by Karen Miller
It was true. He hadn’t. Because Anakin wasn’t like other Padawans. Anakin remembered his mother. More than that, he was bonded with her. Their ties were primal and could not easily be broken. But the Council had known that when it accepted him for training, so it hardly seemed fair to criticize him for it. Neither was it fair not to give him a little leeway because of it. So he had… because Yoda was right about one thing, at least. Attachment was something he did understand.
“Because of attachment to his mother,” Yoda continued, his expression severe, “to Tatooine did young Skywalker go, defying your direct instructions.”
Obi-Wan stared. “I don’t—we didn’t—he has not told me why he left Naboo. There was no time to discuss it. Events on Geonosis moved too quickly.”
“To Shmi Skywalker has something happened, I fear,” said Yoda quietly.
“What?”
“Sensed young Skywalker in the Force, I did. Great pain. Great anger. A terrible tragedy.”
Oh no. “He’s said nothing to me, Master Yoda. If something had happened to his mother, I’m sure he’d tell me.”
He’d tell me, wouldn’t he? Or wouldn’t I sense it?
Except he’d been so angry with Anakin, so disappointed and frustrated. By the boy’s rank disobedience. For letting himself be captured. For dragging Padmé down with him. So when they’d seen each other in that Geonosis arena, he’d been distracted, his senses clouded by emotion.
Attachment, interfering again.
“Hmmm,” Yoda said, still pacing. Then he stopped, his eyes half lidded, his mouth pursed in the way that made every sensible Jedi wary. The gimer stick rapped once, hard on the floor. “Senator Amidala. Aware of your Padawan’s feelings for her, were you?”
Obi-Wan dropped his gaze to his hands, still folded in his lap. “I… know he admired her greatly as a small boy. I realized when we were assigned to her protection that he hadn’t forgotten that admiration, or her.” He looked up. “I did remind him, Master, that the path he’s chosen forbids anything but a warm cordiality between them.”
Yoda’s eyes narrowed farther. “Heed your reminder, Obi-Wan, he did not.”
Obi-Wan felt his heart thud. Yoda knew. His desperate argument with Anakin in the gunship as they pursued Dooku to their doom. Anakin’s wild insistence on abandoning duty to save Padmé. Yoda knew.
“While Anakin sleeps, to Senator Amidala you will go,” Yoda continued. “Ended his relationship with her must be, before more trouble it causes. Know this better than most do you, Obi-Wan.”
Siri. Old pain, swiftly pulsing, thrust swiftly aside. Another life. Another Obi-Wan. Yoda was right. Anakin’s attachment to Padmé could not continue. It had already proven itself a dangerous distraction.
I survived the loss. Anakin will survive it, too.
The only problem was…
The way she ran to Anakin, so gravely wounded in that cavern. The tenderness in her eyes, her touch. Her fierce protection of him on the journey back to Coruscant. How she ignored her own pain for his. And how she fought to see him, here in the Temple.
“Master Yoda, I fear the matter is not quite so straightforward,” he said carefully. “I believe Anakin’s feelings are reciprocated. It’s likely Senator Amidala will resent my intrusion into her private affairs.”
“Private affairs?” Yoda’s ears lifted, and his eyes opened wide. “Privacy there is not where a Jedi is involved. Of no importance are her feelings, Obi-Wan. This relationship you will end.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master,” he said, reaching for the perfectly self-disciplined and tranquil Jedi. Beneath the surface, doubts seethed.
“Go now, Obi-Wan,” said Yoda. “Nothing to be gained there is by waiting.”
“Yes, Master,” he said again.
After all, he had no choice.
Chapter Three
Though the night was still young, Padmeé lay in her darkened chamber seeking the blessed oblivion of sleep. Unfortunately, sleep remained stubbornly elusive.
I told Anakin I loved him because I thought we were about to die. But we survived… and now there’s no going back. He is my heart. We belong to each other for life.
