Star Wars work in progress You Became to Me

[polgarawolf]

Sixty-seventh part of a WIP
Title: You Became to Me (as suggested by avari_maethor)
*Pairing: Mainly Anakin/Obi-Wan with some mention of Padmé
Rating: Uhm, probably back to a borderline PG-13/R-ish (?)
Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely boys from Star Wars, more's the pity! What I do have is an extremely contrary muse that refuses to shut up and leave me alone . . .
Summary: This is the one thing Darth Sidious never saw coming: a minor incident of collateral damage with repercussions that can potentially utterly undo all of his schemes
*Author’s Note: 1) Again, please see most of the previous notes!
2) I edited in a new part's worth of material after the first two scenes in this chapter. Comments here and for the next six posts may not match the material in the posts any longer.


It’s easier than she ever thought it would be.

They go back into the sitting room, where Padmé simply makes a circuit of the chamber one more time, dispensing one more round of hugs and kisses and a few final words of love and farewell to everyone - even kneeling to embrace and whisper a last reminder for a final set of orders before saying goodbye to Artoo, rising to do the same with a startled but clearly infinitely pleased to be included, thus, Threepio - before giving Obi-Wan and Anakin a nod and, watching them hand over the twins to the waiting arms of their Padawan, lays herself down on the largest couch in the room, settling herself comfortably. She waits until the two Jedi Bendu have positioned themselves at the head of the couch - Anakin to Obi-Wan’s right, this time, and closer to her, his thumb just extending from a tangled embrace with Obi-Wan’s left hand to brush up against the crown of her head - and then, with a long, sighing exhale, closes her eyes, and lets go.

And as soon as she’s closed her eyes and knowingly, willingly, surrendered her hold upon life, Padmé finds herself rising effortlessly, in an upwelling spinning, soaring whirl, as if she has been caught in a slipstream and carried away. Clear light, a melodious flow of energy, wraps her as if in a womb or a warm sea, amniotic, futureless, and free. Outward are the moons - one frozen and flawed and barren of life as well as two enlivened with water and fecund with landmasses both carefully and haphazardly planted with mosaics of cities and settlements - caught upon the web of stars stitched against the eternal night, and inward lies Naboo, vast and marbled blue, a whole sere of marbled and mostly green-glazed landmasses drifting calmly by, oceans cobalt and ultramarine and violet-gemmed beneath fleecy clouds. Looking down at herself, Padmé sees her hands, her arms, and then her whole body, her real body, not the body she has been borrowing, but the flesh she still sometimes thinks of as her own, just as she was in the prime of her life, only brighter, clearer, almost transparent. Far below her, here’s a balmy expanse of daylight extending to the curved rim of the planet, where the edge of darkness appears as wavery rainbow curtains of coruscating auroras, and yet the shape of her sparks with luminosity even against all of that brightness, as if one of the blazing gems of stars has come to rest, blazing, at the core of her. As she rises higher, beings of light, full of power and presence, seething with joy, swell closer. And all the combined joy and ecstacy of her life can’t even begin to compare to the teeming rapture she experiences as she joins the company of these radiant beings. Padmé knows, without a doubt, that this is the end of her life’s journey, here among the creatures of light, the chromatic beings, whose dazzle is serene, imperishable euphoria. Below, the fallen world is an immensity of darkness, and above tingling stars mass like majestic clouds. She is perched at the very point of love, where every other direction leads to less.

Radiant energy points spiral and whirl about her, luminous as a night sea of mountainous lantern fish, and Padmé is as an illusion among such stupendously powerful and bright white beings. Brushlike discharges of faintly green- and blue-tinged light circle her, shaping the darkness, fiery filaments fitting together into blazing geometric wheels and then spinning off, looping huge boomerang helixes under the black span of stars. As they billow away above the blue feather of Naboo’s horizon into gusty boreal lights, Padmé fades towards blackness, knowing, in that instant, that she is nothing - less than nothing - in comparison. But then the teeming lights of the blazing Force beings wheel close again and she knows - she kens, with her inmost mind - why she has lived this life. All her memories - past and future - the whole panorama of her life appears before Padmé inside a gelatinous transparency that she instinctively understands is time, stardust pixels of memories within a lucite egg. Looking at it, she starts to slip, to glide towards the time-lost shape of her existence. And as she does the Force beings close in, their luminous shadows covering Padmé with drifting thoughts, untraceable strands of ghostly beautiful music, all the passion of life without any of the careworn begetting and losing. At first Padmé thinks that she is hearing the star songs, the light songs, the life songs, the Light songs, that the Force beings sing. But no, wait! The spectral hues of brilliant light widen her mind and she sees that the creatures of energy are not singing but are themselves being sung! Vast clouds of stars mingle their impalpable energies here in the electronic ocean surrounding the mass of her world, raveling songs out of the random patterns in the immaterial plasma that hovers over the fecund earth. Those songs are the Force beings themselves - or at least most of the entities surrounding her, all of the naturally occurring sentient beings of energy, of Light, creatures who have never known existence in the flesh, birthed from the mingled orchestra of the stardepths rather than from the core of life-light left behind in the shucking off of mortal flesh.

Still, if she wants to, she can go with them. Padmé knows this as she knows her own name. Her dew mote will dissolve into the unbearable joy of their supernal freedom, and she can live with them forever at the crest of all euphoric access. If she wants, she can open her own being to the wraith-wind of these Light-birthed beings, and, when she does, she knows she can drift away forever, alone, into a vastness of awesome and terrifying love. There is a place for her here, already prepared. She need go no further than this, need not journey out past this point, need not strive to search out a place for herself within the sparkling seas of power and light and life that is the greater body of the Force. She can stay right here, among the anthem beauty of the auroras above Naboo, the diamond-dust vista of her life glittering endlessly before her, glints of future memories already unlocking in the lattice-locked and yet still malleable, still flexible, diamond-eye of time, rays of kaleidoscopic glare bending towards darkness under the galaxies’ eternal night. All she need to do is surrender . . .

