What Angels Fear

Chapter 1: Words Are All It Takes

July 2oo8

A/N: So, here we go again. But seeing as I'm much more mature as a writer and a person, and also I have planned out this story up to chapter twenty (and I'm not done), so I'm thinking we'll be okay, oui?

This may seem dreadfully familiar for returning readers, but I did change it, so please read regardless. This is canon up until the end of the fight on Mustafar in Episode III, though there may be a few things here and there you'll recognize...

I changed the title to "What Angels Fear". Along with the obvious use of a common Star Wars theme, nothing symbolized the chaotic lack of preparation for this story more than the totally unoriginal previous title, "Another Episode III AU". So, since I actually have a plan, I actually have a title.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Wars, the sections of the Zen Harvest below, or the title. What Angels Fear is the title of a book by C. S. Harris. I chose this title because of the subtle theme the title implies (which was pointed out in said book).

For those of you first-time readers, I hope you like it; readers coming back, I hope you forgive me, and all of you, thanks for reading, I hope you review!

XXX

"Coming out of darkness
I'm likely to enter the dark path again
In the dark
I lost sight of my shadow
I've found it again
By the fire I lit.”
-pieces from a Zen Harvest

XXX

“Anakin, don’t try it!”

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi’s desperate shout carried down to the young man below him floating in the orange river of lava, balanced in what seemed a precarious way atop a bit of debris. Obi-Wan saw the young man, saw Anakin Skywalker’s familiar face glaring up at him, but he could not put this man and the little boy he had met so long ago as the same person. They couldn’t be.

Obi-Wan, safely on the ground, desperately hoped beyond hope that Anakin would not try the jump, would not try to overtake him… “I have the higher ground!”

Anakin Skywalker scoffed.

“Don’t doubt my power,” he snarled, his gleaming yellow eyes shining with hatred as he gazed upon his former Master. He had known for awhile if he could just use his anger, rather than avoid it, how much power he would have! And now, without the silly restraints of the collapsed and failing Jedi Order, he had succeeded. He was feeling all of his anger, pulsing through him, fueling him, giving him power none other had ever imagined.

It did not matter that Master Kenobi had the higher ground. He was Anakin Skywalker.

He was Darth Vader.

Obi-Wan stared down at him bleakly. This voice, so familiar, had been one he’d heard over a decade, heard when it changed and cracked as the little boy had transformed into a powerful warrior. It was such a familiar, same voice. But it sounded so different. When had this happened? How?

“I don’t doubt your power, Anakin,” Obi-Wan shouted back, breaking from his reverie. “I doubt your common sense!”

Anakin ignored this. He was feeling for the Force, feeling its pull and feeling it tug at him. It felt different somehow, less eager to bend to his will. He wondered at this, but the answer seemed obvious – he must have been expecting it would be too easy, and his expectations had fooled him.

Even beyond that, it felt different flowing through him and around him. He’d never felt it like this, raw and with no restraint, and he almost understood why the Jedi always tried to control and get rid of their anger. Weaker minds could not handle this power. He let his fury and energy tingle in his limbs and he made his mind quickly.

He jumped.

It had to have been a reflex, Obi-Wan would reflect later, because he had no idea how he could have done what he did otherwise. He slashed forward and Anakin flew backwards again, a bloodcurdling scream issuing from his mouth. He landed at the very edge of the lava flow, the lava flow that had been gradually rising, eating away at the land on which the planet lived.

He was reaching out desperately to grasp rocks and pull himself forward, away from the rising lava, ignoring the pain of his missing limbs and trying to climb toward his former Master.

Obi-Wan watched in agony. In certain situations, Obi-Wan thought, it is said that one’s life flashes before their very eyes. But for him, it was Anakin’s life. What resonated to him most, echoing across the sands of time, was the little boy in whom Qui-Gon had had so much faith…

“You were the Chosen One!” he cried in anguish. “You were supposed to defeat the Sith, not join them!”

His reply was an agonizing scream.

Obi-Wan looked down at the boy, hopeless and desperate and…angry. Angry. What did it matter, now? All of the Jedi were dead. They belonged to a hopeless Empire run by a corrupted old man. He was angry. “You were my brother, Anakin!” he shouted, a single tear slipping down his face. He did not notice the sudden absence of sound coming from his former apprentice.

“I loved you.”

“You know nothing of love,” Anakin said, though if Obi-Wan had been in his right mind, he would have noticed the sudden change of tone. Anakin’s voice was not accusing; it was a question. However, Obi-Wan did not note this new change; all he had heard were the words, not the voice.

He did not want to hear the voice.

“Jedi don’t love,” Anakin added, this time mockingly, as if covering for his momentary weakness a moment ago – not that Obi-Wan had recognized it. Perhaps it was something inside him, after having grown up with Anakin; he had grown used to ignoring Anakin’s momentary times of weakness.

A wave of lava, set off by something further up the river, pushed frighteningly close to Anakin. The heat radiating off of it was almost more than he could handle and, almost out of habit, Obi-Wan took a step toward him.

“NO!” he screamed. “Stay away from me!”

Obi-Wan sighed and looked down sadly at the broken young man before him. “We weren’t supposed to love, that is correct,” he said, as if nothing had happened in between Anakin’s question and Obi-Wan’s response. “But I loved you, Anakin, and it was my downfall, as your love for Padmè was yours.”

Another wave of lava washed upon the shore near what used to be Anakin’s legs, the heat setting the singed fabric aflame. “I wasn’t supposed to love you, Anakin, but I did.” Obi-Wan knew he was repeating what he had said before, but he felt he had to. He was vaguely aware of the intense attention Anakin – no, he was Darth Vader now – was giving him, even as he let out a whimper as the flame crawled up his leg.

He held out a hand, calling upon the Force. Unlike it had with Anakin, though of course Obi-Wan had no idea, it felt easier than it ever had for him. He closed his eyes and, without looking, lifted Anakin up and away from the lava flow, safely out of range. The flame soon puttered out.

Keeping his eyes closed as he turned away from Anakin’s suddenly silent form, calling his fallen apprentice's lightsaber from the ground with the Force, he said over his shoulder, “And for some reason, I still do.”