Restless, she shifted beneath her light sheets, tormented by the memory of running into the cavern on Geonosis, seeing him so dreadfully hurt and lost. Seeing his severed arm, abandoned in the dirt. Such a wounding, coming so hard on the heels of his mother’s brutal slaughter. Of what had happened afterward.
And because they hadn’t been alone, because Obi-Wan was there, and the truly formidable Yoda, she hadn’t been able to kiss him, or weep with him. A hug was all she’d been allowed. Yoda’s clone troopers had moved her aside so they could support him, help him into the gunship, help him board the starship that had carried them home.
That had been the worst pain of all.
Her closed chamber door chimed. What? With a resentful sigh she pulled on a robe and answered it. “Threepio, I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Oh, Mistress Padmé, please forgive me,” said the agitated droid. “I did try to convince him to go away, but he’s insistent, almost rude, so unlike him, and—”
“Who is? Who’s here?”
“Why, Master Kenobi,” C-3PO replied. “And he says he won’t leave until the two of you have spoken.”
Something must have happened. Anakin. “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment,” she said, her mouth dry. “Offer him refreshments. I won’t be long.”
As soon as the door closed behind the droid she tore off her sleepwear and pulled on a simple but elegant blue dress instead. Clothes were armor. If he’d brought her bad news—if Anakin was—she didn’t want to face him at the smallest disadvantage.
But Anakin’s not dead. If he were dead, I would know.
Obi-Wan was waiting for her in the living room, neatly dressed in a fresh Jedi tunic and leggings. From the way he stood there, steady on his feet, his face no longer pale and twisted with pain, it was clear the healers had seen to the lightsaber wounds that had rendered him more helpless than she’d believed was possible.
“Obi-Wan,” she said, joining him. “Have you come to take me back to the Temple? Am I permitted to see Anakin now?”
He bowed his head briefly, hands clasped before him. “No, Senator Amidala. I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Senator. Not Padmé. And nothing in his manner but a stiff formality.
“I see,” she said, guarded. “In that case, given recent events, can’t your errand wait? I’m tired. I need to rest.”
“I do appreciate that, Senator,” he said. “And I am sorry to disturb you, but no. This cannot wait.”
Really? Well, that wasn’t for him to decide, was it? Her home. Her rules. She folded her arms. “Have you seen Anakin?”
If he was annoyed, he didn’t show it. “He’s resting comfortably. There’s no need for you to be concerned.”
So cool, he was. Positively indifferent. Anyone would think he spoke of a mere acquaintance. But she knew better.
C-3PO returned with Karlini tea. Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. Thank you.”
She took a cup, for the distraction as much as anything, then nodded a dismissal at the fussy droid Anakin had built. “That’s all. I’ll call you if I need you again.”
As the door closed behind 3PO, she turned back to Obi-Wan. “Why are you here?”
He hesitated, then sighed. Abandoned his nonsensical reserve. “Because we need to talk, Padmé.”
She felt her heart thud. “I see. Well, if we’re going to talk, let’s do so in comfort.” She gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Please. Be seated.”
Another hesitation, then he nodded. “Thank you,” he said, subdued, and folded himself onto a chair.
She chose the sofa opposite and considered him over the rim of her teacup. His spine was straight, his shoulders braced as though he expected trouble. Some kind of attack. And surprisingly, he seemed at a sudden loss for words.
All right, then. I’
ll make the first move.
She put the cup down on the small table beside her. “Even though you’re concerned for Anakin—and I know you are, so don’t bother with the stoic-Jedi act—I imagine you’re not very pleased with him right now. But you should know, Obi-Wan, he did not disobey his orders lightly.”
Startled, he stared at her. Then he pulled a wry face. “Which time do you mean? When he left Naboo for Tatooine, or Tatooine for Geonosis?”
“Both times. Obi-Wan, no matter what you might think, he takes being a Jedi very seriously. It’s all he talks about. Being a Jedi, and not disappointing you. He—”
But Obi-Wan wasn’t listening. He stared into the distance, his eyes shadowed, his expression grim. And then he looked at her. “What happened to Anakin’s mother, Padmé?”
