Chapter 29 – Light

Five days later

Coruscant

"What, am I not good enough for you? Is that it?"

An exasperated Anakin did his best to keep his vexation at bay as he rocked Leia, the baby girl wailing uproariously and incessantly in his arms. Anakin paced back and forth on the patio of Padmé's apartment while the late afternoon traffic rushed by above and below him, the orange light of the fading sun bathing him and his children in a gentle golden hue. Luke – whom Anakin could unabashedly declare his favorite child at the moment – was blissfully silent as he lay in his floating crib to Anakin's left, the polar opposite of his irascible sister.

"Well that's too bad, because it looks like we're stuck with each other," Anakin said, not entirely sarcastically. "Your mother is still at the Senate and I'd reckon she's going to be there for a while, so maybe you should come to terms with me like Luke has, huh?"

Unconvinced by his logic, Leia continued to cry and shriek in his arms, causing Anakin to roll his eyes. It had been three days since they had left Polis Massa, and ever since they had returned to Coruscant, Anakin had been relegated to babysitting duties while Padmé undertook the impossible task of salvaging what was left of the Republic after Elegius had shattered it.

Despite having given birth merely days prior, Padmé had insisted upon being the one to inform the Senate about Elegius' abdication. She hadn't told the full truth of course – no one was to know that Elegius was once the Jedi Knight Shmi Skywalker and the mother of Anakin – but she had revealed a great deal, including the fact that Qui-Gon was in fact alive and that she and Anakin were married.

After that startling press conference, she and Senator Organa had taken up the mantle of resolving the power vacuum at the top of the Republic now that Elegius was gone and Palpatine assassinated. Anakin didn't know exactly what this work entailed, but he knew it was arduous to the extreme as demonstrated by the heavy rings under his wife's eyes when she returned home late at night and left first thing in the morning.

While Anakin was immeasurably proud of Padmé and deeply impressed by her dedication, he couldn't deny that he missed her. He felt entirely out of his element taking care of the twins and it was obvious they needed their mother more so than they needed him. Leia made that point especially clear, as she spent nearly every waking minute crying and protesting his presence. Luke was far less clamorous in his objections, but Anakin could tell that he too missed his mother. It made Anakin feel thoroughly inadequate as a parent to know that his own children didn't seem to have any sort of affinity for him.

"Why don't you ask your parents for help?" Padmé had suggested when he had confessed his frustrations to her late last night. "I'm sure your mother will know how to help."

Anakin had shot her down immediately, shocked that she would even suggest such a thing. "She nearly killed you, Padmé!" he had exclaimed. "There's no way I'm letting her near our children! Not in a million years!"

While Padmé had been too tired to argue with him then, he knew she was disappointed with him for his steadfast refusal to forgive his mother. Anakin couldn't understand why she was so willing to forgive Shmi after what she had done to her. Was she not horrified of his mother like he was? Had she somehow forgotten how much she had despised Elegius mere weeks ago?

Either way, Anakin was alone for the meantime. Padmé had called her parents who were on Naboo to come to the capital to assist him, but they wouldn't be here for at least another week. Anakin couldn't deny that he was deeply nervous about meeting his parents-in-law for the first time. How would they react to learning that their daughter had been married to him in secret for three years?

Such qualms were trivial, however, in relation to all the other problems he had swirling around in his mind. First and foremost was the question of his mother's supposed redemption. He hadn't spoken to Shmi since she had nearly killed him five days ago on Polis Massa. She and Qui-Gon had taken a separate vessel from him and Padmé to Coruscant and to the best of his knowledge, they were still on the planet, most likely at his father's apartment. Qui-Gon had assured him that Elegius would never return, but Anakin couldn't be so sure. What if she decided she had made a mistake in abdicating? What if she came up with some convoluted rationalization to return to the limelight and seek power once more?

