She wondered often what the war had done to him.
No doubt it had made him well known, if for naught but the irony: A slave boy (Although the media wasn't aware of that yet, and for good reason!), liberating the small races unknown to most of the galaxy. A slave boy, once forced to lived his entire life in metaphorical chains, now bound by just a few vows.
(Bound? Ha! Nothing could bind him; what she knew was clear proof of that!)
A Jedi; the Jedi!
(But was that really a compliment?)
They were soldiers now, and that was undeniable. But they were so much more respected than the clone fodder! They were the ones who were fighting voluntarily, not because they were bred for that. They were the ones remembered each night in the ever growing list on the HoloNet.
He was the heart of that; more, he was the heart of every loyal republican citizen.
And as she recalled his sweet kisses, Padme Amidala couldn't help but think that each of those loyal people that she helped however indirectly, each had a claim on the Chosen One. They were the ones that he was fighting for. Even his soft whispers of all the times he had thought of her didn't seem believable. They didn't match his rough hands on her face; they didn't match how so many of his words -perhaps all; she tried not to think about it- seemed to have an edge that burned as much as his cerulean blade.
Sometimes when she was around him, Padme was afraid.
When he was near her, Anakin Skywalker was suspicious.
Why was it that every time he came into her apartments, the Force-scents of Senators seemed to overwhelm his every sense? And it was always the same ones; strangely enough, always the rebels. Always the Senators that didn't know their role; that constantly threw down perfectly reasonable ideas suggested by one of the greatest men that he knew! It made him long to be out hunting down droids, or even the organic scum that lived in the galaxy.
(Calm; breath slowly; center yourself in the Force.)
He would not let his Angel become one of them.
She was a good Senator and a good wife: Always there for her people, and, more importantly to him, always there for her Knight.
He would never let her fall to that level. By his -her?- life, he wouldn't.
She wished that she did not have to keep secrets.
She had been keeping them since the start of the war; as it happened, all but one ofthe things she kept to herself had.
Of course, the main one had come with her from her latest visit (Was it really three years ago?) to her home planet. The secret known only to her, him, two droids, and a clergyman that didn't even comprehend the power of the knowledge that he possessed.
There were others: Namely, the one that had been presented to her from the Alderaanian Senator.
(She did not like war. She detested it in every way that was possible. She was not afraid to say that. Not usually. Could she kid anyone? She was afraid to say it in front of him.)
And then there was the last one; the one that she had only just learned of.
It would be interesting to see what Anakin would make of that.
He hated secrets. They were the bane of his very existence, what he swore would be eliminated among the foolish throngs of Senators (Excluding her, of course), if he ever had his way.
His life is built on them. Every day, he is a walking secret. Nobody will ever know who he is; none shall see his very soul.
Even he does not know who he is.
Once he asked his Master –an oddly degrading term, his sometimes rebellious mind would ponder- if he thought that he knew who he was.
Obi-Wan had given him a calm, if not surprised, look.
"I know that you are my brother in all but blood, Anakin. The rest… well, if I wrote a biography about you, I could fill in bits and pieces, but not the plot. I couldn't tell of your past of course, but more importantly, I don't know what goes on in your mind." Here, he offered a strangely compassionate smile.
"Half –no, over that!- of the time, I don't know what goes on inside of your head, Anakin. Your very soul is always shielded from the rest of us."
It is odd, but ever since that day, he does not trust that man in the same way.
She often remembered what she used to want. In fact, she remembers very clearly her youthful longings. She remembers wishing that she could help bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy, with a strong, handsome, charming man by her side.
Now she knows better. She knows that all peace comes at a price, and that prosperity brings with it the tension of waiting for its fall.
And she knows that true love is not a side-by-side event. It is something that blossoms when the two in question are galaxies away. It is built up as they speak of separate adventures, light chatter that looks so deep to an outsider.
(But it is nothing. Two are one soul, and they need say nothing of their outside lives. All that is relevant happens together.)
What she wanted was so much poorer than what she now has.
This is all she knows, and so they are facts to her.
He remembers his past in nightmares.
He remembers his mother, and this is the most painful. He remembers his naïve self promising her that one day he would fly through the distant sky and see all of the stars that burned above, the rays of hope in their bleak lives.
He can recall, now with much less pain than in past times, a single strange man that came without explanation, claiming only of a broken ship: It was an old excuse on Tatooine; at first Anakin had assumed that the man was just another slave dealer come to gawk at him and his mother.
(He had loved his Angel as soon as he first laid eyes on her. At first he thought her to be a slave like he had been; why else would a beautiful girl wear such frumpy clothes? Soon, though, he knew her to be too independent.)
That was before he saw the lightsaber. Before he knew that his dreams would all come true.
And yes, they had become reality.
His experience has formed him, and he is all of the planets that he has ever set foot on. That is his way.
