Clasping his hands behind him, Anakin stood by the window as he watched strings of speeders and other flying vehicles scurry back and forth in Coruscant's aerial lanes. Spring had finally come over the city, blossoming in a gorgeous dawn on the horizon and shining in the polished domes of buildings. Some part of Anakin wished desperately to take his mask off, to see the vivid colors in the sky and feel the fresh air on his face—but he controlled the urge, knowing the risks were not worth it. If everything went according to plan, soon he would not need the aid of his life-support suit ever again. Soon, he would learn whether he had been successful in his endeavor to preserve his consciousness in the netherworld of the Force and achieve eternal life.
The others didn't know about this, of course. At some point, Anakin had considered confessing his plan to Luke, but ultimately decided against it. Not only because he didn't want to burden his son with disappointment in case he failed—but also because he knew Luke was stronger than this. Luke was capable of something that Anakin himself had never learned: letting go and allowing life to go on. And go on it would—especially with the arrival of a new member of the Skywalker family.
When Anakin had first learned of Leia's pregnancy, he sensed a mix of amazement and anxiety at the same time. It was wonderful, incredible news—but right after the euphoria, his mind jumped to the events of that fateful day twenty-four years ago. Since then, some part of him had lived in fear of premonitions, fully expecting either Luke, Leia or himself to experience a Force vision of the most terrible scenario imaginable as history would repeat itself. Anakin had been well aware that visions did not necessarily pre-determine fate, but merely showed a possible outcome, one probability out of millions; and yet, even the years he had spent learning to control his emotions couldn't ease his heavy heart.
But yesterday, Leia had given birth to a perfectly healthy girl. Upon learning of the news, Anakin had sensed relief the likes of which he hadn't experienced in months, if not years; and since then his soul had been overcome by a singular burning desire. As of now, he was waiting in the hall of a medical center as everything was being prepared to grant Anakin his final wish—of seeing his newborn granddaughter and finally learning her name.
As he stood quietly in solitude and watched life go on outside, Anakin wasn't entirely certain what emotion he was feeling in this moment. Peace, perhaps? He thought back to everything he had achieved during the last year, carefully examining each pleasant memory—which there were a lot of, to his surprised realization. Anakin wished he could have done more, could have done better; but he supposed it was good enough for now. Soon, he should have all the time in the universe to help and guide those dear to him.
Suddenly, Anakin's thoughts were interrupted as he felt something bump into his leg from the side. Looking down, he saw a familiar blue-and-white astromech droid who rolled back and forth a little, trying to attract his master's attention. Anakin reached down with his gloved hand and patted Artoo gently on his dome, causing him to let out an affectionate trill.
"Everyone is ready, Master Anakin," he heard as Threepio approached him from another side. Anakin nodded in acknowledgement, turned around and proceeded to follow the droids as they went down the medical center's hall. Stopping next to one of the doors, Threepio and Artoo pulled aside, allowing Anakin to enter the ward first.
Inside, he saw Han, Luke—and Leia. Both men stood next to the patient's bed in which Leia was lying, a tired but happy expression on her face as she looked down at the rolled up blanket in her arms. Within the soft cocoon, a baby was napping peacefully, at the sight of which something deep and poignant stirred in Anakin's soul. Timidly, he came closer, as though fearing to somehow ruin the tender moment with his presence. As he approached, the little girl stirred in her sheets and babbled something quietly to her mother.
"Shh," Leia said soothingly, holding her daughter closer. "It's alright, Shmi."
Shmi.
The name echoed in Anakin's mind as he froze in stunned silence, refusing to believe what he had just heard.
Surely, it was impossible. An impossible coincidence. He had never mentioned his mother's name to Leia, and knew that Luke hadn't spoken about Shmi to her either. But what if someone else did? There could be nobody else to reveal this piece of information—except—perhaps…
Still bemused, Anakin allowed himself to lose his train of thought, replaced by one singular question.
"What?" he forced out of himself.
Leia raised her head and looked at Anakin, her expression as serious as ever. He thought of attempting to read her gaze, to find out what she was thinking or feeling—but couldn't muster up the effort, or simply didn't wish to. Now, he felt scrutinized by her instead, simply standing there, waiting for events to proceed—for the explanation to come. And Leia understood that too.
"Ever since Threepio got his memory back, we have been… talking," she began slowly. "Well, actually, it has mostly been him talking and me listening. It all started a few months ago, when I overheard him mentioning my… our grandmother. Shmi Skywalker."
So the droid was involved. He supposed he should have foreseen this turn of events, as Threepio surely wouldn't keep his newfound wealth of memories to himself. But Anakin hadn't considered that this also included all those years during which Threepio had been living together with Shmi—or had convinced himself not to consider it. Once again, the thread of fate was connecting the dots in the most interesting and unexpected ways.
