Chapter 1
'Why do I feel sunshine on my face?' I question silently. 'I wanted "eternal peace" if I even deserve it, not sunshine.' I suppose I was lying to myself, like I did constantly. I had always loved the sun especially like Tatooine's. After Mustafar, though, my love of it had transformed. I had been trapped in my wicked suit, which made my insides crawl every time I was in too high a temperature, not to mention how my entire body would feel disgustingly hot and slimy with sweat, oozing from my remaining human body, not to mention the lack of my limbs, which made any form of, well, really anything a tad difficult.
My life suit enclosed what was left of my corpse after Mustafar, so I simply couldn't do anything but live; only my physical needs in the suit were met. I couldn't even move properly. I obviously couldn't train like I used to, and I definitely couldn't feel the sun on my face like I loved to.
"I did tell you, didn't I?" a female voice says, sounding like a goddess, purring gently. It was a soothing sound that only one person could create. Only one person could ever make me feel so at peace with just a few words. It was Padmé, my one and only angel. All of a sudden, I realize something. Padmé was dead, so thus I was dead and concluding that she was in Heaven, for where else would an angel go, the Force allowed her precious chosen one/murdering Sith lord to journey there-here, as well.
As these thoughts slowly occurred to my very sluggish brain, I realized the conversation was continuing. Quickly, deciding that I'd like to hear the conversation without them knowing I'm awake, I keep my eyes closed, hoping that whoever else was around had a voice identifiable to me.
"Well, you're right, as always. It's completely my fault; I was sure it was impossible. He always did say my weakness was trusting the Jedi authorities so much. He just had to prove them wrong again," an elderly voice said, scratching like an old record at points. Without opening my eyes I could determine two things for certain: he was quite amused in an odd, sarcastic way, and he was my best friend in the entire world.
Obi-wan.
'Wait!' I think, utterly surprised at my own foolishness. 'How could I count him as my friend? I KILLED him! He probably hates me. Even I, the least modest of anyone ever, hate me.'
Suddenly, I wanted more than anything else to pinch myself and wake up from this mess. Maybe if I try hard enough I'll actually awake next to Padmé, and this will all be a terrible nightmare, the whole 'going Sith' thing and killing Padmé had all been a figment of the darker side of my imagination. Unfortunately, I knew that it was impossible, for I had wished that everyday for the past twenty years. I accepted that I wouldn't rise from this. I had to accept it everyday after I would wake up and hope fleetingly, desperately, that it all was a nightmare. After all this time, I finally know it wasn't. As these and more thoughts try and squeeze into my brain, I realize that the conversation between Obi-wan and Padmé was almost over.
"We'll settle this later. I think he's almost awake," she says as I hear her clothing ruffle to allow her to bend down, and I feel her soothing kiss on my cheek. It's the first time I have felt her touch in so many years. It was a gentle caress against my rough skin, but it was enough to make my heart beat faster than any light saber duel and make my breathing intensify to nearly unprecedented levels.
"Padmé," I whisper. It wasn't a question, just a fact, as though I had to make sure it wasn't someone else, as though I hadn't known it was her immediately.
"Yes." She also answers without a questioned response. Finally, I open my eyes, blinking a few times, trying to see clearly for the first time without assistance in a long time. Because I'm lying upon the ground, I can't see much of my surroundings. I stare up at Padmé's face. It still looks exactly like it had when I had seen her last on Mustafar.
Her face is molded into a smile, though. During the war it had been a challenge to get her to give a true grin. Her almond-shaded hair is hanging in gorgeous, flawless curls, gently shaping her petite face. Her eyes are gazing down at me. For a moment our eyes met. The more I stare into the cinnamon orbs and try to even imagine more beautiful eyes, the more I saw my own reflection, glimmering back at me. Then our eyes break the almost tangible connection. I lovingly gawk at her beauty and finally grasp the fact she was really here, and she was also wearing the dress she wore to our wedding. The most perfect night in existence.
"Padmé, am I dreaming?" I know she's really here. I finally understand this. For some reason, however, the words come tumbling out of my mouth anyway. It was like a young child who knew not to touch the a precious and breakable object, and as he decides to turn around and play with something else, he finds his arm reaching out to it anyway, almost without his control, but it's what he had desired the whole time.
"No," she purrs, like a ferocious tiger wanting, not to kill something but to have her stomach rubbed.
"Padmé, am I dead?" I know I'm dead. I really do. Why I would ask her this almost absurd question, but I think, staring up at her, she knows that death, what I've been trying to allude for many years, is a concept that's difficult to grasp, to say the least.
"Yes," she whispers so quietly I could barely hear her airy response.
'I'm really dead,' I say to myself. For another moment I lay there, just staring up at my angel, trying to comprehend the nightmare my life had turned into.
