Post by obiamidala on Jun 3, 2010 21:39:10 GMT -4
by Noobianrose
Title: Dreamscape
Rating: PG-13 (or “T” as you prefer)
Pairing: Obidala (duh!)
Summary: On the one year anniversary of Padmé’s death, Obi-Wan reflects on the loss of his love. Intrigue, romance, and supernatural experiences ensue.
A/N: This one is pretty deep you guys. Sorry about that. I tried to come up with something more cheery, but I wrote the first part of this after I lost a member of my family who I loved very much. So it can be quite sad. I tried to turn it around at the end though. Enjoy. Also, I wanted to mention that one of the scenes I allude to in this story is from the RotS novelization by Matthew Stover (and was, as we know, deleted from the film).
Warnings: TISSUE WARNING!
~~
A heavy sigh escaped Obi-Wan’s lips, now cracked and dry thanks to Tatooine’s harsh desert environment, as he entered his hovel and dropped a large bag of supplies at his feet. His eyes traveled around the small, cramped dwelling. It was dark and mercifully cool compared to the blistering twin suns outside and Obi-Wan knew that he should be grateful for this safe haven. So many of his brothers and sisters had been slaughtered; all but he and Master Yoda. They were both lucky to be alive.
But while he believed completely in the will of the Force, and had accepted his fate on the desert planet, the year he had spent here had left him weary. He was tired of the dust and the heat and the sandstorms. Most of all, however, he was tired of the isolation. Even with the Force around him all the time, and the endless hours of serene meditation, Obi-Wan was lonely, left only with the pain and fear he spent most of his time trying to release.
He tried not to dwell on it. He knew that the time of redemption for the Jedi and the downfall of the Sith would come, it was inevitable. That understanding, unfortunately, did not stop the unwanted hurt from returning. It welled up in his heart much against his will. He thought about the Order to which he had given his life, now fractured and all but dead. He thought about Anakin; his brother and his student. The prophesied “Chosen One” who had betrayed them all.
And he thought about Padmé. Another victim of Anakin’s “love” and betrayal.
That pain had been the hardest to deal with, much to his surprise. It was an ache that was supposed to have been left on Naboo one year ago, along with her body.
One year.
One year ago today.
Obi-Wan blinked twice in realization, feeling the pressure of hot tears build behind his eyes, but pushed them back, as he had been unable to do then . . .
Obi-Wan had watched from a distance, a pair of electro-binoculars held to his eyes while her funeral procession passed by him in the plaza below. Thousands had turned out to pay their respects to their dedicated public servant and most beloved former queen. And, despite the sadness of all the onlookers, and those following the open casket on foot, she looked simply beautiful. As she always had. There was no sadness on her still face. Serenity and calm graced her features despite all that she had endured during her all too short life.
From his vantage point, high above in one of the surrounding buildings, the Jedi had shed his tears. It was not until that very moment, as he watched her mesmerizing face disappear into the flames of her funeral pyre, that he realized all she had meant to him; how very deeply they had been connected. And how much he already missed her.
He held so much regret within his heart (which was terribly un-Jedi of him, though that seemed to matter less now than it once had). There was regret for decisions not made. Hell, decisions not even considered as possibilities. Such sadness. Even though he knew all of his decisions had been the correct ones.
Just like so many scars left by Anakin’s angry lightsaber, the scar left in his heart by the loss of Padmé could not be fully healed. Despite the passage of a year’s time. And, still pondering the events of a year past, older memories flooded the Jedi’s mind. Stunningly vivid, they ran past his consciousness like a river . . .
A seemingly demure handmaiden covered in folds of yellow and orange. She stayed in the shadows, always behind the “Queen” in her ostentatious black gown and feathered headdress. No amount of clothing or hiding, however, could mask her spirit from Obi-Wan. She radiated light and life through the Force and both of her Jedi protectors had known instantly who the true focus of their mission should be.
Ten years later, she was no longer a Queen and certainly no longer a child. The Senator moved and spoke with a fluid and mature grace, far beyond her years. But Padmé still retained that same spirit, a unique presence that captivated like no one else could.
Three years after that she lay on a table, semi-conscious. They were leaving the lava behind and her life-force, so bright and vibrant all the time he had known her, was slowly fading. Though not without a fight. Still, in the end, there was nothing that he could do. So Obi-Wan had helplessly touched her cheek, the only intimate contact he ever allowed between them. His heart had fluttered slightly as she responded to him, turning into his touch and seeming to relish his comfort; seeking out his life force as hers departed.
She had to hold on. Just a little longer . . .
Just long enough to see her children safely in the arms of Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Bail Organa.
And then, as Obi-Wan watched, Padmé Amidala (beautiful, strong Padmé) slipped away. That spirit he so loved, fading out like a candle snuffed out in a dark room. All would have been lost were it not for the two flickering embers that remained. Two beacons of hope and light that he and the birthing droid now gently cradled . . .
Within his small dwelling, his home for the last year and for the foreseeable future, Obi-Wan Kenobi felt very small and very cold. Only the thought of the children, those once tiny embers now beginning to burn with a constant and comforting light in the Force, kept the chill of death from taking hold of his spirit. He only wished Padmé were still here to see them grow. He wished she could see how forcefully and completely Luke and Leia would one day embrace the rebel cause that she herself had helped to create.
Though all that was still years away.
And she had loved them so. Even in the few brief moments she was able to look upon them. But not only would their mother never get the chance to see all the great things her children had yet to achieve, they themselves would never experience the exquisite grace and beauty of their mother. They wouldn’t be able to feel her arms around them, nor bask in the warmth of her smile.
None of them would . . .
A year ago (on top of all the pain that the Empire’s rise had wrought) the thought of her lifeless body and her now motherless children would have broken him down. But not now. He had shed his tears for all his fallen friends, Anakin included . . . and for Padmé. But that hadn’t changed anything. She was still gone, they all were, and he now had to make sure that the twins would be ready to bring the Force back into balance. He had to make damned sure that all those deaths were not in vain.