*********

Once Padmé’s spirit is finally gone, very little remains but to deal with the body that has been left behind. Ryoo and Pooja Naberrie are gathered up by their father to be tucked back into bed, Bail and Ryoo Thule carry the twins off to see about getting them fed and put down for the rest of the night, Artoo and Threepio wander off together, talking together (surprisingly quietly) about their final orders - something about removing a datachip with sensitive information from a certain diadem and seeing to it that the chip is instead incorporated into Threepio’s own processing systems, which they promise they will explain to Masters Kenobi and Skywalker at the earliest possible appropriate opportunity - and Ruwee and Jobal Naberrie remain where they are on another two-seat sofa, clinging to each other and quietly crying, grieving while they wait for Darred Janren to return. Obi-Wan, in the meantime, carefully deepens the sleep that Anakin has placed upon the shell of Sola’s body until it more closely resembles the suspended animation of deep trance, before joining Anakin in a sort of shared trance of their own, meditating fixedly, determinedly, on their shared network of bonds until their entwined consciousness touches the blaze that is the twinned consciousness of Grand Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku. By the time they finish relaying all that has happened (including both Sola’s treachery and the destruction of Sola’s mind/memories as well as the eventual passing on of Padmé’s spirit) to the Grand Masters and received permission to send the cast-off and essentially infantilized body to a Jedi enclave far enough away from Naboo as well as both Alderaan and Coruscant that they will all be able to have as little interaction as possible with the personality that will eventually come to take the place of both Sola and Padmé in that body, Darred has returned and claimed the chair that Padmé had been sitting in earlier, pulling it over next to where his parents-by-marriage are sitting so that he might be able to talk with them without disturbing Anakin and Obi-Wan.

“There are some Force-damped cells in one of the strongholds of Dala City, built there in case of an emergency,” Anakin informs the three who are patiently waiting his and Obi-Wan’s return to full awareness just as soon as his eyes come open and he focuses on their faces. “After the public aspects of Padmé’s funeral are all over, Master Lo-Jad and Knight Sia-Lan Wezz will come and remove Sola’s body to one of those cells. In a few days, no more than a week, someone else will come for her. Until then, we’ve placed her in a state that is similar to coma but less dangerous. For all intents and purposes, she will simply seem to slumber, without either waking or taking any ill effects from her apparently very long sleep, until those who are ultimately meant to train her have a chance to come and claim her.”

“The Jedi Training Center on Kamparas will be pledging itself to the New Jedi Bendu Order fairly soon. There is a renown circle of Jedi Healers who operate out of that enclave, and they are the ones who will be responsible for taking charge of this body and teaching it, encouraging a new personality to grow and blossom within as new memories and knowledge gather in the blanked-out spaces of this mind and coalesce into an entirely new persona - in effect, a whole new person,” Obi-Wan continues, effortlessly picking up the explanation where Anakin has left off. “As this body will, of course, retain its natural connection with the Force, it is likely that she will become a Jedi Bendu. She will, however, be taught enough about this body’s past to know why she can never come to this planet or this system. None of you ever need worry regarding such matters.”

“If you wish, we can take her back up to the tower. But it really doesn’t matter where in the house you put her. She’ll be equally safe and secured in any room. Given that this body essentially has no mind or will of its own, now, it would take the command of another Force-user skilled in at least some of the healing and teaching arts to rouse her, and no one on this planet who has been trained thus is going to be trying to disturb her,” Anakin adds with a small, reassuring smile.

Darred Janren looks a question at the Naberries. After a few moments, Jobal shrugs, an almost imperceptible movement of her shoulders, and then Ruwee nods. “I will see to her,” Darred announces, regaining his feet. With a grateful smile, he then notes, “It’s the least I can do, Athros. You’ve both had a very long, very full day, because of our family. Members of the funerary procession will start to arrive soon after breakfast, and it’s getting closer to sunup now than sundown. I’m aware that you don’t need as much rest as the rest of us, Athros, but I’m sure you still have things you’ll want to talk about. The twins will be well taken care of, with their honorary dama’mâthair’cairdha Ryoo watching over them and your own Padawan in just the next suite over, so you needn’t worry on their account. And there are trays of food in the refrigeration unit in the kitchen, if you’re hungry enough to want to eat before you retire. I can get her up to the tower easily enough. I did it the first time, after all,” he adds, with a small, almost wistful smile.

“As you will, then,” Obi-Wan agrees, nodding. “Goodnight to you all.” Then, turning to Anakin, he quirks a questioning eyebrow.

“Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Naberrie, Darred,” Anakin smiles, nodding politely at each of them in turn. “Kitchen’s this way, love,” he adds, tilting his head back in the appropriate direction. “Come on. Healer Bant will have my hide if she finds out I let you skip any meals. Besides,” he adds, his easy smile spreading into an almost mischievous grin, “Lady Naberrie is a stellar cook!”

Trusting that Darred Janren has told them the truth (and that he will come to them for help if he finds himself having any difficulty getting the body back up to the tower), the two men head off towards the kitchen, arms around each other’s waist and heads already inclining together, all thought of Sola’s abandoned body leaving their minds. So sure are they that everything necessary has either been taken care of or set up properly and that the rest will, in due time, see to itself, that it never even occurs to either one of the Jedi Bendu to examine the abandoned body more thoroughly (with the Force as well as their eyes), so secure are they in the knowledge that a body emptied of all personality, experience, wisdom, and memory is essentially is, in essence, as innocent and harmless as a newly born child . . .