And with that, purposefully looking straight ahead, he walked away.

XXX

Perhaps, had he taken the time to acknowledge all of his senses, he would have heard – beyond the echoing screams of rage that reverberated inside his mind – the abrupt lack of sound coming from Anakin Skywalker. If he had opened his eyes to lay them once more on the young man, he would have seen the look of confusion and shock pass across his former apprentice’s face.

Anakin Skywalker had waited years for praise and admiration from his Master. He’d waited for love and for honor and always received criticism.

And now, he’d just gotten the greatest praise he could ever hope for. His Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, stiff and obsessed with following Jedi rule, had loved him. Against one of the greatest commandments in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan Kenobi had loved him.

And still did.

This was something that trumped all of the hate Anakin had let pour through his soul only moments before. It had been the hate of neglect and of being looked over, of having all of his good qualities being overridden by the bad. He had never realized the depth of his Master’s affection, and this immediately neutralized all of the anger and bitterness that had been his fuel.

He felt the change within him. He was no longer Darth Vader, nor did he feel like the Jedi Anakin Skywalker who had once sat upon the Jedi Council. He just felt like a confused young man, one deluged with regret as he watched the man who loved him walk away.

So, had this said Master decided to wait just a moment longer, he would have seen the look of stony lament that passed across Anakin’s face, and the single hot tear that fell into the rubble beneath him. “Master, I loved you too.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi might even have heard the reply.

XXX

Obi-Wan rushed back up to the ship as quick as his worn-out body would allow. He did not notice the debris he jumped over; the path that had taken so long to reach the conclusion was not as hard going back to the beginning.

The beginning. If only he could.

He was relieved to see that C-3P0 had already transferred Padmè onto the ship. It was a small relief, yes, but he did not think that he had the energy – mental or physical – to lift her.

Boarding the ship, he made sure she was secure before quickly contacting Senator Bail Organa and Yoda to alert them of their progress.

He received their coordinates and he tried his best to distract his mind from the truth by taking care of Anakin’s wife.

And their child.

When Obi-Wan finally met up with Yoda and Bail on Polis Massa, they watched as medical droids immediately carried Padmè into a medical unit, the two Jedi Masters and Senator watching outside the glass walls. Each was wrapped up in his own thoughts as the medical droids buzzed around them, recording numbers and figures on data pads as they poked and prodded the strangely unconscious young woman, studying the beeping machines and taking information from her as she lay on a table in the center of the room.

One of the droids came out of the glass room. “Physically, she’s perfectly healthy,” it told them. Obi-Wan imagined that it would have a confused look on its face, were it human. “But for reasons we don’t know, we’re losing her.”

Obi-Wan frowned. He felt as if something odd, something cold, had been dropped into his stomach. Padmè, so young and beautiful and full of life, brimming with motherhood, dying? “How can this be?” he said aloud.

“She’s lost the will to live,” the droid replied. “We’ve induced labor to try to save the babies.”

“Babies?” Obi-Wan repeated, shocked. Twins? But the medical droid had already started back into the room, and Obi-Wan did not receive a response. With a quick glance at Yoda, who gave him a small nod, he followed the droid into the room.

He walked into the room, his eyes on Padmè. The droids had dressed her in a plain white gown, and her long brown hair flowed around her in curls across the stark, white pillow. Her expression was stoic. If he had not known what was going on, he would have thought her asleep, or – no longer alive. He would not have imagined that she was a woman about to give birth to twins.

Only someone such as Senator Amidala could hold a sense of elegance while on the brink of death.

Her eyes had been closed until he had stepped up beside her, and they flickered open. She reached out and he gave her his hand, surprised at the strength with which she clasped it.

Grip as tight as ever, her eyes were fluttering closed again. Something deep within him tugged at his heart, and before he knew it, he was talking to her. “Padmè,” he said softly, “You have to live. For your children. They need you. You still have Anakin, through them.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, her face unreadable.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he was trying to convince her to live. He cared for her, yes, but only in the sense of a small friendship. It was really more of a respect.

And for her to survive this would do no one any favors. It would require he and Yoda to hide her, for the Emperor would never let her go on alive. Even if Anakin had tried to kill her, he would rip the galaxies apart to find her. It was, though harsh, better if she were dead.

But if it was one thing he had learned, it was that the most desperate times were when hope was strongest.

“For the children,” she repeated weakly. Obi-Wan could feel her resolve, growing inside her. (1) Still wondering whether he’d done the right thing, he found he was relieved that her life-force was strengthening. Suddenly she let out a shriek, tears sliding down her face. A medical droid came up to Obi-Wan, a small blue bundle in its hands. Obi-Wan momentarily let go of her hand to take the bundle.

“It’s a boy,” he told her, leaning forward so she could see her son, a squirming, crying little thing.

“Luke,” she said, her eyes barely gracing her boy’s face before she was screaming again, reaching out desperately. Somehow Obi-Wan managed to grab her hand and still hold the baby to him, all the while trying to ignore the death-grip with which she was holding his fingers. Soon her hand loosened on his and he turned to the droid again, this time taking a small pink bundle from its arms.

“It’s a girl,” he said, leaning forward again so she could see them both.

“Leia,” she said, reaching out to take Luke first. She was trying to sit up, but with great difficulty; with a small jolt, it was only at this moment that Obi-Wan realized how weak she had been. He reached forward to help support her as she cradled both babies in her arms.

Suddenly, Luke opened his eyes for the first time, and the room seemed to stop.

Padmè had only seen those eyes once before; they had been eyes she’d fallen in love with, two shining clear sapphires, once filled with innocence and love.

They were exactly like Anakin’s.

She looked up at Obi-Wan as they both realized, already, that this boy would be remarkably like his father. But their simultaneous reactions could go only so far; he would not understand, ever, what she was feeling exactly. She was facing life without her soul mate. Without the father of her children.

“Obi-Wan,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse and her eyes on her children. “I know – I know Anakin’s done some horrible things. And it may – it may seem foolish, but - I know there is good in him, Obi-Wan. I know there –” she stopped. “I know there is hope.”

She looked down at the little girl in her arms.