Every day, she thinks that the war can not get any worse.
She swears with the rising of the Coruscanti sun that it will end today, or at least that it will start getting better. She swears that she will not have to raise her child in the environment of fear.
How could it not, when he is out there fighting? He is the Chosen One! There is not a chance that her secret Beloved will fail.
She knows this, and she will swear by it on the day that they no longer have to hide behind excuses and lies.
And yet, doubts have still infiltrated her well-guarded heart. She wonders if this war even has an ending, and if he is strong enough to bring it about.
It takes but a single day for old doubts to die, and for new ones to spring up like the weeds that they were.
In a single day, the metaphorical king has been taken. The castle is under siege, and the knights are falling by the minute.
She is certain now that the zenith of the war has come, but she will not live long enough to see that she is wrong.
He knows better than his wife, although he dares not tell her so.
He knows, in the three short years that seem to have been an eternity, that what appears to be the turning point never is. It is just another endless moment rife with death, pain and suffering.
Just another day out on the battlefield.
But now, even he does not believe that. Perhaps he knows deep down that things will get worse, but the wreckage in space above his prized planet prevents him from seeing that.
How could things possibly go downhill from here? Even on Jabiim, he had known deep within him that his Master could not be dead.
The Chancellor is different. He is not a Jedi; he has not been trained to withstand the torture that is certain to be inflicted upon him by Dooku.
By the time that he and his once- teacher land on the ship where he is being held, it may be too late.
And so Anakin Skywalker swears that he will do whatever it takes to save his closest friend, even at the cost of everything else.
Worry was a natural part of her life.
It had been since she was a child, always pressuring herself to achieve what others had not. It had been when she was made queen and her word became law. It had been when her peoples' lives were in her hands. Over time she learned to repress it with a stoic disposition that would have made the most accomplished Jedi jealous, had they allowed themselves the pleasures of emotion. She knew that for a fact.
But worry has, over time, chipped away over her mask as age did to youth.
And now, she paces as she stares at the HoloNet. She watches the huge ship that rotates slowly. She watches as yet another small Republican Fighter bursts into flames. She wonders if it was his, and prays otherwise.
She knows that the two most important men in the galaxy are up there, and that only one of them, if either, could come out.
She wonders which one she would rather have survive.
She worries, and she knows that it is not without reason.
For thirteen years, he has been taught that worry is wrong. It has been drilled constantly into him that it is just another form of fear, and of course, fear was the tool of the Dark Side.
And oddly enough, it was during those ten-and-three years that he found himself doing the forbidden. In nearly all of nine cycles of his lifetime, he had been brave and emotionless; knowing that on Tatooine, not being so would almost certainly result in death.
He can only pray that now, as he goes to help rescue a man who knew more about him than did his all-but-blood brother, that this shan't be the case.
(And for just a moment, he recalls how much the man does know about him, and he wonders, will his death truly be such a tragedy?)
With disbelief at the seeds of doubt that have tangled his heart, he crushes the thought. He must think of the greater good; that is all that matters…
He lies often to himself. The ways of deception tend to overcome the growing worry within him, and he does not care that his release of its fire is in a delusional way.
All that matters is that it is conquered.
She paces the room, wishing to both the Gods of Naboo and the Force itself –she is no Jedi, but she assumes that it shall not be judgmental- that this hellish nightmare would just be over. She wishes for anything right now that would end this cursed anxiety; even falling into a deep unconscious sleep would be preferable to the waiting!
(She wishes without thinking. She would leave the Senate and renounce her prized heritage before doing anything that would present a danger to her child!)
And then she sees the starcraft that the Chancellor was on go up in flames as it heads towards Coruscant.
This time she does fall to her knees, the blackness coming just a little too late after she has realized how selfish the prayer was.
She will be found by a golden protocol droid when he comes to inform her of an emergency gathering of the Galactic Senate. She will deny needing help, saying that she fainted merely due to surprise.
She will not check into a med-center until it is too late, and then for unrelated reasons.
His rage has not subsided. He is still reliving the exact moment when he decapitated one of the galaxy's greatest foes, when he killed the sadist who murdered his Padawan.
He held her body in the final moments. He tried to smile at her, hoping to put her in a state of blissful ignorance of the circumstances.
His ruse did not work; she was aware that every breath could be her last.
"Master Kenobi isn't going to be able to catch up with Dooku, is he." It was not a question.
His throat closed: Yes, she was rash, impatient and, at times, unable to control her passionate emotions, but she was his Padawan, Force curse it!
"Snips… it'll be all right…"
"You didn't answer my question." Even dying, she noticed the tiniest thing.
He toyed with her headdress. "It didn't need answering."
"Just between you and me Master… will you avenge me?"
This time his smile wasn't fake; she really did think like him. "Of course. How could I not?"
Blue eyes meeting, she gave a fierce Togruta grin. "Make him cry, Master."
