A/n : This is a Christmas giftfic written in 2010 for Tierney Beckett. When the gift exchange was first mooted, Tierney was very excited and wanted me to write her a friendship scene between Obi-Wan and Padme (she is a definite Obidala 'shipper). However, when she was asked what she "wanted for Christmas" she facetiously said "a pony". I inquired more about this pony, and she said she wanted it to be called Maximus, after the character in "Tangled" as she was totally in love with that animated movie.
So, the idea of the "poh-knee" called Maximus was born, and – coupled with the legend of Alexander the Great taming Bucephalus – inspired "Unshadowed".
I will admit this now – it was only after I had written this piece (and the other two Star Wars pieces in the gift series, "Dreams" and "Desire") that I realized I had NOT included the archetypical phrase "I have a bad feeling about this" in the text. So, that was added to the story in the various revisions.
I mean, how can it be Star Wars without having a bad feeling?
In terms of canonicity, I don't think I "count" this story as canon for "my" world of "The Rule of Two" and "Compassion", although it certainly could fit!
Merry Christmas!
Unshadowed
The grasslands of Naboo were swaying seas of bright green, waves of verdant fur frozen in the very moment of gentle undulation blowing in the warm breeze. There were very few clouds in the scrubbed-blue sky, drifting and reforming with the wind and casting soft shadows on the turf below. It was a warm, bright day at the height of Naboo's glorious Summer on the Royal Veldt just to the north of the Senatorial Palace.
Senator Padme Amidala fixed the truculent riding beast with a steely eye and took the reins in a firm hand, swinging its head around so she could stare into at least one of its eyes. It gazed back at her with an expression she would like to call incurious, but she knew was dismissive. The beast was far too intelligent to think she was part of the scenery; it was only disinterested in her so long as she did not try to mount it.
Why am I having so much difficulty with it, then? she asked herself before she could stop the thought. I manage Anakin just fine.
She pushed the thought away – that wasn't a nice thing for a newly-wedded wife to think about her husband, even one as physically demanding and insecure as Anakin. He was a good man, a brave man, and he loved her deeply and dearly. And she, of course, loved him.
The animal looked at her with a gaze that seemed to say Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? She ignored it.
It was just he was so very . . . She struggled for a word, looking down as she did so. She saw her own hard-edged shadow cast on the flank of the animal and the warm turf. The shade was deep, dark, jagulon-green, mysterious and uncertain as a jungle at night. The warm sun was on her back but she was still suddenly cold and shivered. The animal felt her nervousness and stamped three of its six hooves.
That was it. Anakin was shadowed. There were depths and layers to him, dark galleries in his psyche where Coruscani Ogres fought, places illuminated by smoky fires rather than bright sunlight. She found herself walking on crystal-drops around him, worried lest she cause his anger to burst into dark flame. Both of them were aware of her nervousness, and he tamped down his anger, leaving it smoldering in shadowy darkness beneath the surface.
She sighed. It wasn't that bad. She was being dramatic. He was so far away, sent on a mission by the Council. She was bitter about that; the two of them should have been allowed some time together, but the secrecy of their marriage didn't allow for that. As far as the Council was concerned, there was nothing between the Chosen One and the Senator.
The animal snorted dismissively. She set her jaw and grabbed the saddlehorn with one hand, fitting her foot into the stirrup and making to mount it again. She swung her leg over its back just as it gamboled forward with a mocking snort and she tumbled backwards, about to land on her posterior for about the tenth time that day. The wounds she had received in the Geonosian arena a few weeks before were barely healed but they had been forgotten amid the bruises from this beast.
The impact never came. She felt a wave of compassion enfold her like a blanket, catching her limbs and slowing her descent, lifting her in the air to set her gently on her feet. She gasped and spun her head, seeing the homespun elegance of Obi-Wan Kenobi standing calmly a few meters away. He lowered his hand and she felt the support fade from around her limbs. "Senator Amidala," he said with a courteous nod.
