Disclaimer: I do not own "Star Wars", any of the characters, or any recognizable dialogue in this fanfiction. It has been written for pure entertainment and I have not made any money off of it.

Author's Note: This short fiction was inspired by the amazing Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover, which I highly recommend to anyone who has not read it.

"Good Fortune"
Senator Padmé Amidala reflects on the bitter ironies of life, contrasting how things were supposed to be, and how the real events have turned out.

The Queen of Naboo, disguised as the handmaiden Padmé, listened to the governor's transmission once again. The death toll is catastrophic. We must bow to their wishes. You must contact me. Slowly, she lowered her head, the burden of having the weight of a world resting on her small shoulders becoming apparent in her countenance.

She noticed a pair of blue eyes gazing at her. They belonged to a boy seated against a wall at the other end of the small room of the vessel. The eyes had a distant and decisively sad look. "You all right?" she asked.

"It's very cold." The boy's voice trembled as he responded.

Padmé reached for a nearby blanket and draped it over the boy, although it was apparent to her that the cold of the ship was not all that was bothering him. "You come from a warm planet, Ani," Padmé commented, calling the boy by his nickname. "A little too warm for my taste. Space is cold."

"You seem sad."

There is no fooling him, the young queen realized. However, she had to keep her identity concealed until after the struggle on her planet was over. She had to be careful in formulating a proper response. "The Queen is worried. Her people are suffering, dying. She must convince the Senate to intervene." The latter statement was a reminder of the difficult but crucial task that had been set before her alone. "I'm not sure what will happen."

"I made this for you." Anakin held out a necklace possessing a small, intricately embellished stone for a pendant. "I carved it out of a japor snippet. It'll bring you good fortune."

Monetarily, the gift was not of much value, especially not to be given to a queen. But the present that the slave boy had taken the time to carve, using his limited resources, showed more care than the most expensive gift that there was to give. "It's beautiful… but I don't need this to remember you by. Many things will change when we reach the Capital, Ani, but my caring for you will remain." It was true that she felt an inexplicable sort of… attachment to the boy. Somehow, she felt as if this wasn't the last she'd see of him.

For years, the charm worked the promised magic of bringing Amidala good fortune. It bestowed upon her the serendipity needed to win the Battle of Naboo. Shortly after the victory, the boy who had departed – as well as the necklace and the story associated with it – faded into the background, as the queen was required to focus on more imminent political matters. Nevertheless, the snippet's benevolent forces seemed ever-present; Amidala served a second term as queen, and subsequently served as Senator under request of the newly elected ruler.

Perhaps the first time that the charm appeared to fail was when an attempt was made on Amidala's life two years into her term as Senator. But out of the misfortune came something wonderful – it reconciled her to the boy who had given her the necklace, who was no longer a boy after 10 years. He was now a young man for whom, she discovered, she had powerful feelings. Fate – or the Force, or whatever one chose to call it – had allowed them to marry, and good fortune had allowed the two lovers to keep their union secret as was necessary.

Three years after their marriage, Amidala was blessed with another beautiful gift – Anakin's child. The omnipresent good fortune had enabled them to retain their clandestine bond… until now.

Now, not only was their relationship and Padmé's pregnancy revealed to Obi-Wan, but also everything between the senator and her love seemed to be going wrong.

Padmé sat, idly fingering the pendant that hung from her neck. She tried to soothe herself by saying that everything Obi-Wan had said was a lie. A flat-out lie. Her Anakin could never murder Jedi, especially not the younglings as Obi-Wan had recounted. The Jedi had been his family—

She remembered what Anakin had said the last time she'd seen him. In response to her calling the Jedi his family, he had dubbed them traitors. "You're my family," he'd added. "You and the baby."

Her memory went farther back as she cradled her necklace in her open palm. "I remember when I gave this to you," he had said, trying to evade her questions about one of his nightmares. "How long is it going to take us to be honest with each other?" she had asked, and the unanswered question still hung in midair.

Try as she might, she could not make herself believe that they were being honest with each other now. She tried to suppress that feeling. Everything Obi-Wan has said was a lie. My Anakin wouldn't do anything like that, ever. In thinking so, she wasn't convinced that she was being honest with herself.