The question jolted her, unpleasantly. She hadn’t realized he knew anything was wrong. “What happened? She died.”
And that jolted him. Good.
“What do you mean, she died?” he said, sounding shaken. “How? And where was Anakin? What—”
She held up a hand, halting the spate of questions. It wasn’t her place to discuss Shmi Skywalker’s death with this man. Not her death… and not what had happened to the Sand People afterward.
“I’m sorry. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Anakin.”
And Obi-Wan didn’t like that, but he was smart enough not to push. “I can forgive him going to Tatooine, if—if the decision involved his mother,” he said. “But in going to Geonosis he was willfully disobedient, he—”
“No, Obi-Wan. That was my decision, not his.”
“Yours?”
“That’s right. Anakin wanted to save you from the Separatists and he wanted to obey Master Windu. Obviously he couldn’t do both, so I made the choice for him. The one he wanted to make but was afraid to, because of the consequences. Because whatever choice he made, he would have been wrong.”
Obi-Wan frowned at her. “Following a direct order from the Jedi Council is never wrong, Senator. Disobeying an order, that is the error.”
“Qui-Gon disregarded the Council quite often,” she retorted. “He told me so, on Tatooine. He said it was the height of folly to substitute someone else’s judgment for your own, when you’re the person best placed to decide.” Picking up her cup again, she took a small sip of tea. “I’d be very surprised if he never gave you the same advice, Obi-Wan.”
His eyes blanked. His expression froze. “I have not come here to discuss Qui-Gon Jinn.”
She couldn’t help shivering, his voice was so cold. This was the Obi-Wan who could reduce Anakin to chastened silence. Almost to tears. But I won’t be intimidated. He has no right to chastise me.
She put down the cup again. “Fine. Then let’s discuss this. If you had died in that arena because he didn’t go to your aid, Anakin would have been devastated. Do you honestly think I’d stand by and let that happen?”
“Your actions are not the point, Padmé. The point is that Anakin shouldn’t have let it happen. He is a Jedi. He is required to put duty before his personal feelings.”
“And he did! He was prepared to do what Master Windu told him. I’m the one who decided to rescue you. And as my appointed bodyguard Anakin had no choice but to tag along.”
That earned her a look tinged with bitterness. “Very creative of you, Senator,” said Obi-Wan. “Qui-Gon would be proud.”
She leaned forward, trying to reach him. To reach through that self-possessed, deflecting Jedi manner. “Anakin admires you so much, Obi-Wan. He needs to know you trust him.”
He nodded. “He does know.”
“Really?” She sat back. “I wonder.”
“You don’t believe me? Why not?”
“Because if he believed you trusted him, he’d be less uncertain.”
“Less uncertain?” echoed Obi-Wan, incredulous. “Padmé, Anakin’s problem is not a lack of certainty. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s his overconfidence that has proven his undoing. Had he not disobeyed me, not leapt in to face Dooku alone, he would not now be lying unconscious in the Temple, waiting for them to complete construction of his prosthetic arm!”
“So,” she said, her heart pounding. “You blame Anakin for what happened.”
Obi-Wan stood and half turned away from her. “I did not come here to rehash the events on Geonosis. That is Jedi business, not yours.”
“Then get to the point or return to the Temple, Obi-Wan,” she retorted. “I didn’t invite you here. And I’ve permitted you to stay as a courtesy, no more.”
Slowly he turned back to her. His face was pale, his clear blue eyes darkened with difficult emotions. “The point is there can be no hope for anything but a civil cordiality between you and Anakin, Senator. He has made a commitment to the Jedi Order. His life is with us. To dream otherwise is folly.”
She felt a shimmer of rage in her blood, like heat haze dancing on the Tatooine desert. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t take me for a fool, Padmé!” he snapped. “Of course you do. He has feelings for you. Strong feelings that cloud his judgment and make him disobedient to the Order. Are you going to pretend you don’t have similar feelings for him?”
“My feelings are my own affair!”
“Not when they involve a Jedi!”
Breathing harshly, they glared at each other. If she could see pain in him, surely he could see it in her, too.
