FicWad

Author's Reminder: Lengthy pieces in italics denote information being passed on through the direct intervention of the Force. And the thoughts of two Force spirits. Please, bear with me, okay?






Because Obi-Wan's Force-sensitivity is, of course, so very much stronger than Padmé's ever was - unlike Senator Bail Organa, Padmé Naberrie could not have been trained to be a Jedi - everything that Obi-Wan has experienced since the braid came into his possession, plus the entire memory of his audience with Mon Mothma, tied to that sudden agonizing realization of just what the token was that he was being given and just what the message was that Padmé had meant for Mon Mothma to tell him, is there/, the memories flowing automatically, effortlessly, into Anakin's mind. The impressions that Obi-Wan received from Padmé when touching the braid are also there, blossoming into his awareness and exploding through him like impacting and rapidly combusting missiles. Anakin Skywalker has never before dreamed that there exists this much pain in the universe. Physical pain he could have handled even without his Jedi mental skills; he's always been extremely tough. Even as early as at four years of age, he'd been able to take the worst beating Watto was willing to deliver without making so much as even one single sound of pain or of protest. Yet, nothing has prepared him for this. It's so terrible that for several long, agonizing moments, Anakin wants nothing more than to rip open his chest with his bare hands and claw out his heart, just to make the pain stop. Padmé, his beautiful Padmé, is dead, killed during the attack on Coruscant, one of many random victims of Palpatine's, no, of the /Sith Lord Sidious' treachery and plotting. Not only that, but Anakin also understands, now, that although she has been unwaveringly faithful to him and has truly and deeply loved him, he has never truly been anything other than Padmé's second choice. More, Padmé had died believing that she had also been Anakin's second choice. His wife, it seems, had passed on into the Force firmly believing that Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been the first and impossible choice of both of them.

Anakin Skywalker desperately wants to laugh. He wants to cry. He wants to scream out his pain, his outrage, his anger. But he does none of these things. There is something he does not particularly want to know but that he nonetheless desperately needs to know, and so instead he reaches out and he takes it. His agony is such that Anakin does not even notice it when Obi-Wan cries out, in pain, as he brutally forces his way into his former Master's mind, rummages about for the information that he has to have, and then rips it out, the unrestrained raw power and unremitting pressure of his mind rupturing something within Obi-Wan so that blood gushes out of his nose and his eyes blink away blood-stained tears as his mouth fills chokingly with the harsh metallic taste of his own blood. Obi-Wan staggers, reeling under the assault as Anakin roughly takes what he would have willingly offered up, if only given half a chance. He knows what Anakin is after and has already placed it front and center, in the forefront of his mind, but even so, even given that and the fully open state of his mind, the absence of any shields between him and Anakin, the damage from Anakin's assault is more than enough to make Obi-Wan's vision swim and grey out, his awareness fading around the edges to an incredibly dim shadow of consciousness. Yet, the agony from essentially being mentally raped by his former Padawan is so much greater than the pain from the physical damage that Obi-Wan finds it extremely difficult, for several long moments, to muster the mental fortitude and strength of will necessary to struggle back to full consciousness, though he knows that he must, and soon.

Anakin, meanwhile, examines the information he has stolen from Obi-Wan's mind. It seems that Padmé, his lovely, sweet, and innocent (or so he had always believed) wife had freely offered herself to Obi-Wan Kenobi, and been refused by him, not just once but three times.

The first offer had been given to a twenty-five-year-old Obi-Wan the night of Qui-Gon's death, when Padmé had been only fourteen years old and still Queen of Naboo. Padmé had fallen in love with the dedicated Jedi Padawan soon after meeting him, having accidentally literally stumbled across him on board the ship the first night of their flight from an invaded and overrun Naboo. Obi-Wan had been momentarily overwhelmed with pain from the damage that blaster bolt had wrecked upon his nervous system and connection with the Force, his legs tangling and collapsing underneath him until he had fallen, in the corridor, on his way back from the control room of the ship to the small room he and Qui-Gon were sharing during the journey. His fierce loyalty to his Master and desperate plea to Padmé that she not tell anyone how badly he was hurt had so deeply touched her heart that she had begun falling for him, hard, then and there, and not even the knowledge that he was surely about to become a Jedi Knight and that she was Queen of Naboo and her planet had just been taken over by the armies of the Trade Federation and her people simply could not afford for her to be distracted by a rebellious heart could keep her from falling helplessly and deeply in love with Obi-Wan after that. Despite his determinedly dry eyes - which were, Padmé thought, so desolate and cold that they almost echoed with emptiness - she had known that Obi-Wan must be in the grips of a debilitating pain and feared that he would be filled with entirely undeserved self-hatred and self-recrimination for Qui-Gon's loss. Padmé had seen the entire awful battle between the two Jedi and the Sith warrior - silent but eerily clear on the holorecording from the safety cameras - and, as much as it pained her to admit it, she could tell that it was Qui-Gon's foolishly brave desire to protect his Padawan that had caused him to rush forward without Obi-Wan and so doomed him to his death. She had so desperately wanted to be able to comfort Obi-Wan that she had gone to him that night, actually sought him out in the rooms he had been given, wearing only a simple, frail white shimmersilk dress that had been little more than a dressing gown.

Fourteen, fourteen and a half, perhaps, and already Padmé was flawless, already she was a woman, so beautiful that it hurt to gaze upon her, even through the eyes of memory. Her skin was like dark ivory, not quite sun-kissed and not quite pale, but somehow almost both things at once. Hair the color of sable-in-shadows. Limbs straight and supple, bones a marvel of delicate strength. Tiny, yes, but strong, surprisingly strong, and her body was long and willowy, giving her a sense of height she did not entirely merit. The lines of her figure were lithe and she was perfectly apportioned, with narrow shoulders, long arms, and longer, sleek, exquisite legs. Her figure was perhaps not quite as fully formed as it would be, in only another year or so, but few would have been able to resist her beauty, her charms. Her torso was long and slender, as was her beautiful swanlike neck, tapering down to a bosom that was in keeping with the rest of her, with breasts that were graceful and small but perfectly formed. Her abdomen was slender and flat, waist easily spanned by a man's two hands, with hips that were still just a slight bit slimmer than they would become in the full flowering of womanhood. Her eyes were the color that poets call bistre, a deep and lustrous darkness, like calm pools beneath the shade of ancient, towering behemoths of trees. Brown, the soulless might have said, but bistre in truth, rich and liquid-dark and the bellwether of every emotion that came to her. There was always an alluring gentleness in those eyes, and yet there was also always pain, pain of so great a depth that it was not possible to see to the bottom of it. Anakin ached, seeing the pain in those eyes and knowing that he had never been able to fully erase it.

