Rating: Probably PG
Pairing: Obidala (friendship and perhaps a tad of romance)
Summary: A story expanding upon one of the earliest official imaginings of the scene on the Mustafar landing platform at the end of Episode III.
Padmé felt him leave her side. The momentary security she’d sensed within the closeness of his presence, that which she selfishly stole despite herself, was suddenly gone. She watched his retreating form, conflicted and confused. Then, he turned, looking from the floor where he stood to her face, his eyes filled with sadness and sympathy.
“Anakin is the father, isn’t he?”
The words formed a question, but he wasn’t really asking. He already knew the answer.
Shame forced her eyes from the Jedi’s knowing gaze, her chest tightening. She could feel his eyes on her seated form. What must he think of her now? Obi-Wan had warned her once, just after the Battle of Geonosis. He’d cautioned her against a relationship with Anakin. He’d tried to impress on her what was at stake for his padawan . . . and for her. But she’d refused to listen. If anything, his interference only served to harden her resolve. She was not about to be scolded like a lovesick child, not by him. She was not going to be rational and responsible again when all she really wanted was to follow her heart for once in her life. Let the chips fall where they must! She could not hear him then.
And now? Now it may be too late.
‘Are you happy now, Padmé,’ she thought to herself bitterly, ‘Those chips are falling. And the entire galaxy is paying your price.’
She waited for the lecture, for the disappointment and disapproval that she knew she deserved.
But what he gave her instead hurt far worse than any reprimand.
“I’m so sorry.”
The pity in his soft voice pierced her heart like a blaster bolt, the shock: quick and hot. Padmé had no answer to that, no denials or retorts, not even a lie to spread over the room like a temporary balm. She breathed deeply against the pain, the sound of her friend’s footsteps resolutely retreating to his starfighter on the balcony landing platform.
In the space of a day, everything she loved -- everything she knew -- and the entire galaxy around her had begun to crumble. The unshakable foundations of her galactic-view were gone. The Republic was gone. The Jedi Order was gone. And the person she was closest to, the man she loved, appeared to be to blame.
I found a way to save you
Save me?
From my nightmares.
I’m not going to die in childbirth, Ani. I promise you.
No. I promise you.
He had seemed so resolute, so sure. But the light within him had somehow changed, the loving warmth now burning like hot fire. Padmé had ignored it then, happy just to have him safe within her arms. But now? With all that Obi-Wan had just revealed?
Protectively, Padmé placed both hands over her rounded abdomen. “He tore the Republic apart for me . . . for us.” A wave of nausea crashed over and through her stomach. No. No this can’t be happening. And yet, it was.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just sit here, with everything she loved and worked for falling down around her. If she could get to Mustafar – get to Anakin – before Obi-Wan did, then perhaps there was still a chance to fix what her husband had broken in her name. She could still have her child – have a family – in a galaxy worth living in. There might yet be hope.
A voice spoke quietly at the edge of her consciousness, ‘And if he will not listen? If he is truly lost? What will you do then?’
Padmé hastily pushed the questions away. Those answers would come, but pondering them now only served to waste time that she did not have. The window to act was closing fast. “3PO?” Padmé called.
From a nearby doorway, she saw the golden droid’s head quickly peek around the frame at her, “Yes, My Lady?”
“I need to speak with Captain Typho immediately. And I need a handmaiden to help me dress.”
Gaining access to the landing platform was easy enough with the Force to guide and shield him from her security’s high alert. Boarding the starship was easier still, so focused was she on getting to Anakin. There was no one there to notice his presence.
“Search your feelings, Obi-Wan,” Master Yoda had said, “And find him you will.”
Strange that his feelings had led him right to her. Or perhaps not strange at all, considering all that the three of them had gone through -- the connection they shared. For more than a decade, the Force seemed to have been leading them to one another. Over and over, time and time again, down a road none of them knew they’d been treading.
He heard the engines roar to life, felt the vibration through the soles of his boots. Just where the ship was headed, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure. And what he would find when they landed . . . he suppressed a chill in the wondering. Despite all the tenets of the code he cherished and had dedicated the whole of his life to, he was still afraid of what awaited them at their destination. They were flying to the end of all things.