“This is why you came?” she whispered. “To tell me I must forget Anakin?”
“I came because I was told to,” Obi-Wan replied, after a moment. “And because I’m trying to protect him. And you, though I don’t expect you to believe that. But Padmé…” He dropped to the edge of his seat again, touched his fingertips to her knee. “It’s true. You must know that to pursue this any further will only lead to heartbreak for both of you. If you do love Anakin, you must let him go. He can’t love you and be a Jedi. And he was born to be a Jedi. He has a destiny greater than you or I can imagine. If he is not free to pursue it, a great many people may pay a dreadful price. Is that what you want?”
She blinked rapidly, banishing tears. “And do you love him so little you would have him condemned to a lifetime of loneliness, all in the name of some prophecy not a one of your precious Jedi Council can say for certain is true?”
Again Obi-Wan stood, and this time he walked away. “If I did not… love… him,” he said, his voice unsteady, his back turned, “I would not be here now.”
She leapt to her feet. “Then I think you and I define love very differently. I will never do anything to hurt Anakin. Can you say the same, Obi-Wan?”
He swung around, his eyes blazing. “That’s a stupid, childish thing to say!”
“Obi-Wan, I am worried for him. Can’t you understand that?”
He took a deep breath. Let it out, hard, regaining his composure. “Padmé, you’re wrong if you think I don’t realize what I’m asking. I do. The life of a Jedi is lonely. It demands of us the greatest sacrifices. The placing of our needs last, and those of strangers first. But how much suffering would there be if the Jedi abandoned their duty? Is that what you want? Is that what you think Anakin wants?”
He wants to serve the Jedi, and he wants to love and be loved. I refuse to accept he must be forced to choose.
“I have no authority over you,” Obi-Wan continued. “I’m perfectly aware of that. But I would ask you—beg you—to do this one thing. Leave Coruscant. Return to Naboo. Give Anakin the time he needs to recover from his injury… and realize what you and I already know: that going your separate ways is the only possible remedy for this unfortunate situation.”
She blinked back stinging tears. You say you understand, Obi-Wan, but you don’t. In every way that counts you don’t know Anakin at all. But I do. I know him. I have seen his true heart. All of it. My love can save him.
But she couldn’t tell Obi-Wan that. He’d never believe it. And he would never turn a blind eye now that he knew
she and Anakin loved each other. So she had to make him think he’d convinced her to abandon Anakin. The need for such a deception grieved her. She liked Obi-Wan, very much. And she knew he did love Anakin, in the pallid, self-contained way of the Jedi. But Anakin’s love was like the heat of a supernova. In attempting to control it, the Jedi would destroy him.
I will die before I let that happen.
She lifted her gaze. “Do you truly believe my love can only harm him?”
“Yes, Padmé,” he said, and had to clear his throat. “I do.”
It wasn’t hard to let the tears rise again. The simple sincerity in his voice hurt her, and she hadn’t been expecting that. “I see.”
“I am sorry,” he said, sounding helpless. “I wish things could be different. I truly do. But you must understand… no good can come of this relationship, for either of you.”
“Perhaps—perhaps you’re right,” she whispered, with just enough reluctance.
“I am.”
She stifled a sob. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“I know, Padmé. But better a small cruelty now than a crushing devastation later.”
Now she let the tears flow without restraint. “He’ll never forgive me.”
Obi-Wan took a step closer. “Perhaps not,” he said, his voice unsteady. “But could you forgive yourself if loving you destroyed him?”
“No. I’d die,” she said simply. And spoke the utter truth.
“Then you know what to do.”
“Yes,” she whispered, still weeping. “I’ll leave Coruscant. Spend some time with my family. And—perhaps I won’t return. To be honest, I’m not certain I can make a difference anymore. I lost the battle against the formation of the army and now I fear the voices of peace have been drowned out entirely. I do need some time to decide what I’ll do next.”
Surprising her, Obi-Wan took her hand. His fingers were cold. “You’re wrong. The Senate will need you now more than ever.”