Later that evening, Obi-Wan ate a meager meal in his usual silence and then headed for bed. As he allowed his mind and his body to drift to sleep, he conjured one last image of her. She smiled brilliantly at him, bringing a welcome warmth to his cold heart.
Hopefully the following day would prove more positive than the one he was now leaving behind.
~~
But sleep did not come easily. The day had been difficult and his memories proved a heavy burden for even him to bear. And the dreams that met him were no easier. He relived pain, anger, and death once again. The collective cry of his friends as Order 66 was being carried out all over the galaxy. Anakin’s final words to him. Full of hatred and rage as he lay burning in liquid fire.
Mercifully, they did not last long. As suddenly as the images had invaded his consciousness, an unseen power forced his mind to quiet. He felt warm and safe. But where was he? Obi-Wan tried to open his yes, but bright sunlight met him and he could do nothing but blink into it.
Time passed. He didn’t know how long, but it took him a while to adjust to his new environment. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he eagerly took in every detail of his surroundings. And a small piece of his heart, that piece reserved only for her, ached inside his chest. Obi-Wan found himself back on Coruscant, in Padmé’s spacious apartment.
All was as it should have been. Just as he remembered it. There was nothing particularly odd about this. The subconscious usually chooses a familiar setting for dreams, something that the dreamer can easily relate to. What was odd though was that Obi-Wan was acutely aware that he was, in fact, dreaming.
He felt himself floating, as if he were the wind itself weaving its way into the room from the cityscape outside. Deeper and deeper, through the rooms, until he reached a closed door. The door leading to Padmé’s bedroom. Though somewhat disoriented, Obi-Wan did recognize this and curiously waited what was to come next.
And as floated there, without form or figure, the space beyond was suddenly opened to him . . .
It was dark. Empty. Clearly, no one had lived here in quite some time. There was no life here at all. She was gone, just as she had been when he went to sleep that night. But his mind was not allowed to linger on this sad thought for too long. Obi-Wan’s attention was forced back to the room, toward a small vanity resting on the wall to his right. It seemed to glow from the inside with a subtle white light, brightening that part of the room.
And he was being pulled toward it. Willed by an unseen force in the direction of the vanity. There was a deep significance connected to that small piece of furniture . . . with something of vital importance inside, something meant just for him. I need to know. I need to know the truth.
As he moved toward it, reaching out with an invisible hand to open a small drawer on the left side of the vanity, he heard a voice. It was sweet and familiar, echoing throughout the space and inside his head. “I have much to tell you, Ben,” she said, “much that I had been too afraid to tell you . . . it’s important.”
His heart soared. She was here. I’m here Padmé. I can hear you. What do you want me to know?
The voice continued, the tone now laced with a sense of urgency, “He will contact you, Obi-Wan. Even though you all agreed never to do so. You must trust him. You must listen to him. It will be alright. They won’t find you . . . I promise.”
The words were confused. He could barely hear her now. She was fading again. No . . . NO! Don’t go. The Jedi knew that time was running out and he did not have the power to keep her with him. Just as it had been when she died.
What do I do? Padmé . . . I don’t understand.
“You will,” she whispered softly, no longer an echo, right next to where his ear would have been.
~~
Weeks passed without incident. Each day took Obi-Wan farther and farther from his dream about Padmé and her words to him. Was it just a dream? Or was it something more? Anakin used to have prophetic dreams. Dreams that led an entire galaxy to ruin as the young man took it upon himself to change the future . . . In effect causing the very pain that he wished to avoid.
But Obi-Wan rarely had visions while he slept. That simply wasn’t how the Force generally worked through him. He would meditate, clear his mind and the images would come forth like flowing water. Never would it happen like this. And this felt different anyway.
Not that it really mattered anyway. Ultimately there wasn’t much that Obi-Wan could do, stuck as he was on his desert planet. He would just have to wait. Wait for someone to try and contact him . . . was that what she said? Someone wanted to talk to him? Maybe. It was hazy now, as the days had turned to weeks.
One thing remained true for him, however. Obi-Wan could still feel her soft breath on his neck as she spoke to him that last time. “You will,” she had said.
As he headed for the nearest port town to once again restock his supplies, the Jedi was reminded of his first visit to Tatooine. Trapped on the Queen’s royal starship while Qui-Gon, Jar-Jar, and Padmé journeyed to the city for some kind of help.
Trapped. Obi-Wan was always trapped on Tatooine.
Mos Espa probably looked quite like this, he thought to himself. And was difficult for him to picture Padmé, lovely creature that she was, in such a harsh environment. Spending a year in these elements had done unbelievably . . . unpleasant things to his skin in numerous . . . unspeakable places. He couldn’t see that soft, alabaster skin marred by bruises and sand rashes.
For all the harshness of this planet though, its cities still teemed with life. Species from all over the galaxy mingled here. Usually for purposes that were less than above-board, though such lawlessness mattered little to Obi-Wan these days. He tried to just keep to himself, especially when he ventured into the city. And, of course, because the Empire had taken control of most of the galaxy, any nefarious activity on the part of anyone would reflect poorly on the new established order. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Any rebellion was good rebellion, Obi-Wan thought.
With his hood over his head, shading his face from the sun and effectively hiding his presence from most everyone, the Jedi entered his usual store. As it was his custom to order what he needed for the next cycle while he was there picking up for the current one, the goods he needed were already waiting for him when he arrived. This cut down on any excess time spent in public, making the chance of someone recognizing him or embroiling him in trouble much smaller than they would have been otherwise. Of course he could always use his considerable power to boggle or confuse anyone who started trouble in the first place. But generally the less exposure the better.
“Good day, Sorran,” Obi-Wan greeted the proprietor quietly. He noticed with some relief that he was the only person in the store at the moment.
“Oh hello, Sir,” the man replied with a partially toothless smile, “on time as usual I see.”
“Indeed. Any problems with my order?”
The older human thought for a moment, seemingly unsure about how to answer the question. “Well . . . no, Sir, “he began slowly, “Not with the order really. But I was contacted by a man on the inner planets. He asked if I knew someone by your description. Said it was important. He sent this to go with your shipment.
