Chapter 22 – Scarred

She was on fire.

Furious pain, impossibly intense. Flames lapped at her flesh, burning it away, producing an acrid stench.

Yellow and red flecked her vision. A figure on the horizon, wavering in the heat. She couldn't make it out.

A voice, screaming, wailing.

For her.

"Padmé! Help me!"

She started awake.

"Padmé!"

She felt a hand on her chest, on her cheek.

"Calm down, relax."

Padmé was breathing heavily. Her skin was slick with sweat. She blinked her eyes into focus. Where was she? Whose voice was in her ear?

"Sola?"

Her sister shushed her.

"It's okay," she said, pushing her gently onto her back. "Take deep breaths."

Padmé tried to do so. Her teeth began to chatter, the heat from earlier now viciously cold.

"Sola, I had a terrible dream."

"You're okay now," Sola said.

"No, no," Padmé said. It wasn't right. Something was horribly wrong. "I need to… to save –"

"You already did," Sola said. "Palpatine is safe."

"Palpatine?"

"He's just outside."

"Outside?"

Padmé sat up despite Sola's protest. She looked around at the space. She was in an office of sorts, lying on a couch.

"Where am I?"

"The Senate," Sola said. "The whole complex is on lockdown."

Padmé heard muffled voices. She looked beyond Sola.

"Keep looking, Commander! He could not have gone far."

The doors burst open to reveal Palpatine. He looked invigorated. The wound to his forehead was gone, his tattered robes replaced with a new pair. He looked at her and smiled.

"Ah, Padmé. You're awake."

"Master," she said. "What's going on?"

"Clones are sweeping the premises for Master Yoda," Palpatine said, striding forward. "It seems he managed to slip through our fingers. But that is of little concern. He had his chance, and you foiled him, my dear."

Padmé held a hand to her head, feeling dizzy.

"Are you feeling all right?" Palpatine asked. Sola stepped aside and Palpatine assumed her seat on the ottoman in front of the couch. "It must have taken a tremendous effort to heal me as well as you did."

"I… I'm not…"

Palpatine placed a hand on her shoulder. Padmé's stammering stopped.

"You can rest," he said. "The battle is won. We're safe now."

Padmé shook her head. "No, we're not. Anakin. He's in danger."

Palpatine's forehead creased. "What are you talking about?"

"Obi-Wan is alive. He threatened me. He threatened my children. I had to tell him where Anakin had gone. I'm sorry, Master. I had no choice!"

Palpatine took a moment to process this information. Then his face hardened.

"Kenobi has gone to Mustafar?"

Padmé nodded.

"Then we must go as well," Palpatine said. "I sense Lord Vader is in danger."

Δ Δ Δ

Palpatine's personal Theta-class shuttle was the fastest ship the Republic (or rather, the Empire) had to offer. Yet knowing that, Padmé couldn't stop herself from tapping her foot to the ground, willing the shuttle to go faster.

"Calm yourself, Padmé," Palpatine said. "Your husband is more than capable."

She wanted to believe it. But Padmé couldn't forget her visions, what she had seen and felt, time and time again in her dreams.

"I'm afraid, Master," she confessed.

Palpatine did not reply. Perhaps he couldn't decide what to say to her. That was all right with Padmé. There was nothing he could say to help, anyway.

And so they clicked along through hyperspace in silence. For an hour. Then another. Padmé rubbed her eyes. She felt so very heavy. Her limbs, her bones. She knew why. Because she had healed Palpatine.

He had told her it would be draining. Quite literally she was transferring her vitality to another being. Padmé had known that. Yet she hadn't hesitated. Not for one instant. Palpatine had needed her, and Padmé had been there to save him.

But what about Anakin? Would she be there in time to save him? Did that not reveal something about her? About who she valued more?

She knew what Sola would say. Of course not, Padmé. It isn't your fault, Padmé. You couldn't have known they would both be in danger.

But wasn't it her fault? She had told Obi-Wan where to find Anakin. And rather than stopping to alert him, she had instead rushed to the Senate to save Palpatine. Oh, but she needed his help, she would say. She wasn't strong enough to help Anakin against Obi-Wan.

But she was. She was strong enough. Padmé knew she was strong, stronger than ever before. Because the dark side was stronger than it had ever been, and with the dark side as her ally Padmé could do whatever she wished. She could save whoever she chose to save.

