Sacrifices

Chapter Two: The Birth and Death of Hope

"The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other."

Mario Puzo, The Family

Ashoka stood, her knuckles resting against the door. She was too numb to think, or cry, or do anything much more than breathe…and yet, there was still something she had to do.

As much as she trusted Obi-wan and Master Yoda, she could not bring herself to believe their words. They could have told her that night had suddenly became day or that Master Windu himself was Darth Sidious and she would have been more willing to accept it than what they were telling her now.

There was one last hope.

Ashoka had never been as blind to her master's feelings towards the senator as she had pretended to be. She would have been blind not to see it. Although she had spent most of her life either in the temple or on the battlefield, she wasn't naive enough to miss the way Anakin's face had lit up whenever Padmé's name had even been mentioned.

If Padmé told her that this was nothing but a mistake—that Obi-wan and Yoda were somehow wrong about Anakin—then she would believe her. It would be easier then to think that Skyguy could…that the temple…

But she would not get her answers standing like this in the cold sterility of the med center. After three quick raps on the door, she heard a soft, almost broken, voice biding her to enter.

That was her first clue that Padmé might not be able to offer her the answers she was looking for. But her mind didn't register it; she was going to ignore the words the Force itself was screaming at her until she had no hope left.

When she saw the infinite sadness in the senator's eyes, she knew that today was the day all hope died.

"Hello Ashoka, it's good to see you." Padmé's words were casual, but that was the only facet of her being not laced with the pure destruction of heartbreak. Padmé's face had seemed to age decades just in the days since Ashoka had last seen her, and she knew it had nothing to do with her just given birth.

This was the kind of face only something horrible could have given her. Something like what Obi-wan had been trying to tell her.

It was in that moment that Ashoka knew she would not find the answer she wanted. Not here. Not anywhere.

So she did not ask. She merely ran her fingers over the soft skin of the sleeping infant resting in the bassinet at the end of the uncomfortable looking hospital bed.

Despite being assigned to help with the younglings on occasion before she became a padawan and being in charge of Rotta on that one mission, she really didn't have much experience with babies, so she couldn't really say if Luke was going to be anything like his father. But she couldn't help but hope that he was.

Even if Anakin…now that… she sighed, she couldn't even think the words. A Jedi is not supposed to dwell on the past, on things they could not change and yet, here she was, unable to move past this one betrayal. Though perhaps, just this once, it was okay. Her world was in ashes and the person she looked up to most had been the one to set the fire. Purposely and with no remorse.

Ashoka looked at the child resting by her finger tips and then at the bundle in Padmé's arms. Her brow furrowed a little.

"Isn't there…?"

Padmé nodded, not needing the younger woman to finish the sentence.

"With the nurses."

"Oh." Ashoka really didn't know what to say to that, so she changed the subject. And although the topic was new, it was hardly irrelevant. Of all the betrayals that came to light today, this was one of the more mild, but that did not mean it didn't still hurt.

"Why…why didn't you tell me?" She asked. Whatever answer Padmé gave, it wouldn't be absolution she was looking for. It couldn't be. Only a betrayal of this magnitude could have destroyed such a strong woman with such unforgiving finality.

There was no need to further hurt the older woman; asking her to confirm what the Force and every piece of evidence was shouting in the back of her head would not help Ashoka deal with the truth any easier.

Padmé pulled the small, pink bundle she was holding closer to her chest, as if having that tiny piece of Anakin close to her would keep her from falling apart at the mere memory of him.

"We told no one," she whispered, not looking up from the sleeping face of her daughter, "not even my family knew."

Ashoka opened her mouth, unsure what to say to that, but a knock against the doorframe saved her from having to form a response.

She turned and saw Yoda, Obi-wan and Senator Organa standing in the doorway. Something about seeing them standing there sent shivers down her spine. They were not cruel people, but this visit would only end in more pain.

"Hello Padmé," he said giving a small smile that almost hid his own agony, "I trust you and your children are doing well?"

Padmé gave a little smile, just as pain-filled and empty as his, and nodded. It was just pleasantries, everyone knew that. No one here could smile and mean it. Not now and maybe not ever.

She handed the child to the nurse-droid and asked it to take the children into the nursery so they could talk without the threat of wakening the newborns.

