Chapter Seventeen
The Spaces Between Us
The first emotion that wells up within a person's heart when the tips of their feet reach the edge of a cliff, and their eyes involuntarily drift downwards to peer over the drop-off – no matter what they may say or do – is pure terror. The ground below seems to loom dangerously, as if daring one to jump – or it communes in silent intimidation, forcing the person to back away. In either case, one is faced with a choice. To retreat from that daunting precipice and maybe never approach it again, or grind one's heels into the sharp rock and look out to the horizon.
As Padmé followed the long hallway that would soon lead her to Yané and the inevitable confrontation, she began to wonder that if she continued to stand on that unpredictable verge – would the ground suddenly crumble beneath her feet.
Dark brown orbs flickered sideways. In her peripheral view, Padmé saw that Dormé glided smoothly beside her hoverchair, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she guided them to their destination. But her friend's entire body was coiled tighter than a whip, ready to snap at a moment's notice. Padmé considered the possible reasons for the normally mild-mannered handmaiden to react physically to their present circumstances, and made a decision. She deliberately slowed the repulsors in her hoverchair, and Dormé glanced at her with surprise. "All right," Padmé remarked, looking up at her with raised eyebrows. "Let's have it."
Dormé blinked. "Milady?"
"Tell me what's troubling you. And don't bother denying it," Padmé added when Dormé immediately opened her mouth to speak, "I can tell." She crossed her arms over her chest, and waited with an obviously expectant expression on her face.
A soft sigh drifted from between Dormé's lips. "Yané is very…unpredictable, Milady. When I spoke with her, she shifted from one emotion to another as easily as blinking an eye. And I have no doubt that she is quite brilliant, and watchful as a hawk. After she had calmed down, her eyes began measuring me – weighing my words against my facial expressions and body language as if I were a potential threat and not a fellow handmaiden. Regardless, I had expected as much from her; our time en-route to this colony provided valuable insight into her behavior. But I did see something that I did not expect." Dormé paused a moment, and the worry she felt for her dear friend and charge flooded her brown eyes. "Yané was trained to be a silent observer; but the way she sat as I spoke…so perfectly still that only her eyes moved, like she was listening beyond my words to something deeper… It was like sitting before a Jedi."
Padmé met Dormé's anxious stare calmly, and said, "She kept close company with a Jedi for a number of years, Dormé – she would have begun to mimic some of his reactions and stances unconsciously, because of her training." She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I have had plenty of experience with Jedi, and whether Yané does it intentionally or not, she will not intimidate me by using their mannerisms."
The rigid lines of Dormé's posture visibly relaxed, and a small smile graced the corners of her mouth. Wordlessly, the handmaiden gestured with an open palm, and the two women resumed their journey through the labyrinthine corridors of the MedCenter.
After a dozen or so paces in silence, Padmé studied their surroundings with the spark of recognition lighting her gaze. "Are we heading for the hangar bay?" she inquired, glancing up at her companion.
"This is where I found Yané after she ran from the conference room," Dormé explained in her quiet, placid way. "I knew that the ship would be the only place that she truly felt safe. And I believe that is the reason she wants to meet with you there."
Padmé nodded, speaking more to herself than to Dormé. "A controlled environment. One that she feels comfortable in, and one that I am unfamiliar with – to see if she can throw me off-balance." She shook her head, a mixture of appreciation and disapproval coloring her thoughts. It was the oldest political trick in the book: when seeking truth from a prospective ally, especially given that past interactions have proven to be layered with falsehoods – a diplomat will choose an arena that is comfortable to them, but previously unknown to their opponent. A new environment may cause the other to feel disconcerted, and therefore more likely to make a mistake if attempting to feed the opposing side erroneous information.
"What does she expect of me?" Padmé murmured under her breath. Does she even know me at all, to think that I would deliberately deceive her? she lamented inwardly.A chill slithered up her spinal column, and raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. Or am I the one who does not truly know her?
Lost in the shadowy mire of disconcerting speculation, Padmé remained quiet, and only distantly aware of her surroundings as she and Dormé journeyed down the metal-paneled hallway, through the hangar bay control room, and into the small turbolift.
When the door hissed open, the two friends disembarked, glancing furtively at one another. The steady clicks of Dormé's shoes and the whirring hum of the hoverchair echoed ominously in the hangar bay. They halted at the base of the Stingray's boarding ramp, and Dormé turned to address Padmé. "She is waiting for you in the main hold. Go up the ramp, to the left, and around the first curve." She paused, a flicker of indecision darkening the contours of her face, and then she leaned over, muttering rapidly, "There are no weapons on board – I had Rabé remove them earlier, and I disconnected the engines from the ship's main power grid." Dormé winced in apology as Padmé stared up at her in astonishment. "I felt that it was necessary to take every precaution, Milady."
Padmé simply nodded, overwhelmed by her old friend's statement – and suddenly felt more than a little uneasy about this meeting with Yané. Everyone else was obviously expecting some type of confrontation, and one that might ultimately involve violence. Padmé was not naïve; she realized long before she left the conference room that a conversation with Yané would most likely become a thinly veiled hostile interrogation. But she was still Senator Amidala, and was therefore not a woman who could be easily intimidated by possibilities of conflict – be it verbal or physical.
She maneuvered her hoverchair up the boarding ramp, and at about halfway to the ship she turned around. "Why don't you head back to the conference room and take the twins back to my room? You seemed to be getting along fine with Leia," Padmé added with a slight smile. "Just tell Anakin that I asked you to stay with them; I'm sure he, Obi-Wan, and Sabé have other matters to attend to now."
Dormé curtsied – she never could shake that old habit – and walked back towards the turbolift. Padmé watched her until she vanished behind the closing door, and drew in a slow, quiet breath. Then she swiveled the hoverchair around and glided into the Stingray's interior. It was everything that she expected it to be; polished, immaculately clean, and styled in a way that seemed fashionable and functional at the same time. The overhead glow panels beamed a crisp, pale blue light that reminded her vaguely of the color of Anakin's lightsaber blade. Padmé followed Dormé's directions perfectly, and as soon as she rounded the first curve, she entered an open area that looked to be the ship's cargo hold. Bulkheads gleamed a bright silver, and the hold was empty – except for an elegantly carved table crafted out of honey-blonde wood, and two chairs, one of which was occupied by the motionless form of a dark-haired woman who was watching Padmé's entrance with eyes that were as empty as the cargo hold.
