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matrilI've probably cooked up at least a dozen alternate universe scenarios for the prequel era. They're just so tantalizing. And of course I have yet to bring any of them to a full conclusion. Creating the premise is easy; fleshing it out is not. But with this one, I've written a beginning that I don't feel I really need to elaborate upon. It's more fun to start it out and just imagine all the places it could go from there. And oh, what a deliciously awkward place this puts Obi-Wan.....
“We don’t need his help. This baby is a blessing.”
Anakin moved to embrace Padmé again, but she stopped him and made him meet her gaze. “Maybe we don’t need help. Would it hurt so much to ask for it anyway? To have a friend in this after we’ve had to face it alone, just the two of us, for so long?”
His face darkened. “If he knew our secret, he would tell the Council. I would be expelled from the Order. You know that.”
She swallowed, easily imagining the other consequences that would follow. They had been playing through her mind on a constant tormented loop ever since she discovered she was pregnant. Her standing in the Senate would be rocked by the scandal; her people would be hurt and disillusioned by her deception; she and Anakin would be forced to raise their baby in disgrace and exile...
“Anakin,” she said as steadily as she could manage, “this isn’t about our secret. It’s about our baby. If you’re really afraid we’re in danger, why shouldn’t we do everything we can to prevent it? Obi-Wan is my friend too. Tell him you’ve had premonitions about me. He’ll want to help. Ask him, for my sake. For our child’s.”
She could see him beginning to relent, the softening of his features, the instinctive inclination to please her. She pressed on softly, her hand on his arm in gentle supplication. “This is too important to leave to chance. Let’s not allow our pride to get in the way of our baby’s well-being.”
At last he nodded. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Neither of them slept well the remainder of the night. But at least there were no more nightmares.
————
Unlike his former Padawan, Obi-Wan had always been an early riser (which had led to more than a few good-natured conflicts during his training). So he was startled to emerge from his chambers, upon waking and dressing, to find Anakin already there waiting to meet him.
“You’re early, for once,” he chuckled. “The meeting isn’t for another two hours. Are you that eager to give a report of our glorious rescue and your victory over Count Dooku?”
Anakin didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he scarcely seemed to have registered what Obi-Wan said. “Master,” he said, “I have to talk to you about something.” His eyes darted across the Temple corridor and back again. “Somewhere private.”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan said, though quite puzzled. “We’ll go back to my quarters.” He turned to open the door and entered once more, followed by Anakin. Once they were settled in the chairs in the meditation area, Obi-Wan looked to him and waited for him to start explaining. But Anakin could not seem to find the words. He opened his mouth, grimaced and shook his head.
He was so distressed, indeed, that he was taking very little trouble to conceal his emotions. Like tangible waves they roiled outward, telling Obi-Wan at least a part of his concern. “It’s about Padmé,” he realized. “You fear for her life.”
Anakin lifted his head, startled. “Yes.” He was breathing quite erratically. “It was a dream. Last night. I saw her -” He shut his eyes. “I saw her die. Just like my mother.”
Obi-Wan sighed as everything became sadly clear. “That is understandably a cause for concern, old friend. I know you’ve formed a strong attachment to her, your commitment to the Order notwithstanding.”
His old Padawan flinched. “If you’re just going to scold me, maybe I should leave,” he said, sounding more weary than angry.
“Forgive me,” Obi-Wan said with a rueful smile. “What I meant to say is that if you haven’t fully absorbed the teachings of non-attachment, we must assume that I, as your teacher, bear the fault as much as you. Perhaps more so. I deeply regret that I could not do more to shield you from the pain of losing your mother. That should have been my chief concern when I began your training.”
Where Anakin’s eyes had been dark and anxious, they were now softer, filling with gratitude. “I wish you’d told me that sooner. But I appreciate it.”
“So you’ve had a dream of Padmé’s death,” Obi-Wan mused. “Very disturbing. We would lose a dear friend as well as a brave voice in the Senate. I don’t suppose you saw any details? Was it an illness, or perhaps an assassination?”