Obi-Wan had allowed Padmé to come in, referring to her as "Majesty" and then almost mechanically calling her by her given name when she had insisted that she was just Padmé, that she would always be just Padmé, for him. His eyes had been so unanimated, his entire manner so cold, that it had been difficult to engage him, but Padmé had determinedly pressed and prodded until finally Obi-Wan had opened up and begun to talk about the fight. In the end, he had broken down, sobbing as he stammered out broken declarations of his failures, all but accusing himself of murdering Qui-Gon as he had fallen in a heap on the floor, his strength deserting him as his control shattered. Padmé had knelt down beside him and tenderly raised him up so that she could embrace him, holding him and rocking him in her arms as he'd wept, helplessly, and told him repeatedly that it wasn't his fault and that he mustn't blame himself for Qui-Gon's mistake, that Qui-Gon would have never wanted him to ever think, even for a moment, that his death had been Obi-Wan's fault. Padmé had threaded her delicate little fingers through Obi-Wan's short, almost spiky hair and pressed kisses against his temples and told him fiercely that he was a good man, by far the bravest and most loyal man she'd ever met, and that he must not allow his devotion to Qui-Gon and his pain over Qui-Gon's death, over his willing sacrifice, to break him, that he was far too strong to let such a thing shatter him, to allow it to wound him so deeply that it scarred his heart and caused him to shut himself away from life. Then Padmé had told Obi-Wan that he was beautiful, a beautiful man with an enormous tender and devoted heart and a breathtakingly beautiful soul, that his Master had known this and been desperate to protect him from the evil of the Sith, and that he must not let this tragedy change him, that he would be doing an unthinkable disservice to Qui-Gon Jinn's memory if he allowed this to threaten the wondrous light that even she, Padmé Naberrie, just another lowly non-Force-sensitive servant to the people of Naboo, could so clearly see burned at the core of his being.

Because Padmé was Padmé, there had been no other choice for Obi-Wan but to listen to her and to believe. He resisted her mightily, at first, a lifetime's worth of self-doubt and a strong tendency towards low self-esteem both so deeply ingrained within him that not even Padmé's unbending iron will and obviously loving devotion could quite manage to make him completely accept the truth of all of her words. Eventually, though, her stubborn will and the unflagging strength of her conviction began to win through, enough that the meaning and sense of many of her words, especially those involving what Qui-Gon would have and would not have wanted, began to come clear to him. His desperately violent sobbing had begun to taper off after that, and eventually Padmé had been able to coax Obi-Wan up out of the floor and towards his sleeping chamber. He had sat down obediently on the edge of the bed when Padmé had pressed down on his shoulder, and had blinked at her, now quietly, almost gently, crying, when she knelt down in front of him and began to remove his boots. Her nimble fingers had made short work of boots, outer cloaking robe, belt, obi, tabards, and his outer tunic, but Obi-Wan had captured both of her hands in his when she reached for the last, inner layer of tunic and softly, but firmly, told her, "No, Padmé." Padmé had bowed her head then, trying not to let him see the tears welling in her eyes, but Obi-Wan had released her hands so that he could touch her chin, gently tilting her face up towards him. He had looked at her compassionately, his hand falling away as two tears slowly spilled down over her cheeks, still crying himself, and simply said, "I'm sorry, but no," before he had twisted away and lain down on the bed, his still slightly shaking back turned towards her. Sighing, Padmé had silently perched on the edge of the bed and laid one small hand on his right shoulder, carding the fingers of the other through his hair, wordlessly offering comfort, until he had finally stopped weeping and slipped into sleep. Then - according not to Obi-Wan but rather the presence of Padmé's essence, lingering within what had once been Anakin's Padawan braid - she had turned until she could lay down on the bed beside him, snuggling up against his back, as if for warmth. Obi-Wan's exhaustion was such that he'd slept too heavily to realize she was there. She's stayed there for several hours, curled up against him, embracing him from behind, floating blissfully in a peaceful half-doze, before finally silently gathering herself up to return to her own rooms, where she had crawled into her own bed and cried herself violently to sleep.

Padmé's second offer had come after her second term as Queen of Naboo, when she had been elected to the Senate to represent Naboo. She was twenty-two - not quite twenty-three - at the time. Because he had been in quarantine down in the Healer's quarters with an extremely contagious flu-like virus he had caught on their last mission, it would be over two more years before Anakin would even get to see her again, almost two and a half years before Anakin would secretly marry Padmé on Naboo, after Geonosis. Apparently, the first thing she had done, after settling into her new apartment on Coruscant as Naboo's new Senator, was to ask to see Obi-Wan, and because it was Padmé who was asking for the meeting and because Obi-Wan is Obi-Wan and he has never understood how right Padmé was in telling him that he is beautiful, he had actually invited her to the Temple, to the suite of rooms that he had once shared with Qui-Gon and which he also shared with Anakin while Anakin was his Padawan learner, asking her over for a private early dinner. Padmé had accepted his invitation and arrived dressed in a deceptively simple looking white dress that had, when she had removed her outer, deep claret cloak, been a backless gown of iridescent shimmersilk whose frail cloth continuously rippled with opalescent fire under the light. Obi-Wan's memory of her appearance that evening is strikingly close to a memory Anakin has of Padmé on Naboo, in their time together before Geonosis. Anakin feels as if he could easily look upon her forever, as she was in that moment when Obi-Wan had first seen her again - her long dark hair caught back in the silk mesh of a pearlescent and pearl-strung snood, restrained in its abundance, weighing heavily against the snood's fine strands, straining to escape its confinement, accentuating the delicate shape of her face and the ivory pallor of her skin.

