Disclaimer: If I owned Star Wars, all the new merch would also contain stuffs with Hayden's face on them. I'M JUST SAYIN'.

A/N: I am alive and not dead and so is this fic! Happy readings! And thank you to all who have stuck around and are still interested! Long chapter is long also I'm realizing that I'm growing very fond of cliffhangers. (pls forgive)

VI: Truce

On the morning of the next day, after a long night of tinkering on the part of the tech crew, the grounded field team stranded on Lycradel III was able to reach Alliance headquarters again – and this time, they were able to receive a reply. Well, a reply of sorts. It was, as in their first limited success, mostly static, but this time the static was peppered with words and phrases such as "acknowledged" and "send immediately." If Padmé had been Force-sensitive, she was sure she would have been able to feel group morale skyrocket. As it was, she could sense, even with a mundane sort of intuition, the palpable excitement present in camp that day.

Palpable and present, that is, in everyone but her, whose deadline to make things right with a certain Jedi castaway had been unceremoniously moved up to right now.

Padmé poked and patted at her frizzing hair as it tried to escape its simple braid in the still-damp climate of the lonely moon, and tried to slow and even her breathing. When her curls refused to stay in place and her rumpled clothes refused to straighten, she gave up and, taking a deep breath, headed toward the center of the camp to see if she could find the erstwhile Jedi.

The camp was buzzing with activity as the troop packed up in preparation for being picked up. They had been told to remain at their location until they could be located by the rescue team, however, so the good feelings of excitement that permeated the forest camp were only increased by a decided lack of hurry.

A quick sweep of vision from where she now stood in the camp's center revealed no sign of Skywalker. However, she did notice Harker standing near the north edge of camp, exchanging words with Captain Reddins. He and Skywalker seemed to get along well, as she had seen them together more than once in the past few days; though really, it was no surprise, given their generally amiable personalities. As she neared him, she could see that not only did he have his rifle with him, but he seemed geared up to stand one last watch before they all left this moon behind them for good.

She quickened her pace to catch up with him just as he turned away from the captain. "Just a moment, Agent Harker!"

He did a sharp about-face, startled, but recovered quickly and flashed her a warm smile, "What can I do for you, my lady?"

"Have you seen Skywalker? Do you know where I might find him?"

If anything, his smile only grew. It took all of Padmé's resolve not to look down at her feet, half-certain that everyone in the whole troop knew she had been building up the courage to apologize, and half-appalled that she, a former senator and household name, was essentially being praised like a little child still learning right from wrong.

"As a matter of fact, I did see him a while earlier – maybe about an hour ago? He said he was going to go out near our perimeter to meditate."

Meditate?

If anyone had asked Padmé a week ago which of the Jedi (that she had known of) seemed to be more of a spiritual than warlike bent, Skywalker would certainly not have made the list. The very opposite, in fact!

But now – now she wasn't so sure.

"Do you know exactly where he was going? A direction, perhaps? It's just that I need to speak with him without delay."

Harker grimaced. "Unfortunately, no. But as long as we can get hold of you easily should our help arrive," here he paused to give Padmé a chance to nod in understanding, "I don't see any problem with you going out to look for him. I'll let the current sentry detail know you're going to be out and about."

She managed to conjure up a smile. "Much appreciated."

In reality, it didn't take her long to find Skywalker.

She found him seated beside a swift-flowing brook flowing down from the nearest peak, with his forehead just touching the wood of that strange walking stick he always carried around with him.

When she hesitated, he spoke without having made any movement to acknowledge her presence.

"You can go ahead and say whatever it was you came here to say."

Still she hesitated; his tone was so neutral that she couldn't judge whether or not he might be angry with her. After all, she had first made that remark, and then she had avoided him for several days. He had every right to be angry.

"No, really, I can feel your need to. Your presence – it feels…" He seemed to be searching for the right word. "…stressed."