The trace of a smile flitted across Yané's lips, but there was no warmth behind the expression. Instead, it could only be described as a mockery of a smile – a twisted, strange interpretation by a face that seemed incapable of displaying any emotion. Her brown eyes were hollow as she remarked lightly, "I was wondering if they were going to let you come. But I knew that you could convince them."
Padmé kept her expression politely blank, but she shivered inside. Yané's words were simple enough, but the tone behind them was saturated with cynicism, and as ice-cold as the constant blizzards that engulfed the planet Hoth. She waited until her chair reached the edge of the table, directly across from her old friend, before she formed a neutral reply. "No one needed convincing, Yané. You are my friend. You wanted to speak with me – so here I am."
The jaded mask slipped just a little, but then Yané snorted softly and looked down at her hands, resting on the tabletop. She seemed to be studying something that she held between her fingers, but Padmé could not tell what it was. "Friend. The meaning of that term seems to be the cause of some discrepancy. Did you know – " she changed topics abruptly, and Padmé struggled to follow, " – that Dormé's friend on Hapes gave her this table as a farewell gift? It's made from myrri wood, an expensive export from the rainforests of Gallinore. The designer is highly sought-after in the Consortium; this table is one of a kind." She ran a palm over its smooth surface for emphasis, and glanced up, studying Padmé with feigned curiosity. But Padmé was not fooled. Yané was waiting for a reaction – a specific reaction that she was hoping to trigger by her seemingly flippant phrases. As to what that reaction might be, Padmé had no idea.
The Senator of Naboo constructed her response with precision, keeping her tone mild. "That was very generous of her. Sometimes friends give gifts as a show of appreciation, or perhaps in the hope that they themselves will not be forgotten by the receiver. Though there are some friendships that are not marked by any visible signs…and the reasons for its clandestine nature cannot be shared, even to those who are deemed trustworthy." Wide brown eyes blinked solemnly, waiting to see if the inference was noticed.
Clearly, it was. The dark eyes across the table hardened into shards of granite, and the slim hands resting on the table's surface tightened convulsively around the hidden object. Yané drew in a deep breath, willing her hands to loosen, and then tacked on a tiny smile. "I suppose those reasons you speak of differ greatly from person to person. Or perhaps it is fear that drives some to clutch their secrets like a frightened child in the dark – holding on so desperately to something that, once revealed, may become easier to bear. I wonder…" She leaned forward, and Padmé inwardly braced herself, recognizing the precursor of an attack, "Is it fear that the secret will be exposed that compels one to silence – or fear that its discovery will make the secret less attractive? That perhaps the…excitement of such a secret was really the driving force behind this 'friendship', as you said? That the feeling of – rebellion, of forbidden pleasures, was what one was afraid to lose? What would become of such a friendship, do you think?" Yané's pupils dilated, like a firaxa shark scenting blood in the water, and waited for her sword thrust to pierce its target.
The stab went deep; Yané's rationalization was off, but the essential point was correct. Padmé had been incredibly selfish in regard to her relationship with Anakin, though it was not from the thrill of consummating a marriage right under the very perceptive nose of the Jedi Council. Rather, it was the simple fact that the most gifted Jedi in the Order, the heroic figurehead of the Republic, and the recipient of a powerful yet obscure prophecy, treasured her so much that he was willing to lead a double life – all for the sake of giving his love and accepting hers wholeheartedly.
That was what she had been so afraid of losing.
Padmé ignored the pain of her old friend's spoken innuendo; she refused to give Yané the satisfaction of seeing her wince…and she had endured far worse pain in recent weeks. She also knew that she needed to reply, and quickly, or Yané would think that she was caught off-guard. "A friendship," Padmé paused briefly, ordering her thoughts, "or any relationship that is built merely upon the feelings of the individual, is doomed to fall. One must be willing to sacrifice one's own personal feelings to reinforce another's. But to answer your earlier question, about whether it is fear that compels us to keep secrets… Yes, and no. Yes, because many secrets can be harmful in countless ways, especially to those whom the secret may be protecting – and no, because there are circumstances in which secrets are unavoidable, and so it is not fear that sustains them, but necessity."
Yané's chilly smile faded, and then suddenly widened just noticeably. "Touché." She inclined her head, her eyes never straying from Padmé's, and said, "I grant you that some secrets are necessary – but how does one justify which secrets should be kept exclusive, and which should be revealed? Some choices are quite obvious, but others become mired in the entanglements of inconsequential matters. Do you not think that a secret that affects more than one life – that may be repeated in another's life – should be offered as a show of honesty?"
"An excellent question. To which I ask another: If by offering this secret, does one prove their honesty – or leave themselves open to condemnation?" Padmé delivered this with all the finesse of a Jedi Master wielding a lightsaber in a duel. Her expression was an iron mask, civil and blank, though the velvet-brown irises of her eyes crackled with golden sparks.
Her blow crashed through Yané's defenses, and they both knew it. The former handmaiden leaned back in her chair, touching her forehead in a mock-salute. "I will not dance around the issue anymore. I am surprised to have made it this far against a Galactic Senator. I trust that Dormé delivered my message in its entirety when she came to you?" Padmé nodded silently. "Then you know that my condition is that you speak only truth – and I will do the same," Yané concluded. She began fiddling idly once again with the object in her hands, and it flashed in the light of the cargo hold's glow panels. Padmé's gaze narrowed, scrutinizing its shape. It looked to be some sort of jewel or crystal.
Yané noticed her stare – her sharp eyes never missed anything – and her fingers halted in mid-motion. Balancing an elbow on the tabletop, she held the mysterious object between thumb and forefinger, displaying it for Padmé. "It's a lightsaber focusing crystal." Yané flicked her wrist, and the uncut gem shimmered a pale yellow-orange, like a summer sky at dawn. "Cian gave it to me the day before he left for his first campaign in the war. He was so excited; his Master had told him to begin assembling the needed parts for a lightsaber, for he believed that a Jedi Knight's blade should be different from a Padawan's. He grew the crystals himself in an apparatus in his chambers, and this one had formed from the same root as another."
Padmé listened and studied Yané in quiet amazement. As soon as the other woman mentioned Cian's name, her entire countenance underwent a drastic change. The ice melted away from her elegant features, and they became soft, tinged with wistfulness and remembered joy, as if speaking of the man she loved had unburied the light within her soul.