The outcome would decide the fate of a galaxy.
Obi-Wan raised his hand, pressing his fingers against a nearby panel and exposing a small side compartment. He looked forward, in the direction of the bridge, assuring his invisibility before taking a seat in the cubby and closing the door. Even now he could feel her, a lost soul amid a swirling sea of conflicting emotions. Her heart was in pieces, her life falling apart, her life’s work mutilated into something dark and terrible. She was devastated, confused, and afraid.
And yet . . .
There was a strange sort of resolve, a strength pushing her forward that the Jedi did not fully understand. Did Padmé think there was still time; that it was not too late to bring him back to the light? He wanted to believe that too. But he could not afford to hope, lest he be swayed from his mission. He’d been tasked to spare the galaxy further horror by neutralizing the Sith threat. Now, though, he also had to do whatever he could to make sure that Padmé did not get caught in the crossfire.
It was all a dream. It must be. A horrible nightmare she need only wake from for everything to be alright again. Goddess how she prayed for waking! ‘Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up. Please --’ Padmé was jogged from her quiet, desperate plea by a sharp jolt as her ship exited hyperspace.
Before her, filling the viewscreen, lay the planet Mustafar.
Even from this distance she could see the fires raging upon the surface. Lava -- hot liquid fire -- carving an unstoppable path through the planet’s crust. A world slowly tearing itself apart. She hoped it wasn’t an omen for what she might find when she landed.
As the ship crept nearer to the ominous sphere, the onboard nav-computer zeroed in on the only active landing pad on the surface of the planet -- the main facility of Mustafar’s mining operations. Reaching like greedy, waiting fingers, the landing gear extended, toward the platform. Padmé’s sleek, silver Star Yacht touched down at last, with nothing but the slightest vibration.
. . . Her heart stopped . . .
Anakin’s starfighter.
He was here.
And that made Mustafar both the only place and the last place in the galaxy that Padmé Amidala wanted to be.
Her mind raced, her heart slowly filling with dread. Now that she was here, now that she was moments away from facing him, what was she to do? What could she say? And even if she were to somehow find the right words, what if he wouldn’t listen?
That train of thought was even more frightening.
All of her hopes, all of her faith, rested on her husband coming back to his senses – coming back to her. But if Anakin was gone for good, if there was nothing left of him but the Sith that Palpatine had groomed? Did she have the power – the strength – to do what had to be done?
Without question, Padmé Amidala would do her duty.
She’d had a hand, if only unknowingly, in her husband’s fall. And it would be her hand to either bring him back or right the galactic wrong.
Just ahead, skirting the edge of her vision, a figure, robed in black, emerged from the side of the platform. Padmé’s lungs drew a surprised, harsh intake of breath at the sight, momentarily stunned by the appearance. Then, the figure drew down its hood . . .
Ani!
It was him: shaggy, dark blonde hair and bright smile. Not a monster full of darkness and evil. That was her husband. The man she loved and the father of her child. In an instant, the trepidation she’d felt turned to hope. He was glad to see her. He still loved her. And while there was still love, there was still a chance.
Padmé ran from the ship, her speed only slightly hampered by the large bulge at her abdomen. His arms opened at her approach and she flew into them gladly, winding her arms around him like tightly coiled rope. Let’s just live here. Right here. I’m safe here --
“I saw your ship,” he said, “What are you doing out here?”
She pulled from him, at last seeking his eyes. Anakin looked drawn and hard, the tone of his voice suggesting concern, while his face betrayed suspicion. “I was so worried about you,” she answered.
He softened, showing a smile, seemingly pleased to hear that she’d cared enough to fly all that way. And his warmth gave her courage to continue. “Obi-Wan told me terrible things,” she revealed.
The ship had landed just moments ago. Padmé’s running steps passing by his hiding space quickly after. Only once she was safely out of earshot did he emerge, walking softly and keeping to the ship’s walls and shadows to remain unseen. Wherever they’d ended up felt . . . wrong. There was a darkness here that was downright sinister. It chilled him, causing his body to shiver despite the robes he wore. Little surprise that he would find Darth Vader in a place like this.