She fought to hide her beaming smile behind a furrowed brow. "Padme, Obi-Wan," she insisted, "Padme. Or do I have to call you 'Knight Kenobi'?"
"It is my name," he smiled, stepping closer to her. He lifted his hand and beckoned at the beast, clicking his tongue. It stopped its wandering and turned to face him, obediently trotting closer.
"And Padme is mine," she said with a grin. She tried to not be too obvious about rubbing her bruises as the animal came closer. "Wretched thing!" she exclaimed, more angry at the ease with which Obi-Wan controlled the animal than she was with a dumb beast.
"What is his name?" asked Obi-Wan. Padme rolled her eyes – she wanted to say it was the Force which allowed him to relate to the animal so well, but she wasn't sure it was. Obi-Wan had always been good with any kind of lifeform.
"Mon calls him 'Maximus'," she said bitterly. "He's some Chandrilan monster called a poh-knee. She says they ride them. He's a gift. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was trying to kill me." Obi-Wan shrugged.
"I've seen worse assassination attempts," he admitted. He patted the creature on the neck, making comforting noises in his throat. "How long have you been trying to ride him?"
She folded her arms. "Most of the morning," she said. "I don't think this thing can be ridden, Obi-Wan."
He shook his head. "I can't imagine Senator Mothma would send you an unbroken poh-knee, Padme," he offered. "They've been known to kick holes in durasteel."
"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better." Obi-Wan ignored her and glanced up at the sun.
"Has he been facing north when you're trying to mount him?" he asked. She looked him askance and he pointed at the sun. "Has he had his back to the sun?" he asked again.
She shrugged. "I think so, yes – the slope of the hill was easier. Why?"
Obi-Wan gestured at the dark patch of sunless turf in front of Maximus. "His shadow, I think he's afraid of it."
Padme laughed out loud, startling the poh-knee and causing it to shy away from Obi-Wan's comforting embrace. "A creature that can punch through armor plate is scared of its shadow?" She snorted. "Forgive me, Obi-Wan, but I find that hard to . . ." Her voice drifted off as Obi-Wan circled Maximus around her so he was facing the sun. Even she could tell the animal had visibly relaxed. The Jedi turned and looked at her, his back to the sun and his face in subtle shadow.
"We should all be afraid the dark, Padme," he said softly. "We should always keep facing the light."
There was something in his voice that touched her, some hidden pain or uncertainty – although that was, of course, impossible. She looked at the tall Jedi standing before her, the hems of his robe worn by the cares of the universe. She had always assumed there was nothing he was afraid of, nothing he dare not face, but now she was not so sure.
Greatly daring, she reached out and took his hand. His skin was calloused and rough from years of lightsaber combat and his fingers were dreadfully strong. Silently, she moved forward and turned him around so the two of them stood side-by-side facing the sun. He let her move him, his hand gently wrapping around hers.
"And what would the palace say if they could see us?" asked Obi-Wan. "The beautiful young Senator and the Jedi holding hands?" She started, blushing at his use of the word beautiful. Were Jedi supposed to notice such things? Were they equipped to make such a judgment? Could a Jedi lie?
Obi-Wan certainly had and was and wouldn't. She looked up at him. "Let them say whatever they want about the Senator and the handsome Jedi hero," she answered him. "We know the truth." The poh-knee nudged her shoulder from behind and she turned to face it, annoyed, only to find its gaze was unmistakably asking Do you? She turned back to Obi-Wan who was looking slightly unsure about holding hands. "I could make it an order, Obi-Wan," she said. He smiled.
"The Senate commands the Jedi Council, Padme," he told her. "That does not mean individual Senators can tell individual Jedi what to do." Her face darkened and her hand unclasped his, but his fingers held hers tight. "Friends, Padme, can always ask, of course," he reminded her. She smiled.
"Are you afraid of the dark, Obi-Wan?" she asked.