Yané continued in her musings, her face alight with the glow of happier times. "He managed to pull them apart without damaging each crystal's interior. He gave one to me, and used the other for his new lightsaber. When he showed the completed weapon to me, it was so beautiful – like the sunrise. He was so proud, and so certain that before the war was over, Master Cam would induct him into Knighthood." The glow started to wane, and shadows covered the planes of her face, darkening her eyes. "He told me that the crystals growing as one was a sign – a sign from the Force – that we were meant to be together. And just like his lightsaber hung at his side, I was to keep mine with me at all times, and it was a symbol of our promise: that he would come back from every mission, and I would be waiting for him."
By the time the last sentence left her lips, the frozen mask was back in place, and her level gaze wavered for just an instant while an eyebrow arched high on her forehead. "I see that you have something similar to my crystal. A reminder, as it were, of your own promise."
Unconsciously, the fingertips of Padmé's left hand reached up and brushed the japor pendant hanging over her breastbone, briefly tracing the carved runes. Though the Senator made no reply, Yané observed the motion in silence, taking it as a confirmation of her previous statement. "I can remember the first time you wore that pendant," the former handmaiden said, her tone reflective. "We were preparing for the Senate meeting to address the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo. Eirtaé was helping you dress, and she noticed it when you changed out of the handmaiden gown. When she asked, you told her that it had been a gift from Anakin – 'so I would always remember him,' you had said. Sabé teased you then, saying that it was unfair to give the boy false hope, and we all laughed when you blushed." The smile in her voice flexed her full lips. "You said, 'I want to wear it as a reminder of his courage, his determination to succeed…'"
"'…And he said that it would bring me good fortune. Which we can definitely use right now.'" Padmé finished softly, her dark gaze lost in ruminations of the past. When she focused back on Yané, her eyes became wary, and the creamy skin around them tightened. She had a very strong indication of where this contest of wills was heading, and it was a direction she was not prepared to take.
Her sense of foreboding grew tenfold as Yané steeped her fingers under her chin and remarked, "Your childhood friendship with Anakin sowed the seed of a future romance. Despite your knowledge of Jedi standards, you cultivated an albeit brief relationship that he apparently cherished all the way to adolescence." The flatness of her unwavering stare hid the repressed emotion churning inside while she questioned idly, "Is that how you fostered your feelings for each other – by drawing upon your memories of amity as children?"
Padmé's hands clenched into fists atop her lap, anger flaring sharply in her heart, and she fought for calm. "You believe that I encouraged him to ignore his obligation to the Jedi," her tone was relatively level, but undeniably interlaced with traces of venom, "and enter into an intimate relationship with me?"
"Of course not, Milady!" Yané's eyes rounded in surprise – yet it had to be feigned, for there was no mistaking the ghost of a triumphant grin that flitted across her mouth. "I know that you are morally grounded and maintain a great deal of integrity, especially among your more unscrupulous fellow Senators." A predatory gleam filled her gaze, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, quick murmur. "Which is why I am so curious to learn the reason behind your choice to abandon your uncompromising principles and marry a man who by all rights you would never have considered a potential suitor if not for your entangled history. He always had a special place for you in his heart, even as a young boy. And I know that he and Master Kenobi were assigned to your security detail after that second attempt on your life.
Do you remember? I pulled you aside and told you that the Jedi would become involved, but it was not until the following day that I found out which Jedi had been called upon to protect you. Is that when it happened? It must have been; you said earlier that you have been married for nearly four years. So, is that the reason?"
Padmé was silent. Her teeth were clamped so tightly together that her whole jaw ached, and the fisted hands resting on her lap trembled with rage. If Yané had sought to anger her, she was most definitely succeeding. Padmé felt as if her entire being was split in two, and were at war within her – each half wanting to react in a completely opposite manner. One part of her was frigid and still, like the surface of a frozen pond in winter. The other practically screamed for a counterattack, the heat of unbridled ire scalding the fringes of her mind. Fire and ice, existing inside of her at the same time.
It was in that instant, when the extreme sides of her soul were wrestling for control, that she heard him.
He was calling her name – and his voice was saturated with concern as it echoed within the deep recesses of her mind, originating from the space that was now reserved only for him.
Padmé breathed in the short-lived lull created by their contact through the bond, and realized that she still had a choice to make. So she made the only one that made sense. She submerged herself in the ice – the cold, firm resolve in which she had always trusted to aid her in keeping a level head during confrontations.
Glancing downward, she willed the white-knuckled fists to smooth out, and then her palms lay flat and passive on her thighs.
"Is that the reason?" A harsh, impatient edge cut into Yané's repeated question.
A pair of dark brown eyes flared open, fixing the other woman with a hard glare. Padmé worked her jaw from side to side briefly before replying – and when she did, each word was weighted and deliberate.
"I refuse to debate ethics with you, Yané. My reason for marrying Anakin Skywalker is just that – mine. Therefore, it has no standing in our conversation."
Yané blinked, clearly taken aback. The emotionless mask stayed firmly in place upon her features, but the liquid-onyx pupils of her eyes began to smolder. "I believe that it does," she stated curtly.
Padmé spread her arms wide in a gesture of exasperation. "What is it that you want from me?"
"The truth."
"About what?"
The handmaiden's jaw tensed into a hard line under the blue-white gleam of the overhead panels. "You know what," Yané hissed, civility disintegrating from her tone like walls of sand in the evening tide.
Padmé recognized all of the signs: Yané was allowing her strong feelings on this subject to hold sway over her thinking. If Padmé wanted to discover a peaceful resolution to this conflict, then she needed to proceed very carefully. Any carelessly used word misplaced in a single sentence would be like stepping on a land mine. She sighed, "I was afraid, and selfish. I have lived most of my adult life in the public eye, and that is a very dangerous spot for a Jedi who is willfully breaking the rules to dwell. And…I finally had something so special, something more important to me than anything else. I did not want to share it with anyone, except him."
The fire in Yané's eyes had begun to spread, consuming her gaze and setting it ablaze as it melted the mask concealing her true face. "You did not trust me. I trusted you with my everything – my most important thing – and you held your tongue, letting me punish myself with thoughts that I was ruining his life's dream by saving a place for him in my heart."