The Jedi Master padded to the cockpit, casting his gaze out of the forward window. And there he was, running to Padmé with open arms. They embraced and for just a moment, Obi-Wan felt a smile on his face at seeing his brother. But it faded almost as quickly as it broke. The memory of the security holo invaded his mind. He could see Vader, twisting his friend’s face into a snarl, as he cut down the children. And he could see the look of resigned sadness from Master Yoda at knowing the truth. Even now, having seen it all with his own eyes, the corner of his heart where his love for Anakin resided still refused to believe what he now knew to be true.
The Chosen One had fallen. Anakin Skywalker -- son, brother, and soon-to-be-father -- had perverted the power he’d been gifted. He’d used it to destroy, to tear down, to murder. And why? What could possibly be worth sacrificing everything? That still remained a mystery. Even Padmé, the person who knew Anakin best, had been shaken by the truth -- taken completely by surprise.
The Jedi’s gaze shifted then to her. She looked so small standing there next to Vader. Poor Padmé. He could see the hope in her eyes as she regarded her husband; eyes that pleaded for Anakin to put her fears to rest and come back to her. Obi-Wan’s heart broke for her as it had for his brother. Beautiful, strong, loyal Padmé. Shattered, devastated, pregnant, and afraid.
Pregnant with Anakin’s child.
‘And I just left her there,’ he chided himself. Her petite frame dwarfed by her massive, empty apartment and the truth he’d just revealed. Knowing that her heart would lead her to Anakin. Just as his had led to her.
But instead of standing by her -- instead of helping her -- I used her. Force grant me the opportunity to atone.
Obi-Wan released his silent prayer into the universe while he continued to watch the couple unseen. But something was shifting. There were whispers in his mind and in his heart warning of danger. He could sense growing anxiety outside. Anxiety from her and . . . annoyance from Anakin. Padmé had staked the galaxy on her forbidden love and her gambit was failing. Time was growing short. He had this one final chance to end their nightmare once and for all.
“He knows,” Padmé confided, “He wants to help you.”
Her love smiled at her, a smile she knew well but . . . something was wrong. Something was growing in him that she did not recognize. His eyes were different. They were darker. Dangerous, even.
She took a step closer; making sure Anakin could see and feel the truth of her words in her eyes. “Anakin? All I want is your love.”
“Love won’t save you, Padmé,” he stated simply, “Only my new powers can do that.”
Ani! Ani please hear me!
“But at what cost?” she pleaded, “You’re a good person. Don’t do this!”
Her words hit the wall of his heart and were falling to the ground, broken. He couldn’t hear her. Or perhaps he didn’t want to. “I won’t lose you the way I lost my mother. I’m becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed and I’m doing it for you. To protect you.”
No. Nonononono. This can’t be true. This can’t be happening. What do I do??
Padmé grabbed at him -- at his cloak, at his hair -- everywhere she could reach, trying to reach him. She was begging him to listen, desperately trying to pull him back to her. “Come away with me,” she implored, “Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can!”
“Don’t you see,” Anakin asked, completely ignoring the heart that was bleeding on her sleeve, “We don’t have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to The Republic.”
What? Peace?? What was he talking about? How could he call this peace? Thanks to him, it wasn’t a republic at all anymore!
“I’m more powerful than the Chancellor!” he continued, his excitement mounting, ignorant of Padme’s growing concern, “I can overthrow him! And together you and I can rule the galaxy! Make things the way we want them to be!” There was a gleam in his eye, a strange, curled smile on his lips that made her heart drop and her blood run cold. He was excited by the prospect of his power, of being in control. Anakin hadn’t turned his back on everything he’d fought and bled for because he loved her. Anakin wanted to control her fate and, it seemed, the fates of every living being in the galaxy. He was unshackled from the Jedi and their Codes, he was free to pull any strings he wished – free to manipulate life . . . and death.
All the lives he’d already taken in his rage, with the hatred he’d been unable to let go of since the death of his mother, all the lives he’d yet to take if someone didn’t stop him. Padmé thought about the younglings, the innocent Jedi children, she thought about the Sand People so long ago – “the women and the children too.” He’d known then. Anakin knew that there was something inside of him that he couldn’t control. But she’d encouraged him and comforted him. She had looked the other way in favor of seeing the little boy she cared for. She had enabled him.