Ashoka could tell by the tenseness in the woman's movements that Padmé had probably guessed that this wasn't a conversation she really wanted to have, but she didn't run and Ashoka was glad. It meant that despite the last couple days shattering her completely, there was still some strength left.

Strength she was going to need.

Once the children were gone, Obi-wan and Yoda sat in the chairs against the wall as senator Organa leaned against the wall halfway between them and Padmé. From where Ashoka sat on the edge of the bed, she couldn't help but be reminded of the diagrams of battle lines that had become so familiar to her.

She prayed it wasn't the case, but given the looks on the master's faces, she knew that today was not the day for luck.

"Warms my heart, it does, to see you in good health, young padawan." Yoda said, looking at Ashoka with the first genuine smile of the night.

"How did you survive the clones turning on you?" Obi-wan asked.

Ashoka fidgeted. They had asked her the same question earlier but the conversation had quickly deteriorated into dangerous territory when she asked about Anakin. She had to leave the room before she gave them an answer.

"I was checking on the communications station on Kiba, like the council assigned, when this man appeared out of nowhere." She explained.

"You mean he snuck up on you?" Organa asked almost as if he was surprised at the thought that someone could get the jump on a Jedi.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "it was like he formed out of smoke or something. He was just there and he seemed to know exactly what was going on with the clones." She forced herself not to dwell on those thoughts. Anakin was enough for right now; she couldn't really handle adding all the lesser betrayals to that tally. Not if she wanted to emerge from this with any faith in light left intact.

"I think he was a Jedi. I mean he was dressed like one and he could use the Force. I called Rex over and the man used a mind trick on him to make him fall asleep. When I confronted him about it he knocked me out." She had, unfortunately, heard details of what happened on Mustifar, and figured now wasn't exactly the best time to explain just how he had managed to get the jump on her.

"After that I didn't see anything. By the time I woke up, we were on a ship, almost here."

Yoda's brow furrowed. "Have a name, this man did?"

Ashoka nodded. "Canaan."

Padmé's eyes widened and everyone turned to look at her.

"Know this man, do you, senator?" Yoda asked.

"I thought…I thought it was all just a figment of my imagination." She muttered, looking down.

"Padmé?" Obi-wan asked softly and Ashoka wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't really heard her words.

She let out a controlled breath and closed her eyes. Ashoka wasn't sure if the apprehension rolling off the senator was because she hadn't wanted to share the answer to that or if it was because she just didn't want to think about it.

As she spoke of an idyllic world, Ashoka knew that no matter how hard it was for her to hear of it—to hear of a world where her world hadn't crashed around her—it was infinitely more agonizing for her. The very memory of it would be nothing but salt in an open, gaping wound. A wound that wasn't likely to ever truly heal.

No one spoke as she described the strange world and the even stranger man that seemed to understand what was going on far better than anyone else. When she was done she looked up, silently asking the masters for answers.

"Curious, it is." Yoda muttered, chewing on the end of his gimer stick.

"Master?" Ashoka asked in confusion.

"Appear, it does, that this Canaan, has a Force gift. But know of it, I do not."

Obi-wan's head turned to face the wizened old master. He didn't even bother to hide the fact his utter shock at the fact that there was something Force-related that Yoda hadn't heard of. He quickly shook off his disbelief and turned back to face the new mother.

"What I find more curious is what he said about the worlds being braided together. Did he give any more details?" He said.

Padmé shook her head.

"How could I have even seen that, Obi-wan? I'm not force sensitive." Her voice broke, and even the most oblivious among them could see how much pain she was in. It was obvious that in a lot of ways, Anakin had been her entire world—the center of her galaxy that everything revolved around. Ashoka couldn't help but wonder how they couldn't have seen it. Had Padmé and Anakin have just been that good at hiding it, or had the Jedi been that willing to turn a blind eye? Had they been that desperate to keep their star, their chosen one?

"But your children are." Yoda answered.

Obi-wan sighed.

"That's what we came here to talk to you about." His voice was heavy and weary and instantly Ashoka knew that the other boot was dropping. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

He looked to Yoda, almost as if he were silently asking the wizened old master to take over, to be the one to say whatever horrible, evil words were resting on the tip of his tongue.

