Sky Waltzing
Written by Anna Wallin/PallaPlease.
Prelude
He had never expected the afterlife to be some sort of eerily empty replica of Tattoine; he supposed it was poetic justice, considering he had always viewed it as a hell of sorts throughout his youth and she, though always uncomfortable with the dusty heat, had adored its thick, coarse sands. Many of his most painful memories were set here, and, ironically, on other desert planets along the Outer Rim. His enslavement as a child, his mother's death, and his arm being severed: a few of many. Still, if this was hell, then he could not understand why he was the lone figure amongst polished sand dunes, and why he was no longer the scarred and pitted man in his forties he had been when he had died. Now, instead, he was as he had been at the age of nineteen, tanned and lean, with the same sandy blonde Padawan haircut he had worn, as was customary, then. Fingering the short, thin braid, he bit his lower lip thoughtfully, noting, for the first time, that wearing that black and maroon leather suit was not overwhelmingly comfortable in the stifling heat building about him as the second sun of Tattoine rose in the sky.
Anakin dropped his hand to his side, almost expecting to feel the smooth, polished metal of his lightsaber resting at his hip and merely experiencing a momentary sense of disappointment that it was not there. He probably shouldn't have thought it would be. He inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar, clean, if dry, air fill his lungs as a slight wind played across the dune across from his position on top of another, light clouds of sand spurting up momentarily before collapsing silently. In its own way, the desert was beautiful.
He could think of no better hell then one like this.
There had been the inner hope that, for some reason, the love he and Padmè shared would have brought them together once more, in this heaven or hell. As the wind tousled his short hair, tugging his braid forward, he sighed softly. Not for the first time after his death, he wished his choices hadn't been the ones he had made. Wished his switch to the Dark Side had never happened, that he had the chance to live his life with her and raise their twins without all the pain and torment he had caused the three he cared the most for.
Images flickered in his mind, from his horrible confession to Amidala of his murder of the Tuskan Raiders, to the sick revenge of sorts he had enacted on unknowing Luke when he had detached his own son's hand. In that moment, Anakin was convinced, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was indeed in hell.
Quietly, he began slowly shuffling down the dune, his sweltering black cape flapping behind him in the stillness of the desert morn. The sands before him were pure and untouched, devoid of any markings that anything had ever crossed them before he. If anything, that thought served to make him feel even more hopeless, his shoulders starting to sag a little, blue eyes downcast. It was almost laughable that, in complete contrast from his despondent feelings, he felt completely energized, as if he was unable to run out of energy with which to move. In a way, it was disturbing.
Frowning, he quickened his pace, walking blindly towards something he was nearly sure did not exist, and he lifted his face momentarily, if only to note whether or not the suns moved in this afterlife. Indeed, they did, as both were minutely higher than they had been a few moments before, though it was not the current position of the suns that caught his attention and held it.
There was another figure walking steadfastly toward him, a small being draped in a white cloak that obscured any and all features from his eyes. Curious, he began walking faster, heart pounding. Of, if only it was…
As the figure drew closer, a few small details could be picked out: the figure was small in stature, and assuredly female. He couldn't help it; a broad smile lit his face and he broke into a run, tufts of sand exploding up wherever his feet pounded against it. The figure laughed, a brightly familiar sound, and, as he slowed down a few feet from her, pulled the hood of her cloak down.
"Hello, Annie," Padmè smiled at him, thick brown hair netted up in twin buns, achingly like her hairstyle those many years ago when Dooku had been their greatest threat. "I've been waiting for you for so many years, love," she continued, brushing her fingers across his cheek.
He smiled in return, lifting his arms to pull her into an embrace, deep and warm and never-ending. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he jerked away almost immediately, staring at his palms. There was a thick redness dripping over the skin of his hands, rich and sickly sweet in scent, congealing and dropping to the desert floor. Anakin's mind blanked, filling with the memory of killing, butchering, maiming people. The blood, for that was what obviously covered his hands, slid down his arms, staining the sweltering maroon sleeves of his outfit, and he looked up at Padmè, his face suddenly that of a frightened child.
"It isn't real, Annie," she whispered, reaching out and grasping his upturned hand, squeezing it tightly. "You've created this from your fear," she caught his other hand and held them together, dark brown eyes fixed on his light blue ones. "What do you fear that causes you to not wish to touch me?" He averted his gaze and she wanted to stamp her feet in frustration. Gods curse it, she had waited twenty years for this moment and he had to revert to his old, stubborn ways, didn't he? "Anakin! Look at me!" Slowly, he did so, flinching a bit. "What is it that you see?" she asked in a gentler voice.
