Chapter Thirty-Six: Shmi
"I'm Shmi Lars."
Padmé felt her eyes narrow for just the slightest minute, as soon as the name was uttered. That name, she'd heard it before somewhere, she was sure of it. Shmi. Why did it sound so familiar? Like it had importance? But realizing she must seem rude, the senator quickly put on a smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Shmi."
The older woman gave her just the slightest look of apprehension before smiling back as well. The two stood rather awkwardly for a moment, before Shmi gestured to the food. "Sit," she encouraged. "Eat. You must be hungry."
Doing as she was told, Padmé resumed her seat and picked up a sandwich. She must have truly been exhausted, because the moment she looked down at the food, she couldn't help but remember her and Cory's lunch dates. She missed the trooper terribly, Firmus and Arlo too. She hoped they were all okay after everything recently. Hopefully none of them had gotten punished for any strange reason since she and Vader had gone missing.
At last taking a bite, the senator could have sighed, it tasted so good. After three days of ration bars, a simple sandwich was heavenly. And truth be told, she was starving. It felt like she hadn't eaten in days, and with Vader incapacitated, she seriously thought about eating his portion too.
"I'll let you eat in peace," Shmi's gentle voice startled the feasting woman from her thoughts. Gazing up, she found herself staring into the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. They were so motherly and good that Padmé found herself relaxing instantly, despite knowing nothing about this woman. "If you need anything else, please, don't hesitate to call or come get me."
"You don't have to go," Padmé found herself saying around the food still in her mouth. There had been no thought of company, but the words had just come out before her brain even knew what was happening. As Shmi gave her a slightly surprised look, the senator found herself smiling sheepishly. "I…I wouldn't mind some company," she admitted. And perhaps with this woman here, she could figure out why the name 'Shmi' meant something to her.
But the older woman didn't seem to mind the request, and her smile seemed to become warmer, if possible. Nodding her head, she went out the door and came back a moment later with another chair and sat down near the senator. Neither spoke for several minutes, just sitting as Padmé ate. She noticed how Shmi was looking over Vader, pity in her expression. It still seemed so odd that Darth Vader could inspire something as basic as pity from others after all he'd done. But then, Shmi didn't know who this was, who Padmé really was, so it was a safe bet that such pity would evaporate once the truth was known.
After another moment, Padmé's political sensibilities and general goodness wouldn't allow her to remain silent anymore and she knew she had to speak. "Thank you for the food. It's delicious," she complimented. "And for allowing us to stay here. We're in your debt."
Like her husband, Shmi waved off the praise, even appearing a little embarrassed by it. "Please, you don't have to thank us. We're always happy to help those in need."
Smiling ruefully, the senator nodded. "Yes, well, you must forgive my praise as I've not seen such hospitality on Tatooine as of yet."
Again, Shmi appeared a little embarrassed as she nodded guiltily. "Yes. I'm afraid the cities here aren't known for their hospitality."
It was probably the understatement of the year, but Padmé didn't press it. She hadn't meant to be so dry, but then, this planet seemed to bring out some of the worst in her. Once more it didn't surprise her that Vader came from such a place. It seemed to accurately reflect the sort of person he was: Barren of emotions, rough personality, blistering temper. If ever there were a person to embody this place, it would be Vader. His hair was even the color of the sands and his skin soaked up the sun surprisingly well. Now that she looked at him, she realized his skin was starting to golden rather than remain the harsh red that hers was.
"I didn't mean to offend," the senator replied quietly, noting the troubled expression on the other woman's face.
But for whatever reason, Shmi only gave her a knowing smile, and waved her off. "I'm not so naïve as to be blind to what this planet really is," she replied easily. "I am only…distressed by how some people act."
Padmé nodded in understanding, before taking up her bowl of soup. It smelled delicious, but she knew she would have to be careful about eating too much. She was starving, but then, she didn't really want to make herself sick over this. It wouldn't be worth it.