No longer Queen Amidala, she wore no cosmetics, save perhaps for a touch of carmine on her lips. They stood out, vivid as rose petals, red as though painted in blood, with a sensuous pout to the lower lip. That opalescent gown was deceptively simple, the bodice clinging to her figure with a section of it cut away so that the inner curve of her breasts was visible, swelling white-skinned and tempting, straining against the snug fabric. That backless bodice dropped low over her hips, emphasizing the smallness of her waist and the flatness of her stomach. From thence, it hugged the fullness of those hips before dropping in deep, loose folds to a point just above the floor, so long that only the barest hints of fragile matching slippers ever showed. Her cloak was velvet lined with chersilk, a red so dark and saturated it was almost black, a color like blood spilled on a moonless night. Like her dress, the cloak was beautiful, truly and deeply beautiful, but no more beautiful than she. Yet, Obi-Wan, unlike Anakin, had not been moved by Padmé's exquisite beauty - not the longing in her dark eyes, not the softness of her creamy white skin, not even her greatly daring request, when she had quietly, boldly asked him - after they had retired to the common room, after an elaborate and beautifully presented dinner that Obi-Wan had skillfully prepared with his own hands, and sat down facing one another on the smaller couch, talking together animatedly, almost intimately, of their lives since their last meeting, on Naboo, and in the time before they had first come to know one another - if he would not please allow her to stay the night. Obi-Wan had simply bowed his head, as if in regret, before rising and walking away from her towards the double-doors that let out onto the terrace, and quietly told Padmé, "My answer is still no, Padmé. I am sorry. It is not my intention to hurt you. Perhaps you should go now."

Padmé being Padmé, she had also risen, to follow him, but instead of reaching out to touch him when she had reached his side, Padmé had gracefully sunk down to the floor in a deep and elaborate salaam, her head bowing until her forehead pressed against the rub perhaps a finger's width away from Obi-Wan's left boot. "Sir, I am ashamed. I have offended you, a Jedi Knight and a far more dedicated servant to our Republic than I, a mere Senator, could ever hope to be, by presuming too much upon our past acquaintance and your invitation here tonight. I would humbly beg for your forgiveness."

Obi-Wan had sighed softly before turning around and lightly dropping down to one knee beside Padmé's slightly trembling form. He had then gently taken hold of her bare and shaking shoulders to raise her up off of the floor and proceeded to tell her that certainly he was not at all offended and that he would have been flattered by her attention, if he had not been a Jedi, but that the Jedi Code and the traditions of the Order forbid the formation of personal attachments or the ownership of material possessions among the Jedi. He explained to her that Jedi simply do not, except for in extremely rare and species-specific cases, ever get involved in deeply personal relationships with others beings. More, because Obi-Wan did not involve himself in and had never indulged himself (though he knew that some of his fellow Jedi sometimes did, since such things were permissible, technically) in meaningless casual physical relationships and was quite sure that he would never have felt comfortable offering her such a thing even if he had been willing to enter into such a brief and essentially empty relationship, he had no wish to give her the wrong impression, to furnish her with any false hope. Obi-Wan had then carefully asked her to please understand that he was not rejecting her, personally, but that he was a Jedi Knight and what she appeared to want from him was simply not something that he could ever give to her. Padmé had once again quietly apologized, explaining that she had known that some Jedi have families and had not had any idea that the Jedi are, in the main, forbidden to love. She had left soon after that, and because Obi-Wan had never spoken of a meeting with her and Padmé had certainly never told Anakin of her unrequited love for his Master, Anakin had never even suspected that she had been there, in their suite, visiting Obi-Wan.

The third offer was much less a well thought out proposal than it had been a desperate slip and wholehearted plea for what had, for over a decade, been the deepest, most private wish of Padmé's heart. It had been right after Zam Wessel had tried and failed for a second time to kill Padmé, this time while she slept. Obi-Wan and Anakin had caught up with and captured the changeling, but the unsuccessful assassin had in turn been successfully assassinated (by the bounty hunter Jango Fett, as Obi-Wan would later discover) before she could tell them anything useful. After returning to Padmé's apartments to resume their watch over Padmé and to inform her and Captain Typho as to the outcome of their chase, Anakin, distraught over having lost a chance to find out who was behind the attempts on Padmé's life, had insisted on going through the entire section of the enormous complex given over to the Naboo Senator again. Obi-Wan had remained behind, to continue watching over Padmé from the room adjoining her bedchamber. The moment Anakin and the others had left, though, a badly shaken Padmé had thrown herself bodily at Obi-Wan, her bare arms twining desperately tight around his neck. Her body shivering convulsively, she had buried her face against his chest and wept.

Obi-Wan had simply stood there for a handful of heartbeats, clearly shocked, before he had finally carefully embraced her, one hand smoothing over her head and the other placed slightly awkwardly over her loose hair against her back, to avoid touching the enormous amount of pale skin the extremely low back of her fragile nightgown left bare. Several long minutes later, as Padmé's loud sobs began to taper off, Obi-Wan had carefully gathered her up into his arms - an act that Padmé had not protested, one of her arms merely slipping down from around Obi-Wan's neck to circle around his back and allow her to lock the fingers of her hands securely together, across his back - and then carried her into the other room, where he had gently laid her upon her abandoned bed and, after Padmé had reluctantly let loose of her hold on him, kindly pulled the covers up over her still trembling form. When Obi-Wan had straightened up to leave the room, though, she had panicked, and desperately grabbed his right hand between her two icy-cold hands, begging him to please stay, to please not go but to stay with her instead, to please spend the night with her. This time, Obi-Wan had not tried to hide his shock. "Padmé, you know that I will not. Please, don't ask such things of me. You know that attachments are forbidden for a Jedi. My Padawan should be back soon, and he will wonder what you are asking of me if I am still here when he returns."