And then she died.
He remembers this, and his anger hits a point even higher than when he did the actual deed.
He pilots the ship down to Coruscant fiercely, hoping that some of his anger will be worked out like this, and that he won't have to hide behind a mask as he faces the throngs of reporters that he knows to be waiting for him.
It is not.
She sits waiting in the large Gathering Room, only half-listening to the Senate's Speaker. She knows that what he says is, in the grand scheme, irrelevant. The Chancellor will be at a med-center; although he will deny needing treatment, the healers shall not listen.
Her thoughts wander to him. Surely he is alive? How could anyone else manage such a feat as piloting a dying ship for who knows how long?
(In her heart, she knows he lives. Surely the moment that he passed on, she would have felt her soul shatter?)
Her fingers tap impatiently against the edge of her senate seat. He will be waiting for her. It has been so long since they have spoken… Feeling a kick within her, she realizes with a start that it was almost two months ago.
Not for the first time, she wonders about her decision to keep the child. It will throw her life into chaos soon; perhaps she should talk it over with him…
No! The life she bears inside her is a precious combination of their blood; the ultimate tribute to their love.
At last she pays some attention to the Speaker; this is what she has waited for. He dismisses the formal meeting.
As she leaves, she notes Bail Organa heading towards her. She hurries onward, in no mood for a conversation.
Her beloved longs for her lips as she for his.
This has been the case in the past, and so she bases eternity on it.
He paces her apartment, in no waiting mood. Is not he more important than a pointless meeting?
He attempts to slow his breathing, but fails. In this universe, there is no justice. The last time that they were together, for but a day, was at the price of his Padawan's death.
And now he has come back, but at the potential cost of the galaxy's most important man's life!
He is angry, and he does not deny it.
Instead he lets it overcome him. He lets the sweet rage fill him, and push him into a state where everyone is an enemy. He lets himself become the man of power and confidence that almost everyone else in the universe, barring the other, inferior Jedi, see him as.
Anakin Skywalker lets his confidence and anger rule him, and in doing so, rules the universe.
She enters, and is reminded of why she sometimes fears her husband.
His is not facing her, but is letting of an aura of fury. She doesn't know if he is aware of her presence or not. Behind him is a deactivated protocol droid, whose arm is raised, as if in self-defense.
She does not no where to begin, but an instinct tells her not to speak of greetings and sweet nothings.
"Anakin, have you been drinking?" It is a foolish question; she knows that he has not.
He turns slowly, and she sees that he holds a holo-cube of his once-Padawan and her, standing together.
"I wasn't able to save her." His tone frightens her beyond belief, and she starts to back away slowly.
He advances; a part of her knew that he would. "And I wasn't able to save you, either." The low voice that she hears; could it possibly be his?
"Ani… I don't know what you're talking about…"
He strikes her cheek, and she crumples to the floor, thinking only of the child that she bears.
"You're with them! The rebellious senators have seduced you away to their causes!"
She does not know what he speaks of, and she never will.
He did not plan to say that, but something beyond his control is taking place. Something powerful and coaxing; something dark and seductive.
He likes the way he feels right now; the way he could stop the stars form dying. He does not fight this.
"They have taken you like death took her!" Darkness has overcome him, and his vision is the Force. He sees only two bright spots, and the second is so small and inferior that he reaches to extinguish it.
It is out of pity, because it will never see things in the true way like he does, and it never will.
"Now no one will ever be taken away from me again. Do you know why?" And when no answer comes, he feels his grip on that poor, pathetic thing tightening.
"Because there will be nobody else." The dark is sweet, and he feels disconnected, like something else controls him and everything is right in all the worlds. It is a time reminiscent to when he tried a death stick; the pleasant numbing being the same.
At last the light goes out. He feels for a second a struggle that comes not from her, but from within her corpse, as if she harbors something powerful.
It does not take long for that to stop too.
Darkness overcomes her every sense, and her only worry is for the child.
Her last thought is of Anakin Skywalker, and she forgives him.
The Dark Side was a drug of its own class, and he took it unbeknownst to him.
He has not gone far out of her apartment when he is released, and he falls to his knees. He runs back, and picks up her body. Perhaps it was not too late…
It is three days later, at her funeral. His Master stands beside him, more for moral support than mourning, although no doubt he feels that too.
"I wish that they knew what killed her."
He did not confess. The secrets within him would die with him, and die hopefully soon, for the way that he felt right now.
Obi-Wan sighed. "I feel so bad for the child… I wonder who the father was…"
At this, his head jerks up. "What?"
His Master gave him a pitying look. "I thought you knew. She was pregnant with twins."
And Anakin Skywalker realizes that he never even knew the woman that he loved.
"Don't say that you want me...
Just tell me that you love me…
Real savage-like
©Fleetwood Mac. Tusk
Feedback desperately needed… This is completely new to me…