Shmi, she noticed while she ate, was looking over Vader again with concern. Almost in a sort of trance, the older woman stood and leaned over the unconscious Sith, staring at him with a frown. For one horrifying moment, Padmé panicked, wondering if this woman recognized him. But then that was impossible. No one knew what was under the mask of Darth Vader, save herself, and the Emperor she was sure. There would be no way that Shmi could guess that this was really the Heir to the Galaxy.
Warm brown eyes narrowed as Shmi leaned in ever closer, hovering over Vader, just staring into his face. It unsettled Padmé slightly, but she could detect no hint of malice or even real suspicion from the other woman. Only curiosity. It made sense too. How often did a farm-wife leave the farm? How often did she get visitors? It was natural to be curious about guest, more so if they were strangers and injured.
But eventually the other woman seemed to realize what she was doing, snapping out of her trance-like study. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "But may I…look over his wounds? I have some experience with treating such things."
The senator nodded quickly. "Of course. Please," she motioned towards the Sith, showing her consent.
While she had basic field-dressing experience and she was sure Beru knew a few things, it made Padmé feel better to have someone who knew more about this than she did look over Vader. While Shmi might not be a medic, the older woman had a wisdom about her, a knowing and understanding that just could not be ignored. If she said she knew how to treat wounds, Padmé found herself trusting the older woman. It had always behooved the senator to trust her instincts, and at the moment, they were telling her to trust Shmi.
As the farmer's wife pulled back the covers, instantly she hissed, nothing but sympathy in her expression. Those pitying brown eyes scanned over all of the scars and wounds that littered the Sith's body. He still looked so strong, imposing, but Padmé couldn't help wince as she thought about all he must have gone through in order to become what he was. Vader demanded respect, and did not have sympathy for those who were weak. It didn't surprise her now, considering that he had probably gone through more than most beings could imagine and never gave up. Again, his life story was mere speculations and guesses to Padmé, but something told her she was not wrong in her hunches.
Strangely, Shmi didn't seem all too stunned, as Beru had. In fact, as she looked over the scars across his torso, her eyes automatically when to his remaining arm, looking at it carefully, even chancing to pick it up to look at his forearm. Carefully, the older woman traced a long, thin scar that started from the wrist and went almost to his elbow. Vader shuddered, but did not wake.
Shaking her head, Shmi carefully petted the Sith Lord's cheek in a tender, motherly fashion to calm him, before turning her attention to the bacta patches that had been placed over the wounds. With light touches, she checked over all the wounds, still frowning in concern, before gently rolling him over. Surprisingly, unlike when Padmé and Beru had worked on him, Vader rolled over onto his side almost instantly for Shmi, perhaps waking up enough to know that he needed to move.
The farmer's wife nodded to herself, looking at his back. Again, with feather-light touches, she traced a few of the scars that, if Padmé had to guess, were from whipping. The older woman shook her head, the first look of disgust the senator had seen finally marring her features. Shmi even seemed angry, which didn't appear to be a natural expression on her.
When her inspection was complete, and Vader rolled back over onto his back still unconscious, Shmi sat down with a shake of her head. "Poor thing," she said gently. "How long had he been a slave?"
Padmé, certainly not expecting the question, all but choked on the soup she'd been eating. She coughed and hit her chest a few times, Shmi, alarmed by the reaction, was next to her in an instant, patting her on the back as well. When the small episode was finished, and Padmé could breathe again, she turned towards the other woman and gasped out a, "What?"
For her part, Shmi seemed upset as she frowned at the senator. "I'm so sorry," she apologized quickly. "That was thoughtless of me. I didn't mean to be so blunt."
But Padmé was still stuck on the other woman's question. "How…how did you know he's a slave?" she asked, her mind trying to come up with a logical reason, but failing. Again, she had to wonder if this woman knew more about Vader than she'd thought.
Smiling sadly, Shmi pointed to Vader's arm. "His scar. Just there." It was the one she'd touched so gently.
