements about loyalty and fairness after the tension-filled Council meeting; for guidance in the midst of battlefield chaos, and stepping in at the last possible moment to save another Jedi’s life. And after speaking to Padmé mere hours ago, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin gave a large measure of his passion only to her, and it was that passion that had captured her attention and ultimately her heart.
But for all of passion’s obvious strengths…it had an easily exploitable weakness.
A volatile balance.
The slightest push, the smallest tug – and passion would turn dark and obsessive, filling its vessel with more primitive notions of protection and devotion – until passion became the conqueror, and the heart it dwells within its slave.
Every Jedi had passions that needed to be kept under stringent control, limited by an ingrained discipline central to every Youngling’s core training. After all, a Jedi was not a lifeless drone – the Force had no need for those who could not express empathy and harmony towards the universe. Rather, a Jedi was a passionate being at the heart, but it was tempered by a deep commitment to the teachings of the Order and a seriousness of mind that could only be achieved by years of instruction.
Anakin was, of course, the exception to every rule.
By his very nature he was extremely susceptible to the lure of the dark side, for it would allow him to give his passion free rein – something that his Jedi training held severely at bay. Obi-Wan surmised that one of the main reasons Anakin behaved with such hostility towards the Code – this tenet in particular – was that he chafed under restrictions that made him deny his individuality.
“I can’t change who I am.”
On that point, the two friends agreed. To ask Anakin to be anything other than who he was would be to invite catastrophe…as the Jedi Council had found out, in the most horrific way imaginable.
Yet Obi-Wan had seen, despite the young man’s hot-blooded, explosive temperament, he was capable of discovering the serenity his heart required to cool the fires raging within.
And that had everything to do with Padmé Amidala.
She was calm, level-headed and trustworthy, possessing a restful, centered spirit that recalled the sparkling waterfalls of her homeworld – the perfect counterbalance to Anakin’s charged, impulsive persona. He was hopelessly drawn to the beautiful Senator like the polar opposites of a magnet; in her, Anakin saw the peace that he craved and the one person with whom he could be completely free, and find release from the passion engulfing his soul.
“…I thought that she would give you the balance you so desperately need.”
And so she had, as Obi-Wan had hoped she would – for a while. But again, Anakin refused to let the teachings of the Jedi overshadow his personal desires. He became convinced that he could not exist without Padmé – the woman he saw as the embodiment of everything good and pure in his life – and the serenity he gained while in her presence was lost in the swirling vortex of confusion and despair.
Now their souls were rooted in one another, bolstering each other’s weaknesses and sharing their strengths…and in that act, Obi-Wan witnessed the beginnings of internal balance inside his young friend’s scarred, battered heart.
Passion and serenity were not contrary – they were complements of one another, for without one, the other has no standing with the soul in which it resides. The universe was full of contradictions, and it was clear to the Jedi Master that Anakin Skywalker was a living, breathing example of such a concept.
A wave of approval, like a warm breeze, wafted across his perception, and he heard Yoda’s voice echo in his head, reciting the final tenet of the Jedi Code.
There is no death; there is the Force.
Comprehension raced through Obi-Wan’s nerves like bolts of electricity.
Yoda was on the verge of reaching his decision in regard to Anakin’s future, and that decision could very likely be the one that Obi-Wan had scarcely allowed himself to hope for. The elder Master had simply wanted Obi-Wan to grasp his reasoning and, ever the teacher, used the Jedi Code as a guideline.
The fragile bubble of hope in his chest deflated slightly when Yoda’s sharp gaze flashed in his direction, carrying a silent reprimand about jumping to conclusions. Obi-Wan made a conscious effort to lean back in his seat and unclench his hands, the knuckles stiffened from holding the same position for an indeterminate amount of time.
Anakin’s strangled sobs were slowly abating; his breath hitched in his throat with small, quick gasps as he fought to regain control, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt the ancient Jedi Master’s stare on his lowered head like a weight pressing down upon him, and it was with a great deal of difficulty that he managed to lift his chin just enough to peer timidly upwards through wet lashes into the stern, weathered face. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to hold Yoda’s stare…and then the old Jedi spoke directly to him for the first time in nearly a week, although it felt like a lifetime ago.