He would have to kill her if that happened. He, Obi-Wan, and the rest of the Knights of Jinn – assuming there would be other knights in the future, that is – would not let such an eventuality come to pass. Through her destruction of the Sith and Jedi, Shmi had managed to bring the Force into balance. It was now up to them to keep it that way.

The new order was still a nebulous concept, however. With Yoda retired and Anakin preoccupied with his children, Obi-Wan had assumed the sole responsibility of tracking down any survivors of the purge. Even he had been delayed, however, having elected to go to Mandalore first to return the Darksaber and ultimately – so Anakin hoped, at least – to properly apologize to the Duchess Satine. He hoped that when Obi-Wan returned, the two of them could truly begin to bring their new order to fruition, but he had to keep his expectations low lest he get burned. While Sidious was indeed dead and Elegius gone for the time being, the galaxy was still in a state of entropy. They would have to tread carefully going forward if this new order was going to succeed. After all, it was the hubris of the previous order which had precipitated its demise.

Anakin was stirred from his ruminations when he noticed something odd. In fact, it was the lack of something which attracted his attention. He heard…

Silence.

Stunned, Anakin looked down to see that Leia had finally ceased crying. She had nuzzled up against his chest and was looking up at him with wide, glassy brown eyes. Leia had never before looked so comfortable in his arms; she had used to be stiff as a board and entirely averse to his touch whenever he held her. Now she looked like how she did in Padmé's arms: content and somewhat sleepy.

"Maybe you're not so bad after all," Anakin said as he grinned down at his baby girl. At this, Leia made a soft gurgling sound, causing Anakin's smile to broaden and his stress to melt away.

Maybe none of it would be as bad as he feared, after all. Maybe the worst really was over.

Mandalore

With two heavily armed Mandalorian guards on either flank, Obi-Wan was escorted down the hallways of the Palace on Sundari. Marching solemnly into the main hall, Obi-Wan held the hilt of the Darksaber in his hands in front of him, the hallowed weapon wrapped in fine, embroidered cloth.

Chin held high, Obi-Wan met the eyes of the woman to whom he sought to bestow this weapon: Satine Kryze. Seated atop her relatively modest throne, Satine met his gaze with an unreadable expression, clearly surprised by his presence yet too stately to reveal such shock to him.

Well versed in the courtly etiquette of Mandalore, Obi-Wan came to a stop several meters in front of Satine's throne. Getting down on one knee, Obi-Wan bowed his head and held the Darksaber up high. He bit his tongue fiercely so as to mitigate the pain in his shoulder where this very weapon had pierced him less than a week ago. His arms quaked, yet he refused to succumb to the pain and lower the blade.

"Master Kenobi, you may rise," Satine said after a few moments. Relieved, Obi-Wan dropped his arms quickly and got to his feet, a grimace imprinted on his face as he met Satine's eyes once more.

"Your Grace, I have come to Mandalore to return the Darksaber to its rightful owner," he said, his sonorous voice booming in the high-domed hall. "She who pilfered this blade three years ago is no more."

Satine arched an eyebrow at this and leaned forward slightly in her throne. "Is that so?" she asked in a low voice. "How did this come about?"

Obi-Wan hesitated as he glanced down at Satine's advisors who were standing on either side of the throne. He certainly couldn't tell her the full truth, as that was classified information to which not even the Senate of the Republic was privy. Besides, Satine didn't even know who Elegius was in the first place.

"I am afraid it is not within my rights to say," he said therefore, cringing slightly when Satine narrowed her eyes at this. "What matters is that the blade of Mandalore has returned home."

Satine's expression remained skeptical, yet she stood up from her throne anyway and began to descend the stairs toward him. At once, Obi-Wan made to lower himself to the ground once more to offer her the Darksaber, yet Satine stopped him before could.

"There is no need, Master Kenobi," she said hastily, now at eye level with him as she continued to approach. "I can see that you are wounded. It is not the way of the Mandalorian to inflict undue suffering on her guests."

