Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.

Author's Note: This story involves miscarriage and stillbirth so please read with caution. This is a ROTS AU where Anakin wins and Padme survives. So yeah, this is truly going to be Sad™️.


"It is such a mysterious place, the land of tears."

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince.

There had been nothing to grasp as she fell. The hand constricting her had been invisible, and she tried to plead, beg him to spare his child — her child.

His eyes had been yellow, like a demon's.

When she falls, she thinks of blue eyes and a meadow all those years ago.

She had been so in love, now she can't even think of what his love may have looked like.

oOo

She awakes on a ship, and 3PO is frantic.

There is a wicked pain in her abdomen, and she cries out.

It's too soon to give birth.

Fate doesn't care.

Neither does the force.

oOo

He is covered in ash, he smells of smoke and death, and his eyes are yellow. It's all stupid to dwell on now, when she's in pain and her child is dying, dying, dead.

She holds his hand, but resents it.

The pain is too much for her to have any moral high ground.

"There are no heartbeats," the medical droid says, and it's cold, the only way a droid can be. Vader destroys it without lifting a finger, and if she'd turned she'd see the agony on his face, but all she can think is heartbeats. Not one, two. Two babies.

Gone.

Dying, dying, dead, gone.

She throws her head back in agony, howling in true pain, far greater than anything she ever known, ever could know.

Then she has to give birth.

oOo

The only cries are from her. The boy is first.

Luke.

Her precious Luke.

He's tiny, so tiny, with wisps of blonde hair and eyes that see nothing. They're a dull, awful blue like his skin and she wishes she could die when she thinks he'd look like his father.

The girl is a struggle to get out, stubborn even in death, but she, too, has dark blonde hair and brown eyes that see nothing and Padm é looks at her Leia in agony.

She wants them to go away. She can't bear to look at them, but she wants to hold them, to will them back to life.

She cries harder.

Anakin's rage is like poison, nothing bypasses his rage but her, the dead babies, and the two droids — R2 and 3PO.

This is all your fault! She thinks, and she knows somehow he can hear her. You did this!

oOo

She lost everything then: Her babies, her husband, her republic — everything.

Padmé almost slaps the senator that had been a part of the 2,000 who tells her to not look at the empire's flag when she goes back to the senate weeks later. It's all for show; she knows it, and so does Vader, but he says nothing.

He always resented her career, what fucking difference does it make now?

"It hurts less if you don't look up," she whispers when she passes the senator staring up at the flag in horror and disgust.

She thinks of Naboo at her desk and puts her face to her palms and cries. Sabé and Dormé say nothing as they guard by the door. She can feel their agony as deeply as she feels her own.

Vader is gone for weeks on end after Mustafar. Padmé is grateful.

She tells herself she never wants to see him again. She claims to hate him.

She hates herself that she doesn't as she lies in their bed, missing his touch, his hands, the kicks of two babies. Their argument on whether it was a boy or a girl; she even misses how they'd have laughed for both being right.

She cries into his pillow, wishing he'd come home.

oOo

When he does, it's in the dead of the night. She's asleep but awakes to the bedroom door opening. She grabs her blaster, and it flies from her hands and into his. He throws it aside.

She didn't know it was him, but she also wonders if that matters, and then wonders if it matters to her or to him.

His face is covered by a black cloak, and he looks like a Grim Reaper, and she finds herself wishing he were to her.

No one survives Lord Vader (except her).

That's what the Holonet reports.

Vader has slaughtered, and conquered, all in the name of peace.

Fighting for peace, what a stupid oxymoron, Padmé had thought one morning as she showered. She'd been thinking of the Jedi then, how they'd been generals of the war. War had changed Anakin.

She thought of the scar on his eye. That had been the first physical change, aside from his arm. Padmé hadn't seen him in nearly a month, and when he'd returned she'd tried to touch it, but he'd stopped her and put his cheek into his palm.

Sometimes he'd have nightmares. He'd be crying for fallen troopers — he remembered them all, mourned them all, grieved the ones who didn't make it. Anakin was their general, The Hero With No Fear they called him. She'd been so proud then, despite it breaking her heart.