She nearly laughed despite herself. "That's a very polite way to put it." She sighed. "I'm very sorry for what I said and did when we met. It was hurtful and unprovoked – and also untrue. I know you had nothing to do with the deaths of hundreds of your people. I – I have no excuse."

Skywalker set his piece of wood to the side and stretched his long legs out from where they had been crossed beneath him. He turned behind him to look at her and patted a spot of streambank beside him.

"Come and sit. It's a little wet, but I find the sound of the running water calming."

She came and sat. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

He shrugged. "You have it anyway." He held out his now-working mechanical hand solemnly. "But if you still think you're unworthy, consider this: it's really awkward when the two most famous people in a group aren't speaking to one another. Truce?"

She took his hand and shook. "Truce."

He turned back toward the stream, and she did, as well. He was right about the sound being calming. The low chuckle soothed her frayed nerves and for the first time, she began to actually realize the beauty of the piece of space rock they were stuck on. She decided to say as much.

"Well, at least you were marooned and left for dead in a place with nice scenery. You could have been left on your home planet."

Skywalker gave her a look, then played along. "While I wouldn't exactly call life on Tatooine civilization, they at least have starships."

Padmé winced. "I didn't think of that."

"It's okay," he said softly, reaching over to lightly touch his piece of wood with his flesh hand. "I prefer it here either way."

She didn't really believe him, and she almost said so, but her curiosity got the better of her. "What is that?"

"This?" He picked up the wood and laid it lengthwise in his lap. "This is a stave. It's a weapon, and a tool to help me channel the Force. You can touch it, if you like."

She did, feeling the smooth wood slide beneath her fingers. "It's lovely," she said with sincerity.

He took her wrist and guided her hand to the center of the stave, where the wood seemed particularly grainy and knotted. "Here," he said.

"It's warm!" she explained.

Skywalker looked at her, startled, then covered her hand with his flesh one. Padmé saw his eyelids began to droop, but her astonished gaze was quickly jolted back to the stave center, which had begun to inexplicably glow with a soft, deep blue light. "What?"

He let go, and released her, and the light faded. He still looked a little stunned. "If you felt the warmth there, you must be at least a little Force-sensitive. I never would have guessed."

It was Padmé's turn to be shocked. "Me? But I'm not – "

He shook his head. "Not enough to catch the notice of the Order, not even as a Corps-track Initiate. But probably on the higher end of…um…'ordinary.' If you don't mind my saying this, it may be why you feel things so deeply."

"Assuming for the moment that that's true, you still haven't really answered my question. What was that?"

"The wood is taken from the grove where your troop first camped. Many of the trees there are Force-sensitive themselves. In fact, you slept in contact with one your first night. It was how I knew where to find you, and that you were a friend. I could feel your signature through this," he tapped the stave.

Padmé was silent for a moment.

"Force-sensitive trees?"

He scowled and turned away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "No one would call Obi-Wan crazy if he went around saying this stuff."

"I'm not saying you're crazy, I just find it hard to believe," she said quickly. She groped for something else to say about it. "So why does it glow?" she asked lamely.

"Ah. Well, that's because I implanted my saber crystal into the wood right there. It's a crystal for a blue blade, so it glows that color when I concentrate on it specifically." He said this matter-of-factly, as though it were a completely commonplace topic.

"What happened to the rest of your lightsaber?" she asked, curious.

"Oh, I still have it."

"Did it break or something?"

He shook his head slowly, and a distant sorrow crept into the corners of his eyes. Padmé wondered if maybe she hadn't said the wrong thing.

"No, I…I dismantled it myself."

She almost asked whether there was some practical reason, like sticks made of magic wood being more useful than a lightsaber, but she highly doubted this, and the sorrow in his eyes told a different story too, so she kept her silence and waited for him to break his.

"I didn't trust myself with it. You…you don't know how close I came to your first words to me becoming true."

She felt her breath catch in her throat but forced herself to speak anyways. "That's impossible. I know you were close to Palpatine, but how could he possibly have convinced you to turn on your own people? To kill the children of your people? That's insane!"

