The Far Islands resort quarters in Coruscant was far from a prison, though Padmé knew they would not see it that way. Though it was far from what Bail and Mon deserved for betraying her, wouldn't Padmé had done the same thing in their shoes, had she not been a Sith, forever tainted from years of torture and brainwashing from Sidious? They had thought her a close friend not long ago, and Padmé herself had even believed it sometimes, as deeply she was immersed in the role she played. Yet parts of her hated intently her two former Co-Consulars not for standing against her, but for who they were, because she recognized that Bail Organa and Mon Mothma were the politicians, nay human being, she would have been, were she unmolested by the Dark.
Bail was monitoring the holonets passively when she entered their chambers, Mon writing something furiously, in all likelihood some kind of manifesto denouncing their former friend and ally. Both hurriedly turned off their devices when they heard her enter and swerved to face her. Bail seemed to resonate resignation, while Mon's pale eyes stared daggers at her. Wishing to avoid as much as possible any sort of scene, Padmé spoke first.
"Senator Wipper'lom's Resolutions of Reunion have passed the Alliance Senate. All that remains to conclude this war is for the Consulars to sign their approval."
"Don't hide behind semantics, Padmé." Mon Mothma did little to hide her disgust at the friend she had trusted, the one who had betrayed all their principles. "We've read the terms. It's basically the ratification of an Empire. Congratulations, Padmé, you're an Empress. Can't you leave us alone now?"
"Not yet," Padmé said quietly. She stood still before the doorway of the suite, the empty space between them in the small lobby feeling like an impassible chasm. "Not until you've completed your last political legacy."
"You expect us to vote for it," Bail noted with increasing horror. "Not only do you want to ruin us, you want us to destroy whatever reputations we still retain?"
"Your reputations you ruined yourselves," Padmé stated indifferently, no condemnation in her voice. "Considering this legislation does essentially crown me an Empress, it is only proper that I abstain from the vote. It will be ratified, there is no question about that. If you decline, Kara will call for new Consulars to be elected. But approval by my allies, the ones who stood by me at the formation of the Alliance, would present an example of unity for the rest of the Galaxy."
Mon sneered. "You want us to sell our souls for your sake? What happens if we decline? Do you kill us? Slaughter us like you did the Jedi or your own Queen? Torture us, like you have been all the Senators you've locked up without even a trial?"
"No," Padmé said, her composure never faltering. "I will allow events to take their predestined course. Your betrayal ensures that you will lose whatever election that will takes place, and you will be forced to retire in disgrace."
"Why would you even want our votes then," Bail asked sadly, "considering how little influence you claim we have?"
"Because along with your votes," Padmé replied, "you will issue statements formally apologizing for your actions cooperating with Fafi and the Jedi. You will state that you were misled by their lies, their misguided ideology, that you regret the events and the casualties resulting from your actions. But you have learned from your mistakes, and thus you endorse the Empire and its monarchs with your full confidence, because you trust that it is the only way to achieve a secure and lasting peace. You will then retire with your blessings to me and my husband, with the firm hope that your final political act will mark the beginnings of your rehabilitation, that one day, posterity may forgive you for your crimes."
"In your dreams," Bail screeched out, the angriest Padmé had ever seen him. But ignoring his indignant reply, she continued.
"Failing that, not only will you be disgraced, but so will your entire worlds. Alderaan and Chandrila will find new representatives to take your place, but any persons elected will find themselves sitting permanently in the backbench. Aid will trickle down to a minimum, taxes will be increased, trade routes will be altered to pass your planets by. Your worlds will become backwaters, eclipsed even by worlds such as Tatooine. Your people will suffer, mired permanently in poverty...all for the sake of your own personal egos. This is your test, my fellow Consulars. What matters more to you? Your own personal reputations, or the constituents you claim to represent?"
"You're evil," Bail Organa said solemnly after a long silence. "From the beginning, you've take advantage of the honesty and honor of your peers. I see that every day you've used our own better natures against us. You claim to hold true to the same principles, but you've built your entire career and reputation by leeching on to our integrity, sucking it away from us until, once you get your power, you dispose of our wasted husks."
"All our years working together," Mon Mothma added, "what I thought was a friendship...they were all lies, weren't they? You never cared for Bail and I. You never cared for the principles we stood for...democracy, freedom. And now, you think nothing of destroying not just us, but entire planets, planets that once supported you with all their hearts and souls, all for the sake of this Empire you crave...this Empire you've probably plotted from the very beginning!"
"Don't you dare throw out that word," Padmé retorted, breaking her composure for the first time. "Friendship? You were the ones who betrayed me, and gave me away to the Jedi!"
"Because we discovered the truth," Mon shouted back. "That you never meant a word you said to us! That our entire relationship was built upon lies!"
"And how easily you believed them," Padmé said, feeling herself lose control once more. "Do you know why you were so drawn to me? So eager to believe every my every word? Because you feared me, yet you wished you were me, because I was everything you hoped you could be!"