"Obi-Wan - Master Kenobi - please, I am so sorry! Please, don't be offended! I didn't mean - I mean, I do want, but I don't - I know that you cannot. I'm sorry, please, just don't - don't leave me in here alone! Please! I am so incredibly sorry, but I don't think I can - I'm not - Obi-Wan, forgive me, but I do not think I am strong enough to stay in here alone now, after what has happened," Padmé had stammered, helplessly crying with mingled shame and fear.

"Padmé, please, believe me when I tell you that I am not offended. But it is not proper for me to sit in here with you, alone, like this." Sighing, Obi-Wan had carefully perched upon the edge of her bed, and then quietly offered, "Would you like for me to help you get back to sleep, Padmé? I could give you a Force-suggestion for dreamless sleep. If you are willing, I am certain that it will take."

"Yes! Please, Obi-Wan," Padmé had immediately agreed. "I would like that very much."

Nodding, Obi-Wan had gently placed his right hand upon Padmé's forehead and, reaching out into the Force for its aid, whispered the quite command, "/Sleep/, Padmé. Sleep well, free of all troublesome and frightening dreams, and deeply."

Padmé's eyes had immediately flickered shut as her crying ceased and her breath evened out and deepened into the cadence of a deep and easy slumber. Sighing again, Obi-Wan had risen and swiftly departed the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. By the time Anakin had come back up to the room, only a bare handful of minutes later, Obi-Wan was already calmly working on composing the report that would detail the events of the attempted assassination for the High Council's record. Anakin had never once even so much as suspected.

He had never even once so much as suspected. That - that's the rub entirely, isn't it? The only three people in his life whom Anakin would never think to suspect of anything, and they've all been keeping secrets from him. Granted, Palpatine's secret is by far the worst, but Padmé/, /his Padmé, secretly in love - and for over a decade! - with /Obi-Wan Kenobi/? Obi-Wan, who has never told Anakin that Padmé Amidala has been in love with him, with Obi-Wan Kenobi, since before she's ever even known that Anakin was alive. Obi-Wan, who has never told Anakin that Padmé Amidala has been in love with him, with Obi-Wan Kenobi, since before she's ever even known that Anakin was alive. Obi-Wan, who has also not told Anakin that Padmé Amidala was still in love with Obi-Wan before, during, and after the Battle of Geonosis. Force, no wonder Padmé had been so determined to go after Obi-Wan and save him, after he was taken prisoner on Geonosis! She was still in love with him. And Padmé had continued to love Obi-Wan even while she was falling for and marrying Anakin, even after she'd become Anakin's wife. There is another all too clear memory illustrative of Padmé's unwavering love and devotion for Obi-Wan among what Anakin has ripped out of his former Master's unresisting mind, from just after when Obi-Wan had seemed to return from the dead, after the disastrous Battle of Jabiim in which he had been presumed killed but instead had actually been taken prisoner by Asajj Ventress. Padmé had apparently been the first person to come visit Obi-Wan after his miraculous escape and return - with the ARC trooper Alpha - to Republic-controlled space and the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The terrible wounds and scars from his cruel mistreatment at Ventress' hands and the Sith torture mask that had disrupted Obi-Wan's connection with the Force hadn't even had a chance to be completely healed when she had somehow arranged to privately visit Obi-Wan in the Healer's quarters - and the Force alone knows how she managed to swing that, considering how protective Healer Bant has always been of Obi-Wan and how fiercely overprotective Anakin had been for a time, after the whole Jabiim fiasco - while her husband, Anakin, was out of the room.

The Healers had allowed Obi-Wan some time to meditate in one of their private gardens between bouts in the bacta tanks and sessions with the Soul Healers, and he had just reentered his room when the door had slid open behind him. Turning around, he had been faced with the sight of an anonymous slight form entirely swallowed up within the deep folds of a somehow familiar cloak of velvet lined with chersilk, its color a red so dark and saturated that it was almost black, a color like blood spilled on a moonless night. Obi-Wan had simply stood there, frowning, trying to place where he had seen that cloak before. By the time he worked it out, though, Padmé had already cried out his name, as though the very sight of him hurt her, and flown across the room to his side, the deep hood of the cloak falling back away from her tear-streaked face. Padmé's small hands had fluttered around him like the wings of a tamed dove, uncertain where to alight, before she had finally simply thrown her arms around his waist and back. Obi-Wan had hesitated before finally awkwardly returning her desperate embrace, letting her cry against his shoulder while she stammered brokenly about his neck and his poor beautiful face, how much Anakin had missed Obi-Wan and worried about him, certain that he was still alive in spite of what everyone else said, and how much she had feared Obi-Wan had been lost to them both forever.

Anakin can recognize the dress that Padmé was wearing under that voluminous cloak.

The High Council had insisted that he continue to obey Ki-Adi-Mundi while Obi-Wan was still recovering, and the Master had assigned him a series of katas that were supposed to keep Anakin occupied all day, until after Obi-Wan had gone back into the bacta tanks. But Anakin hadn't particularly found the katas all that difficult, and he had rushed through them so that he could steal away and spend an hour with Padmé, his wife, and truly express his relief and joy over Obi-Wan's return with someone who wouldn't chide him for his excessive emotionality. Padmé must have just beaten him back to her quarters, for while the cloak had not been in evidence, she had still been wearing that gown - the scarlet of the finespun Dramassian silk jersey-cloth clinging to her like a living thing, fitting close to her hips and draping in deep immaculate folds to the floor, falling around her like water - when Anakin had entered her apartments. He'd loved that dress because she was so incredibly stunning in it, and Anakin had always been a little bit disappointed because he had never known Padmé to wear it again, after that day. The gown was sleeveless and had a high neckline, rising like a crimson flame to clasp around her throat, belying the true nature of the extremely daring low back, so low that it was almost indecent, actually skimming the dimples at the very base of her spine. The scarlet cloth had clung to her upper body almost as if it had been painted on, and Padmé had been unpinning the elaborate coif of her dark hair - tight ringlets and twists piled up and twined high upon her head, secured with two long, slender, dagger-like golden hairpins, topped with glittering black jet and tapering to deadly points - when Anakin had first caught sight of her.