"And I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!"

She thinks of that when she watches the Holonet. No one knows Vader is The Hero With No Fear, the Clone Wars' little poster boy, her husband. She's glad, selfishly so.

Padmé watches him undress. It's too dark to really sees it.

Anakin always turned on the lights to see her. He never needed to; his Jedi eyesight was much better than her own, but he'd been greedy for her, especially when they'd been forced apart due to war.

He'd touch her hair, her skin — he didn't need sex to be intimate with her. Now, there is always darkness and distance. He hasn't tried fucking her. She knows she wouldn't let him. She doesn't think she ever will again — with anyone.

Vader is careless with his lightsaber as he lets it fall to the floor. He strips to his boxers and climbs into bed beside her.

A thousand memories come into mind as she watches the familiar sight, and she turns her back on them all.

Anakin is dead, only Vader survives.

And she hates him with every fiber of her being.

oOo

In dreams, there is her and Anakin and the twins.

Sometimes they're on the lake, and she's sitting beneath thick willow trees and Anakin is making leaves twirl around their babies' heads as they try to catch them in chubby fists.

Sometimes, they're in a cottage and the twins are ages they'd never know, like four, and she's making Five Blossom Bread with them. She imagines Leia throwing flour at Anakin and him chasing her and Luke like a monster. He lets them defeat him and he lifts them high in his arms.

Sometimes, those dreams turn into nightmares.

There's always red plasma.

She'll be witnessing him chase her children, and suddenly they're dead.

Sometimes sliced in half, sometimes it's through the heart.

She wakes before she can join them.

Sometimes, Vader is beside her, awake when she shoots up from the nightmare.

She knows he's seen these dreams. She can feel his anger, his resentment, but it's nothing compared to hers.

Padmé doesn't hide that she turns over and cries after these dreams, and in these sobs, she's blaming him. Yourefaultyourfaultyourfault!

He doesn't try and comfort her. He knows better than that.

Obi-Wan had told her he murdered younglings — you fool! She thinks as she lays beside him. You awful, stupid fool.

"And not just the men, but the women… and the children, too."

She shuts her eyes. I hate you!

Yourefaultyourfaultyourfault

Except now it's for her, not him, because who would marry a man after that confession?

Vader says nothing, but he turns away from her to stare out the window in a resentment he doesn't deserve. And neither does she. Not after all this.

oOo

"I wish you had killed me," she says one night. Despite how quiet her voice was, it was harsh, like a whip.

It's dark and she knows he's awake and he knew sleep wasn't her friend that night.

His breath is sharp, and his back tenses.

"Don't!" his voice is like ice. The room is cold, and she swears it got darker, but she doesn't care. His troopers and enemies alike would cave under these conditions, but she's too far gone to care.

What the fuck did she have to live for? Bail dead. Mon dead. Rebellion shattered before it even began. Only small nuisances remained, and in time, Vader would snuff them out.

"Why?" she snapped, standing from their bed. "You were so eager to do it! Go on! Finish the job!"

Vader stands too, and before she can so much as blink he is in front of her, towering over her. It's so dark, but she knows him so well. His body is littered with scars, some fresh, but most old. His eyes, a once perfect blue, yellow.

She remembers the first time she saw those eyes. There was nothing romantic about it. He'd just been a child, but his eyes had been the color of a Naboo summer sky. She thinks Luke would've been the perfect image of the Anakin she'd met that day, the one who believed her to be an angel. Her heart twists at the thought of her Luke. A blue, lifeless baby she'd never know.

"I know you want to! I know you hate me almost as much as I hate you!" she spits, and she shoves him hard, but he's unmovable as he towers over him. She does it again; she curls her hands into fists and beats his chest. Her hands will be more bruised than him, but she doesn't care. She's sobbing, hard, and she wants to hurt him so badly. It kills her. Her hatred is poisoning her, and she does. She hates him. Hates him so much it makes her sick. "I want you to fucking kill me!" she sobs out, and he grasps her arms and holds her. It takes her a moment to realize he's crying.

This Sith Lord that has brought nothing but fear and terror into the hearts of her people is sobbing before her like a child, and she holds him tight.