"You're mad," Bail exclaimed, wondering how he could have been fooled by a madwoman Sith for so long.
"Think about it," Padmé said, calming down, deepening her breaths, letting her speech emerge one controlled word at a time. "You are idealists. You came into politics with the highest hopes, thinking you could change the Galaxy. Yet how quickly did you find yourselves bogged down in the depths of the bureaucracy, the corruption, letting go your ideals for the sake of process and protocol? Letting yourselves be manipulated by the likes of Orn Free Taa and appeasing your consciences by calling it reasonable and compromise, all while the galaxy continued to deteriorate and sentients continued to suffer under your watch? You see me take the stage, you see me act without reservation, and you know that awakened a part of you, one where your idealistic, childhood dreams still lived, a piece of you that's lain dormant from the moment you understood what you had to give up to survive in politics. That's why you followed me without hesitation. To secession. To war. That's why all of your other colleagues will continue to follow me into Empire, because I act when you dare not."
"You may be correct about us," Bail conceded after another long pause. "But that does not make you right in your intentions. You speak as if dictatorship is the only path, as if democracy never had a chance..."
"I gave it a chance," Padmé responded harshly. "I introduced legislation which should have been harmless, legislation to enforce the laws that already existed against slavery. It should have been a Corellian slam dunk, yet we all saw that it caused the greatest political firestorm the Senate had seen since Ruusan. To me, democracy died in that moment, yet I gave it another chance to redeem itself."
"With Nute Gunray," Bail asked, the pieces finally clicking in place for him. "How much of that crisis on Cato Neimoidia did you actually cause..."
"We'll never know," Padmé shrugged, forcefully brushing off Bail's implication. Bail's correct implication. "And it matters not. I did nothing to influence the election. Each Senator voted knowingly. Nute Gunray won. What system which allows Nute Gunray to win deserves to survive?"
Moving towards the two former Senators, ignoring them as they recoiled back in horror at her advance, Padmé handed them each a datapad, the legislation pulled up and ready for their signatures.
"I don't deny democracy has its flaws," Mon conceded as she reviewed the text. It was a farce, of course, there was no point to her reading the fine print as if democracy still mattered, but she couldn't help herself nevertheless. "But who are you to be its judge, to decide whether it lives or dies?"
"Politics is after all a game. I moved when others wouldn't, where others wouldn't. I won. I decide, because I won, because there is no one left in the galaxy who can." Padmé smiled at her, a gesture that sent shivers down Mon Mothma's spine. "It is my destiny, don't you see? It would have happened regardless. The path was sealed the moment you stood with me on Naboo and declared our separation from the Republic. You tried to fight me with your little coup, and in doing so, only made it easier for me to claim my rightful throne, because you simply cannot fight the tide, the will of the Force."
"You will not rule forever," Bail said grudgingly as he signed the resolution. "Every Sith in the history of the galaxy has failed. You are not the exception."
Padmé laughed, a sound genuine enough as if she actually found true humor in Bail's words. "I agree, Organa. Power is cyclical. One day my dynasty will fall. But you are wrong. I am the exception. You should know better, that I will not make the mistakes of the past, that I will not rule as a Sith."
"How will you rule," Mon asked fearfully, looking up as her fingers penned her assent to the Empire as well.
"As Amidala. As the Amidala you followed into the depths of war. As the Amidala the galaxy has grown to revere."
He was alive, that was his first reaction. He lay in a penthouse apartment rather than some detention cell, that was his second reaction. Rising from the rather plush bed, he strode out to the viewport and glimpsed the Jedi Temple across the way. Though he could see the damage from the recent siege, reaching out with the Force towards the only home he knew, he felt...a normal state of things. His brothers and sisters, brethren, sentients, living, meditating, practicing their katas as they had done for millennia. He felt immense relief, relief he did not try to stem as he should, as a Jedi. He lifted his right hand, studying its brand new prosthetic parts, testing his fingers, the movements they made at the command of his brain, a tangible and permanent reminder of his defeat in the Temple, memories of which flooded back into his consciousness.
From his viewpoint, he located himself in 500 Republica. Grunting grudgingly to himself, he searched the apartment, trying to find his lightsaber. Or Comm, or any connection to the outside world. There was none. The doors were locked, sealed from the outside, of course, so it was still a prison, albeit the most gilded one in the galaxy. Lacking any other course of action, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself a choice spot on the parlor floor, sat down, and started meditating.
He felt it approach hours later, and heard the snap-hiss as the doors to his apartment sprang open. A small, browned haired woman walked quietly in, intruding on a space he had already, unconsciously, began to consider his own. A woman, who despite her small stature, Obi-Wan understood to have just overthrown the entire entrenched power structure of the known galaxy. Who had probably plotted the demise of the Republic and the Jedi for decades. And who had won, and who would now subject the galaxy to her will. And Obi-Wan understood that he had blown his chance to stop her, that there was nothing more he could do now to rip this ill-gotten power away from her.
"Your highness," he addressed mockingly, not bothering to leave his meditation for her sake.