"I hope so," he answered. He turned to face her, explaining. "I am not afraid of the Clone Wars, Padme. I'm not afraid of dying or getting injured. I'm not even afraid of getting men under my command killed, although Force-knows I probably should be. Death is part of life, part of the Force. I shouldn't mourn for those who pass on."
"Then what are you afraid of?" asked Padme.
"The dark," said Obi-Wan. "Like Maximus here, I'm afraid of the shadow I cast on myself and others, the darkness this war will bring out in us all."
Padme took his other hand in hers, lifting the deadly weapons that had killed who knew how many people to her lips and impulsively kissing them. "Are you talking about the Dark Side, Obi-Wan?" she asked, her voice brimming over with compassion. "I can't . . . I mean, Anakin has talked about it, but . . . if any Jedi has nothing to fear from it, it's you."
And not, she instinctively realized, Anakin.
Obi-Wan did not smile, but he didn't pull his hands away either. "Why?" he asked.
"You killed that Sith Lord in Theed!" she exclaimed. He shook his head.
"Don't underestimate the power of the Dark Side," he said, "and don't make the mistake of thinking it is just red 'sabers and Force lightning and brutal cruelty. At its core, it is selfishness, the desire to have something your way."
She dared not turn around to look in the eyes of the poh-knee, eyes she knew would be saying Like demanding to be the greatest Jedi in the universe. Suddenly, Anakin's murderous anger and rage wasn't half as shadowed and dark and chilling as his childish demands for things to be his way. How many times had he demanded something of her? Petulantly, selfishly?
How many times had she given in to him, thinking it was the compassionate, loving thing to do?
She shook her head. "You're the most selfless man I know, Obi-Wan!" she exclaimed. "You've never asked anything for yourself!"
"Really?" he asked her. "I'm here, aren't I?"
For a second she did not understand, but then he explained. "I came here to see you, Padme. I have a couple of days before I leave for the Outer Rim. I came to see you, I'm going back to Stewjon to see my family. Having a starfighter with a hyperdrive ring at your disposal is a real indulgence . . ." His voice drifted off.
His words were few, but they were devastating to her composure. She managed to stammer, "You came to see me?" but her mind was awhirl with more than surprise he would choose to visit her before his family. Obi-Wan was, as all the Senators knew, the exemplary Jedi, the perfect Jedi, the model they held up as the golden past of the Order revealing its best possible future. He was selfless, luminous, gentle, compassionate, loyal, humble – a being on whom there were no shadows.
And this shadowless man saw merely using a starfighter to visit his friends and family as a selfish indulgence.
Her mind wasn't on Obi-Wan, on what it could possibly mean he came to visit her out of all the trillions of sentients in the galaxy, but rather on Anakin. Her husband. The man who spent hours tinkering with Azure Angel, a mechanical love and fierce possession, who had married her, who had brought bloody vengeance on those who killed his mother, who had been so distracted by concern for her he'd lost an arm to Count Dooku . . .
The shadows lay so thick on Anakin the contrast between Obi-Wan and he could hardly be more stark. But she had never really noticed, or had convinced herself the bright stripes of actinic light were so very bright the shadows did not matter. Because it was true Anakin's light was brilliant and burning.
Despite everything, she loved him. And he loved her.
She began to have a very bad feeling about this.
Had she made some dreadful mistake?
Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Yes, Padme," he said, "I came to see you. Forgive me if it is an unwarranted intrusion."
She shook her head. "No, no," she assured him. "I'm . . . flattered. Thank you. We should have dinner . . ."
"It was a personal indulgence," he said. "You see my concern?"
She didn't have to lie. She shook her head. "No," she said.
He sighed. "Attachment is dangerous," he explained. "We become used to people, we expect their presence. And if we cannot love with an open heart, when the risk of their passing appears, we tighten our grip around them." He reached his hand out to her, closing his fingers into a fist, and she was suddenly cold. She saw the shadows inside his fist deepen and darken, and she realized a fundamental truth about the darkness. It was always there, inside you, beneath the soles of your feet, within the grasp of your fist. There was nothing you could do to avoid it. Some sympathetic terror made her breath hitch in her throat. "And then you have crossed to the Dark Side, because then you have imposed your selfish will on the universe."