"I'm sorry," he's saying. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And for the first time, he allows himself to mourn them and his children.

oOo

Had the price for their mother been them? He doesn't know.

He did not ask his master, but his master mocks his success in saving Padmé's life.

Vader shows no emotion but rage. Brutal and unescapable rage.

Vader's blood lust knows no bounds — he kills his men without mercy, no matter how small the slight, and he slaughters his enemies without hesitation.

Anakin Skywalker is truly no more.

Gone is the man who'd risk an entire mission to save one man, or even R2.

Gone is the man who refused to give up on his padawan, or master — gone is the man, consumed by the monster.

He died on Mustafar with that fool, Obi-Wan.

He died the moment his saber cut through Windu's arm.

He paid the price for Padmé's life, and he hated her for it.

He hated himself even more.

oOo

They don't speak of it anymore.

If he mourns, she doesn't know of it.

She mourns and mourns and mourns, and in her heart, there is a black hole where all the things she loved had been.

She thinks of Qui-Gon one evening as she looks out her window.

The Jedi Temple is nothing more than a pile of ash and memories, but still, she sees it in the distance and thinks of how she used to look there and tried in vain to see Anakin's cruiser coming to her. He'd always sneak up on her.

Sometimes he'd tickle her, or tap one shoulder and maneuver quick and she'd jump and shout, falling into his arms and kissing him greedily. He'd kiss her neck and move them to the bedroom. Sometimes he'd be fast, too fast, like she was slipping through his hands. Most of the time he was slow, and that had been when he'd been the most greedy.

She looks away from the window, then. Abandoning the memories of a man who died, who loved her, who she loved more than anything.

"All is as the Force wills it to be." Qui-Gon had said this to her on Tatooine. He had bet their ship for a hope and a prayer. Just like then, Padmé sneers at the words.

Trust in the force. Where had that ever gotten her? Him!? He had died on Naboo. Anakin died, and Vader remained.

She hits the glass suddenly. 3PO comes running in.

"Mistress, are you alright?" he asks gently.

Padmé shoves past him and wishes she could slam the door behind her. When the door shuts, she cries from the guilt.

3PO didn't deserve it, but she doesn't have the strength to apologize to him.

oOo

When Vader kills the emperor, she gawks at him in disbelief.

"If you think I will help you, you are sadly mistaken," she says coldly. She has her political mask on.

She remembers Sabé teaching her how to breathe, to show no fear.

Sabé never showed fear, and she squares her shoulders, preparing to die.

"So you'll let your people suffer," he says in mockery of all her nobler beliefs. She's watched them die, one by one, over the past three years. There was no senate, no rebellion, no liberty, or justice, and she glares at him.

"They suffer thanks to your fist, and I will not aid it."

His nostrils flare at her defiance because he will not kill her. He will not kill her, and she cannot kill herself, or leave him. She has brought her family shame, she is shame herself.

"I will never support the empire, My Lord," she says with a sneer and he grabs the hand attempting to reach for his belt where his lightsaber hangs. He squeezes her hand so tight she thinks it will snap, but he throws it aside.

"Everything I did, I did for you," he snaps bitterly, his voice like ice.

She lets out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. "Is that so, My Lord? All of it. Luke and Leia included."

"Don't," he snaps, his finger flying into her face. "Don't you dare — don't you ever!"

He's shaking with rage, but she doesn't care. She's not afraid of him, of death, she welcomes it freely. She'd rather die than be an empress, or to be with him.

"All those younglings, including your own. How nob —" his hand comes smashing across her face and she lets out a cry of pain as she cups her cheek.

Vader moves from her, horrified by what he's done. He shakes as he watches her, as if unable to comprehend that he had done that.

"And there he is," Padmé spits, literally. She spits blood onto the floor and glares at him. "Go on, Vader, finish the job. Isn't that what a Sith Lord would do?"

Vader inhales sharply and Padmé grins at him cruelly. "Or are you weak? You can't live without me, even if I give you nothing? Pathetic!"

Vader's eyes flash, and he lifts his hand but stops himself. "You ungrateful bitch," he spits at her.