Not this time.
Padmé looked at the man in front of her. The Sith. The man she loved, no longer. And there was only one thing left to do.
Cautiously, she stepped back up to him. With lightly trembling fingers she reached up, tracing the scar on his face, and the line of his jaw. He closed his eyes against her touch, leaning into the warmth of her hand. Drawn to her like a beacon. It had always been that way between them, ever since they were children. Tears sprang to her eyes as she watched him. “Do you mean it, Ani? Could you stop him and . . . and change things for the better?”
His eyes opened and that dark, greedy smile returned, “Yes, my love. With you by my side, I can do anything.”
She felt one tear slide down her cheek, even as she smiled gleefully at him. “Oh, Ani!,” she exclaimed, throwing herself back into his open embrace. Padmé hugged him tight, feeling the reverberation of his low chuckle against her ear. Vader rocked her gently back and forth, his mood softening. Distractedly, he petted the long braid at her back. “I knew you’d understand,” she heard him whisper, “I knew you’d see this the way I did. I’m so happy, Padmé.”
Her tears flowed freely, rolling silently down the leather robes across his chest. “Yes, love,” she said, “I see everything now.”
Her movements were subtle, gentle, and inconspicuous. No one would have noticed were they not looking for it. No one would have seen her reach to her other hand, wrapped as they already were around Anakin’s middle. No one would have seen her slide the razor-thin, razor-sharp blade from where it had been hidden in her glove, along the line of her forearm. No one would have noticed her raise the knife above the back of Anakin’s neck, as she patted his back with her free hand.
No one . . .
. . . but the most Force-sensitive being in the galaxy.
Before she could even think of plunging the dagger down, Anakin had her wrist in a bone-breaking grip. There was a “crack” and a sharp stab of pain shot up her arm. She struggled at first, instinctively, but her strength was no match for his. His face. The look of heartbreak she saw on his face made her want to die. He was crying now too, his smile gone, his eyes wide and crest-fallen.
Anakin tossed her weapon off the platform, and pushed her away from him with a hard shove that was sure to bruise. “Padmé,” he breathed through tears, “How could you?”
She hardened her resolve against his heartbreak and pain. “Because of what you’ve done! What you plan to do!”
One single gloved hand rose before her eyes. Anakin’s hand. He squeezed his long fingers around nothing but air and suddenly a vice began to close around her throat. Padmé clawed at her own neck, frantically searching for a way to stop the pressure steadily tightening, cutting off her ability to breathe, her ability to scream, her ability to even rail and fight against what was happening to her. “No. Anakin,” she gasped.
“You betrayed me! ME!” he raged, a red fire she did not recognize burning within the blue of his eyes, “You meant everything to me! I did all of this to protect you! Damn you, Padmé! Damn you for making me do this!”
Her vision blurred, lights flashing and flaring behind her eyes as her lungs screamed for oxygen. So this was how it ended. This was the end of all things, everything she cared about -- The Republic, her love, her child. At least she’d tried. Even if Anakin wouldn’t fight the darkness inside of him, at least she had. ‘Please believe,’ she prayed without voice to everyone who couldn’t hear her, ‘I tried to make it right.’
Padmé’s eyes slipped close, the world before her draped in infinite darkness. And as she fell into the abyss, she heard a voice echoing through the veil.
“Let her go, Anakin!”
Obi-Wan watched in utter disbelief as his former apprentice, his brother, threw the love of his young life and the mother of his child to the landing platform in rage. The Jedi could almost feel the impact of her fragile body slamming against the durasteel. Reaching forward with all his power, he felt for her within the Force. Thankfully, he did find her there. Unfortunately, she was weak. Her heart and her body were now broken, saving all remaining energy to sustain and nurture her still unborn child.
Time was growing short. For him, for Padmé, and for the baby. He had to get them out of here. Somehow get her to a med center. Before it was too late.
But first, he had to find the strength to do what Padmé could not. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had to kill Darth Vader.