“Explain everything, you will.”
The shadowed blue eyes wavered for an instant, like he wanted to look away, but Anakin merely blinked, his haggard expression making him seem far older than his twenty-three years, as did his hoarse, despondent voice as he replied, “I hardly know where to begin.” There was the briefest pause – so fleeting that Obi-Wan almost missed the hesitation in the silence – “Master.”
Yoda considered the young man impassively for one solid minute, completely motionless – and then something in his expression appeared to melt, and he gave a quiet sigh, shifting his hands atop his gimer stick. “After we spoke in the meditation chamber, is where you should begin.”
Obi-Wan started just noticeably, his blue-grey eyes burning with surprise and curiosity as they flickered between Yoda and Anakin. The former ignored Obi-Wan’s reaction, keeping an intent gaze locked on Anakin’s face, while the latter glanced at his old Master with what could almost be interpreted as an apology before returning his attention to Yoda.
In a dull monotone, indigo eyes pleading for understanding, Anakin recited all that had transpired for him over the past four days. He recounted the tale of Darth Plagueis – how the Chancellor had insinuated that the dark side of the Force contained all of the power he needed to save Padmé from his terrifying visions. He remembered standing within a crimson-carpeted hallway, shaking with rage, the tip of his lightsaber pointing at Palpatine’s throat when he realized that his mentor and friend was the enemy he had sworn to destroy. As he spoke, he felt as if he were there once again – weakened by lack of sleep, his brain humming with energy as Palpatine murmured promises of salvation for the one he loved more than his own life, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.
His voice broke with emotion while he recalled the unendurable moments sitting in the Jedi Council Chamber, knowing that four Masters were on their way to arrest and quite possibly kill his only hope for saving his wife from death. He could still see it in his mind: the brilliant red-gold gleam of the setting sun as it set the sprawling metropolis of Galactic City ablaze, the voice inside his skull whispering that all would be lost if he chose not to act…and all he could see was the distant silhouette of Five Hundred Republica, and the gentle curve of Padmé’s veranda on the far side.
His world went dark after that.
He watched Yoda’s eyes slide shut in agony and Obi-Wan’s jaw clench as he told of Mace Windu’s final battle – the dark-skinned Jedi’s body flying through a broken window while his severed arm lay twitching at Anakin’s feet. His tone reflected a bleak desperation while he relayed the details of his pact with Darth Sidious, agreeing to become his apprentice if he would teach him how to cheat death and spare his beloved angel. He skimmed over the nightmare that followed within the Jedi Temple, commenting only that the Sith Lord had told him that such an act would make him strong enough with the dark side to save Padmé. Then he recounted the Separatist leaders’ demise by his hands on Mustafar and his return to Coruscant.
Yoda held up a finger when Anakin mentioned Obi-Wan’s name, and the young man halted in mid-sentence. “The rest of the story have I received, from Master Kenobi.” He studied Anakin speculatively, the tips of his long, pointed ears wiggling slightly. Abruptly, he turned sideways to fix Obi-Wan with a significant look, to which the younger Master replied with a brief nod. Yoda made a small noise in the back of his throat and, his eyes still on Obi-Wan’s face, remarked mildly, “See Padmé, I would like.”
Anakin paled, ice-blue eyes widening with shock, and Obi-Wan reached for a small device sitting upon the table’s smooth, gleaming surface, depressing a button with his thumb. The device emitted a quiet beep, and a blinking yellow light flashed every few seconds. Struggling to ignore his old friend’s dismay at involving his wife in their proceedings, Obi-Wan mentioned to Yoda, “She will arrive momentarily, Master.” Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, and found that the young man was looking back, a dozen emotions flitting across his white face.
Light suddenly flooded the dim room, and Anakin’s head snapped sideways a split second before Padmé floated into the room in a hoverchair – but a heartbeat later Obi-Wan dismissed it as his imagination, for there was no way that Anakin had known she was entering without the Force to aid him.
