A/N: When I started this story, as I have said, it was strictly Obi-Wan. But one of the more interesting characters to explore, I have found, is Anakin. I mean, what is going on in that kids head—especially when he's young like he is in TPM. He's proved to be a difficult character to capture accurately and realistically—the others have been much easier. So, I'm still not back to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's POV, but there's hope—really! They will be back! But this chapter is for the Anakin lovers out there. I discovered pretty quickly that I couldn't capture the essence of the Star Wars universe without including all the major characters and how they interrelate. I mean, why does Qui-Gon connect with Anakin? What's it like to be the Chosen One? How on earth do Padmé and Anakin just randomly fall in love after a ten year absence? That's all apart from the basic premise I was studying—how would Obi-Wan be different? So, yeah, that's enough talk from me. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 3
It seemed rather impossible to Anakin that a planet could be so beautiful. Even in wake of the battle, as he stared out over Naboo from the window, it was beyond anything he had ever imagined. The buildings, mostly a golden, burnt umber color, rose in varying heights beyond the palace walls. Nothing was square, but rather rounded off, giving the city a softer look, almost in itself appearing cordial. Between the gold of the buildings, green blossomed, filling the spare cracks and crevices until the abundance seemed impossible to comprehend. Beyond the city, the countryside was more lush, rolling with hills and evening out into plains, divided by gently flowing rivers of pure blue. Had a battle really occurred here? Anakin shook his head to himself, doubting that both the grandness of the city and the reality of the battle could coexist.
Beyond the aesthetic beauty of Naboo, Anakin was in awe of the provision in the palace. The palace, which stretched over a mile, was intricately composed of hallways and rooms, all of which were splendidly decorated. The room Anakin had been left in possessed more luxuries than all the slave quarters on Tatooine combined. In fact, the marbled room he now stood in was twice the size of his small home that he had shared with his mother. The price of the elegant couch probably cost more than he had.
There was so much he wanted to do, so much more that he wanted to know. He felt as though he might burst with desires—desires and fears. Moving from the window, he plopped down on a plush, tasteful chair. The Jedi Masters on Coruscant confused him. All the questions—what did it matter? What did that have to say about who he would be? He knew what he wanted. He wanted to be a Jedi Knight. And, if they granted him the right, he would embrace it fully. It didn't matter who he was or what he felt inside. These things were secondary to his aspirations. After all, he'd already overcome being a slave. He had, albeit unwittingly, won his own freedom. He had earned his right to be a part of the galaxy—a right to the training that seemed to be duly his.
But was it really his? Sure, he'd spent years dreaming about the Jedi and passed nights staring up at the star filled sky hoping to hold them all. But was it his destiny, or nothing more than a child's dream. Qui-Gon called him the Chosen One. The Council had told him he was very strong in the Force. But they had also told him that he had much fear.
Fear seemed so natural. It was an unbridled emotion that burned within the untamed pits of the soul. But he could control it, on the surface anyway. He had been afraid many times, even in the Boonta Eve Podrace, but he had still prevailed. Sometimes, he reflected, his mother had scolded him on lacking fear. She cringed at his flippant attitude toward racing. She encouraged him to fear large aliens. But, then again, he realized, fear was not the same as caution.
They were right, after all. He was afraid. He was afraid of his unknown future and that it would remain as anonymous and bleak as his past. He had been afraid for Padmé and Qui-Gon, both fighting a war that seemed impossible to win. And he was afraid for his mother, whose fate he could not know back on Tatooine. Surely these were natural.
Besides, he reminded himself, Qui-Gon insisted he was the Chosen One. He was supposed to bring balance to the Force. They had to train him to fulfill it. Didn't they?
But this prophecy mystified Anakin. His existence seemed as loose as the sand blowing aimlessly across Tatooine. Slavery had defined him, right or wrong. Luck and chance were on his side. Or perhaps it was something more. The Force—still a fable to Anakin's naïve mind. It loomed in his psyche along with other Jedi myths, tantalizing him with its unknown and incomprehensible power. Something inside of him, with a shy hope, groped to accept that his dreams might actually be more than dreams. They might be destiny. Maybe he was the Chosen One.