Once again Anakin grew stiff. “I - I can’t say.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, hoping to convey gentle wisdom rather than reprimand, “such visions as the Force grants us are often vague, with many possible interpretations. The future has not yet been set. So many circumstances could influence the shape of events. Sometimes the visions offer us a warning. If you heed that warning, you’ll have no cause to fear.”
A desperate hope lit Anakin’s face. “Are you saying there might be a way to prevent Padmé’s death?”
“I am saying that her death is anything but a certainty at this point. I understand that what happened to your mother would have you thinking otherwise, but let us not leap to any conclusions. Have you seen Padmé since we returned to Coruscant yesterday?”
“I have,” he said shortly.
“And is she well? Is she in any particular danger at this time?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, then let’s not waste our energy on dreading unknown fears. Let us face the practical reality of our circumstances. I believe we may have reached a turning point in the war. With Dooku gone, Grievous could be the only significant obstacle preventing a ceasefire. And the coming peace will ensure a far safer galaxy for everyone, particularly a Loyalist Senator like Padmé.” He gave Anakin a encouraging look, but he only gave a moody shrug. Obi-Wan persisted. “All that remains is to ensure her good health. I’m sure she’s capable enough of arranging regular visits with the medical droids.”
“It might not be enough,” Anakin muttered. Obi-Wan watched him, sensing an uneasiness that hinted at far greater concerns. What was he hiding? “Anakin,” he began, but his old apprentice broke in suddenly.
“Master, it’s not that simple.” Another agonized pause.
“What is it?” Obi-Wan said quietly, warily.
“You’ll be very disappointed in me.” Anakin stood and turned away, then faced Obi-Wan with the look of one awaiting his execution. “Maybe you’ve already suspected it. Sometimes I’m surprised you didn’t report me to the Council a long time ago.”
“Report you?” Obi-Wan stood as well, outright alarmed. “Anakin, what have you done?”
“We got married.” His mouth twitched, nearing a humorless smile. “Three years ago.”
Obi-Wan could only look at him, too stunned to move or speak.
“You must have known. At least in some part of your mind.” After so much hesitation, the words were tumbling out of Anakin’s mouth, eager after being pent up for years. “Maybe you just pretended you didn’t know. Maybe you started to believe it, so you wouldn’t have to face the consequences and follow your bounden duty. I’m grateful for that. But I’m not sorry. I can’t be. Padmé makes my life worthwhile. I don’t regret a single minute I’ve had with her.”
There was no way to make sense of this. Anakin had done something in defiance of every teaching his master had ever imparted to him. He had betrayed the mandates of the Jedi Code, he had lied and concealed and imperiled both his own standing as well as Padmé’s reputation. How could this have happened to the obedient boy he had trained, so determined to please him and follow his every word of advice?
And yet Obi-Wan was confronted with dozens of moments that should have told him the truth. The desperate fire in Anakin’s eyes while they were fitting him with his artificial arm and he asked his master - begged him, nearly - to let him accompany Padmé back to Naboo. The occasions when he saw Anakin and Padmé beside each other afterward, always just inches from touching but never farther apart than that. The many times he had parted from Anakin on Coruscant with Obi-Wan heading for the Jedi Temple and Anakin going ‘somewhere else’ he never elaborated upon. And always, always the way Anakin spoke her name with pride and longing and passion.
Yes, Obi-Wan had known. And every time the flash of insight came, he buried it so deep that he managed to make himself forget it, over and over again.
“Oh, Anakin,” he murmured. “What have you done?”
“I don’t regret it,” Anakin said again. He shuddered. “But something else happened...and I’ll never forgive myself if it leads to Padmé’s death.”
“What?” Obi-Wan shook his head, dizzy at the notion of further shocks and surprises. “What now?”
“She’s pregnant.”
Obi-Wan fell to his seat again. “Oh no.”
“And my dreams tell me she will die in childbirth.” It seemed painful for him to even say the words.
“Oh no.”
A long silence, after which Anakin spoke quietly. “Will you turn me in to the Council now, Master?”
Obi-Wan looked up sharply. Anakin had a sad smile on his face.