Yoda’s unfathomable gaze followed the Senator’s every move, and Obi-Wan’s attention drifted from one to the other with some degree of uncertainty, but Padmé only had eyes for Anakin. He staggered to his feet as she slowed to a stop, her soft brown eyes wordlessly consoling him while she pushed herself upright and enfolded his broad shoulders in her slender arms. Anakin reacted instinctively to her familiar embrace. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gently pressed his body against hers, burying his face in her hair.
The moment seemed so tender and private that Obi-Wan wanted to look away, but he was drawn by the intensity sparking between the young couple in the Force. What he had sensed in the birthing room was as clear as it had been that day, and that was the faint echoes of Anakin’s essence filtering through Padmé. Except now, with the passage of time, the echoes had grown more pronounced, and the overall effect was intriguing. The only means of describing it was that Anakin was the wind – invisible and yet unmistakably real – and Padmé was a tree, with leaves stirring softly and giving evidence to the presence of the wind. He wondered then how Yoda perceived this odd variation in the Force, and glanced sideways at the ancient Jedi.
Yoda was watching Anakin and Padmé with narrowed eyes – not with anger or reproach, but with a mixture of fascination and contemplation. He leaned forward, steeping his clawed fingers under his round chin as Anakin drew back slightly to look into his wife’s face. “The twins?” he murmured, just above a whisper.
“Sleeping. MD-02 and 05 are with them.” Padmé’s warm, quiet words automatically soothed Anakin, and his tense stance visibly relaxed. Yet his eyes refused to leave her face, even as she turned in his arms to greet Obi-Wan and Yoda with a graceful incline of her dark head.
The wisest being of the once-great Jedi Order smiled at her with genuine affection, and gestured to the numerous chairs situated around the conference room. “Sit down, you should, Senator.”
Padmé glanced at her husband, and in that swift look there passed a moment of wordless communication that transcended the unending scope of the Force. As if they had planned each move, Anakin helped his wife settle into the hoverchair and stepped aside as she maneuvered to a spot directly across from Yoda, forming a loose semicircle. While she was in motion, Anakin snagged the chair beside Obi-Wan and pushed it into place next to Padmé and across from his old Master. Once he was seated, they simultaneously reached for each other – Anakin placing his large hand on Padmé’s lap as she threaded her slim fingers through his and laid her other palm atop his knuckles. Her gaze had not shifted at all from Yoda’s thoughtful expression. The politician had reawakened inside of Padmé, and she fully intended to use every bit of her diplomatic training to find a solution that would free Anakin from his backbreaking remorse. She put aside the feelings of a wife and mother – though the skin on the back of Anakin’s hand felt chilled under her fingertips – and quieted her mind, focusing on the pair of Jedi Masters watching her with those maddeningly blank faces.
So it was to her intense surprise that Master Yoda’s wise emerald eyes, surrounded by eight hundred years’ worth of wrinkles, brightened as a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth and said, “Offer my congratulations I do, on the birth of your younglings. A welcome gift they are, in times such as these.”
It caught her off guard. Obi-Wan saw the porcelain façade of Senator Amidala slip from Padmé’s lovely face as she absorbed Yoda’s words. Her dark eyes lost their icy flatness, and a faint blush rose on the apples of her cheeks. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, visibly flustered – a highly unlikely response for someone accustomed to public speaking.
“Yes, yes…a welcome gift, indeed.” Yoda’s eyes grew strangely unfocused and he spoke quietly to himself, “An unusual occurrence, this is. For you both, a rescue it has become…in many, many ways.”
Three pairs of eyes studied the hunched figure as he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. Blue-grey orbs filled momentarily with bewilderment before turning pensively inward. Wide chestnut eyes blinked twice in utter bemusement. And bright cerulean irises sparked with immediate comprehension while faint traces of uncertainty lingered behind the ebony pupils.
Suddenly, the ancient Jedi’s stare sharpened, piercing the now-steady blue gaze set in Anakin’s face.
He asked, “What happened, do you think, young Skywalker?”
