DISCLAIMER: I own nothing apart from my own work. I do not own Star Wars, LucasFilms, Disney, Anakin Skywalker - fml - and if this work of fiction is similar to any that have been done before, I apologise in advance. I can assure you, this was created from my mind with Star Wars as the basis and my own insanity commingled in.
Author's Note: I'm baaaaaack! The biggest of apologies for the long hiatus that was taken. One, of course, with a perfectly eligible excuse being that… My computer crapped out. Yes. Display driver, battery - it was literally all at once. But it's here, and here comes the Force Awakens and sanity is all but gone and, of course, there are 230 hits for TTM! Thank you all for hanging in there and I truly hope you enjoy this immensely.
But, again, I apologise for the delayed posting, like really, truly apologise. x
An abysmal effect. Where nothing is everything and everything is nothing. There is no emotion, no physicality. It is a state of the inability to absorb with the ability to continue having a presence, nonetheless. Death affected people in the aspect that, no matter if one was the deceased or one was in mourning, a state of purgatory pursued.
It was a cavern with arms, determined and powerful arms, that pushed her down. No matter the persistence she displayed, the attempts that were made in the retrieval of life, Padmé found no solace. All that could be given was perdition. The many times she had awaken at night, paralyzed with sleep and every fibre of her body unable to follow the commands her brain would shout out, they were all minuscule in definition to the sensation occurring within. Nothing could prepare her for it, and nothing would come after it. Somewhere, a place she was not sure she knew of, told her so. The same place also informed her that it was death.
Her death.
Every so often, a will from within fought to the surface of her being to not succumb to her death. To climb and be one with the life she should be grasping on to. To the children she had birthed and named. To the good that she knew she could bring forth from her soul's love. The darkness disagreed. Its abysmal shadow with powerful arms unleashed its wrath and Padmé absorbed its power, the shock blasting her backwards to crash against even stronger arms to force her down.
And she fell. She fell a long way.
In that point in time, where there was no hope for her sole self to return to the brightness of life, no final thoughts were consulting for presence into her mind, nor were there any pleas from her heart to hold onto their beats. It was over and Padmé accepted it.
Then, it all happened at once. The bright light, illuminating the arms of Death and burning them. Their dark flesh becoming ashen with flakes that sifted away like the pages being burned and floating away in the wind. The burning remnants grazed her body and face, entwining in the mess of curls that spiraled violently in the currents of the light. The light had taken hold of her and its strength was insurmountable. It was life. It was fortitude and ferocity. It was abrasive and stubborn. And it would not let her go.
The first dawn of light that painted its way inside of her was painful. Her body felt on fire; a flame licking into every crevice both internally and externally. She could see it, see her body awaken before her very eyes in a slow, but steady pace. Her mind flashed images of purity in speeds that put even the fastest ship in the galaxy to shame. Images of Anakin as a child, when he first saw her with his blue eyes glistening brightly. Those same eyes laying upon her once more, this time more mature, more understanding to what the galaxy meant. Having seen a great amount of things, yet held the adoration that had been present ten years before only to be present ten years later. To the same blue hues that grew in love and trust, a soul-wrenching gratitude for returning the love they so desperately needed. And now to blue eyes, just as the eyes of the man who he had inherited them from, looked with mild curiosity in the split second they were visible. Then to brown eyes so much like her own, but never her own – never. These hues were like the strongest of soil that held fortitude for the future of its kind; to grow from demolition. Eyes that its father had yearned for and seen in his dreams.
The light burst through her own eyes and all at once, as fast as it had taken over the very figment of her existence, the fiery illumination ceased leaving behind a heated glow in the cessation of its presence. There was, once again, life in Padmé Amidala. Her soul had awoken to a mass burst of brilliance and she couldn't help but gasp for the much needed air to return into her shriveled lungs. The fire within her body was still present, tickling her as if her entire body had fallen asleep only to awake all at once.
It did not feel right, but one thing was certain – She was alive.
Her pupils contracted to mere pinpoints, dilated again rapidly, and then returned to something resembling normalcy for someone who had just been brought back from the afterlife. Everything was confusing, yet it was all familiar. The operating room she had been brought to; the people on the floor having been thrown back by the Force that had erupted seconds prior… The contorted, olive-toned body of the lifeless Mirialan – And him.