Obi-Wan, however, had seen Padmé with her hair still up, the fair skin of her face glowing like alabaster, only half-hidden behind the black gauze of a lacy half-veil, her wrists bound about with long graceful fluttering ribbons of scarlet Dramassian silk, in essence half-naked despite the abundance of cloth. Obi-Wan had been discomforted by Padmé's visit and her tears, but he had barely even noticed the way she was dressed, aside from recognizing her cloak. Anakin had thought her the most stunningly beautiful creature he had ever seen when he saw her in nothing more than the dress, even with her hair tumbling down, and it had never even occurred to him to wonder if the extra care Padmé had apparently taken with her appearance that day had been meant for any other purpose than to dazzle the Senate, the way she always seemed to dress to impress and distract the attention of others. He had, perhaps, idly thought that any extra care she had taken was also an attempt to be beautiful solely for Anakin.

Anakin has never suspected a thing, never even dreamed that Padmé, his beautiful and so obviously loyal wife, might also be in love with another man, even though she was married to and truly loved Anakin. And not only has Padmé had to die first before he could discover this, she has also had to die because of Palpatine's secret and in such a manner that Obi-Wan would be the one who would find out about her death first, meaning that Obi-Wan has of course also found out about Padmé's secret marriage to him, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and all around screw-up.

His agony has moved so far beyond mere pain that he is certain that even if he could force his heart to stop, the pain would not end.

Anakin Skywalker is positive that he will never be able to fix this, no matter what he might try to do, never be able to make up for what he has done, how he has failed. Never.

***

Obi-Wan Kenobi is drowning in pain, and he cannot seem to muster the strength to fight his way free of it, to surface from its smothering dark embrace. It isn't so much the pain of his abused body as it is the agony of betrayal, of broken trust, that weighs him down. He knows that Anakin is in pain, panicking, not thinking straight, and yet still the pain of what Anakin has so unthinkingly done to him, the violent way that he has broken their trust, by violating Obi-Wan's mind, bores into him like a thousand jagged pieces of white-hot steel, ripping at him and into him, tearing him apart. He knows that what happens in the next few moment is crucial, will play a pivotal roll in guiding the future down one of the pathways he saw in his far-sight vision, and yet Obi-Wan still cannot quite gather enough will to move past his own pain, to pay attention to what's happening with Anakin.

Obi-Wan is floundering when two impossibly familiar tiny hands suddenly delicately take hold of either side of his face and gently apply enough pressure to tilt his head up.

Up where he has no choice but to behold the sight of Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker, bending down over him gracefully, somehow wholly present within the Force and yet not entirely physically manifest in the room, her whole form seemingly formed out of the eldritch blue Force-fire that Obi-Wan remembers from his far-sight visions of Qui-Gon Jinn, meaning that she is not entirely solid and not quite transparent either. Padmé is wrapped in a strangely familiar fragile dressing gown - a lovely voluminous sweep of incredibly delicate luminescent natural silk, hand-spun according to ancient traditions of the tribal craftsmen of Corellia 5 and transformed by the nimble fingers of the Queen of Naboo's handmaidens into a sleeveless, simply-cut garment that falls away from a stand-up collar framing Padmé's face amid a beaded, lacelike tracery of pearly opalescent jewels, the not quite entirely just white shimmersilk clinging to her upper body but hanging in graceful loose folds around her legs, its hem not quite brushing against the floor. As she smiles down upon him, her small fingers tracing lightly but thoroughly across his face, as if to memorize his features by touch, the pale luster of the garment reacts with the dim light to wrap her in soft arcs of rainbow radiance, trailing gentle fingers of luminescence across her face and serving to set off the rich hue of her dark hair and the sheer beauty of her enormous, liquid eyes. It is the kind of garment one wears for very special occasions . . . and Obi-Wan remembers, with a start, where he has seen Padmé wear that dress before - when she came to his room in the Theed palace and attempted to comfort him after Qui-Gon's death.

Obi-Wan's mouth is opening with surprise when Padmé shakes her head, slightly, and then gracefully goes down on her knees before him, bringing her closer to him, where she brushes her thumbs up over his mouth, pressing lightly when they meet at its center. There is a stirring in the Force, and then a familiar voice is whispering somehow both directly into his mind and yet seemingly also right into his ears.

"Be brave, Obi-Wan, my heart. Only a little while more, and Anakin will be ready to hear your words. But first I must speak with him, my poor wounded husband, and try to explain some things that he was not ready to hear from me before now. Please, Obi-Wan. Please, be patient, just a little while longer. The Force has allowed me this chance to see you both so that I might speak with him. Please, let me have this chance to speak with Anakin. He deserves to hear these things from me."

Padmé's voice and, indeed, her entire expression is filled with such heartfelt pleading that Obi-Wan can do little more than nod, dazedly, and then holds himself very still, rigid with shock, unable to move away with her hands imprisoning his head, as Padmé bends down even further to ghost her lips over his mouth, giving him an oddly shivery feeling as if he has had some kind of barely contained energy field brushed up against his lips.

Smiling down at him once more, Padmé slides her hands up around the back of Obi-Wan's head, fingers threading through his hair, until her hands rest lightly, palms down, atop the crown of his head. She then bows her head, momentarily, eyes closed and forehead creased as though in concentration, as if she were silently pronouncing a blessing over him. Then, eyes opening and mouth moving to form the shape of a wide, pleased smile, Padmé regains her feet with one quick, easy motion. Turning slightly away from Obi-Wan, towards where Anakin has collapsed into the floor, she reaches out to him steadily, her light burning brighter and brighter within the room until her form is swallowed up by that pulsing light and she blazes like a star dropped down into the room, the Force flowing into and through her in such vast quantities that Obi-Wan can only watch, mind buzzing with shock, waiting to see what will happen next.