Swift, glaring bolts of bright blue electricity flickering over her skin and she was screaming and crying, doubling over on the cold metal of the cruiser, reaching up to plead for his help, to hold his gloved hand, and he was afraid of what Palpatine would do, what he was doing, and he tried to save her, but it was too late and when he finally got to her, she was dead…
"Nothing," Anakin lied, glancing at his hands. She still held them tightly and they still dripped crimson, splotching the floor with dark redness. Her grip loosened and he heard her sigh, leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest. "I…"
"You are an awful liar, Anakin Skywalker," mumbled Padmè, shaking her head slightly. "A horribly awful liar." After a moment, she pulled back and dropped his hands, brushing a few loose strands of her own dark hair out of her eyes and behind her ears. "As much as I wish I could be here for personal reasons alone," she stated softly, "I am not. I am here to guide you."
"Guide me?" he questioned slowly, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.
She nodded, turning and steadily walking back up the dune, tendrils of sand sliding down toward him. "You died before balance to the Force could be restored," she called, pausing briefly so he could jog up beside her, "and there is debate over where you should be placed in the afterlife." Unconsciously, she reached to her side and clasped his hand, weaving her fingers with his. "Some say you deserve heaven due to your selflessness before you joined the Sith," she broke off momentarily, a trace of old pain painting her face before she pushed it away resolvedly, "and others say hell because of the countless murders you performed. And then, of course, there is the small faction who argue for reincarnation, as you were the Chosen One."
"And you?" Anakin asked neutrally, studying the sand as they hurried down the dune. "You are pushing for…?"
"Heaven," Padmè laughed, walking closer to him, "for purely selfish and silly reasons such as love and dreams." She grew somber and ceased movement, pulling him to a stop as well. "All have come to a compromise," she began explaining in a quiet voice. "I am to guide you through this purgatory of sorts, created for you alone, and you must learn why. We will meet people you loved and you will relive memories you do not wish to, and somehow the Force must be balanced." Cupping his cheek, she smiled again. "I will be with you every step."
Under the heat of the twin suns glowering above, Anakin nodded.
+++
Notes: This is rather short, but I do have an excuse, considering I haven't had much sleep lately and that this beginning bit is merely a prelude. (There is also the novel-style Peter Parker/Mary-Jane fic I am writing for the Spider-Man movieverse.) I apologize again if my writing isn't very good and I promise that the next part will be longer and better. Personally, I feel the urge to write Happyverse (AU where Anakin did not go Sith) fics, simply because Episode II was deliciously angst-y romance-ish. Dad thought it dragged at points, but I think he just didn't look all the wonderful character development. (I swear to God I'm going to be bawling all the way through Ep. III when it comes out…)
Written by Anna Wallin/PallaPlease.
Prelude
He had never expected the afterlife to be some sort of eerily empty replica of Tattoine; he supposed it was poetic justice, considering he had always viewed it as a hell of sorts throughout his youth and she, though always uncomfortable with the dusty heat, had adored its thick, coarse sands. Many of his most painful memories were set here, and, ironically, on other desert planets along the Outer Rim. His enslavement as a child, his mother's death, and his arm being severed: a few of many. Still, if this was hell, then he could not understand why he was the lone figure amongst polished sand dunes, and why he was no longer the scarred and pitted man in his forties he had been when he had died. Now, instead, he was as he had been at the age of nineteen, tanned and lean, with the same sandy blonde Padawan haircut he had worn, as was customary, then. Fingering the short, thin braid, he bit his lower lip thoughtfully, noting, for the first time, that wearing that black and maroon leather suit was not overwhelmingly comfortable in the stifling heat building about him as the second sun of Tattoine rose in the sky.
Anakin dropped his hand to his side, almost expecting to feel the smooth, polished metal of his lightsaber resting at his hip and merely experiencing a momentary sense of disappointment that it was not there. He probably shouldn't have thought it would be. He inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar, clean, if dry, air fill his lungs as a slight wind played across the dune across from his position on top of another, light clouds of sand spurting up momentarily before collapsing silently. In its own way, the desert was beautiful.
He could think of no better hell then one like this.
There had been the inner hope that, for some reason, the love he and Padmè shared would have brought them together once more, in this heaven or hell. As the wind tousled his short hair, tugging his braid forward, he sighed softly. Not for the first time after his death, he wished his choices hadn't been the ones he had made. Wished his switch to the Dark Side had never happened, that he had the chance to live his life with her and raise their twins without all the pain and torment he had caused the three he cared the most for.
Images flickered in his mind, from his horrible confession to Amidala of his murder of the Tuskan Raiders, to the sick revenge of sorts he had enacted on unknowing Luke when he had detached his own son's hand. In that moment, Anakin was convinced, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was indeed in hell.
Quietly, he began slowly shuffling down the dune, his sweltering black cape flapping behind him in the stillness of the desert morn. The sands before him were pure and untouched, devoid of any markings that anything had ever crossed them before he. If anything, that thought served to make him feel even more hopeless, his shoulders starting to sag a little, blue eyes downcast. It was almost laughable that, in complete contrast from his despondent feelings, he felt completely energized, as if he was unable to run out of energy with which to move. In a way, it was disturbing.