The first thing she knew was warmth breaking through the chill -- light fighting to split the darkness. The second thing she knew was pain -- broken bones, contusions, and a cramping deep in her abdomen. Panic suddenly gripped her. The baby. Her baby. What was happening?
There was screaming. Someone was screaming! Ani??
Ani, what have you done?
Panic settled over her and suddenly the air disappeared. She couldn’t breathe! She was choking! Dying!
No. No! Ani, please! The baby! Help! Someone! I can’t stop him!’
Suddenly, a warm, soothing energy radiated through her body in soft waves, calming her.
Padmé’s eyes fluttered open, blinking and bracing against the harsh artificial lights that greeted her. There was a moment of fear as her blurred vision began to clear, which instantly evaporated as she took in the figure silently standing over her, his strong, kind hand resting gently on her shoulder.
“Obi-Wan,” she breathed, her voice raspy and her throat pained.
The Jedi Master looked as if he’d gone through hell. His skin was sweat-slick and dirty. His normally pristine robes were now wrinkled, peppered here and there with small burn-holes. A faraway odor of fire and char emanated from him. But it was his face that really struck her. Normally so calm, so serene, his eyes twinkling with the light he carried inside. Now he looked drawn, weary, and filled with sad resignation.
“Why, Padme?” he returned softly.
She needn’t ask what he was referring to. “I had to try.” she said simply, “I had to try to bring him back. And I couldn’t. So I had to do the next best thing.”
The grip on her shoulder tightened. “That was not your burden to bear. I never wanted you to risk your own life or your child. You’re both lucky to be alive right now.”
“You’re wrong,” she said hoarsely, “He did what he did – all that he did – because of me. For me. I had to stop him, Obi-Wan. I had to at least try to make it right.”
Words failed him. He wanted to be disappointed at her recklessness. He wanted to dress her down and tell her how foolish and shortsighted she’d been. But the truth was: he understood her reasoning completely. He was even proud of her bravery – of her strength. He’d gone to Mustafar to do precisely what she had attempted, after all.
And they both failed.
Obi-Wan reached for her, the back of his hand reverently brushing the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes slipped closed at feeling his touch and she leaned into him, seeking more. He’d never really touched her like this – with affection. Despite their long friendship. But after all these years he’d come to genuinely respected her. Indeed, he’d come to even care for her.
The Jedi looked down at his friend as she quietly drifted off to sleep. He could feel the Force around him, mercifully bracing the weary muscles in his beaten body. Quietly, something began to whisper at the fringes of his mind, something that he did not know yet felt oddly familiar. Now is not her time, it said. The end of her story has not yet been written. He hadn’t been able to stop the rising tide of darkness but perhaps there was light yet to be found. Just where, he didn’t know, but hope was enough.
She was unconscious and he could not wake her. She was beginning to fade.
He scooped her up, barely noticing the extra weight of the child she carried.
Senator Organa met him on the landing platform. With urgency, he directed them to a door further ahead.
Inside, robotic arms pulled her from him. He watched as she was placed on an anti-grav gurney and pushed down the hallway ahead.
Polis Massa’s med-center grew eerily quiet, all the noise retreating with Padmé’s disappearing stretcher. All that remained now was an all-too-familiar “clack-thump . . . clack-thump . . . clack-thump” echoing along the long, smooth hallway. Though, admittedly, its rhythm sounded a bit slower than usual. Obi-Wan’s eyes refocused in the dark, catching sight of the small figure slowly approaching him.
Master Yoda looked as weary as he felt himself.
The last of the galaxy’s Jedi Masters met face-to-face once again, their heads both bowed. Not in respect, as was custom of their usual greeting, but this time in humbled silence. Bail Organa gave them a courteous distance, remaining silent as well. Obi-Wan knew he must speak; he had to tell Yoda what happened on Mustafar. But, for the first time in many years, he felt like a nervous, shamed padawan. Missing lessons, dropping your lightsaber during practice, these were small things. Admitting to your Master that you’d failed not just him but the entire galaxy in your mission?
How does one say that?
“Darth Vader,” he began, his voice unsure and slightly strained, “he . . . lives. I defeated him in battle, incapacitated him, but he did not die. Palpatine came for him and I . . . I had to get Padmé safely away. I don’t know what they would have done to her and the baby if they’d found us there.”