Sorran held out a small box to Obi-Wan, who accepted it with not a little trepidation. He turned the box over in his hands, feeling the surface, and discovered nothing that would give him pause. It was black, smooth, and about six to seven inches in length. There were silver markings on it, engravings, denoting the origin of its make and design as the planet Alderaan.
The Jedi’s heart sped up a bit at the thought. Was Senator Organa looking for him? Had something happened? “What did this man look like, Sorran? Can you describe him?”
“Oh I don’t know, Sir. Tall guy. Very well dressed. Uppity kind of guy with black hair and a trimmed beard,” he answered.
His face a mask of calm, Obi-Wan nodded quietly and opened the box away from Sorran’s curious eyes. Inside was a small communication device, used only when one wished their conversation to remain private. Underneath was a folded, hand-written note: I’m sorry. I know we weren’t supposed to do this. But I think it’s important. It certainly was to her. Please trust me. –Bail.
Padmé’s voice flooded his mind again. ‘He will try to contact you,’ she had said, ‘You must trust him . . . I have so much to tell you, Ben.’ But did he dare? The Emperor was more powerful than any of them had imagined. Even more so now, with Vader at his side. Could he have gotten to the Senator? Were they using him to get to Obi-Wan? To find the children?
But no. He heard her words again, her voice growing stronger in his mind. He had to trust this. He had to trust her.
“Do you have a private comm station?” Obi-Wan asked innocently.
A moment passed and the shop owner eyed him with growing suspicion. “That from a friend of yours, Sir,” he asked.
The Jedi thought quickly. “Used to be,” he lied with a small smile, “But our friendship ended when he found out that I was able to make his wife a lot happier (and more satisfied) than he could . . . Perhaps he’s finally caught up with me.”
Sorran roared with laughter, clapping him on the back and complimenting the hooded man on his virility and the undoubtedly large size of his genitalia. Through continued chuckles, the man pointed near the back of his establishment. “You can find the stations back there, near the ‘freshers.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied. And with a small wave of his hand he added, “You never received a message from the man who sent this box, nor did you see the box itself. And you certainly did not see me take possession of it. All you’ll remember is me coming in for supplies, going to the back to use the fresher, and leaving with my goods.” Sorran dutifully repeated each word, a glazed look across his eyes.
~~
“Master Kenobi,” the Senator sighed, relief washing over his elegant features, “It is good to see you.”
“And you, Senator Organa,” Obi-Wan replied. The Jedi thought he looked much aged since the last time he had seen him. No doubt the goings on at the newly rechristened Imperial Senate were quite different than they were just a year ago. He could only imagine what the man had been through there.
Once such an outspoken voice, and so well known to disapprove of then-Chancellor Palpatine’s policies. The line between being an inconvenient pest in the Emperor’s eyes and a traitor to The Empire must be very fine indeed these days.
“Are you sure this is safe, Senator? As you mentioned in your note, we had agreed never to contact one another.” His Jedi eyes examined Bail Organa suspiciously, searching for the slightest hint that something may be amiss.
The Senator, for his part, seemed unfazed. He could hardly blame Obi-Wan for being surprised. And cautious. “No . . . I know,” Organa began, “And let me first say that I have taken every precaution to secure the integrity of this conversation. I trust that you have done the same?”
He had. Upon entering the small cubicle at the back of the shop, Obi-Wan had been quite diligent in his investigation of the space. He checked above and below each surface with both his eyes and his palm-scanner. Twice in fact. One could not be too careful, living in the times they did.
Only once he was completely satisfied that no one else was spying in, at least from his end, he placed the small comm. device he had been sent into the vid-link apparatus.
Thankfully, the Senate was not currently in session and the uplink had connected immediately to Senator Organa’s lavish home on Alderaan. The Senator, himself, appeared in an expensive-looking slik robe of blues and gold, his hair mussed and his eyes quite sleepy. Obi-Wan had, apparently, caught him in the middle of the night there.
And now they faced one another, for the first time in almost a year, an awkward silence falling between them. They had been made allies because of necessity, but Organa had proved a strong and trustworthy friend to the Jedi. “Forgive me for being concerned, Senator,” Obi-Wan began, “But is everything alright? Is your daughter well?”
“Oh yes. The little one is very well,” he said with a bright, beaming smile, “She is healthy and seems happy. My wife and I have grown to love her very much.”
Obi-Wan released the breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. That was good news at least. His first fear had been that little Leia’s location (and her true parentage) had somehow been discovered. But she was safe. Padmé’s daughter was safe and happy. And, with that mystery solved, the Jedi could do nothing but wonder why in the galaxy he was summoned for this conversation.
“I apologize, Master Kenobi. I’ll get right to the point.” Organa took a deep breath before continuing, “A few standard weeks ago, right before the Senate began its recess, I had a dream about Pad- . . . about Senator Amidala.”
A dream? About Padmé? Obi-Wan was intrigued and gladly let the man continue, uninterrupted.
“It was most surprising. It was almost as though I knew it was a dream. Like I knew I was dreaming. But I had no form to speak of. I was like a ghost moving through Padmé’s apartment on Coruscant.” He spoke the words with a mixture of pure wonder and utter confusion.
Obi-Wan nodded, knowingly. He could see in his mind’s eye everything Senator Organa related, having lived it himself. “It was as if you were the wind,” he confirmed, “as if you were blowing through her apartment.”
Bail Organa’s eyebrows rose slightly at Obi-Wan’s words, unsuccessfully trying to mask his intrigue. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I have . . . had a similar dream. What happened next, Senator?”
Bail recounted his dream. The bedroom (or what he assumed to be the bedroom, as he had never seen it personally), the strange light and, finally, the white vanity. Something had drawn him there, within the dream. There was something important about that small, seemingly innocuous, piece of furniture.
Obi-Wan was beyond intrigued. For weeks he had attempted to forget his own dream. Forget Padmé’s voice and the pain he still felt over her death. He tried to convince himself that the dream meant nothing. But this? Senator Organa having had the same dream, at around the same time, was quite curious indeed.