*********

They allow themselves the luxury of sleeping in the next day, waking in time to make love among the tangled sheets (falling into each other, hands grasping and stroking and mouths sealing and bodies cleaving together, groaning and gasping, pleasure so acute that it’s all but unbearable, Anakin ceasing to hear, see, or even feel anything beyond Obi-Wan as Obi-Wan moves within him, every single nerve in their bodies electrified and humming with euphoria, with ecstacy, flesh seeming to stretch and dissipate in the power rising between them until finally they plunge free of the confinement of that flesh, each cell dissolving into blazing energy and easing into one, completing each other, existing then as one entwined and inseparable shimming conflagration of energy, two truly luminous beings existing as one, love and light racing towards a fiery eruption of unimaginable brilliance and power, surrendering to the inevitable explosion with complete joy and a sense of unending wonder) before heading to the ’fresher and shower stall, eventually emerging from the water (the ’fresher’s features all blasted to an almost painfully bright shine in the backwash of energy from another, inevitable tumble together) to find clean robes, the earthy, warm shades of gold-touched tan and beige and cinnamon-touched brown still new enough for Obi-Wan to marvel over the sight of Anakin in such colors, smiling endlessly, so happy that he cannot even be dismayed over his own over-abundance of hair, holding still and all but purring with contentment under the rhythmic strokes of the brush as Anakin combs it through the silken strands, carefully gathering the whole silken mass just above the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck to fashion a single thick braid both simple and complex, eschewing the more widely used and easier three-strand weave for an elegant four-stranded plait, binding the end of the braid with a leather thong found in a drawer of the ’fresher’s vanity. After checking on the twins (who are still sleeping, or perhaps sleeping again, under the watchful eyes and sensors of the for once both quietly cheerful Threepio and Artoo) and finding Bail’s suite already empty, they descend the stairs towards the kitchen. It feels a little strange to only be moving around at half past nine when they are accustomed to rising at or near dawn, but there’s something comforting about it, as well, something almost homey, about the lack of need for haste and early risings.

The others are already at the table in the dining room adjoining the kitchen except for the two girls, Pooja and Ryoo (who are, as Darred Janren explains, exhausted from the ordeal of the past few weeks and both still sleeping heavily), and Jobal quickly waves them to empty seats, refusing to allow them to wait on themselves and bustling off to the kitchen to return with plates laden high with omelettes overflowing with meat and cheese and toast and fruit preserves as well as fresh fruit, hot tea and juice both offered to and accepted by Obi-Wan and a tall glass of blue milk accepted eagerly by Anakin. Ryoo Thule explains, when Obi-Wan inquires, that they are eating now because they received word from the Palace of a small, unexpected issue that required Apailana to commit to a mid-morning meeting she feared would run until ten, and it was agreed that they would therefore meet between half past ten and eleven, instead, with Jobal providing a working lunch and tea, as necessary. Reassured, the two thank the lady of the house for a fine meal and then tuck in, the food so good and the company so amiable that Anakin works his way steadily through what seems like enough food for a small army and even Obi-Wan eats far more than he normally does without being prompted or nagged into it, the atmosphere of the gathering surprisingly relaxed and open, considering the circumstances. Or perhaps it is precisely because of the circumstances surrounding the gathering that the mood is so startlingly, calmly content and even happy, given how things have worked out with Sola and the individual farewells Padmé had been able to give. Everyone at the table has been able to make peace with Padmé and to see, firsthand, her longing to become one with the Force, and so her family is serene, even joyous, in the knowledge that she has passed on, their tranquil acceptance of both Padmé’s decision and her death an example of ungrudging consent to the will of the Force worthy of emulation even by the most conscientious of Jedi. The sense of calm harmony is extremely soothing, and the two Jedi soon grow so relaxed that they begin sharing stories of Padmé with her family that have them all laughing and smiling and trading tales in an impromptu celebration of her life.

They’ve retired from the dining room (everyone having pitched in, automatically, to help with the clean-up after the meal, coordinating their efforts under Jobal Naberrie’s watchful gaze without ever actually letting her do much to help, given her earlier efforts in organizing the meal) to an informal den and are listening to Bail relate an extremely funny story about Padmé’s first meeting with the then newly elected Senator Mon Mothma when a chime sounds and Jobal excuses herself, with a regretful smile for Bail and his story, to go answer the door. A little over fifteen minutes later, when Bail has finished his tale and left them smiling and chuckling in appreciation, Jobal finally returns, a pensive and slightly wary look on her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Athros, but the surviving members of Padmé’s handmaiden coterie have arrived, and they’re asking to speak with the two of you. Separately. They claim they wish to regain honor in your eyes, if possible, Bendu Kenobi, and to seek to apologize to you, Bendu Skywalker. They’ve sent someone out into the gardens, to speak privately with Master Skywalker, and have asked for a temporary loan of the sitting room we were using as a gathering place last evening, so that one of their number may also speak to Bendu Kenobi in private. I agreed to give them the use of the gardens out back and the room, Athros, but I warned them I could not guarantee that either one of you would show at either place.”

The two look at each other, a little surprised. Any idea what this is about? Anakin asks along the bond, a faint crease forming in the center of his brow.

I’m not sure, Anakin, but Padmé’s handmaidens always struck me as extremely loyal and very intelligent young ladies. Very possibly they’ve told Mrs. Naberrie the simple truth and simply wish to apologize to us in some way.

Yes, but why separately?

No doubt because they feel as if they have failed us in different ways.

Failed us? Anakin looks at him blankly, blinking. How could they have failed us?

Shrugging slightly, Obi-Wan replies, I’m sure that will figure prominently in our talks, if we agree to meet with them.

Anakin returns the gesture with a shrug of his own and an easy smile. Eh. Why not? If nothing else, we can both tell them that they’re being silly, worrying about nothing, right?

True enough, Obi-Wan allows. Then, out loud, he replies to the implicit question in Jobal Naberrie’s announcement, agreeing to the meeting with, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t meet with the young ladies, if only to hear them out. If you’ll excuse us both for a while, we’ll see if we can be of assistance to them.”

“Of course, Bendu Kennobi,” Jobal agrees immediately, inclining her head deeply, in a sign of respect. “Can you both find your ways?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan instantly replies, his one-word response overlapping with Anakin’s two-word agreement.

“Of course.”

Jobal inclines her head again, in acknowledge. “Then we will see you again when you are done speaking to the representatives the handmaids have elected to speak with you, Athros. If Queen Apailana and Jamillia arrive while you are still speaking to them, though, we may begin to discuss certain things about the funeral process, if that is acceptable to you,” Jobal warns them.

Obi-Wan is still turning his head to look at Anakin when Anakin nods his agreement. “As you will, milady,” Obi-Wan allows agreeably, inclining his own head towards her as he gains his feet. “I’m certain you and your family know far better than Anakin or I what the proper traditions and ceremonies are. If any questions arise that might for some reason require our input, please, feel free to send for us. I’m sure the handmaidens will not mind.”