"I have always trusted you, Yané," Padmé murmured with compassion, her expression softening.
There was a resounding crash. Yané was on her feet, her chair flung halfway across the cargo hold. She stood in its place, quivering with fury, hands balled into fists at her sides as she stared down at Padmé. "Do not lie to me," she choked out, the words shivering between her lips.
"I am not lying, Yané. You demanded that I speak only truth, and I have done so."
Two palms slapped the table's surface with surprising force. Yané leaned in, her beautiful features twisted into a furious snarl, and spat, "You lied to me then. And a lie by omission is just as damaging as an intentional lie."
Padmé did not even flinch. She was as motionless as a statue in the face of Yané's anger. "Yes, I lied to you two years ago when I did not tell you about my relationship with Anakin. And I am sorry. But I was referring to the present when I said I was not lying to you. I trust you, Yané – I always have. If I did not, would you be here now? Would I have asked you to safeguard my most precious secret with your life? You know the answer."
Hot tears filled the handmaiden's blazing eyes, leaving shimmering trails of moisture on her cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out as a strangled whisper.
"I already told you that truth," Padmé's voice was soft and flowing as silk, and the overwhelming compassion shining in her gaze was nearly too much for her old friend to bear. "And I will offer another: I, too, have punished myself with guilt. I have lain awake too many nights, tortured by thoughts of my husband dying, of our love being discovered and his inevitable expulsion from the Order. I suffered alone because I felt that I had no other choice, though I regret to this day that I could not help more in the midst of your pain." Yané jerked, startled, as a warm hand came to rest on hers. "The tragedy on Jabiim has haunted me since that terrible day – and though he hides his scars well, Anakin still carries the burden of being the only Jedi to survive by a course of events that he defines as cowardly." Padmé's eyelids prickled, and her vision blurred. "I wish that Cian had come back to you, as Anakin did to me. I wish that you did not have to be alone in your memories of him."
Yané turned her head swiftly, looking aside. "I don't want your pity," she muttered, but the phrase was robbed of its bitterness by the catch in her voice.
Padmé continued as if she had not spoken. "More than anything, I wish that I could give you a reason for that which is beyond my ability to comprehend." She finished in the barest whisper, "To give you a reason why death claimed your Jedi and not mine."
A gasping sob ripped into the stagnant air, and Yané seemed to collapse from within. The mask of frozen emptiness slid from her face and shattered on the metallic floor as she staggered backwards, shivering uncontrollably. Wrapping her arms around herself, she fell to the ground, teardrops splashing onto her clothes and the metal-plated floor. Without the slightest hesitation, Padmé wheeled the hoverchair around the table, pushed her body out of its cushioned seat, and joined her friend on the floor – just as she had that morning beside the Jedi Temple.
Yané felt the gentle, slender arms coil around her shoulders, and her final thread of self-discipline snapped. She threw her arms around Padmé, sobbing more desperately than she had when first learning of Cian's death. The sound of her grief resonated throughout the vacant ship, while silent tears slid down Padmé's cheeks as she embraced her friend.
After a few minutes, broken sentences began to fill the gaps between her cries and breaths of air. "H-he br-broke his promise, Padmé! He p-promised to always c-come back…but he d-didn't. They n-never found his b-body – I sliced into the Temple's archives and ch-checked their c-casualty reports. They assumed he was d-dead because they found his lightsaber in the canyon, and he never c-contacted Anakin on the comm before the evacuation." She sniffed, her words not as disjointed as she continued, "The last time I saw him – I begged him not to go. I told myself that I would never m-make him choose between me and the Order…but I knew the hostility permeating the Jabiim system. Even a Jedi presence would not be enough to stem the tide of hatred there." Yané pulled away a little so that she could see Padmé's face. "You know what he told me? He said that I had no reason to worry, because –" the barest hint of a smile tilted her mouth " – because Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Chosen One were joining their contingent a few days after deployment, and the Force would guarantee victory." Her smile widened, and it was a genuine expression, though her dark eyes were clouded by sorrow. "Cian held your husband in high esteem – all the Jedi did. When he and Master Kenobi arrived, it was the first time Cian had spoken to Anakin, and he remembered it well. He recorded a holo-message for me that night, describing it in great detail." Yané's gaze sparked with curiosity. "Did Anakin ever mention it to you?"
"No," Padmé shook her head, slightly puzzled. When she had related the story, Anakin had acted as though he had never heard the name Cian Wynn, despite the fact that Obi-Wan had recognized it immediately. If he and Cian had had a conversation on Jabiim, why wouldn't Anakin tell her?
Yané looked crestfallen, so Padmé amended softly, "But Anakin doesn't like to talk about the war – Jabiim, especially. He considers it one of his failures."
"Why? He was planning to win the war on his own?"
"He thought it was expected of him," Padmé shrugged.
Yané nodded seriously. "I had heard of the disputes among members of the Jedi Order, wondering if and when Anakin would destroy the Sith and bring so-called balance to the Force. Cian was quite firm in his belief. 'Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One, and his destiny will come when the Force wills it,'" she quoted. "Though I suppose having a destiny is not the blessing most would perceive it to be."
Padmé averted her gaze, an uncomfortable twinge unfolding in the pit of her stomach. Anakin's prophesized destiny had made him a target for the Sith – not for elimination, but for conversion. A conversion that had cost hundreds of Jedi their lives, the freedom of a galaxy, and the sacrifice of one man's soul. She knew that Anakin still claimed single-handed responsibility for the carnage within the Temple, and though she had forgiven him, and the remaining Masters had pardoned his transgressions…he would blame himself until he found a remedy that would ease his immense guilt.
The discerning, watchful gaze of a handmaiden caught the shift in her mood. Yané adjusted her posture slightly, and the seriousness of her expression intermingled with grim certainty. "It's true, isn't it – what the Emperor said about Anakin's death. He was in the Temple that day. But he was not fighting against traitors to the Republic. He was the traitor."
Padmé could form no reply. She simply nodded once, eyes burning with the sting of unshed tears. Suddenly, her head snapped up, and she exclaimed pleadingly, "He is no longer on that path, Yané – he has renounced his loyalty to Palpatine and is seeking redemption with the help of Obi-Wan and Master Yoda. He is not the same person anymore."