"It is the proper term," the Sith master agreed. "Tomorrow will see Anakin and I properly coronated. It is proper you are awake to witness it."
"How long was I out," Obi-Wan asked, eyes still closed, though he knew his meditation was finished for the day.
"Several weeks," Padmé said. The answer shocked him, yet he was not surprised. The Force whispered to him the passage of time, as did the evidence of the repairs to the Temple walls from the deadly siege when he had last been awake.
"Do you plan to kill me after your coronation," he asked stoically, determined not to let the Sith sense any fear or trepidation from him. "After you parade me as an exhibition of your triumph?"
"Don't be so hopelessly paranoid," the Sith scoffed at him. "The coronation is very important. I cannot afford to let you disrupt the ceremony. After its conclusion, you will be free to go."
"Will I," he asked, still distrusting Amidala's every word. "Free to rejoin the Jedi? Free to speak out against you and Anakin? To raise my sword against you?"
"No." Padmé laughed, and this time it was her tone that was mocking. "Your own Council will forbid it."
This was news, enough to prompt Obi-Wan to finally rise and face his enemy. "What do you mean? What have you done to the Jedi?"
"I made peace with your Order," Padmé said, not able to betray the satisfaction in her voice. "According to the Concord of Dagobah, signed by both Master Yoda and myself, the Jedi will continue to function and carry on their business, under the bylaws of the Empire, of course."
Obi-Wan scoffed contemptuously. "The Jedi serving the Sith. Do you intend to treat us as slaves? As puppets? Or do you plan to corrupt us all to the Dark Side as well, until you've infected and destroyed our Order from within one by one?"
"Hardly. Do you really think so little of me, Obi-Wan? After all we've been through?" Padmé handed him a datapad, and Obi-Wan scrolled through the lengthy text that his own Council had apparently agreed to with a Sith.
"Use of the Dark Side is prohibited by law," Padmé said as Obi-Wan perused the datapad, "same as before. Except when allowed by Imperial decree. And the Jedi are responsible for patrolling their own, ensuring that none within the Order becomes a threat to the peace."
"I see," Obi-Wan said, understanding. "The Jedi Order will police our own so that none of us can threaten the Sith." His eyes caught a passage as he skimmed through the words, something about relaxing the Order's rules regarding attachments, and allowing crechelings to contact their birth parents.
"For the greater good," Padmé said, not disagreeing with him. "It serves both Orders, and the galaxy as a whole. Why argue against a good thing, something that works?"
"But you're evil," Obi-Wan protested fiercely. "And you admit it inherently, that the Dark Side is evil, else why not evangelize its use to every Force sensitive in the galaxy?"
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Padmé scolded, more as a disappointed mother than a vengeful Sith, "to think I expected better of you, than to revert to such...conventional platitudes...to seek solace in outdated definitions." She snatched the datapad away from Obi-Wan, as if he did not deserve the wisdom it contained. "The Dark Side is like any ability. The potential can do great good, or great harm. Many Siths have chosen the latter route in the past. Anakin and I are different. We have learned to adapt, to control it, to use it to improve the galaxy. And we will."
She spoke the last three words almost as a threat, and Obi-Wan shuddered at the sheer megalomania of someone he once respected. Yet the way the words were spoken...there was something different about Amidala today. She had won, she had defeated the Jedi...she should be celebrating...gloating...which she was doing in word. But the way she spoke, it sounded more as if she was in mourning.
"What makes you so special? That only you and Anakin and no one else are immune to the poisons of the Dark Side?"
"The Jedi have always believed Anakin to be special, have they not? The Chosen One? Destined to bring balance to the Force?"
"Until he was perverted by the Sith," Obi-Wan said resentfully, still unable to let go of the boy's wasted potential.
"Ani and I will rule justly," Padmé said plainly, as if it were fact rather than opinion. "We will teach our children and their children to rule justly, with balance, to seek both the light and the dark for guidance. But I cannot speak for the fate of all our progeny to come," the Sith master admitted to Obi-Wan's surprise. "One day, one of our bloodline will find themselves drunk by the Dark Side, driven towards its excesses. You're right. It's in the Dark Side's very nature."
"You're willing to let that happen," Obi-Wan asked. "Assuming you and Anakin won't be the ones to fall so deep, a generous assumption I'll grant for the sake of debate, you'll still doom the galaxy to suffering and pain one day in the future just for the sake of your power today? Let one of your successors undo all the supposed good you'll bring about in your glorious reign?"
Padmé shook her head impatiently, seemingly perturbed that Obi-Wan still did not fully understand the implications of her vision. "When the Sith oversteps their bounds, there will be a healthy and thriving Jedi Order to oppose them."
Obi-Wan cocked his head, looking at the Sith in complete disbelief.
"For millennia, the Jedi Order alone has presumed dictated the will of the Force," Padmé explained. "Now, authority lies in the hand of the Sith. It's our turn now, but should any of us be tempted to stray, to revert to the ways of old, we will do so with the knowledge that we stand outnumbered, that we will be opposed by the full force and strength of the Jedi Order. That is balance in the Force, is it not?"