“We’ll be back as soon as we can. If Keiana Apailana arrives early enough to ask after us, please let her know that we will be joining you when we can,” Anakin adds, also standing. “She’s been a bit worried over the lack of communication between this household and the Palace, lately, so she may be feeling a bit awkward about being here, at first.”

“Of course, Athros. I will keep both things in mind and make an extra effort to put the young lady at ease,” Jobal promises with a small, slightly solemn smile. “Go ahead now, Athros. They’ll be waiting for you, I’m sure.”

Another set of polite nods, and Obi-Wan and Anakin obediently head for the door.

*********

The sitting room is empty when Obi-Wan arrives, but the serving tray on the central table is missing, and so he is fairly certain that whoever has asked to speak with him has merely gone to fetch refreshments of some sort, likely tea, so he sits down on one of the plushly cushioned chairs and resolves to wait. He has been sitting for only a few minutes - just enough time to get comfortable - when he hears the soft click of a door being opened and automatically moves to stand, out of respect for whomever it is that may be entering the room. He can see very little of her, at first. The woman - seemingly slender and slightly taller than Padmé (but by no more than perhaps three finger widths, a difference that really would have been noticeable only if the two had been stood side by side and Padmé had not been wearing heels of any kind on her shoes) - is swathed head to toe in a deeply cowled cape of what looks to be violet-hued heavy Ottegan silk, her arms free to carry the heavy, elaborately carved silver tray (which is, indeed, holding a tea pot, cups and saucers, creamer and sugar, etc., in a pattern of green and blue) only because the cape is cut with armholes at the side seams. Obi-Wan doesn’t need to see her face, though, to know who it is. He knows from the instant she enters the room, by the unique way she resonates in the Force, her presence like a deep, slow thrum, echoing his instinctive light querying touch back to him with a rich overlay of fire and color, not so much (or more precisely not just) actual strength in the Force, itself, as simply sheer presence and charisma and personal power and depth, the sensation of her in the Force as deep and captivating as a shifting pool full of jewel-toned colors. She’s always had this unique and paradoxically calming yet energizing effect on his awareness, from the moment he first met her, leaping down from that rooftop on Naboo with Qui-Gon at his side and Jar Jar flailing clumsily behind them. Touching her with the Force is like touching upon the layers upon layers of the living depth of the teeming forest of Kashyyyk, or the all-enveloping warmth of an early evening or morning on sandy Tatooine, or the hypnotic glitter of deep space, only all at once. Qui-Gon had explained it to him, on the ship fleeing the Naboo blockade, as a sort of natural harmonic resonance. Some individuals, apparently, are born with a connection to the Force that naturally inclines towards synchronicity with others.

Sabé Dahn is such an individual.

Obi-Wan is smiling before the knowledge of who it is even finishes registering on him consciously, his unconscious mind having known her in the same heartbeat she entered into the room. “Sabé, my friend! It is good to see you again, though the circumstances are unhappy.”

“Bendu Kenobi. I wish we were meeting again under better circumstances as well. But my heart is gladdened by the sight of you, though you are much changed since I last saw you,” Sabé replies, smiling up at him warmly as he gallantly rises to take the tea tray out of her hands, freeing her hands and so allowing her first to push the deep hood of her cape back and then to remove the garment entirely (so that she can lay it carefully aside, along the back of a nearby sofa), revealing a deceivingly simple looking gown of what appears at first to be a heavy weave of dark amethyst shell spider silk (and is revealed, at a second, closer inspection, to be a brocade of dark indigo shot through with an intricate pattern of scarlet threads) with princess seams, a modest neckline (barely low enough to reveal her collarbones), long sleeves cut close to her body, and a virtually floor-length full skirt. Her dark brown hair is, for a wonder, mostly loose, save for where the sides have been pulled back from her face to keep the deep waves of her not quite curly hair back out of her eyes, and it is down to her waist, now, as least, though the last time he saw her face to face it was at least a hand’s breadth shorter (and much closer to having curls). She both is and is not as he remembers, and he is struck, suddenly with the memory of the first real conversation they had shared, that first night on Tatooine, remembers -

- kneeling on the sand, in what would have been the shadow of the ship if there had still been sufficient light to cast such shadows, pressing a hand sympathetically to the cheek of the huddled shape of a clearly grieving and worried young lady (obviously the one claiming to be Queen Amidala, given her resonance in the Force, and just as obviously quite close to the same age as Padmé and so barely into her teens, yet) watching her turn gradually towards him, first her cheekbones and then the side of her gravely unsmiling mouth coming into view, until finally her entire profile is visible, as suddenly and as irrefutable as the crack of ice on the first day of spring. It is the kind of regal, idealized profile one might see on a cameo or a coin: the slight upward curve of the lips, the crisply chiseled downstroke of the nose, the sweep of the jawline, every angle in perfect, tender alignment with the whole. Free of her striking paint, she is pale in an oddly luminous way, and it staggers him, a little, to realize that she is beautiful entirely in her own right, without all of the royal trappings and the trickery of the stark white and red paint and the extremely elaborate headdresses and hair-styles and costumes. For a heartbeat or two the realization slows his thoughts, startling him with a surprisingly strong evocation of another face, astonishingly like this. This lovely countenance, though, is both like and unlike Padmé’s face. One might have said it had been turned on the same lathe, baked in the same kiln, chiseled by the same patently subject-besotted sculptor, but it had all been done more delicately, here, with a lighter, more caressing touch, with the end result being that the features are all just a little bit softer, not quite planed to the same sharply definite dimensions as Padmé’s slightly more heart-shaped face. Still, the resemblance is positively amazing, almost uncanny, and, as with Padmé, quite a bit of her astonishing beauty appears to grow, with breathtaking simplicity, straight from her inmost being, so that what is visible as beauty is, in truth, only a small portion of a more comprehensive and far greater radiant, formal quality within. Compassion, intelligence, resolve, strength, tenderness, humor, dedication, glow in her eyes and speak from the silent curves of her mouth, from the very molding of her face. This young woman, like Padmé, is all but incandescent with spirit and inner grace, compelling in a way that can touch even him, though he is quite incapable of experiencing the confused infatuation of physical attraction, limerence -