“Oh, Leia,” she said, a sob escaping her even as she smiled. “My beautiful Leia. What a universe you and your brother have been born into.”

The smile faded off of her face as she sighed. “Obi-Wan,” she said, with the air of someone resolving themselves to jumping off of a cliff.

“Yes, Padmè?”

“Even –” she paused. “Even if I think there is hope, for Anakin, he is still dangerous.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’m afraid of what he could do. So, I…I have a favor to ask of you.”

He gulped. Against his better wishes, he said one word. “Anything.”

She turned her gaze to Luke. “Anakin can’t know that his children are alive. He’s lost sight of what truly matters and I can’t let them know their father as a – a monster.”

She looked back at Obi-Wan. “Take Luke with you,” she said. “Hide him from anyone who might wish to harm him. Take care of him and help him – help him to grow into a good boy. A good man. Please.”

He stared at her. She had more courage that he could have imagined – handing her son over to another person to care for, knowing she might never see him beyond these few minutes in the medical unit. He could not deny that request. And so, he nodded.

She nodded too, satisfied with his answer. She signaled to a droid to ask for another pillow; when it arrived, she settled back, holding her children in the crooks of her arms. “For right now, though, I want them for myself.”

He nodded, an unexpected lump forming in his throat. “I’ll leave you be,” he told her, but he had a feeling she didn’t hear him at all.

Obi-Wan walked out, musing on the odd comforts. She seemed pleased with a few moments with her son, almost as if the knowledge of a bright future for him was enough to erase the pain of never seeing Luke again. Obi-Wan would never understand motherhood, but Padmè seemed to understand every bit of it, even if she’d only been a mother for a few moments.

Senator Organa rushed to him as soon as the glass door slid shut. Yoda blinked slowly up at him from where he was standing, taking in everything about his fellow Master.

“Expected, that was not,” Yoda said slowly. “Her death, the droids predicted.”

“Sometimes droids are wrong,” Obi-Wan said, feeling slightly uneasy.

“Correct, you are,” Yoda said in the same thoughtful tone, studying Obi-Wan. The younger Jedi Master was not sure whether Yoda approved of his decision or not, but now was not the time to feel regret about it – what was done was done.

“She wants me to take the boy, Luke,” he told them, deciding there was no use beating around the bush. “She didn’t mention anything about the girl, Leia, but I suppose she’s planning on raising her by herself.”

Yoda shook his head. “Too dangerous, it is.”

“My wife and I can help her raise the girl,” Bail offered. “We’ve always wanted a girl.”

“I don’t know how wise it would be for me to take the boy,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Anakin will surely have alerted them to my survival, and Sidius knows Padmè was expecting. They will be on the lookout. It would be much too dangerous to have us both together.”

They stayed silent for a moment, thinking, before Yoda looked up at him. “To Tatooine, with his family, the boy will go.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Anakin’s step-brother. I can watch over him from a distance, – go into reclusion. It would be best for us both.”

Bail glanced into the room, frowning. “What happens when the Emperor discovers that she’s still alive?”

The two Jedi Masters looked at him. “Should we put her in disguise?” Obi-Wan said finally.

“She can’t go to back to Naboo, obviously,” Bail said, thinking out loud. “She can live with us on Alderaan. Retire from the Senate.”

“But she was very popular,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Her move to your planet will attract much attention.”

“Right now, it will not,” Yoda protested. “Too preoccupied with the new Empire, the galaxy is.”

Bail nodded. “Yes, of course. And as long as we make it a small affair, it shouldn’t be too noticeable. Just something quiet.”

“It will still only take a small about of investigation to find her,” Obi-Wan said stubbornly. “She would be an incredibly easy target. No offense meant to your guarding system, but we’re talking about two incredibly powerful, stubborn, and clever Sith.”

Bail sighed in frustration, throwing his hands up into the air. “What can we do? Release to the public that she’s dead, and give her a new identity? Chalk her name under the list of causalities of the war?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said slowly, a new idea rolling around in his head. “We can release to the public that she is incredibly ill, and has a low chance of survival. Give them the impression that she will be lost. They will chalk her name up to a death from the war, and will never know she left Naboo. Her family can even be seen mourning for awhile.”

Yoda turned to stare into the glass room, watching the young woman with her children. Bail looked at Obi-Wan. “It seems like the best plan,” he said finally, with an air of slight reluctance. “I just don’t feel entirely comfortable with such a blatant lie to the public.”

“It’s not so blatant,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat defensively. “We are not saying she is dead. Just…giving the impression.”

“You could be a politician,” Bail told him dryly. “But what if someone looks her up? With some digging, it would be found that there is no death certificate, no grave.”

“She can take another name, a code name,” Obi-Wan said. “It would only appear on her papers. It doesn’t matter if people can recognize her, because if someone looks her up they won’t look up a picture. They’ll search for a name.”

“Shmi,” Yoda put in, turning his large eyes back to the two men beside him. “Shmi, her name will be.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “Anakin’s mother.”

“Well,” Bail said, looking incredibly relieved. So much so, in fact, that he seemed not to care too much whose name she was taking – just that she had a name. “I believe we have a plan of action, then?”

Yoda nodded. “In the Dagobah system, I will be,” he said, with an air of finality. Obi-Wan realized how glad he was of this; he noticed he was anxious, restless, eager to go do something. This was not a trait he possessed of his own accord; it came from years with Qui-Gon and then Anakin, both very spontaneous influences.

Bail glanced into the room, his eyes on Padmè. She was smiling and laughing at her two children, whose arms were waving wildly in the air. From outside the glass, the little arms were the only things that could be seen of the two newborns.

“I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long, long time,” Bail said wistfully. He sighed, glancing back at the two Jedi Masters. “I’ll go tell Amidala what we’ve decided,” he said. “If I know her at all, she will have some arguments to make.”

“Good idea,” Obi-Wan said as Bail turned, walking into the room.

The glass doors slid shut and Obi-Wan suddenly found himself alone with the ancient Jedi Master. The hallway of the building they were in, one of the lone buildings on the Polis Massa landscape, was solemn and quiet; all of the droids were busy in the medical unit. There were doors, Obi-Wan noticed, that the droids kept flitting through, and beyond them he could glimpse other units. There were apparently other patients.