"I know." Yané reached out and took Padmé's hand, holding it in both of hers. "I can tell that the Masters do not perceive him as a threat – and I also know that if he were a Sith, he would not be here with you." She mused thoughtfully, "Cian would tell me a great deal about the Force – the philosophies of the Jedi Order, his own theories, and his views on the dark side. It was his opinion that once a Jedi embraces the dark side, they become another person – one that is concerned only with obtaining more power and learns to ignore, or kill, their conscience. I do not see that kind of disposition in Anakin." She patted Padmé's knuckles and smiled. That smile literally transformed her right in front of Padmé's eyes, and at last she glimpsed her friend, hidden for so long behind the shattered mask. "What I have seen in Anakin is that he loves you, unconditionally, and he loves his children. You may not know the reason why this fate has chosen you, Milady, but I think that you should be deeply thankful that it did."
"I am so very sorry about Cian, Yané." Padmé finally found her voice, and spoke quietly, "I know how much you loved him."
The smile stayed in place, yet became tinged with melancholy sadness. Her shoulders rose in a light shrug as Yané murmured, "I already know the reason why the Force spared Anakin and not Cian. The purpose of the Chosen One far outweighs the purpose of any one Jedi. Anakin did not perish with the others on Jabiim because he is needed here; the shape of his destiny has not yet been determined. And I know that Cian would agree with me. So…" Yané enclosed her crystal in her right hand, laying it over her heart. "It is in honor of his memory and our friendship that I vow – I am with you."
Padmé surrounded the young woman in a warm hug, wordlessly conveying her gratitude. After a few moments, they helped one another rise from the cold metallic floor, and Padmé sank into the hoverchair with a sigh. Yané, once she was confident that her friend was situated comfortably, strode over to the fallen chair and carried it back to the table. When she stumbled about mid-way, nearly losing her balance, Padmé gripped the arms of her chair and sat forward in alarm. "Are you all right?" she cried.
Yané recovered her footing swiftly, set the chair upright and pushed it underneath the table. She grinned sheepishly and approached, brushing imaginary dust off her fitted blue pants. "I'm fine, Milady. I haven't been eating well lately and it's finally catching up with me."
"What have you been eating?" Padmé demanded.
"Military ration capsules," she answered reluctantly, fidgeting under Padmé's admonishing glare.
"When was the last time you had a decent meal?" Padmé pressed, raising her eyebrows.
Yané swallowed hard, and replied meekly, "Four days ago." She cringed at her friend's disbelieving, outraged expression, and defended herself. "My appetite hasn't been the same for a long time, and I've been very busy with – my work." She had hesitated for a heartbeat, but Padmé did not push for clarification. Instead, she snagged Yané's forearm, rotated her hoverchair, and started for the main corridor. Yané bent over at an odd angle, staggering alongside her. "What are you doing?"
"We're getting you something to eat." The statement left no room for negotiation. Padmé floated into the main hold, fairly shoved Yané into a seat, and then began rummaging through the cabinets, muttering to herself. "This is a high-class Hapan vessel; there should be plenty of quality food in storage."
A pile of items materialized upon her lap as she dug into cupboards and shelves, and she set them down with a flourish in front of Yané. "Eat," she commanded.
Dutifully, the handmaiden chose a container of mixed fruit and peeled away the airtight seal. A set of eating utensils had been placed beside the bounty of food, and she picked up the fork, spearing a slice of some pale green fruit. As she chewed, Padmé moved closer to the small utility table and watched Yané's progress with a steady glower, crossing her arms over her chest.
Then, to Yané's astonishment, she plucked a piece from the container and dropped it in her mouth. "You're staying?" Yané asked before she could stop herself.
Padmé looked at her as though the answer were ridiculously obvious. "Someone has to make sure that you get the proper nutrition."
Bell-like echoes of their laughter could be heard throughout the hangar bay for many minutes to follow.
------------
Patience. Use the Force. Think.
Anakin really wanted to tell the Obi-Wan reciting that advice within his memory to shut up and leave him alone. His wife had not been gone for more than a few minutes, and it already felt like a lifetime. He had begun pacing the length of the conference room, following the curve of the viewport, and it helped relieve his tension – a little. Anakin's long, powerful legs ate up the limited distance in two dozen strides – back and forth, back and forth – while his brain literally hummed with an overwhelming multitude of thoughts.
He stared at the floor, watching his dark boots tread along the carpeting; he felt his old Master's eyes on him, and the silent rebuke that was undoubtedly clear in Obi-Wan's gaze. But Anakin had no desire, nor the energy, to meet that gaze. He would much rather concentrate on the link forged between his soul and Padmé's, monitoring the flux of her emotions as best he could, alert for the slightest change.
Obi-Wan watched Anakin's broad-shouldered form march back and forth until the movement became like that of a swinging pendulum, lulling him into a monotonous stupor. He shook himself, blinking rapidly, and fought the intense urge to roll his eyes at his old friend's antics. Patience had never been one of Anakin's strong points, but with the arrival of two newborn lives into his existence, one would think that he would at least attempt to master the concept. Instead, the young man behaved like a caged animal, a look of deep concentration on his face as he stared at the unchanging ground. The Jedi Master sighed heavily, about to chide Anakin – when a soft stirring in his arms caused him to glance downward in surprise.
Distracted by his former Padawan, Obi-Wan had forgotten about the tiny infant reclining trustingly against his chest. Leia Skywalker stared at him with large brown eyes, quiet and curious. A barely formed wisp of thought touched him in the Force, and Obi-Wan got the impression that Anakin's daughter was trying to determine who he was and why he was holding her instead of one of her parents.
He smiled gently, and murmured in a low voice, "Hello there." Leia's small head cocked ever so slightly, considering him with her strangely intent eyes. Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, deliberately using his feelings of delight and affection for the little girl to convince her untrained mind that she was safe with him. A chime of silvery laughter bubbled out of Leia, her rosebud mouth opened in a wide smile.
Obi-Wan smiled broadly in return, pleased and somewhat amazed by the child's innate sensitivity. "It's nice to meet you, Leia," he said softly, "My name is Obi-Wan."
Of course, all Leia was capable of doing was to continue smiling, her essence sparkling with childish delight, like sunlit ripples on the water. Obi-Wan took this opportunity to study her, marveling at how much she resembled Padmé – the same dark brown eyes, the thick, silky tresses covering her head with just a hint of curl that would someday mirror her mother's long ringlets, and even her curiosity about him had been tinted with Padmé's calm sincerity.