But he wasn’t sure he was willing to fully open up to the Senator just yet. “Why have you come to me with this, Senator? Dreams are often no more than that . . . and they always pass in time.”
Bail Organa chuckled at that. No doubt amused by the Jedi’s predictable retreat behind his wall of Jedi teachings, “Well it felt like more than that to me, Master Kenobi. Much more. And I couldn’t get it out of my head . . . So I went there.”
Obi-Wan felt his heart-rate increase, “You went where Senator?”
“To her apartment,” he answered slowly, “Don’t worry. I took great care not to be seen. There were no guards. It’s still a functioning residence for politicians on Coruscant but . . . her apartment is still empty. Just as she left it that day. Dust caked on every surface.” Bail hesitated then, a sadness clouding his eyes that Obi-Wan understood all too well. Senator Organa was a married man, a father now, but Padmé had been a dear friend to him as well as a political ally. And he felt her profound absence in that space just as Obi-Wan had in his dream.
“Did you find the vanity? And what was inside the drawer?” he asked, breaking Organa from his sudden malaise.
Bail nodded slowly, meeting the Jedi’s gaze with fierce determination, “There was a holocron inside. Full of data.” Obi-Wan rose an eyebrow and waited anxiously for the man to continue.
“In the weeks before her death, Padmé had done some incredible diplomatic work,” Organa recalled, “far from the eyes of Anakin and Palpatine. In secret she contacted several individuals across the entire galaxy. Individuals that took issue with the way the Chancellor governed. But these people also, by the same token, were completely loyal to the Republic itself.” The Senator paused for a moment, allowing himself a deep breath before he continued with renewed determination. His voice growing in intensity and excitement as he continued, “I’m not just talking about politicians, Obi-Wan; we already knew who we could trust in the Senate. I’m talking about local, provincial leaders. The people on the ground. People who could really help us with any rebellion we might yet be able to form. Leaders with influence and power who could possibly provide equipment, troops, and safe harbor . . .”
Obi-Wan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the weight of Bail Organa’s words beginning to sink into him. It was just like Padmé to be prepared for anything, he thought. Even the eventual collapse of the Galactic Republic. It made him incredibly proud. Proud of her. Of her unwavering tenacity. While the rest of them talked about the possibilities of what could have been happening, she had actually been doing something. At great personal risk to herself and her unborn children too.
“That is . . . very good news, Senator,” he managed after a time, “Was it just a list of individuals or was there more?”
“Oh no! Padmé was always very diligent with her work. It’s not just a list. It is,” Organa searched for the correct description, “. . . it’s a database almost. With the names, yes, but also the backgrounds of these people. Who they are, where they’re from, what resources they have that may be of use to us and what concerns they have had with Palpatine’s regime in the past.”
Most impressive, Obi-Wan had to admit. How on the face of Coruscant had she had the time to do all that? ‘We are talking about Padmé here,’ he reminded himself with a small, inward chuckle.
But when he looked back to the vid-screen, he noticed that Bail had paused. “What is it, Senator,” he pressed.
“She gave us everything,” he explained gently, “She saved everything. Almost as if she . . .” The man sighed deeply, a heavy sadness settling over him. “Obi-Wan it’s almost as if she knew she wouldn’t be around to help us with this.”
Had she known? Even as she spoke to him in her apartment that final day? Even as she defended Anakin to him within an inch of her life. Had she known she wouldn’t make it? The questions chilled Obi-Wan to his core. Truly chilled him. She had seemed so sure of Anakin’s ability to come back to them. Then again, even if she felt her life would be short, none of them could have guessed it would be by her husband’s hand.
“I see. Well, thank you for bringing me this news,” Obi-Wan offered with restrained sadness, “Oh Senator? Are we sure that you were the first to see this holocron?”
When the man nodded firmly, Obi-Wan managed what he could only assume to be a tense smile. Just as he was about to say his farewells he noticed that Senator Organa still remained fixed, his dark, pained eyes shifting nervously. Obi-Wan needn’t have been a Jedi Master to see that Bail clearly wrestled with something else on his mind. “Senator?” he pressed gently, “Was there something more you wished me to know?”
“Obi-Wan, I . . .” Organa sighed deeply, “There was a letter embedded within the datastream. I would not have even found it were I not looking for the smallest trace of malice or tampering.”
“Go on, Senator.”
“We discovered quickly that it was placed there on purpose. By the person who created the file. By Padmé.”
Bail looked sick. Nervous and now embarrassed. His distinguished air dissipating somewhat as his cheeks began to flush slightly. He looked as if he had been caught with his hand in the pastry jug and felt truly awful about the whole thing. “I am so sorry Obi-Wan,” he confessed, “I would not have looked at the file had I known what it was. Nor would I have risked contacting you simply to tell you about the database she left. But this letter was meant for you. And it was . . . important to her that you receive it. As her friend I could do no less than to ensure that.”
Once he had finished, Bail exhaled deeply and slumped slightly in his chair. Having finally completed this small task on behalf of his friend, he was clearly relieved. The two men sat in silence for some moments, unsure of how to continue this conversation. Senator Organa, whose knowledge of this letter’s contents had clearly surprised and embarrassed him, and Obi-Wan, who was simply left to wonder. And wonder he did. What could be so incredibly personal?
Their tension was suddenly broken by loud, although joyous sound. Bail Organa smiled and closed his eyes the cries of a young baby from somewhere just behind him. It resounded through the speakers to the Jedi’s ears. “Leia,” he said with a chuckle, “She has decided that she wishes to receive her meals in the middle of the night. That apparently is the most convenient time for her highness.”
Obi-Wan replied with a knowing grin, “Then I won’t keep you.”
“Oh Obi-Wan? The letter I spoke of? You can find it within the lining of the box I sent. In the top of the box. I thought that might protect it better from any scanners.”
The Jedi nodded his understanding and then, looking back to the monitor he said, “Thank you, Bail . . . for everything.”
“Of course. Goodnight.”
The screen flickered off with an audible “pop” and Obi-Wan was once again left alone. In a tiny cubicle, on the far reaches of the galaxy.