She reached for his hand, very deliberately unfolded his fingers. "Visiting a friend is not the path to the Dark Side, Obi-Wan," she assured him.
He sighed and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Padme," he said, "I should speak of happier things."
"You're my friend, Obi-Wan," she said, "and you're frightened." She would never have spoken to Anakin like this – he would have been angry at what he would have seen as pointing out a flaw. But Obi-Wan simply accepted it as the truth. "I don't see you have any reason to be frightened, but that doesn't change the fact you are."
"This war will cost the lives of my friends," he said, "people I love. And I don't know how I'll react. When Qui-Gon died . . ." He paused and swallowed. "I was so angry, Padme," he whispered. "I wanted to kill that Zabrak so much. I wanted to slice him into tiny pieces and have him feel every single moment."
"He killed your Master!" she exclaimed. "Your friend! It's only natural . . ."
"I'm a Jedi, Padme," he said in a tone as clipped and precise as blasterfire. "My emotions are not supposed to be natural." She looked at him silently for a second. "If the Force had not been with me that day," he continued calmly, "I would have died beside Qui-Gon. The Sith Lord would have killed or captured you, and the outcome would have been very different."
Padme just stared at him, at the austere, chiseled face neatly framed by the recently-trimmed hair and beard, the unwavering 'saber-blue eyes that were both introspective and compassionate at the same time, and knew Anakin would never think such thoughts. That sort of selflessness was beyond him, the idea there were consequences so terrible merely indulging in emotion was dangerous alien to this thought. The shadows lay too heavily on him for that.
Did I make a mistake? Padme asked herself.
If she had – and she wasn't sure if she had, certainly not right now – then the mistake was made. Her duty was to make the best of the situation she found herself in. And now she knew the dangers of the darkness, of the shadows, of the things that lay on her husband's heart but not Obi-Wan's. He had explained them to her in a way Anakin would never let him explain to him.
As a wife, it was her duty to help her husband. Obi-Wan's glimpse into his private self gave her the tools to do that, allowed her to understand the dangers. It was out of character for him to be so open and display so much candor, and it seemed ludicrous he would really be so afraid of his own darkness. That sounded more like something Anakin would . . .
And then she realized what the Jedi Knight had just shown to the wife of his Jedi Padawan.
"Very good, Knight Kenobi," she said with a sardonic grin. "Very good indeed. Full marks for effort, but you lose points in the execution. You didn't reveal yourself, you showed me what you fear lies inside Anakin." Obi-Wan shrugged; he didn't look offended.
"Do you really think there is a difference?" he asked her. "I can't help him avoid mistakes unless I made them first. And we never truly overcome our shadewings; the best we can do is learn to live with them." He smiled. "It is my duty to train Anakin, and – to be honest – I need all the help I can get. I have fallen far short of what Qui-Gon wanted. But you are my friend, Padme, and Anakin cares about you deeply. Please – help me, help him."
She looked at him for a moment. How could she be angry with him? He had revealed something of his inner self – there was no real doubting his fears and worries, because if he were not concerned why would he so studiously avoid the shadows? And everything he had done was for Anakin, the man she loved. That was it, at the heart of it all Obi-Wan cared for Anakin at least as much as she did. More probably, she had to admit, because he loved selflessly, without the attachment and personal desire she felt.
For an instant, she just stood in the brightness and felt the warmth of endless luminescence bathe her. Just a moment, a split-second standing in a sunlit meadow of the Force. She opened her eyes.
Obi-Wan was standing between her and the sun, she should have been shaded from the light. But, somehow, she wasn't. "Don't you cast a shadow, Obi-Wan?" she asked.
"I try not to," the Jedi answered with a very soft smile, and held Maximus' head while she – successfully – mounted.