***

At some point, Anakin Skywalker's despair is interrupted by the growing awareness of an impossibility. Even though Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker is undeniably dead, Anakin is, nevertheless, feeling her within the Force, through the silken weight of his jewel-strung Padawan braid, clutched in his fisted hands like a lifeline, truly feeling her, as if she were another Jedi and were speaking to him through a bond made in and through the Force itself, a bond so strong, so deep, that it almost feels as if he has dissolved into a field of pure energy, of pure feeling/, and is somehow reaching out /inside of her, as if he is her, the comforting caress of her soothing hands and the motion of her lips in that shining face of fragile flowering beauty as she whispers to him, speaking quietly, gently, explaining many things to him.

"I love you, Anakin Skywalker. Never doubt that. Never doubt me, my love. I gave myself to you willingly and I am yours. But you are not mine. You have never truly been mine. Forgive me, my husband, but having been forced to turn away from two men I loved for duty's sake - one because of my duty to the people of Naboo and the other because his utter devotion to his duty to the Galactic Republic so shamed me that I could not, in good conscience, seek to find fulfillment for my love - I found I could not force myself to give up a third, no matter what duty required of me . . . or of you. I loved you, Anakin, and I was not willing to give you up, and so I gave myself to you instead, foolishly thinking that I could be enough for you. I was wrong. I am no Jedi and I could never be enough for you, never walk in the Light with you, for you, my love, and I should have known better than to try. I think I did know better, in my heart of hearts. I just didn't want to see the truth. I loved you and I wanted to be yours too badly. It made me selfish. It made me try to claim you, when you already belonged to another. It has made me hurt you, inadvertently, made me damage your light. I should have learned my lesson from Obi-Wan's faithful rejection of my offered love. The Jedi Order does not willingly allow many of its members to form bonds, ties of attachment, outside of the Order. But it does require that all Jedi learn to love at least a few of his or her brethren. The Padawan loves the Master and the Master loves the Padawan. Partners in the Force, in the Light, walk together in that Light and complete one another, love each other. The cycle is meant to be unbroken, from one generation to the next. I did not understand because I selfishly did not wish to accept the truth, in my heart, that Obi-Wan could never truly love me. You did not grow up within the Temple, though, so you knew how to love outside of its confines, and I encouraged you to do so when I should not have, Anakin. Obi-Wan's love for you is pure and it knows no limitations. He belongs to you and you belong to him in a way that I never could, not being a Jedi myself. The two of you fit together. You belong together. You are a part of each other and you are stronger together. And I, in my self-centered foolishness, have tried and tried and tried again to come between you, until finally you allowed me to, because of my love for you. Anakin, I am so sorry that I have done you and Obi-Wan both this great disservice. In the hopes of making amends to you both, I have sent Mon Mothma to Obi-Wan with the present you gave to me - the necklace I made from out of your Padawan braid. Obi-Wan is the one who deserves to wear it, not me. He has always been the one who has deserved to wear it. He just has never known it, because he did grow up within the Jedi Temple and he has never truly understood that to truly and selflessly love another as you two do is to walk with each other within the Light. Mon Mothma is a loyal friend and she will keep our marriage a secret for my sake. No others know of our union but our two droids and my family - my parents and my sister - and I have left them all detailed instructions, in the event of my death. They will keep silent. My family will even let you and Obi-Wan remove or seal off their memories of our marriage, if you decide that it will be safer that way. The holy man who married us died over two years ago, a causality of the war. The only irrefutable proof of our marriage is a datachip that has been placed within the diadem I will be interred wearing. No one else will ever know or be able to prove that we were wed, Anakin. The Jedi Order will never be able to renounce you because of our marriage. I have done these things to protect you, Anakin, and to hopefully keep you and Obi-Wan safely together. Please, don't be upset with me because of my arrangements. I did not tell you about them before because I knew you would protest, you are always so honorable, and yet I also knew and I still know that this is the only way to keep you safe. Please, let me help to keep you safe, Anakin. And don't be sad for me. It was enough to have been allowed to love you. I need no more than that. And the Force has been kind to me, in my last few moments. I have cast myself upon its mercy, in your name, and so time flows differently for me now. There is no pain and I am not afraid to pass on into the Force. First, though, please know that I am incredibly sorry to have failed you, sorry to have led you astray. It was never my intention to hurt you, my love. Please, believe me when I tell you that. I have never wanted to cause either one of you any pain, Anakin. But the Force intends you and Obi-Wan for far greater things than the love of one Padmé Amidala Naberrie. The Force speaks to me of your destinies, of your combined destiny. Together. You are the Chosen One and the Sith'ari. You will raise up and you will break both the Jedi and the Sith and form a New Order in the true image of the Force, in the image of love. The Force blesses you both, blesses your love, blesses your union. You will dance with the shadows and walk in the Light and true balance will be found in unity of all aspects of the Force. Your love will be the beacon that will burn through the darkness of the coming storms and light the way forward. You will destroy the foundations of reality as we have known it and usher in a new age. You will be the founders and the heroes of the New Jedi Order and the New Galactic Republic. You and Obi-Wan. And I am so incredibly proud and humbled to have known you both. I know that you will save the Republic from the storms. I believe in you. I believe in you both. And I love you, Anakin Skywalker. I wish you and Obi-Wan every happiness. I know that you will love one another and take care of each other, always. I am only sorry that I cannot be there to see it. Forgive me for that, please. And do not seek to place the burden of my death upon any - least of all upon your own shoulders, either you, Anakin Skywalker, or you, Obi-Wan Kenobi - unless you would place it at Palpatine's feet, where it should squarely lie. Understand, please, that it is simply my time to go now. The Force is calling me home. And you and Obi-Wan deserve one another, Anakin. You deserve to be together, you deserve to be happy, without any possible barriers standing in between you. I have been just such a barrier and I am ashamed of myself in the knowing of it. Forgive me for that if you can, my love. And forgive me, please, Obi-Wan Kenobi, for causing you so much pain when all I have ever wished to bring you is love. I seek to bring you your love now. I bring you and Anakin together. May the Force that so loves you both be with you both, always. May you walk together in its glory, always. And may the light of your love and the Light of the Force be as one, always."