The senator frowned. "I don't understand," she admitted. The world of slavery and brusque manners was still so strange and new to her. Working in politics and living on Coruscant had trained the former queen to think directly, but to speak around issues. No one ever said what they really meant, no one showed what they really felt. Perhaps that's why Darth Vader had been so intimidating to her and other politicians. He never talked around issues, always said exactly what he meant, and if he was displeased, he showed it. Tatooine, too, was a place where people did not seem to understand the importance of tact or bothered with softening their words.
A poignant sort of smile appeared on Shmi's face as she pulled up her sleeve and revealed a similar scar on her own arm. Padmé stared at it with wide eyes, before looking into the face of her hostess. "Every slave as a transmitter placed somewhere in their body," she explained calmly, even as the younger woman began feeling ill. "It's most commonly placed in the arm, here," she pointed to her scar, "but that's not always the case. These transmitters allow owners to track their slaves should the slaves run away, and gives them the option of detonating a small explosive."
"You mean these transmitters can kill slaves?" Padmé reeled back in disgust.
Shmi probably thought Padmé was some sort of simpleton due to her gross ignorance about how slavery actually worked, but thankfully the older woman didn't say anything about it. Instead, she just nodded her head and went on answering the questions. "Yes. If the slave is not worth retrieving. Most masters don't want to lose money and will hire others to bring the slave back."
"But you…" Padmé trailed off. A direct question was usually considered rude, and it went against her upbringing, but then, she was on Tatooine.
Thankfully, Shmi seemed to know what she wanted to ask, and the farmer only smiled. "Yes," she nodded. "I was once a slave, too. The only way to truly be ride of the tracking device is to have it surgically removed."
"Oh," was all the senator could muster up to say. So, Vader had been a slave. A real slave. As in, Palpatin must have at one point bought Vader.
It didn't seem likely that Palpatine would place any sort of transmitter into his apprentice, however, as the Emperor seemed to know everything all ready. And Vader was utterly loyal to the older man. The younger man would not run. And if someone were to get ahold of the controls that showed Vader's location…it was potentially too much of a risk to leave a transmitter in the younger Sith. And besides, it appeared that her companion no longer had one anyway, which meant that it had either been placed in him by someone else and Palpatine had had it removed, or Palpatine had placed it in and Vader had been smart enough to remove it himself. Before she would have wondered if she'd ever know for sure, but lately, she'd decided that if she stayed patient, she'd know in time.
But knowing that such confessions were usually difficult, Padmé found herself reaching out to the other woman, taking her hand, and looking her in the eye. "I didn't mean to stir up anything," she murmured.
The older woman smiled warmly at her, and squeezed her hand back. "You did nothing wrong," she reassured. "I wanted to tell." Padmé nodded, but must have had an intense look of curiosity, because Shmi continued on with a knowing twinkle in her eye. "I'm lucky to have had Cliegg buy me and set me free."
The statement was said with such fondness that the senator wasn't quite sure what to make of the statement. A part of her was disgusted, to know that anyone would buy another person; Cliegg hadn't seemed like the type. But then, this story had a happy ending. The owner had actually married his slave. It sounded like a fairytale dream. Yet a part of Padmé rebelled against the thought of ever owning another being. But maybe he'd only done it to help? Again, she wondered at what sort of planet she'd entered into.
Shmi, however, was looking back down at Vader, her expression kind and concerned. Again, Padmé wondered if everyone would look at him that way if they knew who he was. For whatever reason, the senator believed Shmi still would.
"His master must have been very cruel."
An overwhelming wave of emotion suddenly hit Padmé as she stared down at the scars. All those times Vader had been worried about the Emperor and she'd disregarded him. No wonder he'd been panicked when she'd been summoned to speak with the Emperor while he'd been gone. No wonder he had been worried when their 'relationship' had been broadcast on the news. All those times she caused him problems… What if Palpatine had taken it out of his apprentice? What if some of those newer looking marks were because of her?
