Chapter Twenty-Four - Farewell
Padmé's body had been turned over to Sola, since Jobal and Ruwee
Amidala, their parents, had both died over three years before. While he
was still recovering, Sola met with Obi-Wan and Laurae to discuss the
children. Though Sola's new husband had happily accepted her daughters
into his life when he'd married their mother, they were simply unable
to take Luke and Leia. Obi-Wan nodded, looking into the Palace
courtyard, where the twins toddled around after their nine and eleven
year-old cousins.
For all practical purposes, Leia and Luke were orphans. Obi-Wan finally chose to take them to Alderaan, until he could decide what the best thing for them was. They can't stay here, Vader could come back. He listened to the Force. He will come back.
Queen Jamilla had agreed to keep Padmé's death under wraps until they were off-planet. But she did insist that they hold a private memorial service before Obi-Wan, Laurae, and the twins left. A more public ceremony, complete with Imperial representatives, would be announced later. Despite the risk, Obi-Wan was using the Force to heal; he was hobbling around his chamber with a cane within six days of the fight.
They met before sundown where the Palace Complex ambled down to the river, about a hundred meters upstream from the massive waterfall in Theed. Word of mouth had spread, and the ranks of mourners swelled to more than fifty. Sabé, her husband and children, three other former handmaidens, Artoo and Threepio, Captains Typho and Panaka, Jar Jar Binks, Boss Nass, and Sio Bibble were all present. Sola was the only one who didn't hold at least one flower; she instead held a silver vessel in her hands, which glowed gold in the sunlight.
After Chancellor Bibble presented a brief eulogy, the crowd parted for Obi-Wan. He wore a Jedi tunic and tabards, lightsaber dangling from his belt. The knuckles of the hand that gripped his cane were white as he limped forward. Murmurs rose and fell like ocean waves at his boldness; it would only take one person who was more loyal to the Empire than to Naboo to bring a squadron of stormtroopers upon them within minutes. But that surprise was nothing in comparison to the astonishment that his words inspired:
"She was my North, my South, my East and West.
My reason to work and my Tenthday's rest.
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last forever. I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
After he had finished his poem and the muttering died down, he repeated the customary Nubian prayer for the dead: "As she gave light to our lives, so may Tokith light her way to the Endless Domains. Peace to Padmé."
"So shall it be," agreed the mourners.
Sola moved forward and knelt at the edge of the river. Her tears splashed into the swirling water as she pried open the silver container she held. "Peace to Padmé," she murmured as she shook her sister's ashes into the river. At Laurae's prompting, Leia and Luke threw flowers into the water. Their blossoms were followed by dozens more. The flowers drifted toward the waterfall, inky blotches that marred the blazing surface of the river. The flowers reached the edge, then disappeared as the sun set across the Southeed Plain, bathing the mourners in twilight.
Laurae, Obi-Wan, and the twins stayed rooted to the riverbank as the mourners drifted away in small groups. Luke was clinging to his hand, but Obi-Wan's gaze was captivated by the stars. Aldera, magnified by the tears in his eyes, was sparkling brightly through the dusk, beckoning to him.
"Hurry, Laurae," Obi-Wan urged again. The sun was rising, white light beaming through the trees.
Obi-Wan, Laurae, Sola, and Sabé returned to Sanctuary for the night, put the twins to bed, then turned the house upside down. They had to erase all evidence of Padmé's habitation here, and all evidence of children. Such a task was more than they were capable of handling in the space of fifteen hours, especially with Obi-Wan's injuries to consider, but it had to be done.
Carrying a box of Padmé's clothes, Laurae swerved to avoid walking on a towel that she'd laid on the common room floor. There was no time to clean what was under it, but none of them was capable of looking at the new stain there. And they didn't want the children to see.
Obi-Wan lifted another box, then shifted it into a one-armed grip. He took his cane and limped down the front steps, remembering another moving day here. Miserable as he'd been then, today was much worse.
Just as it had been when he'd worked on Alderaan, Obi-Wan took a look at Padmé's finances and had no idea what to do. He finally threw up his hands and called Sola to Padmé's desk, asking her to keep or distribute all of her sister's assets as she saw fit.