That elicited fear as well. The debate his presence had evoked was surreal. What could a young slave boy truly be that Jedi would contemplate his future so seriously? The Council wanted to turn him away. Qui-Gon wanted to throw everything away for him. For his part, although he wanted to be Jedi, he did not want it at the expense of so much controversy. He had thought it would be much simpler. Life had always flowed along easily for him—yes or no, right or wrong, do it or don't. Debate remained for those who had the time and position to deliberate. If the Council, with all their years of wisdom and experience, not to mention their intense understanding of the Force, lacked confidence in him, then maybe he wasn't worth the risk. Perhaps his destiny laid somewhere else, outside the Jedi Order.
Even as he thought that, he rejected it. The Battle of Naboo had stimulated something deep within him. He had defended a cause he didn't understand. He had risked his life for beings he didn't know. He had loved the thrill of battle. He had acted like Jedi, he decided finally. And call it a dream or call it destiny or even a prophecy—he would be a Jedi.
A chime resounded through the spacious room. Startled from his reverie, he stood. Remembering he had to press the enter button, he fumbled at the some panel of buttons. Finding the right one, he pressed it and straightened to see who had come for him. The door swished open, and a young woman clad in red entered. He recognized her as one of Padmé's handmaidens, but he could not identify which one. She approached him with her head held erectly. Her face was pale and drawn—apparently the events of the past few days had taken a toll on her as well.
"Master Skywalker," she greeted him, bowing slightly.
Awkward, he bit his lip. "Um, you can call me Anakin," he offered, unsure of how to act.
She merely nodded in acceptance. "Very well, Anakin," she said, a vague smile shadowing across her face. "My name is Sabé. I am to be your personal guide during the rest of your stay here on Naboo."
"Really?" he asked. He had never received so much attention before, and he hardly felt it was necessary. He would be more than happy to wander the halls alone—that was an adventure in itself. The architecture was grandiose and the decoration bedazzled the young boy.
"Yes," Sabé said, raising her eyebrow slightly. "You are our honored guest."
Honored guest—he kind of liked the sound of it. His uneasiness began to fade. "It's really not necessary."
"The Queen insists. You have done us a great favor. We have no means with which to repay you but we will offer what few comforts we have."
After a lifetime of slavery, a sample of power tasted good. So young and naïve and new to the free world, Anakin hardly had the presence of mind to understand glory and honor, and he would never seek it out or expect it, but, inherently, he could not deny that on a whole it was infinitely better than taking orders in a second-hand shop. "Well, okay," he said, cheerfully now. Sabé visibly relaxed—the flippancy of the young boy was contagious, easing her anxiety to the back of her mind. Anakin grinned at her, and then asked, "So can we go see Qui-Gon now? Padmé said I could."
"Wouldn't you care to eat first?" Sabé asked. "The cooks have prepared something for the nighttime meal. The Queen encourages you to eat until you are aptly satisfied. Surely after such a trying day, you must be famished."
Cocking his head, Anakin seemed to be communicating with his stomach, trying to deduce if he really was hungry. It was then that he recalled that it had been all day since he'd last eaten. For some reason, people didn't think to pack lunches for battle. Silly people. But not that it matter much. As a slave Anakin had always had food, but it was never much, and oftentimes he would get so caught up in a project that he would simply forget to eat all together. There were days when he left before his mother could stop him and force him to eat. He had learned early on to not make food essential, but rather a secondary vice in his life, more of an inconvenience than anything else.
On the other hand, he thought, he had been tantalized on the Queen's ship with an eclectic array of delectable food. The food in the Temple had been more or less bland, and he could still remember the way the food on the ship seemed to fill the cafeteria with sweet aromas that made his stomach growl, yearning to taste that which it had been unjustly denied its entire life. Remembering the scents and tastes, his stomached lurched emptily. "Yeah, I am a little hungry," Anakin admitted.
Sabé smiled. "Very good then," she said. "Follow me."