Only a moment after the doors had closed and silence had fallen on the two Jedi, Yoda turned to Obi-Wan with purpose, his eyes darting from the pair inside to Obi-Wan’s face. “While on Tatooine, something to do, I have for you.”

Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully. “Really? What is it?”

“Immortal, an old friend has become,” said Yoda. “From the netherworld of the Force, he has reached us. An ability to talk to those past, it is.”

“An old friend taught this to you?” Obi-Wan asked, confused. “One who has passed on?”

Yoda nodded. “Taught it to me, your former Master did.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in disbelief and hope. “Qui-Gon? You’ve spoken with Qui-Gon?”

Yoda nodded slowly. “Learn how to do it, you must,” he said solemnly. “And watch over Skywalker’s son. Undid Skywalker, love did. Put him together again, perhaps it will.” (2)

Obi-Wan looked into the glass room, in which Padmè was talking to Bail. He noticed she had a very expressive face; as she spoke, many emotions flashed across her face, from concern to stubbornness to sadness to joy. She was speaking, very passionately, when suddenly little Luke reached up to tug on a stray piece of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder and was tickling his nose. She looked down at him in surprise and smiled, gently moving her head so it would stop tickling him. Leia must have done something, Obi-Wan thought, because suddenly Padmè’s attention was turned to her daughter. It was the picture of what could have been a happy family, if not for the large, gaping part that was missing. Something tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart and he looked away.

Love had torn Anakin apart. But, as Obi-Wan turned his back on the mother and her children, he could not imagine Anakin remaining torn with a love like the one that was radiating from the glass room.

XXX

Darth Sidius, the new Emperor, prepared to step off of his ship as it landed on the fiery, molten-hot planet that was Mustafar. He was still wickedly happy from the success of his complex, long-winded, plan. They were fools, the lot of them! They had willingly handed over the rights to their galaxy and had even done it with applause!

The only thing marring his perfect, shining new victory was concern for his new apprentice. He had received word from Vader that the task was completed and the Trade Federation was no more. But he had sensed a sudden, new pain in his apprentice, and now felt a horrible agony radiating from Darth Vader.

Flanked by two of his clone troopers, he walked briskly down the ship’s ramp and toward the one, solitary building in the near-distance, the black building set so impressively against the fiery orange behind it.

Walking in, he saw the evidence that his orders had been fulfilled. The Trade Federation had been completely annihilated and lay around him in pieces. No one would remember them, the stinking cowards. They had been a small help to him, but now that they had been used they posed nothing but annoyance. He felt nothing but grim satisfaction as he stepped over their remains.

He glanced around the room, noting with curiosity that some of the computer boards were slashed apart, their circuits hanging out at odd angles, splashing sparks across the floor.

Where was his apprentice, Lord Vader?

Stretching out with the Force, he felt the younger man’s presence; it was there, on the planet, but was still and somehow seemed less…whole. Sidius shook his head; this didn’t make sense.

Frowning, the new Emperor stepped onto the ledge surrounding the small building, feeling for the direction of his apprentice. Following its signal he climbed over small mountains of rubble and debris, until finally he was able to see, lying still on the shoreline, the dark silhouette that was his apprentice, giving off an almost orange glow as he reflected the fiery colors around him.

“There he is,” he told the troopers, pointing. They nodded and one of them pulled out a comlink to signal for a stretcher to be brought out. Sidius made his way carefully over the uneven terrain and even he had to resist flinching in revulsion when he finally came upon Vader.

He knelt beside the crumpled, disfigured form of Lord Vader, leaning into his apprentice’s range of vision. All of his real limbs were missing and his metal hand was scorched, the finger tips shorter and ashy, the rest of it burnt and flaky. Much of his clothes were tattered and shreds; he had not been set fully on fire, Sidius noticed, but the nubs of his legs were severely burnt. Vader was also covered with small scratches and burns from what Sidius assumed was the crude terrain. His face was contorted in pain; he moaned, helplessly and almost shamefully.

Sidius spoke, leaning forward to touch the younger man’s face gently. “It is all right, my young apprentice.”

If Anakin closed his eyes and tried, it would not have been hard at all to imagine the old man as the Chancellor, the avuncular, kind advisor he had been before it had been discovered that he was the Sith Lord.

But there it was – he was a Sith Lord. He had thought he had everything figured out: the Jedi were evil, twisted, in love with power and the Sith were the bringers of peace. But had he been correct? Once Anakin’s purpose was finished, what then? Would a new apprentice come to destroy him as he had destroyed the Trade Federation?

He felt the gentle pressure of Sidius’s hand on his face. And since when did a Sith Lord show compassion?

XXX

More troopers had arrived with the stretcher and rushed him back to the ship, in which Darth Sidius had taken Anakin to a secret lab. Insisting he could handle the pain, Anakin now found himself lying awake on a table while medical droids buzzed around him, replacing his missing body parts with new, mechanical limbs. Sidius had, to Anakin’s slight surprise, remained beside him the whole time, showing more compassion for Vader than Dooku had ever received. Even Sidius himself was slightly surprised by how kind he was being to the disfigured Sith apprentice.

He supposed it had something to do with trust. Anakin Skywalker had a power no other, Sith or Jedi, had known, and to invoke the full extent of this power would be signing one’s own death certificate. It was vital that Vader only associate good feelings with Sidius. His plan, though it was in all intents and purposes completed, would not be truly finished until he helped who had once been Anakin Skywalker realize his true potential. Or, get rid of him before that potential could be used against him, Sidius. Whichever action was needed first. (3)

His thoughts were cut short as one of the medical droids pressed a button on the side of the table. It immediately began a slow, steady tilt vertically, so that gradually Vader’s new feet would meet the floor. Sidius’s eyes moved to his apprentice’s face, where the droids had wrapped multiple bandages; he had suffered many injuries and severe burns. The only sound in the room was that of the difficult, ragged breathing of the broken young man, the sound muffled and distorted through the bandages they had put on his face when he first arrived. As his feet moved downward, a droid came up to tug the bandages gently off of his face.