And she had chosen Palpatine. She had chosen him over Anakin.

Perhaps it was twisted logic. Perhaps it didn't make sense. But to Padmé it made sense. She had been trying to thwart Palpatine for months before she had been captured by the Jedi. Yet now she was firmly under his thumb again. She was doing his bidding. And now she was especially useful to him. He had taught her how to heal him. That power benefited him, not her. She was like a sentient first-aid kit who could help bring him back to strength whenever he ran into trouble.

And she did it without complaint. Without taking so much as a second to think about things critically. She was pathetic. Palpatine's pawn.

It was time to break free. It was time to reach the end of the board.

Trouble was, she didn't know how.

Δ Δ Δ

"Padmé! Be careful!"

The moment the shuttle touched down on the landing pad, Padmé ran out the main hatch into the sweltering heat. Palpatine was behind her, accompanied by a couple of clones.

"Padmé!"

She let his voice be drowned out by the colossal sound of rushing magma below the platform. Padmé ran, overcoming the fatigue which to this point had shackled her limbs. She ran as fast as she could in the direction which felt right. The air was thick with ash. Padmé coughed, but she refused to slow.

"Padmé!"

Another voice called her name. Another voice beckoned her to run faster.

"Help me!"

There was no doubt in her mind. Anakin was in terrible danger. She could sense his fear, his pain, palpably as if it were her own.

Who was she without Anakin? Nothing more than Palpatine's protégé. Anakin was the first person to make her feel like she herself was a person, an individual, someone to be cherished.

He was what made her human.

She ran along a sharp ridge of black igneous rock. A fiery river of rushing magma kept pace with her to the left. Heat sweltered and a horrific stench filled the air. She recognized it from the Jedi Temple.

The smell of death.

Padmé came to an abrupt stop when she saw it. A creature at the bottom of the sloping hillside. Its flesh was charred beyond recognition, and its arms and limbs were cut off at the joints.

"Anakin!" she cried.

Stumbling down the slope, she fell to her knees by his side. Somehow he was still alive. His tear-stained eyes found hers.

"Padmé," he rasped, in a voice entirely unfamiliar to her.

She couldn't speak. Her throat clamped shut. She reached out with trembling hands, yet couldn't bring herself to touch him. She knew it would only add to his agony.

"There he is!" a voice called.

Padmé looked up to see Palpatine at the hill's crest. He stopped there, stunned.

"Save him!" Padmé screamed. "You have to save him!"

Palpatine did nothing. He continued to stare at the husk that was Anakin's body.

"Master!"

Finally he acted. "Bring him back to the ship," he ordered the clones. "And be careful with him."

Padmé watched helplessly as the clones produced a stretcher and scrambled down the hill.

"No, stop," Padmé said when they tried to lift him. "You'll hurt him."

"Ma'am –"

"Let me."

Padmé lifted her hands and pulled Anakin into the air with the Force. Yet she was shaking too badly to hold him steady. Her vision was blurred with tears and her lungs full of ash. Anakin's body wobbled precariously.

"I have him," came Palpatine's voice by her side. "You can let go."

Padmé did. Her arms collapsed to her sides as Palpatine finished the job. When Anakin was safely in the stretcher, Palpatine placed a hand on her shoulder.

"This is not your fault," he told her.

No, Padmé wanted to say. It's your fault.

But she didn't say that. Instead she wept.

Δ Δ Δ

Padmé was inconsolable.

She was in a featureless room with beige walls. Seated on a cot, hands clasped in her lap.

Her eyes were dry. She had no more tears to spend.

To her right was a viewport. They were clicking through hyperspace on the way to Coruscant. Upon finding Anakin's mangled body on Mustafar, they had taken him back to the shuttle and rendezvoused with a medical frigate which was fortunately already within the sector. Yet there was little they could do for Anakin out here. His wounds were too great. Only on Coruscant with the most modern and advanced medical equipment in the galaxy would he stand the greatest chance to survive.

But Padmé knew it was just that. A chance. She closed her eyes and saw him again. Blackened flesh, bubbling and broiled. Snaking red veins in the whites of his eyes, the blue irises pale and cloudy. There was hardly anything left of him. Kenobi had taken him away from her.