~~
To be continued . . .
Title: Dreamscape
Rating: PG-13 (or “T” as you prefer)
Pairing: Obidala (duh!)
Summary: On the one year anniversary of Padmé’s death, Obi-Wan reflects on the loss of his love. Intrigue, romance, and supernatural experiences ensue.
A/N: This one is pretty deep you guys. Sorry about that. I tried to come up with something more cheery, but I wrote the first part of this after I lost a member of my family who I loved very much. So it can be quite sad. I tried to turn it around at the end though. Enjoy. Also, I wanted to mention that one of the scenes I allude to in this story is from the RotS novelization by Matthew Stover (and was, as we know, deleted from the film).
Warnings: TISSUE WARNING!
~~
A heavy sigh escaped Obi-Wan’s lips, now cracked and dry thanks to Tatooine’s harsh desert environment, as he entered his hovel and dropped a large bag of supplies at his feet. His eyes traveled around the small, cramped dwelling. It was dark and mercifully cool compared to the blistering twin suns outside and Obi-Wan knew that he should be grateful for this safe haven. So many of his brothers and sisters had been slaughtered; all but he and Master Yoda. They were both lucky to be alive.
But while he believed completely in the will of the Force, and had accepted his fate on the desert planet, the year he had spent here had left him weary. He was tired of the dust and the heat and the sandstorms. Most of all, however, he was tired of the isolation. Even with the Force around him all the time, and the endless hours of serene meditation, Obi-Wan was lonely, left only with the pain and fear he spent most of his time trying to release.
He tried not to dwell on it. He knew that the time of redemption for the Jedi and the downfall of the Sith would come, it was inevitable. That understanding, unfortunately, did not stop the unwanted hurt from returning. It welled up in his heart much against his will. He thought about the Order to which he had given his life, now fractured and all but dead. He thought about Anakin; his brother and his student. The prophesied “Chosen One” who had betrayed them all.
And he thought about Padmé. Another victim of Anakin’s “love” and betrayal.
That pain had been the hardest to deal with, much to his surprise. It was an ache that was supposed to have been left on Naboo one year ago, along with her body.
One year.
One year ago today.
Obi-Wan blinked twice in realization, feeling the pressure of hot tears build behind his eyes, but pushed them back, as he had been unable to do then . . .
Obi-Wan had watched from a distance, a pair of electro-binoculars held to his eyes while her funeral procession passed by him in the plaza below. Thousands had turned out to pay their respects to their dedicated public servant and most beloved former queen. And, despite the sadness of all the onlookers, and those following the open casket on foot, she looked simply beautiful. As she always had. There was no sadness on her still face. Serenity and calm graced her features despite all that she had endured during her all too short life.
From his vantage point, high above in one of the surrounding buildings, the Jedi had shed his tears. It was not until that very moment, as he watched her mesmerizing face disappear into the flames of her funeral pyre, that he realized all she had meant to him; how very deeply they had been connected. And how much he already missed her.
He held so much regret within his heart (which was terribly un-Jedi of him, though that seemed to matter less now than it once had). There was regret for decisions not made. Hell, decisions not even considered as possibilities. Such sadness. Even though he knew all of his decisions had been the correct ones.
Just like so many scars left by Anakin’s angry lightsaber, the scar left in his heart by the loss of Padmé could not be fully healed. Despite the passage of a year’s time. And, still pondering the events of a year past, older memories flooded the Jedi’s mind. Stunningly vivid, they ran past his consciousness like a river . . .
A seemingly demure handmaiden covered in folds of yellow and orange. She stayed in the shadows, always behind the “Queen” in her ostentatious black gown and feathered headdress. No amount of clothing or hiding, however, could mask her spirit from Obi-Wan. She radiated light and life through the Force and both of her Jedi protectors had known instantly who the true focus of their mission should be.
Ten years later, she was no longer a Queen and certainly no longer a child. The Senator moved and spoke with a fluid and mature grace, far beyond her years. But Padmé still retained that same spirit, a unique presence that captivated like no one else could.
Three years after that she lay on a table, semi-conscious. They were leaving the lava behind and her life-force, so bright and vibrant all the time he had known her, was slowly fading. Though not without a fight. Still, in the end, there was nothing that he could do. So Obi-Wan had helplessly touched her cheek, the only intimate contact he ever allowed between them. His heart had fluttered slightly as she responded to him, turning into his touch and seeming to relish his comfort; seeking out his life force as hers departed.
She had to hold on. Just a little longer . . .
Just long enough to see her children safely in the arms of Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Bail Organa.
And then, as Obi-Wan watched, Padmé Amidala (beautiful, strong Padmé) slipped away. That spirit he so loved, fading out like a candle snuffed out in a dark room. All would have been lost were it not for the two flickering embers that remained. Two beacons of hope and light that he and the birthing droid now gently cradled . . .
Within his small dwelling, his home for the last year and for the foreseeable future, Obi-Wan Kenobi felt very small and very cold. Only the thought of the children, those once tiny embers now beginning to burn with a constant and comforting light in the Force, kept the chill of death from taking hold of his spirit. He only wished Padmé were still here to see them grow. He wished she could see how forcefully and completely Luke and Leia would one day embrace the rebel cause that she herself had helped to create.
Though all that was still years away.
And she had loved them so. Even in the few brief moments she was able to look upon them. But not only would their mother never get the chance to see all the great things her children had yet to achieve, they themselves would never experience the exquisite grace and beauty of their mother. They wouldn’t be able to feel her arms around them, nor bask in the warmth of her smile.
None of them would . . .
A year ago (on top of all the pain that the Empire’s rise had wrought) the thought of her lifeless body and her now motherless children would have broken him down. But not now. He had shed his tears for all his fallen friends, Anakin included . . . and for Padmé. But that hadn’t changed anything. She was still gone, they all were, and he now had to make sure that the twins would be ready to bring the Force back into balance. He had to make damned sure that all those deaths were not in vain.