Frowning, he quickened his pace, walking blindly towards something he was nearly sure did not exist, and he lifted his face momentarily, if only to note whether or not the suns moved in this afterlife. Indeed, they did, as both were minutely higher than they had been a few moments before, though it was not the current position of the suns that caught his attention and held it.
There was another figure walking steadfastly toward him, a small being draped in a white cloak that obscured any and all features from his eyes. Curious, he began walking faster, heart pounding. Of, if only it was…
As the figure drew closer, a few small details could be picked out: the figure was small in stature, and assuredly female. He couldn't help it; a broad smile lit his face and he broke into a run, tufts of sand exploding up wherever his feet pounded against it. The figure laughed, a brightly familiar sound, and, as he slowed down a few feet from her, pulled the hood of her cloak down.
"Hello, Annie," Padmè smiled at him, thick brown hair netted up in twin buns, achingly like her hairstyle those many years ago when Dooku had been their greatest threat. "I've been waiting for you for so many years, love," she continued, brushing her fingers across his cheek.
He smiled in return, lifting his arms to pull her into an embrace, deep and warm and never-ending. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he jerked away almost immediately, staring at his palms. There was a thick redness dripping over the skin of his hands, rich and sickly sweet in scent, congealing and dropping to the desert floor. Anakin's mind blanked, filling with the memory of killing, butchering, maiming people. The blood, for that was what obviously covered his hands, slid down his arms, staining the sweltering maroon sleeves of his outfit, and he looked up at Padmè, his face suddenly that of a frightened child.
"It isn't real, Annie," she whispered, reaching out and grasping his upturned hand, squeezing it tightly. "You've created this from your fear," she caught his other hand and held them together, dark brown eyes fixed on his light blue ones. "What do you fear that causes you to not wish to touch me?" He averted his gaze and she wanted to stamp her feet in frustration. Gods curse it, she had waited twenty years for this moment and he had to revert to his old, stubborn ways, didn't he? "Anakin! Look at me!" Slowly, he did so, flinching a bit. "What is it that you see?" she asked in a gentler voice.
Swift, glaring bolts of bright blue electricity flickering over her skin and she was screaming and crying, doubling over on the cold metal of the cruiser, reaching up to plead for his help, to hold his gloved hand, and he was afraid of what Palpatine would do, what he was doing, and he tried to save her, but it was too late and when he finally got to her, she was dead…
"Nothing," Anakin lied, glancing at his hands. She still held them tightly and they still dripped crimson, splotching the floor with dark redness. Her grip loosened and he heard her sigh, leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest. "I…"
"You are an awful liar, Anakin Skywalker," mumbled Padmè, shaking her head slightly. "A horribly awful liar." After a moment, she pulled back and dropped his hands, brushing a few loose strands of her own dark hair out of her eyes and behind her ears. "As much as I wish I could be here for personal reasons alone," she stated softly, "I am not. I am here to guide you."
"Guide me?" he questioned slowly, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.
She nodded, turning and steadily walking back up the dune, tendrils of sand sliding down toward him. "You died before balance to the Force could be restored," she called, pausing briefly so he could jog up beside her, "and there is debate over where you should be placed in the afterlife." Unconsciously, she reached to her side and clasped his hand, weaving her fingers with his. "Some say you deserve heaven due to your selflessness before you joined the Sith," she broke off momentarily, a trace of old pain painting her face before she pushed it away resolvedly, "and others say hell because of the countless murders you performed. And then, of course, there is the small faction who argue for reincarnation, as you were the Chosen One."
"And you?" Anakin asked neutrally, studying the sand as they hurried down the dune. "You are pushing for…?"
"Heaven," Padmè laughed, walking closer to him, "for purely selfish and silly reasons such as love and dreams." She grew somber and ceased movement, pulling him to a stop as well. "All have come to a compromise," she began explaining in a quiet voice. "I am to guide you through this purgatory of sorts, created for you alone, and you must learn why. We will meet people you loved and you will relive memories you do not wish to, and somehow the Force must be balanced." Cupping his cheek, she smiled again. "I will be with you every step."
Under the heat of the twin suns glowering above, Anakin nodded.
+++
Notes: This is rather short, but I do have an excuse, considering I haven't had much sleep lately and that this beginning bit is merely a prelude. (There is also the novel-style Peter Parker/Mary-Jane fic I am writing for the Spider-Man movieverse.) I apologize again if my writing isn't very good and I promise that the next part will be longer and better. Personally, I feel the urge to write Happyverse (AU where Anakin did not go Sith) fics, simply because Episode II was deliciously angst-y romance-ish. Dad thought it dragged at points, but I think he just didn't look all the wonderful character development. (I swear to God I'm going to be bawling all the way through Ep. III when it comes out…)