Brown eyes finally met blue ones. The hue of blue that never failed to remind her of the lake country on Naboo; of the lakes and streams that flowed endlessly without prevail in their journey to never be restrained. Of home. The same blue eyes of their son, and of the flashing memories that had sparked the life inside as the light brought her back. These were the eyes she found comfort in, not fear. There was no more appearance of the deranged colour of golden evil, nor the blood-red veins that had begun to sprout from the, now white, sclera. Bruising was still present beneath his eyes, along with the swollen red rims of his eyelids, but apart from it all, only the look of awe was present.
No evil, no love – simply awe. And she smiled a small smile that was more-so the ghost of happiness rather than the visual representation of it.
Padmé found the necessity to speak strong in that moment, desire to question what had just occurred. To her own panic, though, she could not find the sweet tone. Nothing came through, not even a hoarse whisper. True panic began to arise now as the realisation of what had happened began to take its impact. She had died. She had said her last words and seen her children for the last time. Had seen him for the final and last time. Paling lips that were losing their rosen colour mouthed words of consternation towards the bodies now running toward her, but her brown eyes almost instantaneously found their way to the very person she was tethered to. It was then that she found her voice, only to have it masked in the shrill of a panicked scream.
Lost. Found. Awe. Stupor.
Every emotion, and more, attempted to take dominance in his mind, yet Anakin Skywalker could not hone in on a singular particle of humanity. His body and head had taken on the interior of a shelled-out carcass as eyes shot unresponsive images of the woman lying up before him. He could feel his body shaking as it trembled with uncertainty at the sight, not being sure if he should truly believe the reality his eyes were set upon, or to awaken himself from the newest form of dream state he had obtained – a newfound nightmare.
Is she truly alive? a voice persisted to say in the cavernous reaches of his mind. The voice was deep, gravelly. An indistinct crack that he could not recognise to save the life of him. However, though the distant anomaly repetitiously chanted the question, Anakin had but one response. Is she?
Anakin could not move, only breathe. Mechanically as if a part of him wanted to ensure he would witness what could possibly come next. Padmé was there. She was right before him staring his way while her chest moved at the speed of a sublight drive. Surely compensating for the restriction of what it most needed, apart from his blood flowing in her veins. He could still feel her, just as strongly as he could see her. Her emotions coursing every which way in an attempt to make sense of what had happened just as he, too, was doing without avail. It was the scream, however, that filled the carcass shell with meat. Triggered the mechanism within his mind to react.
She is, Anakin answered the voice who had nothing to say in reply. It had all but disappeared.
The many personnel in the room who were now clouding his view of the white-clothed woman on steel became a hindrance Anakin could not muster to ignore. Without thought, he twitched both fingers, one of flesh and the other of durosteel, to ward off the onslaught of bodies with a Force blow to leave him beside Padmé. A protest from Master Ti and Master Che rained down like fire upon the Jedi Knight, but all was lost upon the moment his hands made impact with her flushed cheeks.
"Padmé… Padmé… I'm here. I'm here, my love," Anakin pressed.
Fingers held tightly to the soft flesh, fingers subconsciously entwining themselves into the crazed spirals shooting from the crown of her head. A crease pressed between the glistening forehead that was nearly always smooth. He released a finger to glide it over the expression of negativity she felt, attempting to rid her from the distress she was under.
He was failing.
Gasp after gasp continued to sound on as her teeth pulsated against each other. Fear now ricocheting off of every bone and muscle until the steel table began to shake along with her. Confusion clouded Anakin's mind as he softened his hold on his wife, a scowl of his own taking place onto his head. He blinked. Was it fear that she was staring at him with? Surely it could not be that. His eyesight pulled away, followed by his hands as they stood motionless in midair, his mind unsure as to whether he should replace their touch on the woman falling apart before him – his soul erupting in a self-detonating inferno – or to ultimately retreat from her completely. And, yet again, Anakin found himself blinking back tears unsuccessfully with the utter sense of facing something that was not within his power.
Her hands began to claw, once more, at the table she was placed upon. They did not stay there long, though. Instead, they began to travel to her chest, lacerating the invisible shield that was threatening to press her down into herself. The sensation of creatures crawling within her set her entire body on high alarm. It was painful, even more so than the pains she had endured while her children beaconed for her to release them into the world. Even more excruciating than the sight of violent darkness that had shrouded Anakin's very being. It wasn't there anymore, but for some odd reason, she could sense it. Padmé felt the darkness eating away at her insides as if the very shadows were slicing through her to take control of her body and leave her remnants in a tattered, demised mess.