"Easier concepts to claim rather than put into practice," Obi-Wan finally relented, finding no way to argue against the Sith.
"I guess we have no choice but to let the future prove our cases," Padmé said, ready to conclude their conversation.
"Why let me live," Obi-Wan asked as the Sith started her leave. "If you were truly in the right, then I was the one who wronged you. Why spare my life, when you have slaughtered those less innocent than me? Such as Queen Jamillia."
"Queen Jamillia died from an unfortunate heart condition," Padmé maintained firmly, lips thin and refusing to acknowledge the truth they both knew. The lie addressed, she spoke with less defensiveness. "They say living well is the best revenge. In my case, perhaps that is my revenge for you. For you to live in this new world. To see how well it thrives under the rule of the Sith. To understand incrementally with each passing day how misguided your actions were. And to live with their consequences. To live upon your conscience the blood of the Jedi your coup spilled. That of Master Windu. Barriss Offee. And all those who passed defending the Temple from the Droid army you unwittingly unleashed."
While he would not believe her right, Obi-Wan could admit to himself that, regardless of right or wrong, those who died on the siege on Coruscant had died for naught, in lieu of the failure of his coup and the triumph of the Sith. "Perhaps you were not entirely in the wrong. But neither was I."
Padmé nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words for the first time in their conversation. "You lost, Obi-Wan. You failed. There is peace now between Jedi and Sith for the first time in thousands of generations. Yes, we hold ultimate power solely within our grasp, and our family and our kind will reign over the galaxy for years to come. Yet the world continues on. The galaxy still hums. Sentients live and die, children celebrate life-days, and old men and women cry at funerals. The Temple stands, and the Jedi continue their teachings, taking Padawans, granting Knighthoods, working on behalf of sentients, only with better direction now. Accept those facts, Obi-Wan, and you may find life easier to cope with."
She turned to go again, and Obi-Wan sensed that her departure was final. He was about to say something, but of course the incumbent Empress had to snatch the final words.
"You have guests. We should not leave them waiting much longer."
To his surprise, Padmé's exit coincided neatly with the entrance of Quinlan Vos and the Duchess of Mandalore. Satine. The woman to whom he had once promised his heart. The woman he would have left the Jedi Order for. And she was accompanied by his friend, perhaps the closest friend he had in his life. Two people who, he could not ignore, had been complicit in the rise of the Sith in one small way or another.
"Obi-Wan," Quinlan started, speaking first amidst the awkward reunion. "It's good to see you alive. I feared the worst."
"Quinlan," Obi-Wan nodded, holding back the urge to hug his friend. To hug both friends. Instead, he crumpled onto a nearby chaise, sighing at the lengths to which the Sith were willing to go to torture him, using the people he cared the most about in his life. The closest he had to attachments. "Is it to Skywalker and Amidala you hold your allegiance to now?"
"Alas, no," Quinlan said, taking a seat beside him, Satine reclining on a chair across from them. "I kept your secret, Obi-Wan, until you carried things out. In doing so, I lost Skywalker's trust. I'm still a Jedi. Still is Dooku, for the matter, and all the others who joined the Alliance...with the reunification...I think the Council would like to pretend none of it happened."
"That seems to be a theme these days, doesn't it," Obi-Wan muttered, "close our eyes and pretend everything is normal, that we aren't all living under the dominion of the Sith. I'd say I'd be surprised that Anakin didn't execute you outright, but seems the Sith are in a merciful mood these days. One can be thankful for the little things, I suppose."
"I tried to do right by both sides," Quinlan said. "I think Skywalker understood that. I'm not saying they're saints, but you should give them more credit."
"Amidala has given me a lot to think about," Obi-Wan admitted. He looked at Quinlan, then Satine, who had remained silent throughout their reunion. "Why are you here? Both of you?"
"Because we care about you, Obi-Wan," Satine said with an intensity that surprised Obi-Wan. "The Empress told me you were severely hurt during the siege. We wanted to make sure you were alright."
Obi-Wan could tell that Satine's eyes rarely left his prosthetic, that she wanted to reach out, and touch it, and comfort him, but held back for his sake. "Empress," he could not help but ask. "Since when does Mandalore's pacifism compatible with a galactic empire?"
Satine shrugged, a reaction he seemed to be eliciting quite often this day. "It is what it is. The Empire and its army does not intrude on Mandalorian space. We are free to carry on independently with our own affairs, same as it was with the Alliance. And the taxation policies are more than fair."
"You both just accept the Sith," Obi-Wan asked, though his tone was less challenging, more genuinely inquisitive, as somehow the few hours he had since regaining consciousness were close to obliterating his resistance.
"Like I said," Quinlan said, "they're no paragons of virtue."
"Those daily tortures of Gunray and his supporters they broadcast on the holonets is quite distasteful," Satine admitted.