Anakin needed no clarification as to what Yoda referred, and he sensed a muted flush of optimism warm his cold flesh when the Jedi Master said his name. Throwing a brief, worried glance at the small woman beside him, Anakin replied in a low, even tone, “I don’t know if I can give you any answers, Master. All I can tell you is what I remember – and it isn’t much.” He stared at his lap as he continued. “My daughter had just been born, and Padmé asked me to name her.” His lips twitched into a tiny smile, which quickly faded. “Then, she couldn’t breathe, and I felt… I felt like all the oxygen had left the room. Administrator Tuun came up to me, and told me that Padmé had lost a lot of blood. They didn’t have the supply in storage to replenish her system. But if she didn’t receive a transfusion soon…she would die.” His voice broke on the last word, and Padmé squeezed his hand tenderly, watching his expression as she relived those harrowing moments through his eyes – moments that she did not remember at all.
“I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let my children grow up without their mother. I tried to touch the Force, and the strain almost killed me. But then, all of a sudden, it was like I knew what to do. I had to be willing to sacrifice myself in order to spare her. And not just my life – my beliefs, my ambitions – all that I was…just like she has done for me.” He glanced sideways for the barest second and offered Padmé a soft grin. “So I went inside the void, where the Force used to be, and I asked – for forgiveness.”
He paused when he heard Obi-Wan’s slight intake of breath, and drew strength from the two slender hands wrapped around his own before resuming. “I asked the Force to save her…to take me instead of her…and there was an explosion. White light was everywhere, and flames were all around me. And I saw her. I wrapped myself around her, trying to protect her from the fire…then I let it take me.”
Anakin was quiet for some time, and Padmé thought that he had reached the end of his story – when his deep, husky voice opened up the tense silence. “I woke up in the birthing room, next to Padmé, and she was fine. The Administrator thought it was a miracle, but I knew. I knew that whatever had happened within that white light had saved her…and allowed me to sense her again.”
Only Yoda appeared unsurprised over this statement. Padmé gripped Anakin’s hand tightly, hovering on the edge of shock while Obi-Wan’s incredulous voice loudly interrupted the stillness. “The Force has returned to you? How is that possible?”
“No, it’s not the Force,” Anakin shook his head, starlight glinting a pale gold on his tousled hair. “It’s…deeper than that, more – certain than anything I’ve sensed from her in the past. I feel everything that she feels, almost like it’s my own, and we…communicate on a level that seems like instinct. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” As he finished, he turned to look at his wife, a whisper of apology wafting across his features – yet his eyes glowed with conviction, trusting in everything he had just said.
Padmé’s full lips were parted slightly, staring at him in awe. A flash of intuition, like lightning across a storm-darkened sky, illuminated the rational side of her brain. When Obi-Wan had come to visit her earlier – she had experienced such a fierce, white-hot rush of fury – a response that was a direct opposite of her nature, and she had thought to herself that it was exactly how Anakin would have reacted had he been in her place. If Anakin was right, then how could she trust her emotions? How could she know if what she was feeling came from her own heart – or Anakin’s? She wondered then how much of what she felt now emanated from him.
Oddly enough, she was not distressed by the idea of sharing emotions with the man she loved, or struggling with the notion that she was no longer alone within her own mind. In fact, she was comforted by the possibility. It just seemed so implausible – even in a world of Jedi and Chosen Ones and unexplained powers – that this…bond was even feasible.
He must have felt the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her being, for he reached over with his free hand and brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before. I wasn’t sure if you would believe me.” He let out a short chuckle. “I’m not even sure if I believe me.”
Padmé laughed as well, and even though a small part of her agreed with him that what he was suggesting was completely ridiculous and improbable…she also knew that he was right. It was not something that she could hope to put into words, and yet she trusted it, in the same way that she trusted gravity or that the sun would rise each morning. She just knew.
Obi-Wan was rapidly sinking in an ocean of perplexity. The entire concept was absurd – he had never even heard of such a thing in all his years of study as a Jedi. He had to admit that Anakin’s explanation had some bearing in what he had sensed from the observation window that day, but he could not wrap his mind around the assumption. The Force was an energy field created by all life – it could not grant forgiveness, it did not have a will – at least not like the will of a sentient being. Or did it?