Padmé's purity and her passion and the truth not only of her love but also her devotion, her loyalty, not only to him but also to the image she has held of him and Obi-Wan, together, the truth of her understanding about how he and Obi-Wan belong to each other, belong together, their love and their very beings forming one light within the greater Light of the Force, flows into and all throughout Anakin Skywalker, until his every atom, each individual tiny particle of his being, cries out to the Force, screaming his shame and his agony over what he has done, how he has betrayed Obi-Wan at every turn. Anakin can feel Obi-Wan's anguish from when Mon Mothma had pressed the bejeweled braid into Obi-Wan's hands and he had fully realized the extent of Anakin's betrayal. He can feel his former Master's misery and confusion, his need to understand and to help, because of and in spite of that betrayal. He can even see - although somehow Anakin knows that he's not quite seeing as clearly as Obi-Wan did - the same terrible things that Obi-Wan saw, when he was lifted up into far-sight by the Force. All of them. Especially along the first probable future path. He vividly sees the abomination Palpatine has already come so close to making him into, the terrible things that he would have done, as Palpatine's creature. How can the Force possibly mean for Anakin and Obi-Wan to be together when Anakin is so obviously flawed, so thoroughly tainted by the Sith's evil? How can the Force desire and approve of their love, their joining, when they are Jedi and the Jedi are not allowed to love? More importantly, how can he, Anakin Skywalker, ever be worthy of Obi-Wan's love, how can he be together with Obi-Wan, when he has done little else except disappoint and betray and hurt Obi-Wan?

The Force offers him no answer.

Anakin finds that he has collapsed in a heap upon the floor. He feels such a strong urge to scream that he slams his tongue up to the roof of his mouth, clenches his teeth tight, locks his jaw, and curls in around himself to keep it inside, fearing that if he allows his mouth to open an endlessly rising tide of shrieks will burst forth until there is nothing left of him but incoherent noise, a constant jagged stream of self-hatred, of anger, of pain. Anakin feels cold. He feels the icy chill of loneliness through all the layers of tunics and tabards and obi and robe and trousers and boots and belt and concealing glove he is wearing - all slightly heavier than usual as well as being darker in color than normal for most Jedi, the cloth all the same dark shade, the color of the richest earth, a brown so deep that it is almost black and is quite often mistaken for the true black of the leather concealing glove and boots and belt - just as clearly as if he were wearing nothing at all. Curled up upon himself, Anakin shivers at the cold, the emptiness he feels, the gaping chasm that has broken his heart open - the hole that needs to be filled to make him complete, the hole that he has torn into himself, with his foolish, reckless, thoughtless actions. He is empty and alone and freezing with the chill of his barren loneliness and it is entirely his own fault. Padmé's presence had once been enough to keep the loneliness at bay, if not entirely enough to make the cold go away completely, for good. She had warmed Anakin in many ways when she had held him close in her arms, when she had pressed tender kisses to his temples and gently whispered sweet words of love into his ears, her tiny hands threading through his hair in soothing repetitive motions, delicate fingers knotting in the strands. Yet, even though Padmé had loved Anakin, had loved him with her every breath and heartbeat, with all the loyal devotion of her warm heart and tremendously caring soul and giving spirit, with everything that she had and everything she was, with everything that she could, her love had never truly been the love he had craved, and so it had never been enough. Padmé had never been enough. More than that, she never would have been enough for him. Anakin can see that now, so very clearly that the knowledge feels frozen within him, much like the knowledge that he is alone now and that it is all his own fault, no one else's but his own.

Fear hits him then - fear of irrevokable loss, fear of eternal aloneness - a crippling poison that works its way swiftly all throughout his shivering body, hand in hand with the soul-scouring cold. Loss is something that Anakin Skywalker is all too familiar with. He has done all too much of that, losing pieces of himself, losing the people he has loved. It is entirely too easy, and Anakin knows this as no other Jedi - perhaps even as no true Jedi - does. Those who are loved, those irreplaceable individuals with irrepressible spirit and unpredictable will and many quick currents of original and ever changing thoughts, can be taken by force or simply slip away, disappear into the night or be stolen away in the bright light of day, suffer an accident, fall ill, be murdered, be killed in battle, change his or her mind or suffer a difference of heart. As easily as that, a person who is loved can be lost. Anakin has lost often, has lost much, has lost many. The man who had finessed his freedom and whom he had adored like a father. His mother. Most of his right arm. His wife, now, too: his beautiful Padmé. The man he has doted upon like a father and grandfather rolled into one, a man he now understands he has never really known, perhaps because that man himself has never truly existed, beyond the Sith Lord's need for a front to hide his evil behind. Innocence, if he ever truly had any to begin with. Force knows that he has none left now. And most importantly of all, perhaps now also the one person Anakin is sure he will not and cannot survive without. And all because of his lack of control!

His fault. His own. No one's but Anakin Skywalker's. Terrible, inescapable knowledge. Hollow. He is hollow. And cold. And weak. And dizzy and deafened by the roaring of the dragon in his head, the roaring of the fire struggling to escape from behind the walls of his heart. And sick from the overwhelming expenditure of energy that always comes with fear, with the cold desolation of loneliness and the fear of being always and forever utterly alone, of losing all that is precious to him, all that matters to him, all that is him, that makes him Anakin Skywalker. Curled in fiercely against himself, knees tucked beneath chin and elbows at knees and hands upon scalp, tearing into his hair and digging in his skin, the sharp cold unnatural durasteel fingers of his right hand pushing in too hard, too far, in spite of the concealing glove, ripping the delicate tissue, making blood flow, unnoticed, down his face and into his unseeing, unblinking eyes. Anakin is empty, frozen, alone, hollowed out and cold as a hard shell of ice. Why should he, how could he, notice something so trivial as a self-inflicted and essentially shallow head-wound?

The Force has no answers for him.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi does.

"Anakin."

His name is spoken like a caress and warm arms envelop him, two strong hands of flesh and bone upon him, lifting him up, gathering him close, holding him and searing warmth, searing comfort, into him, not just his body but /him/, his innermost self, his being. Anakin's hands are fisting in Obi-Wan's robe, his tunics, seeking more of that warmth, more of that comfort, begging to be saved, to not be alone, to never be left alone. The dragon's cold, the devouring fear, still sluggishly clogs his heart, his mind. But hope is there also, however uncertain and small, however weak and flickering. Anakin clings to Obi-Wan and sobs like a child, and Obi-Wan embraces him strongly, fiercely, warming him with a love that he knows he does not deserve.

