Author's Note: As I rewatch Episode II on my lovely new DVD, I realize that
there is a certain beauty to the relationship between Padme and Anakin.
I've always been adamantly opposed to it, but I'm coming to see it in a
more sympathetic light now, and no longer denying the existance of strong
feelings between the two characters. However, as well all know, that
realtionship ultimately failed, and in Anakin's fall to the dark side, the
two people close to him are pushed together...left with essentially no one
but each other. This story explores the romance that could blossom from
that need, and deals with the pain of failure and letting go. I'll try to
update as much as I can, but I stay very busy with school work. As always,
feedback is greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
Prologue
In my years with Anakin, I thought of very little other than being the best Master I could. Qui-Gon's desperate plea to me hung over my every move, and I was haunted by a desperate need to succeed for him, vowing in his death that I would not fail him again. There was no time for romance in a Jedi's life, and I scarcely noticed the beauty of females, although I was always teased by the other Jedi about the attention I received from the opposite sex. I had my lovers, yes. But my affairs were brief and dispassionate, and never more than an evening was spent not thinking of my responsibility and the great duty that I had as a Jedi. Each day the words of my mentors echoed in my mind...the men who had made me what I was. I knew that it was up to me to shape Anakin into a man -- and more importantly, into a Jedi. I could not fail.
Oh, but I did. I failed, and failed miserably. I failed Qui-Gon, I failed Yoda, I failed Anakin, I failed Padme -- I failed the entire galaxy. As I felt my apprentice slipping away down the path to darkness, a place from which I knew he would never return, I felt myself slipping down a much different path. It was a place I was unfamiliar with -- a dark place, a frightening place. It was a place full of hate...not towards Anakin, not towards Palpatine, but towards myself. In the back of my head, I knew that I was good, that I was honorable. I had lead a fundamentally good life, fighting desperately for peace and justice, with no thought of reward...it had been a selfless life. Dozens -- perhaps hundreds -- of people owed their very lives to me. And I should have taken pride in this. But I did not. I could think only of all those I had failed...the lives that I could not spare from that dismal end that we call death.
But then, one day, something strange happened. Anakin was off conferring with Palpatine again somewhere, and Padme came to me. We were both loosing him, and we knew it, even if subconciously. It was in the winter sometime, and she stood on the balcony of my small room looking out over the city. I could feel that she was hurting -- Anakin had long been dear to us both, and neither of us could quite comprehend his behavoir. She said nothing, only standing and looking out across the horizon, and she shivered in the cold. Suddenly, she seemed very small and vulnerable, and I realized in that moment that she needed me -- and somehow, I desperately needed her. I mentally squared my shoulders against my disgust with myself, knowing that if I could not live for myself, I would live -- for her.
Prologue
In my years with Anakin, I thought of very little other than being the best Master I could. Qui-Gon's desperate plea to me hung over my every move, and I was haunted by a desperate need to succeed for him, vowing in his death that I would not fail him again. There was no time for romance in a Jedi's life, and I scarcely noticed the beauty of females, although I was always teased by the other Jedi about the attention I received from the opposite sex. I had my lovers, yes. But my affairs were brief and dispassionate, and never more than an evening was spent not thinking of my responsibility and the great duty that I had as a Jedi. Each day the words of my mentors echoed in my mind...the men who had made me what I was. I knew that it was up to me to shape Anakin into a man -- and more importantly, into a Jedi. I could not fail.
Oh, but I did. I failed, and failed miserably. I failed Qui-Gon, I failed Yoda, I failed Anakin, I failed Padme -- I failed the entire galaxy. As I felt my apprentice slipping away down the path to darkness, a place from which I knew he would never return, I felt myself slipping down a much different path. It was a place I was unfamiliar with -- a dark place, a frightening place. It was a place full of hate...not towards Anakin, not towards Palpatine, but towards myself. In the back of my head, I knew that I was good, that I was honorable. I had lead a fundamentally good life, fighting desperately for peace and justice, with no thought of reward...it had been a selfless life. Dozens -- perhaps hundreds -- of people owed their very lives to me. And I should have taken pride in this. But I did not. I could think only of all those I had failed...the lives that I could not spare from that dismal end that we call death.
But then, one day, something strange happened. Anakin was off conferring with Palpatine again somewhere, and Padme came to me. We were both loosing him, and we knew it, even if subconciously. It was in the winter sometime, and she stood on the balcony of my small room looking out over the city. I could feel that she was hurting -- Anakin had long been dear to us both, and neither of us could quite comprehend his behavoir. She said nothing, only standing and looking out across the horizon, and she shivered in the cold. Suddenly, she seemed very small and vulnerable, and I realized in that moment that she needed me -- and somehow, I desperately needed her. I mentally squared my shoulders against my disgust with myself, knowing that if I could not live for myself, I would live -- for her.