Yoda did not answer right away. He sighed and looked down further, poking at the ground with his gimmer stick. “Your fault, this is not. Bested by The Emperor, I was. Lost, The Republic is.”
Obi-Wan felt a cold resignation settle over him. It really was over, then. All of it. The cuts and bruises received in his battle against Vader began to sting. And the soreness in his tired muscles began to ache and spread. “What do we do now,” he asked.
The diminutive master closed his large green eyes. “This way,” he said at last, “On Senator Amidala we must check.”
‘He is as lost as we all are,’ Obi-Wan thought sadly.
A few minutes later, the trio stood in front of a large window, peering quietly into a medical suite. Padmé, ominously angelic in a long, white gown, lay asleep atop a fully equipped and functioning med-bed. Her vitals were being taken and recorded by the droids busying themselves around the room. They waited, with varying degrees of patience, for the diagnostic droid to inform them of her condition.
As it hovered effortlessly out of the room, nothing could be gleaned from the even, bright-lit expression it wore. “Medically, her larynx and windpipe have been badly damaged. This has made breathing a bit difficult for her. We are compensating with a respirator and administering medication to lessen the swelling in the area. There was a small fracture in one of her wrists which has been mended.”
“And the child?” Organa asked tentatively, mirroring Obi-Wan’s own thoughts.
Inexplicably, the droid paused for a moment before speaking again. The hesitation it showed was concerning. “The more serious problems with her condition,” it continued, “lies with the pregnancy. According to our readings she is not yet due to give birth. Unfortunately, the process of labor has already begun, and the coming children are taking what little energy and life-force the mother has left.”
“Children?” Obi-Wan repeated with noticeable surprise.
“She’s carrying twins.”
“Will she -- will they -- be alright?”
“The children’s readings are healthy and strong. As for the mother, we do not know,” the droid answered sadly. “She is quite weak; due to the physical stress of her rapidly advancing labor and whatever emotional stress she has recently endured. We will do everything we can to help her, but whether the patient survives the delivery or not is, in large part, up to her.”
Crestfallen glances were shared between the two Jedi and the Senator. “Can we see her,” Organa asked the droid.
“She must conserve as much energy as possible. She needs rest,” it answered, “But it also may do good to have the emotional support of a friend or loved-one. I recommend only one at a time.” With their questions exhausted, the group once again fell silent. The med-droid quietly hovered back to its patient.
“This feels like a nightmare,” Organa said, to no one in particular, “The galaxy looked so different just a few days ago. I could never have imagined . . . all of this.”
Obi-Wan did not answer but could certainly sympathize. He, too, felt in shock. The rippling shockwave of the Republic’s fall seemed like it might never end. “Master Kenobi,” Yoda said, drawing him from his darkening thoughts, “Needs a friend, the Senator does. Sit with her, you should.”
When Padmé woke again, she was in a med-center. A variety of droids surrounded her bed – taking readings, pushing her abdomen, chittering and beeping wildly to each other – the frenzy in their movements suggesting something serious. Something must be wrong.
Panic began to rise in her chest and she fought desperately to push it down. She had to stay calm. But it kept breaking through. She couldn’t stop it. The strength she needed wasn’t there and her belly – her womb – there was pressure and pain that shouldn’t be there.
“Padme?” a voice spoke low from her bedside.
She felt her heart swell to bursting as she laid eyes on him. “Obi-Wan,” she said, her voice scratching painfully against her voice box, “You’re still here.”
The smile he wore deepened, all but disappearing beneath his beard. “Of course I’m here,” he said quietly, “I won’t leave you. You’re safe here.”
She wanted to answer him, wanted to thank him and tell him how much that meant to her. But suddenly, her abdomen seized with a sharp, deep pain that wound around her torso and into her back. A cry escaped her torn throat at the intrusive sensation and her mind began to spin. In truth, she felt like she might pass out. ‘This can’t be what it feels like,’ her mind screamed, ‘It’s not time! It’s too soon!’
Mercifully, the pain didn’t last long. It ebbed away slowly, allowing her head to clear and her muscles to relax. Obi-Wan’s face had grown closer, his expression filled with knowing concern. She felt his touch on her forehead, gently stroking her hair. “What’s happening to me?” she asked, both knowing and dreading the answer.