"...but the galaxy does seem better off. Even Master Yoda agrees, change for the Jedi was due, that we had become stale and arrogant in our ways. And if the Jedi have calcified in our ways, become stale in our traditions, it doesn't seem inconceivable that the Republic had its own serious flaws as well."
"You'll find no argument from me there," Satine added quickly.
"What now then," Obi-Wan asked, reclining in his corner of the couch and staring at the sterile white ceilings of the room. "Do we just carry on as Jedi and pretend there's nothing different between a Sith Empress and a Supreme Chancellor? Conduct our missions on their behalf, continue to augment and expand their power?"
Quinlan looked sympathetically at his old friend. "It's a lot to take in at once, I know. And you might think that it's easy for me, but it's not. I don't think I can go back to the Temple right now."
"What will you do?"
Quinlan shook his head, his eyes far off in the distance. "I need a sabbatical, I think. Go somewhere to the Outer Rim, or Wild Space. Take some time to meditate. On my own, as myself...not as a Jedi. You know, I've not had a moment to myself since I was a youngling? These missions just keep taking more and more out of you...but Master Yoda understands that now, finally. The galaxy's at peace, and the pace of the Temple has slowed to a degree that...I do not find disagreeable."
"We move on," Satine said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, not far from where his flesh met his prosthetic arm. "We live. We try to be happy. Is that so difficult an endeavor?"
Staring back at her solemn gray-blue eyes, eyes that he did not realize until now still haunted him, Obi-Wan found himself unable to refute her.
"I appreciate the statue," Shmi said uneasily, "but it's a little too...unrealistic? There's not even a wrinkle on my face."
"You're so much more beautiful than that statue, love," Cliegg said, squeezing his wife's shoulders affectionately.
The two newly royal families gathered in a small garden on the vast estate, confiscated from the manors of several of Coruscant's most prominent politicians and guild leaders, that would soon serve as the official Imperial Palace. Construction continued as each property was combined, barriers between them knocked down, and each structure and space designed to fit the Siths' exact specifications. Amongst the changes were statues brought in to adorn the grounds, most of them likenesses of the new Emperor and Empress's families, friends, and closest supporters. Two Jedi were represented as well, one of Qui-Gon Jinn, whom both Anakin and Padmé agreed deserved to be honored, and another of Sifo-Dyas, whose sacrifice was even more immediate and crucial to getting them where they stood today. Conspicuously missing were any sculptures of the royal couple themselves, as Padmé figured that they would be amply honored by those who came after them.
"I'm a bit confused," Ruwee muttered in a corner, more to himself than anything else. "Am I supposed to be a Prince now or something?"
"You can have whatever title you'd like, dad," Padmé said, sensing that her father was still more than uneasy about their new stature. Ruwee raised her to love democracy, and with the rather abrupt change, in his mind to her political philosophies, the best Padmé could expect from him was acceptance of what she had done, without any gleeful cheering.
Shmi seemed uneasy as well, not regarding anything political, but the mother of the new Emperor to be was more concerned about whether or not Anakin, still barely twenty years of age, was ready to rule the galaxy. Anakin had acknowledged that, despite several family talks they had since the revelation, when both families interrogated them at length, both Shmi and Ruwee were still a bit miffed that they had kept the secret of the Sith from them. And the brunt of their unhappiness fell inevitably on Padmé, seeing that whatever her intentions, whether they were truly altruistic, or completely selfish and power-hungry, or somewhere in between, she had no doubt taken advantage of the boy when she lured him to the Sith Order. And she was the one responsible for anything and everything they had done since then.
Padmé looked around their combined families. Aside from her father and Ani's mother, the rest of those gathered seemed more comfortable in their surroundings. Sola had always known, of course, and took in stride something she always half expected to happen. Darred, along with their two daughters as well as Anakin's step-family, seemed completely in awe of their new statuses. As for Jobal, a woman who never cared much for politics, her mother just beamed with happiness and pride towards her daughter's success, as well as relief in the fact of her powers in the Force and in politics, since it meant that she no longer had to be constantly worried for her headstrong second-born daughter's life and limbs.
"Once the initial phase of construction is complete, all of you will be welcome to stay at the palace at any time, of course. My handmaidens are superb, but the twins will no doubt appreciate the sense of family around them."
"I appreciate the gesture Padmé," Jobal said warmly, though it was clear she was less than enthusiastic about the idea, "but this place is so big. We lost mom for several hours yesterday and...come to think of it," the older woman looked around the gardens nervously, then back at her husband, "Ruwee, when's the last time we saw Ryoo?"
"Grandmama will be fine," Padmé said, laughing. Reaching out her senses, she could feel her mother's mother not too far away, by a reflecting pool some of the construction workers were still building. "I think she likes this place more than anyone else. Remember when we found her last night? She was practically directing the builders, specifying the dimensions of the fountains and the columns she wanted to see."
"Clearly your indifference towards democracy comes from your mother's side of the family," Ruwee grumbled quietly. He smiled, to show his younger daughter that he was joking, but everyone knew the real sentiments beneath the joke.