Later that evening, Obi-Wan ate a meager meal in his usual silence and then headed for bed. As he allowed his mind and his body to drift to sleep, he conjured one last image of her. She smiled brilliantly at him, bringing a welcome warmth to his cold heart.
Hopefully the following day would prove more positive than the one he was now leaving behind.
~~
But sleep did not come easily. The day had been difficult and his memories proved a heavy burden for even him to bear. And the dreams that met him were no easier. He relived pain, anger, and death once again. The collective cry of his friends as Order 66 was being carried out all over the galaxy. Anakin’s final words to him. Full of hatred and rage as he lay burning in liquid fire.
Mercifully, they did not last long. As suddenly as the images had invaded his consciousness, an unseen power forced his mind to quiet. He felt warm and safe. But where was he? Obi-Wan tried to open his yes, but bright sunlight met him and he could do nothing but blink into it.
Time passed. He didn’t know how long, but it took him a while to adjust to his new environment. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he eagerly took in every detail of his surroundings. And a small piece of his heart, that piece reserved only for her, ached inside his chest. Obi-Wan found himself back on Coruscant, in Padmé’s spacious apartment.
All was as it should have been. Just as he remembered it. There was nothing particularly odd about this. The subconscious usually chooses a familiar setting for dreams, something that the dreamer can easily relate to. What was odd though was that Obi-Wan was acutely aware that he was, in fact, dreaming.
He felt himself floating, as if he were the wind itself weaving its way into the room from the cityscape outside. Deeper and deeper, through the rooms, until he reached a closed door. The door leading to Padmé’s bedroom. Though somewhat disoriented, Obi-Wan did recognize this and curiously waited what was to come next.
And as floated there, without form or figure, the space beyond was suddenly opened to him . . .
It was dark. Empty. Clearly, no one had lived here in quite some time. There was no life here at all. She was gone, just as she had been when he went to sleep that night. But his mind was not allowed to linger on this sad thought for too long. Obi-Wan’s attention was forced back to the room, toward a small vanity resting on the wall to his right. It seemed to glow from the inside with a subtle white light, brightening that part of the room.
And he was being pulled toward it. Willed by an unseen force in the direction of the vanity. There was a deep significance connected to that small piece of furniture . . . with something of vital importance inside, something meant just for him. I need to know. I need to know the truth.
As he moved toward it, reaching out with an invisible hand to open a small drawer on the left side of the vanity, he heard a voice. It was sweet and familiar, echoing throughout the space and inside his head. “I have much to tell you, Ben,” she said, “much that I had been too afraid to tell you . . . it’s important.”
His heart soared. She was here. I’m here Padmé. I can hear you. What do you want me to know?
The voice continued, the tone now laced with a sense of urgency, “He will contact you, Obi-Wan. Even though you all agreed never to do so. You must trust him. You must listen to him. It will be alright. They won’t find you . . . I promise.”
The words were confused. He could barely hear her now. She was fading again. No . . . NO! Don’t go. The Jedi knew that time was running out and he did not have the power to keep her with him. Just as it had been when she died.
What do I do? Padmé . . . I don’t understand.
“You will,” she whispered softly, no longer an echo, right next to where his ear would have been.
~~
Weeks passed without incident. Each day took Obi-Wan farther and farther from his dream about Padmé and her words to him. Was it just a dream? Or was it something more? Anakin used to have prophetic dreams. Dreams that led an entire galaxy to ruin as the young man took it upon himself to change the future . . . In effect causing the very pain that he wished to avoid.
But Obi-Wan rarely had visions while he slept. That simply wasn’t how the Force generally worked through him. He would meditate, clear his mind and the images would come forth like flowing water. Never would it happen like this. And this felt different anyway.
Not that it really mattered anyway. Ultimately there wasn’t much that Obi-Wan could do, stuck as he was on his desert planet. He would just have to wait. Wait for someone to try and contact him . . . was that what she said? Someone wanted to talk to him? Maybe. It was hazy now, as the days had turned to weeks.
One thing remained true for him, however. Obi-Wan could still feel her soft breath on his neck as she spoke to him that last time. “You will,” she had said.
As he headed for the nearest port town to once again restock his supplies, the Jedi was reminded of his first visit to Tatooine. Trapped on the Queen’s royal starship while Qui-Gon, Jar-Jar, and Padmé journeyed to the city for some kind of help.
Trapped. Obi-Wan was always trapped on Tatooine.
Mos Espa probably looked quite like this, he thought to himself. And was difficult for him to picture Padmé, lovely creature that she was, in such a harsh environment. Spending a year in these elements had done unbelievably . . . unpleasant things to his skin in numerous . . . unspeakable places. He couldn’t see that soft, alabaster skin marred by bruises and sand rashes.
For all the harshness of this planet though, its cities still teemed with life. Species from all over the galaxy mingled here. Usually for purposes that were less than above-board, though such lawlessness mattered little to Obi-Wan these days. He tried to just keep to himself, especially when he ventured into the city. And, of course, because the Empire had taken control of most of the galaxy, any nefarious activity on the part of anyone would reflect poorly on the new established order. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Any rebellion was good rebellion, Obi-Wan thought.
With his hood over his head, shading his face from the sun and effectively hiding his presence from most everyone, the Jedi entered his usual store. As it was his custom to order what he needed for the next cycle while he was there picking up for the current one, the goods he needed were already waiting for him when he arrived. This cut down on any excess time spent in public, making the chance of someone recognizing him or embroiling him in trouble much smaller than they would have been otherwise. Of course he could always use his considerable power to boggle or confuse anyone who started trouble in the first place. But generally the less exposure the better.
“Good day, Sorran,” Obi-Wan greeted the proprietor quietly. He noticed with some relief that he was the only person in the store at the moment.
“Oh hello, Sir,” the man replied with a partially toothless smile, “on time as usual I see.”
“Indeed. Any problems with my order?”
The older human thought for a moment, seemingly unsure about how to answer the question. “Well . . . no, Sir, “he began slowly, “Not with the order really. But I was contacted by a man on the inner planets. He asked if I knew someone by your description. Said it was important. He sent this to go with your shipment.
