Hey! You may be wondering why on earth I'm starting a new fic when my others have been unattended for a while - well, don't fret, I'm still writing. It's just slow. As with my others, I may update slow but I never abandon stories!
The idea of Padmè and Anakin's japor snippet not being buried with her came to me randomly, but it stuck. So, here is what I came up with - please read and review, and I'll write some more soon. Thanks! ~ Ellisaed
It was not a special thing, nor ever was. It couldn't be, wouldn't be and did not attempt to be. Yet, to a few, it was somehow held dearer than the most precious gem, kept safe like a secret and held close like a child.
Japor wood was not rare, not expensive or difficult to shape. It was low grade, good for trade, cheap. When a certain small slivered edge, fragmented from a haul of furniture shipping through Tatooine, had glinted in the twin sunlight and caught the attention of a certain young Tatooinian boy, it had become something. A dull kitchen knife had worked away the impurities, sanding the abrasiveness, polishing the dullness, until it became something almost special; but it was not a special thing.
A strange innocence could be suspected when eyes met it, the pale faded ivory a pure sight. At the same time, the etched designs and thin veins of brown seemed impure and tainted with darkness. To the knowing eye that meant so much, reflecting the past of two unsure children and a token of remembrance, of discovered feelings and love laced with dark secrets and scandals. It had been meant to grant fortune, but ultimately brought death. Still, it was not a special thing.
Who would have known the true journey of it, or the meaning? The little boy who had found the tiny wood chunk in his homeworld sands and smoothed it beautiful? The young girl, the receiver, who accepted the token unbeknownst it would seal her fate? The weary Jedi Master at the deathbed of her, burdened and heartached and soon to be the keeper of this secret key?
". . . Obi-Wan - "
"It's alright Padmè." Obi-Wan stroked the young woman's cold, limp hand. He struggled to find the strength he usually saw in her deep brown eyes. "Don't give up."
The eyes were glossy, unfocused, weak. Sweat laced her drawn brow. It took great effort for her to even speak, "Anakin . . . where's Anakin? Is he here?"
Obi-Wan hesitated. He shook his head slowly, "No, he's not."
Little did she know, and he withheld from her, of Anakin Skywalker's true whereabouts. Obi-Wan justified the secrets he did not share, knowing how her heart already was breaking; how could anyone take the news of the one they love becoming the one they had to hate? Padmè cried out again, and Obi-Wan squeezed her hand gently, praying for her pain to end. The surgical theater was cold and stale, and his feet tired - amongst other things.
The Jedi was drained, mentally, unable to process how much everything had become so horribly wrong, and yet was his reality. Obi-Wan did not realize how much he had clung to securely, despite the Order's attachment ban. The Temple, in ruins then, had been like his home. The Republic his backbone, the Clone Troops his companions, the Jedi his family. And Anakin . . .
He felt it physically from loss of sleep, stress he did not fight and the gruesome, harrowing battle he had fought just hours ago, evidence seen on his scorched tunic and burn-tender skin. His head ached, thoughts an endless loop inside it: If you're not with me . . . you're my enemy . . . I hate you!
Emotionally, he felt it most of all. It was all too much, too soon.
"Is it . . . Anakin thinks it's a girl." Padmè managed into Obi-Wan's thoughts, her voice breathless but contented by thinking of the man, "Is it . . . ?"
"We don't know yet. Just hold on." Obi-Wan encouraged her gently; he managed a glance to the end of the table, at the Pollis Massan Medical droids assisting with Padmè's labour; he could not read their blank squarish faces, but knew and denied the truth. He had to be strong for Padmè, to show her to likewise be strong. They had informed him that she was dying. He saw the young face tense in pain again and winced as she cried out -
The wailing was a glorious sound, and Obi-Wan smiled to Padmè, both him and the weak mother looking to the droid as it handed her baby to him, announcing softly, "A boy."
"Luke . . ." Padmè smiled, the Jedi holding the squirming little infant close enough for her trembling hand to caress; the skin was warm and ever so soft, and he was so beautiful even yet. Obi-Wan carefully cradled the child, brows furrowed at the change in Padmè's face when she withdrew and cried out, breathing heavily. Oh yes, he remembered, there is another. Again, at a cry the droid revealed a tiny baby, holding it so that Padmè could see; Obi-Wan translated the words it spoke, "It's a girl."