"Hush Ruwee," Jobal scolded. "Can't you just be happy for our daughter for once?"
"She killed Jabba the Hutt," Beru added from nearby, trying to be helpful. "Everyone on Tatooine practically worships her and Ani once that news came out."
"My wife, the Hutt-slayer," Anakin beamed proudly. It may mean little to the rest of the galaxy at large, but those two words were imbued with an almost sacred quality on worlds like Tatooine. He rubbed his wife's stomach, the twins still yet to show beyond her dark green dress, but Anakin could feel the small bump underneath the fabric. "I bet you my daughter will carry on that tradition."
"I'm proud of you, Padmé," Ruwee finally conceded, embracing his daughter in a fatherly hug, "I really am. I knew you were going to be a handful the moment you were born. Nothing about your life I could have come close to predicting, but...I love you. I'll always love you, Sith and Empress and all."
"Thanks dad," Padmé said, letting herself go in her father's firm embrace, letting her eyes well and her tears fall. "I love you too. Just try not to start any rebellions against me, okay?"
Ruwee looked around mirthfully, first at his wife, then at Sola, then at his two granddaughters, both of whom stared at their aunt in sheer adoration and worship. "Promise. Even if I tried, I'd be quickly facing a rebellion of my own in my own family."
"Ani," Shmi said carefully, trying to parse her words so as not to offend, "be wary of the politicians, okay? They will always want from you, and not all of them will be as...caring of you...as Padmé."
"I've got it ma," Anakin replied, the new Emperor of the galaxy still bashful at the words of his mother. "I know what I'm doing. I've already helped draft several articles of the new Imperial constitution, after all."
"The clauses about slavery," Owen asked.
Anakin shook his head vigorously. "I'd be too biased in that subject matter. Padmé assigned me instead the sections on legal precedents, inter-planetary taxation, hierarchies between galactic and planetary sovereignties, contract law, and the intersections between property rights and eminent domain," he said proudly.
"Dearest Shiraya," Sola grimaced, placing her head in one hand, "we're so much more kriffed than I could ever hope to imagine." She liberally finished her glass of an expensive Amidala's Vintage Red in one fell swoop, and wondered if there was anything stronger available. Like Corellian Brandy.
They were alone. They had not had much time to themselves since the Battle of the Temple, though Padmé had made time for just the two of them, a blissful day once Anakin came out of the bacta tank that they spent to themselves, as if it was their honeymoon again. Like their honeymoon, that blissful week between Padmé's resignation as Queen and appointment as Senator where neither of them truly had no responsibilities or cares in the world, they did not do much talking. But this time around, the Empress-to-be did not have a week to spare, jetting off to Dagobah the next morning for negotiations with the Jedi while Anakin continued to rehab his new prosthetic. Then politics on Coruscant consumed her, as she and her closest supporters, Kara Wipper'lom, Riyo Chuchi, Onaconda Farr, and Mina Bonteri, a new inner council in the making for the next galactic generation, hammered out a new Constitution for the nascent Empire they were about to create, all the while monitoring (and manipulating) the galactic wide elections for the new Imperial Senate. Now, as both of them stood in their new Imperial offices inside the old Senate building, looking out, awaiting the cue for their official coronation, it wasn't that they had all the time in the world, but the brief respite was an opportunity for them to catch up and calm their nerves before the most monumental day of their young lives.
"Do you worry about Bail or Mon," Anakin asked, playing with his wife's fingers absentmindedly as he clasped her hand in his one flesh hand. "They could start a rebellion, move against us."
"They'll try eventually, I'm sure," Padmé answered. "They are weak now. Building up the forces of resistance will take years, decades even. Rule well, and we will give them little to work with."
"That's all you. Me and Rex will have a good time playing with the Hutts and the Guilds though."
"You're a better politician than you think, Ani." Padmé smiled at him, this young man with so intelligence, so much strength, so much loyalty...a young man she had shaped herself, and yet grew into himself without her help. Despite her help, even. "Yours will be the voice us trained politicians needs to hear every day, to shake us out of our inertia."
"Are you nervous," Anakin asked, stroking his wife's cheeks as she stared in a trance out at the gathering crowd in the plaza below, his question reflecting his own anxieties. A crowd there for them. "This is the culmination of everything you've dreamed, everything you've planned."
"It's here," Padmé whispered, more to herself than to Anakin. Where she had been so confident in him, he felt a sense of trepidation as she considered her own future. "I...I'm not actually sure if I'm ready for this."
She was fearful, Anakin realized. Her body was in control, but Padmé's mind, her soul, shivered uncontrollably, as if she were freezing to death on Hoth. Sensing that Anakin was aware of her insecurities, she ran her fingers gently up and down the spine of his prosthetic, a habit she had formed in the last few weeks as she worked to help her husband come to terms with the arm he had lost. One he lost for her sake.