- and wonders, quite suddenly, what might have happened, how differently things might have fallen out between both him and Padmé and him and Sabé, if he actually had been able to feel and perhaps even to act on such feelings of physical attraction, then. It had taken Obi-Wan quite some time to become sure of Padmé’s attraction to him, but Sabé, unlike Padmé, had never been one for beating around the bush, and, once freed of the necessity of acting as if she were the Queen and untouchable by such small and petty things as attraction and desire (and that had been the first thing she asked him, that night out on the sand - “You know, don’t you? How did you know?” - leading them to arrive at a pact wherein Obi-Wan swore to pretend not to know the truth about Amidala, so as to ease the mind of both the true Queen and her other companions, and Sabé promised that she would keep his knowledge of the ruse for much the same reason but would be sure to come speak to him whenever she felt sufficient need to be able to set the mask of Amidala aside and be only herself, if only for a little while), she had admitted that she found him handsome and desirable almost immediately. (And Obi-Wan had blushed furiously and stared at her in gape-mouthed shock, unable to believe what he’d just heard, while Sabé simply looked at him with such an attitude of wistful longing that, in the end, he had nevertheless been forced to take her at her word, though he had never been able to truly comprehend what in all the worlds she could have possibly seen in him that would have made him seem handsome, much less desirable, in her eyes and thoughts.) Given Sabé and Padmé’s close friendship, it is entirely possible that they might have tried to figure out a way to “share” him and his affections, had he actually be available. Reminded of Anakin’s quip about how the galaxy would have been overrun with Force-sensitive redheaded children if he hadn’t made the decision he had, as a child, he has an odd feeling that things quite possibly would have quickly become very messy and is suddenly very glad that he chose as he did, all those years ago, around the time he would’ve been turning nine, by the Temple’s reckoning of his age.

More than a little disconcerted by the unexpected twist in his train of thoughts, Obi-Wan gives himself a bit of a shake as he turns back towards her from where he’s moved to place the laden tea tray carefully on the table, refocusing his attention on the here and now by looking at Sabé’s familiar face (which is still, after all of these years, somewhat discomposing in its not quite perfect evocation of Padmé’s features, everything about her just ever so slightly bit off: her skin naturally paler than Padmé’s; her eyes just a little bit lighter in hue, with bright amber flecks mixed among the darker, chocolate brown; her long hair perhaps half a shade darker and much less naturally curly; her features all slightly more delicate, her face closer to an oval than a heart-shape; the lines of her body longer, giving her greater height; and yet still, somehow, so very like her best friend in looks and carriage and attitude that anyone seeing Sabé could not help but to think of Padmé Amidala). He smiles at her a bit sheepishly as her words sink in, as he’s stepping forward to give her the traditional Nabooian greeting of a chaste kiss on the cheek, and explains, “Yes, well, it appears that there are certain side effects to becoming one with the Force and then returning from its embrace while still in possession of a living, functional, corporeal body. You should see Anakin, my friend. The Force essentially rebuilt his arm for him.”

Shaking her head slightly in amazement, Sabé rises on tiptoe to brush her lips across his right cheekbone, breathing a heartfelt, “That is remarkable, Obi-Wan! I am glad for him. I always had the feeling, somehow, even though the mechno itself didn’t exactly seem to bother him, that he brooded over the need for it overmuch, viewing it as proof that he had failed you.”

“He always took my own injuries much more to heart than his own,” Obi-Wan agrees, sighing, as he politely hands her down into the chair she’s chosen, arranged across from his own at the table. “This has been like a new beginning for us, a second chance to do things right.”

“And by taking that chance you’ve given us all another chance at doing the right thing. Obi-Wan, my friend, you never do things by halves, do you?” Sabé asks, her smile a little sad.

“You’ve heard me quote Yoda enough times to know why, Sabé. ‘Do or do not. There is no try,’ remember?”

“And I think you will remember my response to that little mantra,” Sabé replies, her mouth quirking into a wry smile.

“I believe the most polite term you ever used was ‘mynock muffins,’” Obi-Wan allows, his smile deepening. “You and Padmé were always both very vocal about your disagreements with the Jedi Code and our other rules and aphorisms. That is part of the reason why I am so glad to see you, now, if truth be told. I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you soon. I wish to enlist your help in something, Sabé.”

“Oh?” Sabé asks, raising an eyebrow to show her interest as she sets about preparing both of them a cup of the strong Nabooian tea that she first introduced Obi-Wan to on Tatooine and which he has always favored highly since. “I must admit to being intrigued. What can I do for you, sir Bendu?”

Gently but firmly, he insists, “Obi-Wan, please, my friend. It is not a formal request, though it is a serious one. Have you spoken with Queen Apailana lately?”

“About Dala City, you mean?” Sabé asks, both of her eyebrows lifting this time to show both her continued interest and her puzzlement with the topic. “Yes, Obi-Wan. I was the one who urged her to accept the proposal to make it a combination Jedi Bendu enclave and functional city for both the war refugees we’ve taken in and our own overflowing population from Theed, with another set of combined universities, each section with its own speciality, and at least one fully staffed teaching med-center, after Knight Sia-Lan Wezz first mentioned the possibility of the Jedi Order building a chapterhouse on Naboo. Why?”

“Keiana Apailana is strong in the Force, Sabé, at least as strong as Sia-Lan. She has already indicated that she will wish to join that chapterhouse, when her term as Queen is up, rather than seek a second term,” Obi-Wan replies, inclining his head in thanks as he accepts the cup and saucer she’s prepared for him.

“That’s in a little over two years. It should be enough time to either find someone competent enough or to train someone up to replace her. Hmm,” Sabé frowns thoughtfully, making a slight humming noise in the back of her throat as she considers the issue. “Perhaps Ayesha Jamillia might consider running for a second term. She’s been working very closely with both the Refugee Relief Movement and those in charge of finishing Dala City, and her popularity has grown a great deal, since she lost that idealistic tendency to support the Separatists.”

“I believe someone else may be more suited for the job,” Obi-Wan gently replies.