“You know it’s the Jedi way. You’ve never failed to follow it before.”
“That’s true,” Obi-Wan replied distantly.
“So.” Anakin braced himself. “What now?”
Obi-Wan had no answer.
“We don’t need his help. This baby is a blessing.”
Anakin moved to embrace Padmé again, but she stopped him and made him meet her gaze. “Maybe we don’t need help. Would it hurt so much to ask for it anyway? To have a friend in this after we’ve had to face it alone, just the two of us, for so long?”
His face darkened. “If he knew our secret, he would tell the Council. I would be expelled from the Order. You know that.”
She swallowed, easily imagining the other consequences that would follow. They had been playing through her mind on a constant tormented loop ever since she discovered she was pregnant. Her standing in the Senate would be rocked by the scandal; her people would be hurt and disillusioned by her deception; she and Anakin would be forced to raise their baby in disgrace and exile...
“Anakin,” she said as steadily as she could manage, “this isn’t about our secret. It’s about our baby. If you’re really afraid we’re in danger, why shouldn’t we do everything we can to prevent it? Obi-Wan is my friend too. Tell him you’ve had premonitions about me. He’ll want to help. Ask him, for my sake. For our child’s.”
She could see him beginning to relent, the softening of his features, the instinctive inclination to please her. She pressed on softly, her hand on his arm in gentle supplication. “This is too important to leave to chance. Let’s not allow our pride to get in the way of our baby’s well-being.”
At last he nodded. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Neither of them slept well the remainder of the night. But at least there were no more nightmares.
————
Unlike his former Padawan, Obi-Wan had always been an early riser (which had led to more than a few good-natured conflicts during his training). So he was startled to emerge from his chambers, upon waking and dressing, to find Anakin already there waiting to meet him.
“You’re early, for once,” he chuckled. “The meeting isn’t for another two hours. Are you that eager to give a report of our glorious rescue and your victory over Count Dooku?”
Anakin didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he scarcely seemed to have registered what Obi-Wan said. “Master,” he said, “I have to talk to you about something.” His eyes darted across the Temple corridor and back again. “Somewhere private.”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan said, though quite puzzled. “We’ll go back to my quarters.” He turned to open the door and entered once more, followed by Anakin. Once they were settled in the chairs in the meditation area, Obi-Wan looked to him and waited for him to start explaining. But Anakin could not seem to find the words. He opened his mouth, grimaced and shook his head.
He was so distressed, indeed, that he was taking very little trouble to conceal his emotions. Like tangible waves they roiled outward, telling Obi-Wan at least a part of his concern. “It’s about Padmé,” he realized. “You fear for her life.”
Anakin lifted his head, startled. “Yes.” He was breathing quite erratically. “It was a dream. Last night. I saw her -” He shut his eyes. “I saw her die. Just like my mother.”
Obi-Wan sighed as everything became sadly clear. “That is understandably a cause for concern, old friend. I know you’ve formed a strong attachment to her, your commitment to the Order notwithstanding.”
His old Padawan flinched. “If you’re just going to scold me, maybe I should leave,” he said, sounding more weary than angry.
“Forgive me,” Obi-Wan said with a rueful smile. “What I meant to say is that if you haven’t fully absorbed the teachings of non-attachment, we must assume that I, as your teacher, bear the fault as much as you. Perhaps more so. I deeply regret that I could not do more to shield you from the pain of losing your mother. That should have been my chief concern when I began your training.”
Where Anakin’s eyes had been dark and anxious, they were now softer, filling with gratitude. “I wish you’d told me that sooner. But I appreciate it.”
“So you’ve had a dream of Padmé’s death,” Obi-Wan mused. “Very disturbing. We would lose a dear friend as well as a brave voice in the Senate. I don’t suppose you saw any details? Was it an illness, or perhaps an assassination?”
Once again Anakin grew stiff. “I - I can’t say.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, hoping to convey gentle wisdom rather than reprimand, “such visions as the Force grants us are often vague, with many possible interpretations. The future has not yet been set. So many circumstances could influence the shape of events. Sometimes the visions offer us a warning. If you heed that warning, you’ll have no cause to fear.”