“The Force is a mystery that no Jedi can hope to solve in his lifetime, Obi-Wan. How can you distinguish between the will of Force and your own?”
Obi-Wan’s lips wordlessly mouthed along with the memory of his Master’s voice: “By examining the motivations of your heart.”
Qui-Gon had retained a more unorthodox view of the Force, and he had passed many of his personal theories to his Padawan – which Obi-Wan, in turn, had passed on to Anakin. If he were still alive, Obi-Wan had no doubt that his old Master would concur with Anakin’s statement; after all, he had immediately accepted the validity of a centuries-old prophecy mere hours after meeting a nine year-old slave boy on Tatooine. Yet if anyone could confirm or deny Anakin’s claim with the support of nearly eight hundred years of knowledge…it would be Yoda.
Obi-Wan turned aside at once, murmuring, “Master, is that type of connection even possible?”
The wizened Master did not acknowledge Obi-Wan’s question, though his pointed ears swiveled just noticeably in the younger Jedi’s direction. Yoda’s deep green eyes had narrowed to slits, and he sat completely motionless. The impression Obi-Wan sensed from him within the Force was like that of a bottomless pool filled with iridescent water, its surface glass-smooth as various colors undulated in its depths. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked up to the other two occupants of the conference room – but they were still so immersed in one another that they seemed to have forgotten the two Jedi Masters completely.
“Hmm…” Yoda’s distinctive, croaky voice fell upon his attuned ears, and Obi-Wan spun to face him in his seat, eyes alight with expectation. “Difficult to comprehend, this bond is. But exists, it does. Similar it is, to the bond formed between Master and Padawan. And Jedi from ages past – experienced a related connection, they did, with love as the foundation. Yet form so quickly and be so strong…remarkable, such a bond is.” He lifted one clawed finger from the knob atop his gimer stick to point at the young couple. “Unusual, for the bond to exist at all, when cut off from the Force, they are.” Pressing that finger to his mouth, Yoda thought for a full minute, studying Anakin’s glittering blue eyes as he spoke softly to his wife and Padmé’s glowing, affectionate smile. “A puzzle, this is,” he said so quietly that Obi-Wan scarcely caught the phrase. Then, abruptly, the eldest Jedi straightened and gazed sidelong at his companion. “Meditate on this, I will.”
Obi-Wan understood that the subject was now closed, and fought to quench the burning blaze of curiosity in his heart. He had the vague inclination that Yoda had already placed some of the pieces of the puzzle together in his head, but he was not yet ready to share his findings.
Three things happened simultaneously at that point.
Yoda’s head whipped towards the doorway, eyes wide with an indefinable emotion as he looked beyond Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan felt a presence brush against the farthest corner of his perception – like sensing the sudden warmth of the rising sun on his back as it broke over of the horizon. And the instantly recognizable sounds of a fretting newborn drew everyone’s attention to the silver med droid floating over the threshold of the conference room.
“Forgive the intrusion, Master Jedi,” MD-02 announced in its soft, feminine voice, “but the Senator requested that her children be brought to her when they awaken.”
Obi-Wan gave MD-02 a conceding nod when Yoda did not respond. The ancient Jedi’s seamed face was alight with a brilliant, almost fierce kind of joy, gazing at the squirming bundle in the med droid’s arms with unblinking eyes. His fixation caused a sudden flare of protectiveness to ignite inside Padmé’s soul, and she clambered to her feet, hands sliding out of Anakin’s reluctant grasp as she approached MD-02.
“Thank you, MD-02. I’ll take him,” Padmé said quietly. Obi-Wan craned his neck as the infant was passed to his mother, and he glimpsed a tiny head sprinkled with fine blond hairs before Padmé tucked the blanket securely around her son. The little one’s cries were faint, but slowly increasing in volume and urgency as Padmé rocked from side to side, trying to soothe him. “Shh…it’s all right…it’s all right,” she chanted over and over in a gentle, sweet tone, but to no avail. Luke’s small face nuzzled towards her chest and she sighed, finally understanding the source of his discomfort. Looking up from his precious form, Padmé’s gaze flitted briefly over the two Jedi Masters and then rested on her husband’s anxious face. “I’m afraid that I must request a recess from these proceedings while I attend to my son,” she said formally.