Sabé, unsurprisingly, misses the hint entirely. “Oh? Who, then, if I may be so bold as to ask? One of the more recent Princesses of Theed, perhaps? Not Ellie, surely! Her health is very fragile, Obi-Wan. She was hurt much more badly in that attempt against Padmé than she ever let on. I don’t believe she would survive the stresses of such a term. Kylantha’s a clever girl and she’s quite charismatic, but I don’t think she’s ready for such an important role, yet, and, even though she would be fifteen at the time of the election, I have a hard time believing that just two more years would be enough time to season her sufficiently.”

“I was thinking of someone a bit closer than that, Sabé.”

“Closer? You mean one of Keiana’s handmaidens? They’re good girls, very earnest and loyal, but frankly I would trust Kylantha to lose her naiveté before I would trust one of them!”

“I was thinking of you, Sabé, with Dormé as your Senator, so that Jar Jar will be able to avoid having to accept the position of senior Senator. He misses Naboo a great deal, you know.”

Sabé is so startled that she nearly drops her teacup, staring at him with eyes so wide and stunned that they look blind, lips slightly parted (though not quite gape-mouthed). She sits the china down much harder, with much less grace, than is her usual wont, the cup clinking loudly against the saucer, so shocked that she doesn’t even seem to notice the fumbling blunder that has almost slopped tea over the rim of the cup. “Me?!” she squeaks, incredulous. “But - !”

Patiently, Obi-Wan cuts her off, gently pointing out, “You are easily the most qualified for the job, Sabé. You served as the decoy Queen for Padmé Amidala for most of a year, during a time of great tumult and danger, and found and trained a successor for that role, Dormé Tammesin, so you would be free to do as Padmé wished and serve as the interim Senator for Naboo and the Chommell Sector, since Palpatine had been elected Supreme Chancellor and left that post vacant. Almost five and a half years later, at the end of that term, you were elected to the Senate in your own right, where you served with distinction for another two years before stepping aside at the end of Padmé’s second term as Queen to allow Padmé to assume the position of senior Senator. You then took over the training program for both the new Queen of Naboo’s handmaids and the senior Senator’s new handmaidens, afterwards, and have been one of the primary advisors both for Padmé and for both monarchs of Naboo since then. You have experience at both the galactic level and the local level of politics, and you are, quite simply, the most qualified for the position, Sabé,” Obi-Wan explains. “And if you draw upon Padmé’s other handmaidens to form the core of your own coterie and put them to work training the next generation of political leaders and advisors, you will help to prove, definitively, to the people of Naboo that such things as purity and the naïve idealism of extreme youth are no real substitute for practical experience and a known code of tried and tested personal ethics.”

“Obi-Wan, I - I don’t know what to say. You honor me, Bendu, you honor me immensely, but - ”

“Sabé. Think it through, please, before you tell me no,” Obi-Wan urges, reaching forward to capture her right hand and press it reassuringly to impress upon her his seriousness. “Naboo needs people like you in positions of power. The galaxy is changing and our way of life is going to change with it. This isn’t just a second chance: it’s a chance to finally do things properly.”

“Yes, but - but - me? There has to be someone else!”

“Who? Kylantha, who was born after the Trade Federation’s blockade of Naboo and so has no real concept of galactic peace, and who hasn’t got enough experience to have a firm grasp on the reality of galactic-wide politics? Ellie, who is certainly wise enough and has sufficient charisma for the position, but whose health is frail enough that she would likely kill herself in the pursuit of her duties as Queen, if she were actually elected? Jamillia, who wishes to expand the mandate of the Refugee Relief Movement and to make it a truly galactic-wide disaster relief organization? Another handmaiden? Only one of Jamillia’s handmaids survived the war, and the last I heard she was a happy mother of twins, with another child on the way. Apailana’s handmaidens are loyal and brave and very intelligent, but they’re children, Sabé. No matter what the people of Naboo may think about purity and innocence, the truth is that they’re not like you or Padmé or even Keiana. They’re simply too young for the position. Most of her inner coterie is barely teenaged at all. The rest are mostly older, with more experience, but they’re also the ones who are primarily just bodyguards, rather than personal aides or potential decoys. In short, they are even more idealistic and naïve and unsuited to the position than the current Princess of Theed. Who else would you feel safe in offering for the position?” Obi-Wan only asks, shrugging as he raises his cup to take a drink of tea.

“Eirtaé could - ”

“Eirtaé doesn’t have as much experience as you do and she lacks the charisma you have. She would have the support of her peers, perhaps, but I seem to remember her declaring, when Padmé’s second term as Queen was drawing to a close, that she no longer had any interest in the position, believing that she would not be able to maintain the level of calm and detachment needed for such a role.”

“What about Saché, then, or Rabé or Yané?”

“Saché and Yané have admitted to carrying a grudge against the Trade Federation and the other Separatists more than once. Yané, who’s one of the finest, most conscientious medics I know of, has even balked at treating suspected Separatists. Do you really think one of them would be able to work with the former CIS leaders, even after seeing them suffer High Justice?”

“No. No, you’re right, they would never be able to completely forgive them. They saw too many deaths and suffered too greatly under the Trade Federation’s occupation of the planet. We shouldn’t have left them behind, blockade or no blockade, but they were so young, and Padmé wasn’t entirely sure that we’d be able to make it through in one piece. They would have been safer with us,” Sabé quietly admits, shaking her head and groping blindly after her teacup so that she can take a long, bracing gulp of tea. “Rabé, though - ”

“Would you really ask her to essentially give up her practice of medicine for four years? She managed to keep up with her studies even as a handmaid, and I was under the impression that, in addition to serving as the primary doctor for all of you for several years now, she’s also been teaching Yané for most of the past decade. If she had to, if you asked her, I’m sure that she would do her duty, but I also have no doubt that she’d be quite miserable, as Queen, unable either to continue her practice or to continue teaching medicine. The point, though, is likely moot, as I happen to believe that Rabé may be one of the chapterhouse’s first recruits. She certainly has more than enough Force-sensitivity to justify training. In fact, most handmaids seem to be higher than average in Force-sensitivity, from what I’ve seen. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about that. Naboo is rather like Alderaan and Chandrila, in this respect. Most of your oldest families seem to have a predilection for Force-sensitivity. I assume it’s because of the common ancestors you share with Alderaan and Chandrila, via Grizmallt. The chapterhouse here is long overdue and I’m fairly certain that it will either end up expanding a great deal quite rapidly, sending out groups of teachers to some of the more distant Nabooian locales, or both, before a decade is up. The Dala City Jedi enclave will most likely become one of the New Jedi Bendu Order’s most often recognized and most famous chapterhouses, overall, in the coming years. I’m quite sure of it, Sabé. As sure as I am that Rabé, like Keiana Apailana, will become a member.”