"It is my choice to make, my love to give. And I give it to you, Anakin. Always and forever to you."

"But - but I - I - I hurt you - !"

"And I have hurt you, by not speaking these words before now. Anakin Skywalker, I loved you as my Padawan as I would have a member of my own family, and I have loved you as my partner, as an equal, as the one who completes me. I love you, Anakin, truly, deeply, completely, with every fiber of my being and all of the strength that is within me, everything within me that makes me the man I am, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I love you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jedi - Jedi do not - Jedi must not - "

"The Jedi are wrong. The Order is wrong. I have been wrong about this and I have done wrong, in abiding by a hypocritical rule that forbids Jedi attachments, though the Order itself encourages their formation among certain of its members. The Force does not lie, Anakin. It is the Force and it is never wrong. What do you feel?"

"I - I - I love you, Obi-Wan! I've always loved you! I always will love you!"

"Then we will love one another together, with the blessing of the Force, we will be as one within the Force, and it will be enough, Anakin," Obi-Wan promises. "You will never be alone. I will never leave you. I will always love you and you will always carry me with you. The Force binds us together always."

"But - but - I am unclean - "

"Anakin Skywalker! You are a vessel of the Force and you are no more 'unclean' than am I or any other Jedi!"

"You don't understand!" It's not just a cry, it is a scream of anguish, dark and absolute, fueled by years of niggling self-doubts and angry self-loathing over his perceived failures under the ever judgmental eye of the High Council and the majority of the Jedi Order. "I'm a monster/, a /freak/! So many die - have died, would die - because of me! Because I've been too weak and too stupid to see through Palpatine's mask! And I'm a /murderer/, Master! I - I - I've killed with the Force, slain women and children in my anger! The Blood Carver Ke Daiv, on Zonama Sekot: I was thirteen and the power of the Force was so strong that I couldn't control it! When the storm passed, he was dead! Like the entire camp of Tusken Raiders, on Tatooine, after I'd selfishly ignored all the warnings in my dreams, choosing to stay with Padmé on Naboo, until it was too late and I couldn't save my mom from dying - all of them, women and children, innocent and guilty, all of them, Master! I slew /all of them! And then Asajj Ventress and Dooku - "

"Anakin, enough/, I say! You take on far too much blame. You are /not that person, the Jedi who would fall and become Sidious' new apprentice, not anymore, not if you ever truly were, and you will never be that person now, Anakin Skywalker! Don't you dare judge yourself for things that you have not done and will never do. And understand me when I tell you that the dragon of fear that whispers foul thoughts into your mind and goads you ever towards anger and fear is an evil planted within you by one you trusted, the man you thought of as Palpatine when he actually is, in the truest sense of his being, Darth Sidious, Dark Lord and Master of the Sith. That foul monster masquerading as a man has manipulated you and used you, yes, but he has manipulated and used all of us in his quest for power. You are no more to blame for his evil than I, though it is as much your duty as it is mine to see to it that he can never again cause another being such harm, such pain, as he has to you and as he has to me, in causing you pain. The fire you fear at the core of you is the love you had no outlet for as a child, the love you have tried all your life since then to contain and deny. Let lose your love now and Sidious' evil can never again take hold of you."

It is not an order, nor is it a Force-compulsion, but Obi-Wan's voice is as honest and true as his arms around Anakin, his love warming and cocooning Anakin with every breath and every heartbeat. In the end, it is not a question of choice. Anakin loves and so Anakin obeys and he allows himself to fully embrace and to feel that love, and the Jedi - the Order, the Code, the High Council - be damned.

The cold is gone. The pain falls away. The fear is destroyed utterly, the instant those walls are breached. For the instant those firewalls are cracked open, they are consumed utterly by the fierce power of what has been trapped behind them and is now wholly unleashed and willfully embraced, for the first time ever in his life. Anakin Skywalker lets go of everything else - all other thought, every other emotion - surrenders all else, except for his love, the totality of his love for Ob-Wan Kenobi.

And as Anakin lets go, so, too, does Obi-Wan.

***

Even from halfway across the galaxy, Qui-Gon and Dooku can feel what's coming.

The immediate future snaps open onto a rising sun. Not quite as white and blindingly pure as a Force spirit, perhaps, somehow, paradoxically, being just the slightest bit cooler while also burning just the barest bit hotter, blue-tinged at the outermost edges, a diamond starburst of light refracting the fire of absolute surrender, of cresting passion. As the two new Force spirits plummet towards that blinding aura, the barely blue-tinged white sun tightens to a star among the packed stars scattered across the immensities of time and space. Far away from them, Obi-Wan and Anakin blaze. Empty of forethought and care, full of the instinct of innocence and the presence of knowing love, they plunge burning into the Light of the Force, radiant as a newborn star, powerful as an exploding sun.

Qui-Gon laughs victoriously, watching as the two expand in each other's embrace, enlarging with life, becoming visibly greater together, visibly stronger the more completely they entangle. And he thinks of all the separate stars overhead, all the separate beings and things, each at the exact center of everywhere and nowhere, all yearning for the wholeness these two possess - this meaningful conjunction of destinies into one shared light in the darkness, a harmony of rapture and awe, of knowing and mystery, of fate and power, of destiny and will.

It is Dooku, though, who best captures it, when, smiling, he muses, How rare the light in the darkness of creation! How rare the stars scattered across the void of heaven! For all their billions and thousands of billions, the darkness of the void ranges far vaster yet. How rare the light, journeying centuries, millennia, aeons through the darkness, untouched by aught else, alone, unseen, forever unknown to the vast majority, these songs without singers! How rare a miracle is this, to see a new light kindled and to know not only its song but its singers, its source?

Humbled and incandescent with joy, the two new Force spirits set their path by that radiant light, and allow it to guide them on their way home.

***