Chapter 2

Calla Lilies

The hospital ward was silent except for the slow cooing of the medic droids that hovered over Padme – the sterile smell irritating Yoda's nose, but he didn't move. Leaning on the gnarled stick as usual, the Jedi Master's face was hooded with sadness as he looked through the windows at a motionless Padme.

"How did she get here?" Bail Organa said behind him, interrupting his thoughts, and Yoda slowly turned his sad eyes to the senator's confused face.

"Parked the ship you have?" Yoda asked, ignoring his question, "safe it must be."

Bail nodded, eyes now locked on Padme's form as the droids around her prepped her unconscious body for surgery.

"Brought her here, the droid see threepio has. Sent to look after her, he was."

"Is she going to be okay?"

Yoda didn't answer. He just closed his eyes and sighed before, with the clicking of his staff against the hospital floor, walked into the room.

The small Jedi Master hobbled over to Padme, and stood, watching her calm face.

Gradually, Yoda tapped into the force, sensing Padme's still fluttering spirit and prodding it gently.

Yoda closed his eyes, prompting Padme to stir.

"Master Yoda?" she mumbled, and he opened his eyes, "Is Ani okay?"

Yoda looked at her, large eyes narrowed, but look of sympathy still present.

"Seduced by the dark side, young Skywalker was," Yoda said cryptically, not really answering.

"Did," Padme asked, creasing her brow in slight confusion, "did Obi-Wan kill him?"

"Dead, Darth Vader is not," Yoda said slowly, "Dead, young Skywalker is."

Padme's look of distress ebbed away.

"There's still good in him."

"Corrupted, Anakin is," Yoda reprimanded sharply, his nerves on end as he stroked the top of his head in thought – tiredness burning his eyes, but when he closed them, images of death assaulted him – the dead padawans strewn on the floor, the Jedi masters killed by their own troops. He sighed.

"There's still good in him," Padme repeated, undaunted, her truth becoming her insanity, "There's still good-"

A contraction hit her violently, and she closed her eyes tightly, breathing hard and whimpering in pain. One of the medic droids came over to her, squeezing her hand tightly as she continued her labored breathing.

"There's still good-" Padme mumbled, as the contraction faded. He looked once more into Yoda's face, shaking her head, trying to convince him of something. "There's still good-"

Padme Amidala's head sunk backward, her eyes closing forever, and her chest stopped moving.

Yoda dropped his head, shaking slightly, his ears bobbing as he retreated from the hospital room, a resigned sorrow plastered on his face.

The medic Droid followed, and said to Yoda, Organa, See threepio, and R2D2 in a calm and oddly sterile voice, "We lost her. But if we act quickly we can still save the babies."

Organa looked surprised, and glanced over at Yoda, who still had his eyes closed, but his brows creased slightly in confusion.

"Babies?" the senator voiced, and followed by some inquisitive beeps and whistles from Artoo.

"Yes," the Medic Droid cooed, "She's carrying twins."

Yoda shook his head sadly, an odd wave of despair falling over the group.

"Uncertain the future has proven," Yoda said after a while, eyes still closed, "Clouded by the Dark Side the Force is. Changed forever things have."

Anakin stirred, the blackness overwhelming, but immediately he felt his throat constrict, and he reached up with his hands, grabbing his neck and letting out a low, guttural moan.

"Patience, my young apprentice," the raspy voice of Palpatine said from somewhere above - Anakin was unable to open his eyes, but his hands were still clutched around his own chafed throat, "the pain will abide shortly. Learn to harness the pain. Feel it in your body, Darth Vader, use it to your advantage."

A slight gurgling sound came from Anakin's throat, and Darth Sidious watched sullenly from the corner as his young apprentice lay on the sterile table – straps holding him in place in case he try and struggle. Medic Droids were swarming around him, checking his vitals constantly.

Anakin twitched incoherently, mentally not noticing, but he physically responded as one of the Droids slowly slid a needle into one of the large blue veins in his arm. His heart started pounding in his throat, and his chest heaved violently, to be met with the straps constricting his movements. He clutched harder on his throat as pain shot down through him in his parched mouth. Why hadn't they given him water?

He realized – very surreally – that he couldn't touch his own throat. He was bound to the table as the Droids fluttered around them. He couldn't see them, his eyes were tightly shut, but he could feel them. He was using The Force to squeeze his throat, trying to prompt stimuli, trying to release the pain.

Anakin felt his back arch, straining at the ropes, and he moaned, long and low, the air released from his lungs scraping against his parched throat like nails on a chalkboard. His groan grew louder, as his anger pulsed through him again, giving him power, as he harnessed the pain and forced it outward.

He heard the Medic Droids shaking, their metal parts clattering together as he assaulted them with the Force, the familiar sound, from the days on Tatooine, as parts smashed and the Droid's fluid splashed onto the floor.

The IV bag popped overhead, and some of the acidic medicine splashed onto his skin, burning his arms and bare chest and he groaned again, arching his back further, and hearing a massive rip as the leather straps frayed at the seams.

"Excellent, Anakin," the Emperor said from somewhere behind him, another wave of rage bursting in Anakin's veins, and he continued to radiate dark power, smashing what sounded like bottles and machines around him, things clanking to the floor as he continued to try to destroy everything around him.

The groan that was still emitting from his pale, dry lips grew louder as frustration overtook him, and it turned into a roar, pain both emotional and physical coursing through him, leaving him in total drugged despair. Medication was still pumping through his bloodstream, and he wasn't thinking clearly. He was out of control, and all that was holding him off from destroying everything within a mile was the opposing force – Palpatine. Darth Sidious counteracting his destructive power. And it frustrated him even more.

Anakin's eyes snapped open. A few more bottles smashed across the sterile floor and Anakin set bleary eyes upon the wreckage, finally releasing his fury and collapsing on the table, breathing hard. The edges of his sight were fuzzy, and he could barely see the smashed and destroyed medic droids littered on the floors. The only thing breaking the silence was a steady drip from the broken IV bag and Darth Sidious' muttered affirmations.

"Good, Anakin, good. You are ready. You… are… ready."

Anakin turned onto his side, setting his eyes upon his Master, the leather straps lying useless over the sides of the table - destroyed

"Thank you Master," Anakin said coarsely, air still hitting his throat like tiny needles, "I will not disappoint you."

Through the small slit of light that was cast on Palpatine's face behind the hood, Anakin detected a smile.

The harrowing sound of an organ wafted into the cool Naboo air, piping songs of death and resigned healing into the night air.

The procession wound its way on the dirt roads of Naboo, the field's silvery under the diamond moon hung in the sky, and cricket like creatures chirruping mournful songs all around them.

Padme's body, lifted on a sleek gurney – like coffin, was moved onward by two beasts from Naboo, and surrounded by saddened looking people.

Padme, skin pale and still engorged from her pregnancy, was decked out in a million white calla lilies, and in her hand, was the small trinket Anakin had given her. It was a lifetime ago.