He wondered then, if Leia had inherited so many admirable qualities from her mother – what exactly had she received from her father, besides his extraordinary strength in the Force?
The little one in his arms twitched suddenly, just as a squeaky cry echoed from across the table. Obi-Wan glanced up at Sabé, who was standing on the opposite side of the room from Anakin, bouncing Leia's twin in her arms and trying to hush his crying. "Shh…shh… It's all right, it's all right," she chanted softly, but to no avail. Leia shifted in her blankets, her expression crinkling into a frown – a response to her brother's distress as it resonated through the Force. The last thing they needed was two inconsolable babies on their hands, so Obi-Wan clambered to his feet and walked towards Sabé.
"Here, I'll take him," he volunteered. Sabé blinked at him, surprised, but nevertheless switched with him and took Leia with her to the nearest chair, falling into it gratefully. Luke continued to wail ceaselessly, his eyelids squeezed shut as two tiny fists waved in the air. Obi-Wan returned to his seat, ignoring the boy's cries while he made certain that Luke was tucked firmly into his embrace. Then, as he had done with Leia, the Jedi Master shaped his feelings into a tendril of Force energy and brushed against Luke's mind.
Anakin's son fell immediately silent, his tear-stained eyes opening wide to meet Obi-Wan's gaze – and in that instant, an answer to a prevailing mystery was unveiled.
Luke Skywalker had his father's eyes.
The same intense, ice-blue orbs peered out of the little boy's face, still flushed crimson from his howling, and Obi-Wan was shaken to his core. His dream – the one that he had seen while the skiff was en-route to Polis Massa – the only thing he could remember about it was a child with Anakin's eyes. And now that child was here, lying in his arms. It was…he could not think of a word to describe it.
A flicker of thought darted across the fringes of Obi-Wan's perception, and with another jolt, he realized that he recognized the pattern – just as the Force Sensitive projecting it recognized him. With wide eyes he stared down at Luke. It had been him; it was this child's unborn mind that had contacted him three days ago on the skiff, while he struggled to repair his connection to the Force. This boy had reached out to him without any training at all, using only the basest of instincts to communicate with the outside world.
Obi-Wan was incredibly glad that he was sitting down, or else he was sure that he would have collapsed by now. The flicker paused, hovering on the edge of his awareness, and Obi-Wan extended himself towards it cautiously. For the most fleeting of seconds, their minds connected – and it was as though an electrical current traveled across their point of contact. Luke's innocent expression was brightened by a wide, toothless smile, and Obi-Wan grinned back, teetering on the verge of awe. "Hello, Luke." His voice quivered slightly, but the gleam in his blue-grey eyes never dimmed. "It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Obi-Wan." The eldest Skywalker child made happy gurgling noises, and Obi-Wan gazed intently into his face, secretly inquiring, what secrets do you hold, little one? What paths have you and your sister taken within the currents of the universe? What wisdom can you give your father as he strives to fulfill his destiny? A shiver skittered down his spine. And what destiny has the Force decreed for you?
He jumped, startled, as Sabé leaned over his shoulder, demanding, "What did you do?"
Obi-Wan turned sideways, giving her a faintly bewildered look, and shrugged. She measured his expression, taking note of the odd gleam in his eyes, his just-noticeably ragged breathing, and then she glanced at Luke. The infant's bright blue stare had not left the Jedi Master's face; it lingered as if drawn by a magnet.
Sabé required no further explanation – she had observed many Force users in her lifetime, and therefore recognized all the signs. She simply nodded knowingly and withdrew in her chair, throwing a speculative look in Anakin's direction as she sat down.
The door slid open; Anakin halted in mid-step, his head whipping around – but disappointment colored his expression even before the others could tell who it was. Dormé swept into the room, heading directly for Anakin. When he realized that she was coming towards him, his anxiety level skyrocketed.
He met her halfway, asking, "Is Padmé all right? Where is she?" His words tumbled over one another in their mad rush to be spoken.
"She is fine. She is meeting with Yané right now." Dormé wisely omitted their location, and relayed Padmé's request in her quiet manner. "She asked me to take the twins back to your room and look after them while you three attend to other matters." Anakin's teeth sank into his lower lip as he stared at the handmaiden, torn. Though he was still preoccupied with his wife's current situation, he was not certain that he wanted Luke and Leia less than ten feet from him at this time. Yet he also knew that Obi-Wan and Sabé were not accustomed to babysitting, and he felt guilty for having forced this upon them.
"They will be safe in my care, Anakin," Dormé asserted sincerely. He looked at her for a full minute, and then conceded with a single nod. She inclined her head, and approached Obi-Wan, opening her arms to receive Luke. Padmé's tiny son transferred easily into Dormé's hold, and she adjusted his blankets while Sabé came to her feet and moved to stand beside her, Leia contentedly fingering her long braid.
"I'll come with you and help get them situated," she told Dormé, and then glanced sidelong at Obi-Wan. "I have not forgotten about our requested discussion, Master Kenobi." The barest hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth. "We will talk when I return." Motioning with a tilt of her head, she followed Dormé out of the conference room, pausing at the threshold to consider Anakin, who had resumed his restless pacing. Sabé snorted softly to herself, amused, and then the door closed behind her.
Obi-Wan ran a palm over his bearded face, exhaling deeply. He needed to be in better control of his frustration when dealing with Sabé, and Anakin's impatient movements were certainly not the most calming of conditions. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose and beseeched wearily, "Anakin – please. Sit down." He opened his eyes, following his friend's constant stride with growing agitation. "You will drive yourself crazy, pacing back and forth like that."
"I'll go crazy if I just sit, Master," Anakin muttered while he walked, that same look of deep concentration furrowing his brow. "I need to do something. I need to move around."
"Well, you're driving me crazy!" Obi-Wan shouted in aggravation. "You seem to have quite a talent for that," he added with a dark scowl.
Anakin slowed, gazing at his old Master with an unfathomable expression, before coming to a stop and leaning his back against the viewport with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Master," he mumbled. "I just – I don't like it when I have to leave her alone. I'm tired of leaving her."
Obi-Wan studied the young man's lowered head, the light glinting off his golden hair, and pursed his lips with sympathy. "I understand your concern, Anakin, but you know that the situation is not the same. Padmé seemed very confident when she left – and I, for one, trust in her ability to appeal to a person's better nature. And I believe that she asked you to trust her, as well."