There was still silence in the room as Vader’s feet finally touched the floor. The restraints keeping him attached to the medical table were clinking ominously. “Master?” he said finally, a hoarse, ragged word that did not sound at all like it should be coming from a man in his prime.

“Yes, my apprentice?” Sidius responded, somewhat curiously. What would Vader’s first words be as a new man?

“How is Padmè?” he asked. He turned his head, with difficulty, so he could look at the Emperor more closely. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

Sidius paused. He did not know exactly what had happened to his apprentice’s wife. He hadn’t had a chance to search for her records; he had been busy with repairing Vader. On the way to the lab, however, Vader had given him a vague idea of what had happened, and he knew better than anyone how to make it sound like he knew everything when in reality he really knew nothing.

But a Force grip from someone like Anakin, and out of anger? There was no way she could have survived. The emotional impact of the action itself would sap her will to live! The foolish woman. Love, ha!

There could be no doubt in Vader’s mind. “Unfortunately…” Sidius stopped.

He was an expert at playing up a dramatic moment. “It seems she sustained severe injuries, especially for one in her…condition. It seems in your anger, you killed her…”

Was it a lie? It didn't matter. The timing was perfect. The end of the sentence hung in the air. He felt the meaning of his words click into place in Vader's mind.

Darth Vader, formerly known to the world as Anakin Skywalker, turned his head back straight ahead and closed his eyes. He felt out with the Force – how different it felt, again! How odd, to have it in his midst again, after it had betrayed him, after it had injured her –
and though Obi-Wan Kenobi had warned him of his habit to only take in barefaced, obvious facts, he ignored completely the subleties in his situation. Even he could not feel out with the Force to the ends of the galaxy, though of course he failed to realize this.

And, to his reasoning, it was true.

She was dead.

A great and terrible power surged through him, though he hated it. Hours ago he would have loved this power, the hour before he had lost to Obi-Wan, but now he despised the Force that surged through his veins. Even as his anger had died with love, love was reawakening it once again. He hated to feel the Force running through him, the power he felt as he broke through the heavy restraints as if they were twigs. This Force, it had killed her! He wanted nothing to do with it, nothing at all! What had the Force gotten him? His mother, dead; his wife, dead; his Master, hating him!

And yet he could not control it. Beakers and glass around him suffered from his anger, breaking and crashing to the floor as the room itself shook, perhaps the planet itself shook, its core cracking and rotating under the terrible power he was wielding against his will.

She was gone, she was gone! Again, he had failed, again it was his fault, again, again, again, he had not been good enough, ever!

Beside him, though he never once noticed it, Sidius grinned, a malicious grin of one whose every wish had been fulfilled.

Powerful Sith Lords cannot grow stronger with things such as women on their minds. In the back of his mind, he made a mental note to send troopers to Naboo – just to check. Because, really, they had no need for silly emotions like love. This was a lesson his new apprentice would have to learn, and if it must be through the hard way, then…

So be it.

XXX

Obi-Wan Kenobi, trying to balance the weight of the small blue bundle in his arms, stepped carefully off of his small ship, smiling when Luke cooed up at him happily. Luke was a very pleasant baby to be around, and already had the smallest fuzz of blond on the top of his head.

Glancing back at the ship, Obi-Wan frowned. He was extremely aware of the fact that he would be on Tatooine for an incredibly long amount of time. But at some point, he would be called to leave. When, and why, he did not know, but he was sure his last days would not be lived on this planet.

The problem he was facing now was a small one; keep the ship, or sell it? He had no need of it right now. When the time came, he could always purchase a new one. But this was not a matter that needed immediate tending to, and so he shrugged, deciding to work it out later. After this first task was completed, there would not be a lack of time in which he could decide things.

Yoda’s new technique had been hard, though as it had been interrupted periodically by shining blue visits from his former Master, its difficulty seemed worth the challenge. Nevertheless, it had taken longer than Obi-Wan had previously thought, and so now as he stepped off of the ship, he was holding a one-month-old Luke.

He was excited about the ability to converse with his old Master, even if the visits were few and short. He felt Qui-Gon had been ripped away from him, and wondered if it had been his lack of experience that sent Anakin over the edge. After all, most Jedi Knights took a Padawan only after years of experience of individual missions and journeys. Obi-Wan had had no transition from Padawan to Master. Even if he thought it was too late to help Anakin, however, he held a new life in his arms, and Obi-Wan knew better this time. From a distance, he would watch this little boy grow into a shocking replica of his father, never himself making an appearance until the time was right. But this time, things would be different.

Looking down at the little boy, Obi-Wan felt a mysterious tugging at his heart that he had rarely ever experienced. There was no blood relation between him and this tiny being, but he – at least secretly – liked to regard Luke Skywalker as his nephew. Despite his lack of experience concerning training a Padawan, he and Anakin had grown very close. He knew he should be angry with Anakin for going outside the Jedi Order and creating a family, but every time he gazed at Luke he only felt pride. This was, as Anakin would have undoubtedly put it, his grandson, though he preferred “nephew” because he was not that old.

He had tried to express this to Padmè, when she demanded he come in and give her an explanation, though she didn’t understand why he wouldn’t directly take care of her son. He reminded her that it wouldn’t complete strangers, that she’d even met Owen and Beru, but she had still been hard to warm up. She was mostly angry about Leia.

He shook himself. What was this? He kept getting distracted. He didn’t have time for that right now. He’d have plenty of time to wrap himself up in memories later; after all, he faced decades of solitude after this small task was completed.

Tatooine was a foreign place to him; he’d only been there once, and he didn’t feel that counted, seeing as he’d never left the ship and all he’d seen of the planet had been sand, sand, and more sand. Anything he’d learned about Tatooine had disappeared; after all, he’d slept a great deal since then, since his first meeting with the boy who would destroy democracy.

When he had mentioned this to Padmè, she had instantly started giving him advice. He realized this was a typical Padmè solution; when faced with a problem, immediately take it head on. She had told him, over and over until he had it memorized word for word, how he could find Owen and Beru Lars.

