Far From Home
Summary: AU. Padmé found the strength to go on and become a leader of the Alliance with Leia. Separated from Luke for his protection, she believes her husband is dead. And Vader believes his family is dead. One day they will all meet again…WIP
Characters: All the usual ones from the original trilogy, plus Padmé.
Timeframe: Basic Original Trilogy timeframe, but I tweaked the ages a little. Luke and Leia are twenty and Han's twenty-seven. Anakin/Vader is forty-three, Padmé's forty-seven and Obi-Wan is fifty-five.
Archive: In the highly unlikely event that someone would actually want to archive this – ask and I'll say yes. Just let me know where it's going.
Disclaimer: All things recognisably Star Wars belong to George Lucas. I just like making up my own stories. ALL HAIL LUCAS!
A/N: Italic is thought. This story came from my irritation at Padmé losing the will to live, even though she had children. It will have parts obviously taken from the movies, and then parts that are obviously not. I took dialogue and such from the movie scripts, so credit to the movies. Due to my weirdness, there are a couple of songfic chapters worked into this story - the songs belong to the songwriters. This is also my first attempt to write the Original Trilogy characters, so I apologise for any OOC-ness. The prologue is first in Padmé's POV, then in Darth Vader's, set before the events of ANH. Please review - I go insanely happy when I get them, and I like being on that kind of high!
I did not die.
I remember faintly hearing the droid tell Obi-Wan that I had lost the will to live. "She's dying?" Obi-Wan had asked incredulously. They were right, in a way. My husband, my Anakin, had been my heart and my life. But he had turned away from me, away from the path of light and into darkness, taking a part of me with him. How could I live on when my husband was gone?
And yet, I did.
And all because of my beautiful children.
The last thing I said before I passed out was that there was still good in Anakin. And in my unconscious state, a part of me wanted desperately to let go.
He's gone! it cried. What more do you have? The Republic is gone, your husband is gone – there's nothing left!
I had my children.
I would live for them, and keep them safe from the new threat of the Empire.
And so I hung on, and I woke up hours later.
Obi-Wan entered with my babies, my Luke and Leia, and placed them in my arms. The moment I saw his face, I knew that Anakin was dead. Yet I could not blame my friend – he had done what he had to, and the pain and grief etched on his face behind his sad half-smile told me that it had torn him apart to fight my husband.
That day, my children were separated. Leia came to live on Alderaan with Bail Organa's family and me, and Luke was sent to Tatooine to live with his uncle Owen and aunt Beru. Obi-Wan went with him, as his distant 'uncle'. He and Master Yoda said that my children would be better protected from the Emperor if they were separated. Nobody knew of their existence, and so they would be safe.
I adopted the family name of Organa, and Leia grew up with me and 'Uncle Bail'. I worked to found and lead the Rebel Alliance, and now my twenty-year-old daughter – a beautiful, headstrong young woman – is a leader of the Alliance. We fight against the oppression of the Empire. Against the Emperor and his new apprentice, Darth Vader. Against the sweeping tide of darkness that constantly threatens the galaxy.
My love for my Anakin weakened me – I had lost my edge, my fire. Even now, twenty years later, I keep thinking that if I had been stronger, I might have saved him. But I wasn't, and I didn't. Now, my love that once burned with as much heat as the volcanoes of Mustafar is a cold, dull pain that will burn again only when I am home again, reunited with my family. My love once made me weak, but I will not be weak again. My children need me to be strong. I will fight on for them. My love for them will make me strong.
I did not die.
I lay on the sands, slowly, painfully pulling myself up the embankment with my remaining arm. The stumps of what was left of my legs caught fire in the lava, and I watched in anger and agony as my former master turned away, unable to face what he believed was my demise. "I hate you!" I screamed at him as he struggled away. I rolled and beat the fire out and crawled as far as I could before collapsing.
When I awoke, I was clad in black, powerful with a new set of mechanical limbs, except for my left arm, which remained flesh. The power of the Dark Side flowed in my veins and I was ready to save my angel, my wife.
But then my Master revealed the truth.
She was dead.
I killed her.
I had nothing left. My wife and child gone, my 'family' gone, all at my hands. Nothing was left but the Emperor, the Dark Side and the anger and hatred and guilt that burned within me.
I could not bear to look upon the face of my wife's murderer. I constructed a mask to hide my face away, and my transformation into Darth Vader was complete.
Anakin Skywalker still lives within me somewhere, but I do not allow his voice to speak. I direct my anger and loathing away from myself so I cannot feel the pain, but I deserve to suffer for my deeds.
Even now, twenty years from her death, I will not speak her name aloud. I will not speak the name of my former Master, the man I thought was my brother.
Yet when I am alone, I cannot help remembering. I wait for relief from my daily torture, release from my prison, but still I live on. No freedom, no family, no home.
Will I never escape?
Will nobody save me?
I cannot save myself.
I am lost.