Sorran held out a small box to Obi-Wan, who accepted it with not a little trepidation. He turned the box over in his hands, feeling the surface, and discovered nothing that would give him pause. It was black, smooth, and about six to seven inches in length. There were silver markings on it, engravings, denoting the origin of its make and design as the planet Alderaan.
The Jedi’s heart sped up a bit at the thought. Was Senator Organa looking for him? Had something happened? “What did this man look like, Sorran? Can you describe him?”
“Oh I don’t know, Sir. Tall guy. Very well dressed. Uppity kind of guy with black hair and a trimmed beard,” he answered.
His face a mask of calm, Obi-Wan nodded quietly and opened the box away from Sorran’s curious eyes. Inside was a small communication device, used only when one wished their conversation to remain private. Underneath was a folded, hand-written note: I’m sorry. I know we weren’t supposed to do this. But I think it’s important. It certainly was to her. Please trust me. –Bail.
Padmé’s voice flooded his mind again. ‘He will try to contact you,’ she had said, ‘You must trust him . . . I have so much to tell you, Ben.’ But did he dare? The Emperor was more powerful than any of them had imagined. Even more so now, with Vader at his side. Could he have gotten to the Senator? Were they using him to get to Obi-Wan? To find the children?
But no. He heard her words again, her voice growing stronger in his mind. He had to trust this. He had to trust her.
“Do you have a private comm station?” Obi-Wan asked innocently.
A moment passed and the shop owner eyed him with growing suspicion. “That from a friend of yours, Sir,” he asked.
The Jedi thought quickly. “Used to be,” he lied with a small smile, “But our friendship ended when he found out that I was able to make his wife a lot happier (and more satisfied) than he could . . . Perhaps he’s finally caught up with me.”
Sorran roared with laughter, clapping him on the back and complimenting the hooded man on his virility and the undoubtedly large size of his genitalia. Through continued chuckles, the man pointed near the back of his establishment. “You can find the stations back there, near the ‘freshers.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied. And with a small wave of his hand he added, “You never received a message from the man who sent this box, nor did you see the box itself. And you certainly did not see me take possession of it. All you’ll remember is me coming in for supplies, going to the back to use the fresher, and leaving with my goods.” Sorran dutifully repeated each word, a glazed look across his eyes.
~~
“Master Kenobi,” the Senator sighed, relief washing over his elegant features, “It is good to see you.”
“And you, Senator Organa,” Obi-Wan replied. The Jedi thought he looked much aged since the last time he had seen him. No doubt the goings on at the newly rechristened Imperial Senate were quite different than they were just a year ago. He could only imagine what the man had been through there.
Once such an outspoken voice, and so well known to disapprove of then-Chancellor Palpatine’s policies. The line between being an inconvenient pest in the Emperor’s eyes and a traitor to The Empire must be very fine indeed these days.
“Are you sure this is safe, Senator? As you mentioned in your note, we had agreed never to contact one another.” His Jedi eyes examined Bail Organa suspiciously, searching for the slightest hint that something may be amiss.
The Senator, for his part, seemed unfazed. He could hardly blame Obi-Wan for being surprised. And cautious. “No . . . I know,” Organa began, “And let me first say that I have taken every precaution to secure the integrity of this conversation. I trust that you have done the same?”
He had. Upon entering the small cubicle at the back of the shop, Obi-Wan had been quite diligent in his investigation of the space. He checked above and below each surface with both his eyes and his palm-scanner. Twice in fact. One could not be too careful, living in the times they did.
Only once he was completely satisfied that no one else was spying in, at least from his end, he placed the small comm. device he had been sent into the vid-link apparatus.
Thankfully, the Senate was not currently in session and the uplink had connected immediately to Senator Organa’s lavish home on Alderaan. The Senator, himself, appeared in an expensive-looking slik robe of blues and gold, his hair mussed and his eyes quite sleepy. Obi-Wan had, apparently, caught him in the middle of the night there.
And now they faced one another, for the first time in almost a year, an awkward silence falling between them. They had been made allies because of necessity, but Organa had proved a strong and trustworthy friend to the Jedi. “Forgive me for being concerned, Senator,” Obi-Wan began, “But is everything alright? Is your daughter well?”
“Oh yes. The little one is very well,” he said with a bright, beaming smile, “She is healthy and seems happy. My wife and I have grown to love her very much.”
Obi-Wan released the breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. That was good news at least. His first fear had been that little Leia’s location (and her true parentage) had somehow been discovered. But she was safe. Padmé’s daughter was safe and happy. And, with that mystery solved, the Jedi could do nothing but wonder why in the galaxy he was summoned for this conversation.
“I apologize, Master Kenobi. I’ll get right to the point.” Organa took a deep breath before continuing, “A few standard weeks ago, right before the Senate began its recess, I had a dream about Pad- . . . about Senator Amidala.”
A dream? About Padmé? Obi-Wan was intrigued and gladly let the man continue, uninterrupted.
“It was most surprising. It was almost as though I knew it was a dream. Like I knew I was dreaming. But I had no form to speak of. I was like a ghost moving through Padmé’s apartment on Coruscant.” He spoke the words with a mixture of pure wonder and utter confusion.
Obi-Wan nodded, knowingly. He could see in his mind’s eye everything Senator Organa related, having lived it himself. “It was as if you were the wind,” he confirmed, “as if you were blowing through her apartment.”
Bail Organa’s eyebrows rose slightly at Obi-Wan’s words, unsuccessfully trying to mask his intrigue. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I have . . . had a similar dream. What happened next, Senator?”
Bail recounted his dream. The bedroom (or what he assumed to be the bedroom, as he had never seen it personally), the strange light and, finally, the white vanity. Something had drawn him there, within the dream. There was something important about that small, seemingly innocuous, piece of furniture.
Obi-Wan was beyond intrigued. For weeks he had attempted to forget his own dream. Forget Padmé’s voice and the pain he still felt over her death. He tried to convince himself that the dream meant nothing. But this? Senator Organa having had the same dream, at around the same time, was quite curious indeed.