Obi-Wan bowed his head appreciatively and kept it lowered as he extended the swathed Darksaber to her. He inhaled sharply when he felt Satine's hand brush over his as she unwrapped the blade in his hands and took it. Swallowing hard, Obi-Wan lowered his hands and stuffed the fabric in his robes as he watched Satine inspect the Darksaber.

"It is unblemished," she said, sounding relieved as she turned the hilt over in her bony hands. Tentatively, she placed her finger over the trigger and activated the weapon, the jet-black blade erupting to life with a deafening crackle. "And the blade untarnished," she commented, the black blade reflected in her pale blue eyes. "You have performed a great service returning this saber to its home, Master Kenobi," she said upon sheathing the blade. "You are forever in our gratitude."

"I was merely performing my duty," Obi-Wan said automatically, instinctively refusing the praise.

Satine frowned and tilted her chin upward, clearly displeased by his humility. "Indeed," she said stiffly as she took a step away from him. "That is the way of the Jedi, is it not? Duty above all else."

Obi-Wan winced, the passive aggressive comment biting him with equivalent affliction as the Darksaber had. "I am a Jedi no longer, Your Grace," he told her, meeting her bitter eyes with unwavering resolve. "The Jedi Order has come to an end."

Stunned by this proclamation, Satine glanced behind her at her advisors who seemed similarly flummoxed by this information. News about the purge of the Jedi had been kept under close wraps at Padmé's insistence who felt that informing the public about their demise would inspire mass panic and dissent amongst a war-weary population. It was therefore no surprise that the Mandalorians had not known what had transpired on Coruscant a week prior.

"What happened?" Satine asked incredulously.

"Once again, I am afraid that it is not within my rights to say," he said with an apologetic bow of his head. "What I can tell you is that a new order has been formed. A new order unencumbered by the restraints of the old."

Satine arched an eyebrow, clearly catching his drift. "Do you endorse this change?" she asked.

"It was I who promulgated it," Obi-Wan said proudly, puffing out his chest in an instinctive, perhaps even primal attempt to impress her.

Rather than expressing pleasant surprise like he had envisioned, however, Satine narrowed her eyes further still at him. "How fortuitous that you had a change of mind, Master Kenobi," she said icily. "It is a shame, however, that it came far too late."

"Too late?" Obi-Wan repeated, utterly crushed by this assessment. Satine didn't respond, unwilling to meet his pleading eyes as she turned away to walk back to her throne. Feeling increasingly desperate, Obi-Wan took a step after her, prompting the Mandalorian guards on either side of him to reach to their holsters. Sensing the charge of the situation, Obi-Wan froze and took a deep breath.

"Thank you for returning the Darksaber to Mandalore, Master Kenobi," Satine said woodenly, a single leg elevated on the stair in front of her. "If there is nothing else you require, you may be dismissed."

"It's not too late, Satine," Obi-Wan said quietly, disregarding with formalities as he spoke to the woman he loved rather than to the Duchess. "It's never too late."

Satine stiffened and looked back around at him without moving her torso. "Is that what you think?" she asked, much to the bemusement of her advisors who were glancing at each other furtively.

"It's what I know," Obi-Wan said assuredly. "Give me a chance, Satine. I swear to you I won't let you down a second time."

Silence reigned as Satine lowered her leg from the step and slowly turned back to face him directly. Intimidated by the intense scrutiny she was applying to him, Obi-Wan had to struggle to resist the urge to look away – or to run, for that matter.

"I must confess, you seem to be a changed man, Obi-Wan," Satine said finally, earning a sigh of relief from Obi-Wan.

"I am," Obi-Wan concurred readily. "Please allow me to show you how I've changed. It's all I want, Satine."

He gulped audibly when Satine took another step toward him, her expression still entirely inscrutable to him. Finally, the faintest of smiles graced her lips as she nodded her head subtly.