"Not if he turned me to the Dark Side first," he breathed.

She breathed out sharply. "And how exactly was he going to do that? With Dooku's help? We all know the two were working together for the entirety of the war, but Dooku was dead. You killed him less than two weeks before the Order was issued!"

Skywalker was staring at her in real shock now. "You mean…you mean you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

His shocked turned to pure seriousness. "I need to you tell me, right now, who Palpatine is."

Padmé frowned, confused. "He's the former Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Senate, a traitor to the Republic who was, with Dooku, manipulating both us and the Separatists for his own ends, and who is now hiding in the Dark Zone."

"And?"

"…and…he had the clone army designed to be able to betray the Jedi? He lied to us all?"

"And," Skywalker said emphatically, "he's also a Sith Lord. The Sith Lord, in fact. The one the Jedi had been looking for since the Battle of Naboo. Dooku was just his apprentice – that's how he was able to control both sides of the war at once." He frowned, looking stricken, "Do the Jedi not know this?"

Padmé shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think anyone does." She frowned. "How do you?"

"Because, like you said, I was close to him, too close to him. I think he may have been very close to Turning me. Well," he said, and stood, looking wearier than his twenty-seven years (and was the little boy from Tatooine really so grown?), "it looks like the first stop after Lycradel may have to be the Jedi Temple. I did hope to avoid that right away but," he smiled ruefully, "apparently not."

He walked a couple of steps in the direction of the camp, and then stopped and leaned heavily on his stave.

Padmé hurried to his side. "Skywalker, are you alright? You're not injured, are you?"

"'M fine," he said tensely, looking anything but. After several minutes that seemed an eternity he straightened – or at least, tried to straighten – swayed, and ended up stumbling right into Padmé and knocking them both over when she tried to reach out and support him.

He rolled off her with a grunt. "Sorry," he said, but made no move to get up from the ground.

"It's okay; don't worry about it. But are you all right?"

"I will be." He sat up finally. "It's over. It's finally over. That – I could feel it, you see. Your people just engaged with the last of the clones near the southern end of the perimeter. I've gotten very used to sensing for their particular presences. They're dead. The…" he took a shaky breath and continued, "the last of my fighter squadron is dead."

She gasped and he raised a hand to reassure her. "Don't worry; it was over in minutes and none of your people were even injured. You may have brought the wrong kind of star power but your troop is well-prepared on the ground. Still," he said, getting up and reaching for his stave, "I'd like to escort you back to camp so that I can go to them. I'd like…I'd like to bury them, if I can."

"Let me go with you."

"This is my responsibility, not yours."

"Not this time. These are my people and I organized this mission. I know as well as you do that the clones have no choice in the matter. Please, let me help you."

"Alright. Thank you. But what was that, earlier?"

"Earlier? What do you mean?"

"You called me 'Skywalker' just then. What's up with that?"

"It's…your name?"

He smiled and shook his head. "That's too weird for someone who knew me when I was just a little kid. Call me Anakin."

"If that's what you want."

"Oh, but it is, my lady. Let's practice: Hello, Padmé."

She laughed and humored him. "Hello, Anakin."

"You see? That wasn't so hard."

They were halfway back to camp when Padmé heard the tell-tale rumble of a starship engine approaching. "Looks like we're ahead of schedule, then. Though I'm sure our reinforcements will allow us time to bury the fallen. Hurry, we need to meet them when we land." She turned to Skywalker – to Anakin – and was surprised to see that his face was deathly pale. In another moment, the wave of fear seemed to pass and an unflinching warrior's resolve took its place.

"Remind me again: we're not in Republic space, are we?"

"No. Is…is something wrong?"

His hand tightened on the stave with the long custom of someone faced with an old enemy. "Yeah. I don't think we've been talking to Alliance headquarters."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me. I fought them long enough to know what a Separatist's engine sounds like."