Drabbles #30

[matril]

*sigh...* The last one. I've really enjoyed this month. I've had some good drabbles, some hasty-written ones, but overall I think it's been a decent way to stretch my skills. Also, it's been fun. :)

Believe
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He was a little boy again, taking halting steps into a new world. Behind him, Luke's wistful, fervent face bid him farewell. Ahead, a warm light, full of promise and healing. He felt all his old hopes and simple joys reviving after a lifetime of forced slumber.

Old friends greeting him. Obi-Wan, with no trace of resentment in his expression. Yoda, his former severity softened into a hard-earned serenity. Qui-Gon, carrying a gentle pride and approval for him. Mom.

"Mom?" he whispered, and found himself enfolded in her arms. Ripples of glad astonishment ran through him. "How is this possible? Being here with you -"

She simply laughed and cried, holding him.

To see her here, after she had died in his arms so many years ago - yes, that was miraculous. But it was more of a miracle, somehow, that she could love him still.

A faint hope flickered in his core. Half-dreading, half-longing, he looked beyond, into the vague landscape of after-death. Did he dare hope? Was it even right to hope for the one he had hurt more than all others?

But Luke had forgiven him. Yes, and that was what had saved him. He clutched to that realization and continued to watch for Padmé.

She came. How much time had passed, he couldn't say. Time was different here; everything was different. He couldn't tell just when or how she arrived. It seemed gradual. He felt her presence first, then a shadowy hand on his. He didn't dare to move or breathe. Breathe? Was that even necessary, after death? It didn't matter. Just to imagine he was breathing, on his own, without that black cage around his body - it was enough.

And then she was beside him, hesitant, looking at him and then away. More beautiful than all his fevered dreams had painted her during the years of his self-imposed loneliness. He ached to hold her, and knew he didn't deserve it; cursed himself for the heavy wisdom in her eyes that could only have come from the pain he caused her.

"Padmé," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She spoke, her voice low and guarded. "Anakin."

Words stumbled from his mouth. "I'm sorry. Oh, Padmé. It's wrong to ask you to forgive me."

"Then don't ask."

Anakin didn't know what to say. A single word might drive her away. But then she spoke again. "You don't need to ask." Her hand was on his shoulder now, her eyes looking into his. "I never stopped loving you."

He opened his mouth, but still couldn't speak.

"Loved you, yes. Forgiving you - that's different. Believing in you again, trusting you -" She sighed. "It was easier for our son than for me. He never knew anything but Vader. He never knew how far you fell."

What was he supposed to make of this? Was she rejecting him? But she had come here, to him. That meant something; it had to mean something. He looked into her face in a silent plea.

Padmé took his hand tightly, her eyes clouded as if with tears. "I believe in you," she said softly.

They pulled each other close, and it seemed that the light blazed brighter all around them, spreading through them the way that the glow of a sun fills the sky and puts away all the darkness of night.
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Comments

[matril.livejournal.com]

Yes, I really need them to recover from Episode III. :) (Love the icon!)