“You’re . . . going into labor, Padmé. The med-droids believe that the last few days – everything you’ve been through – has escalated things.”
She felt hot tears stinging at her eyes and then freely fall. There was no energy left in her to try and stop them. “The droids are monitoring you closely,” he continued, “making sure that you have all you need to get through this. And I’ll be right here with you.”
Padmé had to smile at that. Even if it was a weak one through falling tears. “I’m frightened, Obi-Wan,” she admitted shakily, “I don't know that I have the strength to do this. And . . . I’m not sure I should.”
“I’m not sure that you have much choice in the matter,” the Jedi replied with a light chuckle. She felt his hand move, a feather-light touch reaching to brush away the tears running down her face. “And you can’t mean that. Don’t give up, Padmé.”
Her tired body seized again and she screamed, the pain in her throat completely dwarfed by that in her womb. It was worse this time, deeper and more intense. Did childbirth always feel like this – this bad? Or was it because she was early? Not that it mattered. She may not live to learn the answer anyway.
When the pain at last lessened again, she felt even more fatigued than before. Sweat began to bead on her forehead despite the coolness of the room. And she’d begun to pant lightly from the exertion. Looking at her Jedi friend, he seemed almost worried. “Obi-Wan,” she croaked, “Promise me. If a choice has to be made, the baby lives. Not me.”
His blue eyes widened, surprise lighting the brightness of their depths. She watched him wrestle with his answer, not knowing what to say or how to say it. He probably wanted to reassure her, tell her everything would be okay but . . . perhaps the Jedi was just as unsure as she was of that truth. What did it mean to be “okay” in this new galaxy anyway?
“Padmé, I –”
“Promise,” she pressed, her nails digging harshly into the flesh on the back of his hand, “You must watch out for the baby. Make sure it isn’t found. My child can’t become a cog in Palpatine’s imperial machine.”
Inexplicably, a smile spread across her friend’s handsome face. “‘Children,’ Padmé. Not ‘child.’”
“What?”
“‘Children,’” he repeated, “You’re having twins, my friend.”
Her breath caught and for one beautiful moment, she felt joy. It was warm and comforting, filling her chest with beauty and love. It seemed so long since she’d last felt it – ages though it must have only been days. A time long ago when she had dreams. But it evaporated like mist, sorrow easily sliding into its place in her heart.
And so, she wept. She wept for her republic and for her friends in the Senate who must either be dead or silenced. She wept for the Jedi – for the lost ones, for the younglings, and for those blessed few who still lived. She wept for her great love, for Anakin as he once was, not the monster he’d become. She wept for Obi-Wan, for all he had seen and been forced to do while trying to save everyone from themselves.
But, most of all, Padmé wept for her unborn child – her children. She mourned the life she wanted them to have – filed with happiness, and laughter, and love. She mourned for the galaxy she’d planned to show them – peace and fairness, justice and beauty. And she lamented the curse that she would not be there to shield and protect them.
Padmé looked up, searching her friend’s eyes for something she knew he couldn’t give. And he looked back at her, with the same sorrow, his own tears shining in the blue-green depths. Then, he bent low, placing a soft, loving kiss upon her forehead, his hand finding hers. She squeezed him tightly, letting his touch be the anchor she needed to weather the storm inside them both.
Gradually she began to calm, a sense of peace washing over her like a gentle wave. He was cleansing her, using his gifts to quiet the torrent and bring a badly-needed pause to her grief. Good thing, too. Her vision had begun to swim and she barely had the strength to hold her friend’s hand any longer. He didn’t let her go though, a fact for which she was grateful. Had Obi-Wan Kenobi always been this steadfast and true a friend to her? Had he always been there by her side, even if she never saw him?
“Padmé,” the Jedi said at last, pulling back to look down at her, “I know you're afraid. I know how hard this is for you. I can feel your pain and I share it. But . . . this doesn’t have to be the end. Not for you. And not for your children.”