She didn't move from her kneeling position, but leaned back, sensing I needed a few moments of silence to ponder this twist of events.
In my case, a twist of events is usually not a good thing. A twist of events led to me becoming the new apprentice of Palpatine. I mentally shuttered at his filthy name, as though I was shaking off his hold on me. However, a twist of events led me to meeting and marrying Padmé. A turn of events had led to my child, my children it would be, I suppose. Having a daughter was another concept that would take far more time than the few minutes Padmé would allow me to think, while not start to question my ever-fleeting sanity or my being actually alive, thinking I'm actually in a different body somewhere else. But wait, I'm dead, which brings me back to the point of this mental conversation.
I gave an internal grin. I hadn't had many of these conversations with myself in the past few decades. I probably wouldn't have even recognized what I was doing if I hadn't had a few about Luke recently, which brings me to Luke. I had missed so much time with him. He was full grown. He didn't need a father anymore. If anything, he would be a better role model than me. He became a Jedi, opposed the emperor, and redeemed his father. For some reason, the redemption seemed like it should go under his résumé rather than mine. I was the fool who got myself into that predicament, and he was the rash son that had to save his father, becoming the stronger one, both mentally and physically.
I couldn't help but smile at my son's accomplishment. Here, I had thought I was forever forced into Sithdom, but he came along and proved everyone wrong. Belatedly, I realize it was the first time in a long time I had smiled at someone else's supremacy.
Padmé took my smile as an acceptance to this new twist, and leaned back in.
"My angel," I murmur, even though it feels wrong to call her 'mine' after what I had done. I pull away from her, and turn my head downward to the grass that lay beneath me.
"Anakin?" She utters a name I haven't been addressed by in a long time. It had been even longer since I answered to it, but now, I couldn't imagine being called anything but. She has that hypnotizing effect that I'm not sure is completely healthy, but I care not. I look up at her, with what I hope was a puzzled expression.
I hadn't had to make expressions in twenty years. Speaking of which, it seemed as though I was fully human. I realize it's a little late to realize that, but I'd give up my body thousands of times to keep that grin plastered to her face; she would always draw my attention first.
I suppose I didn't give the right expression because she soon looks upon me with a look I couldn't comprehend. Her eyebrows are arched; her eyes wide, her lips tilt upward, causing a crinkle in her round cheeks. Of course, I could recognize the look. I had seen it enough, but why would she give me that look? The look of love, warmth, approval?
I realize, in retrospect, I was not the one to have killed her directly, for the children survived, but I must have played a key role. How can she forgive me for the atrocities I did in her name? Countless acts of horror have been committed by me. Why does she look upon me with such love?
I keep staring at the grass beneath me, as though I'm scrutinizing its appearance. For a few moments, Padmé is silent, and I try and will the grass to grow, but, alas, how am I going to focus on grass when there is an angel beside me. I leave the grass to its slow growing, and stare up, again, at my wife.
She's still smiling. It hasn't even faded, in fact, if my eyes weren't mistaken, it would seem as if it has grown more. Our eyes meet again and there's another extended silence, before her eyes dart to my hands and takes them within her own. I savor the warmth of her smooth skin and the love that's radiating from her utter presence. She doesn't seem to mind the rough, callused hands that I have, and she appears to be just as ecstatic as myself.
Then, I pull my hands away, using them to prop myself up into a comfortable position. It's then when I see Obi-wan. In my love of Padmé, I had forgotten of the other person in the magnificent valley I was apparently in.
"Anakin," she murmurs into my ear once more. Caught up in our exchange, I again forget our guest. He is standing there, a tad awkwardly, but he seems genuinely happy for us, which is completely absurd. Why would he be happy for a breach in the code? Actually, why would he be happy for a Sith to be just feet away from him, the same one that did him in before?
I look at my beloved again, before asking her, in just one word, "Why?"
She smiles at me and too answers with one word, "Love."
I give her a confused look, but apparently this one worked better than my previous attempt and she explains.
"I love you, so very much, more than I could ever explain in words. I know that the horrendous events that have occurred have happened partially because of your hand in them. However," she pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect, "the fact remains that I'm just as, if not more, madly in love with you as when we said, 'I do'. This isn't an infatuation, this is pure love. This is the love you read about in Nubian folk tales. It's the love of myths. This can't be torn apart by an evil conspirator. I know it'll be difficult, but right now, I love you, and you forgive the ones you love, so I forgive you, and I love you, Anakin Skywalker, more than ever." She had been staring directly at me, right into my eyes the whole declaration. It was eerily reminiscent of what I had said to her when I proposed. I didn't doubt that this hadn't escaped her.