"You're different these days," Anakin finally said, giving voice to that nagging thought which had been gnawing on the edges of his mind ever since he came out of stasis. "You seem...quieter. Withdrawn. Like you're holding back...like when I speak to you, I'm speaking to only half the woman I married."
Padmé turned to look at her, and as their eyes met, he saw sheer terror in her eyes. As if the growing crowd outside was congregating to tear them limb from limb, rather than celebrate and cheer them ascension.
"I lost control, Ani," Padmé admitted in a voice that was barely audible. "I let myself go during the war. I did something I swore I would never do, I lost my grasp of the Dark Side. My mistakes...they almost cost us everything we worked for. I can't let that happen again, Ani. Not now, when the stakes are so high every single day."
Suddenly, Padmé felt like a child to him, as if she was expecting to scold her, punish her, for her admission, and Anakin realized that he may have gotten a glimpse of what it had been like for her under Sidious, a past that she had shielded from him as much as possible.
"I know how you feel," Anakin confessed, surprising her. "You remember how I felt after those visions? Of choking you. Being me...but not me. Some other twisted version of it..."
"I do," Padmé said, taking his flesh hand in hers, their skin to skin contact reflecting the vulnerability they both felt...vulnerabilities they spent day and night hiding from the galaxy at large. "You were afraid to embrace your power. Your true potential."
"I could never get past it," Anakin said. "Even when you encouraged me, told me not to worry...I held back too. Because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't...that I would have become that uncontrollable beast who could attack my own wife...my soulmate, my life. Then you were betrayed, and I had no choice. I had to give everything I had to save you."
"You saw our children in your meditations," Padmé said, rubbing her belly unconsciously. "I never asked you what they were like. I was...afraid...afraid of many things."
Anakin nodded his head in understanding, his deep blue eyes gleaming with eagerness to share with Padmé the miracles he witnessed in his meditations. "Leia. She has your hair, your eyes...but she has both our fire. She will be a born leader. She'll never back down. Luke. He has my hair, my eyes...but your patience. Your forbearance. He will inspire hope and loyalty by his example. By his inborn nobility, his bearing. He will be unshakable, able to grasp and deal with hardship better than either one of us. And they are both so, so, strong...they persevere through the worst the Force throws at them." What he threw at them, Anakin could still not bear to say.
"You saw them...you saw them grown?" There was disappointment in Padmé's voice, in that the Force had unfairly denied her what it had given to Anakin.
Anakin nodding again, but there was a sadness to his gesture, as if he meant to convey that it was not a blessing.
"I don't think the vision would have been possible before...before they were actually conceived here. But the Force, through our children," he pressed her stomach again, "showed me the way. Only through their existence could I see past what I feared the most. I don't know the exact circumstances of the vision. But you died. Probably when I...when I attacked you. And the Force didn't show me...it spared me the details, but I think...I lost control too. I was a slave to Sidious...a slave to the Darkness, the deep Darkness, for a lifetime. My regret, my grief...it consumed me, along with my anger, and hatred. Somehow, our children lived, and we all lived in ignorance of each other. I did...terrible things to them. Before I found out who they were. But afterwards too. Because I was so, so lost. But...in the end...they believed in me. Luke believed in me. He freed me. I died. I did not say the words, but it was written in the Force...I renounced the Dark Side, the Sith...and I died redeemed."
"Do you think that's what we should do? Is our path to leave the Dark? Redeem ourselves to the light? By Shiraya, give up and join the Jedi?" Padmé's voice was still lost, as if she were the student rather than the teacher, and her shielding, her entire being, felt so uncertain, that Anakin knew that she could have renounced the entire Dark Side and the Sith, right then and there, were he to give her the go ahead. But he shook his head.
"No. That was a different world. A different Sith."
"How did it help you then?"
"What do we believe in, Padmé? What does the Sith order believe in?"
The Senate building was deserted save for them. When neither spoke, the silence was deafening, in contrast with what must have been quite the boisterous spectacle outside their walls.
It took her some time to answer his question. "I would have said doing right, no matter what stands in our way. Power, always power, because it allows us to do the most good. Because only we understand the good that must be done...and what must be done to achieve it."
"All of that is true." His eyes were so blue, so intense, and in that moment, not even the most seasoned Jedi could have been able to guess that he was a Sith. "You spoke to me more than a decade ago...on the day I was to start as a Jedi, that you and I, we could reshape the Sith Order. Make it whatever we want it to be." She felt his grip tighten around her hand. "It's us, Padmé. We're family. What defines us is our love for family, for those we care about, that we will fight for them until our dying breaths. Because that is who we are, that is what our Sith order is. However deep we fall, however dark we become, family will always bring us back, because it defines us. Is us. I untethered myself from my chains to free you, Padmé. It was good that I had help, that others like Rex and Ahsoka made my choices less harsh than what they could have been. But I have no doubt that even had I had to commit the worst, I would have come back to you in the end. Because it's in my blood, because that is what the Force wills. I know it's not easy, to keep the Dark at bay...to harness it rather than to fall into it. But that's why we have each other, why we're here for each other. And soon, we will have so many more reasons to keep hold of ourselves."