But Kenobi wasn't solely to blame. He may have been the one who maimed Anakin, but it was Palpatine who had sent him to Mustafar in the first place. It was Palpatine who had manipulated him so that he would become Darth Vader, his obedient apprentice. It was Palpatine who had manipulated her so that she would coerce him to the darkness even further.

All of this was her master's doing. All of this was his fault.

The door opened.

"I hate you," Padmé said.

Palpatine stood in the frame, haggard in appearance, eyelids drooping and shoulders slumped. It was as if he felt remorse. She knew he did not. It was all a show. He was manipulating her again.

"Do you hear me?" Padmé said. "I hate you."

"Padmé –"

"No." Padmé stood. She pointed a trembling finger at him. "You are responsible."

"I am not –"

"You!"

She felt half inclined to fight him then and there. Her hand was extended. She could feel the electricity tingling in her fingertips.

But what was the point? Killing him wouldn't help Anakin. It wouldn't solve any of her problems. In fact, she needed him still.

"Save him," she demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"You can do it. I know you can."

Palpatine took a step into the room. The pneumatics released a soft hiss when the door sealed shut behind him.

"His wounds are too severe," he said. "The act of healing him would be lethal to the healer."

"I don't care."

"You would rather I die so that he might live?"

"Of course I would. A thousand times over, I would."

Something flashed in Palpatine's eyes. It was hurt. Padmé hadn't known he felt that. But the strange moment passed, and a stern look took its stead.

"You are ungrateful," Palpatine said.

Padmé was aghast. "Ungrateful?" she echoed. "How dare you! My husband is dying because of you!"

"He would be nothing without me," Palpatine said. "Neither would you. I am your master. I am the one who forged you into who you are."

"He's a husk of himself!" Padmé said. "As am I! You ruined us! You ruined us both!"

"You are not ruined," Palpatine insisted. "You are strong."

Padmé swiped her hand through the air, and a trail of sparks followed. "I am weak!" she spat. "I am weak because I am subordinate. I am weak because I am loyal! You manipulate me. You contort me. You make me do whatever it is you want. No more! I'm done!"

"You do as I say because I am the one who protects you. I am the one who empowers you." Palpatine's words were strong, but there was a slight tremor in his voice. As if he was pleading.

"You lie," Padmé bit out. "All you do is lie. I have no power. Anakin has no power. The only one with power is you. The only one that matters is you."

"That's not true."

"You only care about yourself! You've only ever cared about your own power and your own ambition."

"No, Padmé." He raised his hands. She saw them trembling. "I care about you."

Something in her nearly snapped. Perhaps it was because she had been waiting her entire life to hear him say that. Perhaps it was because she wanted to believe him, but could not. Perhaps it was because she saw that same look in his eyes as she saw in Ruwee, her true father.

She wanted to cry, to scream, to lose whatever composure she had left. But she didn't. She wouldn't. She was stronger than that. Or maybe she wasn't, but she wanted to be. Either way, she prevailed.

"Prove it."

Palpatine blinked. "What?"

"Prove that you care about someone other than yourself." She couldn't quite bring herself to say what she meant. Prove that you care about me.

"How?"

"Save Anakin."

"But Padmé –"

"I don't want to hear it! You're responsible for this! You are! So you have to fix it!"

"I am not responsible."

"Of course you are! You're responsible for everything. Everything is your fault!"

Palpatine squared his jaw. "I am sorry you feel that way." He gave her a long, probing look. Then he turned.

"So you won't do it?" Padmé called.

"No," he said. "I will not."

"Coward."

Palpatine shook his head. The door opened, and he made to leave.

"I'll do it myself then!"

He stopped. Turned.

"No you will not."

"I don't care if it kills me," Padmé said. Her face was wet with tears. Of course she cared. She was terrified. But it was all she could do to defy him. This was her move across the board. "I love him." Her voice cracked. "I have to save him."

"I will not condone it," Palpatine said emphatically. "I will not allow you to throw your life away."

"You gave me this power, Master," Padmé said, dripping with venom. "You empowered me. It's my choice. Not yours."

She desperately wanted him to present an alternative. In all his strength and wisdom, Darth Sidious, her master, could prevent this. He could talk her off the cliff, surely.

But he said nothing. He was too stunned to speak.

Or perhaps not stunned. Afraid.

He was afraid to lose her.

And Padmé was afraid to lose herself.

But at least this way she would be free.