Looking at the japor snippet in her hand, Padmé Skywalker tried to remember the boy who had given it to her. Oh, Anakin, she thought, why did you fail to bring me the good fortune that you promised me? She clenched her jaw. There was only one way to find out.

Before she knew it, she was telling C-3P0 that they were about to travel to Mustafar. She'd have to talk to her husband personally.

He saw her alight; they ran to each other and embraced. "Oh, Anakin," she breathed. "I was so worried about you. Obi-Wan told me terrible things…" Now safe in her husband's arms, she felt strange that she had believed a word of what Anakin's former mentor had said.

"What things?" he prompted.

"He says you've turned to the Dark Side… that you've killed younglings." All of it sounded ridiculous to her at the moment.

"Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me."

Red flags went up in Padmé's mind. Why had he not denied her statement outright? "He cares about us. He wants to help you. Let him help us. Anakin, all I want is your love."

"Love won't save you, Padmé. Only my new powers can do that." Anxiety rose in his voice.

Padmé frowned. This was not the Anakin she knew. "Come away with me," she tried desperately. "Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can."

"We don't have to run away anymore. I've brought peace to the Republic. I am more powerful than the Chancellor. I can overthrow him, and together you and I can rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to be."

Padmé felt herself breaking down. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. All those horrible things were true. Obi-Wan was right – you've changed. I don't know you anymore. Anakin… you're breaking my heart." The former Senator could have sworn that she really felt that organ being crushed within her chest cavity. "Stop. Stop now. Come back to me!" she pleaded. "I love you."

Anakin looked up and shouted, "Liar!"

Padmé spun around, astonished to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway of her Naboo cruiser.

"You're with him!" bellowed a voice that should have been her love's "You've betrayed me; you've brought him here to kill me!"

What am I to do to convince him otherwise, that I knew nothing of it? "NO! Anakin, I swear, I…" Her hand flew to her throat, unbelieving. Invisible appendages reached around her neck in a suffocating grip that crushed her windpipe. Her only love, choking the life out of her as Obi-Wan pleaded for him to let her go. The japor snippet clung to her, more of a bad-luck charm now than anything else.

Her limp body hit the ground. Physically, she was merely unconscious, but she was dead in spirit. Because this Anakin was not the same man she'd fallen in love with. Because the man who had been her only source of happiness was now as dead as she was. Because, ironically, the man she loved – had loved – was drowning her in misery instead of blessing her with good fortune.

Naboo's former Senator was laid on the cot, barely conscious. She summoned enough strength to ask one question. "Is Anakin all right?"

Obi-Wan looked at her sadly. He could not answer without crushing the heart that had already been all but dissected. Deep within that mangled heart, Obi-Wan sensed that Padmé knew Anakin was gone… forever.

And soon, she would be too, for she was dying because of this knowledge.

"Medically, she's completely healthy," a droid clarified. "For reasons we can't explain, we are losing her. We must operate quickly if we are to save the babies."

It was too late to save their mother; everybody knew it. She scarcely held on to consciousness as her twins – Anakin's twins – were delivered. She smiled only faintly as they were held out for her to briefly touch.

"You have twins, Padmé. They need you – hang on," Obi-Wan coaxed her futilely.

"I can't…" she responded weakly as she took Obi-Wan's hand. With her other hand, she clutched Anakin's japor snippet.

She expended her last breaths by declaring that there was still good in her husband. With a last gasp, she passed on.

Obi-Wan studied the necklace that Anakin had given her all those years ago – the one that had been crafted to give her good fortune. Now, the fully bitter and ironic truth hit him: Anakin may as well have stabbed a knife through Padmé's poor, broken heart for the way he had killed her.

Her love for him had drowned her.

Anakin, though still alive in a different form, had died ablaze, incinerating among the all-encompassing fires of Mustafar. His wife had died drowning in a sea of her own tears, which was deep enough to fill the black of space.

Her fingers are sealed in a final clasp around the necklace that her once-loving husband had given her. Tenaciously, she clings to all that is left of the life for which she had so desperately wished. The snippet is there with her eternally, forever reminding her of the good fortune that could have been – and rightfully should have been – hers.

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