He glanced back once more at the small ship, assuring himself one last time that the security was on its highest setting, before pulling his cloak tightly around him to hide Luke. He strode with purpose, his eyes on what appeared to be a small shopping district in the near distance. Luke shifted underneath his cloak and he walked faster, aware of the intense heat. Padmè had tried to give him instructions directly to the Lars homestead, but the only thing that had gotten him was confusion. She had then changed her instructions to lead him to a gambling shop owner named Watto.

She had described the Toydarian to Obi-Wan, and as he finally made it into the town he spotted him in the distance. He walked quickly and purposefully to the canopy that covered the entrance to Watto’s store. The creature himself was currently hunched down, tinkering on some spaceship parts, not noticing his new visitor.

“Watto,” said Obi-Wan, without preamble.

“Eh?” Watto glanced up, doing a double-take. The years upon years Watto had lived on this planet had given him an extensive knowledge of Tatooine’s inhabitants, and this was not one of them. Watto’s eyes sized him up quickly and he dropped the parts and tools he had been using. His wings started up and he was suddenly eye level with Obi-Wan. “I di’n do anything, Jedi, whachoo want witha me?”

Obviously, Obi-Wan realized, word hadn’t gotten to the Outer Rim. All of the Jedi had been brutally murdered, and any who survived were at the risk of being hunted down. If Watto knew this, Obi-Wan’s days were numbered. But he decided that, at the moment, he would use it for his advantage. He wouldn’t be the one to tell this greedy shopkeeper about the Jedi extinction. “I’m not after you. I need some information. Can you tell me where the Lars homestead is?”

Watto squinted up at him, his wings beating quickly in the heat. “Now, why essactly should Iya tell you?”

“Well…” Obi-Wan had been afraid that this might happen, though Padmè had warned him that it would. “You wouldn’t want any trouble now, would you?” he said. “You said yourself I’m a Jedi.”

“No, no…” Watto said, his eyes darting down to Obi-Wan’s waist, where he assumed a lightsaber hung. “Fine,” he sighed grumpily. He retreated back into the shop, only to come back out seconds later with a tiny electronic chip clutched in his grubby hand. “Deese are de coordinates, Jedi,” he said crossly. “Just install dem into yourr shiip.”

Obi-Wan reached out and took the chip. “Thank you for your help, Watto.”

But Watto wasn’t listening; he was looking at Obi-Wan’s other arm, the one tucked under his cloak. As Obi-Wan had reached out, the bundle he had been holding had suddenly appeared.

“Why ‘ave you got eh baby?” Watto said suspiciously, squinting at the former Master again.

Obi-Wan shrugged coolly, successfully covering his apprehension. “None of your concern,” he said, and turned to walk away before Watto could say anything else.

Back on the ship, Luke began to fall asleep in Obi-Wan’s arms, obviously thankful for the cool air. After installing the coordinates into the ship’s database, arriving at the Lars homestead only took minutes. He landed the ship and as he walked down the ramp, he noticed how impressive the small, slightly underground home looked as it stood stark against the now-setting suns.

A young, blonde woman rushed out to him. He assumed this, from Padmè’s description, was Beru. “Are you Obi-Wan?” she asked him, wiping her hands on an apron tied around her waist.

“Yes,” he replied. “Are you Beru Lars?”

“I am,” she said. “Do you…?”

He nodded, moving his cloak apart to reveal Luke, who was now fast asleep. A soft smile formed on her face as she gazed at the little boy, who stirred quietly as Obi-Wan handed him over to her welcoming arms. She began rocking him and Obi-Wan smiled to himself; she would be a good mother.

“You said in the transmission that you’d tell us why we needed to take him,” she said softly, her eyes on Luke’s face as she kept him asleep.

“Yes, I did,” Obi-Wan said with resignation. He and Yoda had discussed how much information Beru and Owen should be given. Anakin was clever and very powerful; if he was bent on searching for his child (as he would never have guessed there would be twins) he would surely visit his step-brother in his childhood home. The hope that memories would keep him at bay could only last so long. It would be better, they had decided, to keep the couple as much in the dark as they could. More information than strictly necessary could endanger them both.

“Anakin is no more, I’m afraid,” he said, and Beru gasped, her gaze ripping away from the tiny boy. Obi-Wan knew this was a stretch, but to him Anakin was dead – he was Darth Vader now. (4) “I believe you met Padmè years ago, when his mother passed away.” Beru nodded. “Well, it was discovered that shortly after that visit, they were secretly married. She recently gave birth to this boy, Luke,” he said. He would not tell her about Leia.

“Being the child of Anakin and Padmè, he could be very much in danger,” Obi-Wan said. “There is no such thing as democracy any more; the government is more corrupted than it has ever been. To be the child of a radical Senator and a powerful Jedi is not a good thing. It would be even more unwise to keep him with his mother, though we do not expect her to last much longer – she has fallen ill after giving birth.” He looked at her seriously. “So, I humbly ask that you take him in, as I told you on the transmission I sent a month ago.”

“Of course,” she said, and her arms tightened around Luke. “I have to admit, we didn’t really believe you at first, after the transmission…but we said we would. And we will. We’d be happy to.”

A sudden, new voice broke out over the terrain. “Who are you?” The loud, different voice evidently disturbed Luke; he made a small noise in his sleep and started to squirm. Beru immediately started cooing to him and he quieted.

Obi-Wan looked behind her to see a young man, probably a few years older than Anakin. He was dressed in the typical wear of a farmer and native to Tatooine. He also wore an expression of distrust.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Obi-Wan said, holding out his hand for Owen to shake. “I am a friend of Anakin’s, and I was the one who sent you the transmission a month ago.”

Owen gave him a once-over before shaking his hand, though briefly.

“Oh, Owen,” Beru said, turning so he could see the sleeping Luke in her arms. His eyes widened. “I told you they weren’t lying.”

“Well, Jedi,” Owen said, reaching forward to caress Luke’s cheek with more gentleness than Obi-Wan thought he possessed. “I guess you weren’t. But you told us you’d explain –”

“Anakin is dead, Owen,” Beru interrupted softly. “This is his son.”

This news seemed to shock Owen. Obi-Wan watched him curiously; had they been close? “D-dead?” Owen repeated.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Jedi aren’t supposed to marry,” Obi-Wan said, for some reason feeling impulsively required to explain more about it, wanting to give the couple more information. He had not realized they were so emotionally attached. “But he and Padmè married in secret.”

