Chapter 10: Mourning Violently

"Padmé," his tender voice whispered from across the room. "Come here, love."

She could not help the wide grin that split her face as her husband beckoned her into his arms. Happily, she seated herself in his lap, sighing as his arms wrapped around her, tucking her beneath his chin. "Hi," she whispered against his chest.

A low chuckle sounded in his throat. "Hey, there." His hand wove softly through her curls, brushing sweetly against her cheek. "Is it just me, are you ten times more beautiful today than you were yesterday?"

She swatted him playfully, though her heart swelled at the familiar words, words that he'd repeated every day since the first day he'd called her his wife. Other women may have tired at his endless compliments, thinking someone could not truly mean so many things with such sincerity. But Padmé knew her Ani, and knew his words, no matter how silly, were from the bottom of his vulnerable heart. Greedily, she drank in his love, tucking his smiles and his kisses somewhere deep inside her heart, for those days not far ahead when she knew he would once again have to leave her. "You are so blinded by love, honey," she joked, though in part she believed it was a likely possibility. Smiling to herself, she thought, who cares?

She swore she could almost hear him grinning, as if he'd heard her thoughts aloud. "Maybe," he confessed, blocking another one of her playful swats. "But I'm so in love with you that you could switch bodies with a bantha tomorrow and I'd still want to wake up to your face every morning."

Padmé raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me something?" she questioned, her tone deadly serious. "Have you developed a recent attraction to-"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips, squinting his eyes in disgust. "Don't even say it," he laughed. He brought her face up to his own, nuzzling her nose. "You know what I meant," he whispered, his voice suddenly breathy and low. He captured her lips in a lingering kiss, hands coming to rest on her back, when-

A wail.

Padmé broke from his kiss with a sigh. "Leia's at it again," she noted, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Anakin laughed, agreeing, "She's a complainer, all right," though his eyes sparkled with all the tenderness of a father desperately in love with his daughter.

"Didn't get that from me," Padmé muttered under her breath, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

Anakin stood with her in his arms, giving her a quick kiss before placing her back on her feet. "I'll get her," he assured her, and whisked away into the nursery. He returned moments later with a tiny infant in his arms, swaddled in a soft blue blanket. "Well, look who decided it was his turn for some much needed attention."

Luke was still sniffling from his father's arms as Padmé approached her boys, lovingly giving each of their faces a caress. "My little Luke," she murmured, and somewhere deep down, she marveled at what a tender wife and mother she'd become, recalling those days when devastating battles and cutthroat politics had consumed her world. Now, that world had shrunk drastically, closing in on a mere three people. Surprisingly—wonderfully—it was anything but stifling.

Despite possessing the full attention of his parents, Luke continued to cry. Anakin's face scrunched up in frustration, his eyes peering down at his baby. "Do you think he's hungry?" he questioned, his tone a bit short.

"I just fed them not 30 minutes ago," Padmé refuted. She stared down at her child, who continued to wail with increasing fervor. "Shh, baby," she coaxed him, but if anything his screams became louder and more piercing.

"Luke, stop crying," Anakin urged the baby, his voice forceful. "Stop."

Padmé shot a look at her husband, somewhat incredulously. "He's just a baby," she argued. "Sometimes babies cry for no reason." But despite her reasoning, Luke's cries escalated to an urgent hysteria, causing a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Luke," she pleaded.

"Stop," Anakin ordered the child, his voice gruff. "Stop it."

"Anakin!" Padmé admonished him.

Anakin watched his son's face, and as he did, his own contorted into a frightening sight.

Padmé found herself recoiling in fear as his sky blue eyes turned a sickly, sulfurous yellow, rimmed with red hatred. His face contorted in anger, and Padmé could sense the waves of malice rolling off of him. "Anakin," she gasped, frightened.

"Stop crying!"

She watched in horror, inexplicably frozen to her spot, as Anakin, Luke in his arms, burst into flames. Padmé heard her own screams as she watched her husband burn, burn away.

And then he was black. A machine, glistening like steel, his face hidden, his voice disguised behind deep, rasping, mechanical breaths. She looked on in horror, screaming, as he took the baby by his throat, and held him high above the ground. Luke cries grew quieter and quieter and Padmé screamed at her legs to move, but she could do nothing. "NO!" she cried.

Horribly, baby Luke's head swiveled around to face her, his eyes yellow, mouth contorted into a dastardly grin.