"Very well," she said, a glint of humor and perhaps even affection sparkling in her eyes. "Perhaps a chance is in order."

Smiling broadly, Obi-Wan had never before felt so light. The burden of his guilt was finally gone, and he could practically feel his shoulders decompress accordingly. After fifteen years, he had finally made things right.

Corsin

"This will do just fine. Don't you think?"

Shmi shrugged, far from convinced by Qui-Gon's optimism. They were standing at the base of a vibrant green hill looking up a winding footpath toward an ancient, uninhabited temple. From Shmi's point of view, the dilapidated building was an irreparable derelict unworthy of restoration. If it were up to her, she would have let the whole thing crumble.

But it wasn't up to her. Nothing should be anymore.

Upon departing from Polis Massa, she and Qui-Gon had returned to the apartment which they had shared during the first years of their marriage over two decades ago. Neither of them had known what to do with themselves, so she supposed it made sense for them to gravitate back to the place where they had last been happy together.

It hadn't been a good idea to return, however. What they needed was a fresh start. Neither of them were the same person they had been when they had first moved into that apartment all those years ago. For Shmi, the experience had been horribly overwhelming; the second she stepped foot in that apartment, she had been bombarded by memories and regrets. The faint yet still lingering ghost of her previous self haunted her wherever she went. She hadn't been able to bear it.

And so they had left. Qui-Gon had been hesitant to leave without telling Anakin, but Shmi had been insistent. She knew that Anakin didn't want to see her. In fact, she was skeptical that he would ever want to see her again. She couldn't blame him if that was the case.

Although Shmi hadn't known where they would go when they left Coruscant, she felt an indescribable pull toward this serene little planet. Upon landing on the mossy surface, she had known at once that she had come to the right place. This world was tranquil and untainted, devoid of all the forces which might render her susceptible to the darkness. Here was the perfect place for her self-imposed exile. Here on this bastion of light, she would atone for her sins.

"We'll rebuild it," Qui-Gon said, an inspired vigor enriching his voice as he stared up at the temple, hand held over his eyes to fight off the intense morning light. "It'll be as good as new."

"We?" Shmi asked, eyebrow quirked dubiously. "You can barely walk, Qui-Gon. How are you going to help?"

"Mainly by providing moral support," he quipped, a mischievous smile emerging on his lips as he turned to look at her.

"Where are we going to get the supplies?" Shmi asked.

"I'm sure there's a town somewhere where we can buy what we need," Qui-Gon said nonchalantly. "Don't worry, my love. It will be beautiful when we're done with it, thoroughly befitting for you."

Shmi snorted sardonically at this. "I don't know, I think it's already too grand for me," she said. "Maybe a ditch or a cave would be more suitable."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Qui-Gon frown at this comment. "Would you stop doing that?" he said. "It won't do you any good to be self-deprecating all the time." When Shmi shrugged and didn't respond to this request, Qui-Gon sighed and tried a different approach. "If you're going to insist on hating yourself, could you at least refrain from vocalizing it? I find it deeply unpleasant."

Shmi closed her eyes and nodded begrudgingly. "Very well," she said heavily. "Anything for you."

Although she couldn't see him, Shmi could practically feel Qui-Gon smile at this. She too felt an unanticipated rush of warmth. It wasn't quite happiness, but it was… contentment. It pleased her to be able to place Qui-Gon's wishes above her own. After twenty-three years of deprioritizing his dreams and desires, Shmi could finally say that she was placing her husband first.

"Come on," she heard Qui-Gon say. "Let's go have a look."

Shmi opened her eyes and gave him a skeptical look. "And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked.

"Ideally with my feet," Qui-Gon answered at once with characteristic dry wit. "Although if you're willing to carry me –"

"Yeah, that's not happening," Shmi cut him off with a wry smile, her cheeks feeling stiff and uncomfortable with the motion which she hadn't performed in what felt like ages. She couldn't remember the last time she had something to laugh about…

Qui-Gon reciprocated her smile and extended his hand to her, his eyes glinting as the intense morning light reflected off his retinas. Shmi's tentative smile faded into a more melancholy expression as she contemplated her husband's withered, trembling hand. Reaching out to take it, Shmi paused when she looked down at her own.