Tears spilled from her eyes before she even knew what was happening. Each time she thought she was adjusting, something came up to remind her of just how screwed up everything was. When had her life gotten this complicated? Why had she gotten so involved with this man? He'd brought her nothing but misery since she'd formally met him―he'd brought her misery when she didn't even know him, too. But now she knew him so intimately. It was difficult to harden herself against him when she simply knew so much. It had hard to ignore him now when she knew more about him than anyone else, even before she'd seen behind the mask. Darth Vader was highly emotional if one was patient enough to see, to push past the overwhelm anger to look. And for whatever reason, Padmé could see, had seen, and connected herself almost unconsciously to him. She was so connected she knew for certain that she could feel what he felt, and seeing him like this, learning so much about him in such a short time after months of knowing nothing…
The sudden sensation of arms wrapping around her startled Padmé so completely, she jumped back. She was met with the kind, warm eyes of Shmi as the older woman held out her arms, inviting the other for an embrace. She didn't know this woman, didn't know where she had been born, what she liked and didn't like, or even how old she was. But those eyes, full of understanding and compassion undid the senator, and she found herself falling into the arms of one of the few people here that actually seemed to care.
Instantly, Shmi's arms were around her as Padmé sobbed. She hated herself for falling apart like this in front of someone, yet she felt so starved for the simplest touch. It felt so good to just be held, to feel the warmth and heart beat of another person, especially after three hellish days of watching others scorn you. Vader had offered what comfort he'd been able to muster that first day, but compared to what others could do, it was rather pathetic. But since it had been from Vader, it had been a rather meaningful gesture, but not what Padmé had needed. She wanted so much more from him, needed more. She needed comfort, real comfort from someone that could really show empathy.
As Shmi rubbed circles on her back, cooing and murmuring, Padmé felt like a child, but didn't care. She felt rather wretched right now. Her brain was having such a terrible time processing everything since coming to Tatooine and despite promising herself in the shower to move on, it was proving to be harder than she thought. The stress hadn't gone away the first cry out. It had unknotted itself slightly, but it was still working its way out of her system. And as she was being held, feeling her back being rubbed, the proud Galactic Senator felt her stiff shoulders sag as she decided to give up control at long last. She was tired. Tired of being the responsible one. Tired of having to worry about everyone and everything else. Sitting here in Shmi Lar's arms, Padmé decided it wasn't such a very bad thing to be taken care of.
"You poor, poor thing," Shmi murmured, rocking back and forth.
"I just…c-can't d-do it an-anymore," the younger woman sobbed. "I j-just can't!"
"Shh, you don't have to. You don't have to."
"But I c-can't l-leave h-him," Padmé cried harder, unsure what she really meant by the statement.
"I'll stay with him," she heard Shmi respond. "You can rest now. I'll look after him. Shh. It's all going to be all right."
Shaking, the younger woman just cried. A part of her knew she was being dramatic and childish, but the other part couldn't have cared less. Right now she would indulge in the sympathy and concern being shown to her. She wasn't normally the type, but, again, at the moment she didn't care.
Eventually, when she calmed, she pulled away from Shmi, muttering apologizes. Shmi didn't seem to mind, though, and only offered more reassure. And without meaning to, Padmé found herself opening up to the other woman. There was just something about her that Padmé knew she could trust. She told Shmi about their crash, about the hellish walk into the city, about the nightmare of trying to get help, about how scared she'd been when no one would offer assistance, and her fear that Vader would die because he wouldn't get help in time. She even told her about how disgusted she was with the slave trade here, and about how someone had offered to buy Vader from her.
The farm wife listened intently, patiently, as Padmé rambled on and on. It actually stunned the younger woman slightly. She normally didn't talk on like this, but once she'd started, she couldn't stop. Shmi felt safe, and she felt as though she could trust the farmer completely. Again, the name stirred something in Padmé and as she spoke, she tried to remember where she'd heard it before, why it was important, but couldn't. But she trusted her instincts and decided to chance the risk of opening herself up.
Thankfully, Shmi didn't ask questions, just accepted what was being told to her, which relieved the senator. It wasn't ignorant agreement, however, as she could tell the other woman did have questions, but respectfully declined from asking them. And soon, an hour had gone by with Padmé just talking and Shmi calmly explaining things about Tatooine.