-:-:-:-

"NO!"

Padmé woke with a start.

The room around her was pitch black, and she wondered frantically where Anakin had gone. Groggily working through her sleepy haze, she managed to push back the covers and dash across the hall into the nursery. No, no, no, Luke could not be dead, no-

She moved to the crib, expecting a broken, mangled infant body, and-

But what she saw was two babies, a boy and a girl, peacefully asleep, their tiny tummies rising and falling. Their faces were turned towards each other, hands touching, seeking each other's comfort in the stillness of the night.

Padmé felt her knees go weak, and she sunk to the ground in broken relief. She realized that she was crying, silent sobs racking her body, stealing her lungs of air. Suddenly drained of all strength, she managed to stumble into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, before once again falling to the ground, forehead and knees scraping against the rough carpet. She felt her body contort with each soundless cry, and felt her lungs ache for air. It had been too much—what she'd seen—and her tired mind could no longer take it. She lost herself in wild grief, mourning violently.

Minutes later, a voice broke through her tumultuous consciousness. "Padmé."

She lifted weary, wet eyes to see the form of a black-clad Sith Lord in front of her.

Unconsciously, her body jerked back towards the wall, her mind recalling the horrific scene from her nightmare, still etched onto her retinas.

She saw him reach out a hesitant arm, as if wishing to touch her. "Padmé," he repeated, and she thought she heard his breath hitch. "I-"

"No," she insisted, her voice a mere raspy whisper. "Don't speak. Just don't."

His outstretched arm fell awkwardly to his side, and she shut her eyes, wishing she could disappear and be swallowed up by the foundations of this gods damned, accursed world.

Before she could protest, she was being swept up into a pair of strong, silent arms. Fear gripped her heart like a vice, but it was slowly replaced by confusion as she registered the two of them moving across the hallway, back into her bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed, and Padmé felt herself drowning in incredulity, staring into two, empty black orbs.

"I felt your pain," he said simply, and for a moment, she was able to imagine his face underneath that mask, contorting with concern, as it had so many times before, times that now seemed like another lifetime. "It was a nightmare."

Padmé found no words, only the strength the nod, wondering if he was probing her mind for the contents of her dream. Incongruously, she wondered how he had accessed her quarters, and realized that her access codes were probably completely worthless in this Force-forsaken place.

She was utterly shocked, to say the least, when his monstrous form knelt beside her, and his hand reached out to touch her own. "Padmé," he said, his voice deliberate and slow. "This…" he said, and could find no words to elaborate. "This was all for you."

Padmé stared.

In the months since his accident, so much had transpired between them; frigid silences, terrifying commands, unyielding orders, and harsh words of contempt. But here, both of them utterly broken and lost, he was kneeling besides her, trying to convey to her in his own, flawed way, that everything—everything—had been for her. That he'd fought and wrestled and been swallowed whole by his own demons…for her.

Here, as she was reeling from a nightmare in which he'd been the monster, he was trying to comfort her.

Padmé's hand instinctively flew to cover her heart, feeling it pounding beneath her fingertips. An old emotion surfaced in that moment; a deep, heartfelt longing for the comforting embrace of her husband, for his tender kisses and soft words of consolation.

Memories flashed briefly in her mind: a little boy, scared and alone, covered in a blanket in the corner of the room, pining for his mother. A young man, running through the fields of Naboo, chasing after a woman in yellow and pink ribbons. A sweet lover, holding her face in his hands, whispering words of, "I do," and kissing her with all the passion of years of unrequited love. A tender father, stroking her swollen belly, speaking softly to the child within.

There were tears streaming down her face, and she felt her heart clench tightly, feeling empty.

Anakin spoke no words, but briefly, hesitantly, his hand came to rest upon the softness of her curls. Before she could be surprised, he whisked out of the room, leaving her breathless and utterly confused.

Wiping her tired tears away, she mourned for the pain in her heart. But simultaneously, she rejoiced in it, savoring the first feelings of tenderness towards her husband she had felt in far, far too long.

-:-:-:-

When the dawn came, Padmé had not yet slept.

After Anakin had left, Padmé had been left momentarily stunned, unable to comprehend whether the scene that she recalled had been a figment of her imagination, or an incredible, breathtaking reality.