Owen nodded, taking this information in, watching the little boy in his wife’s arms. “Yes, we’ll take him.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said seriously, meaning it. “I hate to impose, but I must ask one more thing. If you must tell him anything, only tell him that his father was a Jedi, killed in the Clone Wars, and his mother died in childbirth.”

“He was killed in the Clone Wars?” said Beru. It occured to Obi-Wan that perhaps, in this planet so far from the war's reach, things like the war itself and a Jedi's death were impossible to comprehend.

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. They looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. “He was murdered by an evil being by the name of Darth Vader.”

“And who is this Darth Vader, Kenobi?” asked Owen.

Obi-Wan Kenobi looked at him a moment. “He is the right hand man of the Emperor.” He smiled grimly. “You might even call him…the Dark Side’s poster boy.”

“So this Darth Vader, he’s bad news?” Owen said, as if to clarify.

Flashes of Jedi dying and of younglings being murdered went through Obi-Wan’s mind. “Yes,” he said. “That’s a pretty good way of putting it.”

The suns had almost completely set now, casting an odd glow across the dusty landscape. The sky, an inky blue now, was just starting to twinkle with stars. Obi-Wan felt that it was time for him to leave, and so he thanked them again, and with a wave of goodbye he walked back to his ship.

Within minutes he had taken off, the eyes of Beru and Owen Lars following him as he went. When he was out of sight, they turned their gazes instead to the fading light of the setting suns.

“Owen,” said Beru thoughtfully after awhile, looking down at her new nephew, “Isn’t this a blessing? Right when we found out I couldn’t have children.”

Owen looked down at the sleeping Luke and gently took him from Beru’s arms. Luke opened one sleepy eye to glance up at Owen; judging that it was safe, he rolled over inside his blankets and fell back to sleep. “Yes,” Owen smiled. “It is.” (5)

XXX

“Padmè.”

“Bail.”

The two glared at each other. “Just listen, please!” said Bail, frustrated. “How will you explain this? Last week the public thought you a single woman with no romantic interest whatsoever. And the next week you arrive a saddened widow with a daughter? How will this make sense?”

“I’ll think of something,” she said stubbornly, holding Leia close to her chest. “It doesn’t even matter, does it? They’ll all think I’m dying anyway.”

“Yes, but that will only work if you keep as much attention away from you as possible! Popping out of thin air with a daughter kind of attracts attention, Padmè.”

She glared at him. “Call me Amidala.” It was a small thing, a foolish thing, but her anger and current resentment pushed him back to formalities. He just couldn’t understand; she had just given her son up, never to be seen again, never to know what he would grow into. And now she was to lose her daughter?

“For your daughter’s safety, it is,” came a new voice, a very familiar voice. Yoda came in slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, his large eyes blinking up at her. She glanced down at him in surprise.

They were standing in a very nice – and private – room the Polis Massa inhabitants had offered, in the same building she’d given birth. The droids had released Padmè under the condition that she would remain in bed for the next few days before attempting to travel anywhere beyond a bathroom.

And so here she lay, Leia in the crook of her arm, glaring at Bail as he stood at the foot of her bed, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Please, Amidala,” said Bail, emphasizing the use of her formal name. He knew her well enough to understand the small importance of her name. “Come live with my wife and me on Alderaan. She is your daughter, Amidala; I know this. And she will know this. In secret, she will be your daughter. To the public, she will appear to be my daughter, adopted and crowned Princess. Please.”

“And what will I be doing on Alderaan, Bail?” she asked him huffily. “Planting flowers? Painting pictures?”

“Pose as her godmother, you will,” said Yoda, as if he had been expecting such a question.

Padmè looked at him curiously. “So, I will go as Shmi, and go to Alderaan with you. We will attract as little attention as possible and my family will mourn as if I passed away.”

Bail nodded. “Yes. I have to admit, Amidala, you will live a confined life. But I can assure you that my wife and I will try to make it as comfortable for you as we can.”

Padmè looked down at the little girl in her arms. “Look at you and your brother. Everyone already likes you so much they want to take you both away from me. For now I guess we’ll have to play along.”

She gave a resigned sigh and looked up to meet Bail’s gaze, her eyes glassy. “Fine. You can adopt her.”

He nodded, more relieved than he could express in words. “Good.” He glanced over to see that Yoda had already left. Feeling ignored, as Padmè had purposely turned the center of her attention on Leia, he turned to walk out, wondering in the back of his mind how much trouble this would end up causing.

XXX

Anakin stared out of the window of his new quarters on the imperial ship. After he’d recovered enough to stand and begin eating, Sidius had begun putting him to work, though he noticed that his “jobs” were easy. He supposed Sidius was getting him used to his new life, and was once again stumped by the care the new Emperor seemed to be showing him.

It was shortly after he could walk almost regularly that Sidius revealed to him the events that had happened with the Senate. He was unsure of how he felt about the sudden elimination of democracy. He remembered, years ago before the Clone War had begun, he had expressed to Padmè his opinion that the government needed someone who knew what was right and made everyone think so too. She had called that a dictatorship and now, now as the Supreme Chancellor’s position had been gotten rid of and everyone answered to the “Emperor”, was this a dictatorship?

Anakin ran a mechanical hand through his hair and sighed. The length of his hair was now much shorter; it had been singed and burned with that last battle, and so droids had cut it to even it out.

He caught sight of a small clock and held out his hand, lifting the clock into the air. He had only mechanical limbs now; it was an odd feeling. His ability to use the Force was not hindered by his new arms, but it was different not to feel it running through his fingertips. And now that he was not limited by the Jedi way, he could use his anger – and it felt odd, he felt guilty for it afterwards, though he knew now that he needn’t be. He knew there were things about the Force the Jedi had kept hidden, and Sidius had promised that as soon as he felt better, they would begin the learning process.

At the moment, however, he was just trying to feel through it, to feel for people – well, for one person, specifically.