Metal. Cold, lifeless material. The relic of the darkness which still remained with her. She hated her hand – it disgusted her.

Sensing her revulsion, Qui-Gon filled the gap between their hands and squeezed the metal with his flesh palm. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's get up that hill."

Swallowing hard, Shmi nodded and wrapped her mechanical fingers tightly around Qui-Gon's hand. Shmi kept her eyes on Qui-Gon as they began to take slow, deliberate steps up the moss-laden stone steps toward the temple. Qui-Gon managed to do quite well for the first dozen feet or so before he began to grimace.

"Are you okay?" Shmi asked quickly.

"Fine," he grumbled through gritted teeth. "I can make it."

They continued on until they were halfway up the steps when Qui-Gon suddenly tripped, his foot grazing the step and causing him to tumble forward. Shmi tried to lunge forward to stop him, but was unable to when her wounded right shoulder exploded in pain at the simple motion. Since their hands were interlocked, Shmi had no choice but to fall down with him, landing rather inelegantly by his side on the stone stairs with a dull thud.

Groaning with pain, Shmi rolled over and released Qui-Gon's hand. "You okay?" she heard him ask as he sat upright on the stair.

"Okay," Shmi said with a grimace, placing her mechanical hand over the recently-ruptured bacta bandages on her right shoulder. "I just tweaked my shoulder a bit, that's all."

"Here, let me look," Qui-Gon said, placing his hand on her good shoulder and pulling her toward him. Shmi tensed up but didn't object as Qui-Gon removed her mechanical hand from her shoulder and inspected her bloodied bandages with a frown. It suddenly struck her how close they were to each other, their faces merely inches apart as Qui-Gon looked up from her wound.

Their eyes met, and Shmi caught her breath as she marveled at the piercing blue quality of her husband's gaze. His eyes had always been the thing which she had been most attracted to. They were solicitous and kind, yet not without an element of steeliness which projected the intrinsic ardor which burned deep within him. She could remember feeling weak in the knees whenever their eyes met all those years ago when they were both young. Back then, she had tried so hard to pretend as if she wasn't enticed by him whereas he had never shown any such reservations.

"We should probably redress that," Qui-Gon said finally.

"Huh? Oh… yeah," she said awkwardly, her face feeling hot as she looked away. What had gotten into her? Since when had she transformed back into her bumbling, younger self?

"I, er… I probably shouldn't have tried to get up these stairs," he said, his own voice sounding as wooden and uncomfortable as her own. "I'm not quite ready."

Shmi felt her embarrassment fade as she looked back at him with a soft smile. "You're not," she agreed. "But you will be. In time, we'll both be." Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, Shmi leaned forward and pressed her lips against Qui-Gon's. Shocked, Qui-Gon barely had time to react before she pulled back and gave him another unabashed smile. "We'll get there together. I know it."

Qui-Gon blinked a few times before nodding, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his face broke out into a radiant smile. "I do too," he said.

Reaching out with her mechanical hand, Shmi cupped Qui-Gon's cheek – the metal of her fingers lovingly grazing his gruff, bearded face. "I love you, Qui-Gon Jinn," she told him, having never before believed in anything as strongly as she did then.

"And I love you, Shmi Skywalker," he responded.

On the slope of that hill, two broken people found themselves whole once again.

They were together at last.

Author's Note: Next chapter will be the epilogue which will conclude this story. I will leave a more comprehensive author's note at the end of that chapter which I will post next Monday, but right now I wanted to take the opportunity to thank all my readers who have made it this far. This story means a lot to me as I'm sure you all know, so reading your reviews, critiques, and compliments is something I really appreciate.