She pivoted with one leg, striding in the direction of the doorway – and halted in mid-step when Yoda called out, “Wait, Milady. Not hungry, the boy is.”
Padmé peered at the old Jedi over her shoulder, her dark curls partially obscuring her expression – but there was no mistaking the raised brow and the skeptical gleam in her eyes. Yoda was completely unaffected by her reaction; his face reflected perfect sincerity as he instructed, “Bring him to his father, you should.”
With the doubtful look in her brown gaze growing more pronounced, Padmé nevertheless turned back towards the center of the room and headed to her hoverchair, Luke still whimpering in her embrace.
She paused in front of her husband, seeing the same confusion she felt in his blue eyes, and looked once more at Yoda, brows arched questioningly. He nodded in encouragement, gesturing for her to sit.
Shrugging minutely to herself, Padmé settled into the hoverchair, shifting her tiny son into the crook of her elbow. Anakin immediately leaned closer…
There was silence.
Blue met blue, and Anakin’s entire countenance lit up like a supernova as he peered down at his son. Luke stared back with cloudy yet inquisitive eyes, nearly motionless in the warm circle of his mother’s arms. Padmé looked from one to the other, her jaw dropping in shock as Luke’s entire focus centered on Anakin, cooing happily when his father slid a finger into his small fist.
Obi-Wan was in a similar state. Watching the young family in astonishment, he studied Anakin’s son within the Force. The boy’s untamed potential was as vast as it had been on the day that he was born, and he radiated absolute contentment, basking in the nearness of his parents. His eyes narrowed. There was something else, something he could not identify as he observed the little one’s brilliant essence.
Faint tendrils of energy wafted out from the edges of the boy’s perception, and they seemed to latch onto the dim yet steady glow emanating from Padmé, bonding with her essence like beads of water gathering on a windowpane. But that was not the most disturbing vision Obi-Wan witnessed.
He saw translucent wisps of Force energy drift towards Anakin, and instead of being repelled because of his old friend’s separation from the Force as he thought – the energy permeated that empty place in his perception, concentrating into a single focal point, a tiny globe of light…and then it faded.
Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder. What he had just seen – he could only compare it to the enigma of a black hole, and how it absorbs all light around it without giving any off itself. The nature of a black hole was not malicious, and neither was what was happening between Anakin and his son, as near as he could tell.
But the mystery, the dark shadows of the unknown that surrounded them…made Obi-Wan’s skin prickle and pinched the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. He watched Anakin’s expression bloom into a wide, lopsided grin, and heard the boy’s answering chime of laughter, and wondered once again at the significance of his vision.
Padmé felt her heart sprout wings and soar as she quietly viewed the familial interaction between father and son. Anakin had been positively transformed by the arrival of the twins – and every bright smile that sparkled upon his handsome face was like a rare jewel to her, and she treasured each one deep inside her heart. This was the family that she had only dared to dream of, and she would fight for it with every ounce of strength within her being.
Her gaze rose slowly to meet the unwavering emerald-green eyes. Yoda’s awareness had not strayed from their son since he entered the room, and it made her uneasy. She realized that both Luke and Leia had the same incredible potential in the Force as their father, yet it was not something that she would have chosen for them. She had made up her mind on this matter in the same hour that she knew she was pregnant: her children would not become Jedi. She would never push them into that life while they were too young to understand all that they must give up. She had witnessed firsthand the strain that had placed on her Ani – and she refused to do that to her children.
She had given her husband to the galaxy. She would not give up her little stars, too.
The skin around her eyes tightened, and her stare hardened with determination as it bored into Yoda’s. In that wordless, eternal moment, she used the glacial, unyielding eyes of Senator Amidala to communicate to the ancient Master that the Jedi Order may have taken her Anakin – first to the war, and perhaps now to his punishment – but | |