Sola provisionally agreed. She did insist, though, that Obi-Wan take the money he had sent from Alderaan. "You have supported and protected them, Obi-Wan. I will not take what you sent to her, it is yours." From that point of view she refused to budge. Obi-Wan bowed his head and took the pouch of credit coins in his hand. "Take it for the children, then, since I cannot keep them." Tears shone in Sola's eyes as she left her sister's bedchamber.
Supported and protected? Not well enough. Sitting in Padmé's bedchamber, Obi-Wan rested his head in his hands and sobbed.
Darth Vader once again parked a borrowed speeder in the clearing. He emerged and leaned back against the hull for a moment, wondering why he'd come.
He walked down the main thoroughfare of Theed, Queen Jamilla by his side, preceded by a speeder carriage that bore an elaborate coffin. He sensed tens of thousands of sorrowing minds behind him.
Leave it to his Master to send a murderer to his own wife's funeral.
Just as he had several days before, Vader approached the house, hearing his respirator echo back from the depths of the house. He stepped through the front door.
Under the mask, the Sith arched an eyebrow. Or, at least, where his left brow used to be...
The house was deserted. All personal effects were gone, drawers and cupboards flung open. He looked into the first room off the entryway. Dust covers were draped over the furniture in there. Half hidden by a cover, book was on the floor. Vader picked it up.
Poetry of the Jedi, Volume Seven. It was an antique, the kind of sentimental rubbish Obi-Wan sometimes read. Vader tossed it onto the sofa and stalked further into the house.
To his right was a larger room, the carpet more worn, a family-size table under another cover. Vader noticed a piece of fabric on the floor, and he kicked it aside.
There was a stain there. Brown. Vader's breath overrode his regulated respiration. He immediately regretted looking. The Sith used the Force to move the cloth back into place. He stepped around it while blinking a prickly feeling out of his eyes, and moved into the house.
It happened suddenly. The Force was gone; he couldn't feel it. The sensation made him gasp for breath, and he staggered back. Then, just as suddenly, the Force flooded through Vader's body again. He stood where he was for a moment, wondering at it, then cautiously stepped forward again.
It made him sick to his stomach, but the Sith Lord endured the sensation. He found two small bedchambers, one of which had a one-person bed in it. Why a single bed when they were -
Maybe they weren't.
The other chamber was bare of any furniture. Other chambers were also stripped of effects.
The third bedchamber was the master suite. Vader sneered as he entered. A large, two-person bed dominated the chamber. How long were they together? How long did they wait after Obi-Wan left me to die before they were sleeping with each other? he wondered. But then why was there a bed in that other chamber? They were the only two people...
Vader left the bedchamber and moved to where the Force had left him. He stepped out, and he could sense everything for kilometers in every direction but one. Behind him was a gaping hole in the Force. Anything could hide in there and he'd never know.
Anyone could hide in there and he'd never know. So this is how Obi-Wan managed to hide himself and Padmé for so long.
Vader returned to the empty bedchamber and flung the closet door open. Empty. The large chamber next. Gloved hands ran over a high shelf, and pulled a plast bag down.
Inside was Padmé's wedding gown. The one she wore seven years ago. Vader clutched the bag, knowing he would not let it go, nor open it, until he was able to remove his mask and press the cloth to his face.
Once inside his pressurized and purified chamber on board his shuttle, Vader yanked his mask off, then opened the bag.
The ivory lace gown slid into his gloved hands. He only had eyes for it, the dress that she'd been wearing at the happiest moment in his life. But when he let the bag fall, it didn't drift to the deck.
Flump. Vader looked down.
Something else was in there. He reached inside and pulled out one – no, two – pieces of white cloth. Frowning, Vader unfolded one.
It was too small to be a lap blanket, the wrong texture to be a towel. What possible use could Padmé have for such a thing?
What if...
A baby? They were the perfect size to swaddle a newborn in. The Sith could only stare at the cloth as the minutes ticked by.
Master is going to kill me.
The poem is adapted from Auden's "Stop All the Clocks." All my original poetry is wretchedly bad, and I needed this to be good.
Many thanks to those who have reviewed. Individual responses will come in the epilogue.