But he wasn’t sure he was willing to fully open up to the Senator just yet. “Why have you come to me with this, Senator? Dreams are often no more than that . . . and they always pass in time.”
Bail Organa chuckled at that. No doubt amused by the Jedi’s predictable retreat behind his wall of Jedi teachings, “Well it felt like more than that to me, Master Kenobi. Much more. And I couldn’t get it out of my head . . . So I went there.”
Obi-Wan felt his heart-rate increase, “You went where Senator?”
“To her apartment,” he answered slowly, “Don’t worry. I took great care not to be seen. There were no guards. It’s still a functioning residence for politicians on Coruscant but . . . her apartment is still empty. Just as she left it that day. Dust caked on every surface.” Bail hesitated then, a sadness clouding his eyes that Obi-Wan understood all too well. Senator Organa was a married man, a father now, but Padmé had been a dear friend to him as well as a political ally. And he felt her profound absence in that space just as Obi-Wan had in his dream.
“Did you find the vanity? And what was inside the drawer?” he asked, breaking Organa from his sudden malaise.
Bail nodded slowly, meeting the Jedi’s gaze with fierce determination, “There was a holocron inside. Full of data.” Obi-Wan rose an eyebrow and waited anxiously for the man to continue.
“In the weeks before her death, Padmé had done some incredible diplomatic work,” Organa recalled, “far from the eyes of Anakin and Palpatine. In secret she contacted several individuals across the entire galaxy. Individuals that took issue with the way the Chancellor governed. But these people also, by the same token, were completely loyal to the Republic itself.” The Senator paused for a moment, allowing himself a deep breath before he continued with renewed determination. His voice growing in intensity and excitement as he continued, “I’m not just talking about politicians, Obi-Wan; we already knew who we could trust in the Senate. I’m talking about local, provincial leaders. The people on the ground. People who could really help us with any rebellion we might yet be able to form. Leaders with influence and power who could possibly provide equipment, troops, and safe harbor . . .”
Obi-Wan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the weight of Bail Organa’s words beginning to sink into him. It was just like Padmé to be prepared for anything, he thought. Even the eventual collapse of the Galactic Republic. It made him incredibly proud. Proud of her. Of her unwavering tenacity. While the rest of them talked about the possibilities of what could have been happening, she had actually been doing something. At great personal risk to herself and her unborn children too.
“That is . . . very good news, Senator,” he managed after a time, “Was it just a list of individuals or was there more?”
“Oh no! Padmé was always very diligent with her work. It’s not just a list. It is,” Organa searched for the correct description, “. . . it’s a database almost. With the names, yes, but also the backgrounds of these people. Who they are, where they’re from, what resources they have that may be of use to us and what concerns they have had with Palpatine’s regime in the past.”
Most impressive, Obi-Wan had to admit. How on the face of Coruscant had she had the time to do all that? ‘We are talking about Padmé here,’ he reminded himself with a small, inward chuckle.
But when he looked back to the vid-screen, he noticed that Bail had paused. “What is it, Senator,” he pressed.
“She gave us everything,” he explained gently, “She saved everything. Almost as if she . . .” The man sighed deeply, a heavy sadness settling over him. “Obi-Wan it’s almost as if she knew she wouldn’t be around to help us with this.”
Had she known? Even as she spoke to him in her apartment that final day? Even as she defended Anakin to him within an inch of her life. Had she known she wouldn’t make it? The questions chilled Obi-Wan to his core. Truly chilled him. She had seemed so sure of Anakin’s ability to come back to them. Then again, even if she felt her life would be short, none of them could have guessed it would be by her husband’s hand.
“I see. Well, thank you for bringing me this news,” Obi-Wan offered with restrained sadness, “Oh Senator? Are we sure that you were the first to see this holocron?”
When the man nodded firmly, Obi-Wan managed what he could only assume to be a tense smile. Just as he was about to say his farewells he noticed that Senator Organa still remained fixed, his dark, pained eyes shifting nervously. Obi-Wan needn’t have been a Jedi Master to see that Bail clearly wrestled with something else on his mind. “Senator?” he pressed gently, “Was there something more you wished me to know?”
“Obi-Wan, I . . .” Organa sighed deeply, “There was a letter embedded within the datastream. I would not have even found it were I not looking for the smallest trace of malice or tampering.”
“Go on, Senator.”
“We discovered quickly that it was placed there on purpose. By the person who created the file. By Padmé.”
Bail looked sick. Nervous and now embarrassed. His distinguished air dissipating somewhat as his cheeks began to flush slightly. He looked as if he had been caught with his hand in the pastry jug and felt truly awful about the whole thing. “I am so sorry Obi-Wan,” he confessed, “I would not have looked at the file had I known what it was. Nor would I have risked contacting you simply to tell you about the database she left. But this letter was meant for you. And it was . . . important to her that you receive it. As her friend I could do no less than to ensure that.”
Once he had finished, Bail exhaled deeply and slumped slightly in his chair. Having finally completed this small task on behalf of his friend, he was clearly relieved. The two men sat in silence for some moments, unsure of how to continue this conversation. Senator Organa, whose knowledge of this letter’s contents had clearly surprised and embarrassed him, and Obi-Wan, who was simply left to wonder. And wonder he did. What could be so incredibly personal?
Their tension was suddenly broken by loud, although joyous sound. Bail Organa smiled and closed his eyes the cries of a young baby from somewhere just behind him. It resounded through the speakers to the Jedi’s ears. “Leia,” he said with a chuckle, “She has decided that she wishes to receive her meals in the middle of the night. That apparently is the most convenient time for her highness.”
Obi-Wan replied with a knowing grin, “Then I won’t keep you.”
“Oh Obi-Wan? The letter I spoke of? You can find it within the lining of the box I sent. In the top of the box. I thought that might protect it better from any scanners.”
The Jedi nodded his understanding and then, looking back to the monitor he said, “Thank you, Bail . . . for everything.”
“Of course. Goodnight.”
The screen flickered off with an audible “pop” and Obi-Wan was once again left alone. In a tiny cubicle, on the far reaches of the galaxy.
~~
To be continued . . .