Deciding to ruminate on the consequences of his actions later, Anakin kept listening as Leia went on.
"I remember Father talking about her a couple of times—that's how I learned her first name. He was always reluctant to tell me anything about my real family, especially my biological parents. Perhaps he feared that I could eventually figure out their identity… and thought it was better for me not to know. He only said that they had been good people and great friends."
Leia took a pause, shaking her head.
"But with Shmi… I suppose he felt it would be safe to discuss her, since she wasn't famous, and there were no records of her anywhere. Maybe he felt that I deserved at least a small piece of knowledge about my heritage, to satisfy the need that might have prompted me to look for something bigger—and more dangerous, in his mind."
That made sense, Anakin supposed. But how would Bail come to learn this information in the first place? Anakin could see only one possibility—Padmé must have shared it with him. Back then, Shmi's passing and Anakin's reaction had obviously shaken her as much as did him, and she probably had sought someone close to confide in, trusting Bail to keep everything he would hear to himself.
"Father didn't tell me much, of course. I never knew that Shmi had been a slave on Tatooine, or how exactly she had died. Those aren't the details you want to reveal to your child, I suppose." Leia went quiet for a moment. "But what matters is that from him, I learned that my grandmother was a strong, kind, courageous woman who worked hard to provide for herself—and for her beloved son."
With that, Leia looked directly at Anakin, some kind of melancholy flashing behind her eyes.
"And the stories Threepio told me proved it. I…I suppose I came to admire her, in a way. Hearing of the conditions she had to live in, of all the things she had to endure, yet it never broke her spirit or made her callous. Shmi was a great woman, much like my—and Luke's—mother. And I…" she looked at Han and Luke, "we felt like she deserved to be honored in some way. She deserved for the galaxy to still remember her."
Anakin swallowed, processing what he had just heard. So in the end, it wasn't a coincidence…just the most unlikely decision he could ever see Leia make. Perhaps, after their talk about their visions all those months ago, she had become somewhat more willing to connect to her biological family, and this was an important step for Leia to accept and acknowledge her heritage. He felt pride for her—as well as boundless gratitude. This was something he could not imagine even in his boldest fantasies.
Anakin got pulled from his thoughts as Shmi began to cry and stir in her blankets, prompting Leia to start rocking her daughter back and forth. Instinctively, Anakin made a few steps forward, wishing to somehow calm and soothe the child. With him coming closer to Leia's bed, the baby fell quiet, as though reacting to his presence nearby. Then, much to everyone's surprise, Shmi reached her tiny hands out towards Anakin.
Uncertain if this meant what he thought it meant, Anakin looked inquiringly at Leia who regarded him back in confusion. Her expression then became conflicted, as she was trying to make what must have been a very difficult decision—perhaps the most difficult one she had come across in the last few months. She looked up at Han, who simply shrugged in response, trusting the choice to her. Finally, Leia let out a deep sigh and nodded at Anakin, as she carefully held the blanket with her baby out towards him.
Han and Leia watched warily as Anakin took the child up in his arms. Against his dark bulky frame, Shmi felt even smaller and more fragile than she already was, and Anakin held her with utmost care as he brought her a little closer to his mask. Somehow finding his gaze behind the lenses, Shmi looked at Anakin and cooed affectionately, not in the slightest bit intimidated by the black faceplate; and it was then when the reality of the moment had finally dawned on him.
He had a granddaughter. After everything he'd done, after all the terrible things he'd caused, he was still blessed with a granddaughter. Anakin didn't know whether he deserved it, and saw no reason to ponder that question anymore. What mattered was that she was there in his arms, held against his chest, dozing off serenely—a living, breathing miracle. A gift more precious than anything Anakin could ever imagine.
Whatever fate expected Shmi, he knew it would not be an easy one. Because of her heritage, people around her would inherently expect great things from her—and Anakin hoped this burden wouldn't overwhelm her like it had once overwhelmed him. No, that would not happen, he assured himself. The girl had a real family, and an opportunity to choose her own path, whatever it would be. He knew Shmi was surrounded by people who would do their best to raise her to be a great person—another bright star to light up the entire galaxy.
He could already feel great power in her, perhaps even greater than his own; but power was irrelevant. He loved Shmi not for who she could be, but for who she was now. Loved her for simply existing in this world. She could grow up to become a Jedi, a politician, a pilot, a mechanic, or none of these things—and he would still love her all the same. Her Destiny was an unwritten book of possibilities; and Anakin hoped he would be there to witness and help it unfold.
"Be brave, Shmi," he murmured, "and don't look back."