Padmé laughs. "Should I be grateful for this?" she asks, waving her arms around. "Should I be grateful for my dead children, or my dead husband? I see nothing to be grateful for! What do you have to be grateful for?" She strides up to him and pokes him in the chest, hard. Her finger throbs, but she doesn't care. "All the men you used to mourn and cry for died for nothing! You fought a war for nothing! We lived in an illusion, you fool! You sold your soul for a lie, and you have nothing but power! All you have is unlimited power and no one to love you. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you're grateful for, My Lord!"

He flinches, but his eyes flash in fury. The dragon lives, and she wishes that, just for once, his eyes were blue. She wishes to be held in his arms again. She yearns for him to grab her hand and twirl her, to make love to her.

"That kick is definitely a girl," he'd whispered one night in bed, his palm flat on her belly.

"No, it's definitely a boy. A boy who loves to sit in the worst places," she said with a wince.

Anakin laughed. "Little Leia just wants her mother's attention," he cooed and put his face to her abdomen. "Isn't that right, princess. Princess Leia requires all the attention from us!"

Padmé laughed. "Well Luke is going to have to relax, his mama is trying to sleep a full eight hours."

He kisses her belly and his arms curl around her.

"Can you hear his heartbeat?" she teases gently, but the sight makes her want to cry. He's so young now. He's a general, The Hero With No Fear, and here he is, no more than a little boy clinging to hope.

This child would change their life. This child, she believed, would bring her peace.

She almost wants to cry then. He'd have to give up being a Jedi, she'd give up being a senator.

.

.

.

"Sometimes, I wish I, too, had been a painter," she tells Anakin when he stands in her office.

He wants them to go away, desperately.

He almost begged her, got down on his knees to plead for an escape.

When Padmé thinks back now, she wonders why she denied him. Why she denied herself…

He's looking out the window, jaw locked as he looks upon the temple.

"Yeah. Me, too," he says with bitterness.

After that, he was away for three months and she'd been pregnant.

Why did I waste that? she wonders in the night when he's away. When she can pretend the man away is not Darth Vader, the empire's fist, but Anakin Skywalker, her hero. Her husband.

.

.

.

"You really think our baby is a girl?" she asks him softly in the night. She's naked and curled around him, running her fingers up and down his chest.

He's so handsome.

He's hard but so surprisingly soft.

People would be surprised how lovable this man was. He was strong, sturdy, and loyal. He was her's.

"Yes," he smiles, kissing her hair, breathing in her scent.

In the morning, he'd be gone. She'd watch him from the balcony, as always, and she'd hold back the tears.

"She will have everything, no matter what," he vows, her flesh hand caressing her belly.

She had no doubt. She imagines him with a girl. She'd be a Daddy's Girl, and he'd spoil her. He'd do anything to spoil her.

She imagines him with the son she dreams of each night. This blonde haired boy, like the one she met on a dustbowl planet — her hope, her prayers. She imagines him teaching him how to duel, watching podraces with him. He'd do this with either gender, but her dreams have all been with him holding a little blonde-haired boy.

Padmé imagines her lake home. The room the baby has is small, but just off the bedroom she and Ani always shared with the window doors they'd keep open to let in the breeze. Luke would grow up with the sounds of water and trees, he'd know lake birds and grasses.

She imagines her tending a garden, Anakin as a pilot. Free, living his dream.

Once he confessed to her that his life had been smoke and mirrors. He thought the Jedi was freedom, but he felt more chained than ever before.

Her heart broke at that confession. She'd held him tight, kissing him.

Padmé doesn't think their baby will be a Jedi, no matter how force-sensitive they are.

"This baby will have everything and more," he vows quietly, holding her tight.

"The moon and more," she agrees, curling her arms tighter and burying her face into his chest. The moon and more...

.

.

.

Her throat tightens at the memory and she looks at him, really looks at him.

He was so much younger than her.

Nineteen when they married, twenty-two when their babies died, but he looks so much older than her now.

There's no joy in his eyes, no smile — everything that had once been his is gone. "Was it worth it?" she asks him.

He's quiet for a long moment before he finally says, "No."