Padmé tensed, recognizing the same thing Ashoka had. Her slightly narrowed eyes dared Obi-wan to continue and at the same time, dared him not to.

"Your children are strong with the force, almost as strong as Anakin."

"And you want to train them as Jedi?" Her voice was defensive, and yet Ashoka didn't really sense hostility behind her words.

"Perhaps someday, but…" Obi-wan sighed and looked down, clearly not wanting to go on. Ashoka had never seen him like this. He had always been the Negotiator, the one most graced with the gift of gab, in their merry little band. To see him so reluctant to say something was out of character.

Almost as out of character as Anakin slaughtering younglings.

"A beacon in the Force, your children are," Yoda said, sparing Obi-wan the pain of having to continue, "Separated, they must be, if to keep them from the eyes of the Emperor, we are."

For someone so versed in hiding her emotions, the natural mask on Padmé's face fell away so quickly it was almost comical. Almost. In its place was such incredulity and anger, and in a way, Ashoka was glad to see it. That single, determined look meant that the woman she had looked up to was not completely dead inside.

It meant that maybe, just maybe, although her heart had been crushed, her spirit had not been completely broken by Anakin's betrayal.

"You want to separate my children?" She hissed and Ashoka could have sworn she saw Obi-wan shrink back into his chair just a bit.

"Padmé, you must listen—" he began.

"No, you listen! I will not split up my family and I will not abandon my children."

Obi-wan's discomfort was more than evident and yet he fought through it, as if all depended on his success.

"They would be placed with good people."

Even before Ashoka saw the fire in the senator's eyes, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Ashoka also noticed that Padmé wasn't the only senator who seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. Organa had guilt roiling off him in waves, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would have been one of the 'good people' Obi-wan spoke of.

"And I suppose you have already selected these 'good people?'" her voice was colder and more biting than a winter windstorm on Hoth.

Obi-wan didn't answer. There was nothing he could say to deny it.

"I have already..." she took a deep breath and turned away from him, as if she couldn't say what she had to without drooping her senator's mask, without showing just how broken she truly was, before almost forcing the next words out of her mouth, "lost my husband today, you can't ask me to give up my children as well."

Obi-wan's face softened and he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder in comfort, but thought better of it and let it drop limply at his side.

"It's not about you, Padmé, it's about them. If you keep them together, it will only be that much easier for the Emperor to find them, and if he finds them—"

"I know." She snapped, dropping all attempts to keep her mask on. There was no point. Everyone here could see how broken she was, yet no one blamed her. No one saw it as weakness.

"I know," Padmé repeated, softer this time, as she sat back down on the bed, the exhaustion clear in every nuance of her being. She placed her head in her hands, and although she was not sobbing, there was no question as to what she was doing.

There was a moment of ringing silence as she composed herself.

"Leave." She commanded, using the bright white sleeve of her hospital gown to wipe all traces of moisture from her eyes.

Obi-wan opened his mouth to say something, to protest, anything to get her to agree.

"Please," she said softer this time, almost begging, "I just…I just need to think."

Obi-wan looked to Yoda, letting him decide if it was most prudent to agree to her request. The old master stopped chewing on his gimer stick and as he looked up at Padmé, his shoulders fell. It was an almost infinitesimal gesture, but it was there.

"Leave you to your thoughts, we will, senator." Yoda said gently, getting up. He began walking towards the door and Ashoka could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the senator's request. There was little time and the safety of those children was too important to risk.

"Thank you." Padmé whispered, broken, as they left.

Ashoka didn't want to follow them. She knew that now, more than ever, the senator needed a friend. Padmé had been the closest thing Ashoka had ever had to a sister, but she could feel the truth in the Force—that above all that, she just needed some time alone—and followed the masters into the hallway.

"Well, that didn't go well." Obi-wan muttered to no one in particular as the door shut.

"Did you expect it to?" Senator Organa asked studying him as if he were surprised that the Jedi could have expected anything less.

Obi-wan just sighed.

Obi-wan watched as Padmé stood outside the nursery window looking in, a single hand pressed longingly against the glass. Briefly, he wondered why she wasn't inside with her children, but brushed it off. He would not ask; he had already intruded far too much on the woman already.

He was careful to make at least noise as he came up behind her. She shifted her weight ever so slightly and Obi-wan knew she had sensed his approach but besides that one movement, she didn't otherwise acknowledge his existence.