Anakin's indigo gaze flashed upwards. "I do trust her. It's everyone else that I don't trust," he said in a low growl.
The Jedi Master smiled lopsidedly, shaking his head with fond disbelief. "I think that Padmé would resent your implication that she cannot look after herself."
"Oh, she does." Anakin smirked mischievously, and the two brothers chuckled. Then all traces of playfulness washed away from Anakin's features, and he stared at his old friend with a kind of desperate honesty. "She's my whole world, Obi-Wan," he said quietly, "I have to protect her."
"But you cannot protect her from everything, my friend," Obi-Wan counseled in a low, peaceful tone. "I may not know much about marriage, but I have learned that any partnership requires equality for it to function well. Padmé is an intelligent, accomplished woman with years of experience in a wide range of venues. And although she is not a Jedi…technically, at the moment, neither are you."
He waited for the sharp denial, the brash declaration that usually accompanied these types of conversations – but Anakin simply looked at him, acceptance pacifying the turbulent intensity inside his blue eyes. Anakin folded his arms across his chest, remarking, "I know that. I know that she can take care of herself, and that right now, she's probably the stronger of the two of us. But knowing that up here – " he tapped a forefinger against his temple " – doesn't change how I feel."
Obi-Wan smiled at him with patient affection. "In time, I think that the worry will fade – but it will never disappear. Your worry is a result of your love for her. Just let her have this opportunity to show you that you do not have to worry about her constantly, and I believe that…" He frowned, trailing off. "Anakin? What is it?"
The young man was frozen and tense, as though carved from stone. His eyes had grown wide, and they were focused on something that Obi-Wan was unable to see. The Jedi Master watched apprehensively as Anakin's face paled, and jerked backwards in surprise when he suddenly called out, "Padmé!"
Obi-Wan was at his friend's side in a heartbeat, staring intently at Anakin's horrified expression. "What is it?" he asked again. Laying a hand on his former Padawan's shoulder, Obi-Wan stretched out with the Force for Padmé, trying to perceive the potential danger that Anakin appeared to be witnessing firsthand. His brow furrowed in confusion. There was nothing – the Force seemed undisturbed around the young woman's essence. He withdrew his awareness, and looked at Anakin's profile, observing the quicksilver shifts of his emotions as they played across his features, hoping to receive some indication of what was happening.
It had struck Anakin with all the devastating force of a torpedo landing a direct hit on a snub fighter. The shockwave of anger – so blisteringly powerful and emanating directly from his wife – awakened unspeakable dread inside his heart. He struggled to recover his mental grounding and closed his eyes, reaching out to her through their bond and calling her name. The closer he got to her, the more he began to realize…this reaction manifesting within Padmé's psyche was a direct contradiction to her natural tendencies. And the fires of rage springing up alongside her were rooted in darkness.
He shoved aside the crippling terror and focused on Padmé, on the light that filled her soul and now echoed within his own – and the flames died, while cold resolve took its place. Profound relief caused a sigh to escape his lips – but it was short-lived, for the understanding that had blossomed in his mind surfaced at once, and Anakin slowly opened his eyes.
Obi-Wan was shaking his shoulder, asking anxiously, "What has happened? Is Padmé all right?"
"She's fine…now." Anakin's voice was numb, devoid of emotion, and he would not meet Obi-Wan's gaze. "Something made her angry, and it surprised me – the strength of it, I mean. But it's all right; she's not in any danger."
His old Master's eyes were scorching the side of his face with their intensity. "Tell me what you felt, Anakin," he softly commanded, his palm firm and immovable on his friend's shoulder.
Blue orbs reluctantly swung sideways, and Obi-Wan was stunned by the anguish that was displayed within those eyes. "The anger that she felt – the way she was experiencing it… It was not the way she normally responds." Anakin had to force himself to continue, the words coming out haltingly. "The anger…burned, like fire, and I recognized the feeling – because it was how I felt four days ago, when we were fighting." He met Obi-Wan's eyes, and saw the shock of comprehension, the knowledge that both of them were now convinced was true. Anakin implored desperately, "It's still inside me, Master, and it's attacking the woman I love. I wanted to believe that I was free of the dark side, but this proves otherwise. Why is this happening to us? Is it using Padmé to get to me? I won't let it hurt her – or the twins!"
Obi-Wan gently shook his shoulder, replying in a low, decisive tone, "Calm down, Anakin. We have no certainty of anything at this point." Anakin started to interrupt, but Obi-Wan continued, talking over the younger man. "Speculation serves no purpose; it will only feed your fear for Padmé and your children. But whatever happened just now, you were able to reach Padmé and avert a possible disaster. Your bond with her is growing stronger – of that much we can be certain."
Anakin was studying his former Master's expression, watching his storm-colored eyes as he spoke. "You know something," Anakin remarked with confidence, blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell me."
"It is only a thought, Anakin, not knowledge," Obi-Wan exhaled heavily, dropping his hand from Anakin's broad shoulder.
"Tell me," he said again, with quiet intensity.
Obi-Wan turned to face the viewport, folding his arms loosely across his stomach, his profile tinted a brilliant red-orange from the light of Polis Massa's central star. "I have suspicions," he confessed, "about the lingering side effects of your encounter with the dark side and how it would influence you if – when – you regain your connection to the Force." Anakin nodded in silence; these suspicions of Obi-Wan's were what had sparked their argument – and ultimately their brawl – in this same room only days before.
Yet Anakin found it rather intriguing that his old friend had corrected himself when speaking of his reunion with the Force, as if it were an eventual circumstance. He would have to ask him about that later.
The Jedi Master resumed his explanation, and Anakin focused on the inflection behind his speech. "The dark side leaves its mark on any soul it touches, and I was…" Obi-Wan paused, searching for the right word, "…afraid that it would crouch within you like a predator, just waiting for you to reawaken to the heartbeat of the universe and imprison your mind once again. I could not let that happen. You are too important to the galaxy…to me…to be taken captive by the darkness for a second time."
"You said –" Anakin broke in softly, his eyes bright, like two points of azure light in the monochromatic glow of the sun, "– you were afraid. As in you're not anymore?"