A desperate hope lit Anakin’s face. “Are you saying there might be a way to prevent Padmé’s death?”
“I am saying that her death is anything but a certainty at this point. I understand that what happened to your mother would have you thinking otherwise, but let us not leap to any conclusions. Have you seen Padmé since we returned to Coruscant yesterday?”
“I have,” he said shortly.
“And is she well? Is she in any particular danger at this time?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, then let’s not waste our energy on dreading unknown fears. Let us face the practical reality of our circumstances. I believe we may have reached a turning point in the war. With Dooku gone, Grievous could be the only significant obstacle preventing a ceasefire. And the coming peace will ensure a far safer galaxy for everyone, particularly a Loyalist Senator like Padmé.” He gave Anakin a encouraging look, but he only gave a moody shrug. Obi-Wan persisted. “All that remains is to ensure her good health. I’m sure she’s capable enough of arranging regular visits with the medical droids.”
“It might not be enough,” Anakin muttered. Obi-Wan watched him, sensing an uneasiness that hinted at far greater concerns. What was he hiding? “Anakin,” he began, but his old apprentice broke in suddenly.
“Master, it’s not that simple.” Another agonized pause.
“What is it?” Obi-Wan said quietly, warily.
“You’ll be very disappointed in me.” Anakin stood and turned away, then faced Obi-Wan with the look of one awaiting his execution. “Maybe you’ve already suspected it. Sometimes I’m surprised you didn’t report me to the Council a long time ago.”
“Report you?” Obi-Wan stood as well, outright alarmed. “Anakin, what have you done?”
“We got married.” His mouth twitched, nearing a humorless smile. “Three years ago.”
Obi-Wan could only look at him, too stunned to move or speak.
“You must have known. At least in some part of your mind.” After so much hesitation, the words were tumbling out of Anakin’s mouth, eager after being pent up for years. “Maybe you just pretended you didn’t know. Maybe you started to believe it, so you wouldn’t have to face the consequences and follow your bounden duty. I’m grateful for that. But I’m not sorry. I can’t be. Padmé makes my life worthwhile. I don’t regret a single minute I’ve had with her.”
There was no way to make sense of this. Anakin had done something in defiance of every teaching his master had ever imparted to him. He had betrayed the mandates of the Jedi Code, he had lied and concealed and imperiled both his own standing as well as Padmé’s reputation. How could this have happened to the obedient boy he had trained, so determined to please him and follow his every word of advice?
And yet Obi-Wan was confronted with dozens of moments that should have told him the truth. The desperate fire in Anakin’s eyes while they were fitting him with his artificial arm and he asked his master - begged him, nearly - to let him accompany Padmé back to Naboo. The occasions when he saw Anakin and Padmé beside each other afterward, always just inches from touching but never farther apart than that. The many times he had parted from Anakin on Coruscant with Obi-Wan heading for the Jedi Temple and Anakin going ‘somewhere else’ he never elaborated upon. And always, always the way Anakin spoke her name with pride and longing and passion.
Yes, Obi-Wan had known. And every time the flash of insight came, he buried it so deep that he managed to make himself forget it, over and over again.
“Oh, Anakin,” he murmured. “What have you done?”
“I don’t regret it,” Anakin said again. He shuddered. “But something else happened...and I’ll never forgive myself if it leads to Padmé’s death.”
“What?” Obi-Wan shook his head, dizzy at the notion of further shocks and surprises. “What now?”
“She’s pregnant.”
Obi-Wan fell to his seat again. “Oh no.”
“And my dreams tell me she will die in childbirth.” It seemed painful for him to even say the words.
“Oh no.”
A long silence, after which Anakin spoke quietly. “Will you turn me in to the Council now, Master?”
Obi-Wan looked up sharply. Anakin had a sad smile on his face.
“You know it’s the Jedi way. You’ve never failed to follow it before.”
“That’s true,” Obi-Wan replied distantly.
“So.” Anakin braced himself. “What now?”
Obi-Wan had no answer.