She had not seen her husband in days. He was absent often, a fact that was paradoxically comforting as it was disconcerting. His absence certainly improved the atmosphere of her little home, but if he was not within her sight, she shuddered to think of what he was doing under the orders of his Master.

But last night, he'd been here.

He'd felt her pain, and he'd come for her.

As she'd laid awake, she'd mulled over the details of her tumultuous dream. It's this medication, she mused darkly, recalling the previous evening when a nurse droid had administered the drug. Naturally, Palpatine and his puppets knew that she would have never taken the medication in pill form, and instead had settled on a regimen of daily injections. With a heavy heart and a restless mind, she wondered what further side effects would present themselves, and realized she had little knowledge of what exactly this medication was even doing.

As the morning sun streamed through her window, she rose from her bed, dark thoughts swirling through her exhausted mind. Crossing to the window, she stared out into the sun until her eyes burned from the intensity, though her thoughts were so consuming that she barely felt the sting.

She had to do something.

Her situation was quickly becoming increasingly precarious. And although she loved Luke and Leia with every fiber of her being, she was all too aware that their presence made matters infinitely more complex. She did not have the option of a simple, quick escape—not that it would have been simple or quick, or even necessarily what she desired—when she had two small infants to think of.

Last night had altered her present view of the situation.

He had committed unspeakable horrors. He'd killed children—a shudder traveled up her spine as the image of a strangling infant in his fingers returned to the forefront of her mind. He'd betrayed his friends, his family, his wife, his children, and the Force—and though his betrayal on that front was beyond her understanding, she'd heard enough Jedi speaking of the perils of the dark side to understand that it was a grave course of action her husband had taken.

Her husband.

Perhaps it was archaic and naïve, but Padmé could not let herself forget that she had made eternal vows to this man. She'd sworn her life to him, that day in front of the crystal waters of Varykino, where he'd stolen her heart, the only place in this world she could think of and imagine as yet untouched by whatever madness the rest of the galaxy had fallen into.

Through all their troubles—and there had been plenty—her love for Anakin had been the one thing that made sense. Her one constant.

Grimly, she realized that there would never again come a time like the beginning of their romance. Whatever Anakin said to her now, whatever he did—no matter if he suddenly appeared before her, a whole man again, eyes crystal blue and heart overflowing with contrition—she would never be able to go back to loving him the way she had before.

When he'd fallen, she'd had romantic delusions of being a devoted, loyal wife, remaining deeply in love with Anakin Skywalker until the day she died. But the initial shock and horror of the situation had subsided, leaving a dull ache in her heart. She was intelligent enough to realize that she could not trust him with her heart; never again.

But she could cast her feelings aside and try to help him—to save him, even. Perhaps love was never—as she'd once thought—about a feeling; an emotion that could change like the patterns of a storm, fleeting and unpredictable. Maybe it was about doing what was best for him, about casting selfishness aside in favor of altruism.

There would come a day—and with each growing hour, she feared that day may be sooner rather than later—that she would come to the end of her life. And when that day came, she would certainly have immense regret for all her various failings; for her planet, her political ideals, her family…herself.

But perhaps, as much of a failure as she was, she still had some part to play in this unfolding story. Perhaps she could make a world of difference.

This was all for you.

He'd spoken those words to her in the stillness of the night, in the midst of the climax of her fear. Those words were not the words of an evil, irredeemable monster; no, those were the words of a broken man, lost at sea, without an anchor to keep him steady. Those were the words of a man who had been viciously overcome by his own demons, but still desperately holding on to his barely beating heart.

If all this evil had been done in her name, perhaps the opposite effect was possible.

There was still tenderness in her husband, yet. She merely had to awaken it.

Bringing herself back to the present, Padmé firmly set her jaw, reflecting her resolve. She was just one woman, but he was also just one man. Whatever powers that be, he was still only human. And though she knew of his tremendous power, she—perhaps better than anyone—knew of his intimate vulnerability, and that knowledge fueled her strength to do what she knew she needed to do.

Padmé Naberrie Amidala Skywalker was tired of passivity; she was going to confront her husband.

-:-:-:-

To be continued...

Hello everyone! Thank you for all your kind reviews and interest.

To address some recurring comments/questions:

-Anakin/Vader is around…just off doing Palpy's bidding. I would imagine that due to his medical needs, he does not live in the same quarters as Padmé.

-Also, yes, Padme's life does suck right now...but we know she won't put up with that for long, of course ;)

Please review, guys! See you at the next update!