"Oh, I don't know if I would go that far," Obi-Wan retorted with a thin smile. "Let's just say that I have come to realize that I was giving the dark side too much credit as far as its hold on your conscience – and not enough credit to the woman who is your touchstone, and has now become your balance point. And your own strength of will, as well," he added, looking at Anakin from the corner of his eye.
"But you do agree that what affects one of us will affect the other through our bond?"
"Yes." Obi-Wan turned sideways, his expression grave. "And your account of what transpired just now within Padmé seems to confirm both of our greatest fears. The darkness that resided inside you has lost ground…but it is regrouping, waiting for its opportunity. And it seems to understand that Padmé is your center in the light. It will do all it can to disrupt that center."
Anakin's face was pale, washed with a muted, red-gold gleam, and his eyes were wide with terror – and beseeching earnestness. "What must I do?" he whispered throatily, choked by emotion, "How can I protect her? How can I…purge myself of the dark side…when I can't even feel it?"
"I have no answers for you, my friend," Obi-Wan laid both palms on Anakin's shoulders, in a gesture that was both conciliatory and empowering. "My advice to you, as your old Master and your friend, is to concentrate on your relationship with Padmé, and with Luke and Leia. Use every moment you have with them to strengthen the ties between all of you – for I believe that your feelings for them may be your shield, and your only weapon, against the darkness in your heart." He gripped the hard muscles cording the younger man's arms tightly. "Take comfort in the fact that the wisest of the Jedi is here with us. If there is anyone in the galaxy that can help you overcome yourself, it is Master Yoda."
The one born of the Force felt cold, numbed from the inside, yet his sharp blue stare blazed with fierce determination. He had gained his freedom from slavery by being the only human with the reflexes to race Pods, when all other voices around him – except the gentle encouragement of his mother and the quiet assurance of a Jedi Master – had told him that it was impossible. He had mastered every skill in the Force during his unorthodox training at the Temple and under Obi-Wan, when many on the Council grumbled that he was too old and therefore dangerous to embark on the path of a Jedi. He had won the heart of the beautiful, unforgettable Senator of Naboo, even when she, and his own sense of duty, had insisted that their love would destroy them.
Anakin Skywalker was no stranger to situations with insurmountable odds. He had conquered the odds with his very existence.
And he would not stop until the odds began to work in his favor.
Anakin raised his chin, the slumped line of his shoulders straightening as he met Obi-Wan's gaze unflinchingly. His friend, his teacher, his brother, and his father in every sense of the term, had more or less declared his full confidence in Anakin's ability to meet his destiny. With the combined faith of both his best friend and his wife behind him, Anakin at last felt like he could break free from the shadows once and for all. There was just one more step to take.
While his eyes told Obi-Wan of his immeasurable gratitude, Anakin asked quietly, "I think I would like to speak to Master Yoda. Do you know where I might find him?"
"He was looking for a suitable place to meditate," Obi-Wan answered, removing his hands from his young friend's shoulders, and gestured toward the door. "We could go together, if you like."
Anakin smiled – his first real smile since Padmé left the room. "Thanks, Master, but I think it's better if I handle this one on my own. Besides," he cocked an eyebrow, "aren't you supposed to be waiting to talk with Sabé about her 'additional training'?"
Obi-Wan frowned, his brow crinkling under the fringe of sandy blond hair that tickled the skin above his right eyebrow. "I had forgotten about that," he admitted, as if that were a shameful occurrence. Glancing inquisitively at Anakin, he wrapped an arm around his middle, propped the opposite elbow atop it, and started pulling absently on his beard. "What do you suppose she meant by that?"
Anakin heard soft footfalls behind them, and his gaze darted sideways, then back to Obi-Wan with a meaningful gleam. "I think you're about to find out," he muttered under his breath.
Just as the Jedi Master was preparing to question his friend further, Anakin pivoted on heel in a half-circle, smirking amiably as Sabé paused a few steps away. "Am I interrupting?" she inquired politely, her almond-shaped eyes wide and seemingly innocent.
Anakin did not buy it for one second – but he did not call her out. Though Sabé was almost eerily his female counterpart in both attitude and behavior, he found her genuinely likable. And he knew how much his Padmé cared for her. He would let her have her tête-à-tête with Obi-Wan, as soon as they established some ground rules.
As Obi-Wan spun quickly, disconcerted that he had not sensed Sabé's approach, Anakin replied smoothly, "Not at all. I was just getting ready to see Master Yoda."
"He is currently visiting the MedCenter's arboretum, located on the eastern corner of the Patient Recovery Floor, Level 2." Sabé rattled off this statement with absolute certainty, not pausing to take a breath until after it was delivered.
The two men stared at her with identical, blank expressions. Sabé resisted the urge to sigh; how she disliked it when people made the mistake of underestimating her, or her fellow handmaidens. "Ellé found him there during her routine explorations of the area, and had a brief conversation with him. According to her, Master Yoda had plans to stay and meditate for some time." She looked pointedly at Anakin.
He blinked, recovering quickly, and nodded at her. "Thank you. I guess I'm heading for the arboretum." Anakin glanced sidelong at Obi-Wan, who offered no response other than a blank stare, and then back at Sabé. "Could you –"
"I will personally let Padmé know where you are if she returns first," Sabé replied, without letting him even finish asking. She smiled up at him warmly, dark eyes twinkling, and Anakin was amazed at just how much she looked like Padmé in that instant.
He smiled back, threw one last look over at his old Master, and then started for the door. As he brushed past her, Anakin paused just long enough to whisper hurriedly, "Go easy on him, okay? He's had a lot to deal with in the past few days. I don't want him to go into a coma."
Even though he kept walking, Sabé managed to hiss back to him, "I'm only doing this because he asked. He'll only have himself to blame." Their eyes met as Anakin halted briefly at the threshold of the conference room, giving her a stern, expectant look. Though the decoy stared at him mischievously over the curve of one shoulder, he could easily read the undercurrent of solemnity in the depths of her brown eyes. She understood the gravity of what could befall her in the hands of the Emperor, and she appreciated Obi-Wan's concern for her safety.
Convinced that Obi-Wan and Sabé could be left to conduct their own negotiations, Anakin allowed the door to slide shut behind him, and strode down the corridor to the turbolift.
Sabé stepped closer to the motionless Jedi, head slightly tilted as she studied his face, and offered him a wide, glittering smile. "Well, where should we begin, Master Jedi?"