When finally they noticed it was dark, Shmi stood, patting Padmé's arm affectionately. "Perhaps you should take some rest now, dear," she smiled. "I'll make you up a bed in here if you'd like."
"That'd be wonderful, actually," the younger woman replied, suddenly realizing how tired she was.
"I'll be right back."
As Padmé closed her eyes, it seemed like only a moment before Shmi came back and gently shook the dozing girl. "Come lie down here."
Startled slightly, the senator looked over to the corner of the room, and noticed that a little bed had been made up for her. It was low to the ground, nothing but a mattress, but it looked like the finest bed in the world to her. There were soft looking pillows and cushy blankets. And so, allowing Shmi to help her, she made it to the little bed and sighed in relief when she felt her head hit the pillows. "But…he needs," she murmured, remembering Vader, but Shmi pushed her back down.
"Shh. I'll watch over him. Get some rest now."
Padmé didn't argue, and it didn't take more than moment before she slipped into an exhausted, but pleasant sleep.
oOoOoOo
As Shmi covered up the weary Dormé, she couldn't help the small, sad smile that came to her lips. Such a sweet girl, but oh the horrors she'd endured the past several days. No one should have had to suffer like that. The poor thing was exhausted.
Once the girl was settled, the farmer's wife turned and looked at the young man who was still unconscious on the bed. Walking over to him, she placed her hand on his forehead again. He shuddered in his sleep, but didn't wake. It was a little concerning that he hadn't woken, but then Shmi knew that these things took time. Grabbing a glass of water from off the tray, she carefully lifted the young man's head and poured a little water down his throat. Thankfully, he drank it without complaint, greedily consuming it until Shmi pulled the cup away.
Arlo, she believed the boy's name was, gave a snort that sounded strangely disapproving, before settling back down. He was burning up, and with her motherly instincts coming to life, Shmi grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the cool water left by the bed. As she dabbed his brow, face, and neck, she fell into a sort of quiet meditation.
Studying the stern looking face now that she was at liberty to do so, without anyone noticing, Shmi took in the face before her. It was a handsome face, but bespoke of far too many concerns and misery. He looked so young, and yet so old at the same time. His permanent expression seemed to be a strange combination of severe disapproval and complete blank. Again, her eyes fell upon the scar on his remaining arm. She understood what it was like to have bad masters, ones that treated your life as though it were insignificant. But even after all her years in slavery, she'd never seen someone so…beaten. Usually masters, without perhaps consciously realizing it, liked to keep their slaves looking good. If they were beaten up too badly, they would not fetch as good of price on the market should they decide to sell later on. And there was also the fact that slaves were not cheap, and to ruin something you paid so much money for was a waste. Shmi herself bore a few scars from past masters losing their tempers, but it was nothing compared to what this young man had apparently endured.
Again, a wave of pity washed over Shmi as she gazed down at the young face. Even his face bore scars. She wondered if the boy had lost his arm because of a past master. Staring at it, she saw that it had been attached―quite painfully so―to mechanical pieces. At first glance it looked like some sort of metal cap to place over the wound that had been inserted into the remaining skin around the injury. But now that she looked at it, she realized that the metal had been cleanly sliced. He would have had to have had a mechanical arm, but it had been cut off. Those were quite expensive, no one around here could afford to give themselves mechanical limbs, let alone give one to a slave.
But then, he wasn't a slave anymore, was he? The scar on his arm was fair proof to suggest he wasn't. So was Dormé's reaction and story, for that matter. The girl had been appalled that someone had offered to buy Arlo from her while in town, and her reaction to even speaking about slavery meant that she wasn't used to it, and Shmi could certainly tell she didn't agree with it. To meet someone so sensitive to slavery was rare for the inhabitance of Tatooine, and it only served to make Shmi all the more curious about her guests.
It wasn't all that surprising, however, that Arlo did not speak of his time as a slave. She could only imagine what horrors he'd had to live through. Bringing them up would have to be extremely painful. She knew she wouldn't bring up such a horrible past easily had she gone through what he looked like he'd been through.