The food was better than he could have anticipated. It exceeded his wildest dreams. The fruits dripped savory juice down his chin, exploding with more flavor in one bite than all the rest of the food in his life combined—including the small birthday dinners that his mother managed to treat him to every year. That had always been a feast of sorts, with a full meal from the creamed vegetables to the real meat—not the synthesized and freeze dried stuff they usually had—and fresh coranga melon. And, as a special treat, he had always been given a small square of candy. It varied from year to year, but was always from some distant part of the galaxy. It always tasted sweet. But that sweetness didn't even compare to the fruits offered to him in the dining hall. Then beyond the fruits, the meat was tender and juicy, the excess blood pooling on his empty plate. The vegetables were ripe and seasoned, tingling pleasantly on his tastebuds.
When he had stuffed himself on the main courses, he was overwhelmed when they offered him dessert. And not just one dessert. They offered him a selection of cakes and puddings, fruity and chocolate. Wide eyed and with an open mouth, he tried as many as he could until his stomach finally protested. After the gigantic meal, he felt lethargic—full and utterly content.
Sabé sat across from him, eating her meal with much less vigor. She watched him with curious amusement, and when he finally surrendered to his full stomach, she could not help but laugh. "You took more joy in food than anyone I have ever seen before," she commented in reserved gayety.
Instinctively, Anakin smiled shyly. It was all so new to him—so many things to taste and do and see—but a part of him would always be the slave boy, and that part always knew it was best to be memorable but not difficult. "I guess I was a little hungrier than I thought," he commented sheepishly.
"I am most glad that you enjoyed your meal," Sabé said, putting her eating utensil down. "Do you care to retire to your quarters?"
His stomach full, Anakin could not deny that a heaviness had settled soothingly about his body. Sleep sounded provocative, but his responsibility—or at least the responsibilities he perceived to have—beckoned him. He shook his head, gathering his voice to sound confident. "No. I need to go see Qui-Gon now."
Mellowed by the meal and the boy's carefree spirit, Sabé nodded. "Very well then," she told him, rising from the table. "Please follow me."
She led him through the corridors of the palace which seemed like they could have been a labyrinth for some lesser species. But he acutely picked up on the differences of directions and decoration. In fact, by the time they reached the medical wing, he had most of the path memorized. His wonderment and fascination quickly faded to seriousness and Sabé motioned for him to enter the all white room. It was perhaps the cleanest, most meticulous room Anakin had ever seen. Instruments were in order, laid neatly in their designated places, ready and waiting should an emergency pop up. The air was purer, clearly filtered more strenuously than in the rest of the palace. The equipment was arranged logically, aiding in movement about the room and facilitating accuracy of responses. It was mostly empty, the hour getting fairly late, but there were several attendents who all appeared quite busy and serious. His eyes rested on Obi-Wan first, and a twinge of sadness welled within him. He did not wish suffering on anyone, well, at least not anyone who didn't deserve it. And there were no beings more noble and righteous in the universe than Jedi. But it was not Obi-Wan he needed to talk to—it was Qui-Gon.
He did not need Sabé to help him find Qui-Gon. Intuitively, he picked up Qui-Gon's presence, and, turning, he saw the Jedi Knight suspended in a large tank of clear liquid—bacta, he thought to himself. Sabé waited patiently as Anakin took everything in
Smiling at Sabé, Anakin indicated that he wished to proceed alone. She looked only mildly hesitant while she compliantly obeyed with the requests of her young charge. Moving forward, Anakin tentatively approached the bacta tank. It was an amazing sight to him. On Tatooine, the medical facilities had been scarce and far more primitive. When most slaves were injured, their master would not even provide a proper physician, assuming any of the physicians on Tatooine could be called proper. More often than not, they were left to be tended by their fellow slaves, most of which had picked up basic medical training through years of necessity. There were several apothecaries would dwelled in the poorer sections of Tatooine could be persuaded to offer herbal remedies. Anakin knew of bacta but never before had actually been privileged enough to use it, thankfully never having been seriously injured. Bacta was only for the favored slaves of rich masters. Watto, in truth, was rather fond of Anakin, but refused to show it to him. Besides that, Watto had nearly as little as Anakin and his mother did in the end. He was just a small time dealer, struggling in the galaxy to make ends meet, his success not at all helped by his sometimes questionable gambling habit.