It all felt so final. Her body was shutting down bit by bit, giving all the energy it had to the little souls fighting for life within her. Each contraction seemed to take more and more of her life-force with it. She could feel another one building, even now, and building fast. Something deep inside began to twist and tighten. “I don’t think I have the strength, Obi-Wan. I don’t –”
The rest of her words were swallowed by her own harsh cry as the pain came again, blinding white and stabbing. Every muscle in her body was taut and screaming for release, her lungs begging for more air than she could take in. She was panting, her limbs quivering with the effort. The children were coming whether she was ready or not. It was time.
“Padmé? Padmé, look at me. Focus on me.”
She did as she was told. Her vision was blurry, but as the pain receded, she saw the face of her friend. Her protector. Since the first. “You’ve never been alone, Padmé. And you’ll never be alone,” he vowed, “Not while there is breath left in my body. Whatever comes, I will face it with you. You can do this. I know you can. You just have to fight.”
She nodded weakly. “I’ll try.”
Labor began in earnest soon after. And the time of minutes stretched to feel like hours. For Padmé there was pain and struggle. For Obi-Wan there was worry and helplessness. He tried to use his power, use the energy surrounding the room to ease her path, but nothing he did seemed to make a difference. So he held her hand. He told her how wonderful and powerful and strong she was. And, when her chocolate eyes grew weary and dim, he smiled at her. Not only did he hope to reassure her, he also wished to hide the worry he was struggling to suppress himself.
The last thing she needed was to see that.
Despite what he did or did not do, however, his friend continued to weaken. He could feel the Force flowing from her to her children. He could feel their small lights begin to glow and brighten as Padmé’s dimmed. It was an ember shining at him from the rich mahogany within, a shadow of the fire he’d always seen in her. The strength of spirit she’d always possessed was the only thing that kept it burning at all.
A boy was born to her first. She called him, “Luke.” And the smile that touched her lips when she gazed on him for the first time, as Obi-Wan held him to her, made him want to cry. A girl was born next and given the name, “Leia.”
The Jedi looked down at the little girl still squirming lightly in his arms. He’d never imagined a moment like this. While he’d been a father figure, he knew he’d never be a father. Being a Jedi did not allow for parenthood. At least not as he would wish to define it. To him, being a parent meant the ability to love, and teach, and care for -- a parent must be attached to their child. It was only natural. For his order, though, attachment was forbidden.
But standing there beside Padmé, supporting her as she brought her children into their lives and holding them for the first time, stirred something inside his heart that he had not felt for a long time. Not since Anakin was little. It made him wonder how different his life might have been had he not been Force-sensitive. Would he have had a wife now? Would he have had children of his own?
Obi-Wan placed Leia down in the nearby baby bed next to her brother. A secondary med-droid unit was already tending to them, taking readings and swaddling them. He was about to remark to Padmé on how wonderful they both were when a small alarm began to chime behind him. He turned on his heel with unnatural speed, looking to his friend’s gurney. Her eyes were closed, one tear still sliding down her cheek. Her head was slumped over to the side, facing him. And there was blood – far more blood than there should be. The bottom of her pure white gown was stained black with it.
His heart fell and so did he, his knees hitting the hard tile at his feet. The room grew cold and quiet as all eyes -- organic and droid -- turned to Padmé’s still form. Obi-Wan felt hot tears stinging his eyes and at his back, Luke and Leia began to wail.
Tatooine’s twin suns slipped behind the horizon. Night brought a welcome cool and serenity to the Jundland Wastes. A cloaked figure dismounted a dewback and entered a stone hovel. The moisture prospector’s home had been abandoned for some time; and while the furnishings and amenities were sparse, it was cozy and functional. Besides, he was used to living with far less.
Obi-Wan Kenobi lowered his hood and removed his outer robe, a cloud of desert dust blooming from the fabric. “I never thought to spend the rest of my days on Tatooine in the middle of nowhere,” he said to the room around him.
“Me neither,” a woman answered from an adjacent doorway, a smile evident on her lips, “At least you’re not alone.”
Obi-Wan returned it, “Very true. And I am certainly grateful that you’re here.”
Padmé entered, standing before him. She watched the rising dust cloud with amusement, her brown eyes sparkling in the lamp light. “Me too,” she said.