Whatever had happened in this boy's life before, Shmi was grateful that it was over now. That scar on his arm meant that he was freed. And he had such a good companion in Dormé. Even though she had only just met the girl, the farmer knew that the younger woman cared deeply about this young man. So deeply, in fact, that Shmi wondered if there was anything going on between the two. While she would have never considered herself as much of a romantic, she couldn't help but believe they'd make a handsome couple together. Dormé was very beautiful and Arlo handsome.
Chiseled, defined features, blonde hair, and a dimple in his chin assured that this young man would always have admirers despite the scars and stern appearance. But the more she looked at him, the more Shmi felt her heart break. Without meaning to, her mind wandered back to the image of a little boy that she'd desperately clung to for sixteen years now. Despite all that time, Shmi made sure to keep a picture of her son in her mind. And while many of his features had faded unconsciously from her mind, his face had not.
Anakin had had blonde hair and a dimple in his chin too. A round face had housed wide, curious blue eyes, the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. His hair had been pale golden, the likes of which were not all that common on Tatooine. He had the most beautiful smile, too. Every time Shmi thought about it, her heart broke knowing that that smile was gone forever, snuffed out before anyone could come to cherish that small gift as much as she had.
Tears sprang up into her eyes, but Shmi had long ago stopped crying much. It had been nearly two decades, she should have been over her son's death, but she wasn't. She knew she never truly would be. No parent should have had to grieve the loss of their child, but Shmi had, she'd grieved and endured as best as she could. Now all she had were her memories of the little miracle baby that had made her world so complete.
As she came out of her memories, Shmi couldn't help but wonder what her son would look like had he lived. Her eyes scanned over Arlo again, and something odd stirred in her breast. While this young man was handsome, she hoped that her Anakin would not look like him. This young man's striking looks were marred so horribly by years of abuse and anger. Her little boy had always been so happy, so cheerful, always looking for ways to make other people happy. As a mother, she hoped that her son would never have had reason to grow as severe and miserable looking as this young man. It was understandable why this boy looked the way he did, but it still saddened Shmi.
No, she hoped that wherever Anakin's soul was, it was at peace and one with the Force. She dearly hoped that he knew how much she missed him and how much she loved him. She knew he wouldn't want her to worry or feel guilty, but she couldn't always help those feelings. They were natural, after all, for all those who survived when others didn't.
A slight sound from behind her alerted Shmi that she was no longer alone. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Beru entering, creeping as carefully as she could. The blonde stared at her mother-in-law before offering a small smile.
"We were beginning to wonder what happened to you," the younger woman teased.
Shmi smiled. Beru was a good woman. Very good. Owen was a lucky man. Beru was exactly what the overly cautious, stern young man needed in his life.
"Dormé is sleeping," she pointed over to the corner where the brunette was curled up, fast asleep. "I promised to watch over him."
Beru nodded her understanding, before frowning. "Do you think he'll be okay? I mean..."
Her daughter-in-law had seen the wounds and should have known that while infected, the young man would more than likely make a full recovery. He was strong, despite his weakened condition, and strong young men had a way of bouncing back. But then, Beru was not used to seeing someone so abused.
"I'm sure he'll recover," Shmi replied softly. "He just needs rest."
The younger woman nodded before simply falling silent and stood beside her mother-in-law. After a few moments had passed, Beru sighed. "If you need a break, come find me. I'll sit with him too."
Shmi smiled warmly at the kind-hearted woman. "All right. Goodnight. Get some rest."
The blonde nodded, squeezing Shmi's shoulder in comfort, before heading out of the room, leaving her mother-in-law to think and dwell upon the past and present.
Author's Note: Well…sorry for the dely. That 'Polar Vortex' hit where I'm at pretty hard. My internet connection hasn't really been working at my apartment. When it gets to be -40C/-40F (they're the same in this case :D ) you know it's WAY too cold. And when I got internet back, I had some other issues come up that put me in a mood where I didn't want to write anything, so sorry! I'll try and be a happier person again and write. :)
Reviews, please? :3