1The Angels of Time
Life and death
Fused in flame
In death
We cannot part
But the universe
Ignores our
Every word
For
It has already been done
Anakin:
Living can kill you.
Or so Anakin thought in those moments where life or death seemed incomprehensible. Like this one. Who knew that his final hours would be lying, burning, next to a pit of lava, staring endlessly at the spot that had once been Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Who knew that he would die, knowing and hating the fact that he, Anakin himself, would be the one who would cause his dream to come true. That his wife, beautiful, strong, wise, Padmé Amidala, the one who had always believed in him, would die on an alien birthing table knowing that he killed her. Him. Anakin. Vader. Whoever he was, in this moment, for a microsecond, knew that what he did would be unforgivable, that he had pushed himself to the edge.
And so he fell, down farther into his pot of depression and anger he had stirred for himself, never to return. Because even if he survived the flames that consumed him...
He was the Emperor's now.
Padmé:
Love hurt everyone.
Especially in this moment, where all things swirled in endless circles round and round her head. Anakin choking her. Obi-Wan fighting him. Master versus master. Friend versus husband. Gasping through the haze, she fought to breathe.
Would Anakin die, knowing he had killed her? Or would he live, hating her for siding with the Jedi. With his former Master. With his old friend. He would never, ever forgive her. Ani would. Vader wouldn't, she knew. When her twins were born...
She knew. Her Ani's dream wasn't just a fluke, a random nightmare of normal proportions. Padmé Amidala of the Naboo was going to die on some unknown planet, was never going to see her child's happy faces as they grew up - was never going to see Anakin Skywalker reborn in his child. See the Jedi flourish again, Anakin come back to her. It was all wrong.
Desperation overtook her, twisting her mind back to when Ani was just a little boy who ran about fixing a Podracer for races were he didn't even finish. When he complained about Naboo being cold. And finally when he took the reins of his life and married. Married her, the young Senator of Naboo upon that terrace where they had found love only months before.
So she gave herself up to the endless oblivion. All could be forgiven, but never forgotten.
Padmé Amidala, Senator of Naboo, smiled weakly at the R2 unit who had come to her rescue. The child was coming. Her end was near.
Obi-Wan:
He should have lived.
He could have been helped, have been pulled him far away from the flames. Been saved by the skin of his teeth.
But what after that? Anakin was too judgmental, so angry, too scared to return to the Jedi. The scar of the Sith would be there forever. He would never get his Mastery. He would have to give up his life to the Jedi again. He would have to give up his love.
Padmé Amidala. The girl - no the woman - was a formidable enemy, a perfect friend and (so he thought) a good wife. She didn't complain. She was compassionate. She was everything Anakin needed.
But what Anakin thought he needed, and what he really needed was different. Amidala could give him what his mother brought - safety, love, happiness - but what most of the Jedi thought he needed was a nice long talk with Master Yoda. Anakin was an enigma, far more complicated than Qui-Gon Jinn had ever been.
But what would he do? The Jedi scattered, the Sith with control of the galaxy, Padmé dying - where was the sense in living? Better to die happy, defending those you love than to spend your days on some arcane Outer Rim planet, trying to save your own skin. It was the Jedi way, and he was determined to keep to it.
He had always been the calmest of the three - Qui-Gon and Anakin had been... well, happy, but emotional. He preferred to wait out the storm. Putting that aside, he was convinced of this:
Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn't going to be the same Jedi after this. He would try, for sure, but unfortunately... he was never, ever going to be.
Careless were we?
Falling upon
greatness and heroics
As a small child
Is wont to do
How many
Have to die
Before this battle is over
Before the matter
Is laid to rest
In the setting suns
Who will suffer the consequences?
They should not
Be subjected to
Our pain
Our suffering
Let them know
We have but a memory
How this came to pass
We cannot, will not
Recollect
Damage need not recalling
But for the angels of time