So for Anakin, the bacta tank was something he had only heard about from the brass, young pilots that sometimes were waylaid on Tatooine for repairs or perhaps for recreation to see the podraces. But much had changed for him recently. And now, standing in a royal palace, a hero to a people he didn't really know, he was immersed in a life that had only existed in dreams. But the tank of bacta, while it seemed decadent and surreal, was not the important matter at hand, and his wonder quickly gave way to his true intentions.
Intimidated by both the tank and the still form of the great Jedi in it, he trembled slightly as he stopped right in front of it. With his hand, he reached out to touch the tank, as if trying somehow to make a connection through the liquid to the submersed Knight. His brow knitted in concentration. The Jedi had told him of the Force and how it connected everything. It seemed only right, somehow in his young mind, that if it connected all things, he should be able to connect to all things through the volition of his mind. The knowledge came to him instinctively, likely due the excessive concentration of midichlorians in his blood.
Determined, he focused on what he had once called instinct. Qui-Gon had told him to trust his instincts. Suddenly, as if a light were switched on in his head, he could see, in his mind's eye, that thing called instinct—the infamous Force. He closed his eyes unconsciously as he reached out for the newfound light in his mind. He found it was easy to reach, and with a careful touch, he could also grasp it. It was empowering, offering him a sense of control he had never felt before. Confident in his management of the Force, he then followed one of the trails that lead from his own body. He was not surprised when he found it leading straight to Qui-Gon Jinn. Touching the Knight's mind, he relayed his message. //I'm sorry…I didn't mean to disobey you. I only wanted to help. And that was the only way I could help. Somehow, I just knew. I knew what I had to do. I didn't know why or how, but I just knew I had to. I never meant to disobey you. I want nothing more than to be a Jedi Knight.//
The message done, he abruptly withdrew from the connection, opening his eyes. The light shone brightly at him now, its effect different than before. The physical world around him seemed singular now. He felt as if he existed outside himself somehow, as if the Force of the other inhabitants and objects of the room were now noticeably pulsating within him. It changed him, granting him a new perspective. It seemed powerful, and he relished that. After years of subjugation, freedom and control were almost intoxicating.
Uncontrollably giddy, Anakin cast the Jedi one last look, confident now that all was well between them. His smile lingered, and he turned back toward Sabé. The young woman looked tired, Anakin thought, and then suddenly he realized he felt her weariness through the Force. The handmaiden's gaze had wandered to Obi-Wan's prone form, studying it with a remote curiosity. Moving closer, Anakin focused more intently on her mind. Her emotions trembled on the surface of her mind, unconstrained and unreserved.
He stopped short of her, regarding her with wonder. Noticing his presence, her eyes left the unconscious Padawan and turned back on Anakin. There was a flicker of nervousness before she regained her composure. "Are you ready to leave?" she asked.
Her guise was good, Anakin noted. Had he not been trying to read her emotions, he would have thought her to be the epitome of calm. He studied her more intensely, making the handmaiden fidget uncomfortably. "Is everything okay?" she asked, swallowing apprehensively.
She was a genuine being, he realized suddenly. She had complete dedication to her Queen and her country. She feared death, but would not run from it. She had an inherent compassion and concern for others. Right then her attention had been on Obi-Wan. She had respected his devotion to peace and revered his skill. It distressed her to see him, as well as Qui-Gon, in such conditions.
The depth of his ability to gauge another being's emotions and thoughts startled him at first. It was beyond comprehension—why hadn't he noticed this ability before? But, now that he had, it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. When he had left Tatooine, he had been nothing more than a slave boy, but now, with the support and fueling of the Force, he would be unstoppable.
"He'll be okay," Anakin finally said.
Confusion lit Sabé's face. "Who?"
"Obi-Wan."
Sabé glanced briefly at the young man she had been studying, embarrassed and startled. She had not vocalized any concerns of any kind. Her thoughts had been private. "How—"
Anakin just smiled. "Don't worry," he assured her, heading out the door. "It's a Jedi thing."