There had been so much death, already. There was so much more occurring. She could feel it, blow by blow, as if to her soul. No matter how many convulsive breaths she took into her lungs, none of them could satiate the dooming liquid fire that was burning her insides. Padmé wanted the light, for she could not take the darkness any longer.
Eyes looked towards Anakin, yearning for the blues she so loved to gratify her necessity for lightness to extinguish the fire. He was holding her; her face turning into the hand of durosteel as she always seemed to do subconsciously, but the pain was unbearable. Within her, she could feel the shadows pulling her towards whatever darkness was before her – within Anakin.
Demoralization began to unfold within her sanity as Padmé tried to make sense of what was happening. Why such torture was being inflicted upon her. It surely couldn't be Anakin forcing this torment upon her, he was not capable of it. Surely he wasn't, was he not? His eyes spoke the truth in that statement – of course he wasn't.
So why was he pulling away?
Her face was shrouded with moisture; hair sticking to her temples from where he had pulled them forward. Her open mouth unable to withhold the salivation that was being overly produced along with the tears pouring from her eyes. Delicate hands went to rest upon the display of her affection for her love but found only a slightly deflated shape instead. Even more horror strained until Padmé physically felt her sanity leave. Nothing made sense and it was going to kill her.
It was not fear from Anakin's presence that she knew he saw, nor the confusion towards what had happened which was obvious in her. It was fear for the death trying to explode her from within.
Anakin pulled away, darkness clouding his judgement once more. His senses hummed with death from the far off massacre pursuing in the galaxy. With the disgust that was welling against his own self. The voice was returning with every dissertation he thought of – the more hate that continued to arise. He found out, now, that the unfamiliar voice from earlier was that of none other than Darth Vader; pressing to come into existence and to take dominance once more in the wake of the weakened Anakin Skywalker. For Anakin was weak compared to Darth Vader. Anakin had no doubt of it, especially with what he was now doing to Padmé. With his blood ruining her and fear already present by the fact.
An eternal battle of massive grandeur took place in the body of Anakin Skywalker. The dragon watching on with a slithering smile, egging the two on as it already knew of itself to be the winner of it all. Deep gasps from constricted air pipes brought his own vision to blur, or maybe it was due to the tears boiling over. He did not even notice the trembling hand that was outstretched the few feet he had traveled away from his mirrored soul.
"Anakin," Shaak Ti stated urgently, pulling the young Jedi from the psychological battle almost instantaneously.
He looked up only to travel into the direction the Togrutan was motioning with her own eyes – towards Padmé's craving hand. Anakin took full control over himself, encasing both the dragon and Vader with a brute strength that put even the full Force of the Jedi Council to shame. Hands entwined, the moisture from both palms having no effect on the hold that could tie down the stars. Once again, they were tethered and almost immediately did Anakin see a sense of relaxation cross over the crying eyes. His tall frame leaned down into a crouch, something in the part of his mind that was watching over his body informing him that he was now reacting to an infliction he had suffered before. A wound of some sort.
Anakin repressed it. His own pain did not matter when far greater things matter to him.
"We have to sedate her during this process, Skywalker. There is too much occurring within her body for Senator Amidala to sustain it while conscious," Vokara Che spoke urgently.
An immediate protest began to form as his grip tightened on Padmé's, but she tested it with a clutch of her own. Her hold was enough to bring his eyes back towards her, signaling for the Chief Healer to begin barking orders to those who were still coherent enough to understand them. In the distance, Anakin heard Master Che instruct another to tend to his own wounds, and he made no form of protest against it. Wounds were a hindrance, but there was a War beyond the Halls of Healing, and there had to be nothing to uproot him from his family now.
In that moment, his primary function was to be whatever anchor his senses were telling him to act for Padmé. Others began to infiltrate the room, shouting information of a ship that would take those in the Healing Halls to safety. How their room would be evacuated into the realms of space. In the further corners of the room, Anakin could feel the presence of his children, discomforted with the energies bombarding the room. Eyes clenched shut as he forced himself to remain calm in the sophisticated destruction. His Leia and Luke were safe. And Padmé would be, too.
"I love you," was what his guttural voice chose to chant instead, the chaos continuing beyond their calm.