He had tried, oh how he had tried! He had lain in bed at night, muscles tensed, eyes clinched shut, every fiber of his being focused on searching –

Nothing. Every time he tried, nothing. The thought occurred to him that she could just be extremely far away, but he was sure his abilities would at least give him a small clue as to where she was, or at least their child’s whereabouts, and he could not imagine that it would be his own limitations that left him alone and horror-struck.

No, they couldn’t be gone; how could he have killed her? He loved her. Love didn’t kill people! Sure, he had gotten angry, and had – had used the Force on her, but…

He felt again, desperately, and a spark of hope was lit. He could feel Obi-Wan! Barely, he could feel him! Was it that his old Master’s power was strong enough for Anakin to feel? That they were used to searching each other out?

His thoughts now turned to Obi-Wan Kenobi, again he was confused. Yes, he had pulled him out of the way of lava, but he had left him there to die, abandoned, bleeding and burning.

Then again, he had tried to kill him, stopped at nothing to try to end his former Master’s life… One of three lives he had attempted to take that night, three lives that meant the world to him…

He threw himself back onto the bed, his two mechanical hands underneath his head. It had taken him a long time, after the fight with Count Dooku, to get used to the one mechanical arm. Now with all of his limbs steel and metallic, he was only just beginning to appreciate how much the sense of touch had helped. In a way, this was good, because he had begun to rely more on the Force, and he did have sensors in the tips of his metallic fingers. But nothing could substitute actual touch.

Now that he had gained more strength and more control over his new legs, Sidius had had him sitting in and supervising the construction of the Death Star, which also freed Sidius to stay on Coruscant and deal with the Senate. This had given him a lot of time to think; the construction, not to mention supervising it, was long and tedious and painstaking, and the hours on end of white, gray, and black tended to blur together. They were full of cool, apathetic calculations, sort of like space itself; there was no room in space for warmth and compassion. (6)

Long ago, a destructive mechanism like the Death Star would have fascinated him. A ship the size of the moon, with the power to destroy a whole planet in one go! Now, however, all it did was fill him with a sense of dread. He reassured himself that this was for threat only; how could the Emperor possibly destroy a whole planet in one go? There were a lot of ‘bad apples’, so to speak, but never would a whole planet be filled with corrupt people deserving of death. This was simply a threat to those who might rebel against him.

Anakin’s skill with machinery and fixing things had not gone with his limbs, and therefore he managed to take care of the Death Star’s construction easily, dealing with minute problems with efficiency and quickness. In other words, he had a lot of time to think.

All he felt was anger and confusion. He had hated Obi-Wan, hated him, had tried to kill him. How could one sentence change everything? How could one simple proclamation – I loved you – change his every feeling and thought? But, now, he was sure that, to Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker was as good as dead. Padmè was dead, he was almost certain of it, and all of the Jedi were dead. But they had betrayed him…hadn’t they?

The avuncular position Palpatine had had with him was still there, though in different ways. He was surprised with the Sith’s care for him. He was looking at the new Emperor with different eyes now. Sidius had lead him away from Obi-Wan, convinced him that his former Master was out to get him. But, as Darth Sidius had laid within him seeds of doubt in Padmè and Obi-Wan, now he doubted Sidius’s motives. Who was he really – a kind old man with power over the Dark Side, or an evil Sith bent on controlling the universe was absolute no mercy?

He felt so desperately alone. Before all of this had happened, he had people to talk to; if not Obi-Wan, there was Padmè, and if not Padmè, there was Palpatine. The first two no longer wanted (or could) to talk to him, and if he expressed his thoughts of rebellion to Sidius, his head would be on the chopping block. He even felt the Force was torturing him about his loneliness; he was haunted by dreams of his mother, his last moments with her, but now they were intertwined with the dream of Padmè dying, and then the trusting expressions of the younglings as they’d looked to him for comfort before he murdered them all.

He was losing sleep. He just needed someone to whom he could talk without restraint. There were things, he realized, that he and Obi-Wan had both kept from each other, things he needed to know before he could decide where his allegiance lay. He was still distrusting of the Jedi, angry that they had doubted him and bitter towards his mistreatment, but ultimately all that mattered where the ones he loved.

It was one night when he awoke, the faces of his mother and Padmè lingering on the backs of his eyelids, that he realized he would be the death of himself if he did not find a few answers soon. He knew exactly to whom he needed to talk.

He also knew that talking to this person would be the closest thing to impossible, if not impossible itself. He knew he would hardly be welcomed warmly, but there was only one person in whom he could entrust everything (he had nothing to lose, after all). He was aware that it would most likely be years before he could even see this person, let alone have a heart-to-heart chat. How on earth could he expect to go behind Sidius’s back now?

One day, Master, Anakin thought to himself. One day we will meet again, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

XXX

A/N: Well, here’s the first chapter! To you returning-readers, this is all a bit familiar; yes, I realize this. I hope you read through it though. I’ve changed it around so that it makes more sense, to me at least, for Anakin to begin to doubt his new Master. Also, upon watching RotS again, I realized that Anakin’s new apprenticeship was much more political than I had previously noticed.

(1): I was watching Episode III and I thought it was a bit selfish of Padmè to die. So that has become my real reason in writing this. Girl power!

(2): I want to apologize for my horrendous Yoda-speech. I can’t express to you how foolish I felt when I was writing it, but I didn’t know how else to do so. So, if it’s utterly horrible, please forgive me! If it made you bust out laughing, I’m glad I made you laugh. If it made you feel horrible, then that makes me feel horrible. Also, I realize Yoda really thinks that once you go to the Dark Side, you can't go back. (Pringles anyone?) But...you know. AU and all.

(3): Couldn’t resist throwing a bit of psychology-theory in there. Sorry. :)

(4): I almost put “Death Vader”. That makes me think of Harry Potter...silly other fandom trying to get into my story!

(5): I wanted Owen to look more gentle so if this is a little out of character for him, I apologize.

(6): This was, I remember now that I’m redoing it, inspired by a short story called “The Equation”. The author is quite famous, though I can’t for the life of me remember what his name was. Reading it is by no means required to understand this fic, but if you like cool scientific short stories, it’s a good one.

Now. I can't promise quick updates. That would be a lie. But know that I will not give up on this story, no matter what it seems like.

Please review! I'm anxious to hear your thoughts!