“Dormé - ”

“She doesn’t have your experience, Sabé. Certainly she has more than Moteé or Ellé, but she doesn’t have nearly as much as you do.”

“But - but - the chapterhouse - I had thought - ”

“Can you think of a better way to acclimate both the people of Naboo and the various sentient beings of the galaxy to the notion that Jedi Bendu will be a part of all of the major walks of life, including the realm of politics? Keiana Apailana will decide against running for a second term, so that she will be able to enter the chapterhouse for training, and the chapterhouse will be able to offer up one of its own, for the post she will be vacating. Your training will not proceed as quickly as it might, otherwise, but Sabé, you already possess an enormous advantage over the vast majority of new recruits. The old Order focused on roughly four areas of training, in addition to indoctrination in Jedi culture and the Code and the use of the Force itself: personal defense, combat, and strategy; galactic culture, including languages and the arts; galactic law, politics, and diplomacy; and the most practical fields of applied science. You’re already a highly skilled and disciplined warrior; you have an extremely strong practical grounding in galactic law, politics, and diplomacy; and I understand your formal degrees were in galactic history and comparative culture and linguistics,” Obi-Wan explains, being careful to keep his voice gentle but firm, allowing for no interrupting protestations. “You need little aside from training in the use of the Force, itself. And you are no stranger to the Force, Sabé.”

That final statement startles Sabé into a pleased and embarrassed flush, the young lady dropping her eyes momentarily from Obi-Wan’s face down to her cup of tea as she murmurs, “That is entirely in thanks to you, Obi-Wan. You are an excellent teacher, Athro.”

“The teacher is only as good as the student, Sabé.”

Scowling slightly, she retorts, “It would make as much sense to say that the student can only be as good as the teacher. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Shrugging slightly, Obi-Wan allows himself a slight, small smile of victory and replies, “Either way, your advantage over other recruits is manifest. If you will devote yourself to a year and a half of intensive study of only the Force, you will easily become at least as knowledgeable as most of the Padawans and even some of the very young new Knights who have been fighting in the war. And you should still be able to continue your study, even while Queen, especially if you have others with you sharing and arranging your studies.”

“Rabé, you mean?”

“And Ellé. Perhaps even Eirtaé, if she wishes it. I am hoping, as well, that Knight Sia-Lan Wezz will agree to join your coterie of handmaids.”

“Sia? But - !”

“Is she not of a proper age and of correct general height and build and coloring?”

“Well, yes, but she’s a Jedi Knight!”

“A very young Jedi Knight with a strong and likely still growing attachment to Naboo, who has convinced her former Master to prepare a petition to the Jedi Order to see to it that a chapterhouse would be founded in Dala City, and would likely be honored at the thought of taking on such a task.”

“But I thought that Apailana - ”

“Keiana will do just fine with Master Lo-Jad. I can assure you of that.”

Scowling again, Sabé accusingly snaps, “There’s something you aren’t telling me, either about the Queen or one of those two Jedi, Obi-Wan. I know there is. I can tell when you’re prevaricating, you know. You’re not a very good liar.”

“I am not lying. Keiana and Master Lo-Jad already have a good working relationship and the challenge of joining a learning circle that will have had something like a two year head start, by that time, will provide Keiana with the kind of situation and circumstances she’ll need to truly push herself,” Obi-Wan quietly, patiently, explains. “Master Lo-Jad is an excellent teacher and I believe he will adjust well to the notion of having several students at once instead of just a single Padawan learner. The arrangement will easily be of equal benefit to him.”

“And how do you know he’ll be able to adjust his way of thinking enough to handle multiple students like that? For that matter, what makes you think Apailana would need that kind of challenge to push her?” Sabé only demands irritably.

“I have seen it.”

“Seen it? What do you mean, you’ve seen it? You mean in a far-sight vision?” Sabé only instantly asks, clearly not at all reassured by his answer. “But I thought you never had those and that the Jedi don’t believe in placing weight on clairvoyant visions, since the future is always in motion and liable to change based upon our actions in the present!”

Obi-Wan takes a drink of his tea and carefully replaces the cup on its saucer, without so much as a hint of clatter, before calmly replying, “These visions involve a slightly different talent with the Force. It involves a way of tracing out the most probable of all possible future pathways, not just the simple act of precognition. Keiana is almost sure to become an apprentice of Master Lo-Jad’s, just as Sia-Lan will agree to become one of your handmaidens, if you were to ask her.”

“Obi-Wan - Athro - I - I - I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Take a while to think it through, alanna. The answer will come to you.”

“I’m not a child, dammit! I have over five years on your Anakin!”

“I am not unaware of Anakin’s age, nor of yours, but you are still a youngling in the Force, Sabé.”

“Obi-Wan, I - oh, frell! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply - ”

“You did, actually, in a way, but that’s beside the point. Anakin is quite a bit younger than I am and he was my Padawan. The dynamics of our relationship would be skewed beyond measuring were it not for the fact that we nevertheless managed to essentially grow up together - despite my greater age and his greater personal knowledge of certain realities of the life, outside the Temple - and the face that all of the experience, in that particular area, lay with him when we actually did enter into that part of our relationship. I am, as far as the Temple records are aware, just over fifteen and a half years older than Anakin. As you’re well aware, though, I grew up sheltered in the Jedi Temple and he grew up as a slave on Hutt-controlled Tatooine. I took a vow of chastity about a month before the date the Temple records fixed as most likely to be my birth date and used the Force to make my body obey that vow utterly, right up until a point about two and a half weeks ago, and Anakin, who had apparently never even heard of such a possible use of the Force until two and a half weeks ago, had been secretly married - or so he’d assumed, in any case - for roughly three years and three months previous to that discovery. I’m aware that our relationship may appear questionable, in the eyes of certain other beings, but the simple truth of the matter is that Anakin has much more experience and more power in this part of the relationship than I do and he is quite unabashedly pleased with himself for having ‘corrupted’ me. He may occasionally be mildly terrified about hurting me in some way, but I’m quite sure that it won’t stop him from being smug about having finally won me. Do you know he actually admitted to having been trying to train me into becoming more at ease with physical contact?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Anakin has always been a clever boy and extremely good at getting what he wants. You used to shy like a startled gualaar away from even the prospect of a hand touching your shoulder, when I first met you. Padmé and I both took shameless advantage of the fact that you were mostly too tired and too addle-witted with pain from that blaster bolt you took after first landing on our planet to have enough energy and sufficiently fast reflexes to be able to avoid most of our touches.”