To put it simply, I'm completely taken aback. This was supposed to be the part when I begged on my knees for forgiveness. Actually, forgiveness would come later. This was supposed to be the part when I begged for just a minute chance that we could ever have anything between us for the rest of eternity. How could she love such a monster such as me? I, who had murdered more people than she had ever met. I, who had tortured and brutally murdered all whom I held so dear. She was obviously far too good for the evil Sithlord I was.
"Padmé," I begin, licking my lips, trying to prepare for some eloquent, grandiose speech in return. It had always been her who could write and deliver words with beauty. I was the one who helped with aggressive negotiations.
"Padmé," I start again, "I honestly have nothing to say. How can I even respond to such a beautiful declaration of love? I love you so much, too much. I don't even understand how you can even stand my presence. I have killed millions, all in your name. I love you so much, but how could you bear to even look me in the eye?" I move my gaze to the grass once more. "Why are you forgiving me so easily? Why not make me beg for a moment of your time? Then, perhaps, I would feel a tad more worthy of you. You are the angel that I fell in love with the moment I saw you so many years ago. You, the beautiful queen, and I, the pitiful slave. I see little has changed."
She lifts my chin with her hand, like people would do in holofilms and gave a playful, but intense, smile.
"I see little has changed between us." I give her the puzzled look from before, becoming more familiar with my facial muscles.
"We both love each other so. We both want to be with each other for as long as we live. We would give up everything for each other, but still, something seems to separate our bond of infinite devotion. It was always the Jedi or the Senate, but now, it's you, your self-loathing that wants us apart because you're under the notion you don't deserve me."
Another eloquent speech from the politician. I'll be honest: I didn't believe her for a moment. I was a Sithlord. I murdered millions of people, tearing apart families or killing whole families, it mattered not. I give an involuntary, weak shudder. It seems as though Padmé hasn't lost her mind-reading ability and is staring at me as though I am speaking this aloud.
"Padmé, I don't know what to say. Your time, your love is invaluable to me. You have always been my reason for existing, but I think, no, I know that you should have someone better. Maybe someone who didn't murder half of the galaxy?"
She gives a light chuckle before saying simply, "No. I love you, you love me. The rest will come with time. For now, I am happy with that, and you should be as well."
I find myself smiling, looking adoringly at her picturesque face.
"Now that we have that taken care of," she says, in a more business tone, "there's someone I'd like you to meet." She grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet with more strength than I would ever think could come from someone so small, besides Master Yoda, of course.
"Anakin, this is one of my best friends, Obi-wan Kenobi. Obi-wan, this is my husband, the one I was telling you so much about, Anakin Skywalker." Both Obi-wan and I look at her as though she had lost her mind, but, humoring her, we walk forward and shake hands. His handshake is firm, as always, but there is a gentler undertone, the way he squeezed my palm. Our eyes meet and I force myself to keep the contact, as difficult as it may be. His aquamarine eyes, so much like mine, are neither the harsh nor cruel ones I expected. I idly notice that he looks like he did in the middle of the Clone Wars, with dark hair and far fewer wrinkles, but most of all, he seems genuinely content, like he wasn't shaking hands with his murderer.
The whole experience is eerily reminiscent to my first meeting with him aboard the Nubian starship so many years ago. The memory felt so innocent, so light, neither of us knowing of Qui-gon's murder coming up in mere days, nor of the bond we would share, so strong but taking many years to develop. He breaks off the handshake, though I don't know how long I'd been standing there and quickly forgets the pretence that we are first meeting.
"Anakin," he says, under his breath. It's obvious he had prepared for this meeting, in that he has the calm exterior of a proper general, composed and civilized. However, as much as he prepared, he still stands there, seemingly flabbergasted, just taking in my appearance.
In turn, I stare at him. This meeting is one I never foresaw. It is the one that I was sure I had thrown away on Mustafar and sealed its fate aboard the Death Star. Seeing him again, so young and so happy was impossibly wonderful. It is as though we were never apart, that we could go and battle droids and the Sith in just moments. Just thinking about the Sith teleports me back to the present.
I merely stand there, unable to foresee his actions toward me. Will he swing out his lightsaber and strike me down? Will he act as though I'm his padawan again? How can I treat him as though I never murdered my best friend?
Padmé, obviously discontent by our blatant staring, steps between us, and uncharacteristically pulls us into a three-way hug. I return the gesture a bit awkwardly but no less enthusiastic. I smile at both of them, and they mirror my joy.
Padmé releases us from her grasp and backs away again. It's clear that that move is enough to motivate Obi-wan to find the words to speak to me.
"Anakin?" he asks with a disbelieving smile. I see that I'm not the only one who believes this to be a figment of my wild imagination. I nod my head vigorously, yet cautiously, towards my former master.