He said nothing for a lengthy moment, before turning to look at her and speaking the words he had wanted to say since the idea about what to do with the children had fallen from Master Yoda's ancient lips.

The rational part of him knew that Yoda was right, that this was the only way to protect the children, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel dirty for even asking. For over a thousand generations the Jedi had taken potential knights from their family before they were old enough to remember much more than a scent of grasslands and few images of playing with a brother.

This wasn't much different, but that didn't stop the slimy feeling from settling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it was because this was the first time he was so intimately involved with the acquisition process, but if he was being honest he would say that it was because this was Anakin's family that was being torn apart…at least what was left of it.

"I'm sorry Padmé, I never should have asked that of you," he whispered. It was a feeble apology but it was all he could give.

She looked at him unblameingly for a moment before turning her attention back to the glass that separated her and her children.

"I see the logic in it. After what Palpateen did to Anakin," she stopped and took a deep breath, seemingly berating herself internally. There was no point denying the truth of it all. "No. After what Anakin did to himself."

It was a hard thing for her to admit, even to herself, and it was even harder for Obi-wan to hear. Anakin may have been the one wielding the lightsaber, but Obi-wan knew where the true fault lied. For thirteen years, Anakin had been his brother, the other side of the same coin. If anyone should have known what was happening…

"I failed him. I should have seen it." His voice broke at the thought.

Padmé let out a soft huff of air that sounded like the ghost of a snort.

"Don't blame yourself," she whispered to him, still not taking her eyes off the glass, "There were signs, we just loved him too much to see them for what they were."

Obi-wan briefly considered asking what those signs were but decided better of it. There are somethings that are better he not know. The last thing he wanted was the memory of the good years tainted any more than they had to be. He needed that. He needed some way to differentiate Anakin form Vader (he couldn't bear to think of them as the same person) and knowing just how close to the darkness his friend had danced to the darkside would not help.

"I know you only meant well when you suggested separating them." She said, surprising him with the honesty of her words. He would not blame her if she hated him for allowing the words to leave his mouth—he felt the same and knew he would even before entering that room.

He looked at her and couldn't help but be grateful for that one modicum of forgiveness, that one act of absolution.

"I can't do it." Padmé said bluntly, her eyes meeting his.

Obi-wan stroked his chin and nodded, unsurprised, and not entirely sure if he was disappointed or not.

Padmé removed her hand form the glass, and for the first time he really looked at the scene behind it. Three small infants were cuddled asleep in an incubator. One of the pink bundles was significantly smaller than the other two, a fact only highlighted by the fact that it was attached to far more tubes and monitors then its small form could hold without looking like some grotesque science experiment.

"Lormé's so tiny." Padmé whispered, "A few hours ago, the doctors weren't sure she would make it… and she's still not completely out of danger yet, but she's getting better. Quickly."

Obi-wan looked on, his heart constricting in agony and not just because he could feel the new mother's pain through the force. According to the medic droids, it wasn't uncommon for multiples to be born early, and those that come early are naturally smaller. The…difficulties...Padme had experienced just before giving birth hadn't helped, but the third child had been the only one considerably affected.

"They put Luke and Leia in the crib with her and she started getting better, like she was drawing strength from them." Her eyes begged him to understand, "That's why I can't do it. I'm not being selfish. They need each other."

"It won't be easy, Padmé, living on the run."

"I know. I've known since the day I married him that my life wouldn't be easy. I just thought it would be keeping the secret…I never imagined this." She said, trembling.

Obi-wan sighed. "None of us did."

IMPORTANT AN!

Before you guys suddenly jump down my throat (or hit the back button) for making this a triplet fic, let me say something. I hate Marry-sues and extremely OOC characters with a passion. I think nothing ruins a story quicker than those two hell spawn.

That being said, I feel I need to clear something up. Lori is not a shameless self-insert and, as she gets older, it becomes apparent that she has some deep-seated flaws, like all beings. I could not put Luke or Leia in the same situations without having them act completely out of character, besides for the fic to go in the direction I have planned, they have their own roles to play.

Another thing, I like to play with clichés and put my own spin on them, so yes, there will be times when you think you know what's going to happen next because that's how every other fic does it, but don't go betting the farm on that.