". . . Leia." Padmè had grown quiet, as though she fought to stay awake. Obi-Wan knew, then. Desperate, he called to her as if she was somewhere far away, "Padmè, you have twins. You must hold on."
Padmè, those brown eyes deep in pain and sorrow rolling back, drawing her away, whispered, "Obi-Wan . . ."
He leaned nearer to the weakening voice. The trembling hand in his own relaxed, but fingers pressed something into his palm with the firmness he remembered; Obi-Wan looked, seeing a leather cord there, but his eyes were taken up to her face as she spoke again.
". . . there's good in him . . . I know - I know there is . . . still . . ."
The lips ceased, the head limp, and like a phantom wind her life was snatched away in the Force. Obi-Wan stared momentarily, the infant in his arms screaming in distress. His eyes looked out of the surgical theater, to Master Yoda, Bail Organa and the droids who watched solemnly. By Yoda's expression, Obi-Wan sensed he knew.
Suddenly, he became aware of a dozen different scanners and monitors erupting in distressed sounds, and the droids took the baby and bid him quickly from the room.
"I made this for you." Anakin Skywalker looked to his hands that concealed his precious gift. He was never usually shy, but she somehow made him that way. He wanted her to like it, to see it to be as beautiful as she was. "So you'd remember me - I carved it out of a japor snippet . . . it will bring you good fortune."
He offered it, letting the small amulet dangle a little as he passed it so it could see the starships dim lights. Padmè, who sat close beside him, looked to him with her bright brown eyes and smiled. She took the necklace and inspected it between her fingers, stroking the carvings he had ensured were precise, the rivets and edges he had smoothed shiny. Anakin bit his lip, blue eyes blinking nervously.
Padmè put the necklace over her head, and said softly, "It's beautiful. But I don't need this to remember you. How could I forget my future husband?"
Anakin met her eyes, his cheeks blushing, and he beamed.
Obi-Wan stood stock-stiff before them, See-Threepio making a mechanical hush to his counterpart whirring sadly. The silence did not concern him, or register in his mind.
"Is she . . . ?" Bail inquired gently, unknown due to lack of Jedi abilities. Obi-Wan could not respond.
"One with the Force, Senator Amidala has become. At peace." Yoda looked up to Bail as he spoke the words, though they seemed untrue.
Obi-Wan was sure they were. He barely breathed. His fingers rubbed the item in his hand. He blinked, but did not move. His eyes searched the tiny square of wood strung in the leather cord, searching for the answer to the question yearning.
Master Yoda hobbled closer, inquiring, "What, there, have you Obi-Wan?"
The taller Master did not respond physically, but whispered, "She gave this to me. And I . . . I don't even know what it means."
Obi-Wan looked to the elder Master in distress, in sorrow, but he knew Yoda did not - and could not - give him any answer to the unspoken question. The green-brown eyes, those same ones he had during his Jedihood both resented and cherished, soothed him.
"Buried with her, it should be, perhaps." Yoda suggested gently.
Obi-Wan looked again to the pendant, feeling in the Force the bond intertwined in it, the depths of heartache and struggle mixed with a passionate love. He felt Padmè - he felt his Padawan.
Obi-Wan nodded to Yoda, but tucked the necklace away into his robes as he replied, "Perhaps."
Obi-Wan stood in the stance he often did, the one he felt most comfortable in. His left arm was across his chest, and his right elbow rested atop, thumb and forefinger upon his chin. Often he had stood like this on a high ridge overlooking a battlefield, contemplating strategies aside General Cody, aside his former Padawan, Anakin Skywalker. All of that was gone, then, and his surrounding changed in drastic parallel.
The Jedi Master stood in the private nursery of Padmè Amidala's newborn babies, gazing upon the tiny bundles wrapped snuggly and resting in the dim warmth of the room. Pollis Massan nurses strolled about busily but noiseless, the only sound Obi-Wan detected being the soft sound of his and the children's breathing.
He had retreated there to find peace, or at least the illusion of it. Senator Organa had set out to ensure the Med Centre would keep no record of the recent birth and to arrange the funeral for the recent death. Obi-Wan had asked to assist him, to keep himself busy, but Bail had refused. The man knew the Jedi was pushed beyond fatigue, and had encouraged him to rest.