"I don't deserve you," Padmé said after a long contemplation. "I was just a stupid girl, a throwaway Sith, a backup plan for Sidious..."
Placing both his hands on her shoulders, Anakin shushed her. "And I was a slave, and destined to remain one, whether to Watto, or a Hutt, or the Jedi, or Sidious. But the Force gave us each other. Apart, we would have been lost. But together, we've changed everything, and it's not an accident."
Padmé laughed, breaking the tension. "If only the Jedi could see us now...on the edge of ruling the galaxy, yet quivering in fear."
"It makes us human," Anakin answered calmly, "that we understand and fear our responsibilities. Our destinies." Bending down, touching his forehead to Padmé's, he sent her images, snapshots of what he retained from his visions. A small, browned haired girl with hard, yet compassionate eyes, giving a speech before the Senate. A young blond haired boy, the picture of tranquility and peace, training with his father's lightsaber. And the galaxy revolving around them both.
A buzzer sounded, and they withdrew from each other, knowing that their time was up. That their time had come.
"Come," Anakin beckoned. "Let us embrace our destinies."
The Sith couple strode silently through the lobby, hand in hand, and though they were silent, their minds and hearts were melded as one as they savored each other's loving, needful presences. Past the ballroom, where the evening's gala was to take place. Where the shivering bodies of Nute Gunray, Mas Amedda, and many other Senators were already in place, bound by ropes, hund and suspended upside down in preparation for the night's entertainment, which would involve ample amounts of Sith lightning. Padmé made a note to remind Dormé to re-up Gunray's dosage of stimulants, to ensure that he did not fall in to yet another fear coma, so that he would be very highly attuned to all his senses during the torture. Just for fun, she shot a burst of lightning at him, and giggled like a schoolgirl as he screamed and blubbered in pain and fear, an appetizer for what was to come.
"You know what I love about you," Anakin asked as they meandered through the hallways leading past the empty Senate chambers.
"Everything," Padmé asked, staring lovingly into her husband's eyes.
"That too. But the fact that you're the only one who doesn't refer to me as 'the boy', or 'young Skywalker'. Like all those blasted Jedi, the way I overhear them speaking of me when they think I'm not present."
"Hmmm," Padmé murmured, not sure whether to agree or disagree. "Yeah..those words make me feel dirty."
"Well, your highness," Anakin raised an eyebrow, "we were...quite dirty for many years." Seeing his wife's reaction of faux outrage, he smirked at her, and she made a predatory biting motion at him.
"I'll say this, boy. I can't wait for tonight, when we fuck for the first time officially as Empress and Emperor."
"Just try not to hurt me too much."
"To be determined," Padmé said with a sly smile as they emerged out onto the veranda, where the sight of their families greeted them. Nestled between an already protective Shmi and an already doting Jobal was the young Togrutan girl, who seemed a bit uneasy by all the newfound attention, so unlike what she was used to in the Jedi Temple. Whose eyes perked up when she saw her new Sith friends, as if to say, finally, you've come to save me.
Joining their loved ones in laughter, the two Sith masters raised their hands, stilled joined, in the air, the fanfare of the cheering crowd the anthem to all that they had achieved together.
1saaa: Yeah, that cliffie was a bit cruel. I didn't intend it...but the original chapter was running a bit short...and it just so worked out for me to split up the duel...
As for the future...I'm probably going to take a hiatus from this story, unless a good idea strikes me about their future. Otherwise, I'm going to go back to the Rome story, and there's another separate idea in the works as well.
Nightshade's sydneylover150: At least he survived? I hope this last chapter proved a satisfactory ending for him for you. He definitely stuck true to his principles to the very end, for better or for worse, and now he has a brave new world to live in. But at least he's not alone.
PaulLenzen: Yup...he emerged no better or worse off than AOTC. Except he's the Emperor now, instead of a Padawan still. We'll see about sequels. I'd love to write more, but I'll need the right inspiration to strike. I'm hoping it does.
masterkenobi25: Thanks! I definitely wanted to write this with the idea that I'd treat all the characters with sympathy (with the exception of Gunray, who was fun to write as a deranged sex crazed maniac in its own right), despite the fact that it's a tale with 'Sith' anti-heroes.
Concluding Notes:
Thanks to everyone who gave this series a shot, and stuck with it to the end. I started this with a fleeting idea, planning nothing more than an odd one-shot with intriguing possibilities, but this world kept drawing me back. I never expected this series to become an epic, and I use that world in its most modest sense, in that I've written over 100K words on it, but here it is, and it's done. The Sith's done taken over the galaxy, and somehow without mass genocide. Happy ending, no?
As I mentioned above, if there's inspiration for the future of this series, I'll try my best to put it into words (and there are thoughts and ideas, but I'd rather them more formulated and solid before committing to them). If not, I'm happy to leave it where it is now. Again, I thank everyone who's read and reviewed this somewhat absurd series, and though it may sound cliche, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have writing it.