I'm pulled into a hug again, this time by Obi-wan. His moves are subtly more intimate than ever before. I take note of the way he puts his hand on my neck and the way he pats my back, like a real father. I had always told him that he could watch after others like a stern, but loving mother, but he had never acted like that toward me. He had always been afraid to become to close to me, I think, in retrospect. He didn't want to lose me like he had lost Qui-gon.
We break off and beam upon each other. The uncontrollable grin is contagious, and Padmé soon gives a wide smile. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so perfect. There were no Separatists, no Sith, no secrets, just Padmé and Obi-wan on a gorgeous, warm day.
"I just can't believe it," he says, after a few minutes. "I was so sure you were really dead." It is blaringly obvious he was not speaking of the death literally.
"I," I start, my voice tremulous, "I was sure I was dead too." I feel my eyes shaking like a rapidly falling podracer. I rapidly blink a few times, and I see him doing the same. I couldn't recall the last time I saw him cry. Actually, I don't think I ever saw him cry, not when we were captured and tortured, not when he battled Count Dooku, his master's master, not even when Qui-gon die. He never shed a tear, that I saw, for his master, even though I knew he took up an enormous portion of his heart, one I never thought I could fill.
"Anakin, I've missed you." He seems to be forcing the words out, not like they hurt, but like they were forbidden from ever reaching his lips. He keeps glancing around, as though he expects someone to come and lock him away for admitting that his heart was vulnerable to others.
"I'd say I missed you too, but that would be a lie. To think of the life I once held was not permitted with Palpatine." The word felt like mud or soot in my mouth. It had taken all of my strength to force my tongue to even speak the word, as though it was taboo.
"He never let me think of my old life. I suppose he knew his hold on me depended on my misery and on my guilt. He never deluded himself to think I was loyal to him. Like all Sith, I was attracted to power and it was that hunger of power that could disappear if I recalled what it caused me."
After I give that minute confession, I look at him, and find him completely and totally uncomfortable, not that that surprised me. I could see easily that Obi-wan would far rather pretend, like I had, that it is the middle of the Clone Wars right now and that I had never turned against him and our largest battle with one another was about when to spar or whether to move the clones north or west against the droid army.
It is nicer than I would admit to most to see him again, especially without a blade between us. However, our regained friendship would have to cease.
"Obi-wan?" I begin before my brain decides how to phrase this delicate exchange. I mindlessly curse my overeager mouth, while he looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. He probably noticed my nerves from the quavering in my voice, in just that one word.
Damn nerves. They should go take a long walk off of a very short ship. Meanwhile, back wherever we are, I am faced with a curious Obi-wan and a rather confused Padmé.
"I know, Master, that you would like to think as though the past two decades have never occurred, but they have." I pause, taking in their utterly puzzled stares. "You seem to want to treat me as though that time never passed. I see it. You act as though there was never a blade between us, but there was and it isn't fair to you to keep deluding you into a false sense of trust." While searching for more words, Obi-wan gives a short laugh, more like a snort than anything else, and opens his mouth to probably tell me to never show my face to him again.
"Anakin, though you may, at times, doubt it, I am perfectly sane. I know that you became a Sithlord and even killed me." He pauses, drawing out the declaration that would send me away from him forever. I could almost feel it coming; I could see the words forming at his lips and give an internal flinch, glad that the pain, the shame and the melancholy will soon be pushed aside when I am not confronted by so many horrific memories.
"I think you're being absurd, Anakin. I'm not here to curse you or throw pebbles at you." He gives a small grin, recalling, I'm sure, the time when we fought in the clone wars and desperate Separatists actually started tossing rocks at us.
"All I want is your friendship. I trust the Force. If the Force allowed you here, then I should trust its judgment." He gives another small smile at me, before adding, "Besides, I trust you, Anakin. I know there is little reason to, but I do. You were my padawan and I can't help how much I, well, umm, care for you." His declaration of affection was somewhat lost in the ending, but I know that it took him a lot of strength to say that to me. However, at the moment, I am rather bewildered, to say the least.
Like Padmé, he tells me that he cares for me and that I can go turn against everything and everyone and once I feel remorse for the deeds I have committed, he will always be there. I must have stood there, mouth agape for more time than what was accepted in any form of usual company. These two, however, were not any form of usual company. They consisted of my very best friend and my darling wife. Both of whom love me and I love them, more than I can converse with anyone.
Finally, I break out of my hypnosis and try and make a grin wide enough to convey the utter bliss that is searing through my veins. Difficulties may come, for my mental health and from others' opinions, but all of the problems will be faced. As long as I have my angel on my left and my best friend on my right, I will be able to face everything. In life, I faced my fears and fell, but in death, I will succeed where I failed and I will reap the rewards of succeeding, utter bliss.