Obi-Wan stroked his beard, observing the little girls bluish eyes that squinted from the harsh light of life, contentedly blinking up at him. Those eyes would turn brown, Obi-Wan could tell. Her brothers, he had not yet seen, the boy sleeping then quietly.
Despite his own exhaustion, Obi-Wan could not sleep, and doubted he would be able to for quite some time. Force, he could not even calm himself enough to meditate yet. How could he? How could he give himself voluntarily to the nightmares that awaited? The terrors of the blank stares of slain Jedi Younglings, the smoldering rage of his brother and friend, the final whispers of Padmè?
The little boy gave a small cry, squirming uncomfortably, and Obi-Wan reached and rubbed the infant gently, hushing his whimpers. A Kallidahin nurse found them at the sound, glancing up to the tall Jedi with tiny eyes on its pale squarish face and offering Obi-Wan a warm bottle. The Master thanked the being, carefully lifting the baby in his arms for the second time that night and soothing the pitiful sounds he made.
"Luke . . ." Obi-Wan spoke aloud for the first time, and the baby seemed to respond, taking the bottle in his mouth and drinking. He had been reluctant to accept the name, as if in hope that these two precious lives were not truly born in the midst of such tragedy, not victims of Anakin Skywalker's wrath. Not truly the offspring of him.
It was true, though. The Jedi Order itself had collapsed, the Republic, amongst other things. Obi-Wan couldn't help to think it was all due to this secret. How, he wondered, could they have been so blind?
Obi-Wan rocked the baby back and forth gently, admiring Luke's gossamer hair and knowing that it would grow full and blonde, just like his father's. Just like the little boy he had met on Tatooine, with a lust for attention and praise and nothing but over eager. Much pruning, it had taken to weed out those little tendencies in Anakin, much, much pruning. Obi-Wan usually smiled in remembrance of those early times, the innocence of the two of them both young and unsure, but could not then. Not yet.
The baby in his arms stopped drinking, lulled asleep by a full belly and the comfort of his arms. Obi-Wan placed him in his cradle again, looking to see the little girl, Leia, fussing and squeaking at the lack of her brothers presence close to her own. Sadly, he knew both of them would have to grow used to being apart. He knew, and had known ever since their birth, just how Force sensitive the two were, and how endangered likewise.
They were to leave in the morning, plans already being considered of an increasingly necessary separation.
From one extremity to the next, the closeness of the womb to opposite spectrums of the galaxy, in hope - a bright hope - of keeping them safe during these tumultuous times. So shall I go, Obi-Wan remembered with a sigh, rubbing Luke gently as a whimper escaped him. Just like the twins, his Force sensitivity was far too great to remain unnoticed.
"We all have to hide, don't we?" Obi-Wan whispered, Luke soothed by the deep, gentle sound, "Just for a while. Until the time is right, young one, and you become . . ."
The baby squinted up at him, his eyes a familiar blue, and Obi-Wan smiled involuntarily, ". . . you become a Jedi."
The Master carefully lifted the child, placing him in his sisters bassinet with her, both babies quieting their upset in the soothing of the others presence. Luke's forehead rested on Leia's temple, both drowsing off into sleep again; the last time they would be together for quite awhile, they might as well be together.
Obi-Wan, in remembrance, reached into his robe and grasped the amulet given to him. In the bright nursery lights, he saw clearly the meticulous lines carved from the pale japor ivory wood, an untrained yet careful handiwork. It must have meant something to Padmè, enough to while in her dying moments take time to pass on. He could sense that it was not meant to stay with her, or to be buried. Padmè would have wanted it to be kept dear.
And that I will ensure is done, Obi-Wan decided, reaching inside the cradle and caressing both of the babies tiny cheeks with his forefinger in farewell, squeezing the necklace in his hand as tears threatened. His throat was thin as he closed the door behind himself, leaning against it as he slipped the jerba cord out of the wood, finding his multitool form his belt. The amulet was a weak wood, and with the application of the small knife and a gentle, careful hand, he sliced the pendant in two even halves.
Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed as he sat on the cold floor and put his head in his hands, exhausted and barely able to hide his deep lament in the Force from the fragile lives that he knew could sense it.