“Wait a moment. How did you know about that?”

“Oh, Padmé told all of the handmaidens, as soon as she knew about it. Why do you think one of us was almost always shadowing you, the entire time we were on that ship? We wanted to be able to help you if you had another seizure and keep you out of your Master’s line of sight.”

“I . . . had not known that. Though it makes several things much clearer, now,” Obi-Wan allows, helping himself to another cup of tea and raising the teapot questioningly in her direction, to see if she would also like some more.

Sabé inclines her head slightly, in answer, and admits, while he is filling her cup, “I wanted to tell you, but Padmé made us promise not to, unless circumstances necessitated it. I think she was afraid that you would be so embarrassed that you might actually find a place to hide yourself away on the ship somewhere that none of us would be able to find, just to escape from us all, if you knew how concerned for you we all were.”

“It’s distinctly possible that I would’ve at least tried it. Padmé always could read me quite well,” Obi-Wan admits, sighing sadly, regret lying as heavy as a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Sabé immediately reaches out to capture his left hand (his right still being in contact with his teacup), squeezing his hand comfortingly. “We all miss her, Obi-Wan.”

“I know. I just . . . can’t help but wish there had been some other way to arrive at this point - or at least one very like it - without having to sacrifice her life.”

“She was a willing sacrifice, Obi-Wan. I know she was. That’s actually what I came here for, today. To tell you that. And to apologize for the miserable way in which we all failed you - you and Anakin both. I am so sorry for what happened. I would have stopped it, if I could have. I have no excuse, other than ignorance and a failure to pay sufficient attention to what was going on. I didn’t even know that she was planning to become handfast with Anakin until after it was already over with. I was so busy trying to keep Dormé alive and to stop the coalition against the Military Creation Act from fracturing that I forgot how very young and how very much in need of love and reassurance Anakin has always been. I simply trusted that he and Queen Jamillia’s staff would be able to keep Padmé safe, once she got to Naboo. I never dreamed Padmé could be so selfish or so blindly foolish. I dishonored myself, by failing to foresee that her seclusion with him could lead to trouble, and then I compounded the act by failing to convince her that she must tell you and so putting myself into a position where she could and did order me to silent secrecy on the subject,” Sabé admits, her misery manifest not only in the Force but in the anguish in her voice and the tears welling in her eyes. “She knew she had made a mistake almost as soon as she agreed to become handfast with him, but she insisted that there was no way of backing out of the agreement without shattering Anakin and she was so afraid of hurting him that, for the longest time, she wouldn’t even hear tell of ending the contract. I tried and tried to get her to change her mind about telling you, but she was terrified that she would lose you both and damage your and Anakin’s relationship irreparably. She finally decided not to renew the contract, and I’m certain that she meant to tell Anakin that their handfasting was over and that they couldn’t continue to see one another, because of his duty to the Jedi Order, but then you and Anakin were sent out to the Outer Rim Sieges. And then she found out she was pregnant, somehow, even though she’d always been so careful to take precautions that it should have been impossible. She didn’t try to renew the handfasting contract, though, and I swear to you, Obi-Wan, that she was determined to speak to you and to Anakin both, when you returned, when it happened. Sidious’ plans ultimately backfired with the attack on Coruscant, cutting Padmé’s life short before she could anything to try to make things right among the three of you. I’m guessing, from the way events have fallen out, that she must have somehow made arrangements to make you aware of what had happened and to make you and Anakin both truly, fully aware of your love for one another. I’m certain that, if she could’ve known how circumstances would alter, with her death, that she would have gone to her death gladly, content in the knowledge that she would be helping to bring you and Anakin together, so that you could who and what Palpatine truly was.”

“Ah. Sabé, you are more right than you could possibly know. Alanna - no, cariodal - there are some things that I need to tell you. It will not be easy for you to know these things, and you will have to guard the secret of them as carefully as you have guarded the secret of Padmé’s handfasting with Anakin. But I believe that you - and any of Padmé’s other handmaids whom you deem worthy of the knowledge - should know these things, Sabé. You have a right to know them. Might I touch your mind, so that I can share this knowledge with you?” Obi-Wan asks very carefully, making sure to hold her gaze so that she will understand how serious the question is but not reaching out for her hand, like he would like to, so that there will be no question of him trying to sway her unduly, afterwards.

Sabé looks at him with wide dark eyes and for a moment, an instant, she looks so much like Padmé had looked, that day on the ship, when he’d help her in his lap while she cried for Naboo and she had determinedly held on to him, so that he couldn’t run away from her, as she destroyed the entire Jedi Code with her merciless rationality - face flushed with heat and color, pupils dilated so wide that her eyes almost appear black, hair tumbling forward, unrestrained, into her face - that the next breath refuses to come for several heartbeats and pain lances through his chest like an ignited lightsaber. But Sabé, like Padmé, is brave, and Sabé, unlike Padmé, has never in her life shied away from duty or honor or failed to rise to a task when a problem has been placed before her. With an almost inaudible sigh, she gently, carefully, replaces her cup in its saucer, and then raises her head towards him, chin tilted up invitingly. “Please.”

A heartbeat more for regret, and then Obi-Wan reaches out to her, gently cupping her head in his hands, carefully reaching out to her mostly meticulously ordered and normally well-shielded mind through the Force, his knowledge of what truly happened to Padmé waiting at the forefront of his own mind for the sharing.

*********